In the past, I have researched and written about the Regulators of Greene County, Missouri, a post-Civil War vigilante group that arose around Walnut Grove in response to an outbreak of crime in that vicinity and beyond. In researching this group, I became aware many years ago that there was also a group calling themselves the Regulators during the territorial days of Missouri. I assumed at the time of my initial research that the two groups were probably quite similar. They were, in fact, akin in that they both arose in response to a perceived outbreak of crime, but there were also several key differences.
One key difference was that the Greene County Regulators arose in response to horse thievery and other kinds of direct theft of property, while the territorial Regulators, who were centered around St. Louis and St. Charles counties and were most active in 1815 and 1816, arose in response to an outbreak of counterfeiting. Also, the territorial Regulators were apparently not quite as violent in their treatment of the supposed wrongdoers as the Greene County bunch was. The Greene County vigilantes summarily hanged three or four men within a matter of a couple weeks, and the group then quickly died out, reportedly because they had been so effective in ridding the region of crime. The territorial Regulators, on the other hand, lasted a little longer but mostly meted out their justice in the form of whippings. During the reign of the territorial Regulators, as was often the case with vigilante movements, a lot of men got accused of crimes (counterfeiting, in this case) that they likely did not commit, and several wrote letters to the Missouri Gazette and other newspapers denying their involvement in passing fraudulent notes.
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Another Murderer Lynched
I don't want to go back to the days when people were denied due process. There were too many people in those days who suffered for crimes they didn't commit. Still, when I see people nowadays who are almost certainly guilty of murder or some other vicious crime getting off scot free or getting released after spending only a few years in prison, I can't help pining, on some level, for the summary justice that was often meted out in the days of the Old West. If a man was known to have committed a heinous murder, there was a good chance that, one way or another, he was going to hang for it, and often the one way was the vigilante way.
As I indicated above, the problem with such lynchings was that occasionally the victim turned out to be innocent. Blacks, in particular, were not infrequently the wrongful victims of mob violence by whites. However, white criminals were also often strung up by other whites.
One instance of such an extralegal hanging was the case of John Richmond, a Lawrence County (Mo.) man who stole a mule from a farmer living near Halltown on August 19, 1878, and hightailed it to Kansas with the animal. He passed through Chetopa, Kansas, disposed of the stolen mule shortly afterwards, and started back toward Missouri. Richmond, however, had been pursued by a party of men from Lawrence County, and when they reached Chetopa, they gave authorities a description of the thief. R. H. Clift, who was both a deputy U. S. marshal and city marshal of Chetopa, went out after the fugitive on August 25 and came upon him not far outside Chetopa. Richmond at first offered no resistance and said he'd go with Clift but then quickly drew his pistol and shot the lawman in the neck, and Clift died that night.
Richmond continued to Missouri, foolishly returning to his home territory of Lawrence County, where he was arrested on August 28 at the home of his father-in-law on a charge of stealing the mule. The next day or later the same day a posse from Chetopa, who had followed Richmond from Kansas, showed up and informed Lawrence County authorities of the murder of Clift. A few days later, after a requisition for Richmond's return to Kansas was issued by the Kansas governor and granted by Missouri authorities, the prisoner was put on a train bound for Chetopa. When the train pulled in at Chetopa near midnight on the night of September 5, a mob of masked men promptly appeared and forceably took Richmond away from the two law officers who were escorting him. The next morning Richmond's body was found hanging from a bridge about a mile southwest of Chetopa with his feet not quite touching the ground.
It was later learned that Richmond was already a fugitive from Arkansas on a murder charge at the time he stole the mule. As I say, mistakes were sometimes made in the dispensing of summary justice in the Old West, but apparently the vigilantes got it right this time. At any rate, no effort was ever made to apprehend or punish any of them.
As I indicated above, the problem with such lynchings was that occasionally the victim turned out to be innocent. Blacks, in particular, were not infrequently the wrongful victims of mob violence by whites. However, white criminals were also often strung up by other whites.
One instance of such an extralegal hanging was the case of John Richmond, a Lawrence County (Mo.) man who stole a mule from a farmer living near Halltown on August 19, 1878, and hightailed it to Kansas with the animal. He passed through Chetopa, Kansas, disposed of the stolen mule shortly afterwards, and started back toward Missouri. Richmond, however, had been pursued by a party of men from Lawrence County, and when they reached Chetopa, they gave authorities a description of the thief. R. H. Clift, who was both a deputy U. S. marshal and city marshal of Chetopa, went out after the fugitive on August 25 and came upon him not far outside Chetopa. Richmond at first offered no resistance and said he'd go with Clift but then quickly drew his pistol and shot the lawman in the neck, and Clift died that night.
