Buchanan County, Missouri - Chapter 16: Crimes, Incidents and Accidents, 1881 (part 1 of 2)

Chapter 16: Crimes, Incidents and Accidents

All organized counties and communities, it matters not what may be their geographical location or what may be their general moral and religious status, have a criminal record. Some of these records are replete with deeds of violence and bloodshed, while others are not so bad.

Buchanan County is no exception to this universal rule, yet from the date of its settlement to the present time it has been comparatively exempt, not only as to the number of crimes committed in proportion to population, but in the degree of atrocity with which they have been perpetrated. There are, however, some facts of a criminal character which belong to the legitimate history of the county, and are of such importance that they may be narrated in this work.

Edward H. Willard

The facts connected therewith are, we presume, all set forth in the confession of Augustus Otis Jennings, one of the parties to the murder, and who was executed near St. Joseph on the second day of September, 1853. Before, however, giving the confession, we shall here insert the letter of Sterling Price, at the time Governor of Mjssouri, written to General Bela M. Hughes and others, declining to commute the death sentence which had by the courts been passed upon Jennings.

Sir : Having received from yourself and many other citizens of Buchanan County, very large petitions praying the commutation of the sentence of death which was passed upon Augustus Jennings, convicted at the last term of tTie Circuit Court of said|pounty, and whose 'day of execution is rapidly approaching, I embrace the opportunity thus afforded of presenting my conclusions, after having bestowed upon the subject that serious consideration which its great importance demands.

In the exercise of the varied powers with which I have been clothed by virtue of the responsible position to which my fellow citizens have called me, it is needless for me to say more, than that I have endeavored to discharge them with an eye single to the honor of our state, and with a proper regard for the supremacy of the law. Among the multiplied duties which surround me, there are none which demands greater investigation, or more serious thought, than such cases as are presented to my consideration, growing out of the enforcement of the criminal code. The executive officer who will undertake a disposition of the almost numberless cases of this character, which are from time to time presented for his action, must necessarily clothe himself with the great attribute of mercy. But notwithstanding its claims, there is still another attribute- - justice - which cannot be disregarded without a sacrifice of the great ends of good government. And here permit me to add that my own experience has taught me that nothing is more natural, or savors more strongly of true nobility of heart, than exhibitions of true sympathy for other's woes ; while on the other hand a few dangers are greater than such as grow out of a too liberal disposition to witness the violation of law. In this day we too frequently see the gross offender escaping the penalty which he has justly incurred.

Crimes of the deepest dye are being constantly committed, and in far too many instances, for the public good, the offender goes unwhipt of justice. Is there not, then, great danger, judging from the increasing amount of crime throughout our land, that the too frequent interposition of executive clemency will have the effect to increase, rather than diminish, the number of those who seek to become its subjects .'' Impressed with these considerations, and believing that our laws are based upon the great principles of human justice, it rarely occurs that executive interpositions are attended with happy results. With reference to the case of young Jennings, after a strict examination of the evidence, I am unable to see one extenuating circumstance - but, on the other hand, the whole plan of murder seems to have been conceived in cold blood and executed with a love of vengeance which is absolutely astounding and revolting. The deliberation of the act, the cruel and tortuous manner which was selected of murdering the deceased, surpasses anything in the annals of crime. With a due regard, therefore, to all the facts, which in this case assumes far more than ordinary consequence, involving, as it does, human life itself, my best convictions of duty prompt me to decline any interference with the course of justice which has already been prescribed by the properly constituted authorities under our law.

Sterling Price

St. Joseph, Mo., September ist, 1853. The following is the voluntary confession of Augustus Otis Jennings, condemned for the murder of Edward H. Willard, made in the presence of several witnesses : H

I have thought that the ends of justice, the claims' of humanity, and the honor of my family require th'is, a frank confession on my part, of the part I and others acted in the unfortunate murder of Willard. My conscience prompts me to such a course, and although a man in my condition - condemned to die for a high crime, may not enjoy the public confidence, so far as his word is concerned, I am persuaded, corroborated as my confession is by the testimony of others, the power of simple truth will place me right before the bar of public opinion.

I became acquainted with Willard, if my memory serves me right, in the spring of 1852, some four or five months before his death. I never saw his family - his wife, that I know of, nor did he ever see my family. They were never acquainted ; and his acquaintance and mine was what we might call a street acquaintance - knew each other on the street. We also had some little business transaction, as the sequel will develop.

With Langston, Jones and Anderson, who stand charged with the sume offense with myself, I became acquainted at different periods. With Langston about twelve months, with Jones and Anderson only a few days before Willard's death. Between them and myself, or their families and mine, there never has been any particular intimacy.

Willard professed to be a carpenter by trade, but was doing business in St. Joseph as an auctioneer. He was also settling up the business of a Mr. Miller, deceased, at least so I understood from him, and as such employed me to make arid set a paling round the grave of the deceased Miller. For that labor I charged Willard twenty dollars. In addition to this I had another account charged on my books against him, of two dollars and a half - making in all twenty-two dollars and fifty cents. This debt was incurred in June, 1852.

I believed him to be an honorable man, and had no doubt that he would pay me for this labor. He promised to pay me as soon as the work should be finished. I had to pay the money out of my own pocket for the materials. I was poor, and had a family to maintain entirely by my own labor, arid consequently needed the pay. I called on him at a suitable time and told him my wants, and he promised to pay me soon. I called again, and again, and he always told me the sarne thing. I soon began to have doubts about his paying me at all. I thought he had means and was able, but did not intend to pay what he justly owed me. This somewhat soured my feelings, ,and led me into, or to take that part I did in the affair that unfortunately ended in his death. For here, permit me to anticipate the: sequel by remarking that in all that painful affair, my only and constant motive was to use some coercive measures to terrify Willard and make him pay me what he owed me - not even to lynch, much less to kill, but merely to frighten, was my whole object when I began the affair. Nor did I, up to the very moment of his death, intend doing anything else than frighten him into the payment of his debts. I believed him to able, but unwilling to pay. Subsequent developments have, however, satisfied me that the poor fellow had not means to pay his debts.

The very first intimation that I had, from any source whatever, that Willard was to be lynched till he would pay his debts, was in the office of Craig & Jones, on the morning of his death. The first explicit declaration of an intent to whip Willard was as we went out to the woods, where he was whipped to death. If Langston, Anderson and Jones either or

With the cowhide and rope which I purchased, circumstantially as related by the witness dn my trial, I intended to frighten Willard, and if used at all, only in lynching him.

Before we started out to the woods Langston told me that Willard said that he had forty-five dollars hid out there in the neighborhood of the grave yard ; that he had buried it there while I was setting the paling around Miller's grave. I asked Willard in Langston's presence if he had, and he answered, " I said it."

I understood from Anderson, on the day of Willard's death, that Willard owed him fifteen dollars, borrowed money. Of Langston I understood that he went Willard's security for license to auctioneer, perhaps forty-five dollars. From Jones I never understood that Willard was in his debt at all.

Of the sale of Willard's property, and the confusion and scramble among his creditors, that took place the day before Willard's death, it is not necessary for me to say much, as that is all well known to the public, and, in fact, I know but very little about it. I was there but a few moments. The sale was entirely over when I went to the railroad depot. Purchasers were then carrying away the property when I came up.

Of the many threats against Willard, said to have been on that occasion, I heard none. I heard Dr. Harding using scurrilous language and contemptuous epithets to Willard, and I saw the doctor wring Willard's nose. I told the doctor to let him alone ; that he owed me more money than he did him, that it was best to let him alone, &c., about as detailed by the witnesses on my trial. If Copeland made any threats against Willard that day, I did not hear them ; nor did I ever hear him make any. Willard seemed to be drunk, and made no reply to Harding, nor to anybody, that I heard.

That night I expected that some division would be made of the result of Willard's sale, and being unwell myself, I went to see my partner in business, Mr. Beal, to g'et him to go and attend to getting our proportion of Willard's property, or the money that it brought at the sale. Beal was himself unable to go ; he was that evening sunstuck dangerously ill, and he could not go. Then I returned home, and, after spending a few minutes, went to the depot to learn what had been done, or what was likely to be done. Here I learned that Willard had gone to his residence and reported himself sick, and had sent for a physician, and that the doctor (Howard) had reported him to be drunk, or that Willard's wife had put her head out of the window and stated to persons outside that he was drunk, and when drunk he was a fool, and to wait till morning, and all things should be right. With this information, satisfied that matters would be satisfactorily arranged in the morning, I returned back home. I should suppose it to have been between ten and eleven at night, when I returned home. I did not leave my residence till after breakfast next morning.

