USA > Missouri > Johnson County > The history of Johnson County, Missouri : including a reliable history of the townships, cities, and towns, together with a map of the county; a condensed history of Missouri; the state constitution; an abstract of the most important laws etc > Part 44
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His hair, long, black and inclined to curl, was thrown carelessly back from a broad, dark, swarthy brow. On his upper lip he wore a carefully- trained mustache, black as jet; nose, slightly Roman, and eyes dark, rest- less and piercing.
He looked on me with dangerous eye-glance, Showing his nature in his countenance; His rolling eyes did never rest in place,
But walked each where for fear of hid mischance, Holding a lattice before his face,
Through which he did but peep as forward he did pace.
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Although he attempted to disguise himself, he was known. It was Dick Sanders, the outlaw.
The news of the murder had reached town early in the morning, and everything was excitement. Our citizens were determined to submit no longer to such fiendish outrages-every breast was filled with horror and indignation-personalities and political differences were forgotten, or laid aside. There was no prejudice in the matter. With one voice they swore to avenge the death of Sweitzer, and exterminate the murders and thieves that had so long ruled the destinies of our people, and carried death and destruction into so many peaceful homes. They were at last unmasked, and were no longer to carry out their infamous crimes under the cover of the " Bonny Blue," or urge their heartless companions on with the wolf- cry of rebel, while, on the other hand, peaceable and law-abiding citizens were shot down and robbed as southern sympathizers. Leading men, who encouraged them, trembled. The masses were aroused. No man dare say, "Stop."
It was like the gathering of a fearful storm. Muttering thunders could be heard from every quarter of the county. At night it would come and like a mighty avalanche, tearing loose from some Alpine height, would sweep everything before it. That day will long be remembered. It was fearful. Low conversation, silent preparation, a gradual gathering of men, the return and departure of couriers, in quick succession, all indi- cated the storm was about to break forth in all its fury. A meeting was called at the court house, at one o'clock, to take into consideration the best and surest way of ridding our county of the band of marauders, that made it their headquarters. At the appointed time there were over 400 men there. The house was organized by calling Col. Isaminger to the chair, and N. B. Klaine to act as secretary. Prof. Biggar was called and approved the object of the meeting. He said: " It is our duty to ferret out the murderers of our peaceable citizen, who has so lately been killed, and bring them to justice. Murderers may any day walk our streets with safety, and it is necessary that we engage detectives. We have not the same advantages that larger cities enjoy, and whatever action is taken now, is for our safety. I am opposed to summary vengeance, but when law cannot be enforced, and violators brought to justice, it is neces- sary for the people to take the matter in hand. The right of the people to take care of themselves, if the law does not, is an indisputable right. We must unite and put down lawlessness."
Rev. J. W. Newcomb was next called and said: "The meeting has my hearty approval. The sentiments expressed by Mr. Biggar are my own. 'He that draweth the sword shall perish by the sword,' and as exemplified in this case, men who discard law and order, have to be met
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on their own grounds. It is the duty of the people to protect one another, and ferret out offenders."
Col. Eads, Gen. Shedd, J. M. Shepherd, Gen. Cockrell and Col. Elliott were called, and spoke at length. All endorsed the action and object of the meeting.
A committee was appointed to draft resolutions, expressing the senti- ment of the meeting. The following gentlemen were appointed: Maj. Davis, Col. Eads, Capt. Harmon and Col. Elliott. They reported the following resolutions which were adopted by a unanimous vote --- every- one present rising to his feet:
WHEREAS; In the opinion of the community, crime of all kinds has become so prevalent, and criminals of the worst type so numerous that life and property are unsafe, and
WHEREAS; The courts of the county have failed to bring the perpetra- tors of murders and robberies to justice, and
WHEREAS; The greatest of crimes are becoming more and more fre- quent and punishment less and less certain; therefore,
Resolved, That we, the people of the town of Warrensburg, and of the county of Johnson, without distinction of party, do pledge ourselves that we will, to the extent of our ability, assist in the discovery of the per- petrators of all murders and robberies, and will assist the officers of justice in detecting and punishing them; and as the civil law proves inadequate to bring such criminals to justice, therefore,
Resolved, That we will support a vigilance committee, in executing summarily,'all murderers, robbers and horse thieves, wherever they can be identified with reasonable certainty, believing, as we do, that self-preserva- tion is the first law of nature, and that the citizens of a county are justi- fied in administering justice to such criminals, wherever the duly consti- tuted authorities from any cause whatever, are unable or fail to do so.