Richmond continued to Missouri, foolishly returning to his home territory of Lawrence County, where he was arrested on August 28 at the home of his father-in-law on a charge of stealing the mule. The next day or later the same day a posse from Chetopa, who had followed Richmond from Kansas, showed up and informed Lawrence County authorities of the murder of Clift. A few days later, after a requisition for Richmond's return to Kansas was issued by the Kansas governor and granted by Missouri authorities, the prisoner was put on a train bound for Chetopa. When the train pulled in at Chetopa near midnight on the night of September 5, a mob of masked men promptly appeared and forceably took Richmond away from the two law officers who were escorting him. The next morning Richmond's body was found hanging from a bridge about a mile southwest of Chetopa with his feet not quite touching the ground.
It was later learned that Richmond was already a fugitive from Arkansas on a murder charge at the time he stole the mule. As I say, mistakes were sometimes made in the dispensing of summary justice in the Old West, but apparently the vigilantes got it right this time. At any rate, no effort was ever made to apprehend or punish any of them.
Monday, July 2, 2012
Emancipation Day
Emancipation Day commemorating the freedom of African Americans from the bondages of slavery is celebrated at various times throughout the country. (In fact, Emancipation Day, commemorating the feedom of various formerly enslaved people, is celebrated throughout the world.) For instance, in Washington, D. C. emancipation is celebrated near the middle of April, because the District of Columbia slaves were freed in April of 1862, nine months before Lincoln's famous Emancipation Proclamation the following January. In one recent year, as you may recall, the IRS moved back the due date for filing one's income taxes because the normal due date (probably the 15th) fell on D.C.'s Emancipation Day. The states and regions of the U. S. South celebrate Emancipation Day at a various times, depending on when the slaves in that state or that area first learned of emancipation. In Texas and some other states or parts of states, for instance, the date is June 19, often called Juneteenth. In fact, I think that much of Missouri celebrates the anniversary of emancipation on Juneteenth.
In southwest Missouri, however, many communities still celebrate Emanciaption Day on the first weekend in August, since that is near the time slaves in this area first learned of the Emancipation Proclamation. I know that Joplin is one such community, and I'm sure there are others. The tradition of celebrating in early August has been going on continually (or very nearly so) as long as I've lived here and probably much farther back than that--all the way back to 1865.
But Joplin is not the only place that commemmorates Emancipation Day in southwest Mo. in August. At least, I know for sure that there were others that did so in the past. Golden City, for example, held a big Emancipation Day celebration on August 3 and 4, 1897. The evening of August 2, according to a brief piece in a Kansas City newspaper, was spent roasting and barbecuing beef and mutton so that there would be enough to last the next two days. All kinds of amusements were set up on the grounds, and the festivities drew not only black people but also many white people, "including a large number of suspicious characters." However, the celebration, featuring speakers from throughout southwest Missouri apparently went off without a hitch.
In southwest Missouri, however, many communities still celebrate Emanciaption Day on the first weekend in August, since that is near the time slaves in this area first learned of the Emancipation Proclamation. I know that Joplin is one such community, and I'm sure there are others. The tradition of celebrating in early August has been going on continually (or very nearly so) as long as I've lived here and probably much farther back than that--all the way back to 1865.
But Joplin is not the only place that commemmorates Emancipation Day in southwest Mo. in August. At least, I know for sure that there were others that did so in the past. Golden City, for example, held a big Emancipation Day celebration on August 3 and 4, 1897. The evening of August 2, according to a brief piece in a Kansas City newspaper, was spent roasting and barbecuing beef and mutton so that there would be enough to last the next two days. All kinds of amusements were set up on the grounds, and the festivities drew not only black people but also many white people, "including a large number of suspicious characters." However, the celebration, featuring speakers from throughout southwest Missouri apparently went off without a hitch.
Monday, June 25, 2012
Sam Hildebrand Rescued from Jail
Sam Hildebrand, notorious southeast Missouri guerrilla during the Civil War, became an outlaw after the war. According to Hildebrand and his apologists, he was supposedly driven to a life of crime because Federal authorities and his Union neighbors would not let him live in peace after the war. (Apologists for the James and Younger brothers later made a smililar claim to try to justify their unlawful deeds.) There is very likely some grain of truth to the claim, but I doubt that Hildebrand or any of the other guerrillas-turned-outlaws were actually forced into a life of crime after the war.
