Part 5 (1/2)

He often told me that he had no consciousness whatever of guilt, nor the fear and dread of a murderer. I asked him if in his dreams he could not often see the face of his victim. With a shrug of the shoulders he admitted that he could. For six months this old man and myself occupied that small cell together, so small that it was very difficult for us to get by each other when the sleeping bunks were down. We never had the least trouble during the entire time. A kinder hearted man I never met.

Whenever he received any little delicacies from home he would always divide with me, and in such a cheerful spirit that I soon came to think a good deal of the old man. If we had both been on the outside world I would not have desired a kinder neighbor. His son, later on, was convicted as an accomplice, and sent up for two years. The old man has hopes of a pardon in a few years. He has a wife and several children who are highly respected and much beloved in the neighborhood where they reside. They have the sympathy of all their neighbors in this affliction and bereavement.

WHISKY AND WOMEN

Doc. Crunk.--One of the many desperadoes now behind the prison walls of the Kansas penitentiary is this noted Texas outlaw. He is a native Texan, now nearly fifty years of age. After years of crime he was finally caught in the Indian Territory while introducing whisky among the Indians. He had his trial in the U. S. District Court, was convicted and sent to the penitentiary for three years. For a time during the war he was a confederate soldier. Becoming dissatisfied with the profession of arms, he deserted and entered upon the life of an outlaw. He gathered about him a few kindred spirits with which Southern Texas was infested, and organized a band of cattle and horse thieves. This band of banditti became so numerous that after a time it extended along the lower line of Texas into the Indian Territory and up into Kansas. Their ravages were also felt in Arkansas. They had a regular organized band, and stations where they could dispose of their stolen property. The cattle that were stolen were run to the frontiers and sold to cattlemen who were in collusion with them, and which latter were getting immensely rich out of the operations of these thieves. They would steal horses, run them off and sell them to buyers who knew they were purchasing stolen property.

For years this gang flourished. Another mode of securing stock was the following: A great many estrays would be taken up and advertised. In every instance some member of the Crunk gang would claim the property under oath and take it away. The leader of these outlaws stood trial for nineteen different murders, and was acquitted each time. He could always prove an alibi. His a.s.sistants would come in and swear him clear every time. He was an intimate acquaintance and on friendly terms with the James boys, and related many trips that he had made with these noted and desperate men in their work of ”seeking revenge,” as he styled it. He has no love for a colored man, and as he works now in the prison with a number, pointing to them one day he said to me, ”I wish I had a five-dollar note for each one of them black skunks I have killed since the wa'.” He said he considered ”a 'n.i.g.g.ah' that wouldn't vote the way decent people wanted him to should not vote at all.” Said he: ”I know of a number that will not vote any mo'. I saw them pa.s.s in their last ballot.” ”The most money, made the easiest and quickest, was made by our men,” said he, ”as moons.h.i.+ners in Montague County. We carried on this business successfully for a long time, but finally the U. S. marshals became too much for us, and we had to close up shop. We had several engagements with them; men were dropped on both sides, until finally we concluded to quit the business and return to our old trade of stealing cattle and horses. The way our moons.h.i.+ner's nest was found out was very romantic. A young woman came into the district, and tried to get up a school, seemingly, but failed. I guess she did not try very hard to get scholars. At any rate she remained with a family in the neighborhood for some time, whom she claimed were her relatives. One of my men fell desperately in love with this young woman. He would be out riding with her, and, as none of us suspected anything, he would at times bring her over to our camp, and we taught her how to make whisky. She seemed deeply interested in the business. I told the boys several times that I was a little afraid of that 'gal,' but they laughed at me, and so I said, 'I can stand it if the rest of you can.' She even went so far as to become familiarly acquainted with all of us. We all got to thinking that she was a nice young woman, and her lover simply thought he had secured the finest prize in the world. But alas! At the proper time she fixed our camp. She proved to be a female detective from New York city.

She gave away our fellows, and soon we were surrounded by a posse of U.

S. marshals and their deputies. Her lover was captured and is now in the Texas penitentiary. Several of our boys were killed or wounded, and those of us who escaped made up our minds to go back to the old cattle trade.” ”What are you going to do, Doc.,” said I, ”when you get out of this place?” ”Going back to Texas; hunt up the boys, and see if we can't find some more horses and cattle. One thing is certain I will never go to another penitentiary. I will swallow a dose of cold lead first.”

And, with this, the famous outlaw went off to his room in the mine to get out his task of coal to keep from being punished. Of the nine hundred criminals in the prison, probably there is not one of them who has seen so much of a life of crime as the famous Doc. Crunk.