Sanders was present during the meeting, but the instant it adjourned, disappeared.
The committee organized, and by nine o'clock were on the march.
" Hark! Peace! It was the owl that shrieked, the fatal bell-man, which gives the sternest good night." Night had again spread her black mantle over our half of the earth. The weather had moderated, the wind was soft and damp. The roads were soft and sloppy and disagreeable, it was nine o'clock.
The Warrensburg committee consisted of about one hundred of our best citizens. They were joined at Fayetteville by the Fayetteville com- mittee, and together they marched directly to the Nation; a detachment frm the main body proceeded to the house of a desperado, named whom they arrested and held, while others, with -'s wife for a guide,
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proceeded to the residence of the widow Sanders. On approaching the house, the guide, who was a daughter of Mrs. Sanders, screamed loudly, and did all in her power to wake up the inmates.
The posse, knowing that the object of their search-the notorious Dick Sanders, and his brother-were in the house, they immediately surrounded it to prevent their escape. They were ordered to surrender several times, and in reply to their repeated demands to surrender, Dick replied: "G-d d-n you, we won't do it!" and asked: "Who are you?" When Mrs. -, the guide, told him there was a man along whom she knew, and mentioned his name, Dick answered: "I know the man, and will surren- der to him only." The gentleman then stepped to the door and asked him to surrender, when he immediately laid down his arms and surren- dered the premises.
The prisoners, Dick Sanders, Brackett Sanders, and another party, were taken to a place about a mile north of the house, in the woods, on Honey creek, where the execution took place.
It was dead midnight. The ground had congealed. A full moon looked down from mid-heaven. The wind was still, the frosts glittered in the pale moonlight; nothing was heard, save the tramp of feet, or the distant hoot of the night owl. The main body of the committee were at the rendezvous, awaiting the arrival of the prisoners. The men were stand- ing in groups or seated on fallen trees. All was still. No noise was heard- all seemed to be impressed with the solemnity of the occasion. With no light, save that of the full moon, the court was convened. The prisoner, Sanders, was brought forward, and walked with a firm step, taking a position directly fronting the judge, when the court addressed him as fol- lows:
" Richard Sanders, you are charged with one of the most infamous crimes known to the law-not one, but many. You are charged with murder, and, to make it still more infamous on your part and more horri- ble to a refined community, I will add assassination."
Sanders interrupted the judge by saying:
" It's a d-d lie!"
The judge, without noticing the interruption, continued:
" You are charged with stealing horses; you are charged with murder and robbery, in the broadest sense of the word; you are charged with being at the head of a band of murderers and marauders, who have, for years, made Johnson county the scene of death and destruction. And, to crown your long reign of infamy, I charge you with being the murderer of David Sweitzer."
."It's a lie! Let it be proved," said the prisoner, in an altered voice, looking around him with a disturbed air. Sanders was livid. A legal
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arrest, perhaps, would have appeared less formidable. His audacity would not have forsaken him before an ordinary tribunal; but everything that now surrounded him surprised, alarmed him. He was in the power of those whom he had deeply wronged.
The judge continued: " Yes, you have again spilled blood without any just provocation. The man whom you assassinated last night came to you in confidence, not suspecting your murderous intent. He asked you what you wanted. ' Your money and your life!' and you shot him dead."
"Such was the story of Mrs. Groninger," said a man in the crowd. .
" It is false! she lied!"
" Mrs. Groninger didn't lie," said the judge, coldly. "For the crimes you have committed you must die! If we turn you over to the civil authorities you will escape, or, by some of your comrades in infamy, prove an alibi, and be turned loose again upon society. No, it must not be. If, perchance, you were tried, found gilty and sentenced to death by a civil court, there would be a chance for you to escape justice, or you would stand on the scaffold-if found guilty-and jest with the hangman, or, I fear, profane the name of God with your dying breath. No, it must not be-you must die in secret; die to-night; die now. It will save your mother the shame of a son dying on the scaffold, and she can say, 'He was murdered-killed by a mob.' Listen! You are not the only one. Many of your companions will follow, and that soon! This last outrage is more than we can bear. Your crimes demand an extraor- dinary reparation. You have broken into houses with arms in your hands. You have shot men down in order to steal. You have committed another murder. You must die here. In compassion to your mother I will spare you the shame of the scaffold. I now sentence you to hang by the neck until dead!"