I did not see, hear from or correspond with Langston, Anderson, Jones, one nor all, nor with any body else that night, in reference to Willard.

1 was not apprized of any design or intent to coerce Wiiliard into a payment of his debts. I had not then thought of such a thing myself I was acting only with the view to secure my own rights. I was not very well. I remained at home through the night, and till after breakfast the next morning. /

The next morning, early after breakfast, I saw Langston, Anderson and Willard, all three together, going in the direction of McNew's cabinet shop. After they entered McNew's shop I went across the street to the shop and met them coming out of the shop. McNew was not in at the time. As they came out they saw McNew coming up, and they wanted to see McNew. Willard and McNew went into the wareroom for a private conversation. They remained ten or fifteen minutes in the private room before they came out. During this private conversation, Langston and Anderson walked across the square, I do not now recollect where. I remained in front of the shop till they came out.

At the time they came out I was walking back and fro before the shop door. I was a stranger to McNew - never had spoken to him, and was waiting to speak to Willard on my own business. Up to this hour there was no concert among us ; at least none that I knew of in reference to taking Willard to the woods.

Some eighteen paces from McNew's shop, as they came out I met them, and asked them "where they were going." One of them, (I do not know which) .said "they were going up street." I paused about the shop door awhile to see where they were going, thinking they were going to get something to drink. After they passed all the drinkinghouses without stopping, I then started after them. They walked slow, appeared to be engaged in conversation, and I overtook them about the time they entered Craig & Jones' law office.

Their business in Craig & Jones' office I did not know, nor have I since been informed. Nothing that occurred during the subsequent part of the day threw any light on that part of their conduct. McNew, he understood, went with him from his shop to the law office.

During the time that Willard was conversing in the back room with Craig or Jones, McNew, Langston, Anderson and myself were sitting in the office, and there was no remark, as I recollect, made by any of us in reference to Willard at all. Langston made some remark about the " if they were ready," or something to that import. Anderson then by the movement of his hands towards his pantaloons pocket, which he partly opened, exposed partly to view what I then supposed to be a pair of handcuffs. I afterwards learned that they were handcuffs. This was the first intimation I had of any intent even to frighten Willard. I remarked to Anderson that he had better not show that. He then pushed it back into his pocket. I knew that McNew was an officer - as such it flashed into my mind, immediately, that they intended to take Willard into the bushes and frighten him till he would agree to pay his debts, and I thought it was foolish to expose these handcuffs before McNew, was my reason for cautioning Anderson not to show them.

been aware of the results I never should have gone into it. Believingit was only to take him out and frighten him, and at furtherest only to lynch him, I connived at it. Here my guilt began. Up to this- hour I was an innocent man. In conniving at this I lost my innocence. I have ruined myself. I have ruined my family. I shall lose my life. Would to God I had left the room, left the company, and gone to my business.

About the time that Anderson exposed his handcuffs, Langston called me across the room to him, ajid privately slipped a dime into my hand, making no remark whatever. I had an idea that he meant something by that act, but was not certain what ; but thought it meant to go and treat myself I went out a square or two, meditating on the meaning of the act of Langston. It had something peculiar and undefinable about it. I returned without treating myself They appeared to be waiting for my return. And Langston asked if I had the instrument. I asked what instrument ? He whispered to me and said, " a cowhide and a rope, too." He said he had no more change or he would give it to me. I told him I had change enough to buy a rope - pretty nearly as detailed by the witness. I then went and bought the rope and the cowhide. Whilst gone after the rope and cowhide, or on my return with them, I came up the alley to the Copeland House, and went into the side door into the billiard room, passed through the bar-room, out at the door, and there I saw Finney, the Deputy Constable ; asked him if he had seen Copeland within an hour or so. He said he had not. I told him Copeland wished to see him down on Main Street. This I told him, to get him off in another part of town, that he might not see what was going on. Copeland was township Constable.

On my return to Craig's office they were ready waiting, and they came out, and Langston asked, "If I were ready.-'" I answered I was. They then stepped out into the middle of the street together, and had a short conversation, while I lingered on the sidewalk. Here Willard seemed reluctant to go, and said something about going back to the Mayor's office. Langston told him that " he had been there once ; that the Mayor would do nothing for him."

McNew was not there when I returned, and I saw him no more till after Willard's death. It was during this conversation, in the middle of the street, before the law office, Langston, seeing that I hesitated about going any further, called me to th'era, and remarked that Wilard had forty-five dollars hid out by the grave-yard. Whereupon I asked Willard if he had. He answered, " I said it." Langston told Jones, or remarked in general, that we ought to have some whisky to carry along, and asked Jones "if he could go and get some." Jones answered, "he could," and started off down street in the direction of the Copeland House. We then started off up street in the direction of the grave-yard, Willard walking between Langston and Anderson, while I lingered some ten or fifteen paces behind. I did not notice any threatening or menacing actions or language upon the part of Langston or Anderson towards Willard till after we passed the last house on the road towards the graveyard or the woods, where Willard was whipped. During this time, as we walked out to the woods, as I lingered behind, I run over in my mind the object of our visit out there, with what might follow, and had some misgivings in mind about going any further, but thought that Willard needed some chastisement; perhaps he might have the money hid out

When we arrived at the foot of the hill, they stopped in the middle of the road till I came up, and Langston remarked to me, "we might as well show him the varment" meaning the cowhide. Whereupon I drew out the cowhide. Langston took it out of my hand and rather flourished it before Willard's face, asking him how he liked the looks of it. Willard remarked to me "Jennings that's not for me, is it.''" I answered, I hope not ; show us the money, and do the thing that is right and it shall not be."

We then went on to the top of the hill some ' three hundred yards and stopped in the middle of the road. Willard seemed to be indifferent about going to where he said the money was hid, and here said he had none, and wanted to come to town - wanted to go and see old Johnny Crooms. Said he could get the money of him, &c. I told him that was only a come off, and that Crooms would not let him have the money. Other remarks of the same character were made for a few minutes, when Langston remarked, "Willard, you have lied long enough - it is time you had shed your linsey." With this remark, Langston commenced unbuttoning Willard's vest. Unbuttoning his vest, Langston discovered in Willard's bosom, or under the waistband of his pantaloons, a butcher knife. Langston snatched it out of Willard's clothes and drew it back behind him. He did not draw it back in such a way as to lead me to suppose that he intended to stick it into Willard. Buit Jones seemed to apprehend something of the kind, for he snatched it out of Langston's hand and gave it to me, and told me to keep it and not let Langston have it. I did so - put it in my bosom and kept it until after Willard was dead, and then put it in his hat and set it near his head, with his coat and vest, after we had packed him away from where he had died to the place where he was found by the crowd that went out.

About the time that I took the butcher knife (it was an old one, looked like it had been much used about the house ; it was loosely hung in his pants, without any scabbard) Langston slapped Willard in the face with his open hand. Jones interfered, laid his hand on Langston and said, "don't strike him that way, Billy."

Langston desisted - struck him no more; but pulled off Willard's coat and vest and laid them down in the woods. Here Jones came up with a man whose name I understood was Matthews. I never saw him before nor heard of him, and have never seen him since Willard's death, and do not know what become of him. I shall speak more about him directly.

Jones produced his bottle of whisky and we all took a drink round, Willard, Matthews and all. I, however, put the bottle to my mouth but could not drink, it was too hot I had been sick, and was then salivated and my mouth was quite, sore.

Langston then took Willard by the arm and led him off into the bushes. Willard made no resistance. I picked up Willard's coat and vest and carried them with me, and we all,. Anderson, Jones, Matthews and myself followed a few steps behind. We went some twenty-five or thirty paces into the thicket west of the road, when Langston stopped with Willard, and we all clustered around them. Langston then asked for the " Jewelry, " and Anderson pulled out the hand-cuffs. Langston told Willard to pull off his shirt. I stepped up and said it would answer to turn it up. Langston said it would be in the way. Anderson said it was not worth while to tear up his shirt. Willard then pulled of his shirt and hat and laid them down near where he stood. Anderson then stepped up with the hand-cuffs and tried to put them on Willard but could not do it right. Langston then took the hand-cuffs from Anderson and put them on Willard himself Here I produced the rope and Anderson fastended it to the hand-cuffs and looked around for a suitable tree to tie Willard to. A little red-bud sapling stood not far off. Anderson looked at it and said, "I guess this will do," and tied the other end of the rope to the tree. Willard now standing up with his hands stretched up nearly on a level with the top of his head and a foot or two of loose rope to play on from the tree. His suspenders tied round his waist to keep up his pants, with his back naked.

