Posts Tagged ‘1888’

The Double Death Which Disgraced Mississippi

October 5, 2010


Which Disgraced Mississippi Last Tuesday.

The Fatal Meeting Between General Wirt Adams and Mr. John H. Martin — The Cause of the Tragedy.

VICKSBURG, Miss., May 3. –[Special] — A Jackson, Miss., special gives full details of the tragedy of last Tuesday. The tragedy occurred there about 2:15 p.m. General Wirt Adams, postmaster, and one of the most distinguished citizens of the state, and John H. Martin,, editor of the New Mississippian, met in deadly combat on President street near the corner of Amite. Martin had published General Adams in several personal squibs in his paper for some weeks past, to which General Adams paid no attention. The issue of the New Mississippian, today contained another and severe personal article against him and is supposed to be the direct cause of today’s tragedy.

They met at the time and place above stated, General Adams going north and Martin south.

Mr. Farish, who was walking with General Adams, says that as they approached each other General Adams accosted Martin and said, in effect: “You damn rascal, I have stood enough from you,” and Martin replied, “If you don’t like it,” simultaneously with the remark he drew his pistol and commenced firing and got behind a large china tree on the outer edge of the pavement, two and a half feet in diameter. General Adams also fired about the same time, but Farish, thought not certain, thinks that Martin shot first.

Mr. Thomas Helm, Jr., who was sitting at his window just across the street, immediately opposite the scene of the conflict, some sixty feet distant, says “that he was looking out of the window south and saw General Adams and Farish coming up the street. They passed his line of vision and on hearing a shot he looked around and saw Martin on his knees behind the tree, and he heard him cry out and saw him fire at General Adams, and the general walking around the tree to get at him and firing at the same time. Martin scrambled to a little south of the tree and continued firing. General Adams reached the north side of the tree, following Martin, when he fell.”

Both died in less than one minute. Martin said to those who first reached the scene: “I am dead,” and died immediately. General Adams never spoke. General Adams had but one wound and that was directly through the heart. Martin was shot in the right breast, two and three-quarter inches left of the right nipple and in the upper part of the right leg, breaking the thigh bone. There was also a bullet hole in his hand. Both men used Colt’s six-shooters, Martin a forty-one calibre and Adams a forty-four. All the shells in Martin’s pistol were exploded. Three shells in General Adam’s were exploded, and one gave evidence of having been snapped upon, but failed to fire. Two of the shells were intact.

The following are the publications which are supposed to have led to the difficulty:

The New Mississippian, of March 27th, alluding to the Hamilton trial, then in progress in Brandon, said in effect: “General Wirt Adams, a witness for the defense, testified as to Hamilton’s character. The general ought to remember that character, like charity, should begin at home.”

Again, on April 3: “Nellie Dinkins’s testimony for the state has been impeached, but she has this advantage of General Wirt Adams, a witness for the defense. She never gave certificates and was forced, after they had been published a year, to admit they were utterly false.” And again, today: “People who do not receive the New Mississippian regularly will please remember that since we exposed the obliquy of General Wirt Certificate Adams, the postoffice is endeavoring to wreak its spite against the paper in every possible way. This paper has to be in the postoffice about a half or an hour sooner than the republican paper here, or it is made to lay over for another mail. It is strange how mad some men get when the plain truth is told about them in print, and yet this paper is feeling remarkably well.”

An untold gloom hangs over and the deepest sorrow pervades this community in consequence of this terrible tragedy.

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) May 4, 1888

NOTE: This article on the Red Manifest is a bit confusing. I only found one more source mentioning it, and that source states that Wirt Adams was thought to have been the author, not John H. Martin.


Editor John H. Martin, Killed in the Street Duel at Jackson, Miss., Said to Have Been Its Author.

NEW YORK, May 3. — The Sun’s Washington special says that John H. Martin, the editor who was killed in the street duel with General Wirt Adams, the postmaster at Jackson, Miss., Tuesday, was the author of the “Red Manifesto,” issued last December, and which first conveyed to the colored people of Jackson the notice that they would not be allowed to vote at the election held on the first Monday in January. The manifesto is in evidence before the Senate judiciary committee in connection with the investigation of the alleged suppression of votes of the colored citizens of Jackson. It is printed in large type, in blood-red ink, an at the head is displayed an engraving of two pistols, two shotguns and a powder flask.

Saturday Herald (Decatur, Illinois) May 5, 1888



Funeral Services Over the Remains of General Wirt Adams and John H. Martin — Additional Evidence to the Killing — Another Attack.

[From the New Orleans Pleayune Special.]

Jackson, Miss., May 2. — Jackson yesterday evening and last night was a seething cauldron of excitement. The mortal combat of both Martin and Adams was the entire theme of conversation. Business was practically suspended and groups of men stood on the streets discussing the sad an sudden demise of those two gentlemen.

Thee were threats passed to and from the friends and sympathizers of both sides and considerable apprehension was felt. Cooler heads reasoned, however, and are triumphant so far in


between the two factions. It may come, though, any moment. There is a perceptible feeling of bitterness on both sides today, greater than last night.
There were but few transactions of business, and the state house was deserted. The entire city was in gloom. There were great crowds of ladies and gentlemen all of to-day carrying beautiful bouquets of flowers to the residences of hte unfortunate victims of the deadly bullets. Messages of condolence crowded the wires from sympathetic friends abroad.


of Jno. H. Martin were held at the Methodist Episcopal church at 3 o’clock this evening. The coffin was of handsome mahogany and was covered with the choicest and most delicate flowers. The last tribute that Dr. C.G. Andrews, the minister, could pay to his dead friend was beautiful and touching. His remains were carried from the church to the south-bound Illiniois Central train at 5 o’clock, and thence to Brookhaven, the place of his birth, followed by several of his friends, where he was interred this evening in the little cemetery to the north of the town. The following were the pallbearers: W.D. Ratliff, C.H. Alexander, Professor L.A. Wyatt, Harry Brown and John Lizor.

The funeral services of the loving husband and father of several children and that noble gentleman,


was the largest seen in Jackson for several years. Almost every carriage and buggy in the city was in the procession which followed the remains from his home to the Episcopal church, Rev. William Short, the rector, officiating. The church was packed with the best people of the country. The services were short and impressive. Truly there was no man whom Jackson loved more than General Adams. The pallbearers were Governor Lowry, Jude T.J. Wharton, E. Voreten, G.C. Eyerich, J.S. Hamilton, Marcellus Green, Geo. Lemon, and Oliver Clifton. Strangely enough the same hearse which conveyed Martin’s body to the train also bore General Adams’ body; and then, too, both were compelled to cross the bridge that one year ago on the 5th of this month was the scene of the tragedy in which Jones S. Hamilton killed R.D. Gambrell, the special friend of Martin, and that homicide was a sequel to the terrible on of yesterday.


The terrible affair was not entirely unexpected. The New Mississippian has been characteristically bold and scathing in its criticisms of General Adams. The first attack was in connection with the late exciting city election, when the paper charged that General Adams would either vote for McGill or vote a folded ticket. Then he was sharply criticised with regard to his recent testimony in the late Hamilton-Gambrell case and the certificates given the lessees of the penitentiary.

It is said that General Adams had restrained himself, fearing that any too early movement might prejudice the interests of his friend Hamilton. And then yesterday the New Mississippian contained another scathing and sarcastic article, which the intrepid and restless general could not stand, and his fury could not be appeased until he had seen Martin.

The Clarion-Ledger will to-morrow contain the following statement of two eyewitnesses:


says: I was sitting at the second window in my room Tuesday evening, probably a little after 2 o’clock, looking eastward across President street. Saw General Wirt Adams and Mr. Ned Farish turn the corner at the Cartwaliader residence, southwest corner of President and Amite streets. They passed up President street northward on the west side of the pavement, and had barely got beyond the range of my vision when I heard a shot. I then got up and looked in the direction the noise came from and saw Mr. John Martin on his knees with his pistol in his hand firing, or in the act of firing. Martin was two or three feet north of the large china tree, and seemed to be behind it. General Adams was on the south side of the tree, probably six or eight feet from it, the tree being between Martin and Adams. Both men were firing and General Adams came from the sidewalk into the street. Martin bearing around to the west side of the tree struggled to his feet and got on the southwest side of the tree, General Adams having gotton on the north side. They were


all the time they were reversing positions. Don’t know how many shots were fired or how many each party fired. The firing was very deliberate. Heard some cry of agony that I thought came from Martin. After Martin had got out on the south side of the tree he lunged forward toward the east and fell just off the sidewalk into the street all doubled up. Adams, who was then behind the tree on the north side, seemed to ease down slightly and suddenly fell backward, apparently dead. The bodies were not more than five feet apart. I don’t think either party fired after being down, as both seemed disabled when they struck the ground. Did not see anything more of Farish till he was assisting to take the body of General Adams to witness residence. Asked if a doctor had been sent for, when Mr. Farish said

“There is no need for a doctor for he is dead.”

Saw only one wound in General Adams’ body, which seemed to be just above the region of the heart. After the body of Adams had been taken to his house friends of Martin started homeward with his body. Saw nobody engaged in the shooting but Adams and Martin. Did not see the first shot.


As seen from the foregoing statement of Mr. Helm General Adams was accompanied by Mr. Ned Farish. Mr. Farish is reported as stating that as General Adams and Mr. Martin approached each other the former addressed the latter in substantially the following words:

“You damned rascal, I have stood enough from you,” and to which Martin replied: “If you don’t like it,” at the same time drawing his pistol, he fired, says Mr Farish, and got behind a large china tree on the outer edge of the pavement. About the same time General Adams also fired. Farish, however, though not certain, thinks Martin fired first.

An examination of the wounds showed that General Adams was shot in the heart, the ball entering the collar bone. Mr. Martin was shot in the right breast, 2?/? inches to the left of right nipple, and 1 1/4 inches below a line drawn between the right and left nipple; in the right thigh (10)? inches below the thigh joint, which broke the thigh bone; marked on the right elbow with a ball and skin bruised, but flesh not entered; a bullet hole was also in his hat, entering the center of the crown and coming out at the top.


who many years before the was became a citizen of Jackson, was born in Kentucky sixty-nine years ago. For a great while he was the senior member of the banking firm of Adams & Horn. He had also been a large planter, a large capitalist and slave owner. When the war was declared he was one of the first to volunteer, and his record as a soldier will compare with that of any man who bared his breast to shot and shell. Never was produced a better or braver soldier than General Adams. The war over he returned to the life of a civilian, engaged in planting, banking, etc. When Mr. Davis’ work was issued General Adams was complimented with the exclusive southern agency. He served as state revenue agent several years, and has been postmaster at Jackson since 1885 (or 3?).


was chosen at the last Mississippi press convention as annual orator, and the convention is to meet in Grenada on the 9th instant.

Galveston Daily News (Galveston, Texas) May 5, 1888

The Adams-Martin Duel — The Unprovoked Assaults on Adams.

The attacks of the New Mississippian on General Wirt Adams, which resulted in the death of General Adams and the editor, appears to have been unprovoked as they were brutal. Major Livingston Mims says of the affair:

“I was with General Adams two weeks ago. He was then restless under the attacks of this editor. He said to me: ‘I do not want to be forced into a difficulty with him. I have no quarrel with him, and I actually avoid the public streets that I may not meet him casually and be betrayed into assaulting him.’ The family of General Adams was entirely dependent on his petty salary, and this knowledge forced him to submit day after day to the most wanton insult. I was hardly surprised that he was at last goaded into action, though unspeakably grieved. A knightlier man never lived — a loftier or finer soul. He was very rich before the 60’s, and lived like a prince, whether at his $90,00 home in New Orleans or at one of his superb plantations. He was offered the postmaster generalship of the confederacy by Mr. Davis, and equipped a full regiment from his private purse. Truly he was a king among men.

“He came of a brave and illustrious family. General Dan Adams, his brother, killed Hogan, the editor of the Vicksburg Sentinel, and the fourth editor killed in succession on that paper. Hogan wrote an article reflecting on Judge Adams, the father of Dan and Wirt. Young Dan went to Vicksburg to get a retraction. He called at the house of Duke Gwinn, the United States marshal of Mississippi, Mrs. Gwinn found what his purpose was.

“Are you armed?” she asked.

Young Adams replied that he was simply going to have a reasonable talk with Hogan and had not thought of arming himself.

“‘Little do you know the man you are about to deal with,’ said Mrs. Gwinn, and with her own hands she buckled a pistol at his waist. Adams went out and met Hogan on the street. He introduced himself and stated his mission. Hogan, as brave as a tiger and as restless, closed with him instantly and in the fight was shot and killed. The trial of Dan Adams for the killing of Hogan was one of he famous events of Mississippi history, and ended in his acquittal. With the death of Wirt Adams this splendid and dignified family becomes but a memory — but a glorious and unstained memory!”

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) May 6, 1888

General Wirt Adams

An Old Mississippi Reminiscence.

To The News,

CALDWELL, Tex., May 6. — I noticed an article in to-day’s NEWS from Hon. W.J. Jones of Virginia Point, paying a tribute to the late General Wirt Adams of Mississippi, in which an error occurs. Many years ago Dr. Hagan, editor of the Vicksburg Sentinel, was killed by Daniel W. Adams, on account of a slanderous assault upon the character of his father, Judge Adams, and not by Wirt Adams as stated. Both Generals Daniel W. and Wirt Adams (brothers) were brigadiers in the confederate army. After the war General Dan W. Adams located in New York to practice law, where he died a few years thereafter. I am a native Mississippian, was well acquainted with the Adamses, and familiar with the Hagan Homicide.


Galveston Daily News (Galveston, Texas) May 7, 1888


Seth Bullock Goes to Deadwood

August 18, 2010


A Newsy Letter from Seth Bullock.

Through the courtesy of Mr. Chas. Warren we are permitted to use the following letter from the well known ex-Sheriff of Lewis and Clark county:

DEADWOOD, Sept. 8, 1876.

“I arrived here August 3d, and found a “red hot” mining town, situated at a point where Deadwood empties into Whitewood. The gulches are very rich; claims are all taken, and sold at high figures. Deadwood is the best gulch so far as known. Claims are 300 feet up and down, and extend from hill top across — about as large as a ranch. The country is overdone, or rather men have come here too fast for the amount of work that can be done in one summer. A great many are here idle and broke. The Indians will not permit a man to go out side of the gulch, so that very little prospecting can be done.

Crowds arrive and leave daily. Most all the travel is by way of Cheyenne. Fare all the way from ten to thirty-five dollars; time from five to thirty days. Business of all kinds are represented. Langrishe has a theatre here, and two dance houses boom nightly. We have no law and no order, and no prospect of either. Several murders have been committed and nothing done. A night herd romes the streets at night, and whoop and shoot until morning.

Nebraska farmers peddle flour, bacon and groceries from claim to claim, which makes the grocery trade dull.

Dennee is here. “Sid Osborne” left for Montana a few days ago on biz. The country is full of Montanians. Ches. Trais arrived to-day and 106 others. Tell your friends not to come here this fall, that is, those who come to work or prospect. I cannot advise you to come; on the contrary I think you are doing better than you could here. Board here is $10 per week, flour $8 per hundred, bacon 20 cents per pound, etc., whisky 25 cents a drink. The Hills are too near the “genial influnces” for times to be here as they were in Montana in ’49 without other diggings are found. Two years will take the cream of this country. I don’t believe it is any better for farming than Montana. We have a little more rain here, and as many grasshoppers. Sol Star is here and doing fair. I am satisfied to remain for a while. I shall go east this winter if you do. We have no regular mail. A coach is expected here daily. Let me hear from you with the Montana news.

Your friend,


Butte Miner (Butte, Montana) Oct 3, 1876

Seth Bullock Has Him In Charge.

DEADWOOD, August 26. Three road agents who have been plying their vocation on the Cheyenne stage route were arrested and jailed here this evening. They came into town yesterday morning and were spotted by the Sheriff and his deputies. The arrests were made this evening. One of the robbers resisted arrest, drawing a revolver and shooting Officer May through the arm, The fire was returned, but the desperado succeeded in getting to his horse and started over the hills. The horse was killed by a rifle shot, and before the robber could recover himself from the fall Sheriff Bullock closed with and easily overcame him, as he had been shot through the body and was weak from loss of blood. The wound is probably fatal.

The Helena Independent (Helena, Montana) Aug 28, 1877

In the contest for the office of Sheriff of the Black Hills, between Seth Bullock and John Manning, both old Montanians, the latter was victorious. The entire Democratic ticket was elected by handsome majorities. Doc Carter ran on the People’s ticket for County Recorder and got left out in the cold.

