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Judge Jenkins' History of Miller County
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| Alexander Wilson | William Carroll Brumley | Andrew S. Ulman |
| Benjamin F. Adams | G.W. Babcock | Julius C. Bailey |
| David T. Hall | James M. Brockman | Curtis Wood |
| Hazen S. Burlingame | George Wilson | William T. Chitwood |
| William Posten | Samuel M. Dial | Austin McGraw |
| William T. Franklin | John Long | Josiah Goodman |
| Henry Bear | Robert S. Graham | John Bear |
| James C. Long | Ludwell Bacon | Nicholas Long |
| Killis J. Martin | Elijah G. Miller | William R. Madden |
| Carroll Neville | John S. Rhea | Zebedee Spearman |
| John S. Salsman | George W. Salsman | Wayne W. Stepp |
| Taylor F. Sullivan | John R. Thompson | Andrew J. Wilson |
| Napoleon B. Wood |
On March 17, 1865, the Drake Convention had adopted an ordinance which provided for the ousting of the members of the Supreme Court, circuit judges, district, and county in the state. This ousting ordinance was placed in effect by the Governor on June 14.
In July, 1865, the inhabitants of Tuscumbia, meeting at the Courthouse, passed Resolutions upholding the removal of the Supreme Court Justices by Governor Fletcher; and further, advised Rebels to depart from Miller county.
No officials in Miller county were ousted, for only “Loyal” persons were in office, but they were commissioned by Governor Fletcher under this mandate of the Convention just the same.
Thomas J. Babcock was serving as Representative in the General Assembly; Charles Tallman and Ludwell Bacon, Justices of the County Court; I.M. Goodrich, Clerk of the Circuit and County Courts; Thomas Thompson, Sheriff and ex-officio Collector; John Bear, Treasurer; Cornelius Law, Assessor; William H. Harbison, Coroner.
Miller county was strongly pro-Union; the inhabitants fully supporting the Governor’s removal of rebels and southern sympathizers from public office.
In 1866 an Act passed by the General Assembly implementing the constitutional requirement for a registration of all qualified voters in the State. Election districts with a registering officer for administering the oath of loyalty to every voter, were established in the counties.
At the May Term of the County Court in 1866, seven election districts were established in Miller county. Each municipal township becoming an election district. The places of voting included Pleasant Mount for Saline township; the house of William C. Brown for Franklin township; Tuscumbia for Equality; Fair Play for Jim Henry; L.W. Albertson’s Mill for Osage; Iberia for Richwoods; and the house of William B. Neal for Glaze.
For Jim Henry township, William E. Lurton was registering officer; for Osage, Asa Burlingame; for Saline, J.S. Franklin; for Richwoods, Jerry W. Tallman; for Franklin, Samuel D. Bliss; for Equality, William H. Harbison; for Glaze, Hugh Snelling. Jacob Capps was Supervisor of Registration.
Election Districts, and places of voting, established by the Miller County Court, on May 10, 1866. Judges of Election: Saline, J.S. Franklin, Daniel Bliss, J.W. Stephens; Franklin, Gabriel Cotton, Benjamin Conner, Wm. C. Brown; Equality, A.J. McAnally, J.R. Nickerson, Arthur Scott; Jim Henry, Wm. Roberts, Hugh Roark, Wm. E. Lurton; Osage, Asa Burlingame, R. Clark, J.H. Rowden; Richwoods, Henry J. Johnston, N.B. Wood, William Tallman; Glaze, W.A. Bradshaw, John B. Salsman, and A.J. Wilson.
In 1870, Richard Boyce was Supervisor of Registration; William Posten, Samuel D. Bliss, John B. Tallman, and William Duncan, registrars. In 1872, Registrars were Jacob Gantt for Equality township; Almon Scott for Saline; P.S. Whitaker for Franklin; L.W. Albertson for Osage; David Fancher for Jim Henry; Wincelaus Ponder for Richwoods; and John K. Hall for Glaze township.
After the election of 1866, the Radical Republicans were in complete control of Miller county. The Central Radicals Union Republican Committee included Carroll Neville, of Saline township; Thomas Thompson, of Equality township; William E. Lurton, of Jim Henry township; William Carroll Brumley, of Osage township; and Hugh Snelling, of Glaze township. The Radical Republicans allowed no person having ever served in the Confederate armies or having ever sympathized with the South during the rebellion, the privilege of voting.
In May, 1866, the Circuit Court was petitioned by many Miller countians to have their citizenship restored. These men included William T. Franklin, Mark Jones, James M. Brockman, Edmund R. Madden, Wayne W. Stepp, Thomas W. Martin, Timothy D. Bliss, Samuel Allen, James M. Wyrick, Hezekiah McCubbin, Benjamin E. Morris, Clifford Hays, Joseph Stephens, Jas. W. Shepherd, Calvin C. Simpson, James H. Adcock, Sovereign, Popplewell, William H. Allen, Benjamin A. Castleman, Granville M. Green, Reuben H. Stewart, William Etter, John T. Livingston, John M.T. Green, Wm. T. Stephens, Alexander S. Spalding, Martin Haynes, Samuel Etter, James Spalding, and others.
The foregoing petitioners represented to the Circuit Court that the new Constitution of Missouri disqualified them from voting at any election or holding any office of honor or trust; but having conducted themselves in every way as good and lawful citizens, they wanted their rights, privileges, and immunities as Citizens of the United States, and the State of Missouri, fully restored to them.
The Circuit Court decreed the following petitioners the exercise of Citizenship without taking the oath of loyalty as prescribed by the Constitution, for:
William H. Allen, even though having taken up arms against the United States in 1861, afterward was in the military service of Company B, 48th Regiment of Missouri Volunteer infantry, and was honorably discharged.
James M. Brockman, although enrolled as Southern sympathizer in 1862; later volunteered in the military service of the United States in 1864; and was honorably discharged on March 21, 1865.
Joseph Stephen enrolled as a Southern sympathizer in 1861, under the influence of bad men; joined the 5th Cavalry Volunteers on March 12, 1862, and was honorably discharged on March 31, 1865.
William T. Franklin under the call and authority of Governor C.F. Jackson, joined the Missouri State Guard on June 16, 1861; then entered U.S. military service on August 14, 1864; honorably discharged on March 21, 1865.
Wayne W. Stepp enrolled as a Southern sympathizer in 1862; then on august 24, 1864, entered U.S. Military service, and was honorably discharged.
Mark Jones was in company for a short time with Confederate recruits in 1862; then entered U.S. Military service, and was honorably discharged.
Mark Jones was in company for a short time with Confederate recruits in 1862; then entered U.S. Military service, and was honorably discharged.
James H. Adcock was in arms against the United States in 1861; then on August 12, 1864, became a member of Company B, 48th Regiment Missouri Volunteer Infantry. Served until March 21, 1865.
Edward R. Madden was in arms against the United States, and State of Missouri in 1861, under the influence of bad and wicked men; then joined Company D, Mo. Cavalry Volunteers on February 26, 1862, and served until March 21, 1865.
Thomas W. Martin was a sympathizer of the rebellion and those therein engaged; then volunteered into U.S. Military service, and was honorably discharged.
Samuel Allen enrolled as a Southern sympathizer in 1862; then entered the U.S. Military service of the United States, and honorably discharged.
Samuel Allen enrolled as a Southern sympathizer in 1862; then entered the U.S. Military service of the United States, and honorably discharged.
Benjamin Morris was induced by bad men to take up arms against the United States in 1861; then enlisted in Co. H, of the 48th Regiment Mo. Inf. Vol., on September 5, 1864, and honorably discharged on June 29, 1865.
Joseph Rush enrolled as a Southern sympathizer before Tolbird Bass in 1862, but soon afterward, seeing the mistake, enlisted in the military service of the United States, and honorably discharged there from.
J.C. Reed as Southern sympathizer with Tolbird Bass in 1862, afterward entered the Military service of the United States, and honorably discharged.
William F. Burks in May, 1861 served in the State Guard for 20 days, then returned home, and volunteered in the military service of the United States, and honorably discharged.
Reuben H. Stewart in May, 1861 enlisted in the Mo. State Guard and served two months then volunteered in the U.S. Military service, and honorably discharged.
Reuben H. Stewart in May, 1861 enlisted in the Mo. State Guard and served two months then volunteered in the U.S. Military service, and honorably discharged.
Joseph W. Shepherd in May, 1861, enlisted in Mo. States Guard, and after serving two months, returned home, and enlisted in U.S. Military service; honorably discharged.
William F. Stephens served one month in Missouri State Guard, then enrolled as Southern sympathizer with Golden and Bass; afterward joining the military service of the United States, and honorably discharged.
Eddington Williams enrolled as a Southern sympathizer with Tolbird Bass in 1861; then joined the U.S. Military service, and honorably discharged.
James M. Wyrick was under Captain B. Hymen of the Mo. State Guard in 1861; then on August 18, 1864, enlisted as a Private in Co. B, 48th Reg. Mo. Vol. Inf.
Clifford Hays was in sympathy with the rebellion; then entered the 48th Regiment Mo. Volunteer Infantry on June 19, 1864, and honorably discharged on June 29, 1865.
Timothy D. Bliss was enrolled under Captain Fountaine McKenzie in Missouri State Guard in 1861; then entered the military service of the United States, and honorably discharged.
Sovereign Popplewell sympathized with the rebellion and moved slaves to a seceded state under the influence of bad men; then entered the military service of the United States, and honorably discharged.
Benjamin A. Castleman was a member of the Missouri State Guard in 1861; then entered military service of the United States, and honorably discharged.
John T. Livingston was enrolled as a Southern sympathizer by Tolbird Bass in 1862 then entered military service of the United States, and honorably discharged.
Other petitioners were not at this time relieved of their disqualifications by the Circuit Court. On November 21, 1866, J. Ed Belch, an able attorney from Jefferson City, by leave of the Circuit Court, withdrew a number of previously filed petitions. Petitions withdrawn included those of E.W. Farris, Francis M. Swanson, John V. Wilcox, William M. Lumpkin, Meredith Anderson, M.D. Vaughn, James Etter, Granville M. Green, James Johnston, Edward R. Madden, Pinkney S. Miller, Robert Hicks, W.F. Stepehens, William Etter, John M.T. Green, Alexander S. Spalding, Martin Haynes, James Spalding, and others.
Under the Constitution of 1865, within sixty days after its adoption by the people of Missouri, all teachers, ministers, and lawyers were required to take the oath of loyalty. Alneighborsagainstneighborsso, preachers and priests were required to take out a Missouri license. Most of the professional people in Miller county complied with these constitutional requirements, but when the oath of loyalty was taken by ex-Confederates or Southern sympathizers, they were immediately indicted for perjury.
George W. Etter, Samuel T. Harrison, John Lumpkin, and Alexander Colvin, witnesses in a cause pending before the Circuit Court at this time, upon subscribing to the oath of loyalty, were immediately indicted for perjury.
On March 26, 1867, in Circuit Court at Tuscumbia, upon a motion by John M. Moore, Esq., William M. Lumpkin and E.C. Swalem were enrolled as members of the Miller County bar. Immediately, William M. Lumpkin was indicted for perjury! It was known by him the indictment read, of having supported the rebellion by giving aid and comfort to the enemies of the United States and the State of Missouri; therefore, upon subscribing to the oath of loyalty required by the Constitution of this State, willfully and feloniously committed perjury.
In Richwoods township the Radicals were very strong. They believed the first order of business in Miller county was the stopping of robberies and the killing of peaceable citizens, deprivations were constantly being committed in all parts of the county. The Radicals, believing the Confederates of Miller county responsible for the county’s difficulties, chastised them. However, it would be more than fair if written here the Confederates were not responsible for the county’s difficulties, since many people, unable to make a living, commonly turned robber to obtain subsistence, and this they did in such great numbers, the county was overrun by them.
East and North of Iberia were many Confederates and Southern sympathizers; while to the West and Southwest the Radicals found much strength among the Pennsylvanians having settled in the area before the war. The Confederates and Radicals decided to have it out in the town of Iberia, but the Union boys, under Squire John Ferguson, meeting the Confederates on the outskirts of the town, after considerable bantering, withdrew without contest. However, things became so hot for Squire John that, for some time, he sought refuge in a cave, known as the “Ferguson” cave to this day.
On March 3, 1866, at Oakhurst, southwest of Iberia, a Radical meeting resolved Unionists and Rebels no longer could live peaceably together in Richwoods township, and the Rebels were advised to depart. Many ex-Confederates, for fear of their lives, immediately left the Big Richwoods, while others were chased out of the county with force of arms.
In August, 1865, a publication made in the Missouri State Times, a newspaper published in Jefferson City, notified all persons sealed proposals would be received for the building of a new stone jail for Miller county. Robert Ainsworth, awarded the contract, having the building completed in July, 1866, was allowed six hundred dollars for his services and material.
However, on September 24, 1866, the Circuit Court ordered: “Now, at this day, it appearing to the satisfaction of the Court that the County Jail is not sufficiently safe for the number of criminals confined therein, it is ordered by the Court that the Sheriff employ a sufficient number of citizens to watch and guard the same until such time as the occasion may require.”
On September 26, the Court ordered the Sheriff employ a citizen guard of three men, keeping said guard on duty as long as needed, and later, allowed the Sheriff to procure such irons as necessary to prevent the escape of prisoners.
At the October term of the Circuit Court in 1868, the Grand Jury submitted the following report: “To the Hon. Judge of the Miller County Circuit Court - The Grand Jury of this October term of said Court beg leave to report that a committee of our body have visited the County Jail and find it entirely unsafe for the confinement of criminals or persons having friends on the outside could be released in a few minutes. The present Jail cannot be made safe without a jailer’s residence connected therewith, and a wall or substantial fence around the jail yard to prevent the ready access of outsiders. And we have further to report the sink is in a bad condition and without any drain. A.J. Wilson, Foreman.”
These reports, in part, were due to the fact that following the war, the Grand Jury returned 8 indictments for murder, 2 for manslaughter, 5 for assault with intent to kill, 5 felonious assaults, 8 for grand larceny, 4 for robbery, and others.
Entries in the Record Book of the County Court show the seriousness of the times: “Peter S. Meredith, for services in guarding prisoners sent from Miller county to Cole county Jail; twenty-two nights at $2 per night.”
Entries in the Record Book of the County Court show the seriousness of the times: “Peter S. Meredith, for services in guarding prisoners sent from Miller county to Cole county Jail; twenty-two nights at $2 per night.”
“Wm. Rhodes presented for services rendered in marching prisoners confined in the Jail at Jefferson City Jail for safekeeping. Ninety-eight nights, at $2 per night.”
“Wm. Rhodes presented for services rendered in marching prisoners confined in the Jail at Jefferson City Jail for safekeeping. Ninety-eight nights, at $2 per night.”
The Coroner and his deputies were busy in this era holding inquests over dead bodies. Some of the dead included John McGlothlein, Joseph S. Adcock, George W. Smith, Willis Robertson, and John L. Goodman.
Bradleyford and Goser, physicians and surgeons, amputated the arm of John L. Goodman. Jas. A. Stevens, M.D., assisted in the amputation of Goodman’s arm. Samuel Umstead was allowed $4 by the County Court on a coffin furnished for John L. Goodman, a State Prisoner.
In the State of Missouri vs. Thomas M. Hart, on an indictment for murder, in the September Term of Circuit Court, 1866, Jacob Capps, William Capps, John McFall, Granville Boyd, J.C. Bailey, William Abbott, P. Roark, R.W. Barton, T.J. Cooper, M.L. Miller, P.G. Turner, and William Thompson, twelve good and lawful men, having heard the evidence, retired to their room and upon returning, reported: “We, the Jury, find the Defendant, Thomas M. Hart, guilty of murder in the first degree in manner and form as charged in the indictment.”
The Circuit Court, upon hearing the verdict of the Jury, ordered: “Now, on this day, Wednesday, September 26, 1866 comes the attorney who prosecuted for and on behalf of the State, and the Defendant in his own proper person brought into Court, and it being demanded of him if he had anything further to say why judgment of death should not be pronounced against him, says that he has nothing further to say than what has already been said; Wherefore, it is considered, ordered, adjudged, and decreed by the Court that the Sheriff of Miller county take the said Defendant in his custody and with a strong guard safely keep the said Thomas M. Hart until Friday, the 2nd day of November next, when he will conduct him to the proper place of execution, and then and there, hang him, the said Defendant, by the neck until he is dead.”
On August 10, 1866, Thomas Thompson was allowed $35 by the County Court for the building of an outhouse for the benefit of the Courthouse and Jail; the first on record, brush and stable nearby having been available before this.
On November, 1867, the County Court offered a reward of $200, each, for the apprehension and delivery of Thomas J. Smith and William M. Shelton for the shooting and seriously wounding of Deputy Sheriff Jerry W. Tallman while in the discharge of his legal duty.
In the election of 1868, the Central Radicals Union Republican committee included James C. Hite, of Saline township; William McCombs, of Franklin township; John Bear, of Equality township; Wm. E. Lurton, of Jim Henry township; F.E. Lombar, of Richwoods; Dr. A.P. Nixdorf, of Osage; and William Pope, of Glaze township.
A Radical Republican mass meeting, held at Tuscumbia, on April 18, 1868, was called to order by Judge John Bear. Upon organizing, Judge James H. Todd was elected President; Richard Boyce, Vice-President; and Captain Jerry W. Tallman, Secretary, by a unanimous vote amidst thunderous ovation.
The Radical Republicans ruled the county with a rod of iron. They barred all ex-Confederates, and Southern sympathizers from the polls, and with the passage of the stringent registry act by the General Assembly in 1868, held complete sway. Anyone having southern tendencies during the rebellion, upon registering to vote, were immediately arrested.
Registrar William Duncan brought civil action in Circuit Court against R.M. Wyrick, Edmund Wilkes, Samuel Etter, Daniel Etter, Joseph Ulman, Simpson Lumpkin, John Lumpkin, George W. Etter, Alexander Colvin, John Davidson, E.B. Farley, Joseph Shepherd, Sovereign Popplewell, Mark Jones, Thomas W. Martin, John Livingston, Benjamin A. Castleman, James Edgmon, Eddington Williams, Hezekiah McCubbin, William F. Burks, R.H. Stewart, Clifford Haynes, Samuel Allen, J.C. Reed, Joseph Rush, William Wadley, Andrew J. McCastland, Wm. F. Stephens, Joseph D. Taylor, James Rush, Meredith Anderson, and many others. These men, during the rebellion, willingly having supported or sympathized with the South, upon registering to vote, feloniously committed perjury by subscribing to the oath of loyalty, according to the Registrar.