Sometime around the early part of 1868, Hildebrand allegedly killed or participated in the killing of a man and woman in northern Arkansas. According to the Hildebrand legend, as recounted by latter-day apologist Carl Breihan, the man killed was the former brother-in-law of a friend of Hilderbrand's who had deserted the friend's sister and taken up with a black woman. The friend supposedly asked Hildebrand to help him teach the "guilty pair" a lesson by giving them a flogging, but the man and woman ended up dead from drowning. Breihan's reference to the man and woman as the "guilty pair" suggests that, in the Hildebrand myth, deserting one's wife for a black woman was apparently worse than murder.
According to an article in a St. Louis newsapper that I recently ran across (reprinted in a Springfield paper), the couple killed was an "old man and his wife," with no indication that it was a mixed marriage. After the killing, Hildebrand was arrested, convicted of murder, and sentenced to be hanged. He was lodged in jail at Pocahontas, Arkansas. (Breihan says Jacksonport.) Sometime in late 1868 or early 1869 just a few days before the scheduled execution date, Hildebrand escaped with the aid of friends on the outside. According to the newspaper article, Hildebrand's cohorts donned the uniforms of Federal soldiers and arrived at the Pocahontas jail with papers ordering that Hildebrand be turned over the them for "government action." The sheriff complied, and Hildebrand and his friends were long gone before the fraud was discovered.
Hildebrand returned to southeast Missouri where he had been "roaming around...as fearless as a lion" at the time of the July 1869 newspaper article. Missouri Governor McClurg had just returned from a personal trip to St. Francois County, where he had gone to try to assuage the fears of citizens in the area who were terrified of Hildebrand and to help organize posses to track him down. Some people even wanted the governor to declare martial law, but he resisted such a measure, because the majority of people opposed it. In fact, in at least one county (perhaps St. Francois) the majority of citizens were reported to be in sympathy with Hildebrand.
Despite the intense manhunt, Hildebrand eluded capture. He was finally killed in 1872 across the Mississippi River in Illinois during a confrontation with law officers, who did not know his identity at the time.
Sometime around the early part of 1868, Hildebrand allegedly killed or participated in the killing of a man and woman in northern Arkansas. According to the Hildebrand legend, as recounted by latter-day apologist Carl Breihan, the man killed was the former brother-in-law of a friend of Hilderbrand's who had deserted the friend's sister and taken up with a black woman. The friend supposedly asked Hildebrand to help him teach the "guilty pair" a lesson by giving them a flogging, but the man and woman ended up dead from drowning. Breihan's reference to the man and woman as the "guilty pair" suggests that, in the Hildebrand myth, deserting one's wife for a black woman was apparently worse than murder.
According to an article in a St. Louis newsapper that I recently ran across (reprinted in a Springfield paper), the couple killed was an "old man and his wife," with no indication that it was a mixed marriage. After the killing, Hildebrand was arrested, convicted of murder, and sentenced to be hanged. He was lodged in jail at Pocahontas, Arkansas. (Breihan says Jacksonport.) Sometime in late 1868 or early 1869 just a few days before the scheduled execution date, Hildebrand escaped with the aid of friends on the outside. According to the newspaper article, Hildebrand's cohorts donned the uniforms of Federal soldiers and arrived at the Pocahontas jail with papers ordering that Hildebrand be turned over the them for "government action." The sheriff complied, and Hildebrand and his friends were long gone before the fraud was discovered.
Hildebrand returned to southeast Missouri where he had been "roaming around...as fearless as a lion" at the time of the July 1869 newspaper article. Missouri Governor McClurg had just returned from a personal trip to St. Francois County, where he had gone to try to assuage the fears of citizens in the area who were terrified of Hildebrand and to help organize posses to track him down. Some people even wanted the governor to declare martial law, but he resisted such a measure, because the majority of people opposed it. In fact, in at least one county (perhaps St. Francois) the majority of citizens were reported to be in sympathy with Hildebrand.
Despite the intense manhunt, Hildebrand eluded capture. He was finally killed in 1872 across the Mississippi River in Illinois during a confrontation with law officers, who did not know his identity at the time.
Monday, June 18, 2012
Water Towns, Mining Towns, Railroad Towns, & Spring Towns
As a kid and even as a young adult, I never gave much thought to how the towns of the Ozarks that I was familiar with got started. I more or less assumed that people just got together and decided they were going to lay out a town, which I guess is somewhat correct as far as it goes, but there was, of course, more to it than that. With few exceptions, there was a reason why towns were located where they were. Rarely did people just get together and decide to create a town in the middle of nowhere.