The Helena Independent (Helena, Montana) Nov 21, 1877

Seth Bullock, Capt. Hazerodt and J.F. Mckenna are the Republican, and John Manning, Jeff McDermott and W.H. Stittwell the Democratic aspirants for the office of Sheriff in Lawrence county, Dakota.

The Helena Independent (Helena, Montana) Oct 1, 1878

Montanians Seeking Office.

The Black Hills people appear to take a good deal of stock in Montanians, as they nominate them for all the important offices. Those who were formerly residents of Helena and candidates on the Democratic ticket, are: John Manning, for Sheriff; Geo. Felix Ingram for Assessor, and Frank Abt for County Commissioner. The Republicans have nominated Seth Bullock for Sheriff and James Carney for Treasurer.

The Helena Independent (Helena, Montana) Nov 2, 1878

Seth Bullock, an old-time sheriff of Lewis and Clarke county, arrived in the city last Sunday from the Black Hills, where he is extensively engaged in business. He received a perfect ovation from his many friends here.

The Helena Independent (Helena, Montana) May 23, 1882

Deadwood Dotlets.

Special to the Globe.

DEADWOOD, Dak., June 6. — It was announced yesterday that the Fremont, Elkhorn & Missouri Valley railroad, the track of which is now laid within fifty miles of Rapid City, would build north and west to a point near Fort Meade this summer. This will bring the railroad within fifteen miles of Deadwood…

The Electric Light company will start up this evening, after two weeks idleness. The company had been reorganized and the works will be moved from the present location on Sherman street to Upper Main street …

Judge Church of the district court on Monday denied an injunction to F.W. Hamilton et al. against Seth Bullock and others who are in possession of the Hattenbach smelter and water right at the carbonate camp. The decision was received with general rejoicing here as it was feared that had the decision been otherwise work would be stopped on the Iron Hill for some years, as the Hattenbach water right affords the only water at present available for working the Iron Hill mill…

The annual meeting of the Iron Hill stockholders was held in this city yesterday, who re-elected the old board of directors. A monthly dividend of 5 cents per share was declared….

The grand lodge of Knights of Pythias will meet at Rapid City on the 15th inst. The knights of the hills are determined to make this session of the grand lodge a memorable one, and large delegation will attend from Deadwood, Central City and Lead City.

St. Paul Globe (St. Paul, Minnesota) Jun 7, 1886

A new faction is to appear in the Watertown convention from the Black Hills, designated as the Bullwumps. It will appear as a contesting force, nominally for SETH BULLOCK, but ready to trade with any faction that will give them a show for seats. The name is, of course, derived from that of the leader. There are two or three other lots of contestants that will tend to enliven matters at Watertown.

St. Paul Daily Globe (St. Paul, Minnesota) Aug 18, 1888


Judge Palmer Was Wired as the Proxy of the Hills at Huron.

DEADWOOD, Dak., Jan. 18. — “We, the people of Lawrence county,” met at the city hall Tuesday afternoon the 13th, and elected twenty-two delegates to attend the Huron convention. An obscure call appeared in the morning papers of the same morning, and before those papers appeared in the outside precincts, the “mass” convention had met, resoluted and adjourned. It is well said that Dakota holds more conventions than any other state in the Unions, but in Lawrence county they can  call and hold a mass meeting of the citizens of the county in less time than it takes to tell. The one held on the 15th was remarkable in that it was conceived, called, held and over with in less than ten hours, and the county is larger than the state of Rhode Island. The total number present at this “we, the people” was five, consisting of Messrs. G.G. Bennett, Seth Bullock, Samuel Cushman, Ploughman and Church. Several newspaper representatives were also present.

Twenty-two delegates were chosen, comprising what is known as the Mugwump element of the county and a few others, and the proxies of the entire delegation were telegraphed to Judge Palmer.

Resolutions were also telegraphed favoring division and admission and a new constitutional convention for South Dakota, and strongly urging a new election of officers.

St. Paul Daily Globe (St. Paul, Minnesota) Jan 19, 1889


The Gates of Mineral Edens Yield to Hard, Persistent Knocks.


The Black Hills.

DEADWOOD, S.D., Aug. 27. — Correspondence of THE BEE. — The Bald mountain and Ruby Basin mining districts of the Black Hills which are just now attracting more attention perhaps, than any other gold and silver mining districts in the United States, lay some eight miles north of Deadwood, in Laurence county. The districts are some four miles long by three miles wide and are remarkable for the great number of deposits of pay ore that have been brought into sight by a minimum amount of development. The ore which is silicious, occurs in blanket veins, from three to twenty-five feet thick, and from ten to eight feet wide, as in the Golden Reward, and ranges in value from $18 per ton upwards into the hundreds. The general average being about $30….

With a courage and determination admirable, when the many difficulties standing in the way, and the long line of misfortunes by which all previous efforts had been met, are contemplated Mr. Franklin and the gentlemen associated with him, refused to abandon the purpose they had in view, and lost no time in looking about for some other process. The Newberry-Vautin chlorination method was just then attracting attention in the United States, as well as in Australia. The company had a small plant in Denver, and thereto Messrs. Franklin, Bullock and C.W. Carpenter went.

Several weeks were spent studying the process, the gentlemen returning to Deadwood satisfied that while as operated at Denver it was not practical for Black Hills ores, it was susceptible to change and modifications, which would excellently adapt it to the peculiarities of the Hills. So many failures had characterized the effort to treat these ores that when approached for subscriptions toward building another plant, a majority refused having anything to do with the project. The burden, therefore, fell on some eight or ten, most prominent among them being Harris Franklin, his business partner Ben Baer, Seth Bullock, Colonel C.W. Carpenter and George C. Hickok.

These gentlemen organized a corporation under the name of “Golden Reward Chlorination works,” and at once began building a plant. Warned by other failures they started on a small scale, the works at first having a capacity of only thirty tons per day. The first run was not a brilliant success. Nothing daunted the gentlemen continued putting money in, and some seven or eight months later were able to positively announce that the difficulty has at length been solved, that the chlorination process, as operated by them, was an absolute success in saving every cent of gold contained in the ore, and that the operation of Bald Mountain and Ruby Basin mines to a profit was not only possible, but probable and practicable.

The next four months’ operations of the plant proved conclusively all they had claimed for it. Capacity was doubled and the plant has been kept continually busy on ore from the Golden Reward mine, turning out bullion at the rate of $30,000 to $33,000 per month. It is not claimed for this process, however, that it will save any silver the ore may contain, and as a good many of the silicious deposits referred to carry silver in value ranging from $8 ot $30 per ton (Golden Reward ore carried from $1 to $3 silver only), in addition to the gold, it became necessary to devise a method for saving the silver.

At the Golden Reward plant the cost of treatment is something under $5 per ton for gold alone, and experiments made proved that by adding vats and resort to lixiviation the silver could be saved for an additional cost of $2 per ton. The ore of this particular mine carries so little silver, however, that it has not been deemed advisable to put in the additional machinery necessary to save it.

About the time Mr. Franklin and associates completed this chlorination plant, Dr. Franklin R. Carpenter, then dean of the Dakota school of mines, who had given close study to Ruby Basin and Bald Mountain ores, and who had some months previously published an article in the Rapid Republican, advocating their treatment by pyritic smelting, made a series of successful experiments with the process at the school of mines laboratory. At some of these experiments Seth Bullock, then president of the Iron Hill mining company, and the late J.K.P. Miller, of Deadwood, were present. The gentlemen were both convinced that the process was an absolute success, and returned with that idea firmly fixed in their minds. Mr. Bullock shortly afterward determined on a practical test at the Iron Hill. The result is concisely told in the following clipping from the Black Hills Times of January 1, 1890.

“The first practical test of the pyrite scheme was made by Seth Bullock at the Iron Hill, when the basic ores of the mine were mixed with the dry gold-silver ores of Ruby Basin and pyrite from Galena, also carrying a little gold and silver, thus modifying but very slightly the process as usually practiced. The process was a gratifying success as demonstrated by the treatment of over 400 tons of ore. Two runs were made — thorough test of eight days continuance, the only change necessary to the smelter being the filling of the lead well. The proportions of a charge cannot be stated more definitely than that from fifteen to twenty per cent of pyrites is an ingredient with Iron Hill and Ruby ores and lime, effecting a concentration of ten tons into one and giving an absolute clean slug.”…

Omaha Daily Bee (Omaha, Nebraska) Aug 30, 1891

Seth Bullock of Deadwood will write a book entitled, “Twenty Years in the Territories.” Its subject matter will touch on the doings of vigilants of Montana, the horse thieves of Nebraska and the stage robbers of the Black Hills.

Omaha Daily Bee (Omaha, Nebraska) Jul 10, 1893



Was One of the Civilizers of Montana and the Black Hills Region — As the First Sheriff of the Black Hills He Put to Death Many of the Desperadoes of the Frontier.

Seth Bullock, a frontiersman, who assisted in the civilization of Montana and the Black Hills region, by sending innumerable desperadoes over the great divide via the pistol route and the hangman’s noose, is visiting the Twin Cities in the thoroughly up-to-date guise of a promoter for the Belle Fourche Smelting and Refining company, of the Black Hills.

Mr. Bullock formerly owned the land being worked by the Belle Fourche company, and now that his former occupation of sheriff, vigilante and Indian fighter is gone, he is engaged in furthering the mining interests of the section where he passed through so many dangers and thrilling experiences.

As the first sheriff of the Black Hills, Seth Bullock was a peace officer feared by the desperadoes of the hills. His determination to do his duty, coupled with indomitable courage, led him to relentlessly pursue evil doers, and when the “bad” men found Bullock on their tracks they knew justice would be meted out to them.

While never taking life needlessly, Seth Bullock says he has been forced to kill so many tough characters that he has lost actual count of the notches on the butts of his “shooting irons.”

Sometimes, when accompanying a valuable consignment of bullion overland, Mr. Bullock was obliged to distribute the contents of his Winchester rifle among half a dozen bandits who attempted to hold up the stage. The stage seldom stopped to get a list of the dead and wounded from the robbers, so Mr. Bullock does not know just how many he killed in these “sorties.” On one occasion, however, while the stage which he was carrying through traveled a small canyon sixty miles from Deadwood, four knights of the road undertook to appropriate the treasure aboard, but a series of rapid shots from Bullock’s rifle eliminated all danger and annihilated the robbers.

Mr. Bullock made his reputation as chairman of the 3-7-77 vigilance committee, of Helena, Mont., before he went into the Black Hills. There was a great deal of work for the vigilantes in those days, and very frequently the figures 3-7-77, meaning a meeting of the committee was to be held that night, could be seen chalked about the street.

In the secret conclaves Bullock presided over the deliberations of men as sternly bent on exterminating lawlessness as himself, and when it was decided that any particularly tough character was due, he was soon captured. The vigilance committee did not execute the criminals, but turned them over to the courts.

In 1872 Bullock was elected sheriff and during four years of service hung many criminals. He was quite a monopolist as regarded the hanging function as was indicated on one occasion when lynch law was about to be invoked in the case of two men arrested for train robbing.

The vigilantes wanted to string the prisoners up without ceremony. Seth reckoned as how he would attend to the hanging himself and proceeded to execute the robbers.

“You are a d–m monopolist,” said one of the vigilantes, “you want to do all of the hanging yourself.”

Mr. Bullock was a personal friend of Buffalo Bill and Wild Bill, with whom he was at times closely associated. Seth liked Wild Bill, and though McCall killed many men, Seth thinks he was justified in many cases.

When the gold discoveries were made in the Black Hill Seth Bullock and a party of friends went with the rush to this section. It was a lawless country, where murders and robbery were the order of the day. Outlawry became so rampant that Bullock was prevailed upon to accept the office of sheriff in the hills as he had done in Helena. His election gave the Black Hills country its first sheriff, and as such Bullock’s name struck terror to the hearts of evil doers.

It was here that he did most of his Indian fighting. The troublesome Sioux of Sitting Bull made border life extremely dangerous, and when the general uprising, which resulted in the terrible Custer massacre, threatened the extermination of white settlers, it was Seth Bullock who offered to put down the red skins. Bullock had been appointed adjutant general of the territory and wired Gov. Pennington the following message:

“The Indians are still massacreing our people in Spear Fish and Belle Fourche valleys. I advise that you permit me to take my troops down and kill the agents at Pine Ridge, Cheyenne and Standing Rock. This will stop the Indian trouble.”

Gov. Pennington telegraphed in reply: “Better wait awhile, Seth.”

Mr. Bullock says his plan was somewhat unusual, but declares it was a solution of the problem, as he charges the Indian agents with the responsibility of the uprisings.
In appearance Seth Bullock is the typical frontiersman, with one exception. He has never worn his hair long, as is characteristic of most Western notables. Fully six feet tall, straight as an arrow, with a muscular figure and aquiline features, he appears a splendid type of physical manhood. His blue-gray eyes are a noticeable feature.

Sparkling with subdued fire, they are kindly in expression, but bespeak the “flinty” look of the yellowback novel, should the owner become aroused.

Since it has become safe to live in the Black Hills, Mr. Bullock has undertaken the development of rich gold property which came into his possession. Several Twin city capitalists are associated with him in business. Mr. Bullock declares the Black Hills district is the richest gold producing country in the world. Last year the output, he says, was $10,000,000, and that of the year before $8,000,000, and all of this wealth, Mr. Bullock says, came from a district within a ten-mile radius of Deadwood.

The mining in this section is all quartz mining, Mr. Bullock says, and the claims owned by large companies, who operate huge smelters for extracting the precious yellow metal, the largest smelter in the world, he says, being at Deadwood. Mr. Bullock says few people realize the richness of the Black Hills gold region.

The Saint Paul Globe (St. Paul, Minnesota) Mar 25, 1898

Enlisting Rough Riders.

DEADWOOD, S.D., May 4. — (Special Telegram.) — The appointment of Seth Bullock as a captain in the regiment of cavalry which Attorney General Grigsby has been authorized to raise has created much enthusiasm in this and other adjoining counties of the Black Hills. As soon as his appointment was telegraphed him Mr. Bullock sent runners to every cow camp in the Black Hills and has now enrolled in his command over 400 of the best shots and most fearless riders in the world, all of whom are ready for service in Cuba or the Philippines.

Omaha Daily Bee (Omaha, Nebraska) May 5, 1898

Grigsby’s Rough Riders.

The daily reports of the surgeons show that the health of the camp is improving.

The Rough Riders were mustered in yesterday morning and will probably receive their pay today. Several of the officers left camp to obtain signatures of those who are sick, so they can draw their pay.

The troop commanded by Captain Bullock has been pronounced the healthiest body of men in the regiment….

The camp of Colonel Grigsby’s cowboys was moved yesterday from the location where they have been camped since their arrival at the park, to the Brotherton field, east of the First Illinois cavalry. Lieutenant Colonel Lloyd, who is in command of the cowboys, is well pleased with the new location and thinks the change will prove beneficial to the health of the regiment….

A general court-martial has been appointed and ordered to be convened at the brigade headquarters by Assistant Adjutant General William E. Almy. The following are the members of the court-martial: Major L.H. French of the cowboys and Major Frank B. Alsip of the First Illinois cavalry and Captains Seth Bullock, J.B. Binder, C.E. Gregory and J.T. Brown of the cowboy regiment…A large number of cases will be tried by the court.

Omaha Daily Bee (Omaha, Nebraska) Aug 4, 1898

Captain Bullock Convalescing.

DEADWOOD, S.D. Sept. 26. — (Special) — Captain Seth Bullock of Grigsby’s regiment had been dangerously ill in this city with malarial fever, which was contracted in Camp Thomas. He is slowly recovering.

Omaha Daily Bee (Omaha, Nebraska) Sep 27, 1898


A Circular Issued by Seth Bullock, of Deadwood.

The manner in which the great timber preserves of the Northwest are protected against fires and the ravages of outlaw timber cutters is illustrated in a circular letter just issued by Seth Bullock, of Deadwood, S.D., one of the most energetic forest supervisors in the country. Mr. Bullock was sheriff in Deadwood when that town was infested by the most lawless element of the West. His decisive actions resulted in the establishment of law and order. Under his regime ugly characters learned to give Deadwood a wide berth.

President Roosevelt, while operating a ranch at Medora, was one of Mr. Bullock’s deputies. The circular issued by Mr. Bullock is addressed to the Forest Rangers, and is as follows:

“To Forest Rangers, Black Hill Forest Reserve.

“Sirs: Your attention is called to the fact that in a number of instances the monthly reports of the forest rangers of this Reserve show but a few miles traveled per day while patrolling their districts. From two to ten miles frequently appears as all that is accomplished, no other work being undertaken or reported as having been performed.