Langston now took the cowhide in his right hand, standing by Willard's left side, and gave him ten or twelve or fifteen stripes. I did not think the stripes were severe. They left stripes on his flesh but did not draw blood. Willard, however, begged, and every time the cowhide hit him he hallooed. It seemed to hurt him considerably.

Anderson then took the cowhide and gave him about as many stripes and about as hard, with about the same effect as did Langston. They then handed me the cowhide and said, "ain't you going to give him some too.'" I took the cowhide, Willard said, "Jennings, you ain't going to whip me, too ?" I said, "Willard, I am a poor man, have to work hard for my living and you are cheating me out of my just rights ; you ought to be whipped ; I owe it to you ; it is just." And with this I gave him about as many stripes, about as hard, and with about the same effect as bad Langston and Anderson.

There was no proposition made to Jones to whip him that I now recollect of Whether there was or not, Jones did not whip him then, or at any time afterwards. Jones did not strike him at all, at least while I was present. Jones helped us to take the body of Willard off after he was dead, to the place of concealment, but so far as I know did not touch him so as to hurt him during the whole day. When Willafd died Jones was the worst frightened man I ever saw.

We now desisted, and Anderson untied him from the tree and we all sat down to talk the matter over. We all drank of the whisky. Willard drank also. Something was now said about the forty-five dollars buried in the grave-yard. He now said he had none, but still wanted to go and see old Johnny Crooms - said he could get the money of him, &c., and said something about going to see a maa down towards Lexington, Mo., that he could get the money of him, &c., with various subterfuges to get off. I believe that I now remarked, "that a little more would set him right." Anderson and Langston both then tied him up to the tree, and I told him, while I held the cowhide in my hands, "Willard, if you have any means to pay us, do so., and save yourself all this." He made no reply. I then gave him about as many stripes as I had done before. This time, however, as he would pass to and fro, so as to avoid the stripes, (for it seemed to hurt this time worse than before, though I am not conscious that I struck him any harder,) I changed the cowhide from my right hand to my left, giving him four or five licks with the right and then that many with the left.

While I was now whipping him Anderson had gone off a few steps and cut some switches ; several, I don't know how many ; they were three or four feet long. I don't recollect what kind of wood they were, and came up with them about the time that I finished. He threw them down on the ground, all of them but one, which he retained in his hand. Langston now took the cowhide, and picked up the switches, and used both, first one and then the other on Willard. This time Langston hurt Tiim much worse, and he complained, begged and hallooed louder, especially when Langston used the switches. They were heavier and hurt worse than the cowhide.

I now interposed, and told them that Willard had enough ; I was satisfied and my sympathies now began to be with him. I persuaded Langston to stop, and I went and untied Willard, and we all set down. Willard was now bleeding pretty freely. I thought he had enough. My feelings were now bad. The sight of his blood hurt my feelings - I struck the poor fellow no more after this ; and from that time till his death I did all I could to save him. By this time, however, the others, Langston and Anderson, seemed to be under vindictive feelings, and were evidently under the influence of whisky.

I now proposed to turn him loose and let him go, stating that he would leave the country no doubt, and not appear against any of us for whipping him. He said he would go immediately away and never come back.

I then asked Willard ''if he really had no money f" He said "he had not a cent in the world ! That his wife had given him a dime that morning to pay for his letters, and that he had not another cent." Here something was said about his wife having money. Some of us asked "if she had any .' whether she kept the money } where she kept it .'' what had become of the money that his furniture brought the day before," etc. He then said that he had some eight hundred dollars hid in Dr. Keedy's field. I knew nothing about the field. Some of the others did. They seemed to understand it, and we all agreed that it was a come off.

He then intimated that perhaps his wife might have as much as seventy-five, or eighty dollars in the bureau drawer. I then proposed that he should send an order to his wife for it. He said his hands were so paralyzed that he could not write. I then told him that I would write it for him. To this he agreed, and I did write the order myself, and he took the pencil and signed his name to it. Jones took the order to Willard's wife, and after being gone a suitable length of time he returned with no money - said the: woman had no money - that she said she had but a few cents, twenty or thirty cents - some small sum, at least. That she said she had given her husband a dime that morning, and had only that much left.

What Jones told the woman I know not, but to the best of my recollection, the order contained nothing threatening. After Jones returned, we upbraided Willard for deceiving us. Langston said him up again." Langston and Anderson tied him up again. Then Willard begged and entreated for God's sake to whip him no more. He said "he had enough!" He begged hard, poor fellow! I now begged for the poor fellow ! I felt bad. I did not know what to do. I walked off a few steps. They commenced whipping him again. Langston was now whipping him, but I thought not so hard as before. But Willard complained most bitterly. I started off with an intent to leave entirely, when Langston asked me where I was going. I replied " after a drink," Willard said, "Jennings, for God's sake, bring me some water ! " Langston now handed me the bottle, .and said, "bring also some whisky," I came then down to the grocery, as stated by the witness on my trial,, and purchased a jug with the privilege of returning it that evening, and getting my money back (which I did), and the bottle of whisky, and returned immediately, I should not have returned at all but to carry the water to Willard, with some desire that I might interfere for him. I now began to fear the thing might be pushed too far. I was not absent, I should think, more than thirty minutes.

On my return I found them all setting down on the ground, Willard looked bad ; he showed signs of exhaustion ; looked languid. I did not ask them but they had evidently been whipping him pretty severely while I was absent. I gave Willard some whisky but he did not seem to relish it. He drank freely of the water and said it was good. The others drank freely of the whisky. I now took Langstoii and Anderson to one side and begged them to desist - told them that they had given him enough - too much, I poured the water on Willard's head, I remained with them twenty or thirty minutes. While I was there they did not whip him any more,

I took the jug to go after more water and Langston handed me the the bottle and told me to bring more whisky. I then came down to the Farmer's House atjd lingered about there a few minutes, when three young men asked me to join them in a game of cards. I consented and set down in the bar-room and played cards for perhaps an hour, I was at the Farmer's House at least an hour and a half Jones came in about this time. I saw him as he came up. He had been down town and was returning to the woods. I met him at the door. He had a little tin bucket in his hands, and said that he had been after their dinners, I previously understood that morning that they had not had their breakfast. I requested Jones to take the jug of water and bottle of whisky with him, that I did not intend to return any more, Jones said that he could not very well take them and the dinner. And he further said that he would like to have me go up anyhow, saying, " I think that they have given him enough, and if you will go up perhaps we can persuade them to quit," And with this view only I went up. When we arrived they were all setting down on the ground. I looked at Willard and the poor fellow looked horribly bad. He was now badly blooded and I saw that they had beaten him desperately while I was gone. He was setting on the ground with his head rather resting on his hands, which were supported by his knees. I approached him and asked him if he would have some whisky. He said nothing, but shook his head. I told him to smell of it and held it to his nose. He merely breathed over' it, I insisted that he should taste of it and held it to his mouth. He took some in his mouth but spit it out again. He did not swallow any of it. I again told Langston and Anderson that they had given him enough - too much. So said Jones. Langston and Anderson both said they intended to give him more. I told them to eat their dinners first, perhaps they might feel in a better humor after dinner. In the meantime I had given Willard a drink of water. He drank heartily but did not

Langston and Anderson now stepped some ten or twelve paces to one side and set down to eat their dinner. They asked me to join them in eating dinner. My mouth was too sore to eat the victuals that Jones had brought ; it was bread, meat and potatoes. Nor did I feel in the humor to eat. I stepped aside with them, however. Jones said that he had eaten his dinner at home and could not eat any more. Jones seemed to sympathize with Willard, and while we stepped aside to eat, Jones remained with him, and stood not very far from him, governed by no other motive I think, but sympathy. He stood a few feet from him. Langston and Anderson had just begun to eat, had eaten but a few mouthfuls, when Jones remarked, "Willard is dying !" We'-all sprung to our feet and run to him, and by the time that we got to him he had lain down on his back, and afterwards breathed not a single breath. His vital powers were all exhausted. He had lost much blood, had been some hours in indescribable physical suffering, and now died as easy as going to sleep. I never saw anybody die any easier than he died.

I believe that I was more self-possessed in this awful crisis than either of the others. Jones was the worst frightened man I ever saw in my life ! Langston was considerably agitated and alarmed. So was Anderson. It was a terrible time. The reader cannot possibly appreciate our feelings.