Eventually the attorney who prosecuted for the State declared in open Court at Tuscumbia the suits against the foregoing would be dismissed upon payment of all the costs in each case. When done, this loosened the hold of the Radical Republicans upon the county enough another faction gained control of the party.
Eventually the attorney who prosecuted for the State declared in open Court at Tuscumbia the suits against the foregoing would be dismissed upon payment of all the costs in each case. When done, this loosened the hold of the Radical Republicans upon the county enough another faction gained control of the party.
A Constitutional Amendment, adopted by the people of Missouri in 1870, having abolished the oath of loyalty allowed the Democrats to challenge the rule of the Republicans in Miller county.
In the election of 1872, ex-Confederates, and southern sympathizers entered the campaign with vim and vigor. Under the leadership of William Carroll Brumley, J.M. Hawkins, John Ferguson, Benjamin Capps, and Hazen S. Burlingame, the Republicans fought back. Without any doubt this was the bitterest political contest ever waged in Miller county. There was much fighting among the inhabitants, with broken noses, and much spilling of blood.
On April 19, 1865, John Mashburn shot and killed Archibald Meritt, in Tuscumbia. A.J. Frasier and Wm. Abbott, upstairs in the warehouse at the river, witnessed the shooting. Other witnesses included C.S. Phillips, William Bass, C.A. Martin, Alonzo Peters, W.T. Davidson, John Davidson, and W.A. Hackney, trading or loafing in McCarty’s grocery.
John Davidson testified Mashburn jerked a revolver from Samuel Hawken, “yelling there is a man in the warehouse by the name of Abbott I’m gonna shoot!”
W.A. Hackney stated, “Mashburn, having grabbed the revolver from the hand of Samuel Hawken, cocked it, then, while in the crowd brandished the weapon, firing it, the ball striking the ground between Samuel Hawken’s feet.”
A.J. Frasier testified, “On the 19th, at Tuscumbia, I was up in the warehouse. John Mashburn, a holding Samuel Hawken’s revolver, swung it wildly. At one time I thought he was going to shoot Samuel Hawken. Archibald Meritt, grabbing Mashburn’s arm, caused the weapon to discharge, the ball striking the ground by Samuel Hawken’s big toe.”
Meritt, scuffling with Mashburn for possession of the revolver, kept moving, together, toward the river. Meritt was heard saying “I’d better get you on the other side of the Osage.” Mashburn kept telling Meritt “Let me Go! Let Me Go!” Frasier concluded.
“Near the warehouse,” C.S. Phillips said, “John Mashburn’s brother, James, grabbing the revolver, wrestled him for the weapon.”
In the fight, the revolver fired, the ball striking Archibald Meritt in the neck, making a terrible wound. He fell where he stood, instantly dead!
In May, 1865, a band of bushwhackers entering Miller county, killed a number of Union men, before leaving. Mariah and Lucinda Wilcox concealed three of the men in a cave near their home for many days.
On May 26, the men robbed Walter T. Conner. They took from him one horse, and one pair of panteloons. From Sterling Conner, a certain roan horse was taken, the men threatening to burn his dwelling house. They took Captain William Conner, one horse, a saddle, one coat, a revolving pistol, and about twenty dollars in money, then, at gun-points, leading the Captain into the woods, when about a mile from his house, killed him, building a stick fire upon his body.
In 1865, at wheat harvest time, William S. Cotton cradled grain for Mariah Wilcox. “This George Connelly was there then,” Cotton said. “I asked Lucinda where she had come across this man? And she told me, at Rolla; that he was her cousin. Later, I saw A.R. Wright’s name on Mariah Wilcox’s canoe paddle.”
Lucinda informed Anthony R. Wright, George Connelly, and George Crawford, leaders of the band bushwhacking in Franklin township, that Captain William Conner, having assisted in the execution of her brother, in Jefferson City, and also, having killed the Kelsay boys, she wanted him dead! Anthony R. Wright promised Lucinda the Captain would be killed, just for her.
Afterward, the men, searching for horses to steal, while going up the Little Gravois creek, surrounded Walter Conner’s two boys, plowing in a field. They ordered the boys to ungear their horses, which was done. Then leading the animals to Walter’s house, upon arriving, entered his home. They broke his gun, and took John Conner’s saddle, and a pair of panteloons. They informed Walter the boys would be released for two hundred dollars, but having no money, the boys were marched away as prisoners.
Sterling Conner’s first awareness of impending doom was upon seeing Captain William Conner, Laren Garner, and two other men, by the names of Cooper and Kelsay, coming toward him.
“Looking up,” Sterling said, “I saw some strange man with a musket or shotgun in his hand, presenting the weapon at James, my son, telling him to ungear the horse, but James made no attempt to ungear the animal. Captain Conner told him to do so. James, having ungeared the horse, was ordered to form in line with the rest of the prisoners.”
“He then ordered me to stay at home,” Sterling Conner continued, “or he would burn my house. Looking toward my house, I saw a man coming, in a brisk walk. He met me while they were putting the saddle on my roan horse. He informed the others they must hurry for the men waiting in the woods would soon get tired. Captain Conner was taken down the creek.”
“Later, when I found William,” Sterling said, “he was dead. He had been killed by a shot-gun blast fired into his body at close range; a fire upon his body having burnt his clothing.”
Having killed Captain Conner, the bushwhackers released their prisoners, then returned, between sundown and darkness, to the house of Mariah Wilcox.
When the men informed Lucinda that Captain Conner was out of the way, she stated her brother’s death had been avenged.
The next morning, Anthony R. Wright, George Crawford, and George Connelly fording the Osage river, rode South. They took the horses and most of the property stolen on the Little Gravois. Lucinda, riding with them, wore men’s clothing, calling herself “Bob.” In a few days, Mariah Wilcox, Lucinda’s step-mother, received a letter which contained notice “Bob, having made it through, was safe!”
In the last days of June, 1865, Lucinda returned home, bringing George Connelly with her. Again, when inquiries were made, she attempted to conceal his identity, calling Connelly her cousin. But it was too late! Having traced the bushwhackers to Wilcox’s home, several neighbors of the murdered Captain William Conner were waiting for them.
Colonel Thomas J. Babcock, with William S. Cotton, George W. Babcock, J. Jones, N.F. Cross, and other men under his command, arrested Mariah, Lucinda and George Connelly at the Wilcox’ home. Searching the place, Babcock’s men found one pair of Walter T. Conner’s panteloons taken on the day of the Captain’s death. Lucinda, when questioned by Colonel Babcock, informed him George Connelly was her cousin. “He’s a poor innocent man, having killed neither Captain Conner nor anyone else,” she said. She did not want him punished nor suffer for something he did not do.
Ordering George Connelly and Lucinda to ride with him, Colonel Babcock started, with his men, for the scene of the crime.
“In all the conversation we had with Connelly, Gabriel Cotton said, “he denied everything until we passed Walter Conner’s place. Then he stated there was no need to deny it any longer, for he was present at the time, but did not kill Captain Conner himself. When asked who did kill him, he replied that Wright had done it. When asked what he killed him for, he said Wright promised Lucinda while they were after horses if they came across William Conner he would kill him just for her!”
Now Lucinda spoke more freely about everything. She informed Colonel Babcock that, upon arriving at her place, Wright, Connelly, and Crawford, demanding sustenance and maintenance for awhile, concealed themselves in a cave. They were destitute of hats, shoes, and other articles of clothing, and she allowed any man would be clothed and fed coming to her place tired, naked, and hungry.
Lucinda informed Colonel Babcock the horses stolen on the Little Gravois were in Phelps county. Some of the stolen goods were stored about 12 miles from Rolla; a part of them concealed at a widow Jones, the balance at another place. Lucinda stated if Colonel Babcock would use his influence with the authorities she would show him where most of the stolen goods were concealed in Phelps county, on the Little Piney river.
“Anthony Wright, George Connelly, and George Crawford,” Lucinda said, “were leading a band, bushwhacking; Anthony Wright having killed Captain William Conner,” she concluded.
On the last day of June, Colonel Thomas J. Babcock, and a number of men, rode South; Lucinda acting as a guide. She piloted them to where they recovered several hundred dollars worth of stolen properties taken from the Little Gravois.
Daniel J. Jones said, “I went South with Colonel Babcock’s command on the first trip, with Lucinda giving directions. She took us to the widow Jones’ and Rebecca Brown’s place where we found goods concealed in the lofts and under the floors. The black stallion from the Little Gravois, rode by Lucinda with the bushwhackers to Phelps county, was recovered at the residence of Judge L.F. Wright.”
Colonel Babcock, upon hearing rumors of many bushwhackers in this area, commenced feeling unsafe, so hurried with his men, and Lucinda, back to Miller county. Upon reaching home, he hastened to Jefferson City where the matter was presented to Governor Thomas C. Fletcher.
The Governor, by Special Order Number 118, authorized Colonel Thomas J. Babcock to form a company of Militia and capture, pursue or kill the bands marauding in Miller county, and to the South.
At Pleasant Mount, the Colonel organized a company of Militia, and on August 9, 1865, left for Phelps county, going by way of Linn Creek.
On the evening of August 15, Colonel Babcock, and his men, having surrounded Judge L.F. Wright’s house, found Captain Conner’s coat, and saddle, and his horse in the stable. Lucinda, again with the Colonel, informed him Wright claimed the horse when he rode it South, while wearing the coat from Miller county, taken from places on the Little Gravois creek.
James W. Conner said, “In the month of August, 1865, I went with the command South. We found William Conner’s coat, and we found his saddle. Lucinda told us she believed the saddle was Conner’s, but it was now considerably weather-beaten. The coat was recognized by members of the company.”
Anthony Wright, at this time, could not be found, but Judge L.F. Wright and four of his sons, arrested by Colonel Babcock, were sent, under heavy guard, to Rolla. Before reaching the place, it was reported the Wright’s attempted to escape. Whether such an attempt was made or not is unknown, but the men were fired upon, and killed, according to reports.
George Connelly, sent under heavy guard to Jefferson City, also disappeared from the scene.
Lucinda, on January 13, 1866, for having been an accessory to and aiding in murder, theft, and raiding; for having concealed bushwhackers; for having changed her name to Bob; and for having threatened the lives of many peaceable citizens in Miller county, was committed to jail at Tuscumbia.
On September 1, 1865, a mare was stolen from Thomas S. Phillips.
Mr. Phillips said, “this filly was taken out of my enclosure, and I immediately started in search for her. I found her at a place near 30 miles from my residence. The man told me he had bought this nag from my own son, having paid him a cow, a saddle, and twenty dollar in money, although only twelve dollars besides the cow and saddle had been paid to him. I made the boy pay all the property back, and the money also, taking the filly home with me. My son was fifteen years old the 5th day of last June.”
“My son,” Thomas S. Phillips concluded, “has not been under my control for the last eighteen months, being influenced by others to leave me, with the understanding he could do better.”
Harley C. Atkinson said, “John Phillips, on being interrogated by Ira George how he was induced to take that nag, the boy said that when at Iberia, while the Militia was there, he had been persuaded by some of the militia men he should go into or join the company. He objected because his father told him he might be induced to take a horse and be punished for it. The men told him, because he was not of age, he could not be injured if he did take a horse. Under that influence he afterward took this filly.”
Before his age was known, John Phillips, tried in Circuit Court, at Tuscumbia, was sentenced by jury to two years in the state penitentiary. When the Court realized he was only fifteen years of age, the Judge reduced his sentence to 30 days in jail, then staying the sentence, paroled him to his parents.
On October 18, 1865, Berry P. Humes, in the Carding Machine house in Pleasant Mount, was engaged in his ordinary course of business. The door was closed, latched on the inside. A loud crashing noise, all of a sudden, was caused by three men bashing in the door.
One said to Mr. Humes, “We have come to give you a good thrashing!”
Berry ran among the machinery to avoid them, going upstairs, but before reaching the third floor, one of the men, grabbing his leg, the other man shot him; the ball entering his leg, and lodging under the left hip bone. Leaving him seriously wounded, the men fled, warning him to say nothing about it or they’d get him for certain.
John Humes said, “I had some difficulty with two men. They came up to me and said they could whip both me and my son, Berry. I allowed that they could. Shortly afterward I saw them go in the back yard of the machine. In a few moments I noticed one of them through the upstairs window of the machine with a pistol in his hand, and then I heard a pistol fired in the machine, and heard my son hollering.”
Jane Spalding continued, “I saw two men run from John Humes’ shop. One came out about the gate with a pistol in his hand. I had just heard someone shoot, and someone was hollering. One of the men got on a horse and rode towards Slater’s shop, then rode near the store of Spalding and Bro.’s. He made threats that if Humes did not keep his mouth shut he would come back and finish him off!”
In the Autumn of 1865, many houses were burned to the ground in the northeastern part of the county. Mrs. E. Lyne told authorities, “One day I was coming in the direction of the school house in Mr. Lurton’s district, and met a man near Sugar Creek, to whom on several occasions, in consequence of his family being in dire circumstances, having raised no crops, I had given meal and bread to eat.”
“He asked me,” Mrs. Lyne continued, “if I knew of the houses of Warren’s, York’s Driver’s and others, having been burnt? I replied I did. He then assured me of having burned the houses; of doing much worse while in the army, and if three of his companions in the army were with him, they would leave no rebel alive in that neighborhood, neither man, woman, nor child.”
On Christmas day, 1865, a crowd of men charged into Rock Town, brandishing revolvers, swearing death to all the Longs, and their friends. John Smith said, William H. Madden, Anderson Chappel, and Ruel Elsey were in the crowd. All were very unruly, swearing loudly, and hollering.”
Upon finding George Long at Thompson’s blacksmith shop, Ruel Elsey took a gun from him. Madden, taking ahold of the gun, told Elsey to be peaceable. Elsey said to Long, “Damn you! I have a mind to kill you!”
George Long said, “There were seven or eight men with Elsey. They had my mare in their possession and indicated they would keep her.”
John Arnold was at Thompson’s blacksmith shop when Madden came there with Elsey and several other men. He saw Elsey take George Long’s gun, and then abuse him a good deal.
J.D. Cochran said, “I was talking with George Long when some fifteen or sixteen men came riding up. Elsey asked Mr. Long what he was doing? George Long said he was out consulting with his neighbors about his fear of being killed! Elsey then inquired where was young Johnnie Long? When told this was not known, Elsey said they were after young Johnnie Long, intended to have him, and as for John Long, he would be better treated than anybody else.”
William Harrison Smith was in Rock Town on Christmas day when Wm. H. Madden, and others, charged into the town. He said, “Mr. Julius Bailey told me this group was after the Long’ party, and that he was sure they considered me one of them. There had never been trouble between us before, but Mr. Bailey suggested I stay out of their way. A few days before some of the Longs had told me they were afraid in Rock Town. John Long once heard, in a crowd passing his house, several people cursing the Longs, and swearing they would kill them all, saying the Longs were mean people.”
William Harrison Smith having been at a house raising at Mr. Stones in the Big Richwoods before Christmas, recalled, having completed the work, “about ten o’clock that night Anderson Chappel, Ruel Elsey, and several other men, rode up on their horses. The Long’ party hollered for them to stay out of the yard for the old lady Stone told them that, having raised the house, it was theirs for the night, and could be used or defended by them anyway they pleased.”
J.B. Stone was at his mother’s house raising. He said, “That night, there was a party, and dancing. About ten o’clock a group of men rode up on their horses. Ruel Elsey sent in word for the Long’ boys to send their slave against him. When the Long’ boys stepped out of the house, a firing commenced in the yard. I stopped the fiddle, and went outside. I got behind an ash hopper to see what was going on. There was considerable shooting, so I remained behind the ash hopper.”
Cornelius Lowe stayed at James Madden’s house on the night a shooting occurred at Mr. Stone’s place in the Big Richwoods. The next morning William H. Melton came by, and stopping briefly, reported the shooting of his son. He was going to get his son and haul him home. After having passed, James Madden, to his sons, Jack and Ed, said “Get your horses and follow on and shoot the first damn Long you can find!”
So, on the 25th day of December, 1865, Wm. H. Madden, Anderson Chappel, Ruel Elsey, and others, charged into Rock Town, looking for the Long’ party. They found George Long at Thompson’s blacksmith shop. They took away his gun, and his mare. Then by a kind of cruel irony, the parties rose in tumult, and the results of it were disastrous!
Anderson Chappel heard George Smith swearing he would whip or kill someone before leaving town. The Smith boys, George and James, most of the day having tried to raise a fuss with Mr. McMillan or Francis M. Elsey, each time got it settled. Pitser Mashburn usually assisted them.
Anderson Chappel said, “Wm. H. Madden, having stood awhile at Elsey’s grocery, finally went inside where he sat down, visiting with Elsey. After some time passed, he arose, and upon opening the front door, started to leave. Just as he stepped outside George Smith said something to him. Madden replied he wanted no fuss. Words flew between them, growing hotter.”
“I saw they were about to fight.” Chappel continued, “so I grabbed Madden, starting toward Elsey’s house across the street. I had about got to the house. The Smith boys and Pitser Mashburn were still at the grocery. Some one of the three called Madden a cowardly rascal. Madden cursed them back, and called James G. Smith a damned Rebel! Instantly, the Smith boys threw off their coats. One called to the other “Let’s go it bold face against the world!”
“I had Wm. H. Madden in my arms,” Chappel said, “James Smith struck over my left shoulder, knocking Madden down. George Smith running up, hit him. They were both on him. Pitser Mashburn kicked Madden. I caught ahold of the parties, trying to part them. Thomas Hickman, running up, called for peace. James Smith struck Hickman in the chest, knocking him down against the fence. A revolver thrust between my arms and body was fired. Smith fell! I went toward the grocery and another revolver fired, but the smoke of the first fire in my face prevented me from seeing who shot. When the first shots were fired the boys scattered off in all directions.”
