Chapter X: Preface (10)

I said, "Col. Eddy, General Manager of the M. K. & T. road, went south last night, passing Vinita on his special train (said this, knowing that Sweeney had been standing on the platform when the Colonel's train had passed) and he wired me from Eufaula, in a cipher, to come out here and see John B. Sweeney and ask him to come over to Vinita and meet him on his return north to Parsons. He said in the message that he expected to arrive at Vinita about eleven-thirty today, and that he wanted to have a private talk with you to arrange with him for your services in assisting in the capture of the parties implicated in the holdup that occurred at Vinita a few days before. If you are Mr. Sweeney, and will accompany me back to Vinita we will just about have time, by starting soon, to reach there before Col. Eddy's train arrives. The Colonel does not want the people at Vinita to know that you have met him, as he has been led to understand that the people of that town do not like you, so he will run his train onto the siding about a quarter of a mile from Vinita, and we can leave our horses at the livery stable and walk to the side track, each of us taking different directions, and the people will know nothing about your having met the Colonel."

Sweeney replied, "I know them fellows at Vinita are all afraid of me, and if Col. Eddy will give me a job and pay me enough I will get those train robbers for him. I will go with you."

He called his brother-in-law and said, "Go and put the saddle on Baldy." Baldy was his horse. He turned to me and said, "Come up and take a seat here on the porch while I go up and get ready to go with you."

He took his rifle and went upstairs. I took the seat he had previously occupied on the porch, to await his coming. I asked his sister to please give me a drink of water. I was terribly thirsty, caused, no doubt, by looking into the barrel of that Winchester. I had only been seated a few moments when Sweeney appeared in the doorway carrying in his left hand his nine-inch .45 six-shooter, Colts, and in his shirt sleeves. He had left the Winchester in the house. He said to me in a commanding voice, "You have found the way out here, and now you can get on your horse and lead the way back."

While he was speaking the brother-in-law brought the horse around, Sweeney mounted it and I let down the bars. He motioned me to lead the way, which I did. He rode up close behind me, carrying his gun in his left hand, and continuously telling about how he had practiced shooting with the James gang while they had been camping near his home, and that he had beaten them. He also pointed out a clump of bushes in which he said the gang had camped during the several days that they had been in that neighborhood. After we had left the covered ground and come out onto the prairie I told Sweeney that I occupied the corner room in the hotel at Vinita the night before. I said, "I have not settled my bill and my grip is still in the room, and I think we had better ride to the livery stable and leave our horses, and you had better go to my room direct, and I will go from the stable to the telegraph office and find out from the operator where Col. Eddy's special train is and at what time it will arrive at Vinita. I am getting hungry and if I find that we have time to get something to eat before the special arrives, I will order something. I will come direct to the room and tell you what I have learned."

We separated, Sweeney going to the hotel and I, apparently, going to the telegraph office, which was in the opposite direction to that taken by Sweeney. I did not stop at the telegraph office, but went around back of it, placing some buildings between Sweeney and myself. I crossed the street at a point west of the depot and went around to the rear of the hotel, where there was a flight of stairs leading from the back yard to the second floor of the hotel from the outside. I ascended these stairs and went to my room, where I found the door standing about half way open and could see, through a crack between the door and the jamb Sweeney lying down on my bed with his hat, boots and spurs on. He was taking things easy. I entered noiselessly, holding a small, double-barrel, Remington derringer that I had taken from my pocket as I entered the room. I was whistling, and suddenly thrust the derringer into Mr. Sweeney's mouth, breaking two of his upper teeth loose. I told him to throw up his hands, and he was not long in obeying. With my left hand I unbuckled his belt and removed it from him. It contained the holster in which he had placed the nine-inch Colts.

Bonnell had noticed us when we arrived, and when we separated and as I crossed the street going to the hotel I gave him a signal to follow me. He entered the room just as I had disarmed Sweeney. I told him to put handcuffs on the prisoner and to take him to the calaboose and lock him up. I had Sweeney's meals sent to the lock-up.