I think that I first broke silence by asking, " Boys, what will you do ?" Langston spoke and said, "We will take him off and conceal him, and at night we will come and throw him into the Missouri River." Langston said, " Let no man reveal this," or words to that effect. I then took Willard's shirt, while the rest held him up, and put it on him. I also drew up his pantaloons around his waist. They were down around his ankles. In putting on his shirt and drawing up his pants I noticed that the fellow was awfully whipped. I know nothing about the wounds on Willard's head, as spoken of by the surgeons that made the post mortem examination. I did not notice them, but I have no doubt but the whipping was sufficient and did produce his death.

After putting on his shirt and adjusting his pants, Langston took hold of one arm and I the other ; Anderson took hold of one leg and Jones the other, and we bore him off some forty or fifty yards into the thicket to the place of concealment. I don't now recollect that a word was spoken by any of us as we bore him away. We did not drag him that I recollect of, though we might have let some part of his body touch the ground as we went through the thicket, but I think not. After laying him down in the thicket, as he was subsequently found by the crowd that went out that afternoon, we all returned to the place of whipping. I then took Willard's hat, his vest, coat and boots, and returned with them to the dead body, as it lay in the thicket, and laid them all down together, not far from his head. I turned round to go back, and then remembered that I had Willard's butcher knife in my bosom, and I turned about and put the knife in his hat, and then left and went to the place of whipping, and found them standing about. Jones, I think, at this time was throwing the switches away, and other ways trying to obliterate the evidence of the transaction. Some short conversation now took place between us, about the best way to act so as to keep the thing concealed. We soon agreed in the manner of separately going into town. Jones handed me the rope and I subsequently threw it into Blacksnake. I don't know who took the cowhide nor the hand-cuffs. Jones took the bucket that had the dinner in it. I took the jug ; I don't know who took the bottle. Jones now struck off into the bushes by himself Langston,. Anderson and I came down the road together to the Farmers' House. Here Langston went in, and Anderson and I came on to the grocery,, where I had got the jug. Matthews, spoken of before, had not been with us from the time the whipping began in the morning ; I did not perceive when nor how he left us. I have since understood from my fellow sufferers that he lay round there in the thicket and saw all that took place, and then left for parts unknown. He took no part in the matter whatever, and the only motive that he could have had in being present was a curiosity to see what was going on. Of Jones, the motive that took him there, I have never been able to comprehend. He seemed to have no ill-feeling whatever towards Willard, did not a thing under the heavens to hurt him, seemed to sympathize with him, took his part, evidently kept Langston from hurting him, and yet took out the first bottle of whisky, took the order to Willard's wife, went after the dinner, and helped us carry the body to the place of concealment after the man was dead, and the only pay he seemed to have received at all, as Willard owed him not a cent, was the most terrible fright mortal man, perhaps, ever got.

At the grocery where I got the jug, Anderson and I remained but a minute or two, just long enough for me to hand up the jug and get back my money, when we went back to the Farmers' House. Here we found Langston, and joined him in taking a drink of whisky. Mr. Heed, about this time, stepped in, and some of us asked him to take a drink with us. He thanked us, and remarked that he was in a hurry; took a drink of water only, and started off in the direction that we had just come. Langston now stepped out at one door, Anderson and I at the other ; we soon fell in together on the street, and came down town. About halfway between the Farmers' House and the bridge across Blacksnake we met and passed a woman. Just after we passed her Langston remarked, " that is Willard's wife." Anderson nor I knew her. I turned, however, and looked at her as she walked in the direction that we had just come. As soon as we crossed the bridge on Blacksnake we separated. I went down on to Main Street, and Langston and Anderson in the direction of their houses, and I saw no more of them till I saw them in prison.

We left Craig's law office in the morning, I should think, between eight and nine o'clock. We parted at the bridge across Blacksnake, I should think, not later than two o'clock in the afternoon - it was the 27th day of July, 1852. I well remember that it was a beautiful, bright, sunshiny day, but rather warm. The whole of the transaction as detailed above, in reference to Willard's death, took place just as I have here stated, in manner and order of time, with the part that I and others took in it, to the best of my recollection. So help me God ! Freely, frankly, and honestly made, without reservation or concealment. And oh, what a day's work that was !

The first place that I stopped at on Main Street was in a blacksmith's shop. I stepped in and talked a few minutes with a man about doing some painting for me. From there I went directly to my own residence. My wife was at home by herself, pleasant and kind in feeling; knowing nothing about the transactions of the day. She asked me what detained me that I was not home to dinner .-' I made some evasive reply. She spread dinner on the table for me, and I sat down and eat a bite by myself; remained only a few minutes at home, and then went round to my shop. I remained a short time in my shop, then took my book and went to Estes' tin shop, to have some settlement with him. There was some business transactions between us. Estes was not in ; I was told that he had just stepped out but would be in in a few minutes. I waited till he came in - quite a good while. When he did come in I learned of him that the murder of Willard had been found out, that the body had been'found, and that a great crowd had gone out there, and that he had been and seen the body. He was very much excited, and could not talk of anything else but the murder of Willard. Of him I received ten dollars, and he said at some other time we would have a settlement. I then went back to my shop, put my book in the chest, locked it up, made some other little arrangements about the shop, and returned home. It was now supper time. I eat a light supper and was sitting in the front door of my house, with my wife and family, just at dusk, when Jacob Langston, son of the old gentleman, came in at the back door, (this was the first time that he ever came to my house), and said he wanted to see me. He appeared to be somewhat excited and much affected. We stepped aside into the little porch, and he told me of Willard's murder, that his body had been found, etc., and that his father had been arrested on suspicion of being engaged in the murder, and he wanted to know of me, " if I knew whether his father had any hand in the matter." I gave him some evasive answer, which, however, did not seem to satisfy him. He soon went away, and I then went round to my partner, Mr. Beal's. He had recovered from his "sun-stroke," and was up. He told me that I was suspicioned of having some hand of Willard's murder, and asked me if it were so ! Said he hoped it was not so ! I denied it, and somewhat evaded the conversation. I remained at Mr. Beal's but a short time, when I returned back to my residence. A few steps from my door, young Langston met me,, and seemed much interested, and wanted to find out whether his father was concerned in it. Let me depart from the thread of my narrative here, just long enough to say that young Langston had no part in the murder of Willard whatever. I am almost certain that he knew nothing about it. He was entirely innocent of the whole matter.

When young Langston came to my house the second time, he and I walked out on Main Street to see what was going on, and to make what observations we could. I still held out to young Langston that if his father had any hand in it that I was not aware of it, still affecting an innocence on my part. We walked down Main Street to Robidoux' corner ; paused there awhile, and then went on to the Public Square. There were a good many people on the Public Square at the time, and there had been more excitement about Willard's murder than I was aware of at the time. The people were somewhat scattered and scattering at the time. They were collecting and had collected in little groups in differ- ent parts of the Square, and were in low, under-toned conversation. There was evidently quite an indignant feeling in the public towards the perpetrators of the deed. Young Langston and I mixed not with any of these little squads of folks, but passed through - made but a short walk, and returned. I saw and recognized several persons during this walk. Dr. Crane particularly I recollect passing, and spoke to him, and I think he returned the salutation, "Good evening," or something like that. Young Langston and I soon separated. He went on and I returned to my own house, not later than ten at night, I should think, and went to bed. My wife in the meantime had heard of the murder of Willard - that Langston, Anderson and Jones had been arrested, and that rumor and suspicion connected me with them. She was uneasy and mentioned it to me. I denied knowing anything about it, and quieted her as best I could, and Jhen went to sleep. I was not very stout, being unwell, as I have before stated ; had been on my feet all day, and the part I had borne in Willard's death was taxing my powers pretty heavily. In my mind I was not apprehending any danger. I knew that there would be a trial the next day of Langston, Anderson and Jones, and supposed that I should be called on as a witness only. I had no dread of being apprehended myself Under all these circumstances I slept very quietly during the night.

I remained in doors next morning, with the exception of doing what we call "chores," till after breakfast. I then went round to my shop, intending to work a little. I made some start at work - brought in a few plank ; made some directions in relation to business with one or two persons, and began perhaps to use the saw on some of the plank, when friends began to come in. One and another and another stepped in. The conversation was almost entirely about the murder of Willard. There was an intense feeling about it. Several persons told me that suspicion strongly rested on me as being engaged in the affair. Mr. Hoagland, I recollect, told me that I was strongly suspected, and asked me : "Jennings, are you guilty or not guilty?" I denied it. Others told me the same. At length some person came into the shop and took me out to one side and told me that a warrant was out for me, and that I would soon be apprehended, and said: "Jennings, the excitement is very high, and I would advise you to leave for a few days, till the excitement is over, and then return. Others soon advised the same thing. And I reflected on the matter - thought perhaps I had better leave for awhile. There was no Judge then in this district. I did not know how long I might have to be in jail. The public feeling ran very high, and I thought best to absent myself at least for a few days.