Francis M. Elsey, running to his house from the grocery, stood inside his yard, by the fence at the gate. Albina Elsey, his wife, running to the fence from out of the house, stood beside him. All of a sudden, Elsey jumping over the yard fence, fired a revolver. James G. Smith fell, instantly dead! Albina Elsey, leveling a revolver at George W. Smith, fired it. He fell, almost instantly dead! Running for the house, Albina Elsey was shot by James Boren standing in the road. She fell in the front door!
Anderson Chappel continued, “The first I saw of F.M. Elsey, he was standing at the corner of his yard. Elsey started to run. Then he fell, and James Runnels shot him. Pitser Mashburn, running up, commanded the boys to take the crowd. I saw four or five fellows chase Thomas Elsey and Thomas shot at them several times, through the field; while the balance followed Calvin Elsey toward Mooreland’s at the stable.”
Sarah (Polly) Ann Elsey, Francis M. Elsey’s sister, had Wm. H. Madden’s revolver, having taken it from him earlier in the day. She appeared in the front door of her brother’s house. Several persons observed her bring a revolver down from her face. Elisha Strutton with other men, running toward her, were fired upon. They fell back, then turning, chased Calvin Elsey, who discharged two revolvers at them, before he mounted his horse, and rode away, toward Mooreland’s at the stable. But this failed to save Polly Ann. James Boren, running up, shot her.
Louisa Jane Shelton and Caroline Hickman, standing on the front porch of the Hickman’ residence, related “When the fuss commenced they were taking Wm. H. Madden from the grocery to Elsey’s house. The Smith boys cursed and abused him a good deal, then threw off their coats, and run after him. They overtook Madden and knocked him down from out of the arms of Anderson Chappel. Outside of Elsey’s gate the Smith boys struck and kicked him. Thomas Hickman, Joseph Melton, Francis M. Elsey, and one of the Runnels boys, went to part them, but one of the Smith boys struck Hickman, knocking him against Elsey’s fence. Mr. Hickman left them, running home. A revolver was fired and James Smith fell. Francis M. Elsey started to run. Runnels shot him as he passed his woodpile. He fell, arose, caught his foot in a brush, and fell again. Again, James Runnels shot him. Elsey arose, and ran. Runnels pursued, and shot at him around the house. James Runnels later said he hit Elsey as much as twice.”
Louisa Jane Shelton then noticed Polly Ann Elsey. She was standing in the door. She had her right hand on the door facing, and her left hand on the door. James Boren ran up to Polly Ann and called her a “damn bitch!” he told her she aught to be shot. She begged him for “God’s sake, don’t shoot me!” At the crack of a revolver, she exclaimed, “Oh, Lord, I am shot!”
Louisa Jane started from Thomas Hickman’s to go to Polly Ann, but James Boren told her to go back or he would shoot her. He told her if she wanted to know who shot Elsey’s wife, he was the man who done it, and if necessary, he would shoot her again, because she was a Rebel!
Pitser Mashburn and James Runnels, having carried Francis M. Elsey in from the field, threw him over the yard fence. Elsey begged to be carried into the house, but they cursed him and told him he should lay out with the dead men where he belonged. They told Mrs. Elsey to “dry up and keep her mouth shut for they had shot her once already, and would shoot her again!” She died.
James Runnels kept jumping on Elsey, Threatening to shoot him again, until Pitser Mashburn got him away. Pitser Mashburn told he would carry Elsey into the Union Warehouse, and burn the house, having him very dead before sun-up. Several swore they would kill Elsey, and burn every house in town, except Shackleford’s and Bailey’s before daylight.
Julius C. Bailey and Henry Carroll, at the request of Dr. James E. Carter, carried one body of the deceased Smith’ boys from the public road into Francis M. Elsey’s house; the other body into Thomas Hickman’s house. Later, the body in Elsey’s house was removed to the Hickman’ home.
Charles Tallman, a Judge of the Miller County Court, acting as a special coroner, convened a coroner’s jury. Dr. George Mitchell, having examined the dead bodies, reported to the jurors that the body of George W. Smith had upon it a shot wound caused by a ball entering a little above the right hip, lodging in the left kidney; causing death almost immediately. The body of James G. Smith was marked by a shot wound caused by a ball entering through the backbone, then, having passed between the kidneys, lodged in the bowels; causing death instantly. Also, a shot wound was on his left arm.
The following day, at the Sulky Church house, depositions were taken from witnesses. Pitser Mashburn testified George Smith was shot by Francis M. Elsey; and that James G. Smith was shot by Francis M. Elsey; with out provocation to do the deed in either case. He indicated Wm. H Madden was the principal cause of the affray, in the first instance, by calling James G. Smith a Rebel!
On Monday, the first day of January, 1866, trial proceeded. The evidence, being heard, was reduced to writing. When finished, Court adjourned until Tuesday.
On Tuesday, Charles Tallman, a Justice of the Peace, and a Justice of the Miller County Court, indicated the evidence presented to him and the jurors was insufficient to justify an indictment. He ordered the defendants discharged from arrest; their weapons restored to them.
However, James Long and George Long could never forget December 25, 1865. They filed affidavits with John Bear, a Justice of the Peace, that James Madden, Wm. H. Madden, Woody Madden, A.J. Madden, James Madden, Jr., Edmund Madden, F.M. Elsey, Calvin Elsey, Jasper Page, Absalom Page, Joseph Melton, Reuben Melton, Andrew Chappel, and others, having threatened at different times, before and since Christmas day, 1865, to kill them and their families.
Their affidavits stated “These men are going about armed contrary to law, making threats of violence toward us and our families. We have abandoned our homes because of their threats and are afraid to return for fear of being hurt.”
Squire John Bear commanded the Sheriff or any Constable to bring the persons charged into his court. A.J. Madden, Edmund Madden, F.M. Elsey, Calvin Elsey, Jasper Page, Joseph Melton, and Reuben Melton could not be found; having left the county. In J.P. Court they were put on trial in absentia, with the others present, and all were acquitted except Wm. H. Madden and Anderson Chappel, who, found guilty as charged, were bound over to Circuit Court.
On February 12, 1866, Isaac Stepp and Zebidee Busic were in J.H. Sloan’s house at Pleasant Mount. “They were very peaceable while at my place,” Mr. Sloan said, “but mentioned they wanted to whip somebody.”
About noon, they left Sloan’s house, going over to Spalding & Bro’s store, loitering outside.
H.C. Atkinson, going into the store, overheard Stepp and Busic talking about E.A. Henry, Stepp said, “I want to hit Henry five licks!” Busic said, “I want to knock him down first!” Stepp then said, “I want to give Henry a good licking!”
Entering the store, Stepp and Busic confronted Albert P. Hart, Joel B. Clark, Thomas J. Spalding, and H.C. Atkinson by the cracker barrel. Edward A. Henry, at the counter, was trading. Busic, stopping near the stove, stood, smiling while Stepp went the counter saying, sarcastically, “Why here is Mr. Henry!”
The following narrative by Edward A. Henry clearly unfolds what transpired between them.
“I came into Pleasant Mount and hitched my nag close to Spalding and Bro’s. store,” E.A. Henry said. “I immediately started to the Post Office, but upon seeing it closed, returned to the store of Captain Franklin. From there I went to Spalding & Bro’s store, and called for some articles I wished to purchase. I stood at the counter, and as the clerk wrapped up my articles, I took out my money. While standing with the money in my hand, I noticed Isaac Stepp and Zebidee Busic outside the store door, in conversation.
“Isaac Stepp came into the store with Zeb Busic behind him. Stepp stopped near me, while Busic stood near the stove. Stepp said, by way of invitation, Why here is Mr. Henry! He must go with us!
“I refused to go. Stepp then turned around, and whispered to Busic. I walked across to the other counter, and picked up the things they had for me there.
“Stepp turned around and said, I am a Radical. Not only that, I wonder if everybody here is a Radical?
“He then asked several persons in the store if there were Radical. He asked me if I was. I said yes. He asked me if I was ever a Rebel? I answered no. I think he then laid his hat on the counter and asked, Will you swear to that before Almighty God and these witnesses? He repeated the question. Both times I answered in the affirmative in order to avoid a difficulty.
“I think no more was said until Isaac Stepp struck me twice; one very hard lick in the face. I moved toward the back of the store, warding off Stepp’s blows as best I could. About this time Stepp drew a revolver out of a scabbard from under his coat, and presented it with the muzzle toward me. He was going to shoot me I struck at the revolver, and either hit it, or his arm. The revolver dropped to the floor.
“About this time I saw Zebidee Busic trying to strike me with an ax handle,” Henry continued. “It was a common new handle. Busic, chopping fashion, had it raised in both hands. I cannot say he hit me, but something struck me harder than a fist. I then retreated to the front door of the storehouse. As I passed Zeb Busic, I think John Busic, his brother, had ahold of him. “I ran about two thirds of the way to Franklin’s store, Stepp having ahold of me part of the time, and striking at me part of the time. We stopped, and here, I saw Zeb Busic coming after us in a run. Breaking away from Stepp, I ran through the store of W.T. Franklin, into Captain Franklin’s house. Near the door, I met Captain Franklin coming out, and told him to stop the men after me, for they meant to kill me!
I then heard Mr. Franklin in loud talk with the others. The Captain told them they could not go in. While he stalled the, I slipped out of the back door, crossed the field, and ran into the woods,” Henry concluded.
E.A. Henry was discovered about the time he was leaving the field. Someone hollered “Yonder he goes!” Stepp, jumping upon a horse went a short distance, taking up Busic behind him. Rapidly riding, they hastened around the south side of the field to about where Henry had got into the woods, but never got nearer to him than two or three hundred yards.
Captain W.T. Franklin said, “I was near my dwelling house when Mr. Henry passed me, bleeding like he had been in a fight. Entering my house, he asked me to stop the men after him.”
“Stepp and Busic, coming up, told me they had been in fight with a Rebel,” Captain Franklin continued. “They told me he had run into my house, and they were going in after him. I prevailed on the boys not to go in, and Busic, having a small bowie knife in his hand asked me if I would harbor a Rebel? I said I would not.”
It was Captain Franklin’s opinion if the boys had got Henry out of his house “they would have used Henry pretty darned rough!”
Thomas J. Spalding thought the parties friendly until Stepp said to Henry, “I believe you are a damned Rebel! I thought Stepp was going to mall Henry like thunder,” Spalding concluded.
On February 15, 1866, in Squire Benjamin Conner’s court, E.A. Henry was charged with robbery in the first degree. It seemed a horse may have been stolen by him in the months of May or June, 1861. The horse was in the possession of Thomas Gier, but actually belonged to his young daughter, Nancy.
Nancy A. Gier informed Squire Benjamin Conner that on the 24th day of December, 1865, she was fourteen years of age. As a witness, she was objected to by opposing counsel because of her age, but Squire Conner ruled the law contemplated age when presented, not when a transaction was made or seen.
She was then asked what was known by her about the taking of her horse from her father’s field. She remembered being in the field when the men came. She was near her father.
Nancy said, “Mr. Henry came into the field, and told my father if he did not give up the horse he would shoot his brains out, and presented a gun at him. He pushed my father down, and led the horse of by the mane. Little Bill Wadley, and Jack Wadley, were with Mr. Henry. Little Bill Wadley had a gun. He kept it in his hand until he left. The horse was led away by Ed Henry. It was in May or June, but I do not remember the year.”
“Was it in the year the War began?” inquired Squire Conner. Nancy answered, “It was.” She continued, “Even though I saw my father and Little Bill Wadley together after that, my father would never say anything about it, having fear for his life.”
Some time after the horse was taken, Nancy’s father, Thomas Gier, died.
Dennis Conner said, “Just after the Lexington fight I wanted Mr. Henry to pay my grand-daughter something for the horse, but he did not say much, just turned pale in the face. I told him then I was not afraid of him, and hain’t never was. Henry said if Little Bill Wadley would pay his part, he would pay his.”
Rachel, widow of Israel Newton, married Phillip H. Berry in the 1840’s. Five children were born of this marriage before Phillip’s death in 1855; Thomas J., Edmund, Joseph L., John William, and Mary E.
Israel Newton, Jr., Thomas J., and Joseph L. left the place; only Edmund remaining of age enough to be of assistance to his mother.
Nancy A. Stepp, during the 1860’s lived with Rachel, the two women maintaining themselves under very difficult circumstances in the best manner they could. They often rustled hogs and sheep, which got them into trouble with neighbors, but by doing this, they managed to feed and clothe themselves and the children. Then, on February 21, 1866, there occurred an awful tragedy.
Rachael, away from the house, was carrying water from a spring. Edmund, when she left the dwelling, was seated behind the table waiting for his supper. Nancy Stepp, at the fire-place, was preparing cakes. John William and Mary E., behind the dwelling, were playing childish games, unaware their mother was leaving for the spring to draw water.
Men, suddenly riding up, quickly dismounted from their horses. Brandishing revolvers, they entered the dwelling. Nancy A. Stepp, standing near the fire-place, was immediately shot by one of the men through the right side of the left breast. She fell instantly dead, into the fireplace. Edmund, at the table, jumping up, was shot by the same man through the right side of the chest. Falling, his body upset the table; dishes crashing, breaking, and scattering over the floor. Placing torches to the building, the men hastened away.
Mary E. and John William, playing behind the house, were aware of horses having run-up, and o men having entered the house. Through an opening in the chinks they saw Nancy fall into the fireplace. The heard the shots, a crashing of dishes, and the crackling of flames. Believing their mother, Edmund, and Nancy were dead, knowing of nothing else to do in their childish minds, they fled into the woods.
Rachael, carrying two filled water buckets, returned from the spring, flinging the contents of the wooden buckets into the dwelling. Quietly, she stood, knowing her children and Nancy were dead. With tears in her eyes she watched the flames until her dwelling faded into glowing embers, then with a heavy heart, left the place. Several days later, neighbors found John William and Mary E. in the woods; two very wild, terrified, half naked, and almost starved children.
On March 7, 1866, John Bear, a Justice of the Peace, as acting Coroner, commanded a jury be summoned by Constable of Equality township, and the death of Willis Robertson inquired into. At 3 ‘clock, p.m., Wesley A. Hackney, D.E. Hopkins, Alonzo Peters, John Weitz, William Posten, and Abraham J. Hoagland appeared at the Courthouse. When convened as a jury, they found Willis Robertson’s death caused by a pistol or gunshot wound through the right hip, fired by Solomon Tallman or John Mooreland; placed over Robertson as guards by William H. Timberlake, a Deputy Sheriff fro Cass County.
Judge Charles Tallman informed the Coroner’s Jury, “A Mr. Timberlake came to my house on the evening of the 5th of March, 1866, in company with a man named Willis Robertson. He claimed Robertson had been arrested and was in his custody on a charge of horse stealing. Timberlake claimed he was a deputy Sheriff from Cass county, acting with full authority as such. My son was summoned by him to help guard the deceased. During the night, Robertson, attempting to escape, was fired upon by my son, and Mr. Mooreland. From this gunfire, Robertson was mortally wounded. Mr. Timberlake immediately left for Tuscumbia, having employed Jerry Tallman to carry the corpse here. Mr. Timberlake should have appeared by now.”
John D. Carlton said, “I was at Judge Tallman’s on the night a Mr. Timberlake appeared at his house. He had in his company a young man by the name of Willis Robertson, a stranger. Soloman Tallman, son of Judge Tallman, was helping to guard the prisoner. I left Mr. Tallman’s place about eight o’clock at night. On my road home I heard a gun or pistol fired. Soon after that Mr. Tallman’s son came to my house and told me the prisoner had attempted to get away from them, and he was shot dead. I immediately returned to Mr. Tallman’s house. The deceased was lying on a sofa. Timberlake said it was his case, and the death was his own responsibility. Jerry Tallman was hired by him to haul the deceased to Tuscumbia, but Jerry employed Samuel C. Parsons. I accompanied him. The body was brought here by parsons and myself, where Mr. Timberlake had promised to be, but never has he arrived.”
Nor did he ever!
On February 22, 1866, Joseph S. Adcock was in the Blue Spring’s community, collecting for Dr. Rial M. Hargett, a physician and surgeon by profession, of Pleasant Mount.
Rachael Jones said, “Last Thursday, the 22nd of February, Joseph S. Adcock was at my house about one-half hour, collecting for Dr. Hargett. He left by place going toward the Blue Spring Church house. I saw him until he got out of sight. I did not see him again. His horse came to this place two days later without any saddle or bridle on.”
“When Mr. Adcock came into the house,” Rachael continued, “there was no one in except myself, Joseph Jones, and the little children. There was a young man who had just stepped out, his name, I think, Zebidee Busic. I know of no cause for his leaving. He was close to the house, but he never came in while Mr. Adcock was present. I left home that evening and went to church.”
“I was at Rachael Jones’ place on Thursday,” George W. Babcock said, “and noticed several horses at her house. The horses belonged to Thomas and William Conner. They were loose, running out. When I left, one horse was in the stable. I first saw this horse tied to a bush in the southwesterly course form the house, with Zeb Busic standing close by the animal. What called my attention to the horse in the first place was the bursting of some four or five caps, which Joseph Jones and myself investigated. We found Zeb Busic and Benjamin “Bub” Jones standing together. After talking with Busic a few minutes we returned to the house, Zeb and Ben Bub with us, where Busic spoke of loading his revolver. He asked Joseph Jones for some powder; and was handed the powder horn. Then I left, but noticed, when some two hundred yards from the house, a man on a dark gray horse, riding up, stopped at the gate, and getting down, went into the dwelling.”
“I went on to Sally Conner’s place,” Babcock continued, “where I stopped and talked a few minutes; then started for Davy McCombs. I had got across the creek when I heard the report of two guns, about one minute apart, in a westerly direction from me. The firing occurred from ne-half to three-quarters of an hour after my leaving from the Jones’ place.”
Nehemiah Jones said, “Joseph Adcock came to our house last Thursday, on horseback, collecting for Pleasant Mount’s Dr. Hargett. My brother, Daniel J. Jones, was at home and my mother was present. George Babcock, just leaving, was in sight of the house. He was looking for dogs that had been killing his sheep.”