Nothing could be heard but the quick breathing of the prisoner, or the whistling of the wind through the branches of the leafless trees. The voice of the judge was not harsh, but soft and sad. He was calm and collected, and every feature showed that he was about to accomplish a solemn and formidable mission.
The prisoner was stupefied and seemed to be so overcome by the recol- lections of the past, that he uttered not a word. He was placed upon a horse, with a rope fastened from his neck to a limb above. The judge again asked, 'Who killed Sweitzer?' Sanders replied, 'I don't know. I think Morg Andrew.' Some one in the crowd cried, 'Oh! hell, Dick; drive up the mule.' The horse was driven out from under, and the shad- ows of eternity gathered around him.
The other prisoners were released without any confession on their part. The members of the committee then dispersed to their respective homes,
1
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with orders to be ready at a moment's warning, leaving the dead alone in' the woods.
"Vengeance to God alone belongs; But when they thought on all their wrongs, Their blood was liquid flame."
The chief of the outlaws was dead. They met the night after his death, February 28th, at the residence of "Bill Stephens," some five miles south- east of this city. It would be hard for one to describe the meeting, as information is not accurate; suffice it to say there were a lot of desperate looking men present. A stranger set of mortals one never set eyes upon. You would be puzzled to discover the least resemblance between them; each seemed to dress to suit his own peculiar taste, and carried a brace of revolvers belted around him.
But we will not attempt to describe their costumes. And those heads! What a study for a white-coated phrenologist! It was the desperado band, and " Bill Stephens" was their chosen captain-their chief.
Many of our readers knew him personally, but for those who were fortu- nate enough not to, we will attempt a description: Imagine a man six feet seven inches in height, lean and lank, weighing 175 pounds, sandy complexion, red hair and beard, pale blue eyes, nose resembling the beak of an owl, long bony hands, face marked with deep lines of dissipation, and you have a photo of " Bill Stephens." In future, he was to be their chief. They separated that night with the understanding that they would not attempt anything more until the storm blew over. It was the night of March 4th, a mixture of rain and snow had fallen the day previous; the clouds had blown away, and the night set in calm, cold and clear. It was. three o'clock A. M. The waning moon was up and shed an uncertain light; the damp snow still clung to the branches of the trees, when a detachment of the committee, numbering about twenty men, started on foot, taking a southeast direction; each man was armed with a revolver and double-barreled shot-gun. Just before day they arrived at the resi- . dence of " Bill Stephens." It was the motto of the committee to kill those men without exposing their own lives in the act. They secreted them- selves in the barn, crib and along the fence, knowing that Stephens was a desperate character, and would not be likely to allow himself taken with- out a struggle. They abandoned the idea of hanging, and secreted them- selves for the purpose of shooting him down as soon as he should make his appearance in the morning. For that purpose they waited.
As the east began to flame with the fires of approaching day, and the blue canopy, so splendidly set with bright, sparkling gems began to fade to a dull grey, Stephens made his appearance at the door, in his shirt sleeves. Quiet reigned, broken only by the crowing of the early cock.
A large dog met him at the door-the truest friend of man-and Ste-
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HISTORY OF JOHNSON COUNTY.
phens speaking a kind word, stooped to stroke his fine canine head, when the report of twenty shot guns rang out on the still morning air, and Ste- phens fell, pierced by an unknown number of buckshot. He was taken in by some of the family, not dead, but in a dying condition.
It was a terrible mode of obtaining the ends of justice, but there was no other alternative. It had to be. He lived until about 12 o'clock, when the last spark of life expired. Thus ended the career of Bill Stephens, the man who attempted to assassinate Gen. F. P. Blair, in this city, June 1, 1866, and who was the second chosen chief of the band.
We may well say, that the master-stroke was given when Stephens fell. The crew dispersed, some to Kansas, Arkansas, Texas and different por- tions of Missouri, while a few of the most daring remained, among them, Jeff. Collins.