I made it convenient to see a few friends with whom I had business, obtained a little money, went to a store and purchased a pair of shoes, and went round home. There I met my sister, Mrs. Hebron. She had heard of all these things, and had come round to see about them. She and my wife were both much alarmed, and wept bitterly. I told them not to be alarmed ; that all things would come round right. I told them that I would withdraw for a few days, till the excitement was over, etc. I put on clean linen, and immediately left. I took the road out by the ropewalk. At the forks of the road I took the Savannah road ; then again . took the Rochester road till out a mile or two ; I left the main road and took the prairie, brush, woods and by-paths. Without taxing the patience

-of the reader with an uninteresting narrative of this adventure, in which in fact nothing remarkable or that would be interesting to the public occurred. I worted my way into DeKalb County. From Maysville, on Friday morning, I wrote back to my brother-in-law, Mr. Hebron. This letter was soon at hand, and by it my whereabouts was soon known. On Saturday morning I was arrested, some six or seven miles north of Maysville, by Officers Heed and Finney, and brought back to St. Joseph the same day. We arrived in town about sunset. On our arrival in town I was put in prison. In prison I found already Langston, Anderson and Jones. They had been apprehended and put in prison on Tuesday night, and had been brought before Justices Wash and Lewis, and their trial before this examing court begun. The next Monday being election, the further proceeding in their trial was postponed till Thursday, there being three days of election. I now was placed with them for trial, and the trial set for Thursday.

When I was introduced into prison I found Langston, Anderson and Jones. They appeared tolerably cheerful - were disappointed at seeing me - said they supposed that I was entirely gone, and seemed rather to regret that I had been apprehended.

Thirteen long months have these poor fellows, Langston, Anderson, Jones and myself lain in prison together. Always, except when separated by the officers for a few hours, or days at furtherest, during my trial, in the same room. These thirteen months have been to me an age ! Nor has the time dragged less heavily with them. During this wearisome time we have lived in peace with one another. There has been no recrimination, no censuring each other, no bickering, and but very seldom has the matter been spoken of at all. We all understand ourselves - know the part each acted in that tragedy, and have generally been silent about it. To-morrow I shall separate from them - my companions in guilt - my companions in suffering, and from my very soul I pity them ! I pity their families ! I wish I could help them ! But I cannot. I bear against them no bad feelings in the world. Myself, and myself only, do I blame for this that no.w hangs over me - there never has been a hard word passed between us in prison.

I know not what disposition, of course, that the court will make of Langston, Anderson and Jones. It would meet my hearty approbation, and I wish I knew such were the case, that they might be acquitted and restored to their families. Willard is dead - was most inhumanly murdered ; his family is ruined. I have laid in jail thirteen long months and suffered more than a thousand deaths. They, too, have suffered equally as much ; our families are all crushed down to rise no more - ruined forever. I have to die. The blood of a thousand men would not make atonement for Willard's. If the divine claims of "Eye for an eye, tooth for tooth," be just, my death ought to satisfy the claims of justice, however others may have bore a conspicuous and even leading part in the crime. I say then, ifit could be compatible with the claims of the law, and the ends of justice could be satisfied without their blood, I would rather Langston, Anderson and Jones could be spared.

Thursday came and we were all four arraigned before the examining court - Wash and Lewis presiding. Gen. Gardenhire, assisted by Vories, appeared for the State and Hughes, Leonard and Loan appeared for Langston and Jones, and Jones for Anderson, and Johnson for me.

The examination before the court lasted several days. Excitement was high, feelings intense, and of course a great many things said all round that would not have been said under less exciting circumstances. The prosecution was conducted with ability and firmness. And I can now reflect back and believe that it was as impartially conducted as it could have been done under the circumstances.

The attorneys for the defense were and are men of talents, professional ability and zeal and were true and faithful to their clients. I believe that they have done their duty. "At the end of the examination we all stood committed to the next term of the Circuit Court, which would have come off in September, but their being no judge in this district our trials remained over to the spring term. However, in the meantime, the judge was elected and a called term of court held in November on our cases. Before the grand jury our cases were brought, true bills found and our trials set for spring.

At the March term, Judge Norton' presiding, our cases came up. Langston took a change of venue to Clinton County. Langston stood before the Clinton term, but the State was not ready and his case was continued till the fall term, and he remanded back to this prison for safe keeping. Jones put his trial off till the fall term. Anderson's case \yas brought before an adjourned term in June and put over to the fall term, and my friends thought my trial had better come off then. My lawyers obtained the aid of Judge Wyatt and my friends employed Mr. Wilson of Platte City. Craig, assisted by Vories, appeared for the state. A day or two was spent in settling the preliminaries of my trial. Nearly a day was occupied in empannelling a jury. lilorris and Smith were the only men on the jury I knew. To the others I was an entire stranger. The jury, I thought, was composed of honorable, intelligent men. My lawyers were satisfied with them and so was I. The prosecution also was satisfied. Several days were occupied in the trial. The witnesses were numerous and the examination and cross-examination close and rigid.

During the trial, many questions, purely legal, came up before the court that had a bearing on the case. My attorneys took exceptions to some of Judge Norton's decisions ; whereupon I afterwards appealed to the Supreme Court, which, however, availed me nothing, only the postponement of the time of execution.

The testimony on my trial gave as little grounds for animadversion on, my part, now that death is before me, I believe, as I could have expected.

When the witnesses were all examined, the counsel, both for the state and for me, made able, learned, eloquent and powerful addresses to the jury. Late on Friday evening the jury took the case and retired. They were out not exceeding thirty minutes when they returned with a verdict of ^^ Guilty of murder in the first degree, as charged in the indictment!' Saturday I received sentence of the court, and the third day of June set for my execution ; while I was remanded back to prison.

Some of my friends have thought that my feelings, during my trial, were not suitable, and did not comport with a correct, taste and a noble mind. That I was indifferent, &c. These things, I now presume, were so. I was not then able to appreciate my true condition. I had passed the most severe ordeal the last eight or ten months that man could possibly pass. All earth seemed to be against me. The scorn and con- tempt of public sentiment poured in on my crushed soul like the floodtide. My wife and family I knew were ruined. My intimate companions in prison were not able to help rhe - all these things threw my whole feelings into the defensive - they were bad. Now that the storm has somewhat passed over, and I crushed to the very earth - prostrated low, humbled to the dust, I can look back and see my own errors ; and oh, will the reader spare me the mentioning them !

I had not' proper feelings, and consequently did not act myself. I was advised that the Supreme Court would order me a new trial, and looked forward to the new trial in hope, for the chance of being released. Thus held up I did not take the correct view of my true and proper condition. I had all the time, however, misgivings about the issue - something terribly haunted me the whole time.

In July the Supreme Court set in Jefferson City, and the case came up. On hearing the case the court affirmed the decision of the Circuit Court and fixed the 2nd day of September (to-morrow) for my execution. This decision of the Supreme Court somewhat disappointed me and greatly crushed my feelings. No one can realize what my feelings were that never had the trial of it. A black cloud now began to gather over my horizon and hang over my pathway. Only one ray of hope now penetrated this dark cloud. That was an appeal to the Governor - to beg for executive interference. Here was my last hope.

My friends went to work ; petitions were drawn up and numerously signed by good and worthy citizens in my behalf. Among a host of others who generously came to my assistance on this occasion, I must mention the name of the Rev. William Prottsman, of Dover, Mo. He generously gave me all the assistance that a noble mind could have given. In the success of an application for executive interference (the petition set forth a desire for a change of punishment to imprisonment for life in the penitentiary,) I had hope - desire ; but my hopes were not very sanguine. Many friends advised me not to look forward with much reliance to that source, particularly the Rev. Mr. Boyakin, whose sympathy for me has been worthy of the man and his high calling, and whose views and judgment were always right on this matter. He told me from the beginning that the Governor would not interfere. The petitions were, however, laid at his feet and a condemned man asked the poor boon which could have been constitutionally given, to be allowed to live his lifetime at hard service in the penitentiary. But to live, after I have thought the whole matter dispassionately over, and my mind made up to die, and have become almost willing to die, I hardly know whether I would now accept the boon if offered. Perhaps I might.

Anyhow, when the telegraph brought word from my friends at the court of Governor Price, that the Governor, after examining my papers, said he could "see no reason for the interference of executive clemency," that last ray of hope was cut off.