Offhand, I can think of four reasons why the towns of the Ozarks were located where they were. In other words, we might say that there are four historical categories of towns. I'm sure there may be other categories of towns or other reasons for why they were situated where they were, but these are the four categories I can think of without giving the subject a lot of thought:
Most, if not all, of the older towns of the Ozarks (generally speaking, those that predated the Civil War) were located where they were because of their proximity to a source of water--a river, stream, or spring. A few county seats might have been situated where they were merely because the site was near the center of the proposed county, but even most county seats that I'm familiar with are relatively near a source of flowing water. Lebanon, county seat of Laclede County, and Marshfield, county seat of Webster, might be exceptions. I don't know of significant streams near Lebanon and Marshfield, but maybe there are such streams. Or maybe they were situtated where they were because they were along the old road from St. Louis to southwest Missouri. See, I'm already coming up with other possible categories, but I digress.
Another group of towns got their start as mining towns, notably a good number in the extreme southwest part of Missouri, like Granby, Joplin, and Webb City.
A third group are what might be called railroad towns. Monett is a good example. Originally called Plymouth or Plymouth Junction, it got its start in the late 1880s as station along the Frisco Railroad. Other towns may have existed as little more than wide places in the road before the railroad reached them but didn't really start growing until after the railroad came. Ash Grove is an example. I would still consider towns like Ash Grove "railroad towns."
A fourth category would be mineral water towns that sprang up, most in the 1880s, during the mineral water craze that swept the country. In a way, these towns might be considered water towns, too, but the water was a specific type--mineral water from springs sought for its supposed medicinal properties as opposed to water for merely quenching thirst or streams for navigating boats on. So, I consider these towns a separate category, and I've talked about them on this blog before. The most noted example is Eureka Springs, but there are numerous others.
Are there other categories I've omitted? Do towns situated near a main thoroughfare, such as the possibility of Lebanon and Marshfield I mentioned above, constitute a fifth category? How about county seats located where they were simply because the site was near the center of the county?
Offhand, I can think of four reasons why the towns of the Ozarks were located where they were. In other words, we might say that there are four historical categories of towns. I'm sure there may be other categories of towns or other reasons for why they were situated where they were, but these are the four categories I can think of without giving the subject a lot of thought:
Most, if not all, of the older towns of the Ozarks (generally speaking, those that predated the Civil War) were located where they were because of their proximity to a source of water--a river, stream, or spring. A few county seats might have been situated where they were merely because the site was near the center of the proposed county, but even most county seats that I'm familiar with are relatively near a source of flowing water. Lebanon, county seat of Laclede County, and Marshfield, county seat of Webster, might be exceptions. I don't know of significant streams near Lebanon and Marshfield, but maybe there are such streams. Or maybe they were situtated where they were because they were along the old road from St. Louis to southwest Missouri. See, I'm already coming up with other possible categories, but I digress.
Another group of towns got their start as mining towns, notably a good number in the extreme southwest part of Missouri, like Granby, Joplin, and Webb City.
A third group are what might be called railroad towns. Monett is a good example. Originally called Plymouth or Plymouth Junction, it got its start in the late 1880s as station along the Frisco Railroad. Other towns may have existed as little more than wide places in the road before the railroad reached them but didn't really start growing until after the railroad came. Ash Grove is an example. I would still consider towns like Ash Grove "railroad towns."
A fourth category would be mineral water towns that sprang up, most in the 1880s, during the mineral water craze that swept the country. In a way, these towns might be considered water towns, too, but the water was a specific type--mineral water from springs sought for its supposed medicinal properties as opposed to water for merely quenching thirst or streams for navigating boats on. So, I consider these towns a separate category, and I've talked about them on this blog before. The most noted example is Eureka Springs, but there are numerous others.
Are there other categories I've omitted? Do towns situated near a main thoroughfare, such as the possibility of Lebanon and Marshfield I mentioned above, constitute a fifth category? How about county seats located where they were simply because the site was near the center of the county?
Monday, June 11, 2012
William Taylor's Murder of Nathan Gann
I have mentioned Elkton in Hickory County, Missouri, a couple of times previously on this blog--once in connection with infamous fan dancer Sally Rand, who was born there in the very early 1900s.