EIGHT TIMES A CONVICT

Thomas A. Currens.--One of the most unique characters to be found in the striped ranks of the Kansas penitentiary is that of the man who is herein described. This convict is fifty-two years of age, and a native of Kentucky. His life, save a short time spent in the army, has been one of crime. He was a courageous lad. Leaving his home at the early age of ten years, thus deprived of all parental protection and restraints, he formed bad a.s.sociations, and soon his future career was in the direction of crime. The greater part of his boyhood was spent in city and county jails and reform schools. At the age of twenty-two years he was convicted on a charge of horse-stealing and sent to the Frankfort, Ky., penitentiary for six years. After serving four years he was pardoned by the Legislature. He remained out of prison for the two following years.

We next find him in ”limbo” in Indiana. He was arrested, and twenty different charges were preferred against him. By pleading guilty to the count of stealing a wagon, the court dismissed the other cases and gave him a sentence of three years at hard labor. He was taken to the State's prison. Shortly after his arrival he was put to work running an engine during the night-time. After five months had pa.s.sed away, Thomas, reaching the conclusion that he did not enjoy watching over an engine during the lonely hours of the night, determined to escape. Stealing an old suit of clothes belonging to an officer, which he drew on over his suit of stripes, he scaled the walls and was once more a free man. It was a cold winter's night. After traveling some distance through the woods his feet were almost frozen. Daylight was now approaching. He must find a place of hiding during the coming day. In a few hours he would be missed at the penitentiary. The alarm being given, the usual reward being offered, scores would be on the lookout for him. Approaching a farmyard, he sat down and cut up his striped pantaloons and wrapped up his almost frozen feet. He then crawled under a hay-stack. In this place he came near being discovered, for in a couple of hours the farmer came out to feed his cattle, and as chance would have it took the hay from the stack under which the convict was secreted. As he was removing the hay, several times p.r.o.ngs of the fork sank deep enough to penetrate the flesh of the runaway. He endured this pitchfork probing heroically while it lasted, and was thankful when the cattle had received sufficient provender. Here he remained until nightfall. He did not renew his journey until the farmer and his family had retired and were in the land of dreams. Almost starved, uninvited he enters the kitchen and helps himself to what he can find. His hunger being appeased, his old habit of taking things that he should leave alone, forced him into the bed-room of the sleeping farmer, and forced his hand into the pocket of the aforesaid granger's pantaloons, from which he took his pocketbook containing twenty dollars in money. He was now prepared for traveling.

Continuing his journey for several miles, becoming very tired, he decided not to walk any longer as there was so much good horse-flesh in the vicinity. Near the hour of midnight, this weary tramp entered the farmyard of a wealthy old Indiana farmer, and going into the barn led out one of his fleetest steeds. Once more astride a good horse, Thomas felt like a free man. During the rest of the night he made good headway, and by the morning sun was up the rider and horse were many miles away from the place where first they met. Entering a small village, the horse was fed and nicely groomed. At the same time Thomas partook of a good breakfast, which he heartily enjoyed. The fates seemed to favor the man of crime. It is an old saying: ”The devil looks after his own.” A horse-buyer had arrived in the village a few days before. When the noon train came whistling up to the station, the convict having converted his horse into one hundred and twenty-five dollars, purchased a new suit of clothes, a silk hat, and a pair of kid gloves, and, representing himself to be a traveling salesman, getting aboard, soon reaches Chicago, where, soon after his arrival, he joined a band of crooks. He was never discovered by the Indiana prison officials. Fifteen years after his escape, he got a ”pal” to wire the authorities of the Indiana penitentiary, and inquired of them what reward they would pay for the return of Thomas A. Currens, a convict who had effected his escape many years before. An answer came that if he would remain out of the State, he would never be molested.

Wandering about several months after his escape, he arrives in Sedalia, Missouri. Among other little articles he was accused of stealing at this place was an eight hundred dollar barouche, the property of Judge Ferguson, of that place. Again this noted thief was arrested and confined in the county jail to await trial. He was not anxious for trial, for he knew the ”yawning pen” was waiting to receive him. For eleven months he remained in this jail, having his trial continued from term to term. When his case was called up for the first time he feigned sickness. The next time one of the princ.i.p.al witnesses was absent, and thus for eleven months his case was continued. Thomas now yearned for freedom. How to get out of that jail was the problem. Another term of court would soon convene. He had no grounds for further continuance.

Fortune favored him. At this time a man was arrested and placed in the same cell with Currens. The face of the new arrival was covered over with blotches. The next morning Currens in a confidential manner stated to the sheriff that his cell mate had the small-pox. Being interrogated the prisoner said he had been exposed recently, and a physician being called, on examination it was decided to remove him to the pest-house.