“Mr. Adcock was in about half-an-hour,” Nehemiah continued, “between 1 and 2 o’clock, p.m. He went from our house toward the Blue Spring Church. Mr. Adcock was riding a dark gray horse.”
Almina Conner said, “On Thursday evening I saw Thomas Jones coming from the Spring, and going towards home. Benjamin “Bub” Jones came to the house and inquired if anyone had seen Tommy? I answered yes, he’s out back, talking to Daniel Conner, close to the house.”
Sally Conner stated, “George Babcock was at my house on Thursday. When he left he sarted toward David McCombs, east of my house. Fifteen minutes or so after George left I heard the report of two guns. The report of the guns was west from my house, in the direction of where Adcock was killed. I hurried to the home of Rachael Jones after the guns fired.”
On February 25, 1866, Joseph S. Adcock, having been robbed and shot, was found by Josiah Elliott, about one-half mile from the Blue Spring Church house.
Mr. Elliott said, “I found the body about 4 o’clock in the afternoon. From all appearances he was killed right where he lay. Myself and others were on the search for him as had stayed over his time. We came onto a horse track, pursuing it, came to the body. Had the appearance of a man track walking beside the horse. The body was away from the road, lying in a hollow, about a half-mile from the Blue Spring Church, in a westerly direction.”
I found his papers around his body in various directions,” Elliott continued. “Also, close to the body, I found a place where a horse had been hitched, apparently for some time. There was a bridle tied to a tree, a saddle blanket lying close to it, and riding blanket not too far distant. The deceased was lying on his back, left hand under him, the right hand extended; a hat nearby. Close to him I saw no indications of tracks, but I did a short distance from the body in a westerly direction. The body had the appearance of having been there two or three days.”
In the afternoon of April 17, 1866, at two o’clock, p.m. William M. Lumpkin was southwest of C. Gordon Stephen’s farm, about half-a-mile. He was with Captain William T. Franklin, Lieutenant Benjamin F. Locke, Captain James Johnston, Wayne W. Stepp, John Swofford, Jasper N. Henley, and W.D. Simpson.
They were tracking three horses stolen the previous night, having discovered the animals close by Stephen’s arm, tied in a secret place. Nearby they found three men, hiding, in deep ravine. Two of the men, about 20 yards from the horses, were lying on their elbows, the other man crouched against the roots of a fallen tree, in a sitting position.
Captain Franklin ordered the men place under arrest, and forcibly seized, if necessary.
According to Captain James Johnston, “When within about 20 or 25 steps of the men, Captain Franklin hollered, Gentlemen, Surrender! You are my prisoners!”
“The men,” William M. Lumpkin said, “instantly jumped to their feet, firing upon us! Captain Franklin commanded us to return the fire. We were distant at the beginning of the affray about 40 yards.”
“We approached the men, on foot,” Lumpkin continued, “in position; Lieutenant Locke on the left of the line, myself on the right. I recognized two of the men, William and James Matthew. The third man was a stranger.”
“William Matthew exchanged shots with us,” Lumpkin said, “then jumping behind a sapling, elevated his revolver and fired across before me in the direction of Locke. Twice he shot at me. Matthew had his face toward Johnston, but then, when he raised his revolver, he turned, firing at Locke, who was away about 45 feet.”
“To Captain Johnston, William Matthew hollered he would surrender,” Lumpkin continued, “and Johnston replied, then stop your shooting! However he continued firing upon us, eight or nine times, so his fire was returned by us.”
Here, the unknown third party, and James Matthew, breaking away from concealment, commenced running hastily retreating up the steep hillside, with Captain Franklin and Wayne W. Stepp in hot pursuit.
When only 20 steps or less up the hill, James Matthew was fired upon by John Swofford, carrying a navy pistol with a four inch barrel, Matthew, whirling around, fired at Swofford, the ball grazing Swofford’s body under his right arm, near the shoulder. Jasper N. Henley, carrying a colts navy with an eight inch barrel, fired upon Matthew, splitting the bark on a tree by his head. Splinters flew in Matthew’s face, and he turned, scurrying up the hillside beside the stranger; Captain Franklin and Wayne Stepp desperately trying to close-up the distance between them, with Swofford and Henley, hastening up, forcing the chase.
At the top of the hill, the stranger or Matthew hollered for Captain Franklin to kiss his something or other, but Stepp and Henley almost kissed the stranger with death. The stranger, on the brow of the hill, having momentarily paused, was fired upon, at the same instant, by Henley and Stepp. One shot knocked off an ear, while the other hit the stranger’s cap bill. The cap sitting slantingly upon his head immediately was worn in a different position. The stranger and Matthew, running down the ridge, disappeared in the brush.
As the chase occurred up the ravine, William Matthew remained behind the sapling. Lieutenant Locke was on the brow of a small rise, on higher ground than Matthew. The rise inclined toward the junction of the ravine with the hollow. Locke was six, seven, or maybe ten degrees higher than Matthew. He could have been higher for the ground was very steep. Matthew, leveling upon Locke, fired, and the Lieutenant fell, instantly dead!
William M. Lumpkin and Captain James Johnston, firing upon Matthew, finally hit him. When hit, Matthew threw his weapon in the direction of where Locke lay dead, then, turning, commenced running, retreating in a westerly direction. For some time, he was pursued by Lumpkin and Johnston, but upon hearing firing across the ravine, they ceased the chase.
Forty-five to fifty shots were fired before the men escaped. Twenty to thirty minutes afterward Lieutenant Locke was found by Wayne W. Stepp and Alexander S. Spalding. He was lying on his stomach, face down; his heard up the hill. The buckle of his right suspender was bent where the ball pierced his right breast, having passed through his chest, coming out the side of his left breast, almost under his left arm. Immediately, the body of Lieutenant Locke was heaved upon a horse and carried by Alexander Spalding to Pleasant Mount. Here, C.C. Simpson found the ball which killed him.
“I got the ball while we were undressing Locke at Mr. Spalding’s house in Pleasant Mount,” C.C. Simpson said. “It fell from his left side. It dropped out of his shirt. I saw the hole in his left side where it came out. It was a ball from a Remington and Cold pistol, caliber 44.”
Captain Franklin, talking about the skirmish, informed listeners of having known the Matthew’ boys for about ten years. “Myself, and the party with me, got in about 40 or 50 yards of the boys, who were sitting down like, by the roots of a tree. I hollered to them to surrender. I said you are my prisoners, and called Wm. Matthew by name. I knew the Matthew’s in sight, but not the third man. He was a stranger.
“We approached them,” Captain Franklin continued, “and William Matthew shot twice at us, then we began shooting. About that time James Matthew and the other party unknown to me, started up the hollow. Wayne Stepp and I followed the up the hill. They fled in a southern direction. In our advance I think Locke was on my left. The last time I saw him he was on the side of the hill five or six steps from where he was found dead. I guess I saw Locke about half-an-hour after he was killed.”
Captain James Johnston described the skirmish in similar words. He recognized William and James Matthew on sighting them. “When within about 20 or 25 steps of them.” He said, “Captain Franklin commanded their surrender two or three times. Then William Matthew began firing. We fired back. After the second round William got behind a tree, and the other two men started running. I saw the flash and heard the report at the time William Matthew threw his arm off to his right and shot in the direction of where Locke lay dead.”
Johnston related, “Twenty or thirty minutes after the firing ceased, I saw Locke. I think Wayne Stepp and Alec Spalding got to him first. None of our party knew that Locke had been killed until we found him. There were two shots gone out of Locke’s revolver, and cocked for a third.”
Twenty or more steps up the ravine from Locke’s body Captain Franklin found William Matthew’s revolver. It was a Colts Army revolver, a very large weapon. Only Captain Franklin carried a revolver of comparable size.
J.N. Henley noticed William Matthew shooting at him. “He shot twice in my direction. James Matthew and the stranger fired at me as they ran up the hill. One shot brushed my sleeve. I returned the compliment. I either hit the stranger’s ear or cap bill. Captain Franklin had ordered them to surrender and called William Matthew by name.”
The stolen horses were securely hitched about 150 yards from where the three men were first seen by Captain Franklin’s men.
William M. Lumpkin said, “the horses we discovered were stolen eight miles from that place. Two of the horses were from Mrs. Kizziah Simpson’s stable. The horses were very securely tied.” John Swofford said, “Two of the horses belonged to widow Kizziah Simpson. They were a bay horse and a gray mare. I saw no saddles on the horses, and there were no saddles left by the men. I had helped track=up the horses from widow Simpson’s to where they were found.
James G. Hoff reported that on the night of the 16th of April, 1866, a sorrel mare was stolen from his stable. “I fed her at dark that evening, and the next time I saw her was at a place about half-a-mile south of Stephens. My stable is seven or eight miles from Gord Stephens.”
Where the men camped, Captain Franklin discovered a carpet bag, clothing, and some overcoats. “one coat was black,” Captain Johnston said, “covered with gray horse hairs. I saw one short coat or soldier’s jacket. It was a blue coat.”
“I fired three times upon the men, W.D. Simpson said, “then my pistol hung up, and on the fourth fire the barrel busted. Everyone commenced running.”
During the hour following the skirmish, having looked after Lieutenant Locke, Captain Franklin’s men were observed in private conferences with each other, and then, with sullen countenances, evidencing a hostile temper, they rode in a tumultuous manner away from the place, threatening the thunder of their vengeance upon the men having caused the death of Lieutenant Locke.
They learned from John C. Slater that, on the day before, William Matthew was seen a number of times near the residence of C. Gordon Stephens. Matthew was riding a bay nag, thin in order, according to Slater, accompanied by two other men a part of the day, who rode off to the direction of north.
Upon this information, Captain Franklin and his men, hastened to Stephens’ residence where, reigning up their horses, they summoned Stephens out of his house.
C. Gordon Stephens was struck with terror at the wrath of Franklin’s men! Although William Matthew had stayed the previous night in his house, Stephens informed Franklin of not having seen Matthew since the morning of the day before.
Much later, Stephens said his reason for telling “I had not seen William Matthew since the day previous was because Lumpkin told me he had seen William, James and David Martin with three horses. I was afraid if I told them Matthew stayed at my house they might think I was a party to the deed. I was afraid Franklin and his crowd would kill me. Although Franklin and his crowd treated me with respect, if they had known William Matthew was at my house the previous night, I believe they would have endangered my life. They seemed mad about the thing Matthew had done.”
“I saw Matthew the day and night before the shooting,” C. Gordon Stephens continued. “for about four years I have been acquainted with William Matthew. I first saw him about 9 ‘Clock in the morning. He came to me on the farm, but told me he had to get back or the boys would become tired of waiting. I asked him, What boys? He answered, James Matthew and David Martin. He asked leave to go to my shop and fix his pistol. He came to my house again after dark, and informed me he was going to California to get on the cars, that James and David had gone around the other road, already. James, he said, wanted to meet one of his old soldier mates. Upon coming in he indicated he wanted to get as far as Pleasant Mount to breakfast, then pull on to California in time for the cars.”
“I told him to go to the other room and to bed,” Gordon said. “During the night I saw him go toward the door of the bedroom, and I heard him say he would leave before sunup. While the chickens were crowing about an hour and a half before day, I heard some person in the room. There were noises like a chair knocking about, a door opening and shutting, then footsteps on the porch. Someone hollered Good-bye, Gord! I took it to be William Matthew’s voice. I didn’t think it anyone else but him.”
After escaping from Captain Franklin, and his men, James Matthew, David Martin, and William Matthew, the last two men wounded, fled in great alarm for protection to their lives. Crossing the Osage river, they made camp in a hollow between the hills, by a small creek, about a half-mile from William Padgett’s house.
Captain Franklin, vexed by the death of one of his men, mustered out a posse, secured a writ, and with five talented scouts from the late conflict, went after the men.
His more experienced scouts soon fell upon the trail of the three men, crossing the Osage river near Fair Play. About a half-mile from William Padgett’s house, in a hollow, the scouts found a shovel, and a bucket, used by the men.
With a scout tracing tracks into a field, Benjamin Roark and Josiah Goodman went to Padgett’s house. Padgett first informed them of knowing nothing concerning the men they were pursuing, but after extensive questioning, informed Goodman and Roark of having seen William Matthew.
“I first saw Matthew,” Padgett said, “while out in the field. Matthew hollered for me to come to him. I went over, and Matthew said he was hungry, wounded, and weak from loss of blood; that William Franklin had shot him. He told me he was present when Locke was killed. He came here night before last, and left here yesterday.”
Captain Franklin said, “On the 20th of April I came to William Padgett’s house with a posse of men to arrest William and James Matthew. I had a writ. On getting to Padgett’s place, I found him at home. Ed Riggs and Jnl. Reynolds were there, and for some reason all appeared familiar with the circumstances of the happening across the river.”
“This, they had no way of knowing until we came up, so I took Padgett aside,” Franklin continued, and after much inquiry, he said, “Matthew had come to his place on Friday evening, the 19th of April, 1866, having taken victuals out in the woods; bread and meat for food, rags and tallow for his wounds, and helped him.”
“Why did you not arrest Matthew?” Franklin inquired, and Padgett replied, “I was afraid of Matthew, had no writ, and knew of no one who would help me!”
Near Sugar creek the scouts found the men hiding in a little bluff’s cavern, near a small spring of running water. David Martin, on sentry duty at the opening, hearing the men coming, deserted his comrades without warning them. William and James Matthew were taken into custody.
What became of David Martin is unknown, having escaped, but he may have died. “His ear was pussed, and streaking red over the whole side of his face, the Matthews informed Captain Franklin.
Many, many horses were stolen in this period of history, but only two examples will be given.
On December 1, 1866, someone stole and rode away from the possession of James Stone, one chestnut sorrel mare, and from Isaac Lee, one sorrel mare.
“I saw one of the mares on the 10th of December, 1866, at Moselle Station, in Franklin county,” Thomas Murphy said. “A man came and offered to sell me a sorrel mare as his property. He told me if he could sell this mare he would go to work at a place nearby. He took me to the stable at Moselle station, where the mare was shown to me. I inquired what would he take for the animal, and he told me one hundred dollars, but would take less if he could not get that. The mare was worth one hundred dollars, but I would not buy. I feared something was wrong, for Isaac Lee rode this mare in the Big Richwoods when I was in Miller county.” Murphy concluded.
In the month of September, 1867, a sorrel mare, 3 years of age, was stolen from the premises of Thomas Winfrey, and a bay mare, 4 years old, was stolen from the enclosure of Zachariah Wiseman.
Betty Luttrell said, “The evening before Winfrey’s and Wiseman’s mares were reported stolen I saw three men up the hollow come out of the bushes two or three times, then go back. It was so far, I couldn’t see who they were.”
The next day, H.G. Luttrell, traveling in the wagon to Mahally Luttrell’s house, was going after Aunt Sally Runnels, for Henry Luttrell’s wife was very ill, and she wanted Aunt Sally to come and see her.
H.G. Luttrell said, “Ellen Luttrell was with me, and as we rode up, two men sitting by the chimney with Elizabeth Thorton, and a Mashburn girl, ran into the cornfield, the girls following.
In 1870, Elizabeth Luttrell, formerly Elizabeth Thorton, informed Squire Hezekiah Robinett, of Glaze township, “In the fall of 1867, I resided in Camden county, near the Miller county line. Two boys were near my residence in September of that year, and I heard them say they intended to have horses before they went out. The next day they returned with the horses described from Glaze township. That was the day Ellen Luttrell came there after my Grandmother to go and see Henry Luttrell’s wife.”
“I am married now, but I was not at that time,” Elizabeth continues. “They had their saddles hid at the back of the cornfield, under a brush pile. I saw the boys take them out. I was standing by the fence with the Mashburn girl. I saw the mares in their actual possession; one a bay, and one a sorrel. They were riding them. Their horses were tied out in the woods near where the saddles where hid. I did not pay particular attention to the saddles, but one had brass on the horn of it, and on the back.”
“One of the boys said the sorrel belonged to Winfrey. He said he would call his mare after Winfrey’s wife, if he knew her name. He did not say what Winfrey the mare belonged to,” Elizabeth Luttrell concluded.
On September 14, 1867, James W. Stephens, Constable and ministerial officer of Saline township, was concerned in the preservation of the peace by quieting a certain riot and affray then being had in the town of Pleasant Mount. He was assaulted, obstructed, resisted and opposed in the exercise of his duties by William and Jacob Gilleland, John McClure, and William Stubblefield.
Constable James W. Stephens said, “On the mentioned day, at the town of Pleasant Mount, Jacob and William Gilleland, John McClure, William Stubblefield, and others were in the grocery. James Agee came out swinging. I hollered Men, don’t fight! I saw William Stubblefield draw a revolver. I caught the revolver and wrung it from his hand. Stubblefield said, Alright, then, I’ll use some cold steel! He drew a knife from his boot leg. I called on the boys around me for help. I caught the knife by the bone, and held on until help was given me. He resisted until the knife was forced from his hand.”
“I then endeavored,” the Constable said, “to part James Agee and James Buster, who were fighting. John McClure said they should not be parted. He shoved me back. I was struck a hard lick in the face by someone unknown. John McClure held a revolver in his hand.”
Captain W.T. Franklin saw William Stubblefield drawing a revolver. He ran to assist. About the time he reached the porch, the revolver was taken. Stubblefield swore there was some cold steel he could use. He pulled up his pant’s leg, drawing a large bowie knife. “I made lunge to get it,” Captain Franklin said, “but some person unknown to me hit me on the nose, and I fell backward. When I awoke, Buster and Agee were fighting, but were parted. In a short time they were at it again! Stubblefield pulled his dirk and drew it up as if to strike someone.”
“The Constable came up behind him,” Captain Franklin continued. “He grabbed the knife, and with assistance from others, took it away. The Constable then commanded all to assist in parting Buster and Agee, who were fighting, but John McClure stood around and over them with a revolver in his hand. He said he would shoot any man who tried parting them. The Constable went to part them, but he was struck, and pushed back by McClure. The Constable went to the other side, and William Gilleland struck him on the shoulder, then on the chin, which felled him to his knees. Harrison said, “Billy, what in hell have you got against me? The noise of the fight,” Franklin concluded, “could be heard for three-quarters of a mile.”