When the next train arrived there, who should be on it but Capt. Sam Sixkiller, who had left his sick bed and come up to Vinita to assist me in making the arrest. He told me, on his arrival, that it would not do to take Sweeney through Muskogee, as the railroad men there were aroused and would undoubtedly attempt violence, for they had all come to the conclusion that Sweeney was a fraud and was the man who shot Conductor Warner. Warner was very popular among the employes of the road. So we boarded the north-bound train and brought Sweeney to St. Louis, transferring there to the Iron Mountain for Little Rock, Arkansas. Here we changed cars for the Fort Smith and Little Rock Road, and thus reached Fort Smith, Arkansas, in safety with our prisoner and without any interference from the railroad men.

Sweeney never uttered a word from the time I disarmed him until we had boarded the train for St. Louis and were probably twenty miles north of Vinita. We were in the smoking car, Capt. Sixkiller and the prisoner ahead and I in a seat just behind them, when finally Sweeney turned his head around towards me and said, "Mr. Foster, I wish you would please show me that gun you stuck into my mouth."

I took the cartridges out of the gun and handed it to him. It was not more than five inches in length and of .41 calibre. He examined it critically, and without turning his head handed it back to me over his shoulder, saying in a disgusted manner, "H--l, I thought that gun was a foot long."

We lodged him in jail at Fort Smith in due time. He was indicted and finally tried, but, because I was never able to find out who the unknown farmhand was that he had killed and the motive for the crime, he was acquitted. However, he had lain in jail for nearly a year, and on his release he returned at once to Clay County, Missouri, and wrote a letter to A. A. Talmage, then General Manager of the Missouri Pacific, demanding that Mr. Talmage send him ten thousand dollars immediately, and threatening that if he did not that he would blow up the bridge on the Wabash Railroad and destroy property in general, and in any event he would kill Furlong on sight. He sent this letter through the United States mail. Mr. Talmage gave the letter to me, and I at once made a complaint to the United States commissioner, got a warrant for Sweeney's arrest and went to his father's farm near Missouri City, Clay County, accompanied by a deputy sheriff, whose name I don't remember, but who was a brave and splendid officer. Sweeney was at home. It was after night and he had gone to bed. We rapped for admission and the door was opened by his father, to whom we stated that we were officers and had a warrant for the arrest of his son, "Barney." The latter was in bed upstairs, but heard us when we rapped for admission and had come to the head of the stairs with a shot-gun in his hand. He said, "I am here and I will kill any man who attempts to come up those stairs."

In an instant, and before I had time to think, the deputy sheriff, who had been standing beside me, sprang up the stairs. I followed him as quickly as possible, but before I had reached the top the officer had clinched with "Barney" and had thrown him to the floor. I picked up the gun that Sweeney had let fall, and in less time than it takes to tell it we had captured Mr. Sweeney without a shot being fired, so I feel safe in saying that he was an arrant coward as well as an inexcusable liar.

I took him to St. Louis, where he was tried and convicted for having sent the threatening letter through the mail. He was sentenced to either three or four years in the penitentiary. He served his time and again returned to his father's home at Missouri City. A short time later he held up and tried to rob a Wabash passenger train at Missouri City. In this attempt he was shot through the ankle by a telegraph operator. He tried to escape by running, but was captured by the train crew and the company's telegraph operator at that city. He was tried for this offense and sent to the penitentiary for fourteen years, and I had lost track of him until he recently turned up in St. Louis as a witness against the New York Life Insurance Company, in the famous Kimmel case. He claimed to have visited the wilds of Oregon with Kimmel, a man named Johnson and another party to search for some hidden treasure. A portion of the treasure was found. A row over its division resulted and Johnson shot and killed Kimmel. Sweeney avenged Kimmel's death by killing Johnson on the spot. Both of the dead men were buried near where they fell. On reading Sweeney's story in the papers, which was almost a repetition of the story of the fake hold-up down in the territory, as related to the express officials and myself, I will admit I really sympathized with the attorney who had gone to the trouble and expense of getting Sweeney here, knowing, as I did, that he was absolutely untruthful and unreliable.