“You are advised that a forest ranger is supposed to patrol his district on horseback, and that the patrolling of districts on foot will not be permitted. A few monthly reports — very few, I am glad to say — indicate that that particular ranger performs as little service as he can during the month, just enough to have his report approved and escape censure. Rangers of this class must not be disappointed if they are furloughed this fall, and an additional leave of absence granted them next summer. Shiftless, careless work will not be tolerated in the future. An honest day’s work honestly performed is what is required and will be insisted upon.

“You are expected to thoroughly patrol your district, getting to every part of it at least once a month, familiarizing yourselves with every trail and every road upon or through it; by whom and for what purpose they are used. You should also know the name and occupation of every resident of your district temporary as well as permanent, and ascertain by what right they are upon the reserve and what their business it. An especial and vigilant watch must be kept for forest fires. Visit often the places frequented by campers as they are a prolific source of fires. Establish correspondence at various points within your district with persons  residing therein who will keep you advised of forest fires and depredations, either on the forest reserve or on the public lands near by.

“See that the forest fire notices are put up and maintained upon all the public roads and trails of your district. Report all cases of fire and trespass as soon as you have knowledge of them. In all your intercourse with the public extend such treatment that every honest man within your district shall be your personal friend. Very respectfully,


“Forest Supervisor.”

The Evening Times (Washington, D.C.) Oct 12, 1901


Seth Bullock See the President Daily.

Former Sheriff of Deadwood Warmly Welcomed.

Tells of Mr. Roosevelt’s Career in the Black Hills Country.

Special Dispatch to the Call.


“Have you met Seth Bullock yet?” asked President Roosevelt of a caller to-day. “He comes from Deadwood and is about as fine a type of the real man as you will find in the Western country. He used to be a neighbor of mine.”

Seth Bullock of Deadwood, formerly a Black Hills Sheriff, has been a guest at the White House several times during the last week at luncheons and once or twice at dinner.

He has had a horseback rid or two with the President and last Thursday, mounted on one of the best horses in the White House stables, he and little “Archie” Roosevelt, mounted on his spotted pony, took a long ride over the country roads of Maryland.

Mr. Bullock, or “Captain” Bullock, as he is called, is supervisor of the national forest reserve in the Black Hills, which comprises a stretch of woodland 100 miles long and fifty wide. He is the commanding officer of twenty or thirty forest rangers.

This friend of the President is as straight as one of the pines in his native State of Michigan. He is six feet tall and as spare as a trained runner. He has the eagle nose of the fighter and eagle eye of a man who does not know what it is to flinch. He has a sandy moustache and a full head of hair that has dodged the Indian scalping knife a half dozen times. He was a born adventurer, because when 14 years of age he followed his five older brothers into the army and enlisted as a drummer boy.

“I have known the President for a good many years. I knew him first when he took up his ranch on the Little Missouri,” said he to-day. “It didn’t take the neighbors of Mr. Roosevelt very long to find out that, although he was from the East and a bit near-sighted, he was just as able to take care of himself as any of us who had been out there since the first stampede to the Black Hills, and he was ready to do his part, too. When cattle thieves came out of the Black Hole, he took his share of work in bringing them to justice, and when he had to be made a deputy Sheriff and was asked to go after a couple of desperadoes down in the river bottom he always went and he always brought them back.”

The San Francisco Call ( San Francisco, California) Mar 1, 1903


President’s Son Gets Keepsake From Capt. Seth Bullock.

DEADWOOD, S.D., June 9. — Capt. Seth Bullock, of Deadwood, has ordered as a present for Archie Roosevelt, third son of the president, a handsome pair of cowboy spurs, made on a special order. They were procured for Capt. Bullock by Edward McDonald, mayor of Deadwood, who is a saddler. They are hand made and represent the highest skill of forging and finishing.

They are of the regulation cowboy type with drop shank, large rowells and locks with wide hand-stamped Russia leather and gold conchas. The spurs are silver mounted and chased with an artistic design. The boy for whom they are intended rode much with Capt. Bullock when the latter was in Washington.

The Saint Paul Globe (St. Paul, Minnesota) Jun 10, 1903



Doesn’t Like to Talk About the Days When He Was a Terror to Evildoers in Deadwood — More Interested in Forestry — Punctures the Calamity Jane Myth.

WASHINGTON, April 9. — Seth Bullock is making his annual visit to Washington. It is the same Seth Bullock, who, as the first Sheriff of Deadwood, was a terror to law breakers all over the Black Hills region and officiated at some half a dozen more or less impromptu executions of horse thieves and bad men. But in one way he has changed.

To his old comrade and friend, Theodore Roosevelt, and to his other companions of the old days on the Little Missouri, he is the same always. But to strangers who would fain converse about the dime novel exploits of his comrades and himself on the frontier he is simply a plain American citizen, quietly plodding paths of peace, and a little surprised, and even grieved, when the conversation is turned to such subjects as the early days of Deadwood and the exploits of Corral Charlie and Calamity Jane.

And so it happens that the conversation soon reverts to the affairs of the Black Hills Forest Reserve, of which Mr. Bullock is the Federal superintendent, and to the glories of President Roosevelt’s Administration and to Roosevelt’s peerless virtues as a gentleman and a scholar. Not even Jacob Riis is a more ardent admirer of Mr. Roosevelt than is Seth Bullock.

He knew Roosevelt when Roosevelt was a plainsman, and it is his proud assertion that his old friend of the Bad Lands hasn’t changed a bit since he was elevated to the highest place in the nation. He took luncheon with the President at the White House the other day, and they swapped stories of the old days, and seriously discussed affairs of State and of the Black Hills Forest Reserve.

Last year he was the President’s guest at the White House, and he attended some of the largest of the State entertainments. He is quite at home in polite society, and except as a man of muscular build and the possessor of a rather fierce looking, melodrama villain’s mustache, would not attract special notice from casual observers.

To some intimates he did remark that the Marine Band played fine music, but that it was pretty far up the gulch for him; and he wished they would play “There’ll Be A Hot Time” and a few similar pieces more to his liking.

Bullock’s saddle gait and his sun tanned skin give him the look of a plainsman, or at least of a man accustomed to a vigorous outdoor life. The only article of apparel that suggests his habitat is a sombrero of the Montana peak variety, but he remarked to a friend who admired his that:

“Why, I’ve seen more hats almost like this in Washington to-day than you’d see in Deadwood in a week.”

To a reporter who called on him Mr. Bullock said smilingly that he didn’t propose to talk about Deadwood as it was, nor to discuss Calamity Jane, Corral Charlie, Arizona Ike or any other of the Western celebrities with whom he came into more or less forcible contact when he was Sheriff of Deadwood in the palmy days of the Black Hills gold excitement.

“The West, including Deadwood, is civilized now,” he said, “and I am sure there is more genuine interest in its present and future development and in the irrigation and forest reserve problems than in discussing the more or less notorious characters of the early days who have been lifted from their actual level in real life to a much higher plane in the realm of fiction.

“And I must say that I grow sorrier and sorrier every day to think that I was ever Sheriff of Deadwood. I am perfectly willing to discuss the Black Hills Forest Reserve by the hour, for it is a good work and an important work and a work in which any one might well take an interest. But I have found that when I meet a man who looks as if he wanted to ask questions and am priming myself to give him statistics of the population of Deadwood, and describe the trolley cars that run through the streets of that hustling little town, he usually begins by saying in a coaxing voice:

“‘Mr. Sheriff, is it true that you have killed forty-seven men?’

“That may appear as a joke to some people, but it is far from being one. Last year when I came to Washington and had been in town for half a day or so, I was somewhat surprised that no newspaper men came to interview me. You see, I have become rather used to the process.

“But in this case it seemed that personal interviews were not necessary, for when I read the papers the next morning I found various delightfully interesting and accurate accounts of the life of ‘The Sheriff of Deadwood,’ ‘The Conqueror of Deadwood Dick,’ ‘The Terror of South Dakota,’ ‘The Man With Sixteen Notches on His Gun Butt,’ and a lot of other things that make a man feel tired.

“The only way that I can figure it out is just that only two men I ever did send over the range — and they were worthless and deserved it — have been drawing compound interest all these years. At any rate, all that sort of thing is, to put it mildly, disagreeable. I don’t like it and my family and friends don’t like it.

“I am down here in Washington just now,” said Mr. Bullock in answer to a question, “on official business. There are some matters in connection with the forest reserve on which I wanted to consult the officials of the General Land Office.

“It is quite a change to be here in Washington, and I like it. When I am home, as Superintendent of the Black Hills Reserve I spend about half the time in the saddle, and of course it grows tiresome at times. You see, I have only fourteen men under me in the winter and between twenty-five and thirty in the summer, and it keeps us pretty busy patrolling a tract seventy miles long and forty wide, and containing about a million and a half acres of timber land.

“But our work is well repaid, for we have not had a forest fire of any size in the reservation since I became superintendent, and the timber is reproducing itself. Just as much timber is being cut as ever, but the careful supervision exercised over the tract and the cutting of timber under observation have resulted in reproduction, and if the same course is followed there will be just as much timber on the land fifty or one hundred years from now as there is as present.”

“I guess those were swift old days in Deadwood during the Black Hills excitement,” remarked the reporter reflectively.

“Oh, shucks!” said Mr. Bullock in disgust, “you’re just like all the rest. I thought I had you switched on to the forest reserve proposition, and I’ll bet you haven’t even been listening, but just waiting to spring that question.

“I don’t want to talk about those times, though I’ll admit they were strenuous; but I will say that just about as much fiction has been printed about one of the so-called famous characters of those times as there has about me. It is of a different kind, though, I trust.

“I mean Calamity Jane. Calamity Jane never was a scout and she never did any of the thousand and one wonderful things she’s been credited with doing.

“She started out once in her buckskin as a mule driver with an expedition that was going out after the Indians, but the commander discovered before very long that she was a woman and left her at Fort Laramie.

“There was a newspaper correspondent there who had started with the detachment, but got sick with mountain fever.

“Calamity Jane nursed him back to life, and he was so grateful that he gave her a reputation in fiction that she certainly never possessed in real life.

“And that’s about all of Deadwood — the old Deadwood — for today. Want to know anything more about the Black Hills Forest Reserve?”

The Sun (New York, New York) Apr 10, 1904


Western Admirer of Roosevelt Deprecates Lack of Noise, Music and Enthusiasm.


Seth Bullock, First Sheriff of Deadwood, Says if the President Were Present Things Would Be Run With a Whoop and a Bang.

Chicago, June 21. — Seth Bullock of Deadwood, S.D. says:

“It’s too blame slow.”

Of Seth Bullock, President Roosevelt once said to the writer: “Have you seen Seth Bullock in town to-day? He is about as fine a type of man as this country produces.”

He was the first Sheriff of Deadwood, and is now Captain of the Black Hills Rangers. He can ride fast and shoot straight. He came here to see “his friend Theodore” nominated in a whirlwind of Black Hills excitement — a slap, a dash, a whoop and a bang. He is disappointed and does not hesitate to so express himself.

“Why, you New York fellows,” said he to-day, “are regular clams. We have got mosquitoes out in Deadwood that would create more enthusiasm than the entire New York delegation. Looks to me as if they were from the Jersey flats. No bands, no whooping and cheering and very little hand-clapping. Why, it’s as cold as Alaska, and I don’t like it.”

Captain Seth Bullock’s duty is to protect the forest reserve. So it happens that he is another of the Federal officeholders attending the convention. He is accustomed to seeing things done quickly and with enthusiasm.

“I must confess,” said Mr. Bullock, “that I am surprised at all this. If Mr. Roosevelt were only here himself you’d see things whooped up. We are for him out in the West good and hard. I’d like to see more noise about his nomination. We men out West are not gaited that way. Why, I saw hardly a smile on the New York delegation during the entire proceedings at the convention to-day, and when Mr. Root mentioned Mr. Roosevelt’s name at the end of his speech it was our fellows from the West who made the noise. And Mr. Roosevelt is a Republican, come from New York, and from Manhattan Island.”

“How many conventions have you attended?” was asked.

“My first was in 1880, right in this city, when Garfield was nominated. I was one of the original 306 Grant men, and I stuck to him to the finish. Grant was a sort of Roosevelt man, and we liked him out in the West for what he was and what he did. But when Garfield was finally nominated we whooped it up for the ticket just the same, because we were good Republicans.

“Why, there was more hollering in that convention in one minute than I have heard all the time since I’ve been in Chicago. That’s the way to nominate a man. Why, in those days the bands played all night. Now they don’t play in the daytime, or, if they do, it’s something like a dirge. And then I came to the convention here in 1888, which nominated ‘Ben’ Harrison. There was noise then, too, and, although General Harrison was not a man to inspire a great deal of hollering, yet we produced the goods. That’s why this convention seems so tame to me.”

“What are you Western Republicans going to do for Mr. Roosevelt in November?”

“Give him a corking big majority. Every State west of the Rockies will go for him strong, and I might say every Western State. But, all the same, I don’t like the way your New York crowd acts and I can’t understand it.”

And Mr. Bullock, Esq., wandered off to the cigar stand after more consolation.

The St. Louis Republic (St. Louis, Missouri) Jun 22, 1904




Horse Thieves, Bootleggers and a Counterfeiter Were Taken Through Here at Noon — Some of the Prisoners Were Bound in Chains.

It was a strange party of travelers that passed through Norfolk at noon bound from Deadwood, S.D., to Leavenworth, Kan., in a special car and chaperoned by a no less genial person than Seth Bullock, United States marshal for the district of South Dakota.

Seventeen federal prisoners, Indians, half breeds and criminal whites, formed one of the largest parties of convicts that have ever been transported through Norfolk. Federal court has been in session at Deadwood and the travelers through Norfolk represented the convictions ground out by the federal mill of justice.

There were no “bad men” in the bunch, just ordinary law smashers of the reservation variety. Here are the statistics of the party: seven horse thieves, seven boot leggers, two white sellers of whisky to the noble red man off the reservation, one counterfeiter.

Chains jingled from the limbs of a few of the prisoners but for the most part the South Dakota collection of criminals were simply under the watchful eyes of Marshal Bullock and his four guards.

Two nights and nearly two days is spent in the long trip across Nebraska to the federal prison at Leavenworth where federal convicts in this section of the northwest serve their time. And any one who has ever seen Marshal Bullock, a typical westerner of the best breed of the western prairie, won’t doubt for a minute but that the long line of criminals from the South Dakota west will file into the prison doors with none of the charming bunch missing.

E.M. Mathews of Omaha, chief deputy marshal of the Nebraska district, left Norfolk on the Deadwood train for Omaha and exchanged greetings with the South Dakota official.

Seth Bullock was with Secretary of War Taft when Taft went through Norfolk this summer.

The Norfolk Weekly News-Journal (Norfolk, Nebraska) Sep 20, 1907


Within the past week two distinguished South Dakota statesmen have passed through Norfolk and have stopped in the new northwest’s gateway long enough to give their views on this or that. One was United States Marshal Seth Bullock of Deadwood, the other was Governor Coe I. Crawford of Pierre. And it is interesting to note the diametrically opposite views of these two statesmen regarding a question which has been uppermost in the mind of the nation for some months past — the question as to President Roosevelt’s successor.

Seth Bullock was a rough rider with Roosevelt and is one of the warmest personal friends of the president to be found in the west. Governor Crawford is likewise a staunch friend of the president’s policies in government, though not the intimate personal friend that Bullock is to the chief executive. And because both are such ardent friends and admirers of the president, their precisely opposite opinions regarding the third term question for Roosevelt is the more interesting.

Governor Crawford in Norfolk the other day declared that he is absolutely and unqualifiedly for Roosevelt for a third term, and he said that he believed that South Dakota republicans would send a delegation to the next national convention instructed to insist upon the president’s acceptance of another nomination. “We have no second choice,” said the governor, because that would be qualifying our support of the president.”

But Seth Bullock takes a different view. Seth Bullock has just come back from Washington, where he talked with President Roosevelt as a matter of course. And when shown a dispatch quoting Senator Clapp of Minnesota as declaring that the president would be compelled to accept a third term nomination, Bullock said: “I’d like to see a photograph of anyone compelling Theodore Roosevelt to accept a nomination for the presidency of the United States. The American people know that the president can’t be driven to do anything. United States senators ought to know it and if they don’t it is about time they were finding it out.”