When the disturbance started, Pinkney S. Miller was standing on Dr. Rial M. Hargett’s front porch. He started running down the street, but stopped 50 or 60 yards from Franklin’s store when he noticed William Stubblefield with a revolver in his hand. As Stubblefield drew up the weapon Pinkney heard the Constable yell “Men, take that revolver!” The Constable, assisted by two men, wrung the revolver from his hand. Here, Pinkney S. noticed Agee and Buster fighting. The Constable and William Stubblefield scuffled on the street. Stubblefield had a knife.
“Myself, and others, went to his assistance,” Pinkney said, “and took the knife from Stubblefield. The Constable said Gentlemen, I summons all of you to part these men! The Constable, myself, and others, ran up to part them, but were ordered to stop by John McClure, who pushed the Constable backward. He then drew a revolver on me. He ordered me not to come any closer. William Gilleland was also ordering people not to touch the parties fighting. He struck Wesley Harrison who was endeavoring to part them. Gilleland struck the Constable, parting Stephen’s beard with his fist, knocking him backward.”
George Shipley said, “Constable James Stephens summoned everyone to come and assist with the taking of a knife from William Stubblefield. I sprang from my horse and went to his assistance. After we had taken the knife, Stubblefield struck me in the back of the head, and things flew before my eyes.”
William G. Clark was standing about 30 feet from the parties fighting. He noticed William Stubblefield’s knife had a kind of bone handle with some brass about it, with a blade six inches in length. He saw Stubblefield strike George Shipley somewhere about the back of the head.
Wesley Adcock noticed the Constable, in trying to separate the parties fighting, was pushed backward by John McClure, then William Gilleland struck him a terrible lick in the whiskers.
Thomas Shelton said, “There is some old grudge between these men from the late affair between the states. William Gilleland is an own uncle to my wife, and John McClure is married to my wife’s aunt. The boys are going to have to bury the past, but when influenced by spirits, men seem unable to forget.”
Calaway H. Brown was in Pleasant Mount, on Saturday, April 15, 1871. Most of the day he stood around doing nothing in particular. Past the noon hour, Calaway noticed a violent controversy for several minutes between Edward Stepp and William Long. Some said there was an old grudge between these men from the late conflict. They occupied a place in the street near the saddle shop. Calaway, suspecting trouble was brewing between these men, watched their conduct. At length, the affair having reached its extreme, Edward Stepp struck Mr. Long a solid lick in the face. Long was staggered by the blow, but by dancing around kept his balance, and remained standing.
Like a bolt of lightning the account of this affair spread among the people in town. Almost instantly, a crowd was in front of Frank Swanson’s saddle shop.
Inside of Spalding’s store-house several people were trading, Benjamin Hinds among them. When informed of Long being struck by Ed Stepp, his feelings seemed to have been greatly excited, for he acted with excessive vigor, storming out of the store building, appearing very angry. He spoke to no one in particular, but protested, some person in town, having humiliated his good friend, William Long, aught to be whipped.
Edward Stepp easing toward him, when close enough; struck Benjamin Hinds in the face. Stepp later testified, “I just walked over and struck Ben with my fist!” David Stepp said Edward hit Benjamin “on the side of the head!”
Joseph Caldwell pulled them apart, but in separating them, Stepp was shoved down. When Ed got up he had a rock in his hand, which was thrown at Hinds. The rock struck Benjamin’s head over the left eye, under the hair.
Caldwell said, “From the looks of the stone, I think it would have weighed a pound. When the rock hit Ben’s head, it beat up against the house. Ed and Ben were less than ten feet apart when the rock was thrown. I saw the wound on Ben’s head. It was in a triangular shape, and pooched out.”
George W. Adcock noticed Stepp throwing a rock as big as a man’s fist. The rock hit the building three or four feet from where he stood.
William Etter said, “The stone seemed to rise some what from Ben’s head to the wall. Hinds was bareheaded.”
Calaway H. Brown, having watched the affair from its beginning, saw Hinds by the side of Joseph Caldwell. “Ed Stepp walked up and struck Hinds. Ben, jerking a knife from his coat, lifted the blade, moving toward Edward. Joseph Caldwell, grabbing Ed, shoved him back, Ed falling to the ground. Hinds, running up, struck at Ed before he could get up.”
Alexander M. Sullens testified “with a knife in his right hand, Ben Hinds ran toward Stepp, striking at Edward, his wrist smashing upon Ed’s shoulder. The knife passed over his shoulder in the clear. The point of the blade was down from his hand. Hinds struck again, and Ed Stepp, throwing out his arms, gave backward. The point of the blade came on down and stuck in Ben Hind’s leg.”
David Stepp said, “Ben struck Edward over the left shoulder. Ed was knocked backward by the blow. From the same lick the knife came on down, taking effect in Benjamin’s leg.”
Buckner J. Russell, standing about 20 feet east of Swanson’s shop door when the rock was thrown by Stepp, noticed “At the time of Edward’s throwing, I discovered Benjamin falling. He fell to the ground, quite loose! Thomas Shelton, the Constable, picked Ben up.”
According to Jesse F. Turpin, Benjamin Hinds, about the time of the throwing of his brother, Joseph, said, “Jo, what in hell are you doing? Do you intend to stand there and suffer me killed?”
It was believed by some persons that Benjamin’s knife struck his leg when the blow of the rock felled him to the ground. Others believed the knife struck him to the ground. Others believed the knife struck his leg in the follow through of the blow upon Stepp. Everyone noticed Ben’s pant leg slashed and bloody, and blood upon his face. As Ben was shoved by the Constable into Frank Swanson’s saddle shop, everyone noticed he was limping.
Jesse F. Turpin said, “Edward Stepp was considerably enraged, and remained in such a state for a long period of time. We were a little east of Captain Franklin’s old storehouse, on the street. Stepp drew a rock on me several times, and also, on Christopher Simpson. Simpson told him if he threw another rock he would put an eight ounce ball of lead right between his eyes!”
Severely crippled by his own knife, Benjamin Hinds suffered from this fight the remainder of his life time.
On June 24, 1871, in the town of Pleasant Mount, on Saturday, another affair of minor consequence occurred. David Morris, upon a street there, was threatening to thrash some man.
Sheriff Killis J. Martin, standing beside him, told David to keep the peace or he would be arrested. Morris wished to know by whom he would be arrested, and by what authority? Someone nearby, informing him he was talking to the sheriff and aught to behave himself, was told he feared no Sheriff!
Sheriff Killis J. Martin, catching Morris by the arm, was knocked to the ground. Captain James Johnston was called upon by Sheriff Martin to “Take this man!” Johnston, coming over, grabbed Morris by the arm, but immediately was kicked in the belly. Johnston, using his fist, socked Morris a solid lick in the jaw, staggering him.
Solon, David’s brother, then hit Johnston a terrible lick, “knocking me from the sight of the Sheriff,” Captain Johnston said.
According to Jacob Mayfield, August 19, 1871, was a rather smokey day. It wasn’t over a half-hour after four o’clock until it was dusk. “Nothing happened,” he said, “until McKenzie stepped back, appearing very angry. McKenzie informed everyone he could go through Wyrick like something through a tin horn!”
Humphrey Roberts said, “I was present in the saloon at Tuscumbia about four o’clock on the 19th of August. I thought there was going to be a disturbance between James M. Wyrick and John H. McKenzie. I heard a kind of jawer. I took them both to be angry.”
With that out of the way, James M. Wyrick said, “I live in Glaze township. I was in Tuscumbia on Saturday, the 19th. I was in the grocery about 3 or 4 o’clock. I was just standing around in there, doing nothing in particular. John H. McKenzie came in and stepped up to the counter. He asked Cal Wyrick if his credit was good for drinks.”
“I didn’t exactly hear Cal Wyrick’s reply,” James said, “but McKenzie flew very angry. He stepped back from the counter, cursing Cal Wyrick. I don’t know who it was but he got some money from some person. He then called everyone in the house up and treated them, myself with the balance. He told Cal Wyrick he had refused him credit. Cal replied he surely had not, but if he had, he hadn’t done it intentionally. He informed Cal he was a damned liar, and could whip him! He stepped back from the counter, rolling up his sleeves.”
“Cal Wyrick called me to the end of the counter where the bucket sets,” James continued, “telling me to go and tell John McKenzie to come to him. I went to John and laid my hand upon his shoulder. I whispered to him that Cal Wyrick told me to tell him to tcome there for he wanted to talk to him. Putting his hand against me he shoved me back, and angrily speaking, as though he was mad at me, said he had no chat for Cal Wyrick, nor me either.”
“Here,” according to James, “Cal Wyrick came through a little gate at the end of the counter, ordering everyone outside, but I don’t know who they were. I did not see McKenzie any more until after I started for home.”
“When I started home,” James Wyrick continued, “I sat down at the corner of the old warehouse. Harrison Waddle told me to wait a few minutes, for Clate Phillips, and he would set us both over the river. When I sat down there, I stooped down and picked up a piece of a chip, and commenced whittling upon it. Nick Weitz sat down on one side of me; Harrison Waddle on the other.”
While sitting there, waiting, the three men heard somebody a–raring and cursing coming down the road. It was John McKenzie, followed by one or two more persons. They came on down, and McKenzie informed Wyrick he was the best man who ever walked the streets of Tuscumbia. He walked off some four or five feet from where Wyrick was sitting, then turned around.
“John, what have you got against me?” Wyrick said.
“I can tell you,” McKenzie answered, “I have been in the Rebel Army two years.”
“I didn’t know you ever had been in the Rebel Army,” Wyrick responded.
“You said in the grocery as much as twice,” McKenzie continued. “that you had rather kiss a negro’s something or other than a Rebel’s face, and you were throwing that at me.”
“I didn’t mean it for you any more than any other damned Rebel” Wyrick snapped back.
“If you meant it for me,” McKenzie said, “I can whip you on any ground you can fix for yourself.”
Wm. H. Waddle then noted Wyrick replied, “McKenzie you are a damned liar, and shouldn’t try it!” And with that out of the way, McKenzie advanced, striking Wyrick with his fist, knocking him off the Plank-walk. Wyrick, landing on his back or shoulder, was followed on down by McKenzie, who kept knocking at him.
Anderson Smith, owner of the Tuscumbia blacksmith shop, said, “I was about 20 steps from the disturbance which was at a plank-walk near the south corner of the old warehouse opposite Hauenstein’s store. I was standing close to the east corner of the old warehouse on the plank-walk talking to Samuel Umstead. I heard loud and rough talk between Wyrick and McKenzie. I turned and left Umstead, and walked to where they were. I went back to Umstead and told him to stop it. Mr. Umstead and I started back to them. When we got there McKenzie was on top of Wyrick, and Wyrick’s hand was moving under McKenzie.”
William Abbott was at the blacksmith shop of Anse Smith’s, between sundown and dark. Robert Masters and John H. McKenzie were walking down the street in Tuscumbia leading from Obermayer and Co.’s store to the old warehouse. Like the others, William Abbott heard loud conversation at the beginning of the affray. When he got there he saw McKenzie spring back from Wyrick. Wyrick grabbed McKenzie by the leg, holding him until McKenzie kicked loose. Out of his grasp, McKenzie hollered, “Kill him boys! Kill Him! He has cut me all to pieces!”
McKenzie commenced running, with Robert Masters, Wm. Abbott, and Anderson Smith after him. Near the coffee bean tree by Hauensteins’ store building, he fell, flat on his face!
John Schubrth, at the beginning of the affray, standing at the south corner of the old warehouse, was talking to Nick Weitz, Harrison Waddel, Negro Ab, and Wyrick. “When McKenzie first came down,” Schuberth said, he yelled, “I am wide awake and full of fun!”
Robert Masters, reaching McKenzie first, turned him over on his face, ripping and tearing his shirt away, using the cloth in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding.
Dr. D.H. Allen, examining the injured McKenzie, asked by someone, “Do you think the wounds are fatal?” answered, “I do.” Dr. A.P. Nixdorf, asked his opinion of the wounds, taken as a whole in regard to fatality, said “The wounds, as such, may result in fatality.” Dr. James H. Stevens seemed to believe the wounds would cause fatality.
James Wyrick, lying near the edge of the plank-walk, upon getting up, sat in the same place he had been sitting when the fight commenced. Samuel Umstead, a Justice of the Peace, walking toward him, heard Wyrick say, “By damn I can take care of myself when a Rebel jumps me.”
“Then, standing up, Wyrick placed his hand upon my shoulder, and said, Samuel, I surrenders myself to you,” Umstead concluded.
In this era there were many confrontations having no connection whatever with internecine conflict. From 1866 to 1880 enough encounters between inhabitants may be found in the record books to fill more than one volume of history. Some examples follow.
James E. Melton said that “On last Thursday evening, a man came and hitched his horse to the fence at my house. He came to the door, and I told him not to come in unless he was civil. He then struck at me, and I shoved him back outside, and shut the door. Since it was very cold outside, he then promised if I would let him in, and warm, he would be civil; that when he got warmed he would go on. I let him in.”
“When he came in, myself, my wife, my mother-in-law and my sister-in-law stepped back from the fire. As we stepped back, he struck at me with his right hand; having a knife open in his left hand. I jumped backward between the table and bed. I gathered a chair in both hands, and commenced hitting him with it. He knocked the chair out of his way, and was about to strike me with his knife. At this moment my wife jumped between him and me. He then struck my wife over the right eye with his fist, knocking her down at my feet. Then, with his knife he struck at me, almost cutting my thumb off! I got him against the door, and with the help from my wife, we shoved him out of the house, and clapped the door. He threatened to shoot through the door!”
Margaret Alvoiad lived three miles north of Tuscumbia. She said, “Last Thursday, on the 21st of December, 1871, a man walked up to the house. As he started to come in at the door, we shoved him out. Immediately he came in again, with his knife open in his right hand, swearing he would kill James Melton; that he would cut him open.”
“Mary E. Melton caught the man’s arm.” Mrs. Alvoiad continued, “while I jumped between James and him. He then changed his knife into his left hand, and fought me, knocking Jim Melton’s wife to the floor. He then struck me a blow which knocked me insensible. At the time I fell backward into the fire, and got some of my clothing burned. When I came to my senses, they had him out of the house, and James Melton said to me, Mother, my thumb is cut off!”
“My mother-in-law, Margaret Alvoiad,” James Melton concluded, “tore open a window on the back side of the room that was nailed up with clap-boards. Through this opening we climbed out and proceeded to my mother’s house where we bound up our wounds.”
“Under fear of danger we all made our escape from the room by tearing a hole in the wall,” Margaret said.
Mary Jane Burnett said, “I was passing along the road toward Wm. Blizes, when I met three men in the road. Just before I got to them, two dismounted from their horses. One had a gun in his hand when I passed. About two hundred yards further on, I met a black man and woman.”
Wm. Edmision, a negro gentleman, said, “On the 14th of January, 1872, myself and my wife, Mariah, were passing along the public highway near Wm. Blizes of Miller county. There we met three men, about half-mile on the road before we got to Mr. Blizes. Speaking in the usual manner of meeting strangers, one of them hollered, “Where in the hell are you all from?”
“We passed on, and after going by Blizes’ farm we heard a rushing and running sound through the woods. My wife, Mariah, remarked that we had better turn back, as them there fellows where trying to head us off and do us some harm,” he said.
“After passing on some distance,” Edmison continued, “I saw the same three persons in the road. Two of them were down in the road off their horses, the other one mounted. Before we got to them, the one still mounted, jumped from his horse, and with both hands rammed the rammer in the gun as if loading it. Then fearing they would do us harm, we turned our horses, and made our way back, they hollered, Halt! Halt! Damn you! Halt! If you don’t halt, we will make you halt!”
“We went as fast as we could make our horses go,” Mariah cut in, “and they mounted their horses and pursued us. Before we got to Blizes they took the left hand through the woods.”
In January, 1872, William Arnold resided with his family on the South Fork of the Little Bear Creek. "I was in possession of the premises," he said, "and had been in possession one year. June, the woman I married had been in possession of the place four or five years before that. She had bought the place from Lewis Bodine."
A man commenced building a house on my premises, without my consent. I gave him no privileges to do anything on the premises. James Colvin and John McLaughlin were present when I forbid him building it, a week or more before the raising. While the house was being raised, I went out and forbade the man from striking a lick on my premises. He kept working on the house."
John McDowell was at the house of William Arnold on February 19, 1872. "I heard some 3 guns fired some two hundred yards from his house," he said, "which alarmed his family very much. His wife asked me to go and see what it meant. I started, and just as I got close to where I could see, three more shots were fired, which alarmed Arnold's family still more. When I got there, I found three men; all having guns, one a revolver. " "They went down to Arnold's house," John McDowell said, "with the guns in their hands. Mr. Arnold was not at home. His family thought they had killed Mr. Arnold on the hill. At the house, they went inside the yard, even after forbade to do so by Mrs. Arnold. They abused her a good deal by swearing, then informed her they would go where they pleased, shoot when they pleased, and do as they damned pleased!"
On July 21, 1872, William Arnold, his wife, June, and Maynard Colvin went out to tear down the house raised on Arnold's premises. It was in the morning, on Sunday. Just as Arnold commenced prizing out a log, June, his wife, saw a man come up out of the brush. He approached within ten or fifteen steps of her husband, having a gun up to his face.
William Arnold said, "I heard something like a gun being cocked. I looked around and some ten or fifteen steps I saw him. He said, Damn you, I have a mind to shoot you down like I would a dog! He had a gun in his hand, cocked, his finger on the trigger, and pointed at me."
"I told Maynard Colvin," Arnold continued, "run to the house, and get my gun Maynard started in a run. The man jumped up the hill, and holler, Damn you! If you go three steps further I will shoot you deader than hell! He had his gun leveled on Maynard, and was trying to get a bead on him. Colvin kept dodging until behind the house. Just then my wife hurried toward me with a revolver. Just as she got to me, the man ran with his life. I shot at him until he disappeared in the brush." Arnold concluded.
In the autumn of 1866 William Trusley said, "I was passing from Bill Williams up to Jim Lewises. I heard a report of a gun, and I supposed somebody had shot a turkey or deer. It was in the direction that I was going, and I went on a piece, and I saw Bill Williams, and supposed him to be dressing a deer. I walked within thirty or forty steps of him, and said, Bill, what are you doing? He raised his head, and looked, then snatched his gun. The gun was setting by a bush close by him."