At first I was disposed to give way to bad feelings towards the Governor, and said things about him and others I am now sorry for. A paroxysm of disappointed hope, despair and crushed feelings drove me nearly to desperation. At this time Christian friends came to my relief. They gave good counsel, sympathized with me and prayed for me. Among a great many others I will mention Rev. Mr. Vandeventer, and Boyakin ; I believe that they have done their whole duty to me. Their counsel, attention, visits and sympathy have been well tinned and wise. Under God, to them I am indebted for what I think to be a proper frame of mind to die in. They have pointed to the Lamb of God. They have gone there with me. Honestly I have tried to confess my sins ; I deplore them, from my very heart I abhor them. I hope for divine mercy; I believe that I shall have it. I shall die a penitent, trusting only on the blood of Christ for salvation. And I have in my bosom a consciousness that my suit to him has not been in vain. These gentlemen I have invited to attend with me to-morrow at my execution, and painful as it may be and will be to them, they have consented to be present.

I wish my amanuensis, who is better acquainted with my motives and heart than any man living, who has been with me the last three or four days constantly; into whose bosoml have poured the whole secret treasury of my own heart, to gather such materials of a biographical character as may be furnished him by my wife and brother, concerning me, and append it to this, my confession, and to give such assistance as may be needed in correcting the proof-sheet of the same for publication. And I furthermore wish that he will see that after the expenses of the publication of this, my confession, shall be defrayed, if anything is further realized by the sale of the same, that it go to the benefit of my wife. I also request of those gentlemen who were present the other evening, and heard from my own lips the details of WiUard's murder, and who are now present and hear this confession read and acknowledged, to assist in carrying out these my wishes on this subject. I trust in them; I know they will do so.

As the last day that I am to live wears away, and I am endeavoring to prepare for all the awful realities of to-morrow, I must do myself the justice and give my friends the satisfaction to know that I am in peace with all mankind! Towards the Governor, and the attorneys who have plead against me, and the court, judge, jury and witnesses, one and all, I have no ill feelings whatever. My mind is easier on this subject than I thought possible for it to be. I have had my enemies and this affair has of course made me many, and they have been very virulent in their language and bitter in their feelings against me ; I heartily forgive them.

To my friends what shall I say .'' I have not language to express my wishes. They have been everything that friends could be, said everything that friends could have said, and have done everything that friends could have done. From the first hour of my incarceration in prison, I have enjoyed the attention of friends, many, very many! Oh, that I could reward them. In the officers I have found sympathizing friends. Sheriff Smith has been to me like a brother. While he has faithfully performed the duties of his office, he has done everything in his power to make my circumstances as comfortable as possible. I deeply sympathize with him in his late heavy affliction. I hope he will not let his feelings be mortified at that painful duty devolving on him to-morrow. I shall have no unkind feelings towards him for it. I believe Smith to be a Christian man, and I hope to meet him in heaven. Mr. Creal, the jailer, and his family, have brought me under infinite obligations to them. A man condemned to be hung, perhaps never ha:d the kind attention paid to him in jail as Creal and his family have paid to me and to my family, my wife in her deep affliction, and at the same

My lawyers, Johnson, Wyatt and Wilson, have done all that talents and faithfulness could have done for me. They are now suffering in feelings for me. Adieu, gentlemen. I regret that your affections could not have found a worthier object ! I know your feelings, you cannot come to see me ; I appreciate them. Adieu ! Adieu !

My brother, Wesley Jennings, in all this affair, has shown himself to be more than an ordinary man for his age, and such I am advised is the estimate that the public puts oh his conduct before this community. He came to my assistance early in last March, and from that time to the present he has been more than a brother to me. He has stuck close to me, administered to all my wants ; constantly sympathized with me. He has nobly braved the storm of public indignation ; stood up solitary and alone for his brother, yet he has, so far as I have heard, acted prudent. I am happy that he enjoys the public confidence. His noble, innocent, manly young heart is now bleeding at every pore. From my very soul I pity him. I can only say to him look up my brother ! go on, act manly, form no bad habits, keep no evil company, and a bright sun will yet light up your pathway. You are worthy of a better brother than I am.

My wife, Nancy, is here with me, and from the day that my hands were stained with Willard's blood, to this day, she has been faithful in her attention to my wants ; her attachment and love has been as constant and as true as a magnet. Her troubles have been overwhelming, poor, broken-up, without friends, husband in jail, charged with a high crime, public contempt sweeping in on' us like a mighty flood. Her infant she buried in November, in April she became a mother again. Exposed without a home, friendless, from first one boarding-house to another, she finally, propelled by the present motives that ever swelled a woman's heart, by the permission of the Sheriff and Jailer, she come to to the jail, and has been with me constantly, and has said and done everything under the heavens that a wife could do, for my welfare ; through the hot sun and driving winds, and pelting storms, with a sick child at home, and a broken heart, pale, wan, emaciated, trembling limbs and a worn down constitution, has that woman gone all over this town in my behalf, and when the last only hope remained, woman-like, with the crisis, she rose above it, and held me up in her affections, and in every part of this town did she canvas with a petition, and begged the names of the citizens in my behalf, through the whole storm of public contempt did she, by the majesty of true devotion to her husband,, press her way to their affections. Public sentiment can never do her justice, she is worthy of a better husband than she has had. Her last and only child fell a victim to her devotion to me. Noble woman t Three years ago this day (the ist of September), she pledged herself to nie ; hand and heart she gave before the marriage altar to me, and most faithful has she been to this present hour.

to see me, and be with me and pay his last tribute of respect - she will go home with him to live. He will henceforth become her adviser and protector. To him she will look for advice and protection, and I beg of her to live so in the future as to merit the esteem of the good ; to give her heart to God ; to make Him her friend, and though your troubles are overwhelming, He will sustain you. I pray you to forgive me all my want of kindness to you. All that I can do is to beg forgiveness for it ; I know that your noble heart will and has already forgiven me. Let us prepare to meet together in Heaven. Farewell, Nancy! farewell, till we meet in a better world than this!

Augustus Otis Jennings

Being possessed of nothing more valuable, and being desirous, from the numerous acts of kindness and benevolence, of which I have been the happy recipient, from the Rev. W. F. Boyakin, I herewith present him with my portemonie, in order that he may kindly bear in remembrance the grateful thanks of an unfortunate man, in whose present and future welfare he has taken such deep and lively interest.

Immediately after penning the above touching lines, he wrote with his own hand the following, to Mrs. Beall, wife of O. E. Beall, brother to Mrs. Jennings :

Dear Sister : In a few hours I shall exclaim, " This is the last of earth !" It is painful to be thus rudely torn from dearly cherished friends and relations. But it is a blissful consolation to reflect that in a few days, or a few short years at most, we shall again be united in that happy world, where heart-rending separations are never known - nor cannot come. I cannot write any more. Be kind to Nancy. She has been a guardian angel to me through all my trials and difficulties. Her heart is broken - her spirit is crushed. Oh, Cornelia, comfort and console her in her affliction.

I know your kind heart and generous nature will afford her all the consolation in your power. Adieu ! Adieu ! Adieu ! May your kind and affectionate husband share a better fate than mine - is the prayer of your affectionate brother.

for an hour to enjoy a private interview with his brother and brother-inlaw, his wife having taken leave of him at seven in the morning. At Rev. Mr. Boyakin returned to his cell, and remained with him till they went to the place of execution.

At nine in the morning, the Robidoux Grays, commanded by Captain Hughes, being summoned by Sheriff Smith to keep order and assist in the execution of the laws, filed into the prison yard, with martial music, in military dress and arms, and took a position in front and round the prison. At this time the prisoner was dictating the address that he subsequently delivered on the scaffold, and remarked to his amanuensis, " martial music excites me^it brings to my mind the Mexican war. I wish they would have no more of it." . His wish was immediately communicated to Captain Hughes, and kindly complied with.

At twelve precisely, the sheriff entered his cell, in the presence of his spiritual adviser, with the remark, " Mr. Jennings I have another painful duty to perform," and began unfolding some papers. The prisoner anticipated his business, and said : " My death warrant I suppose. Save yourself the pain ; you need not read it." But on being informed that the law made it obligatory on the sheriff, he consented, and remained silent till it was read. After reading it, the sheriff turned to one side and wept, and the prisoner said in a calm tone to his spiritual adviser, " All life is a shade. This is a dark spot in the shade of life." The carriage now drove to the front door of the jail, the military paraded in proper order around it, and, preceded by Sheriff Smith, the prisoner, arm in arm with the Rev. Mr. Boyakin, left the jail door and entered the carriage, immediately followed by the Revs. Messrs. Vandeventer and Hurst and Drs. Crane and Chambers^all took seats in the same open carriage. The immense concourse of people, already assembled round the prison yard, now slowly opened a passage way, through which the carriage, escorted by the military, passed in slow and solemn silence ; and then, in the same funeral-like procession, proceeded to the place of execution, some three-quarters of a mile southeast of town. The place of execution was out in the open prairie, east of Mr. Patee's farm, in the valley, surrounded by a splendid amphitheatre of hills - those picturesque hills -of Blacksnake. The scaffold was formed in the centre of the valley, with a convenient platform seven or eight feet high, upon which six or persons might conveniently stand. A part of this scaffold was so -adjusted, trap-door fashion, as to fall at the cutting of a rope. With this the prisoner fell about five feet, and then swung, suspended with his - feet leveral feet above the ground.