Seth Bullock and Governor Crawford both know that the president on the night of election, November 8, 11904, in the face of an overwhelming Roosevelt landslide, declared his faith in “the wise custom which limits the president to two terms” and continued: “Under no circumstances will I be a candidate for or accept another nomination.” Apparently Seth Bullock, the personal rough-rider friend who knows Roosevelt, the man, has more faith in the latter’s integrity and sincerity than has Governor Crawford for where the one would take the president at his word and be willing to allow him to live up to the letter of his announcement, the other apparently so far doubts the absolute determination of the president to such an extent that he will seek, and with some hope of success, to persuade the president to reverse himself and take another nomination in the face of his declaration.

The general public naturally questions which of these South Dakota opinions is right when he says that the president can’t be driven to accept, or whether Crawford is right when he pins his faith to the hope that his delegation, and others like it, may influence the president to change his mind. And it might be remembered in this connection that first of all Bullock is a personal friend of the president, and is in better position to know the man’s determination and absolute integrity of purpose than the governor, who knows the president only at long range. It must also be borne in mind that Bullock, secure in his federal appointment so long as his friend Roosevelt remains at the helm, and maybe longer, is in a position to say just exactly what he thinks without regard to its effect upon the voters, while Governor Crawford must consider to a large degree, in view of his candidacy for Senator Kittredge’s toga, what effect his public expressions will have upon the public in South Dakota. And a dispatch recently sent out from Pierre goes so far as to suggest that, in case Roosevelt should finally reverse his decision and accept another nomination, the Crawford-Gamble faction in South Dakota, who have started the third term movement in that state, would inherit an enviable political prestige as creators of the boom.

In other words, it may be his sincere wish that the president should be forced to abandon his original announcement and accept another nomination in spite of it.

Governor Crawford’s views in the matter can not for a moment be separated from his own ambition to acquire sufficient popularity to elect him senator; while on the other hand, Seth Bullock, the personal friend of the president and under more obligations to the latter than any other man in South Dakota, and with no candidacy of his own to further, has such implicit faith in the president’s sincerity and integrity as to neither doubt his word for a moment nor to desire to enlist in any movement whose purpose is to compel the president to go back on that word.

Seth Bullock is a true blue republican and his loyalty is with the same party with which Governor Crawford is associated. But where the one would seek to force the president to retract his repeated announcement, the other would prefer that the integrity of the president in that announcement, because integrity in one matter involves integrity in all matters and because the party’s integrity is linked with the integrity of its official representatives, should be allowed to stand unshaken.

The Norfolk Weekly News-Journal (Norfolk, Nebraska) Sep 27, 1907



South Dakota Cattle Puncher to Get United States Marshalship Without Wire-Pulling.


Washington, Dec. 29. — Theodore Roosevelt’s name is a good one to conjure with at the white house. This was shown when the announcement was made that Capt. Seth Bullock, who hails from out Deadwood way, will be reappointed United States marshal for the district of South Dakota. In territorial days Mr. Roosevelt, then a young man, punched cattle in Dakota, and while there he ran up with Seth Bullock, who was something of a rover at that time. A warm friendship sprang up between the two men and it still continues.

When Mr. Roosevelt was president, Seth Bullock was on a number of occasions a guest at the white house, and when the distinguished New Yorker was inaugurated in 1905 the Deadwood man brought a cowboy regiment to Washington that was easily the headline attraction of the occasion. This particular regiment cut up high jinks in the inauguration parade, and in the white house lot on the night of March 4, 1905, it marched into the white house ground and Mr. Roosevelt delivered a speech to the cowpunchers that tickled them nearly today. Right in front of the executive mansion these cowpunchers from the plains performed a number of stunts in lariat throwing and dare-devil riding that astonished the multitude and came near making Mr. Roosevelt forget that the inaugural ball was about to begin and awaited his presence.

Soon after Seth Bullock, who had up to that time been the head ranger of the Black Hills forest reserve in South Dakota, was named United States marshal. It may be stated upon good authority that before he left Washington Mr. Roosevelt did not make many requests of the man who was about to succeed him. In fact, it is known that he took the position that it would be indelicate for him to make suggestions as to the filling of public office in the new administration. He made an exception, however, in the case of Bullock. Mr. Roosevelt told his successor that if he could see his way clear to do so it would please him if Bullock was reappointed United States marshal. Accordingly, the nomination of Mr. Bullock for another term will be sent to the senate next week.

The Paducah Evening Sun (Puducah, Kentucky) Dec 29, 1909

Presidential Nominations.

(Herald Special.)

Washington, D.C., Jan. 17. — Among the presidential nominations today Seth Bullock was named for United States marshal of South Dakota, and Frederick W. Collins for the Southern district of Mississippi.

Palestine Daily Herald (Palestine, Texas) Jan 17, 1910

Image from The Black Hills Believables by John Hafnor

Highest Dakota Peak To Be Mt. Roosevelt

“Round Top,” One of Blacks Hills, Will Be Rechristened on Fourth of July

The highest peak in the Black Hills of South Dakota is to be rechristened Mount Theodore Roosevelt on July 4. The mountain, heretofore variously known as Sheep Mountain and Round Top, rises about three miles from Deadwood and from its summit can be seen the country where Roosevelt, the young ranchman, sought and found that bodily vigor which sustained the strenuous life of years to come.

Lieutenant Colonel Theodore Roosevelt, Colonel William Boyce Thompson, president of the Roosevelt Memorial Association, and a large party will go from here to attend the ceremony. The Governor of South Dakota will preside and Major General Leonard Wood will be one of the speakers. State officials of Wyoming, Nebraska and Montana have promised to attend.

Captain Seth Bullock heads a committee of the late ex-President’s early associates in the Northwest in charge of the affair. They are having erected at the top of the mountain a memorial cairn of boulders of native granite. This will be dedicated on Independence Day.

Next Sunday a number of Colonel Roosevelt’s old friends in North Dakota will hold a meeting at the Custer Trail Ranch, Medora, and organize a committee of the Roosevelt Memorial Association. The Custer Trail Ranch formed part of the Roosevelt Ranch on the Little Missouri. Sylvane Ferris and William J. Merrifield, Roosevelt’s ranch partners, and Joe Ferris, who took him on his first Buffalo hunt, have arranged a big round-up and barbecue picnic to mark the occasion.

New York Tribune (New York, New York) Jun 13, 1919

Image from Find-A-Grave - Laura Harvey

Find-A-Grave Link for Seth Bullock.

Seth Bullock, Friend of Roosevelt, Dead

DEADWOOD, S.D., Sept. 23. — Seth Bullock, lifelong friend of the late Theodore Roosevelt, died at his home here this morning after an illness of several weeks. He was a pioneer of the Black Hills and was sixty-two years old.

Seth Bullock was born in Sandwich, Canada, just across the river from Detroit. He went West just as soon as he was able to ride a horse. In South Dakota, he was miner, prospector, peace officer and cattleman.

When he became Sheriff of Deadwood he proceeded to clean up the town. One night, it is related of him, he himself arrested thirty-seven “bad men” by beating each one into insensibility with the butt of his gun. Three of the men escaped and hid in an old mine not far from Deadwood. Bullock went to the mine and smoked them out.

New York Tribune (New York, New York) Sep 24, 1919

Image from Find-A-Grave - by afraydknot


Sheriff of Deadwood, Who Died Yesterday, Was Friend of Roosevelt

Deadwood, S.D., Sept. 24. — Seth Bullock, who died here yesterday at the age of sixty-two years, had numerous claims to celebrity before his friendship for Theodore Roosevelt brought him into the limelight.

As the first sheriff of Deadwood when this community was in its formative stage and had just as much respect for laws — whether man-made or heaven-inspired — as Seth had for the reputation of the bad men who were making Deadwood no place for a prohibitionist, the young Canadian (he was born in Sandwich, Canada, just across from Detroit) proved his mettle.

Straight, as slender and as strong as a Saskatchewan spruce and with the speed of a diamondback rattler, he looked like what he was. He was the easterner’s cherished vision of what the first sheriff of Deadwood, S.D., ought to be and look like. What the movie hero of a Wild West drama tries to portray Seth Bullock was and did.

His clean-up of Deadwood was swift and effective. He dominated the place by becoming just a little tougher than any citizen who was catalogued as tough before his election. Those yearning for a fight had but to apply to Seth and they got complete satisfaction.

It is said of him that Seth Bullock arrested thirty-seven bad men the night following his election as sheriff, using such measures as beating recalcitrants into submission with the butt of his gun and carefully shooting others in those sections of their anatomy that housed no vital organs.

By these direct methods Deadwood was transformed into as clean a town as the West of those days boasted, and he had a thoroughly enjoyable time doing it.

When Theodore Roosevelt set up his ranch on the Little Missouri river in 1885 a friendship was established between the two men that was genuine and permanent. At Roosevelt’s inauguration Bullock took a band of cowpunchers to Washington and with them participated in the inaugural parade. Roosevelt made Bullock United States marshal for South Dakota and throughout his career showed his high regard for the friend of his cowboy days. He went to London in 1910, arrayed in a hard-boiled shirt and eastern shoes, but he clung to his wide-brimmed hat so loudly and fiercely that he escaped the bowler destined for his sunburned brow.

In London Captain Bullock met Colonel Roosevelt again. The Colonel had just returned from his African exploration, and he and the sheriff of Deadwood did London and traveled Scotland together.

Upon his return Seth Bullock had things to say about Europe.

“There were plenty of kings in the atmosphere in London,” said Seth. “You’d had no trouble filling a royal flush at any time, while four kings would have been easier.”

Evening Public Ledger (Philadelphia, Pennsylvania) Sep 24, 1919


Books (Google books links)  of Interest:

Title: Grigsby’s Cowboys
Author: Otto l Sues
Published: 1899
Biography:Seth Bullock

Title: The happy Hunting-Grounds
Author: Kermit Roosevelt
Publisher: C. Scribner’s sons, 1921
Includes pictures of Seth Bullock

Title: Black Hills Believables: Strange-but-ture Tales of the Old West
Author: John Hafnor
Edition: 2 (Preview only)
Publisher: John Hafnor, 1984

Title: The Rough Riders: An autobiography
Volume: 153 of Library of America
Authors: Theodore Roosevelt, Louis Auchincloss
Editor: Louis Auchincloss
Edition: illustrated (picture of Seth)
Publisher: Library of America, 2004

Title    Outlaw tales: legends, myths, and folklore from America’s middle border
Authors    Richard Young, Judy Dockrey Young
Editors    Richard Young, Judy Dockrey Young
Publisher    august house, 1992
Seth Bullock and the miners (preview only)

Title: The Reader, Volume 6
Publisher: Bobbs-Merrill Co., 1905
Picture of Seth

Title: William Howard Taft, American
Author: Robert Lee Dunn
Publisher: The Chapple publishing company, ltd., 1908
Picture of Taft and Seth Bullock

The Knittin’ Needle and the Two Yolked Egg

July 14, 2010

An Old Story Retold.

Chicago News.

“Bill wuz old Jedge Hiram Cadwell’s oldest boy — you recollect the Cadwells — used to live on the toll road near the cemetery. Old Jedge Cadwell wuz about ez shif’less a man ez I ever see, but Bill had a great bizness head — calc’late he must hev inherited it from his mother, who come from the finest stock in Hampshire county. when he wuz a boy Bill wuz always tradin’ an’ swoppin’, an’ I s’pose he started out in life with more jackknives than’d stock a store. An’ Bill preserved in manhood all them talents which he exhibited in youth. Whenever you met a man ‘at looked ez if he’d been run through a sieve you’d feel mighty safe in bettin’ that he’d been havin’ business dealins with Bill Cadwell.

“One day Bill came into Eastman’s store an’ allowed as how he’d be powerful glad to git a knittin’ needle — his wife wanted one, he said.

“‘Mr. Cadwell,’ sez Eastman, ‘a knittin’ needle will cost you jest one cent.’

“Bill looked kind uv surprised like, an’ sez, ‘Knittin’ needles must hev gone up sence I come in for one last winter.’

“‘Wall,’ sez Eastman, ‘after payin’ freight an’ one thing an’ another I can’t afford to let knittin’ needles go for less ‘n a cent apiece.’

“Bill didn’t say anything for a minnit or two, but after lookin’ out uv the door at the scenery he turnt round an’ sez: — ‘Look here, Mr. Eastman, I tell you what I’ll do; I’ll trade you an egg for a knittin’ needle.’

“Eastman shook his head. ‘Why not?’ sez Bill. ‘You don’t suppose ‘at a darned old knittin’ needle is worth as much ez an egg, do ye?’

“‘I never heerd uv anybody payin’ freight on hens,’ sez Eastman; he wuz the most sarcastic cuss in the township, Eastman was.

“‘No, nor I never heerd uv feedin’ knittin’ needles,’ sez Bill. ‘It don’t cost nothin’ to raise knittin’ needles.’

“Well, Bill an’ Eastman argued an’ argued for more’n an hour about hens an’ knittin’ needles an’ things, until at last Eastman give in an’ sez” — ‘Well, I s’pose I might jest ez well swop ez not, although I hate to let anybody get the advantage uv me.’ so Eastman give Bill the knittin’ needle and Bill give Eastman the egg.

“But when Bill got to the door he turned round an’ come back again an’ sez: — ‘Mr. Eastman, isn’t it the custom for you to treat when you’ve settled with a customer? You an’ me hev had our dispute, but we’ve come to a settlement and an understandin’. Seems to me it would be the handsome thing for you to treat.’

“Eastman didn’t see it in just that light, but Bill hung on so an’ wuz so concillatin’ that finally Eastman handed out a tumbler an’ the bottle o’ Medford rum.

“‘I don’t want to seem particular,’ sez Bill, pourin’ out half a tumber full uv the liquor, ‘but I like to take my rum with an egg in it.’

“Now, this came pretty near breakin’ Eastman’s heart. He hed laid the egg on a shelf  behind the counter, an’ he reached for it, an’ handed it to Bill, sayin’, ‘Wall, I’m in for it, an’ there’s no use uv kickin’.’

“Bill broke the egg into the rum, an’ lo an’ behold, it was a double yolk egg! Gosh Bill was excited.

“‘Mr. Eastman,’ sez he, ‘you’ve been a takin’ an advantage over me.’

“‘How so?’ asked Eastman.

“‘Why, this egg has two yolks.’

“‘What uv that?’ sez Eastman.

“‘Well, simply this,’ sez Bill, ‘that if you’re inclined to do the fair thing you’ll hand me over another knittin’ needle.'”

The Landmark (Statesville, North Carolina) Nov 8, 1888

The Sibilant Swish of a Spit

July 7, 2010

A few random chewing tobacco themed articles and  CLIMAX Chewing Tobacco advertisements:


SCIENCE’S latest gift to humanity is chewing tobacco with the flavor of rum. It is the discovery of a Wisconsin University professor who is keeping the formula a secret, for one reason or another. Perhaps he is waiting for modification or repeal in order to play it safe.

In some circles this discovery comes at a most opportune time, particularly if the tobacco has the effects as well as the flavor and bouquet of rum. Think of the economy for the fellow who boasts both habits and whose depression ration is but one plug.

Tobacco growers are showing interest. For them it may spell new prosperity. Distillers and bootleggers have not yet talked for publication.

Middletown Times Herald (Middletown, New York) Jan 16, 1933


A Mixture of Them Nearly Cause a Loss of Life.

EAU CLAIRE, Wis., March 3 — W.C. Brink, who hails from Jump River, had a narrow escape from death. Brink went to drug store in this city and purchased a quantity of strychnine, which he deposited in his overcoat pocket, the same receptacle containing a package of fine cut chewing tobacco, going along North Barstow street.

Brink got hungry for the week and deposited a huge quid in his mouth. Shortly after he was seized with a death-like feeling and fearful pains, he staggered into Braensels restaurant, north side, and Dr. Parker was summoned. On the doctor’s arrival he saw at a glance that the man was suffering from poison, and he dosed him liberally with mustard water, using a gallon. In about an hour the man commenced to feel better, and was sent to the American hospital for further treatment.

The Daily Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Mar 3, 1887

Two dromios of the senate are Murphy of New York and Smith of New Jersey. They are two of the biggest men in the senate, robust, round, well-fed statesmen, who are great friends, ans who love nothing better than an evening together at Chamberlin’s. But of late each has noticed that the other is getting too fat, and each has convinced his chum that something must be done about it. So they have organized themselves into a walking club and every morning, rain or shine, pace up to the capitol, a good mile and a half, and then down again after the session is over.

When they come sailing along the avenue arm in arm and both a little out of breath other pedestrians have to get out of the way.

Senator Murphy owns a race horse which bears the peculiar name of Hot Shot and it is reported on what appears to be good evidence that the animal possesses another peculiarity in that it is fond of chewing tobacco. At least, the senator says that the only way Hot Shot can be induced to run true is to hold a plug of Seal of the State of Connecticut before his eager eyes as the jocky climbs up and promising him the whole chew if he wins the race.