"Some fright you caused me," Bill answered, "but this oxen is nobody's around here. I knowed not what it was. It came charging upon me, and I fired."
“I looked upon the beast,” William Trusley continued, “and found it one of the largest oxen ever witnessed anyplace. It had horns on each side of its head of about seven feet in length. Nothing like it ever stood here before in the woods.”
The men were out in the timber about ten steps from the side of the road. It was not a plain road, but a trail leading from Lewis Wilson’s place to Jacob Kuykendalls’.
William Trusley, upon entering the road, and passing towards Jacob Kuykendalls’ house, noticed man fresh tracks in the road, like a herd of cattle having passed. Becoming curious, he made inquiry at Kuykendalls’ house.
Jacob said, “About darkness yesterday, some strangers passed through, driving some cattle. The cattle were tall, and very thin like, with great horns. Three of the men were of a dark color, but I didn’t take them for negroes. One of the men, having on a grey coat, wore hair as such length and full whiskers, you could not tell where his face was except for the way he wore his cloth. They said they were from Arcansaw country. They were armed, and appeared skittish.”
When Major John K. Hall ceased mercantile pursuits at his stand in Glaze township, in 1866, Joseph Adams opened a store at a place known as the White House, also owned by Hall.
Some difficulty soon arose between Hall and Adams, so the Major sent Aunt Jane to order Joseph out of the place. Joseph informed her he wasn’t leaving. When Aunt Jane insisted upon him immediately vacating the premises, he drew a revolver upon her. Becoming frightened she hurried away.
Rachael Robertson said, “Hall told me he would take possession of the White House, or else, soon. I asked him how he would do it. He said he would enter the law.”
Canada Phillips said, “Hall told me he had nothing against Adams, but if the ol’ rascal fooled with him he would take a shillelagh an mighty nigh wear him out!”
It was known by George Graham that in September, 1863, the Major loaned Joseph Adams one loom, and when Aunt Jane wanted it for her own use again, he refused to return it.
Mrs. Golden said, “On the 1st of April, 1864, having no provisions, the Major loaned Joseph Adams two large tin pans of flour, about 40 lbs., also two quarts of coffee, 110 ears of corn, and Adams refused to account for them, so I hear.”
When he ceased mercantile pursuits, the Major allowed “A.J. Hall took in his possession a large amount of personal property belonging to me to dispose of by selling, but having failed to sell one bureau, one one-horse turning plow, one large work bench, one grind stone, and other items, Joseph Adams got possession of these and refused to return them, although repeatedly requested to do so.”
Also, in the summer of 1866, the Major was cultivating a piece of ground owned by Reuben F. Hall, adjoining a piece of land cultivated by Joseph Adams; both tracts enclosed under the same fence. On July 10, or thereabouts, Adams turned 15 head of hogs inside the field, then repeatedly turning in a number of horses, hogs, and cattle, completely destroyed the Major’s corn.
Here, a crisis developed!
Joseph Adams said, “I was going to the mill on Saturday, the 11th day of August, 1866, when John K. Hall hailed me and said have you got them hogs out of the field yet? I made no reply. He then asked me have you got that revolver you drew on Jane yet? To that I made no reply!”
“Hall was fifteen or twenty yards away,” Adams said, “carrying a dubbled barreled shotgun, and I commenced having reason to fear my life was in danger.”
“I did not stop, but continued moving,” Adams continued, “with the Major following. He yelled at me, why don’t you draw that revolver on me as you did on Jane? I made no reply. He hollered you ol’ rascal, I’m going to wear the urine out of you, and then I knowed he was going to do me bodily harm.”
The Major, standing his shot-gun against railings of the fence beside the road, jerked a barlow from his pants’ pocket, and from a willow tree by the side of the road, cut a withe about 8 feet long, the size of a normal person’s little finger.
Displaying agonies of great anger, he jumped into the wagon and proceeded, without even stopping the team, to wear the seat out of Joseph Adams’ breeches, as if a little child!
“That old devil whipped me for nigh on to a quarter of an hour,” Joseph Adams said, “terribly whelping my flesh. I had some difficulty afterward sitting down, and stood up for several days!” he concluded.
“Having heard of the ruckus,” Canada Phillips said, “I inquired of Adams the next day if Hall used a shillelah upon him? He made no reply.”
On December 4, 1866, Tarlton Cross said, “I was at Reuben Melton’s house. I got there about dark. When Charles Chappel arrived some moments later, we immediately left for Mr. Johnson’s place. William Melton, Reuben’s father, overtook us at Mrs. Bryant’s and she, getting up behind Billy, rode with us. We hurried on, together.”
“It was rather cold,” Tarlton continued, “and when we arrived at Samuel Johnson’s house, they were waiting for us. Isaac Lee was playing the fiddle, with some of the younger folk clapping and dancing. The women were at the fire, cooking but some stood aside to let Mrs. Bryant near the hearth to warm.”
“Joe Melton, sneaking to near the table,” Tarlton continued, “after having glanced at the meat, asked one of the younger girls for a bit of something to relieve his hunger. Instead of giving him anything, she threw a gourd of water in his face, which tickled grandma so much her face looked like a mug, for she had no teeth,” Tarlton concluded.
John E. Dickerson, told by the old lady Cross to watch the cakes baking upon the embers, was so involved in watching the dancing he forgot to turn them at the proper time. The old lady Cross, finding them burning, scolded him rather severely, for she allowed, even though he would eat anything, he was too lazy to turn the cakes!
At the first table Sam Johnson, William Johnson, Charles B. Chappel, James Slone, Billy Melton, Isaac Lee, Joe Melton, Tarlton Cross, and Reuben Melton, ate until filled. Three more sittings completed the meal; then the dancing continued until morning.
At Daylight, Joe and Reuben Melton left with Charles B. Chappel for Jack Bilyeu’s place on the other side of Rolla. Having arrived there, they left Bilyeu’s place in the morning of December 9 for Moselle Station, to look for work on the railroad. In the evening they put up and fed their horses in old Mr. John’s stables at Moselle Station.
The evening of the 11th, they rode to Billingston; the next day going to Union, William Rolin riding with them, but finding no work, started for home.
The next day, at dark, coming to the Gasconade, they crossed the river, and camped. Having no provisions, they quickly hunted for meat, but having found nothing, shot a stray ewe. While rupping the sheep they were discovered by an old, bearded gentleman, and fired upon.
The next morning they arrived in Richwoods township, tired, very scared, and hungry, having been chased and hunted by a number of men for many miles.
On December 27, 1867, there was a party at Phillip M. Stubblefield’s log house in Saline township.
Billy Stepp, Wesley Adcock, Billy Agee, Benjamin Stephens; Frank, William, Wesley, James W. and Nancy C. Long were there.
About ten o’clock in the night, George Stubblefield came in from California, in Moniteau county. Mary, Elizabeth, and Huduson Breast; Elizabeth, and Lucy Stublefield were with him.
There was a big fire in the fireplace, and much light in the two rooms of the log dwelling. The fiddle commenced playing, and there was dancing.
Everyone stayed until morning, except Agee and Stepp, leaving at midnight in a hunt for ‘coon.
There was a stead in each room.
Elizabeth Breast said, “After the dancing, I sat up in the kitchen with sister Mary. Wesley Long, Lucy Stubblefield, Wesley Adcock, Benjamin Stephens, and Huduson (Breaast), sat on a stead in the same room. When they commenced lying down, Lucy got up, and sister Mary, Lucy, and I sat in the floor. There was light in the house, then the fire went out, and we fell asleep.
Lucy Stubblefield, Huduson Breast, Phillip W. Stubblefield, Elizabeth Breast, Benjamin Stephens, Mary E Breast, Wesley Adcock, William Long, and one of the little boys, slept in the kitchen.
Elizabeth Stubblefield, Nancy C. Long, George Stubblefield, Frank Long, Polly Ann Stubblefield, three little boys, and one little girl slept in the other room.
When the chickens crowed, everyone commenced getting up; George stirring the fire, having the flames roaring in a matter of moments. Polly Ann, lifting pots from irons in the fireplace, commenced putting on victuals for breakfast. Grains of corn and beans of coffee were cracked in a hand mill by the smaller girls; one of the little boys drawing embers to the oven in the fireplace.
C.V. Wells, sitting in Obermayer & Co.’s storehouse, was looking through the big window at Lorenzo Manning and Francis M. Welshons, two of the Tuscumbia’s promising young gentlemen, in 1869, coming up the street.
He watched them enter the store building, and when at the counter, heard them call for oysters. Francis, with silver, paid for his oysters, while Lorenzo told Tom Tallman, the clerk, “I’ve took mine on the credit.” Oyster pokes in hand, they walked to the cracker barrel, dipping in, then sauntering to the rear of the store, sat together by the desk, eating until filled.
Having finished their meal of oysters they got up, and with looks of great satisfaction upon their faces, walked toward the front door as if leaving the place, but at the show case near the front, halted, admiring the jewelry.
Here, Nick Weitz, riding some horses by caused everyone to look outside, for the horses, neighing all of the time, were being answered, in loud cries, by other many horses in town.
William Burton’s horse, at the hitchrail in front of the store, suddenly rearing, when high, flung its head, neighing fearfully, pulling the reins loose from the fastenings.
“I got up, walked out, and caught the horse at the door,” C.V. Wells said, “then, hollering at William Burton, informed him his horse was loose. Burton, coming up, took his horse. I stepped into Dr. Bradleford’s office a moment before returning into Obermayers.”
“When I stepped inside of the storehouse again, Wells continued, “Tom Tallman was coming out from the warehouse. He sold Mr. Thompson 50¢ worth of negar tobacco at the counter, while Lorenzo Manning called for two apples. Tallman, throwing the apples over the counter, passed on to Ben Lawson, carrying some bacon to have weighed on the counter-weights.”
“As he passed,” Wells said, “Lorenzo Manning came by me, eating sugar. Manning looking Wells straight in the face said, “We young men have to eat sugar to keep us sweet!”
“Then why drink vinegar to make you wild?” Wells snorted in reply, watching, with amusement, Manning and Welshons circling their shadows while going down the street, reluctantly passing the saloon, before entering the mill-house.
On May 8, 1867, Andrew S. Ulman, of Glaze township, found two shocks of corn and a piece of another in his big field, shucked out. Corn being worth $1 per bushel, and two and one-half bushels having been taken by some one, made Andrew very angry.
He got ahold of Hiram Robinett, the Constable, and together they went to the field. Hiram said, “I was at A.S. Ulman’s field on May 9, 1867. I saw two shocks which appeared to have been shocked out. I saw some footprints between the shocks, but nothing noticeable about the tracks. Saw some tracks 50 to 100 yards from the corn. Tracks apparently made by old shoes. I suggested we make a surprise search of the houses of neighbors, so went to Jesse Gott, Sr., and looked about, but found no corn. Then, Mr. Gott going with us, we searched the houses of George M. Graham, Andrew F. Freeman, John K. Hall, and Wiley Gott, finding no corn, except at Wiley’s.”
“Yes, Mr. Andrew, I got some corn off you sometime this spring.” Wiley Gott said. “Remember, Mr. Andrew? Got ten bushels. Remember? Think I have some now.”
“Mr. Ulman remembered the purchase,” Hiram said, “then we all went back to the field.”
“Finding nothing unusual,” Hiram continued, “I suggested we get an experienced scout, so Mr. Ulman sent for one. When the scout arrived, he picked up the tracks, and began examining and figuring and viewing the scene.”
Scout R.F. Hill reported “two shocks and a piece of another shucked out, fodder laid about. Could not make out any tracks near the shocks, but found a grain of corn. Soon noticed tracks made by two persons; one track small, the other larger. There was a peculiar mark in the smaller left track. It was sort of a cross. The smaller track was made on one side by an old shoe with the great toe out. It appeared to be a shoe worn out so as to make an impression with the naked great toe of the right foot. Nothing very noticeable in the track made by the left foot, except the cross.”
“The larger track,” the scout continued, “was made by a boot with the toe turned up on the left foot. Track made by the right foot apparently a moccasin or something like cloth wrapped around the foot. The boot with the toe turned up appears to be for the right foot, for the toe turned out, although being worn on the left foot.”
With that information, Andrew S. Ulman and Hiram Robinett hastened to John W. Coxen’s mill. Upon arriving, the mill was running, and Phillip Coxen gave them the names of persons having brought in corn, and allowed, William and Reuben Hall were the last bringing in two bushels of corn, at noon, yesterday.
John W. Coxen told them “William and Reuben Hall have brought corn to my mill a number of times during the winter. Always they have brought in white corn. This corn is white with a few yellow grains. I think it is no different than the other brought by them.”
Phillip Coxen said, “On May 9, 18677, I was working at John Coxen’s mill. William and Reuben Hall brought in two bushels of corn to the mill to have it ground. They brought the corn here about mdday. There is no lock on the mill and no guard with the mill at night. Andrew Ulman and Hiram Robinett came to the mill on the following day and got a peck of the corn. I don’t know that the corn was changed in the sacks. I do know Ulman took corn that was in the sacks. It was all white corn with a few yellow grains. It was better than Indian corn.”
Ulman, comparing the corn taken from the sacks, with ears from his field, said, “It’s my corn!” “It appears certainly the same.” Robinett remarked. “Could be,” Andy Freeman said, having ridden up to the mill on a roan oxen, “for two weeks ago, Reuben Hall was at my house, informing me of having about a bushel of meal, that Keith owed them a bushel of corn, and when that was gone they had no more.”
Ulman, and Constable Robinett, finding William and Reuben Hall, looked at their shoes. Their foot wear fitted the scout’s description perfectly!
Austin D. (Oscar) Johnson was the proprietor of a boarding house in Tuscumbia, in 1870, having employed Samuel and Add Umstead to superintend the place.
Martha Davidson, a servant girl, young and unmarried, was courted by of the younger gentlemen from places away as well as by many living in the community.
Michael Wyrick, a youthful and handsome, a former neighbor when Martha lived in Glaze township, visited her on the evening of April 30, 1870. Jealous suitors caused them much grief.
Ben Martin and Bob Masters informed Mrs. Umstead that “Mike Wyrick and Martha Davidson were seen last by us locked up together in a room at your boarding house.” Add informed the girl her services were no longer needed.
The affair may have been aggravated by another matter, for Samuel Umstead said, “I saw Michael Wyrick earlier in the evening. Since the law suit of Mrs. McCarty and Wyrick, I have been looked upon by him as an enemy, the grudge being pretty severe on his part. He was drinking only enough to make him what I call pretty scutty.” Oscar Johnson said, “Martha and Michael called me out in the sitting room. It was about nine o’clock. She wanted to know if I had given any orders for her to leave? I informed her I had not. Martha inquired if something had been said about herself and Michael being in a room together? I told her Mrs. Umstead heard they were locked in a room together, and would not keep her any longer. At this point Michael took it up for her. He said it was a damn lie. He asked me to call Umstead out. I called Samuel to the dining room.”
“I was in the bedroom, going to bed,” Samuel Umstead said, “When Aust Johnson called me. I had taken off my clothing, so put on my pants and shirt. I came out of the room to see what he wanted: going to the dining room door.”
“Come on out and face the music, Michael Wyrick shouted at me, for what you have been telling on me and Marth is a lie, and I am going to whip you for it!”
“You leave the house,” Umstead shot back.
“I will leave when I am ready,” Wyrick replied; moving toward Samuel.
“Add got between them.” Oscar Johnson said, “and I put my hand on Michael’s shoulder, informing him to step back, which he did. He turned, leaving the house, screaming and hollering he could whip somebody, but he did not say who.”
“Mr. Umstead, I was not locked in the room with Mike” Martha Davidson said, but Mrs. Umstead, stepping into the room ordered, “You leave this place at once!” “I will go,” Martha answered, tears filling her eyes; and commenced packing her things.
“I keep a public house,” Oscar Johnson said, “and it is not unusual, for I have a sitting room in my house, to have many men here. Umstead and wife are keeping house for me, but I am generally recognized as the proprietor. Many times Wyrick has been a guest at my house, but said nothing about staying tonight, although he ate here. He sat not far from me at the table and kept telling my servant girl she could sure make biscuits good, which pleased her very much. A number of times before this he had called to see her. The room they were supposed to have been in could not be locked, and when I told Mrs. Umstead of this, she appeared very sorry, saying she would talk to the girl about it. I do not prohibit my servant girls from receiving calls from young men after work is done. To do otherwise wouldn’t be exactly right.”
“Martha told me Michael always treated her gentlemanly, and was pleasant in his manner,” Johnson continued. “I told her not to leave until morning: then we should talk more about it.”
About ten o’clock that night, a crowd of people going up the street by Gantt’s and Friday’s toward Randolph Abbett’s boarding house, were heard hollering and screaming then rapidly running. A few moments later a terrible fusillade of rocks struck the side of Johnson’s boarding house, near the window of Samuel Umstead’s bedroom, knocking bricks and mortar from the big chimney!”
Gunfire from the boarding house’ porch echoed over Goose Bottom, as Samuel and Oscar retaliated. The next morning Mr. Gantt said, “I am a counselor-at-law. I heard the stones, then many leaden balls struck my house. I did not like it!”
John Hickman said, “On the 29th of May, 1873, I went out to plow, something near a quarter of a mile from my house. While plowing, I heard a gun fire, about half-a-mile away. I heard a-hollering in that direction about the same time, someone saying, Oh Lord, Come to me! Come To Me! The Hall’ farm joins me in that direction, so I hurried to Halls, arriving there about three quarters of an hour afterward.”
“Aunt Jane, Daniel and Sarah Moyer, Mary and Isadorah Hicks, Elizabeth, Fanny, Franklin, Bill Hall, and David Embry were there when I arrived,” Hickman continued, “but Embry hurried away to fetch Doctors Ulman and Conner, with others leaving to find Reuben in a field, adjoining his father’s farm, plowing.”
“Hall told me he was shot while crossing the fence,” Hickman said, “and described the place where he saw smoke rise from the bushes.”