From the time the prisoner left the jail yard to the place of execution, a conversation was kept up between the prisoner and the gentlemen with him in the carriage. The conversation was mostly, but not entirely, about the dread realities soon to occur. The Mexican war,

The whole tenor of that part of his conversation upon religion ort the way, called out but the one sentiment from the prisoner, and that was, that he was happy, thought he would die happy, hoped he would die easy, &c.

On approaching the place of execution, as the carriage reached the hill in view of the scaffold, an immense multitude, already assembled, spread over the surrounding hillsides, presented themselves to view. One of the company asked the prisoner, " if this scene had ever been presented to his imagination, either asleep or awake " A thousand times," was the reply. " How does the real compare with the imaginary i"" was further asked. " I was not prepared to see so many," was the calm reply.

On arriving at the scaffold, the carriage halted, and the prisoner,, with the gentlemen with him, remained some ten minutes in the carriage, while the military was forming in proper order. Captain Hughes then ascended the platform, and gave notice that " he had been summoned, with his company, to see that the laws were faithfully executed ; that he expected order, and was able and determined to enforce it."

The gentlemen, surgeons, sheriff and prisoner then aiscended the platform ; all kneeling, while the Rev. Mr. Vandeventer prayed. The prisoner then read in a firm, clear, distinct voice, a statement written just before he left his cell, immediately after which he took an affectionate leave of those with him on the platform. During this, every one on the platform but the prisoner wept. He begged them not to weep ; said he was ready, firm ; should suffer but a few minutes ; would soon be happy, &c. The sheriff then adjusted the rope round his neck, and tied his arms back, and placed a cap over his head and face. His last remark was in answer to Rev. Mr. Boyakin, who asked him " if the rope seemed that it worked well, and if he now, on the threshold of eternity, was firm in his Christian faith .'" " The rope works easy," he remarked^ moving round his head, so as to try it. " I think I shall die easy, and I am firm in my trust in Christ." The Rev. Mr. Boyakin then prayed. At the close of this prayer the trap-door fell, and the prisoner was suspended.

Contrary to his expectation and desire, the prisoner struggled long and died hard - awfully hard. Twenty-five minutes after the trap-door fell, the surgeons pronounced him dead, and in a few minutes more his body was taken down, coffined, and borne to the graveyard and decently buried by the side of his two infant children, mentioned in his confession. When it was announced by the surgeons that the prisoner was dead, the concourse, which must have numbered some eight thousand persons, slowly retired, all oppressed at the awful (ixhi.bition just witnessed.

The manly deportment of the prisoner, while going to and at the scaffold, and high moral demeanor the whole week preceding, his chaste and honorable sentiments, freely expressed to all who visited him, created a deep sympathy in his behalf, and satisfied the community that he possessed noble traits of character. Dying, as he did, a criminal, yet he merited a better fate.

Platte River Bridge Disaster

At the bridge, where the Hannibal & St. Joseph Railroad crosses Platte River, ten miles east of the city of St. Joseph, occurred one of the most appalling calamities ever known in the annals of railroad disasters.

In the fall of 1861, the Hannibal & St. Joseph Railroad had been so often torn up at different points, along the route between the former and latter cities, that for several days the trains had not been passing over the entire length of the road.

Upon a certain day, however, it was known that a passenger train from Hannibal would arrive at St. Joseph during the next night, at the hour of 1 1 o'clock.

Late in the evening, before the arrival of the cars, the bridge was: saturated with turpentiije, then set on fire, and completdy destroyed. Near the hour of midnight, the peculiar rumbling sound, which tells of an approaching train, was heard. The night was intensely dark, and' the conductor, not dreaming of danger, quickened the speed of the train as he neared the city. Onward rushed the cars with their precious burden of human life. Mothers with slumbering infants in their arms, never dreaming of the yawning abyss into which they would so soon plunge ;: fathers watching the happy faces of their children ; the beauty of youth, the strength of manhood, and the decrepitude of age, all were there,, numbering about one hundred and fifty souls.

As the train came swiftly, thundering along its iron trackway towards the chasm of death, a lady remarked to her husband : "Don't you think we are all out of danger.?" "Yes," he replied, "our journe}r is nearly over." The next moment he lay mangled and dead, and' she had barely escaped with life. Ominous words ! His journey of life was indeed over. The cars had made the fatal leap. From the abutments of the burned bridge down to the bed of the river, a distance of more than twenty feet, one car, dashed down upon another, crushing, mangling, and killing a large number of passengers.

Of ail that numerous company, but few escaped without receiving such severe injuries, as made it impossible for them to assist their fellowsufferers. The night was chilly and cold, and from near eleven to three o'clock in the morning, the wounded screamed for aid, and struggled for relief. Some attempted to free themselves from their dead companions, and from the debris of the crushed cars. Others with broken legs or arms, were endeaving to creep from the deep mud and stagnant waters of the stream. Here occurred an incident that illustrates with what selfpossession, fearless men can cooly await approaching death.

Stephen Cutler, the conductor, was a favorite with all. Without being severely injured, he was so firmly caught between the timbers that no assistance then available could release him. The locomotive was leaning partially over his body, and the supports upon which the machinery rested were gradually giving away. It was evident, that in a few moments the locomotive would fall completely over and crush him. The unfortunate man quickly saw his sad destiny. Taking out his watch, he passed it to a friend, to be given to his wife ; then, in hurried words, he instructed that friend what to say to her. Whilst so engaged, the terrific weight fell, and one more brave and intrepid man was added to the list of the dead. On the day after the sad event, those who wer-e badly wounded were brought to St. Joseph and kindly nursed. Nearly all the dead were too much mangled and disfigured to be identified. These were placed in coffins and buried by the city.

Murder Of Doctor Jones

On Monday night, June i8th, 1848, between the hours of ten and and eleven o'clock, a man by the name of Gibson went to the residence of Dr. Jones, at the Rockhouse Prairie, in Buchanan County. While there he made use of very offensive and abusive language to the Doctor «nd his lady, whereupon he was ordered to leave the premises. Gibson, after reaching the porch, refused to go any further. As the Doctor (without any weapons) approached him, Gibsori caught him by the collar of his coat, and inflicted a mortal wound, which terminated in death the next evening.

Dr. McDonald, who now resides in St. Joseph, was immediately sent for to administer to the necessities of the suffering and dying man, All efforts, however, were unavailing ; the Doctor died the next afternoon, and was buried in a neighboring cemetery, his corpse being followed to its last resting place by many friends, who sincerely mourned the loss of a kind neighbor, a leading citizen and a thoroughbred phys.- ician.

The Doctor was a graduate of one of the prominent medical schools of Philadelphia ; Was a native of North Carolina, 'and highly respected, not only by the people of the county, but by his professional brethren. His family now live in Clay County, Missouri. His murderer, Gibson, although hotly pursued for days by scores of indignant citizens, finally made his escape and has never been heard of

Drowning Of The West Brothers

On the 2nd day of January, 1874, two brothers, Richard and Elijah West, while skating on the Missouri River, opposite to St. Joseph, broke through the ice and were drowned.

It is said that Richard might have escaped had he been alone, but in a heroic effort to save his brother, whom he greatly loved, they bothwent down together. Their bodies were recovered the next day and taken to the residence of their deeply afflicted parents. What a warning to those who carelessly indulge in the amusement of skating !

Accident On Lake Contrary

On the 23d of July, 1876, several German families, residents of St. Joseph, went to Lake Contrary on a pleasure excursion. On the way thither, and for hours after arriying at their place of destination, joy and gladness seemed to fill each heart. But how true is the saying, that "in the midst of life we are in death."

Ere the cl'dse of that summer day, the merry voices of five beautiful young ladies belonging to that happy company were suddenly and unexpectedly silenced in death. The story of the sad calamity is easily told.