The Daily Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Dec 12, 1894



He Tells the Story of His Experience With the Shade of an Old Fellow Whose Wife Objected, and With Some Success, to the Tobacco Habit.

The man in the smoking compartment was chewing tobacco, and at intervals he spat at the cuspidor, with the sibilant swish incidental to tobacco chewing, and every time he did this a studious looking man in the corner started nervously and looked up from the book he was reading.

After half an hour or so the chewer, having finished his quid, went back into the car, and the reader looked at me, with an evident desire to say something.

“I don’t like that,” he remarked mildly.

“It’s a vile habit,” I assented at once.

“No; not that. It’s ghosts.”

“Ghosts?” I exclaimed, and I shot a quick glance at the cuspidor, the reader and the way to get out in case my traveling companion should prove to be crazy.

“Yes, ghosts,” he went on calmly enough. “Let me tell you about it. A little more than two years ago I rented a fine country house not far from New York at a low figure because it bore the reputation of being haunted and had not been occupied since its owner died, about two years before my advent. It was a handsome place, and when I had touched it up a bit, put half a dozen servants into it and invited some friends to spend the opening week with me it was anything but a ghostly place. When they had taken their departure, I settled down quietly to my work of writing and found an excellent place for it in the cozy library the late owner had fitted up for his special use.

“For the first few nights I did not work there until quite a late hour, and observed nothing out of the ordinary. As to the ghostly visitants, it seemed about the last place in the world a ghost accustomed to the disagreeable surroundings of a graveyard would care to frequent. Neither were there any ghostly indications in any other part of the house, nor did my servants notice anything to be alarmed at. One night, however, I went into the library about 8 o’clock and sat down at my desk, a new one I had set in the middle of the floor at a comfortable distance from the big open grate. I presume I had been at work 15 minutes when I heard just such a sound as that man made in here a while ago when he spat at that cuspidor. I looked up quickly, for I thought it was my hostler, who I knew used tobacco, but no one was visible. I resumed my work, and in two or three minutes I heard the sibilant swish again. This time it came from the direction of a big old armchair just in front of the fire, and I fancied the spitter might be occupying it and using the fireplace for a cuspidor. I really knew that could not be the case, but where did the sound come from? I waited again, watching the fire to see if it would give any response, but there was none, thought at intervals of two or three minutes the sounds came from the direction of the old chair.

“Once I got up and walked around the room and out into the adjoining rooms and hall, but nothing was visible. It was an audible ghost merely, and apparently not otherwise disposed to be active. I could see nothing or feel nothing, and there was none of the usual disagreeable concomitants of the ghostly visitants I had read about, such as cloudy presences, vague shadows, stifling atmosphere, and all that sort of thing — nothing, in fact, except that peculiar noise, which was really soothing in its effect, for I knew how much comfort a chewer could get out of his chew as he dreamily chewed before an open fire. At last I gave it up and went to my work again and paid no more attention to it until about 10 o’clock, when I observed that it stopped, and I was not disturbed further that night. The next day I kept my own counsel, and the next evening when I went to the library again, shortly after dinner, I sat down in the big chair to smoke. A few minutes later I heard that ghostly spit again, this time from the side of the fireplace, where an old sofa stood. Then I thought it was rather comical than otherwise, and I felt as if I were a visitor and the ghost was enjoying my company and his chew at the same time. In any event, when I sent back to my desk the sound seemed to come from the direction of the old chair again, and I proceeded with my work until 10 o’clock, when the noise ceased as before.

“Well, this peculiar ghostly visitation continued for nearly a year, varied now and again by two noises and sometimes by three, as if the tobacco chewing ghost had invited a few kindred spirits in and they were enjoying a quiet quid apiece. Sometimes I felt sure I would hear a laugh, or a voice or a chair shoved back, for the spitting was so extremely natural that it seemed impossible not to be accompanied by other evidences of a personal presence. But no such sounds ever manifested themselves, and as the time went by I began to grow more or less nervous. It was not fear exactly, for I had been sitting up of nights with that ghost for months, and our relationship had actually been more pleasant than not, and I am sure I would have felt lonely  not to have heard it as I worked, but there’s something in the air when ghosts are around that makes one’s nerves sensitive. I don’t know what it is, but any man will find it to be true if he ever has an opportunity to test it as I did. Finally I concluded to go to my landlord and make a few inquiries concerning my predecessor in the house.

“‘Queer old fellow,’ said the landlord in response to my inquiry as to what manner of man he was. ‘Queer old fellow. Lived here with his wife and servants; wife died, and he lived alone after that, as he had no children; wife was high tempered and painfully neat. He loved to chew tobacco, she wouldn’t let him chew in the house, so he built that room you use for a library. Used to chew there every night till 10 o’clock; always went to bed at that hour; sometimes he had a friend or two in with him who chewed; never did, though, while his wife was alive; she wouldn’t allow any dissipation of that kind. I guess he chewed himself to death; that’s what the doctors said. The servants found him one morning in his big chair dead, with a chew in his mouth. After he died the servants went away, and the house was put up for rent by the heirs. Somehow a story got going that the house was haunted, and nobody would live in it. That’s all bosh, though. No such things as ghosts nowadays. You’ve been there and know. You never saw anything, did you?’

“‘I’ve never seen a thing,’ I responded truthfully, for I hadn’t, and, much to his astonishment, I gave him notice that I would get out at the end of the year.
“It may be foolish on my part, for surely no ghost ever harmed me in its life, but somehow I can’t help feeling a bit nervous when I hear the sibilant swish of a spit.”

— W.J. Lampton in New York Sun.

The Daily Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Apr 4, 1896

Some time ago, says a writer in the Chicago Journal, I had occasion to speak about the gum-chewing habit of girls; a habit which, to my old-fogy notion, is just as bad as for a man to chew tobacco, and few people realize the extent of it unless they are somewhat observing. I wonder if this does not have something to do with spoiling many that would otherwise be beautiful rosebud mouths.

My attention has been recalled to the habit more or less lately — rather more than less — for it does seem to me that about three out of every four of the fair creatures whom you meet seem to be addicted to it.

No matter where you go, you see their jaws go like cows chewing their cuds — in the street cars, at the theatre, in the stores, at the library, and I am sorry to say that I have seen girls so far forget themselves as to actually chew gum in church. and I believe from what I have heard that the habit seems to acquire as firm a hold on its victims as tobacco chewing, and a good many of us know how hard it is to stop the latter.

A friend of mine had the misfortune, shall I say, to marry such a one, and he made an agreement with her that he would stop chewing tobacco if she would stop chewing gum. And who do you think was the first to break the agreement — the woman, of course.

Turn girls, turn, why will ye come,
To such an end from chewing gum?

The Daily Northwestern ( Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Mar 10, 1888

F.W. Barber pleaded guilty of being drunk in municipal court this morning and a fine of $2 and costs or ten days in the work house was imposed.

When arrested a motley assortment of articles was found in his pockets. There were two kinds of smoking tobacco, two kinds of chewing tobacco, a bottle of liquor, about a dozen cigars, two pipes, a bag of licorice tablets, several flint arrow heads, letters, papers, two jack-knives, some figs, a handkerchief, gloves and a large quantity of cards and papers and some money.

The Daily Northwestern (Oshkosh, Wisconsin) Nov 23, 1899

Terry’s Texas Rangers

February 4, 2010

Flag image,  and much more,  can be found here: Terry’s Texas Rangers


A friend has kindly handed us a brief sketch of the Terry Rangers whose achievements in the late war constitute an interesting chapter in its history. Among the gallant members of the regiment was Capt. Griffin, who joined it in August 1861. It was in the skirmish at Woodsonville that Colonel Terry was killed. Gen. Johnston evacuated Bowling Green February 1862, when the Terry Rangers covered the retreat to Shiloh, soon after which the battle of Shiloh was fought. Soon after the victory of Murfressburo was won at which the Rangers were commanded by Forrest.

Subsequently this Regiment joined Bragg at Sparta, Tennessee, and bore a conspicuous part in the battle of Perryville, and afterwards covered the retreat through Cumberland Gap into East Tennessee. Next this Regiment went to Murfreesboro, where it performed nearly all the Post and scouting service, until the attack by Rosecrans which was repulsed successfully and a Confederate victory obtained. It was here that Capt. Griffin was captured,  while on out post duty, and taken to Nashville, and after eight days sent to Bowling Green, and thence to Alton, Illinois, thence, in company with 800 prisoners, he was started to Camp Douglas, but made his escape on the way by jumping from the cars in company with Joseph Stewart, another Ranger.

After various adventures Capt. G. finally joined his Regiment again near Shelbyville in April 1863, and was with the Regiment in the battle of Chickamauga, and was promoted to a Captaincy for meritorious conduct in the spring of 1864, by Col. Patterson, and afterwards that honor was confirmed by Gen. Johnston, by whom he was assigned to special scouting service, in which he continued in separate command of his Company to the close of the war. Every surviving member of that Regiment could, doubtless, furnish us with many interesting events of their campaigns which should constitute a portion of the future history of the war.

Galveston Daily News (Galveston, Texas)  Jul 1, 1866

Thomas Harrison (Image from

We noticed incidentally the other day the arrival of Col. Thomas Harrison. We think his services and record during the war entitle him, on his return home, to a more extended notice.

He entered the service as Captain in 1861, and was, on the organization of that celebrated regiment, the “Terry Rangers,” elected Major. In 1862 he was Lieutenant Colonel. —

In the fall of that same year he was commissioned Colonel. Not many months after his appointment be was placed in command of a brigade, under General Wharton, and very earnestly recommended by Wharton, Polk, Hardee and others for promotion, in terms as highly honorable as a soldier could desire. A miserable intrigue retarded his promotion until a short time before the war closed, when he received the appointment of Brigadier General. During the time he was Colonel, he had the command of a brigade or division. He was always in demand when fighting was on hand, and has fought many times in the States of Mississippi, Alabama, Tennessee, Kentucky, Georgia and North and South Carolina.

It is believed that he has been under fire a greater number of times than any other officer in the service. It is no compliment to him to say that as commander of a regiment, brigade or division, no officer in the army, known to us, has exceeded him in devotion to the service, in gallantry, or in the judgment with which he fought his command. This at least is conceded by all who have known his history during the war. He had been wounded shortly before General Johnston’s surrender and was not present when that event occurred. He made his way to Alabama, not intending to give his parol, in the hope that Texas was still under arms. —

Finding, however, that our army had been disbanded, he gave his parol. We welcome back this gallant soldier who has won his laurels on so many battle-fields. Whatever has been our misfortunes, we are sure they are not attributable to him. We trust he may yet enjoy many years of happiness; that he may yet be useful to a country for whom he has freely offered his life, and would, as we believe, have freely given it.

The Colonel’s baggage, horses, &c., together with his boy, Jerry, were in Greensboro when the Yankee surprised it. The horse the Colonel had used through the war was saddled; Jerry mounted him and escaped. He made his way to his master in Mississippi, and was much delighted to meet him. He is on his way home by land. We mention this as an incident to show the deep seated affection of thousands of slaves to their old homes and old masters. All the legislation in the world cannot change that feeling. All the fanaticism of the world cannot destroy it.

Galveston Daily News (Galveston, Texas) Jun 16, 1865

Terry’s Texas Rangers.

From the Louisville Courier-Journal.

It is well known that the late Confederate States cavalry, so-called, were in the main strictly speaking, simply mounted infantry, doing splendid service, it is true, but always dismounting and preferring to dismount and fight, unless the want of time and circumstances prevented. Terry’s Rangers were, however, an exception.

They were organized, armed and equipped and in action specially reserved for regular cavalry charging. Circumstances and the nature of the ground may have sometimes prevented, but this was their forte. Each was armed with a double-barreled shot gun, two revolvers and a ponderous bowie, and adding to courage, confidence, and being most excellent horsemen, they may in truth be said to have been the Mamelukes of the war. They were in many respects a remarkable body of men — remarkable for the esprit du corps, their unwavering confidence in the final success of the cause, their lofty bearing in camp and in field, and the general intelligence of the rank and file. No bills of lading or chimney corner receipts for the cure of whooping cough and measles, or other false or fabricated papers, written, or printed ever passed spy or bummers through lines guarded by ranger pickets; while their reports of the strength, position and movements of the enemy were always timely, valuable, and wonderfully correct.

At Murfreesboro, Friday night, when Bragg was secretly and silently preparing for one if his famous movements to the rear, a ranger galloped up and exclaimed,

“General, the enemy himself is in full retreat.” He was reprimanded and headquarters passed on.

Afterwards Hardee was heard to remark, “not a devil of those rangers but would make at leaset a Brigadier.”

Their excellent material is accounted for by the fact that they were picked men, and the flower of the Texas youth. It had been charged by Union men pending the vote on the proposition for the State to secede, that secession was war, and that having brought it on rich men’s sons would seek place and power, and poor men would have to do the fighting. This aspersion it was important to refute, once for all, and at the first bugle’s blast.

Accordingly, Terry, the Bayard of the State, issued a call which inspired the wildest enthusiasm, and the sons of the most eminent, most influential and most wealthy vied with each other in a zealous and prompt response. In less than ten days the regiment was filled beyond the maximum. Numbers went away disappointed, some dejected, like the Spartans of old, because not chosen to die for their country. At their own request they were sworn in “for the war,” absolutely and without condition, and this months anterior to the call for troops for three years. Each man furnished his own horse, arms and equipments, and in a large measure paid his own way to the seat of conflict. They left Houston, Texas, 1160 strong; 500 recruits were received from time to time, making a total muster roll of 1660 names. They were in over one hundred distinct engagements from first to last, from Woodsonville, Ky., to Graham station, N.C., near which place they fought the last fight of the war, and surrendered, 244 all told, with but one deserter.

Image from

Gen. Albert Sidney Johnson, at Shiloh, witnessing their charge in column upon a strong position, while Hardee moved in the rear, and which resulted in the capture of Gen. Prentiss and his entire command, enthusiastically exclaimed, “with a little more discipline they would be the equals of the Old Guard.” Tuesday evening at Shiloh, the enemy had passed to within one mile of Breckinridge, who was covering the retreat with the remains of his shattered and wearied division. Midway between, the rangers contesting the ground almost truly inch by inch.

The fresh troops of Buell, impatient at delay, and flushed with the hope of overtaking and capturing the gallant Kentuckian and his entire force, which they believed exhausted and a sure prey from hard marching and two days’ desperate fighting, now threw forward two regiments of infantry, supported by one of Ohio cavalry, who, in fine array, came rapidly on as hounds and hunters when their game is at bay. The rangers had suffered a loss of over one hundred, more than ten per cent., in the two days previous conflicts. Wharton, their third colonel since the mournful fall of Terry at Woodsonville, had lost several horses, was twice wounded and borne to the rear the preceding day. Lieut. Col. Ferrill, detached with two companies to burn the white-tented cities, still standing despite the storm that had swept through and over them, was yet absent; so that the whole force left under Major Harrison did not exceed three hundred men.

He had just wheeled from column of fours into line of battle, stretching across the road, and exhorted his men to check their pursuers and give the little army placed in their keeping time to bridge through the mire that impeded their wearied limbs, or opportunity to form if necessary, when Forrest with forty men rode up and lengthened the line to the right. The enemy halted. A level space of some six hundred yards lay between, clear and open except a dead tree here and there on the opposite side. Behind these trees sharp-shooters took post and began to pour in damaging shots just as the command “Reserve fire for close quarters, forward!” passed from right to left re-echoed by subalterns. Horse and rider, though both were jaded, caught new life, and swept onward, straight onward at topmost speed.

The horse, noble everywhere, nowhere bears himself so proudly as in battle. He seems conscious of the danger into which he plunges, but emulous to bear his rider the foremost and bravest of them all; and mortal must be the wound if either foresakes his trust. The well known Texas yell is raised now, and swells louder and louder, and even above the roar of musketry. Horse and rider, one, the other, now in heaps, fall, but the line knits together where gaps have been made, and moves, thunders on into the deadliest sheet of flame. Anon, they waver. The horses falter. A miry bog had impeded the way, but they clear it. At fifty yards the double barrels, loaded with buck and ball, are brought into play, each volley making wide openings in enemy’s line.

Still shouting and “slinging” their guns on the pummels of their saddles, the rangers draw revolvers and make short fire and finishing work, just as the rattling of artillery coming to the enemy’s relief is heard in the distance. One-third of the enemy’s infantry are rode and shot down. The remainder brake and flee through the ranks of their cavalry. These are bowed further and further back, and despite the appeals of their gallant colonel to stand firm, they yield or flee, one, two, and squads at a time — until their leader falls, and the Grey are victorions to the last on Shiloh’s bloody ground.