Currens was sent along on account of his exposure to the contagion. An officer was placed in charge of the two jail-birds at the pest-house.

During the night following their arrival at this out-of-the-way place, the officer was pounced upon by the two desperate criminals, bound hand and foot, and with a large cork placed between his teeth, was gently laid on the floor. His gold watch and chain, and all the loose change he had with him were taken from his person, and the two small-pox patients walked forth into the darkness and gloom of that night unattended by any friendly official.

Thomas never believed in criminals traveling in groups, so he bade his companion an affectionate farewell. Wending his way to the southwestern portion of the State he was arrested for additional crimes and misdemeanors. Knowing that the officers had not sufficient evidence against him he bravely stood trial and was acquitted. However, as he was going forth from his prison cell a free man, much to his surprise, an official from Sedalia put in an appearance and took him back to the scene of his small-pox escapade. At his trial he was convicted and received a sentence of six and one-half years. He now took a cell in the Jefferson City penitentiary. After four years of imprisonment this notorious criminal makes an application for pardon, setting up an alibi as the basis of the application, and succeeded in influencing the Governor to believe the testimony, and was set at liberty, promising that he would leave the State of Missouri, never to return. The conscience of the said Thomas never troubled him over failing to keep his word with the officers of the law. He did not leave Missouri, as he agreed, but betook himself to the pleasant little city of Carthage.

Scarcely three moths had elapsed before he found himself again in durance vile for stealing horses. He was tried, convicted and returned to Jefferson City penitentiary under a sentence of six years. He took an appeal to the Supreme Court. The judgment of the lower court was reversed. He was taken back to Carthage for another trial, and was convicted the second time, and again received a sentence of six years at hard labor in the penitentiary. As before, he appealed the case, and the governor, thinking the State was getting the worst of the matter, and that a large amount of costs were being made, pardoned the convict under another promise that he would leave the State. Currens, now following Greeley's advice, turns his eyes toward the setting sun. He crosses the Big Muddy, and plants his feet upon the sacred soil of Kansas. He makes a raid upon Lawrence, breaks into a house, and is caught in the act of trying to carry off the household goods. A courteous policeman takes charge of him--now deeply steeped in crime--soon landing him behind the bars. In the presence of the court he next makes a solemn statement that, prior to this, he had been a Sunday-school teacher; that misfortune had overtaken him, and he was forced to enter some friend's kitchen or starve. Those who listened to his pathetic appeal inform me that the stern judge was moved to tears, and that while he had contemplated giving the wayward Thomas six years, he made it three.

This was the first introduction of our hero to the princ.i.p.al brown stone front of Lansing. It was not long after his arrival at the Kansas penitentiary before he gained the confidence of the authorities, and was made a ”trusty.” He had an easy place given him.

His three years' sentence soon pa.s.sed away. His term was reduced three months because of his excellent conduct while in prison. Bearing with him the good wishes of a majority of the prison officials, and followed by the prayers of the pious chaplain, he goes forth to engage in life's battle again. Thomas could not fully enjoy the sweets of liberty unless on horseback. He makes his way to the capital of Kansas, and engages at once in the dangerous business of stealing horses. He had not continued this course long before he was arrested, tried, convicted and returned to Lansing for five years more. Thomas had not been in the Kansas penitentiary the second time but a few months, when he called upon the chaplain, and with tears rolling down his face confessed he was a great sinner, promised to lead a different life, and urged the chaplain to pray for him. Delighted at the prospect of s.n.a.t.c.hing such a brand from the eternal burning, the man of G.o.d took Thomas into a private room, and the two knelt down. The chaplain offered a fervent prayer that the loving Father would take to His embrace the returning, sinful prodigal.

At the conclusion of this prayer the chaplain called upon the ”sin sick soul” to pray for himself. This was an unexpected movement by the chaplain, and Thomas was hardly prepared for the emergency. However, he prayed. He was converted on the spot. At least, the chaplain thought so.

Strange as it may appear to my readers, instead of this noted convict having to remain and serve out his five years' sentence, through the influence of this minister he secured a pardon. At the expiration of eighteen months the shrewd convict was a free man. That chaplain was ”worked.”