Pure was the cool air, and evening calm Perpetual reigned, save what the zephyrs bland, Breathed o'er the sombre expanse.
The morning of March 4th, 1866, dawned ca!m, cool and clear. The news of Stephens' fate came to the city early in the morning, and was received with general satisfaction by the masses. One of the boldest and most dangerous of the clan was out of the way, and the band really bro- ken up. The day turned out to be warm and pleasant; the snow melted away, leaving the ground again bare. There was an unusual stir on our streets during the middle of, the day. The signs indicated that there was something up. It was soon discovered that it was the intention of the committee to arrest Jeff Collins, a notorious character, who had been making Warrensburg his headquarters for some time. Collins, in the forenoon was noticed to be filled with suspicion, and to remove that, it was necessary for the parties suspected to appear perfectly careless as to his whereabouts or movements during the day. Men whom he had held under a cocked navy with one hand, and slapped in the face with the other, met him on friendly terms, and drank with him often during the afternoon. The committee saw that his suspicions were aroused, and that he was making secret preparations to escape. As soon as this was ascertained, guards were thrown out in every direction, and men were stationed with glasses in the fourth story of Ming's hotel, to watch his movements. About four o'clock in the evening he went down Pine street to Washington Avenue, thence south to a house somewhere about Ming or South street, where he stopped. This was telegraphed from Ming's hotel by a given signal. Instantly fifteen or twenty men started in that direction with shot-guns. They soon arrived, and secreted them- selves behind fences and out-buildings; in this position they silently awaited his exit from the house. This building, the reader will recollect, stood on the hill south of the railroad. The last rays of the setting sun
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HISTORY OF JOHNSON COUNTY.
disappeared slowly behind the imposing mass of buildings that surround the public square. On every side, as far as the eye could reach, were spread out immense fields, whose brown furrows were hardened by the frost. A vast solitude of which the old square and its surroundings seemed the basis. The perfectly serene and cloudless sky was mottled in the west with long streams of purple-a certain sign of wind and cold. These colors, at first very bright, became of a violet hue as the twilight advanced and the night came on.
A young moon, like the half of a ring of silver, began to shine softly in the midst of the azure and shade. The silence was profound-the hour, we may say, solemn. At this moment Collins stepped out, intend- ing, no doubt, to make good his escape in the gathering shades of even- ing, little thinking that the great orb of day had set for the last time between him and eternity.
We will not attempt to describe the horror depicted in his countenance when, on raising his eyes they came in contact with twenty doubl-bar- reled shot-guns, cocked and levelled at his breast. In an instant he had taken in the situation. There was no escape. The commander of the squad said, "Jeff Collins, we want you. Surrender!" No man can say that Collins was a coward, for he was anything else; but at that moment he trembled, perhaps for the first time in his life. After a few moments' reflection, raising his trembling hands toward heaven, now becoming dull and gray by the shades of evening, he said, "I surrender." The cap- tain replied, "drop your pistols." Collins made a motion as though he was going to draw them from the scabbard, when the captain said, "stop, undo your belt, and drop them." Collins did as directed. The pistols dropped to the ground, and he stood there alone, friendless and defense- less.
Night came on clear and cold. The committee had assembled in the large livery stable that stands in the rear of Ming's hotel. At that time the building belonged to other parties. It was nine o'clock. The judge was seated on a stool in the mouth of a stall, and the jury stood in a line across the front portion of the building. A side door was suddenly opened, and Collins appeared, pushed forward by several ot the party, with his arms tightly bound behind him. He was no longer agitated; his handsome, dark face wore a scowl of hatred and defiance. There was no positive proof of his ever committing a murder; but circumstances were all against him, and the accusation of the judge was similar to that brought against Sanders, with the exception of the Sweitzer matter. Col- lins simply replied :
" Well?"
The judge then continued to accuse:
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HISTORY OF JOHNSON COUNTY.
" You are charged with being a member of the band of robbers that have for so long infested this country."
" Well?"
The judge continued, "What have you to say in defense of these charges?"
"Nothing."
Judge .- "Are you guilty as charged?"
" You are the judge, not I."
Judge .- "Then you have no defense to make?"