Galveston Daily News (Galveston, Texas) Feb 27, 1869


The Recent Reunion Reminds a Veteran of an Incident at Shiloh.

HEMPSTEAD, Tex., December 20. — TO THE NEWS:

The interesting report of THE NEWS in to-day’s paper of the reunion of Terry’s Texas rangers in Houston last night reminded the writer of a reminiscence of the battle of Shiloh, fought April 6 and 7, 1862, between the forces of General U.S. Grant of the federal army, and General Albert Sidney Johnston of the confederate.

The writer was a private in Captain William Christian’s company, Second Texas Infantry regiment. The battle was planned by General Johnston to be opened on Saturday morning, April 5, at daylight, and the entire army slept on their arms in front of the federal army on Friday night, the 4th. A heavy rain storm fell and the troops were soaked thoroughly.

The plan of opening the battle on the 5th failed on account of Major-general Breckinridge’s division failing to reach the point assigned them in the order of battle. The heavy rains caused the roads to be almost impassable, and the cavalry and artillery made their condition worse than ever. Breckinridge could not come up until twenty-four hours later. This was why the battle was opened on Sunday.

The federal army was encamped between Lick and Owl creeks, extending from Pittsburg landing, on the Tennessee river, over a distance of two miles. General Johnson formed his army into three lines of battle. The first one was composed of Tennesseeans, who made the advance and struck the first line of encampments almost before the men could get out of their tents. The frightened troops then collected toward the second line of encampment, where the confederates encountered the federals drawn up in line of battle, and a furious fight opened all along the line. This was kept up all day until General Johnston in comman after he had been killed about 2 o’clock p.m. Many of the confederates, believing that they had won a great victory, became demoralized and scattered during the night, many plundering the deserted federal camps.

At daylight Monday morning, the 7th, it was learned that General Buell, with 20,000 fresh men, had reinforced General Grant’s whipped army of the 6th. The confederate rallied in every direction, and soon another great battle was in progress. The federals slowly drove the confederates back over the route of their advance the morning before.

The writer had been slightly wounded on Sunday afternoon in the advance on General Prentis’ division, and in company with about 200 stragglers and wounded men, had sought to escape the cannon balls of the federals. While waiting here a dashing cavalryman rode up and commenced a speech.

“Who are you?” several inquired.

“One of Terry’s rangers,” was the reply.

“Oh yes, we are nearly all Texas boys,” was the reply.

“Men of Texas, descendants of the old heroes of San Jacinto and other glorious achievements of your fathers, rally once more and come up here and form into line. I will lead you as an independent company. We can whip the Yankees as easy as yesterday. Come up, I say, and show what Texas boys can do.” {He ducked his head occasionally as a cannon ball whizzed by.}

“I tell you, boys,” said Bill Mathews of the Second Texas, “that fellow is a good speaker.”

“He must be a preacher or a lawyer,” said another.

“He talks well,” several remarked; but the line was not formed.

The lone cavalryman happened to cast his eyes in the direction of the river, and coming down a hill was seen several thousand of the federals advancing with the first two lines having crossed bayonets. “Boys, look out, there they come; save yourselves,” said he, and spurring his horse he made very fast time to the rear.

The writer hopes the gallant ranger may be alive and read this. He will doubtless laugh as loud as anybody.

After General Beaureguard had given the order to retreat to Corinth on Monday afternoon Terry’s rangers were ordered to act as a rear guard while the infantry and artillery could retreat. They formed several lines of battle across the Corinth road and drove back the federal cavalry advance.

True the war is over now, but old soldiers love to talk over the exciting events of a quarter of a century ago. We have all had war enough, and the survivors of the war venerate the star spangled banner as much as those whe met on the battlefields of the war twenty-five years ago.

National decoration day, May 20, shows that, and the gallant men who met each other in the shock of battle now go arm in arm and scatter the flowers of spring over the graves of brave men, not inquiriing whether they once wore the blue or the gray.

SIOUX, War Correspondent.

Galveston Daily News (Galveston, Texas) Dec 23, 1888

Terry's Texas Rangers Reunion 1902 - Dallas (Image from

The Survivors of the Eighth Texas Regiment Concentrate for Action.


“Welcome, Terry Rangers.”
This was a voluntary offering to the survivors by the wives of resident Rangers, and hung over the stage at the north end of the hall.

“We will do it or die.” — Gustave Cook.
This answer was made by Col. Gustave Cook, commanding, when asked by a general officer if his regiment could dislodge a heavy field battery, with a brigade reserve.

“They know no such word as fail.” — John A. Wharton.
Reply of this distinguished soldier when asked if he could hold a position for a length of time against a largely superior force.

“You have done well.” — Thos. Harrison.
After a successful charge by the regiment in a critical hour of battle. Revered by the regiment from the fact that he rarely complimented any individual or concerted act of heroism, however great, and that his command was above praise for any action.

“If there is danger ahead put the Terry Rangers in front.” — Joseph Wheeler.
This was the universal order of march when there was work ahead or anticipated by this celebrated cavalry general.

“Yes, go to sleep; the Terry Rangers are between you and the enemy.” — N.B. Forrest.
This was a reply of this great soldier when asked by a brigade commander if he should unsaddle and rest and sleep.
Capt. Christian proposed — The Memory of Gen. John A. Wharton, Drunk standing and in silence.

A member of the command then read the
which was written for the occasion by Mrs. C. M Pearre of Galveston:


A few fierce years we met together
In a desolate land of graves,
Braved shot, or shell, or roughest weather,
Our glorious Southern cause to save,
Together, saw our hopes pass away.
Radiant-colored hopes that beamed
Resplendent on that bright spring day
When o’er us first a banner streamed.

Together, saw a strange banner unfurled
With the aroma of blood, suggestive cost
These burning words for a gazing world,
Thy cause, they Southern cause, is lost!
Met wars fiat, as brave men meet,
With folded hands and heads bowed low;
But unswerving eyes on that last retreat
Told our valor to the conquering foe.

Then came of years a dreary dearth,
Our manhood in lethargy was shrouded;
When mental chaos by painful birth,
Produced a rainbow all unclouded.
It spanned our glorious country round,
Warmed hostile hearts of each brother,
Who thereon read this truth profound:
This is our country, we have no other!

Then brighten the day with joy and mirth,
Let music peal her gladest strains,
Sing the songs of camp and hearth,
Spirit voices may sound the refrains.
Let the sparkling wine go round,
Toast Reunion day in every form,
Until each comrade’s heart is bound
With chords magnetic, true and warm.
Last of all, one toast we will call
(Drink it comrades with bowed head,
Other forms will throng the hall) —
In memory of our “Noble Dead.

Galveston Daily News (Galveston, Texas) Dec 17, 1876

Robert Burns: “John Anderson, My Jo”

January 25, 2010

From: The News (Frederick, Maryland) Mar 28, 1924

Intriguing comment [excerpt] left by Astri on a previous post about Robert Burns and Auld Lang Syne:

I just discovered at a local Robbie Burns party celebrating his birthday last night, here in western Canada, what I, for 3 or more decades, have loved and sung in Norwegian as an old Norwegian folk song. This is “Jon Anderson, Min Jo”.

Last night at the party, I discovered the English-language song called “John Anderson, my Joe” – to nearly the same tune (some of the ancient natural-scale tones common in the Norwegian folk music had been anglicized or ‘normalized’ according to english folk tunes) and with basically the same verses, in English.

I said to my friend driving home in the car, “I wonder if Burns heard this song and ‘lifted’ it for its beauty and lovely sentiment,” ~  maybe while travelling in Norway, or in a pub meeting Norwegian travellers (brought together by the prospect of beer, ever-alluring to both our peoples, from early days of mead-making and viking-travel, on doubt!)!

It would be interesting to find out when the Norwegians first started singing this song.  Might turn out to be one of those chicken/egg things, but I would be interested in finding out more. I tried searching the Norwegian title, and I only got 2 hits, neither of which gave any information.

This comment jogged my memory of a temperance poem I had previously posted, which turned out to be a parody of “John Anderson, My Jo.”  I decided to see what else I could dig up on this same poem, being it is Robert Burns’ birthday. Evidently, this poem was so popular, it was parodied quite a bit. Below is a sample of what I found:

From the Murder by Gaslight blog (link below)

Looking for a sausage vat picture for this first parody, I was surprised to find the above image actually took me to a blog  post about the murder referenced in the parody! Link: Louise Luetgert: The Sausage Vat Murder

Rather sick sense of humor, I think:


John Anderson, my Jo, John,
When you and I first met
We loved each other well, John;
But not, already yet;
We had a little spat, John,
Not many months ago,
And you boiled me in a sausage vat,
John Anderson, my Jo.

The Nebraska State Journal (Lincoln, Nebraska) Oct 21, 1897


John Anderson, my Jo John
When we again prepare
To kill the boar black pigs John,
That scent the perfumed air,
We’ll bribe our fellow men, John,
With cash before we go,
To haul them to the slaughter pen,
John Anderson, my Jo.

The Nebraska State Journal (Lincoln, Nebraska) Nov 22, 1897

I saw the great regatta go
A half a mile from land;
The sons of Eli tried to row
Their boat to beat the band.
The oars sank deep, the men perspired,
I heard them puff and blow —
Too slow the pace, they lost the race,
John Anderson, my jo.

The Nebraska State Journal (Lincoln, Nebraska) Jul 10, 1909


Now, for a couple of advertisements:

The Ohio Democrat ( New Philadelphia, Ohio) Oct 18, 1888


John Anderson, my Jo, John,
When last it was we met,
Our winter supply of Coal, John,
Hand not been purchased yet.
“It’s time you was skidooing, John,”
I hear all the wise people speak —
There should be something doing, John,
Then do it now — this week.

No.2 Chestnut . . . $5.75 the ton
UNION COAL CO. 119 Main St.

The Fitchburg Sentinel (Fitchburg, Massachusetts) Jun 25, 1906


A political parody:

John C. Calhoun (Image from


Tune – “John Anderson my Jo.”

John C. Calhoun my Jo John, I’m sorry for your fate,
You’ve nullify’d the Tariff laws, you’ve nullify’d your State;
You’ve nullify’d your party, John, and principles, you know,
And now you’ve nullified yourself, John C. Calhoun my Jo.

Oh! John how could you look into the face of Henry Clay?
The glory of the Western World, and of the World away;
You call’d yourself his ‘master,’ John, but that can ne’er be so,
For he ‘would not own you for a slave,’ John C. Calhoun my Jo.

The Father of the Tariff, and patron of the Arts,
He seeks to build his country up in spite of foreign parts;
And Harrison will soon upset the little Van & Co.
And renovate the ship of State, John C. Calhoun my Jo.

John C. Calhoun my Jo John, ambition in despair
Once made you nullify the WHOLE, the HALF of it to share;
The ‘whole hog now you’ve gone,’ John, with Kendall, Blair & Co.’
But ‘you’ve got the wrong sow by the ear,’ John C. Calhoun my Jo.

American mechanics, John, will never sell their votes
For mint drops or for Treasury bills, or even British coats;
They want no English coaches, John, while servants they forego,
For their carriage is of Yankee stamp, John C. Calhoun my Jo.

Oh! John he is a slippery blade with whom you’ve got to deal,
He’ll pass between your clutches too, just like a living eel;
You think he’ll RECOMMEND you, John, but Van will ne’er do so,
For he wants the fishes for himself, John C. Calhoun my Jo.

John C. Calhoun my Jo John, if this you dare to doubt,
Go ask the LIVING SKELETON who deals his secrets out;
His favorites are marked, John, the mark you cannot toe,
And you’ll soon repent the bargain made, John C. Calhoun my Jo.

This is dirty business, John, go wash your little hands,
And never bow your knee again to cunning Van’s commands;
‘How are you off for soap,’ John, I cannot say I know,
But ‘your mother does not know you’re out’ John C. Calhoun my Jo.

The brave sons of the South, John, will never own you more,
And Benton’s Mint Drops will not save — you’re rotten to the core;
The people will no power, John, on such as you bestow,
And you’ve jump’d your final sumerset, John C. Calhoun my Jo.

Then better men, my Jo John our sad affairs will fix,
Republicans in principle, the Whigs of Seventy six;
The offices they’ll purge, John, Swartwouters all must go,
And Sycophantic fellows too, John C. Calhoun my Jo.

The farmer of North Bend, John, will plough the weeds away,
And the terror of Tecumseh then will gain another day;
America will flourish John, mechanics find employ,
And our merchants will rejoice indeed, John C. Calhoun my Jo.

John C. Calhoun my Jo John, when one term shall expire,
He’ll drop the reins of power and with dignity retire,
To look upon a smiling land, that he has rendered so,
And every Whig will cry AMEN, John C. Calhoun my Jo.

Poet’s Garret, Baltimore, January, 1840.

Huron Reflector (Norwalk, Ohio) Mar 7,  1840

Francis Scott Key

This last one is not a parody, but rather interesting, if Francis Scott Key actually penned these additional verses:


A Pipe Creek Man Awakens a Reminiscence of Francis Scott Key.

A correspondent of the Washington Evening Star writes: In your issue of Saturday you publish an added verse to Burns’ “John Anderson, My Jo,” written by a lady from Georgia.

Mr. Francis S. Key, the author of the “Star Spangled Banner,” wrote two additional verses to Burns’ poem, and not remembering having seen them published, I send them to you.

Mr. Key writes:

“There ought to be another —

John Anderson my Jo, John,
From that sleep again we’ll wake,
When another day’s fair light
On our opened eyes shall break.
And we’ll rise in youth and beauty
To that bright land to go,
Where life and love shall last for aye,
John Anderson, my Jo


John Anderson, my Jo, John,
One day we’ll waken there,
Where a brighter morn than ever shone,
Our opened eyes shall cheer.
And in fresh youth and beauty
To that blest land we’ll go
Where we’ll live and love forever,
John Anderson, my Jo.”

Pipe Creek, October 13, 1842. B.

The News (Frederick, Maryland) May 21,  1885

The Old Latch-String

December 19, 2009


How dear to my heart is the home of my childhood,
A clap-board roofed cabin half hidden from view
Where I grew like a weed springing up on the wildwood,
And clung to the home which had sprung up there, too;
The old lean-to kitchen, the smoke-house beside it,
The straw-stack with shelter of thatch covered o’er —
The ash-hopper near, where the wood-shed could hide it,
And e’en the rude latch-string which hung on the door;
The old-fashioned latch-string,
The brown faded latch-string,
The long leather latch-string
Which hung on the door!

That latch-string! how often when hungry and jaded
I grasped it quite carefully lest it should catch;
For I knew it was rotten as well as quite faded,
So I pulled it down gently, to lift up the latch;
The noon meal was ready — how quickly I seized it —
A bowl full of mush with sweet milk brimming o’er.
Not a full-blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it,
When I’d pulled the old latch-string which hung on the door;
The old-fashioned latch-string,
The brown faded latch-string,
The long leather latch-string
Which hung on the door!

The shot-pouch I carried (me thinks I still see it)
And the same frisky squirrel that pestered my soul,
As I shouldered my flint-lock and hastened to tree it,
But alas, it fled from me and hid in a hole.
The old weedy cow yard still fondly I view it,
And the path, with tall horse-nettles thickly grown o’er,
How I scratched my bare feet every time I ran through it,
To reach the old latch-string which hung on the door;
The old-fashioned latch-string,
The brown faded latch-string,
The long leather latch-string
Which hung on the door!

And when far away I had strayed from that dwelling,
Returning, I hailed it with many a shout,
For I knew at a glance — ’twas a signal unfailing —
That the folks were at home when the latch-string was out.
— But the dreams have all faded, which fondly I cherished,
When barefoot I romped on the old puncheon floor;
And the clap-board roofed cabin itself has nigh perished,
As well as the latch-string which hung on the door;
The old-fashioned latch-string,
The brown faded latch-string,
The long leather latch-string
Which hung on the door!

The spring-branch still runs at the foot of the meadow
Where we cut the tall clover and pastured our flocks.
But the harvest-time held o’er my life a dark shadow —
For I hated to “cradle,” and pile up the shocks;
And now, when removed from that loved situation,
The tears of regret will intrusively pour
As fancy reverts to the old habitation,
And sighs for the latch-string which hung on the door;
The old-fashioned latch-string,
The brown faded latch-string,
The long leather latch-string
Which hung on the door!

Helen Whitney Clark, in St. Louis Magazine.