The fortunate Thomas next visits Atchison. A farmer came to the city one day, driving a beautiful horse. The temptation was too great, and the man who had been an inmate of a penitentiary seven different times followed the unsuspecting farmer to his home, and that night rode away the coveted prize. The Atchison County Vigilance Committee traced and soon caught the guilty horse-thief, landing him in Atchison County's beautiful jail. Shortly after, Thomas had an interview with the county attorney, and it was agreed by and between them, if the horse-thief would plead guilty, he should be let off with one year in the penitentiary. To this the grave offender agreed, and, presenting himself before the tribunal of justice, Hon. W. D. Gilbert presiding, plead guilty. The county attorney being absent, the court gave Thomas, instead of twelve months, a year and a half at hard labor. I met him in the penitentiary a few days ago, and learned that he is putting forth an effort to secure a pardon on the ground that had he not been promised only a one year's sentence, he would have stood trial and been acquitted. He claims that he should be given his liberty when his one year is up.

Thomas was out of the penitentiary long enough to go into the army and get a bullet through his ankle, and therefor draws a pension of twenty-four dollars per month. He takes good care of his money, and has enough on hand to enable him to get a good start in life when he obtains his freedom. He is a well-behaved prisoner. He is true to his pals in crime, never having been known to turn State's evidence. He has a mania for taking things that do not belong to him. He claims that he never would have been caught the last time had not his housekeeper ”given him away.” The two had a domestic quarrel, and in her efforts to get even, she told the authorities of his theft. After his trial and conviction, womanlike, she repented in sackcloth and ashes, but Thomas would have no more to do with her. Later, she went over into Missouri, where she has since died. One of the first things Thomas will do on regaining his liberty will be to secure another housekeeper, and probably the the next thing will be to steal some farmer's horse.

This convict is now serving out his eighth term in the penitentiary.

It is fearful to contemplate these human wrecks. A wasted life, golden opportunities unimproved, a dark and dismal future will const.i.tute the death knell of such fallen beings. Young man, remember the life of this convict, and shun such a course.

SKILLED LABOR

William Hurst.--Some of the narratives in this book read like the story of Aladin's Lamp, and we have no doubt some of them so reading are absolutely true, while for the Lamp story nothing is claimed. For many ages men, and particularly those engaged in the literary field of thought, have discanted on the baseness of the pa.s.sion of jealousy.

There is no sense in being jealous. You are either loved or you are not, and hence the absolute foolishness of indulging the pa.s.sion.

William Hurst, whose history we now relate, is a man of rough personal appearance, Irish descent, and his age is now about fifty-five. Coming to Kansas at an early day, he settled in Doniphan County, and there courted and subsequently married one of Doniphan County's pretty girls.

Time went along as usual, and in a few years there were several little cherubs that blessed the household of Hurst. But, as sometimes happens, the husband began to drink, love grew colder, the necessities of the family hourly grew greater, poverty in all its hideousness came to curse the home once so happy. The poor, distracted wife and mother did all she could, by taking in was.h.i.+ng and ironing, to prevent the starvation of her little ones. The husband through his bleared eyes imagined he could see that other men were too friendly to his wife. He charged her with unfaithfulness to the marriage vows. She denied the charge. Only incensed by this he would beat and mistreat her out of all reason. For protection she had him arrested, intending to bind him over to keep the peace, but on the advice of officers, who are so full of it, she withdrew the charge and he was set at liberty. For a few days he was quiet, but soon the red liquor poured down his throat, and like a mountain devil stirred all the dark pa.s.sions of his lost and ruined nature. He attempted to debauch his own daughter, and was only prevented by the physical force of the ever-watchful mother. The father (great G.o.d! is such a human being ent.i.tled to the endearing term?) turned upon her, and again, as had often happened, abused, kicked and mistreated her in a most shameful manner. She had him arrested a second time with the intention of binding him over to keep the peace. He pretended, while in charge of the officer, that he must see his wife, and together they started toward the hovel where they lived. They met the wife and mother at the outskirts of the little village, had some words, and before the officer could prevent it, Hurst sprang upon the woman and cut her throat from ear to ear jumped away, and made good his escape to the woods, the officer, meanwhile, deeming it more important to aid the woman, not knowing, for a moment, that the cutting was fatal. That fact was very soon apparent. Others were called who took charge of the body, and the officer struck out in hot pursuit of the murderer. He was followed to the woods a few miles from White Cloud, in Doniphan County, there overtaken and conducted to the county seat, tried, convicted of murder in the first degree, sentenced to be hung, sent to the penitentiary to await the final execution, which, in our State, never comes. He remained in there about twenty months when he became insane, and was sent to the asylum; was there about three and a half years, when he was p.r.o.nounced cured and returned to the penitentiary. He is now insane a second time.

You have all in your younger-days read the story of the maniac that paced his cell, repeating ”once one is two,” and now comes the queerest part of this narrative. Hurst seems anxious to talk to every one that calls, and especially anxious to shake hands; but if you say anything to him, or ask any question, his only answer is ”skilled labor,” and keeps on repeating these words as he walks up and down his place of confinement.