"No; it would be of no use. Your court sits to convict, not to try." Judge .- "Confess your crimes and it may not go hard with you."
"I confess nothing."
The judge then addressed the jury: "Gentlemen, what shall be done with the prisoner?"
The jury replied, unanimously, " Hang him."
The court then proceeded to sentence:
"Jeff. Collins, I sentence you to be hung by the neck until dead! dead !! dead !!! "
Instantly a door on the east side of the building flew open, and the crowd started, leading the prisoner with ropes. It is needless to say that. the jury had decided the fate of Collins before he was brought before them. The party passed out East Culton street to McGuire, thence south along the railroad bridge, and stopped under the spreading branches of an old black-jack tree, where the execution took place. A rope was adjusted around his neck, thence over a limb above.
Judge .- " Have you any word to leave?"
" Yes. Tell my mother that I died a brave, but innocent boy."
At that moment several men fell back on the rope, and Collins was drawn from the earth, to descend no more alive. The body was allowed to hang that night and the next day, but disappeared the next night. It is supposed that his body was dissected by the medical fraternity of this city, and that the skeleton was consumed in the great fire of 1867.
The train bell tapped. Hear it not Stephens-Andrews? "For 'its a bell That summons thee to Heaven or to hell."
The next two individuals heard from were Thomas Stephens, son of Bill Stephens, and Morg. Andrews. The authorities of Johnson county being informed that they were in the jail at Lawrence, Kansas, sent for them. They were delivered to the officers according to law, a requisi- tion having first been served upon the governor of Kansas by the gov- ernor of Missouri. The prisoners were both young, neither of them being over eighteen or nineteen years of age. Stephens was tall, dark, black hair and eyes. Andrews vice versa.
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"It was an evening bright and still ยท As ever blushed on rose or bower, Smiling from Heaven, as if naught of ill Could happen in so sweet an hour."
It was eleven o'clock; the night was calm and clear; the gentle breeze floated from the south; the dew-drops clung tenderly to the shrubs and trees; the flowers filled the air with fragrance, and the night-birds piped their plaintive songs from the spreading boughs of our giant oaks; the moon, the waning moon, shed a dim shadow-light, making every object appear ghastly and uncertain. This night two more souls were sent to eternity.
At last the loud, shrill whistle of the down-express was heard. The committee were in waiting, and divided into detatchments. The train stopped, and the prisoners were taken off by the civil officers in charge, who attempted to take them to the county jail, by smuggling them out at the rear of the train, but the vigilants were in the rear, as well as the front. They had proceeded but a short distance when they were met by . a party of some fifty armed men who relieved them of their charge. The officers made but feeble resistance, and were soon overpowered. The party then bound their hands behind them, with instructions to leave and keep quiet, which they did without much grumbling. Then came the procession through town to the place of execution.
They were led along the shadowy street, No look of kindness, all was frown; So they hurried through the pitiless town. On they passed, door after door,
" The happy homes of rich and poor;" Trembling and fear of the pitiless mass, They arrived at the old public square at last.
There they were met by at least four hundred men, who were signalled to that point by a sky-rocket, the most of them being members of the Fayetteville committee. The procession was formed on the north and east sides of the square. The prisoners were placed in a hack, and the procession moved slowly in the direction of Post Oak bridge. There was no excitement. No boisterous demonstra- tions were indulged in, and we may say it was a solemn proces- sion, sad, yet pitiless. Soon the sound of the advance was heard crossing the bridge. The loud, keen whistle of the Eureka Mills broke the dead stillness of the night, and we knew that it was 12 o'clock, and that the night was waning. The declining moon shed a silvery, silken veil of light that struggled through the gentle swaying branches of those aged elms, that had so long stood as landmarks west of the bridge, and gently " kissed the upturned faces of a thousand roses," that grow where the wind hardly dare stir, unless on tiptoe, filling the cool, mid-
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night air with the fragrance that their odorous souls poured out. Now no sound broke the stillness of the hour; the great world all slept, save that terrible court and the dispairing prisoners; the former there to deal out a terrible justice, the latter to breathe for the last time the incense of those slumbering roses, to view the mossy banks of the stream, the meandering paths that wound their way here and there among the young trees: the pale, mystic moon listening to the gentle rippling of Post Oak waters, and die!
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