During the morning, Mary and Isadorah Hicks having visited with Aunt Jane, the Major’s wife, proceeded, upon leaving for home, north about two or three hundred yards, east about two hundred yards, then south about one hundred yards. Here, suddenly and unexpected, nearby them, a gun was fired. Immediately, someone commenced hollering. They hastened back to Hall’s place, running part of the way, walking part of the way.
Isadora Hicks said, “We had been at the house four or five minutes when Daniel Moyer came in. He told Sarah he felt bad, going upstairs. He stopped at the stairway door to inquire if we had found the cows? Fanny asked him if he had heard a gun or anyone hollering? He said he had not. Just then Hall came up, yelling. Moyer hollered down, inquiring who that was outside yelling so much? I ran out, went around and letting the fence down, Hall entered. I started for Aunt Jane. At the door, I met Moyer, coming out.”
Reuben Hall, plowing in a field, was about three-quarters of a mile from his father’s house. At the time of the shooting he did not hear any gun-fire. The wind was from the south, throwing the sound away. “I arrived at the house about half-way between eight and nine o’clock, Reuben said, “and when I arrived, John Hickman was leaving for home to take in his nags from the field. He told me he would come right back.”
Before noon, Dr. Joseph Ulman, and Dr. J.D. Conner, having arrived, commenced an examination of the Major’s wound.
Dr. Ulman said, “When I saw Hall I found him wounded by gun shot, and in connection with Dr. J. L. Conner, waited on him. I found the ball pierced the breast about two and a half inches above the left nipple, and one inch outside of a perpendicular line. It ranged inward and downward, coming out some three and a half inches from the left center of the spinal column. The wound was necessarily fatal.
Dr. J.F. Conner said, “I received information that John K. Hall was shot, and requested to attend him immediately. Dr. Ulman was associated with me in the case. This was on May 29. I found him suffering. The ball took effect two inches and a half above, and one inch to the left of the left nipple, passing obliquely inward and downward, coming out immediately below the lower angle of the scapula, about four inches from the spine. Most generally, such wounds are fatal.” Dr. Conner and Dr. Ulman, on Sunday afternoon, June 8, 1873, examined Major Hall again. “After consultation he would die from the effects of the wound.” Dr. Conner said, “I was there again on Monday evening. A coffin was there, my patient was not.”
On June 17, 1873, before Squire Hezekiah Robinett, at the Union Church House, a half-mile east of the Squire’s residence events unfolded.
Reuben Hall said, “I had some conversation with Daniel Moyer, my brother-in-law, near some hickory trees on my father’s lace, about ten days before John K. Hall started for the railroad. Papa was there prizening tobacco, about a hundred yards from where we were standing. Moyer had his gun. He raised his gun, taking aim at the cross of Papa’s galluses. He did not cock his gun, but said, How pretty I could take him in the cross of the galluses! After this I left and went to work.”
“The morning Papa was shot,” Reuben continued, “I commenced plowing about eight o’clock. I heard no gun fired or hollering. I am hard of hearing, anyway. My sister came to me and told me what had happened. I had a conversation with Moyer down in the orchard some time before. Moyer was very particular asking how long it took to get to the railroad. He wanted to know whether houses were scattering along the road, and I told him they was. He talked like that would be a good chance to way-lay the old man. He said if my father was killed it would have to be proven before they could do anything with him. I stated in reply people would not know whether it was John Stores, Mitchell, or him who done it. Daniel Moyer said if they shot him, and he fell off the wagon, for me to run off and give them a chance to conceal him; if he did not fall off the wagon, for me to haul him home. I was afraid they would kill me, and looked for that shooting to be done, and hired my brother to go in my place. I did not tell my father they were going to shoot him. I was afraid of Michael for one; John Stores for another.”
“I had another conversation a few days later, just before Pap took his tobacco to the railroad,” Reuben continued. “Pa was in the habit of hoeing in the garden before breakfast. Moyer said if Papa had went out in the garden that morning he would have shot him for sure. Papa did not go out that morning. Moyer said it would be doing God’s service to kill him, that if he knew how short his time was, he would be preparing himself for a better world! Upon going to Adam’s store, just as soon as we had dressed over the fence, and the fence was behind us, Moyer commenced conversation about the old man abusing Sarah.”
“We had another conversation the day Papa left for the railroad. I was to go to the railroad with Papa. I was afraid they would kill me. I hired my brother William, to go in my place. I gave him two dollars. I told Moyer I was afraid they would kill me. He said they would not for he would be there and see to it this was not done. I didn’t believe him, so I refused to go,” Reuben concluded.
“About a week or so before Hall was shot,” Elizabeth Hoskins said, “Moyer told me the Major was a very disagreeable man. He thought if Hall was found lying in the brush by his friends, if he had any, they would not carry him home. I live about a mile west of Hall’s.”
Nancy J. Mitchell said, “I live about three-quarters of a mile south of John K. Hall. On Friday, before Hall was shot, Moyer rode up. We commenced conversation in the yard. I asked him if John K. Hall had left for the railroad? He answered, yes, this morning, just before my coming here. I asked him how many pounds of tobacco Hall took? He said about 1500 pounds. I said that will bring a right smart of money. He said yes it would, and allowed the old booger aught to be put out of the way before the money come on for, if he wasn’t, Frank Hicks would get all the money, and Hall’s family would suffer. Later Moyer rode off toward Betty Robinson’s.”
“On May 29, very early,” Nancy continued, “Moyer came to my house. I asked him if Hall had got back? He answered, no, he hadn’t had time, for it was a goodly piece, but was expecting his return today. A rifle gun was in Moyer’s hands. I left the house to visit my brother. When I left Moyer was sitting in the house talking with my husband.”
Major John K. Hall left his home in Glaze township, on Friday, May 23, 1873, on his way to the railroad at California, Missouri. A wagon, carrying 1650 lbs. of fine Glaze township tobacco, was clanging under him behind his best team of horses. He crossed the Osage river at the Brockman Ford, passing through Mount Pleasant, and on the 24th, the Major, and his son, William, were well into Moniteau county.
At the railroad, the tobacco from Miller county was of especially fine quality, so brought a fancy price.
Upon the homeward journey, the Major was very jubilant. He was unaware of the threat upon his life; the tragedy of it all being the threat to kill him was known for certain by two of his sons, and possibly, others of his family.
Crossing the Osage river into Glaze township, the Major, leaving the wagon, commenced walking through the country by-paths well known to him; son William taking the team and wagon on home by the big road.
There were a number of men in the plot to kill him, with Daniel Moyer, the Major’s son-in-law, supposedly to get the farm; the other men to divide the tobacco money.
As planned, the men proceeded in way-laying the Major, but failed in the attempt; the Major arriving before it was expected of him. Only William was in the wagon passing the assassins’ place of concealment. Everyone then allowed it would not do to proceed further, except one.
The Major, near home, at a branch coming down the hill, with the house ahead about 20 rods, was approaching a fence which crossed the old road upon which he was traveling. At the fence, he was in an opening, with the brush dense enough to conceal someone only on the side next to the house. While climbing the panels in order to cross over the rails, a shot rang out! A leaden ball pierced the Major’s chest.
It was expected of him to fall dead, on the spot, but in his lifetime, the Major always failed to do what was expected of him. He was a stern, haughty, stubborn old warrior and suffered no one to cross him. He looked up enough to see smoke from the gunfire, rising from the bushes, and afterward told of sighting the smoke before his demise.
This led to the apprehension of the person who done the deed, his own son-in-law the husband of his daughter, Sarah, Daniel B. Moyer.
The life of one of Miller county’s most distinguished and colorful citizens, Major John K. Hall, ended on the 8th day of June, 1873.
His name will be a valuable heritage to the generations of our county, forever.
About sundown on May 22, 1874, Emeline E. Wyrick, needing wood for her cookstove, sent daughters, Sarah and Martha, to the mill in Tuscumbia for chips. Near the furnace the children noticed Bell Freeman playing nearby in one of the larger piles of sawdust.
William Abbott’s girl, on the way to the big spring for water, upon seeing Mrs. Freeman in the kitchen of her house, standing beside the stove, cooking supper, yelled to her, “Don’t you hear the fuss at the mill?”
Edatha A. Freeman poking her head through an opened window, answered, “No, child. Is there a fuss at the mill?”
“Yes,” William Abbott’s girl screamed, “Mrs. Wyrick’s children are there, whipping one of yours!”
Listening for some moments, upon hearing the cries of her little girl, Edatha yelled, “Paralee, go over there right now, and whip them Wyrick’ younguns!”
Paralee, Edatha’s daughter, hurrying to the mill, upon arriving at the furnace found Martha whipping her sister, Bell; Sarah helping her. Wading in, Paralee freed her sister, and stopped the fighting.
About here, Edatha A. Freeman noticed Emeline E. Wyrick hurrying past her house carrying a long switch in her hand. Sliding the skillets off the fire, Mrs. Freeman hurried after Mrs. Wyrick.
When Mrs. Wyrick arrived at the furnace, the children were fussing and fuming at one another. She pulled them apart, throwing her younguns one way; Mrs. Freeman’s the other.
D.J. Welsons, watching at the mill, said, “Mrs. Wyrick throwed the children apart pretty lively.”
Mrs. Freeman coming up, inquired of Paralee, “was you touched by Mrs. Wyrick?
“Ma, she did!” Paralee answered. “she pushed me with, her fist!”
“Then I can push too!” Edatha said, angrily shoving Mrs. Wyrick to the ground.
James William Turpin, standing away 50 or 60 feet, said “Mrs. Wyrick came up with a piece of bark or board about six inches wide, and a foot long. Striking Mrs. Freeman with the bark, a hard lick in the face, the blood flew!”
J.H.G. Moss, a black man of integrity, and a miller, standing in the mill’ door, was about 14 feet from the women. “The furst Ise noticed, the wimmen was jowering at one anuther,” he said. “ise seed Mrs. Wyrick strike Mrs. Freeman with a piece of bark. Mrs. Freeman seemed to become angered. She brisseled up and sed to Mrs. Wyrick, God Damn you soul, you have been whipping my child; I’m going to knock your brains out.”
Emeline E. Wyrick said, “Edatha grabbed me in the hair of the head and struck me with a rock. She struck me with the rock, a fairly large one, on the top of the head, which knocked me not strictly insensible, but addled me. I was sick that night for a long time.”
N.C. Keys said, “I don’t recollect I saw the women when fighting, but I remember seeing Sarah Jewell at the furnace putting chips in a sack.”
George Adcock, Sam Johnson, John Fogleman, Wesley Adcock, James Wells, James M. Cox, John F. Buster, John Thompson, James Henry Adcock, Joseph Wines, J.T. Turpin, and others, were at Ira Johnson’s saloon in Tuscumbia, enjoying the hospitality of the place, during the afternoon of May 15, 1877.
About sundown, G.M. Bandy, coming down from Mrs. Freeman’s boarding house, was joined by two strangers from Tatum’s boarding house.
One of the strangers, wearing a large, white hat, was over heard by Joseph Wines to say, “never in my lifetime have I seen so many big men,” and Joseph, reflecting upon the statement in his own mind, although having never thought of it before, noticed the Adcock’s were a tolerable large looking party, with John Thompson and John Buster tolerably large men.
Immediately, one of the strangers informed Wesley Adcock “I am from Barnettsville, really a wild chap, born that way, born to row!” Wesley allowed he believed him to be just that “kind of cat!” The stranger informed Sam Johnson he was “the best man on either side of the river.” And Sam Johnson believed he was!
Approaching Wesley Adcock once more, the stranger said, “How do you do, Mr. Adcock.”
“You have the advantage of me, young man,” Wesley replied, “I do not know you.”
“My name is William Skaggs,” he said; and here, Adcock extended his hand, having it accepted by Skaggs. The men, for quite some time stood greeting one another, shaking the others’ hand in spasms of great friendship.
“They call me Modoc,” George answered, “and before I forget,” he continued, “who is the fellow with you making all the noise, wearing the broad brimmed hat?”
“I don’t know whether that is any of your damned business,” Skaggs shot back. “Why do you want to know?”
“Just wondering if he had a name,” George said. “He is a stranger to me.”
Skaggs, walking over to the man wearing the broad brimmed hat, led him up, introducing him to Adcock. His name was Popplewell.
Later, Skaggs, Popplewell, and George Adcock were seen standing near Folsom’s warehouse; then at the ferry landing there was some loud talk between ferryman Waddle and Skaggs. “After a few blows were landed Skaggs lost the round, “Tom Shelton said, “but he kept caving around, saying he was the best man on either side of the river.”
“That isn’t so,” Sam Johnson was heard to say. Skaggs, inviting Johnson to remove his coat, he commenced doing so. George Adcock, stepping in, said “I will do the fighting!” Johnson informed Skaggs “I know you can whip four or five like me, but there are few two men in the county who can whip George Adcock!”
Skaggs and Popplewell, putting in a boat, rowed across the river.
George Adcock, walking down to the ferry landing, seated himself upon a trestle by the ferry house upon the bank. He hollered at John Thompson and Sam Johnson, having trouble upon the river. They were in a skiff, struggling to recover an oar before it drifted into the current. The retrieved the oar after much maneuvering, hard labor, and hollering.
James Cox, arriving at the landing, informed Sam Johnson he wanted the skiff to go after the ferryboat. James Cox, arriving at the landing, informed Same Johnson he wanted the skiff to go after the ferryboat. James Cox and Sam Johnson, attending ferry for Waddle, having expected a steamer earlier in the afternoon to land and unload freight, had cabled the ferry to the other side of the Osage.
Wesley Adcock and James Wells, coming down, asked if they could go with them? Cox allowed he did not care. Henry Adcock hollered for them to wait. In fact, when the skiff put in to shore, Cox remarked, “If anyone else wants to ride, get in.”
Wesley Hollered, “George, come on with us.”
“Can’t do it, brother,” George answered, “I can’t swim.”
“You would not turn over,” James Wells, hollered, “Let’s go!”
“Very well,” George said, “I can’t swim, but I can wade deeper water than anybody in that boat.”
“You can’t drown an elephant,” Sam Johnson said.
George, Wesley, and James Henry Adcock, Sam Johnson, James Cox, John F. Buster, John Thompson, and James Wells, getting into the skiff, put upon the river. When in the current, the boat, overloaded, sank!
George Adcock, unable to swim, commenced floundering and splashing wildly about, but upon reaching the bank, ahead of the others, while gasping and spitting river water, was heard to remark, “Just a deep water wader.” Wesley Adcock allowed “the river fell very fast. About two feet. It got so low I could hardly swim. George was a drinking it dry!”
Everyone laughed, except George. “You can’t drown an elephant,” Sam Johnson said, then added, “drinks are on me, but I allows no river water!”
George Adcock, flying angry, chased the group into the saloon.
In the decade, from 1866 to 1876, Miller county was the scene of insurrection, a vicious, private kind of warfare, with neighbor against neighbor. There were no rules; only surprise sabotage, terror, pillage, arson and death. Some abuses have been given in the text, but in the era so many awful, unique encounters occurred that, in his rightful mind, no author would dare have them printed, even at this late date.
No respite from internecine conflict was known until 1877, when an event in Jim Henry township, having occurred in the previous year, shook the inhabitants of Miller county to their senses.
Women openly on the streets, and men gathered in public places to curse, or pray. The hatred and prejudice in the minds of embittered brothers commenced slowly but steadily melting away, and people once more could come together without bloodshed over social and political beliefs.
The death of a little child caused all of this, but the tragedy of the whole affair was that an innocent man was deprived of his liberty, and humiliated.
On August 27, 1869, Joseph Zeke of Marion county sold neighbors Wenzel Martinousky and Francis Mahly 160 acres of land situated in Miller county, easterly and southerly, about two miles, from present day Mary’s Home.
Francis Mahly, his second wife, Lidmila, three daughters and one son of tender ages, moved upon the premises, and commenced opening the wilderness. Francis erected a one-room log cabin with loft above, building a smoke-house, chicken-house, and log stable. The Mahly’s prospered to such an extent that, in 1870, Francis purchased Martinousky’s interest in the property, and by 1874, owned a riding mare, a yoke of oxen, three cows, some swine and other livestock; even purchasing 100 acres more of land situated nearby, from William and Abigail Pagett. Too, John Mahly, a son by his first marriage, purchased an adjoining farm, to be near his father.
Then tragedy struck. In the Autumn of 1875, Mahly’s wife and two of the daughters, becoming ill, died; Francis burying them on a little rise close by the house.
Francis Mahly, now alone with daughter, Hattie, and son, Frank, needing help, wrote to Francis Jacinsky, an old friend, at Hannibal, that if he would come and help him out, he would give him a house and they would live together, like brothers.
On April 6, 1876 Jacinsky arrived from Hannibal, and until September worked and lived at Mahley’s house. Here, Jacinsky, having bought 40 acres of land from Mahly, in 1874, commenced clearing on his own place, although staying at Mahly’s house and helping to some extent, when needed.
In the meantime, Francis Mahly, while visiting at Mrs. Kalens, in Jefferson City, on February 26, 1876, met a young widow, from Chicago, with two small children. On March 5, Francis and Barbara Citavatca, were married.
Immediately, Francis brought Barbara, and her two daughters, to his home about one mile west and across the Osage river from (old) St. Elizabeth. The Mahly’ family now consisted of Francis and Barbara, his two children, Hattie and Frank, and her two children, Anna and Barbara.
Little Barbara Citavatca, 3 years of age, the younger of Barbara Mahly’s daughters, was a tolerably healthy child upon arriving in Jim Henry township. The Mahly and Citavatca children “hit it off” splendidly, playing joyfully in the creek, and happily going to the fields with their parents.
In July, while in a field, little Barbara, coming up to her step-father, was crying as if something was hurting her. Francis, gingerly lifting the little girl’s clothing, upon examining her body, found a huge boi8l under the blade of her shoulder, upon her back. Ever so gently he mashed upon it, and “a bit lot of matter came out of it,” he said.
In a few days there were more boils on the back of little Barbara’s head and neck, and she commenced failing in health. Her mother feverishly worked to effect a cure, but as rapidly as one or more of the boils broke and dried up, several others would appear elsewhere, until the covered most of Barbara’s body.