They went upon the lake for a ride, and shortly after leaving the ^hore the frail boat, in which they had embarked for pleasure, went down^ and they were drowned. Their bodies were recovered and interred in ^' Mount Mora" in the presence of a large concourse of sorrowing rellatives and friends. Thus ended the young and innocent lives of Rosa Munch, Tillie Grobs, Clara Kratle, Sopha Leitz and Tillie Zinnor.

Burning Of The Friend Family

Jacob Friend and family, one daughter excepted, were burned to ashes in their dwelling, three-and-a-half miles south of St. Joseph. The family consisted of the father, mother and four children. One of the children, (the daughter above mentioned), was away fram home at the time, and knew nothing of the sad fate of her friends until she was informed of the facts the day following.

Hundreds of people from St. Joseph, and the surrounding country;., visited the place of the accident, and so great was the excitrrient, that Amos Davis, George Lincoln, John Patton, Henry Ingers and Monroe Hoof, five men, residing in the vicinity of the fire, were arrested and incarcerated on the charge of arson and mut-der.

Some difficulty was said to have existed between the family of Friend, and the parties arrested. This, with other circumstances, caused their apprehension and imprisonment. The parties accused were indicted,, tried and acquitted, but there was nothing proved against them showing^ that they were guilty of the atrocious act. The burning of Friend and his family has ever since remained a mystery, many persons believing' that the fire was caused by accident.

Trial Of John Doy

In the month of January, 1859, Wm. A. Newman, of Platte Couiity,. had a favorite servant to run away from his home, in Weston, to Lawrence, Kansas. Dick being an active, intelligent and skillful carpenter, Newman offered a large reward, and in the month of February, 1859, at a point fourteen miles above Lawrence, near the Kansas River, two covered wagons were captured by a party of eight Missourians, as they were passing northward from Lawrence to Nebraska. One of these wagons was driven by Dr. John Doy, and the other by his son Charles^ a young man of nineteen, and contained besides the Newman slave, Dick, thirteen women and children, who were slaves escaping from' Jackson County, Missouri, towards freedom. The wagons and their contents were driven rapidly towards Leavenworth City, which they passed at nine P. M. and reached the ferry, at Rialto, at eleven at night. Capt. Z. T. Washburn, the ferryman, crossed the party over, and they arrived at Weston at one A. M. and were kept under guard. In the morning the slaves were re-delivered to their owners and a warrant was issued by a justice for the holding of Dr. Doy and his son as criminals, for stealing the negro man Dick from his owner, in Platte County, and . after an examination before two justices, they were held for trial and imprisoned in the Platte County jail, at Platte City, and at the March term following, within about three weeks afterwards, they were indicted by the grand jury of Platte County and plead not guilty.

When the news of the arrest of Doy was received at Topeka, the Legislature of Kansas, then in session, appropriated one thousand dollars to pay the Attorney General of the state, A. C. Davis (afterwards Colonel of the 12th Kansas volunteers, and who died in July, 1881, in New York, where he then resided) and Wilson Shannon, the old Governor of Ohio and Minister to Mexico, to defend the Doys, at the court in Platte City. General Bassett, the circuit attorney for the 12th Judicial

Bistrict, being sick, Judge Norton appointed Col. John Doniphan, now <}f St. Joseph, to prosecute the indictment. A change of venue to Buchanan County was granted the defendants, and on the 25th day of March, 1859, they were put on trial at St. Joseph, before the following jury : S. S. Allen, Edward Pace, Judge Thomas W. Keys, Thomas PBooth, Sinclair R. Miller, Caswell Goodman, Israel Landis, James Highly, Samuel Lockwood, Abner Copeland, Lewis F. Weimer and Lawson Rodgers.

This jury, after being out two days, were discharged, as being unable to agree - the principal ground of defense relied upon being that the -Doys were not seen in Missouri, and no evidense except, of a circumstantial character, to show the court had any jurisdiction.

At the request of the defendant's attorneys, the court adjourned until the 2ist day of June, 1859, to again try the defendant, Dr. Doy, the State having dismissed as to Charles.

At the appointed time, Governor Shannon and General Davis appeared with a number of witnesses and many depositions from Kansas, and the trial was commenced, and for three days was heard, amid an immense crowd, which packed the old court house to repletion.

The jury were Samuel B. Tolin, George Boyer, Jacob Boyer, H. D. Louthen, Merrill Willis, Henson Devoss, George Clark, Henry P. Smith, John Modrill, Ortin M. Loomis, William W. Mitchell and James Hill.

At the close of the evidence. Judge Norton, (now of the Supreme Court of Missouri), who had presided with great dignity and fairness, instructed the jury as to the law of the case.

The case was then opened by General Bassett for the state, in a speech of masterly power and searching analysis of the evidence. He was followed by General Davis in a speech of two hours, and then Governor Shannon, in a speech of three hours. Both of these speeches were brilliant, pathetic and logical, and vindicated the judgment of the Kansas Legislature in their selection, as both of them were Democrats.

After supper the Court House was packed to hear the closing of the case by Col. Doniphan, which was done in a speech of one hour and a half, of singular power of argument and analysis, and when he closed there was scar>c«ly a doubt of the guilt of the prisoner, and the effect of it was announced in a verdict of guilty within a short time after the retirement of the jury.

The defendant. Dr. Doy, appealed to the Supreme Court, and, pending the appeal, he was released from jail by a party of Kansans, headed by John Brown who, afterwards, vindicated his faith as a martyr at Harper's Ferry. They crossed from Elwood, on a dark night in skiffs, and approached the old jail during a heavy storm, and induced the jailor to open the door by presenting one of their number as a supposed horsethief, recently caught in Andrew County, and, once within the jail, they captured the jailor, released Dr. Doy, leaving the jail locked and threw the key away and returned to Kansas without any pursuit or molestation. The statute, under which the indictment was found, is section 27, page 576, vol. I, of the statutes of Missouri of 1855, and is as follows:

Sec. 27. If any person shall entice, decoy, or carry away out of this state, any slave belonging to another, with intent to deprive the owner thereof of the services of such slave, or with intent to procure or effect the freedom of such slave, he shall be adjudged guilty of grand larceny and punished by imprisonment in the penitentiary not less than five years.

Dr. Doy, soon after his escape, left Lawrence for Rochester, New York, where he published a book giving an account of his trial and convection. His book spoke kindly of the witnesses and attorneys who prosecuted him, but bitterly of the ofificers and jury which convicted him. It is reported he died in New York some years since. His son Charles was hanged in southern Kansas, in the fall of i860, for horse stealing, by a vigilance committee, at the command of Judge Lynch.

Eari.V Reminiscences

"In 1838 I came to the 'Platte Purchase,' and for a short time after my arrival resided with my brother, who had located some seven or eight miles north of Blacksnake Hills. At that time the country was new and wild. The land was unsurveyed, and the squatter erected his cabin wherever he pleased, provided he did not put it within a quarter of a mile of his nearest neighbor.

"Disputes about claims were of frequent occurrence, and sometime* resulted in violence and bloodshed. But upon the whole, the people, though poor, were quite friendly and were ever ready to throw open their cabin doors to the passing stranger. One of the early acquaintances formed by me after I came, was Solomon L. Leonard, who was afterwards Judge of this judicial district. This early acquaintance ripened into lasting friendship, and Judge Leonard, though differing with his friends in politics, could always rely upon them for support in his struggles for official position. He was a stern man, but a true friend to the upright in life. In the fall of 1862, he was accidentally drowned in the Indian Territory.

The mania for town sites which spread all over the western states did not afSict the early settlers of the Platte country, for there were' no towns or villages worthy of being called such north of Weston, in the Platte Country.

I was frequently on the present town site of St. Joseph, five years before the town was located. In the fall of 1835 I was here attending the second court ever held in Buchanan County. The officers of the "court were Judge King ; Burnett, Prosecuting Attorney ; Edwin Toole, Circuit Clerk, and Samuel M. Gilmore, Sheriff The attorneys in attendance were Andrew S. Hughes, Alexander W. Doniphan, David R. Atchison, William Wood, Amos Rees, Prince L. Hudgers, Theodore D. Wheaton and Solomon L. Leonard. The court house was a log structure, owned by Joseph Robidoux and located on the ground now occupied by the Occidental Hotel. There was no difficulty in obtaining meals, but many persons were compelled to sleep on the bare floor, without quilt or blanket, in the log court house above mentioned. An incident occurred at this term of court which came very near resulting in a serious riot. Under an act of Congress, the sixteenth section of the public land was donated for school purposes, and the county courts were authorized to sell the land and Control the money. The sheriff had advertised some of this land for sale, and there was a general feeling in the community that the persons who had settled upon it before the survey should be allowed to purchase their homes at one dollar and a quarter per acre, the amount charged by the government for other lands.