Spirit Lake Beacon (Spirit Lake, Iowa) Sep 14, 1888

Prayer and Our Founding Fathers

December 18, 2009

This is from 1888. I had no idea this argument had been going on for so long:


Showing That the Founders of Our Government Were God-Fearing and Praying Men.

It seems as easy to believe bad things about a body of men, as it is to believe them about one man. Indeed, it is somewhat easier. For, if there is even a small portion of charity in our make-up, we will exercise it in favor of one whom we are afraid to slander, whereas we will receive and repeat the same story about a congregation, a convention, or a congress without fear or qualm. And if it is a body of dead men, their reputations are absolutely at our mercy. The classic exhortation, to speak nothing about the dead but praise, is rarely heeded after the first burst of post-mortem eulogy.

It is quite the custom for instance, to think and say that the members of the Continental Congress were not devout men, that they had no regard for prayer as an aid to their deliberations, that they did not take God into the account in discussing the measures and results of the revolution. This is an offense to all believers in a gracious Providence, and it is also a foul libel on the political fathers.

We are gratified, therefore, to note that the learned Judge Bacon, of Utica, N.Y., in a recent historical paper of great general value, has corrected this false and unjust estimate of the Continental Congress. He shows how, on the 7th of September, 1774, when the real business of the body was to begin, a formal request was made for an opening prayer by Rev. Mr. Duche and that gentleman was thanked by resolution for his “excellent” services.

This is more consideration than some modern assemblies show to the divine who invoke God’s blessing on their deliberations. Afterward that same Congress, at ten different times, appointed days for fasting and thanksgiving. The last order of that kind was voted late in October, 1781, when December 15 was declared a day for thanksgiving and prayer on account of Cornwallis’ final overthrow.

When that order was entered, a further evidence of devotion was given by Congress going in a body to the Dutch Lutheran church in Philadelphia, there “to return thanks to Almighty God for crowning the allied armies of the United States and France with success, by the surrender of the whole British army under the command of the Earl Cornwallis.”

Now let the reader call these historic facts to mind, the next time he hears it said that the founders of our Government were not God-fearing men; or that the foundations of the Republic were not laid in prayer.


Spirit Lake Beacon (Spirit Lake, Iowa) Sep 14, 1888

More on the First Prayer in Congress HERE

*Note: I am not affiliated with the above website, I just ran across it when looking for an image and noticed they had more on this topic.

Remembering Our Veterans

November 11, 2009

The Two Volunteers.

I found them there together,
With roses sweet between,
Near by a murmuring river,
Above them heaven’s sheen.
I heard the winds of summer
Sing low a sweet refrain
Above the youth from Georgia,
Above the lad from Maine.

One left his tall palmettos,
The other left his pines,
To stand with gallant thousands
Amid the battle lines.
But now in peace they slumber
In sunshine and in rain;
One northward came from Georgia,
One southward marched from Maine.

No more the battle bugles
Will tell them they were foes,
No more the thunderous cannon
Shall break their deep repose.
Perhaps for them in sorrow,
Beyond the sunny plain,
A mother waits in Georgia,
A sister weeps in Maine.

Perhaps two old-time sweethearts
Still listen for the tread
Of those two youthful gallants
Who sleep among the dead.
I’ve not the heart to tell them
Where camp, in sun and rain,
The boy who came from Georgia,
The boy who marched from Maine.

I heard the murmuring river,
I saw its silvered waves,
I blessed the rich, red clover
That grew upon their graves,
And then I asked the angels
Who watch on heaven’s plain
To guard the boy from Georgia,
To guard the lad from Maine.

No longer are they foemen,
No more they hear the pines
Their song at midnight singing
Between the battle lines.
The hot drums of secession
Will never beat again
To thrill the sons of Georgia,
To rouse the sons of Maine.

I left them to their slumbers —
The blue coat and the gray;
Beside the singing river
They wait the Judgment Day.
Thank God, the starry banner
Beloved on hill and plain,
Waves o’er the boy from Georgia,
And o’er the boy from Maine!


The News (Frederick, Maryland) Feb 14, 1891

The Troopers Return sheetmusic 1888

The Trooper’s Return.
(A Scotch-American Ballad.)

When the gloaming was veiling the wooded hills;
And the gold of the summer’s sun
Was passing away in the track of the day,
And the pale stars, one by one,
Were peering out from the saffron haze
That softens the evening calm,
And the last sweet note from the wild bird’s throat,
Had passed like a woodland psalm.
A mother stood with her bairnies three,
By the lane where the road sweeps down,
Where the traveler sees through the apple trees
The spires of the far off town.

“Now, woe is me,” said the sad, lone wife,
“For the weary hours we stan’,
Wi’ sighs and wi’ fears and blindin’ tears,
A waitin’ my dear gude-mon.
Wounded, a prisoner, at last exchanged;
Three weeks and a day hae gane;
But still in tears and a prey to fears,
We wait by the lonely lane.”
While she spoke, from the shaded roadside near,
A tall, lean figure came;
And the red blood shot through her pulses hot
And her veins, like living flame.

O, she thought she saw in the wave of his hand,
A nameless, remembered art
That gave a charm to a strong young arm
When love first came to her heart.
Alas, for the wife wi’ bairnies three!
She met in the traveler lone
No answering trace in his wasted face
Of the long-sought, hoped-for one.
But her heart gushed out in a tender glance,
As she saw in the warrior worn,
A manly form that the battle storm
Had broken and maimed and torn.

“Now, where are ye limpin’ so late good man?
You seem to be unco lame.”
“Good dame,” quo’ he, with a tear in his e’e,
“I’m limping toward my hame.
I’m needing rest and a kindly hand,
As your ain fair een can see;
I’ve been in the fight to protect the right;
The cause o’ the brave and free.
There’s an ugly scar on this leg that’s left,
That mak’s me so feeble seem;
The ither was lost when our squadrons crossed
The ford of a bloody stream.

“‘Twas burning with shame, each drew his rein,
And turning his chargers fleet,
Our general’s words and our good broad swords
Tore victory from defeat.”
She heard in the ring of his manly voice
The rich loved tones of yore.
And the wasted face and the limping pace
Were seen by the wife no more;
To the wreck of the trooper that proudly stood
In the eye of the evening wan,
Her heart gushed out in a sobbing shout,
“Dear God! It’s my ain gude-mon!”

And the wounded and torn of a hundred fights
Was clasped to her woman’s breast;
Forgot were his scars ‘neath the burning stars,
His pains and his needed rest.
His eldest born took his battered sword;
Wee Willie his sash unbound;
While Maud in h’s arms, with her infant charms,
Sat light on an unhealed wound.
He struck from the road with a bounding heart,
Forgetting his gashed, still knee;
Up the sweet lane to his home again,
With his wife and his bairnies three.

The Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Apr 8, 1888


We Stood For Freedom

We stood for freedom just like you
And loved the flag you cherish too

Our uniforms felt great to wear
You know the feel, and how you care

In step we marched, the cadence way
The same is true with you today

Oh how we tried to do our best
As you do now, from test to test

How young we were and proud to be
Defenders of true liberty

So many thoughts bind soldiers well
The facts may change, not how we jell

Each soldier past, and you now here
Do share what will not disappear

One thought now comes, straight from my heart
For soldiers home, who’ve done their part

I’m honored to have served with you
May Godly peace, help get you through

And now I’ll end with a request
Do ponder this, while home at rest

America, respect our day
Each veteran, helped freedom stay

Written for Veteran’s Day 2002
Roger J. Robicheau


To all our Veterans, THANK YOU!

Frank L. Haralson: Georgia’s State Librarian

October 22, 2009


And Mr. Fry Don’t Wish to be Held Accountable for It.

Mr. Frank L. Haralson the state librarian, was arrested yesterday morning by Patrolmen Thompson and Nolan, and carried to the station house.

The charge entered up the state docket is larceny.

The whole thing seems to have been a blunder, and one of those blunders for which nobody is particularly anxious to be held accountable.

The following statement explains the affair:

The first is that of Mr. Wil Roberts, a son of Mr. W.J. Roberts, the Peachtree street grocer. He says:

“Saturday afternoon last Colonel Frank L. Haralson called at my father’s store, on Peach tree street for some goods. While he was standing in the door with his back to the street, talking to me and laughing, Mr. Abe Fry slapped him on the back and said:

“Frank, I want that colt you won, and I will give you a sixty five dollar watch — gold watch — for him, and you can select it from my show cases.”

“Colonel Haralson said:

“Well, this is a trade is it?

“Mr. Fry said it was and for him to call Monday morning and select his watch.

“Colonel Haralson said:

“I will call Monday morning.

“Mr. Fry went down Peachtree street and Colonel Haralson took his articles and went towards his home.’

Mr. Haralson read this statement last night and says it is a fair statement. He said further:

‘Fry just wanted to back out of the trade I believe I beat him on his own proposition and he just intended to jew out of it. I thought the best way to make him keep his word was to take the watch. But this thing is an outrage. I was arrested in my office for larceny — just think of that. Its a disgrace that such a thing should happen in Atlanta.’

The following is Mr. Abe Fry’s statement:

‘I met Mr. Frank Haralson last Saturday afternoon and he told me that he had a fine colt which he wished to sell. I said, ‘Come around to my store some time and perhaps I’ll trade you a watch for him.’ Yesterday about three o’clock Mr. Haralson called at my store. I was engaged in talking to a friend in a buggy in front of the store. Mr. Haralson went in the store and after looking at the watches in the show case, asked Fritz Allbright, my clerk, to let him look at one. Fritz handed him the watch, when he said, “This suits me I’ll take it –‘ and with the watch he walked out of the store. Fritz tried in vain to get the watch away from him, but he refused to give it up, Fritz told me what had happened, when I said to him “I will hold you responsible if you don’t get that watch.’

Fritz then went before Justice Tanner and swore out a possessory warrant for the watch. I am at a loss to see what right Mr. Haralson had to come in my store and take my property in that manner. We certainly had made no trade. How could I trade with him when I was talking to my friend in the buggy while he was getting the watch from my clerk?”

Judge Tanner said yesterday afternoon:

“This clerk of Abe Fry’s came to my office and said that Mr. Frank Haralson had taken a watch from the store. I made him explain what he meant, and after he did so refused to issue the warrant. The clerk went off and came back presently, insisting upon his request for a warrant. I didn’t want to make myself ridiculous and flatly refused to give him the warrant, explaining to him that his only course was to take out a possessory warrant. He did so.”

The possessory warrant will probably be tried today before Judge Tanner. Mr. Tom Corrigan, acting as the clerk’s attorney, advised this course, and the property was given up at the station house, though against the urgent remonstrances of Mr. Haralson.

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Apr 3, 1888


Will be Produced in Police Court This Morning.

Colonel Frank Haralson Assaults Mr. Abe Fry With a Cowhide — Mr. Fry Says “Never Touched Me.”

The Hon. Frank Haralson, state librarian, and Abe Fry, pawn shop man and jeweler in the National hotel building on Peachtree street, will appear in police court this morning. The one charged with disorderly conduct and quarreling and the other with using profane language in the station house.

A small cowhide will put in an appearance too.

Early yesterday morning Colonel Haralson was seen walking restlessly up and down Peachtree street between the railroad and Decatur street. Two or three times he passed through the block apparently buried in study so deep that he took no notice of friends who passed him. None of the colonel’s friends, however, who saw him imagined that he was brooding over his arrest Monday, and was contemplating a revenge.

But such was the case.

About 9 o’clock the colonel entered a store on the block, and in a few minutes came out, carrying in his hand a bright silver-mounted pistol. The gentleman was cool, and attracted no particular attention as he passed along to Fry’s pawn shop and jewelry store, in front of which he stopped. For a second he gazed into the store, and then with a firm, slow step walked into the door. Mr. Fry was standing behind the counter, talking to a young gentleman on the outside, and approaching them, the colonel said:

“Abe Fry, you have told a d–n dirty lie on me, and I have come for my revenge.”

As he spoke Colonel Haralson shoved his left hand under the waist band of his breeches and jerking out an ordinary red cowhide raised it above his head. The raw hide cut through the air with a whistling sound and came down toward Mr. Fry, but whether it struck the jeweler or not only Judge Anderson will be able to decide after he has heard the testimony this morning. However, the cowhide went up a second time and a second time it came down, but its second descent is just as uncertain as the first, likewise the third.

The scene was not accompanied by any boisterous or disorderly conduct and was over with before any one knew it. Colonel Haralson walked out of Mr. Fry’s and re-entering the store where he secured the pistol left it. He then appeared upon the street again and seeing Patrolman Anderson on Alabama street walked across the railroad and up to him, saying:

“I have cow hided Abe Fry and want to give myself up.”

The patrolman then heard Colonel Haralson’s story through, and deciding to make a case against him, asked him to go to police head quarters. The colonel readily consented to do so. At the city prison Colonel Haralson reported to Chief Connolly what he had said to Patrolman Anderson. The chief instructed the station house keeper, Mr. Joyner, to make a case against Colonel Haralson, charging him with disorderly conduct and quarreling, and at the same time requested Mr. Fry, who came in just then, to appear as a witness against him. During the conversation Colonel Haralson was standing on one side of the big counter in the office and Mr. Fry on the other side. Both men were anxious to talk and both talked at the same time, but Mr. Fry’s hardest talk came immediately after Colonel Haralson informed the chief that he had cowhided Mr. Fry.

“That is a lie,” yelled Mr. Fry.

Chief Connolly requested the jeweler to remain quiet, but his blood was up to a boiling pitch and in the severest and profanest language he abused the state librarian. The language used was a violation of a city ordinance, and Chief Connolly turned to the stationhouse keeper, saying:

“Mr. Joyner, make a case against Mr. Fry for using profane language in the station-house.”

The case was booked and Mr. Fry made a bond for his appearance in police court — just like the bond Colonel Haralson made. After the bonds were made the two gentlemen walked away, and all along the street they were asked about he affair.

But their answer was very unlike.

To all who asked him about it, Mr. Haralson said:

“Yes, I cowhided him, and I cowhided him well. I hit him three times, and here is the cowhide.”

The cowhide was concealed down the librarian’s left breeches leg, and only the butt end was drawn out.

To all who asked Mr. Fry about it, he answered:

“No, he did not cowhide me. The coward came into my store and putting a cocked pistol in my face struck over the counter at me with a cowhide but he didn’t strike me.”

The two stories, so unlike, soon became general talk, and everybody wanted to know which one to believe. Mr. Fry was at his store when called upon. He was standing in the door looking quietly up and down the street. He was in his shirt sleeves, and a half smoked cigar was between his lips. As he spied a reporter approaching he removed the cigar, saying:

“I know what you are going to ask me. You are going to ask me if Frank Haralson hit me with a cowhide.”

“You have just saved me the trouble.”

“Well he didn’t. He says he did, but he’s a d–m liar.”

“He says he struck you three times.”

“Well, he is a liar, and here is a young man who saw it all.”

Just then a young gentleman attired in a light-colored spring suit came up. The young gentleman was D.M. Davidson, a grocer at 110 Peachtree, and as he was near Mr. Fry that gentleman said:

“Here, Mr. Davidson, wasn’t you in here when Frank Haralson came in?”

“Yes,” answered the gentleman calmly.

“Now, he says he hit me with that cowhide. Did he do it? Didn’t he just strike at me over the counter?”


“You see, he came in here with a pistol in one hand, and a cowhide in the other, and struck at me across the counter, and he didn’t hit me. Why the cowhide wasn’t long enough. When he struck he had a pistol in my face and I wheeled around and picked up an ink bottle to throw at him. See, here is the ink on my hand. Ain’t that so?” he concluded, turning to Mr. Davidson.

“It all transpired so quick,” answered Mr. Davidson, “that I can hardly tell what did take place.”

“Well, you know he did not hit me, don’t you?”

“I don’t think he did,” answered the gentleman.

“Then when I’d move he would push the pistol in my face. He is a dirty coward and I can whip him, and told him so down at the stationhouse. Why he just wants to bulldoze me like he did, out of that watch yesterday, but the coward can’t do that. He never touched me.”

Colonel Haralson was standing near the New Era saloon talking to Captain Ed Cox.

The raw hide was pulled from its hiding place, as the gentleman remarked:

“Yes I did cowhide the d–n Jew and here is the cowhide and I’ll have it in court in the morning.”

“But he says you never touched him.”

“He’s a liar and I’ll go back and do it over.”

“No, you won’t,” said Captain Cox, “leave him alone.”

“You see,” said the colonel “I said yesterday that I would avenge the insult he heaped upon me in less than twenty-four hours and I have done it.”

“And you are satisfied?”

“Thoroughly. I gave him three good blows.”

“But the young man who was in there says you didn’t.”