Elkton was also the setting for a notorious murder in the fall of 1876. On October 23 of that year, William Taylor, an older family man of about 55; and Nathan Gann, a young single man of about 25; and several other men were pitching horsehoes and engaging in some friendly banter when Taylor took offense at something Gann said or did. They argued and had to be separated by the other men. The quarrel resumed a couple of times later in the day, but the other men again intervened. Finally, Taylor went home and got his gun and started back to town, telling several people along the way that Gann would be a dead man before the sun went down. In town, he went into a store and spotted a man turned away from him whom he took to be Gann. He pointed his shotgun at the man's back and was getting ready to pull the trigger when the man turned around, and he realized it wasn't Gann. He turned, marched out of the store, and met Gann just outside the door. Without a word of warning, he fired a load of buckshot into Gann, who collapsed and died within minutes.
Taylor was apprehended and indicted for murder in Hickory County, but he took a change of venue to Webster County. The case was argued at Marshfield in the spring of 1877, and Taylor was convicted on April 3 and sentenced to hang in May. However, he later was granted a new trial on appeal and was given a fifteen-year prison sentence.
Elkton was also the setting for a notorious murder in the fall of 1876. On October 23 of that year, William Taylor, an older family man of about 55; and Nathan Gann, a young single man of about 25; and several other men were pitching horsehoes and engaging in some friendly banter when Taylor took offense at something Gann said or did. They argued and had to be separated by the other men. The quarrel resumed a couple of times later in the day, but the other men again intervened. Finally, Taylor went home and got his gun and started back to town, telling several people along the way that Gann would be a dead man before the sun went down. In town, he went into a store and spotted a man turned away from him whom he took to be Gann. He pointed his shotgun at the man's back and was getting ready to pull the trigger when the man turned around, and he realized it wasn't Gann. He turned, marched out of the store, and met Gann just outside the door. Without a word of warning, he fired a load of buckshot into Gann, who collapsed and died within minutes.
Taylor was apprehended and indicted for murder in Hickory County, but he took a change of venue to Webster County. The case was argued at Marshfield in the spring of 1877, and Taylor was convicted on April 3 and sentenced to hang in May. However, he later was granted a new trial on appeal and was given a fifteen-year prison sentence.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
The Hanging of Sam Orr
In the late afternoon of December 14, 1872, some unknown men called at the home of George W. Davis in Christian County, Missouri, and inquired about feed for their horses. They were referred to the barn, where Davis was doing his evening chores. After exchanging a few words with Davis, the men opened fire on him, hitting him several times in different parts of the body. The men fled and Davis was carried into his house dead.
At first, several parties who had previously assaulted Davis were suspected of the crime, but suspicion soon settled on Sam Orr and Albert Cox. They were indicted in Christian County for murder, but in the meantime, they had fled the country. Orr was captured in June of 1874 at St. Joseph and brought back to the Springfield jail but escaped in December. Cox, meanwhile, was captured in Texas and brought back to Missouri to stand trial.
Orr was caught again, this time in Arkansas, and brought back a second time in March of 1875. After several continuances and changes of venue, he was finally convicted in Lawrence County of first degree murder and scheduled to hang on May 3, 1877. He was granted a delay, and the date was rescheduled for May 18. His hanging at Mt. Vernon on the latter date was, according to Goodspeed's History of Lawrence County "a dreadful spectacle." A large crowd gathered to watch the murderer "launched into eternity. Owing to some error, the wretch was choked slowly before that crowd, taking twenty-three minutes to die."
After Orr had been convicted and while he was waiting to swing, Cox was also convicted and sentenced to hang.
At first, several parties who had previously assaulted Davis were suspected of the crime, but suspicion soon settled on Sam Orr and Albert Cox. They were indicted in Christian County for murder, but in the meantime, they had fled the country. Orr was captured in June of 1874 at St. Joseph and brought back to the Springfield jail but escaped in December. Cox, meanwhile, was captured in Texas and brought back to Missouri to stand trial.
Orr was caught again, this time in Arkansas, and brought back a second time in March of 1875. After several continuances and changes of venue, he was finally convicted in Lawrence County of first degree murder and scheduled to hang on May 3, 1877. He was granted a delay, and the date was rescheduled for May 18. His hanging at Mt. Vernon on the latter date was, according to Goodspeed's History of Lawrence County "a dreadful spectacle." A large crowd gathered to watch the murderer "launched into eternity. Owing to some error, the wretch was choked slowly before that crowd, taking twenty-three minutes to die."
After Orr had been convicted and while he was waiting to swing, Cox was also convicted and sentenced to hang.
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