In August, Francis sent son, John, who could speak and understand the English language, after Dr. Absolum Moore.
“When I treated his family,” Dr. Moore said, “I found the child had worms. She had ulcers on her head, arms, back, and legs. Some were healing up, some coming on. The pupils of her eyes were dilated. She had a-running at the nose, resembling catarrh. I asked them if she was having fits, and she was, caused by worms. The child appeared to have no vital stamina. She was in bad condition.”
“Mahly and his wife both had the ague,” Dr. Moore concluded, “suffering from chills.”
On the morning of October 18, 1876, while her mother was preparing breakfast, little Barbara, happily standing in from of the fireplace, warming, was seized by one of her many spasms, and upon losing her balance, fell into the fire! When retrieved by her mother, she was dead.
Mrs. Mahly, wrapping her baby in an old dress, carried her into the smokehouse, laying her upon a board resting across the top of a barrel. About nine o’clock Francis asked his wife where she wanted the little girl buried, and she said “by the big, black stump, near other graves.
That afternoon, Francis Mahly, assisted by his wife, the children and neighbor, Francis Jacinsky, buried little Barbara in a shallow grave, by the big, black stump.
Neither Francis Mahly nor his wife, including neighbor Jacinsky, could speak nor little understand, the English language; having come from Europe to the promised land. The children, Frank, Hattie, and Anna, attending school in Jim Henry township, could generally carry on a conversation and understand their neighbors, so often acted as an interpreter when some one called upon their parents.
A better description might be given of Mahly’s condition but by holding to tradition, custom, and the language of the old country, he was laughed at by most of his neighbors, who viewed his conduct with great suspicion.
After the death of Barbara, suspicious neighbors reported her grave could not be found, and soon there were rumors that little Barbara had been murdered by the crazy old foreigner, and secretly buried.
Twelve days after Barbara’s death, while working on the road with James T. Denton, J. Anderson Jenkins, Thomas Robbins, John Stahl, and others, Francis Mahly was approached by Lawyer William M. Lumpkin, Dr. H. Bradleyford, Squire George A. Williams, Circuit Clerk Theodore B. Robinson, and Prosecuting Attorney Jacob Gantt, of Miller county.
“We were passing near Mr. Goldens,” Lumpkin said, “and met Mahly with a pick and shovel on his shoulder, working on the road. I had some talk with him, then calling him aside, told him there had been some talk about his little girl, that her grave could not be found. I asked him to go with me, and show me where she was buried.”
“He turned around and went with us without question,” Lumpkin continued, “and when we arrived at the place, I asked him to take his shovel, and throw the earth out, which he did. The grave was 2 or 2 ½ feet deep. Dr. Bradleyford took the body out. It had portions of an old dress wrapped around it. It seemed to have been dead some days. A white mold had formed over its eyes. The Dr. looked at portions of its body, and talked about it.”
“I was attracted,” said Lumpkin, “by a wound on the side of the head. One ear seemed mashed off. The nose was broken in two, and gapped open. Noticed several large black spots on the body, some ashes on its body. Its right hip was burned, also one of its hands. The corpse seemed thin and poor; it had begun to decay,” Lumpkin concluded.
Theodore B. Robinson said, “I was present with Lumpkin and others when the child was taken up. They had insisted on my going along. We met Mahly 1 ½ miles from his house going to work on the road. Lumpkin told him he must go back and show him the grave, which he did. Mahly dug down till he came to the boards, then quit, Jacinsky, Jenkins and myself digging it out. It was lying on a board, on a little straw, with two boards beside it, and a board over it. Dr. Bradleyford used two sticks to move the body and examine it. Its feet and hands were burned, and there were bruises all over the body. I had no conversation with Mahly about it. He seemed curious to what it was all about.”
Dr. H. Bradleyford said, “the grave was up on the side of a little hill. Mahly uncovered most of it with a spade or shovel. The grave was not deep, about two feet. Three clapboards, two on edge, and one over. The child was wrapped in an old dress. I was requested to examine the body.”
“The corpse was in an emaciated condition,” Dr. Bradleyford continued. “The hair was clipped short, and very thin. The nose was broken down flat. There were scars on the head. There were spots of discoloration over its body, here and there, as if caused by bruises. There was a protuberance swelled out 1 ½ to 2 inches in width covering the kidneys along the right side. Its left hand and arm were very badly burned. It was burned so that the hand was swiveled, and the flesh sloughed, or was sloughing. Was burned on the left side from the hip down to the toes. The burns had been made not long before death since the skin was not broken in sores. Ashes still remained on the burned part, had not been cleaned off. From the examination I formed an opinion that the wounds and bruises upon the body, and the burns, were sufficient to produce death; that there aught to be a post mortem examination. Either the child was the subject of very violent malignant disease, or it had been badly abused,” Dr. Bradleyford concluded.
“I live about two miles from Mahly,” Squire George A. Williams said, “and was present with Lumpkin and Bradleyford when the child was taken up. Knew the child well, but don’t remember how long before her death I seen her. There was a mark on the side of the face, but that was probably made by a fold of cloth lying upon it. I don’t think the discolorations on the body were made by blows. I did not order him arrested. Jacinsky was there. He said nothing, nor did Mahly.”
“After examining the corpse, and returning it to the grave,” Lawyer Lumpkin said, “we went to the house looking around to see what could be seen. There was a little dress hanging on a paling. I found the outside front part of the dress covered with blood. I carried the dress into the room. Mahly was present, and I had some conversation with the family, the wife doing most of the talking, but to no satisfaction.”
This apparent act of cruelty upon a little child by an old foreigner, excited the people of Miller county, but proof of foul play was needed, so an inquiry commenced.
Mrs. Ann Coler, who lived near Hickory Hill, in Cole county, a relative of Mahly’s wife, “knew her in the old country,” she said.
“I came out from Chicago,” Mrs. Coler continued, “3 years ago last Christmas. I have visited at Mahly’s many times. Her name was Barbara Citavatca. Had two children when she came out, Anna and Barbara, 7 and 3 years of age. Barbara was a fat, pretty girl then. I saw her a month before, then about two days before she died. I asked Francis Mahly what’s the matter with Barbara? She looks so bad! He replied that when he was mad he kicked her out of the door; that he not like them two children any better than his dogs, that it took too many bread.”
“The last time I seen her,” Mrs. Coler said, “Barbara looked so blue. Her neck was crooked, her nose sore, and she looked bad. I was at Mahly’s house about a week after Barbara died. It was after the Dr. had been there and dug her out of the ground. Mahly said some body tell on him lies and bring a doctor and a lawyer on him.”
During the month following Barbara’s death, Mahly and neighbor John Stahl had a falling out about some hogs. Stahl lived about ½ mile from the Mahly residence, on the same road.
“Little Barbara, 3 years of age, and her sister, Anna, were at my house twice during the summer,” Emma, John Stahl’s wife, said. “Barbara was a healthy, pert girl when she first came. I was at the Mahly house several times. My last visit was about three months before Barbara’s death.”
“I went down early,” Emma continued, “and upon going in, Barbara was sitting on the lounge, crying. Mahly told her to hush. She did not do it, so he grabbed her throwing her on the floor, giving her a kick! He told her to get up, and not doing it, he took her by the arm and pulled her up.”
John Stahl, who could “talk English” said, “I had a conversation with Mahly about Barbara before her death. He said his wife was nursing her too much, and he would fix it, that he wanted the woman to work in the field. Once he came by my house, and said he would take a chaw of tobacco for the child. Said he would fix it, that he wanted his woman to work.”
While the inquiry concerning the death of the child continued, Mahly and Jacinsky kept tilling the soil and clearing new ground, enjoying peace and tranquility, unaware of the mischief being done by neighbors.
Then it happened! On September 21, 1877, Sheriff J.M. Brockman arrested Francis Mahly; the Grand Jury at the September Term of Circuit Court having indicted him for the murder of Barbara Citavatca, his stepdaughter. Mahly, by Sheriff Brockman, was lodged in the Miller County jail.
In substance, the Grand Jury charged that, on the 17th day of October A.D. 1876…Mahly did make an assault with a large leather strap, which was a deadly weapon, held in his right hand, upon the head, breast, back, arms and legs of Barbara Citavatca….causing divers mortal wounds the length, breadth, and depth which to the jurors is unknown….that….with a certain heavy shoe upon his right foot did kick Barbara upon the stomach and bowels of her body causing mortal wounds the length, breadth, and depth which to the jurors is unknown….that…did make an assault with sticks held in his right and left hands, beating and pounding upon the head, face, stomach, back and hips of Barbara causing divers mortal bruises the length, breadth, and depth which is to the jurors unknown….and further…did knock Barbara into a blazing hot fire and did leave, desert, and wholly neglect to remove her until burned on her face, feet, hands, and right side, causing mortal wound the length, breadth, and depth which is to the jurors unknown…that from said mortal wounds Barbara languished until the 18th day of October, 1878, when she died….that…Francis Mahly, premeditatedly, and with malice aforethought, kill and murder, against the peace and dignity of the state.
The evidence, given by embittered or mis-understanding neighbors, was all circumstantial; some taken from mere rumor circulating among the inhabitants concerning a crazy, old foreigner.
To say the least, the reported abuse and killing of a little child upset the people, severely, and few there were who did not believe it. However, Squire George A. Williams, a neighbor, indicated Mahly “could not kill anything. He is a peculiar man to people unacquainted with him, but I’ve known him for some time. He would rather die than mistreat a child.” Lawyer Swalem, after talking with Mahly, in the jailhouse at Tuscumbia, indicated “there is something funny about all this. The man seems innocent. He is a queer, misunderstood man, without friends in a country which he calls home and speaks so well of.” J. Ed Belch, and able attorney of Jefferson City, didn’t believe it either. With lawyer John M. Williams, he became involved in establishing Mahly’s innocence.
While Mahly languished in the Miller County Jail, neighbor Francis Jacinsky kept working on the farm for Mahly’s wife. In fact, he seemed very fond of her. This went unnoticed by everyone, for having taken his meals and slept at the Mahly’ house from the time of his arrival at the place, he was viewed by neighbors as one of the family.
But things commenced changing.
Mahly, just at wheat sowing time, in jail at Tuscumbia, caused Jacinsky to prepare for sowing the crop. However, Mrs. Mahly got a young man by the name of Majouck to seed the wheat. “When I told her I was going away,” Jacinsky said, “she wanted me to stay, but Majouck sowed the wheat in October, and stayed with her at the house. He sowed 22 bushels before her old man came, and after he arrived about 3 bushels more.”
John Citavatca, arriving from Chicago, in October, was Mrs. Mahly’s father; she having written for him to come and help out while her husband was in jail. He helped in the sowing of the wheat, and when finished, stopped Majouck and Jacinsky from staying at his daughter’s house.
This was too much! In March, 1878, with Mary Shumake as interpreter, Francis Jacinsky appeared before Squire Samuel Umstead, at Tuscumbia, telling a story which shook the inhabitants of Miller county more than anything ever before known.
Francis Jacinsky informed Squire Umtead of having worked for Francis Mahly. This young woman, Mahly’s wife, Jacinsky told him, had two children when arriving at the place: Anna, the eldest, and Barbara, the youngest, by the name of Citavatca by another husband. He saw little Barbara most ever day from the time of her coming in April, until she was gone. Francis Mahly Buried her.
“I helped bury her,” Jacinsky said, “and about a week later saw the corpse again when dug up. There were several present, but I did not tell Lawyer Lumpkin, Mr. Jenkins, or Dr. Bradleyford anything, for I was afraid of Francis Mahly.”
“Mahly treated Barbara badly,” he continued. “I left that summer about five days in July to work on my place and when I came back, little Barbara looked bad. She was all beat up.”
“While working there,” Jacinsky said, “he beat her several times with a hickory stick until she didn’t have a well spot on her body. There were many times he would take her by the hand and sling her out of the door; or give her a kick. She had her nose broken, it was all scratched and sore. Mahly did it. I seen him do it, myself, he threw her down. She fell on her nose, and he kicked her in the face. Said his dog was better than that little booger!”
“He was always cursing her. He took her some mornings when it was chilly, putting her in the water out in the yard. Said that’s what to do with the little booger.”
“Several mornings,” Jacinsky continued, “Mahly sent Barbara naked to the creek even though very cold, sending his daughter Hanna along to wash her. After washing in the cold water, Barbara would often fall on the road back. Several times he sent of the child to bathe, and upon her coming back, he would hold her naked before the fire; sometimes a strong fire, sometimes not so strong. Barbara would cry, moan, and holler and twist like a little worm, but he would hold her until she was red clear up the back, often several minutes. When I said he was going to kill her, he just laughed, and said he could sooner kill a groundhog as that child.”
Here, Samuel Umstead, a Justice of the Peace, hearing the testimony, and having it reduced to writing, was reported to have “broken down, sobbing like a little child.” Mary Shumake, the interpreter, was informed a halt would be had in the proceedings. His composure regained, the Justice continued hearing the testimony.
“During the summer,” Jacinsky said, “Mahly put little Barbara in the chicken house under the chickens. When put in the chicken coup, every time she came out, Hattie, his daughter, would driver her back with a stick. If she came out and asked her mother for a piece of bread, Hattie would make her go back.”
“When in the chicken house she would often go a day or two without something to eat. She would try to eat the crumbs, left by the dogs, but they would run her back with the chickens. She would pick up a cucumber to eat, and if Mahly saw her, he would beat her with a stick, any kind he could find. I saw him beat her for eating green beans until she fell. Several times he beat her for picking up things the dogs had left.”
“For some weeks before Barbara died, she held her head crooked; held her head on one side. Mahly would tell her to straighten her head, and she would hold it straight for awhile, then it would get crooked again. She was three years old, and growing nice before she was abused.”
“Mahly whipped her when she was naked, and when she had her clothes on he would lift them up,” Jacinsky said. “This was done so many, many times I can’t remember. Sometimes she looked bloody after he whipped her. Don’t know how many times he broke her nose. The last time he jerked the hide off. Mahly threw her on the ground. When she got up the hide was off, and nose was bleeding. Her nose scabbed over, and when the scab came off, her face looked bloody like.”
“He whipped her until the day she died. The day she died he whipped her with a strap. The strap was leather, about 3” wide, long enough to go around his body.”
“The night Barbara died, about 8 o’clock, Barbara was walking backward and forward in the room. I laid down to sleep,” Jacinsky said, “then heard Mahly whipping the child. After he whipped her he grabbed her by the hand, flinging her outside, bolting the door. She did not holler much. It was cold outside, and how she got back into the house I don’t know. Don’t know when she came back inside. The child was naked when he threw her out.”
“There is only one room in Mahly’s house,” Jacinsky continued, “and a kind of a loft above. A bedstead was in the loft, and sometimes Hattie and Anna slept there. Little Barbara slept there a good many time, but she hadn’t slept there after Mahly put her in the chicken house. There were two steeds in the main room. Mahly, wife, and Anna slept in one; I slept with Frank in the other, with Hattie sleeping across the foot with us. The night Barbara died I went to sleep after she was thrown outside. The next morning, when I woke up, she was lying on the hearth, at the fireplace, dead; all burnt. She was lying straight, her arms down by her sides, and she was naked. I got up at daylight. She was burned on the toes, feet, hands, and hip.”
“Mrs. Mahly wrapped the child in an old dress, carrying her into the smokehouse. Frank got some boards out of the loft and sawed them. She was buried that afternoon, 160 steps from the house. Nobody else buried there. Mahly’s second wife was buried a little way off, and two children. Mahly said Barbara was like a dog and not like the other children which was his reason she was not buried with the others. There was no coffin. She was just covered over with some boards not nailed together," Jacinsky concluded.
Like a bolt of lightning, Jacinsky’s story spread over Miller county. Mahly, in jail at Tuscumbia, was hastened, under a strong guard, to Jefferson City for protection to his life. Threats to remove the crazy old foreigner from custody of the Sheriff, and string him up, caused Sheriff J.M. Brockman to lodge him in the Cole County Jail for Mahly’s own protection.
On March 29, 1878, a jury by its verdict, found Francis Mahly guilty of murder in the second degree, assessing his punishment to twenty-one years in the State Penitentiary.
Here, it would seem, with justice done, the matter aught to have been forgotten, but Lawyer Swalem, and a few other citizens, believed Mahly innocent. The Supreme Court of Missouri, appealed to for relief, was also suspicious, for, said the Court “The principal witness for the state, Jacinsky, testified to having seen Mahly on several occasions, hold the child in a perfectly nude state before a strong fire until its skin was burned red and she writhed in her torture like a little worm; and this in his presence and in the presence of Barbara’s mother, without so much as a word of remonstrance from either. That he had seen Mahly kick the child, beat her with sticks and throw her out of the house, and that on one occasion her nose was broken by the fall; this, too, in the presence of the mother…yet Mahly remained quietly upon his farm living in harmony with his wife, the mother of Barbara, for twelve months before any steps were taken to bring him to justice….”
“We will not say," the Court continued, “in substance, what credit the jury should have given to the testimony of Jacinsky, but in considering the case, we may say that the evidence of Jacinsky as to the conduct of Mahly, presents as shocking a case of depravity by one and indifference by the other, as is to be found in records of crime."
Annulling the judgment, the Miller County Circuit Court having erred in instructions to the jury, the Supreme Court remanded the cause and Mahly was returned from the State Penitentiary to the Miller County Jail.
When tried again, enlightened minds sought truth. It was proven the testimony of Jacinsky was merely that of a man by a woman scorned; that Mahly’s references to the little girl being like a dog were only descriptive phrases meaning nothing in the language of the old country the he did, indeed, love the little girl, and at no time, ever, mistreated her. Her death was not caused by Mahly’s violence, but by disease. On September 12, 1879, a jury found him innocent of murder.
He was set free, bankrupt, his life wholly ruined, his family broken-up, his health destroyed; having spent 199 days in Jail and one year in the State Penitentiary, for something he did not do.
Yet some good arose out of this tragedy. It revealed that in hatred, prejudice, and misunderstanding, there is no Justice. Many people, highly stirred in the beginning, were stunned, then ashamed, when learning the truth. Upon inhabitants emerging from ten years of insurrection in Miller county, the Mahly’ affair had a most sobering effect. A new era was dawning!
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