“That young man ran out. You see I got a pistol and walked with it in my hand into the store and struck him once with the cowhide. He turned to get a pistol and I raised mine, saying:

“Just stop where you are.”

“Then I put the pistol close to him and struck him twice more and walked out.”

“And you think you hit him?”

“If Fry will look at his back he will find where I put three of them on him, and I will show him the cowhide in court in the morning and dare him to show his back.”

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Apr 4, 1888

John B. Gordon - 1865 (Image from

John B. Gordon - 1865 (Image from


The News in the Various Departments Yesterday.

GOVERNOR GORDON’S ORDER suspending Mr. Frank Haralson, state librarian, was the sensation at the capitol yesterday. It will be found written up in detail in this issue.

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Apr 7, 1888



Governor Gordon Issues an Order Suspending Mr. Haralson.

The Library Placed in Charge of Captain John Milledge — The Law Authorizing the Order.

Yesterday Governor Gordon issued an order suspending Mr. Frank L. Haralson from the office of state librarian.

This action on the part of the governor was not a surprise to the public.
Thursday afternoon, a lively rumor was current on the streets, that Governor Gordon had requested the resignation of Mr. Haralson and that that gentleman had declined to accede to the request. A reporter of THE CONSTITUTION interviewed Governor Gordon on the subject Thursday afternoon, when he merely stated that Mr. Haralson had not declined to resign, but was considering the subject.

The following correspondence, which explains itself, was made public yesterday:

EXECUTIVE DEPARTMENT, April 5th, 1888 — Mr. Frank Haralson, State Librarian — Dear Sir: I regret that a sense of public duty compels me to request your resignation of the off of state librarian. I shall hope to receive it by 12 m. tomorrow (Friday).

Very respectfully, J.B. GORDON.

Thursday night Mr. Haralson held a consultation with a number of his friends at the Kimball house which was strictly private, and on yesterday morning sent the following reply to the governor’s request:

STATE LIBRARY, April 6. — Dear Governor: Your letter of the 5th instant, has been received and after careful consideration I would ask that you state in writing the reason for your action; and in the meantime withdraw your request, that I may be heard in reply.

Yours very respectfully,

Then Governor Gordon made immediate response:

EXECUTIVE DEPARTMENT, April 6th, 1888 — Mr. Frank Haralson, Librarian — Dear Sir: My sense of duty will not permit a withdrawal of my request for your resignation, nor do I consider that a statement of my reasons for such request would be of service to you, or is demanded by the circumstances. I repeat my request for your resignation, and if I do not receive it by 1 p.m. today, I shall place someone in charge of the library.


To this last communication, Mr. Haralson did not reply.

Shortly after one o’clock the following executive order was recorded:

EXECUTIVE DEPARTMENT, April 6, 1888 — Frequent complaints having been received at this department that Frank L. Haralson, state librarian, has been neglecting the duties of his office for months past, and the complaints having been recently renewed and enlarged, and having satisfied myself that there is ample cause for them, it is therefore, in the discharge of my duty under the statue, ordered.

That John Milledge and W.R. Rankin, Jr., both of the county of Fulton, he or they, are hereby appointed as agents of the state to examine into and report the condition of the state library to the executive department.

It is further ordered that the said Frank L. Haralson be, and he is hereby suspended from the said office until further order from this department, and that in the meantime the official duties of librarian be discharged by the said John Milledge.

J.B. GORDON, Governor.
By order of the Governor
J.W. WARREN, Secretary Executive Department.

The sections of the code upon which the above order is based are 74 and 122.

Section 74 says, in relation to the powers of the governor:

“He has power to engage the services of any competent person for the discharge of any duty required by the laws, and essential to the interests of the state, or necessary, in an emergency, to preserve the property or funds of the state.”

Section 122 says:

The office of the state librarian is under the general supervision of the governor who may at any time appoint a competent person to examine into and report its condition to him.

As section 114 of the code confers upon the governor power to suspend the state treasurer or comptroller general, for neglect of duty, upon trustworthy information, it is tolerably clear that he has power to suspend the state librarian, a much smaller functionary.

Captain Milledge took charge of the state library yesterday afternoon. What further order Governor Gordon will issue remains to be seen.

Mr. Haralson was approached by a CONSTITUTION man yesterday afternoon, but declined to be interviewed. What Mr. Haralson will do remains to be seen. He received a dispatch from a prominent Georgia lawyer yesterday afternoon to this effect: “Stand firm, act rightly.”

The indications are that Mr. Haralson contemplates making a fight for re-installment — but upon what particular time has not yet developed. The probability is that Mr. Haralson will contend that under the act of 1881 the governor has not the power to remove him. Section 72 of the code of 1882 authorizes the governor to remove the state librarian at his pleasure.

An astute legal gentleman, said yesterday:

“What do I think about it? Well, the governor has not removed Mr. Haralson. He has simply suspended him. Captain Milledge is in, Mr. Haralson is out. To a man up a tree, in the light of that executive order, it looks very much as if a suspension, in this case, amounts to a removal.”

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Apr 7, 1888


Says That He is in the Hands of His Friends.

An Interesting Interview Showing How He Turned Over the Office to Captain Milledge – The Act of 1881.

Yesterday afternoon just before dusk a reporter of THE CONSTITUTION caught Colonel Frank Haralson on the wing at the corner of Marietta and Broad streets. When first seen Mr. Haralson was in the act of picking up a crutch, which had been dropped by an old gentleman — a cripple — who happened to be passing at the moment. He gracefully handed the crutch to the old gentleman, who thank him most warmly for the kindly act.

Colonel Haralson was all smiles, in the best possible humor, and greeted the reporter with his old-time cordiality.

“Hello, old boy; glad to see you!”

“Howdye, colonel; happy to meet you; very man I want to see. Want to get a little talk with you for THE CONSTITUTION.”

“All right; wait one minute,” said Mr. Haralson, as he turned to shake hands with Mr. J.S. Clarke, the lawyer, who said:

“Well, Frank, Milledge is an old schoolmate of mine and a mighty nice man; but I want to say to you that I am sorry you are out. You were always kind, accommodating and attentive to me when I called at the library, and I am really sorry that you have stepped down and out.”

“I appreciate that,” said Mr. Haralson, as returned the warm pressure of his friend’s hand.

“What are you going to do, Frank — practice law?” asked Mr. Clark.

“Yes, I shall open an office without delay, and I think that I will do well. I was retained today in a case which will give me a $200 fee — pretty good start, ain’t it?”

“It certainly is,” replied Mr. Clark. “I hope that you will get many such fees, and larger ones, too. I wish you all prosperity in your profession,” and the lawyer passed on.

“You may say,” said Colonel Haralson, addressing himself pleasantly to the news man, “You may say that I am under obligations to await the action of my friends in this matter. A number of them will come to Atlanta on Monday and talk it over. I have nothing to say until after they meet. But, by the way, I wish that you would print the act of ’81, authorizing my appointment as librarian. It may be of some interest to the public just at this time. You can say, too, that I bear no hard feelings toward anybody connected with my removal.”

“Tell me about turning over the office to Captain Milledge.”

“Oh, yes. Well, after the order suspending me had been issued yesterday, I walked into the library and said: ‘Captain Milledge, old boy, you are a full-fledged state librarian now (I said this laughingly). I want you to understand, captain, that I do not deliver to you these keys as the librarian of the state, but as a man who wishes to do nothing to stain his honor. Governor Gordon is a gentleman. I like him — but I am willing to leave it all to Hopkins and Glenn. I have some private papers and books in the basement. But Willie Rankin and Jim, the porter, know them as well as I do, and they can deliver them to me.’ I then showed Captain Milledge some valuable books, which I told him would bear watching. I said, ‘Good-bye, Willie; look after everything; stay if you please I have nothing to do with that.’ Just before I walked out Willie Rankin, who is one of the best boys in the world, said: ‘Goodbye, Frank old fellow. I want to say before you go that during all the time we have been together in the library you have never spoken one harsh word to me.”

Here is the act of 1881, and to which Mr. Haralson referred:

Section 1. It shall be the duty of the governor of this state to select and present for confirmation by the senate some fit and competent person (who shall be a citizen of this state) to serve as state librarian, whose term of office shall be four years and until his successor shall have been chosen and confirmed in like manner as herein provided and declared.

Section 2. And be it further enacted that so much of section 72 of the code of 1873 as relates to the appointment and removal from office of the state librarian be, and the same is hereby repealed.

Section 72 of the code of ’73, before the passage of the above law, empowered the governor to remove the state librarian at pleasure.

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Apr 8, 1888

That Possessory Warrant.

An interesting case will be heard in Justice Tanner’s court this morning at 8:30 o’clock. It will be remembered that Mr. Fred Allbright, the clerk at Mr. Abe Fry’s, swore out a possessory warrant for a watch which it is alleged that Mr. Frank Haralson took out of the store. That watch is in possession of Justice Tanner, and he will decide this morning whether it belongs to Mr. Fry or Mr. Haralson.

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Apr 16, 1888



Yesterday morning Judge Tanner delivered to Mr. Abe Fry that watch. Mr Frank Haralson concluded not to resist the possessory warrant which was sworn out by Fred Albright, Mr. Fry’s clerk.

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Apr 22, 1888

Abe Fry Advertisement 1884

Abe Fry Advertisement 1884


Frank Harralson Tried in the City Court for Pointing a Pistol at Abe Fry.

A good deal of interest was shown in the case of hte state against Frank Harralson, indicted for pointing a pistol at Abe Fry, which was tried yesterday morning in the city court.

The defendant was in the court with his attorneys, Messrs Sibley and Newman, and Abe Fry was present as prosecutor.

It was proved that the defendant, with a cowhide in one hand and a pistol in the other, went into Abe Fry’s establishment and that he pointed the weapon at Mr. Fry’s head. The prosecutor did not charge the defendant with striking him with the whip, in fact, he stated distinctly that Harralson did not strike him.

Several witnesses explained how the difficulty happened, and they gave the details which were published in THE CONSTITUTION the morning after the row.

Mr. Haralson was permitted to make his statement. He admitted having sought Fry for the purpose of chastising him with a rawhide, and confessed having carried a pistol in one hand and a cowhide in the other. He also admitted that it was his purpose to lash Fry and if he resisted to kill him.

After all the evidence was in it seemed doubtful whether Haralson had actually pointed the pistol at Fry, and this was the rock upon which the jury split.

The jury stayed out two hours, and decided that it was impossible to agree upon a verdict. Thereupon Judge Van Epps ordered that a mistrial be marked on the docket.

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) May 23, 1888

Ulster Overcoat (Image from

Ulster Overcoat (Image from


Frank Harralson, lawyer and ex-state librarian, wears a heavy, long ulster. One night about a week ago he lost that overcoat, and the next day began hunting for it.

For three or four days he kept up the search, but without any success.

All of his friends knew that he had lost the ulster, and every one had an eye open for it.

Yesterday morning the colonel turned up with the big, warm ulster on his back.

Of course his friends were surprised.

“Where did you find it?” he was asked.

“Well, last night,” he replied, “I dreamed I had left it at Snook’s furniture store and early this morning I went there. Sure enough, I found my coat. Mr. Snook had picked it up the day I left it there and put it in one of the magnificent wardrobes of his.”

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Jan 9, 1889



Frank L. Haralson, at one time a prominent attorney in the city, and a man who let the tempter wreck what would have been a good and useful life, was taken from a saloon at the corner of Decatur and Ive streets last night in an unconscious condition and carried to the Grady hospital in the ambulance.

He was suddenly stricken down and now lies at the hospital afflicted with the strange disease known to some physicians as “word blindness.” Some nerve tissue of the brain has given away and when he talks he uses the wrong words to express himself, the same mental disease which it was said had attacked Admiral Sampson. He seems to know what he wishes to say, but when he tried to talk his tongue refuses to articulate the words he wishes to use.

Some fifteen years ago Frank Haralson was state librarian and a man with an education and in intellect bright enough to have made himself a leader in the legal profession. He was warm-hearted and numbered his friends by the hundreds. His convivial nature led him to indulge in drink to excess. He fought for a while against the habit, but it slowly worked his ruin. During his gradual downfall and even now he has never lost his innate goodness of heart, and however he may have harmed himself, he was never known to harm a fellow man. Those who knew him in his better days and those who know him now never express aught save a sincere pity that his life should have been what it is, that his life should be as it has been.

At times he would throw off the habit which had been his ruin, but old associations, and perhaps, a memory of the life he had sacrificed, drove him back into dissipation.

Last night he was standing in a saloon, but was not drinking. He was seen to reel and fall heavily to the floor. There he lay in violent convulsions until the ambulance bore him to the hospital.

The physicians say he is seriously ill and may die. His brain is affected, the mind having given away under the long strain which had been placed upon it. He seems to realize his condition, but when he tries to speak to those about him he utters words entirely, foreign to what his mind would have him say. It is a peculiar malady and one that is rarely ever known. He may recover and he may regain his mental power, but the physician think the chances are against him.

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Jan 14, 1902

It seems Mr. Haralson did survive, and evidently recovered from his episode of “word blindness.” He continued to work as a lawyer, and it seems, over time, regained the respect (maybe he quit drinking?) of the people. I found several references to him as a divorce lawyer and other “domestic” type cases.


Attorney Haralson Imprisoned One Hour for Contempt of Court.
Gunn and Negro Fined.

Frank Haralson, an attorney, called Policeman Dobbins a liar in the recorder’s court yesterday morning and he was imprisoned an hour in a cell for contempt of court. He was given the alternative of either serving the sentence or paying $5.

H. Percy Gunn, of Petersburg, was on trial for writing an insulting note to a young woman, and Dave Dorsey, a negro who delivered the note, was also on trial.
Attorney Haralson was defending Gunn.

“I would like to know how you came to be retained in this case?” remarked Policeman Dobbins, who had made the arrests. He was speaking to Attorney Haralson.

“That’s none of your business,” replied the lawyer.

“I understand that you have been hanging about he police barracks,” continued the officer, “trying to pick up just such cases as this.”

“You are a liar,” snapped out the attorney.

Before the policeman could reply, the recorder interfered and find Lawyer Haralson $5 for contempt of court. Later he said he would either collect the fine or imprison the lawyer for one hour. Attorney Haralson decided to stay in a cell one hour and make $5.

The cases against Gunn and the negro were again called in the afternoon. Gunn claimed he was a stranger and the negro got him to write the note. The negro said he only obeyed the white man’s order. The recorder fined each of them $10.75.

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Nov 23, 1902

Oscar W. Underwood (Image from

Oscar W. Underwood (Image from


An enthusiastic Underwood [Oscar Wilder Underwood] rally was held at Chastain hall, at Tenth street and Hemuphill avenue, last night.

Frank Haralson, a well-known Atlanta lawyer, with offices in the Kiser building, was the principal speaker at the meeting. The crowd was a most enthusiastic one.
The meeting was presided over by Hon. James L. Hollowell, who introduced the speaker.

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) May 1, 1912

Hugh M. Dorsey (Image from wikimedia)

Hugh M. Dorsey (Image from wikimedia)


A mass meeting was held last night in Norman’s hall, at Lakewood Heights, in the interest of the candidacy of Hugh M. Dorsey for solicitor general of the Atlanta circuit. About 100 citizens of this section were present.

Judge P.B. Hopkins presided and addresses were made by Colonel Frank L. Haralson, Captain Thomas B. Brown, W.C. Mundy, E.G. Nable, president of the Machinist’s union, and H.L. Watts and Mr. Dorsey.

The meeting was most enthusiastic.

The Atlanta Constitution (Atlanta, Georgia) Aug 8, 1912




FRANK L. HARALSON, the present efficient State Librarian, a son of Hon. T. J. HARALSON, of Union county, his mother having been before marriage Miss MARY A. LOGAN, of White county, was born in Union county, Georgia, January 8,1853.

He received the rudiments of an education in the common schools of the county, and subsequently attended the North Georgia Agricultural College, at Dahlonega, being the first student enrolled when that institution was established. He subsequently graduated at the University, Athens, Georgia, in 1875.

Mr. HARALSON, after completing his education, entered upon the study of law, and was admitted to the bar in 1875, and entered upon the practice at Cleveland, White county.

In January, 1877, when Gov. COLQUITT came into office, Mr. HARALSON was appointed by him to the office of State Librarian, and has held the position continuously since that time, having been reappointed by Gov. COLQUITT, again by Gov. McDANIEL, and lastly by Gov. GORDON.

On March 26,1883, Mr. HARALSON was married to Miss LULA SMALL, sister of Rev. SAM W. SMALL, the evangelist, a most lovely and accomplished lady. No man who has ever held the position has given more general satisfaction to those having business with the department over which he presides.