I do not believe that I ever ran into as fun-loving a bunch of railroaders as the one which attended Sweeney's trial. Ft. Smith was crowded, as was usually the case when court was in session. At that time there was only one "leading" hotel in town. It was a three-story, old-fashioned structure, the top story of which was one large room, or hall. Social functions, such as balls and other gatherings, were usually held in this hall. When the railroad men arrived--there were about fifteen of them, including "Chick" Warner, Ed Smith, W. B. Maxwell, "Lute" Welch and Tom Hall, all passenger conductors on the Katy--all of the regular rooms had been taken. The proprietor, in order to take care of the boys as best he could, turned this large room, or hall, into a dormitory, placing therein several different kinds of beds and cots for them to sleep on. A large round table and a few rickety old chairs constituted the balance of the furnishings of the room. There was not much doing in the amusement line after dark in Ft. Smith in those days, so the railroaders retired to their rooms early--but not to sleep. The first seven or eight up the stairs, and there was always a race to see who would get upstairs first, would assemble themselves around the table and soon be busy playing a game of--well, there is no need of me naming it, as everybody knows the name of the game that usually interests the average railroad man most. I will add, however, that there was no "limit." By and by, those who were lucky enough to have to "sit out" would get sleepy and roll into their bed or cot, but they did not have a chance to get to sleep, the "I'll pass" or "I'll raise you" of the players keeping them awake until the game would break up, which was usually about the time the sun commenced to shine in at the windows in the early morning. The players would then retire and soon be snoring to beat the band. "Chick" Warner being a big, deep-chested man, had all his competitors skinned a mile at this snoring game. As soon as he hit the bed his snoring machinery would get in motion. Then the real fun would begin. The balance of the gang would throw pillows, or shoes, or any old thing they could find at his head to wake him up. These efforts would not always be successful, however, and the snore would either increase in tone or volume.

At the breakfast table one morning, after there had been an unusually long "sitting" the gang decided to get even with "Chick" Warner, who was still in bed, by holding an old-fashioned Irish wake at his bedside. Charlie Walters, an express company route agent, who was an artist of no mean ability, procured a piece of chalk and in less time than it takes to tell it, had transformed the head of the bed into a monument with very appropriate inscriptions thereon. Some lumber was secured and a fence arranged around the bed, on which were placed a lot of empty beer bottles. A candle was placed in the neck of each bottle, and after these were lighted and the windows darkened, the bunch arranged themselves around the "bier" and commenced a weird chant. The noise made by the bunch attracted the attention of most of the people in the town, and the big room was soon filled. News of what was going on soon reached the court room and Judge Parker adjourned court and he and his officers and the lawyers and jurors rushed to the hotel to witness the fun-making. After an exceedingly loud and boisterous outburst of "grief" on the part of the "mourners" Warner awoke. It did not take him long to break up that "wake," as he at once began raising a rough house by throwing everything he could get hold of at his tormentors. The affair was the talk of the town for some time to come, and is to this day referred to when two or three of the gang happen to get together.

On the Sunday following, the citizens of the town, to show their appreciation of the bunch as good fellows, decided to give them a carriage ride and show them the places of interest. Judge Parker, in his private conveyance, was to lead the procession. As none of the vehicles had been decorated, as some of the railroaders thought they should be, they decided to do some decorating on their own hook. An empty beer keg was procured and with a rope it was anchored to the rear axle of the Judge's conveyance. As the Judge's abstemious habits were known to all the citizens of the town, the sight of the beer keg under his buggy created a great deal of amusement on the part of the citizens when they saw it as the carriage was drawn through the streets. The Judge did not discover the trick that had been played on him until after the ride was over, but he seemed to enjoy the joke as much as did the jokers.

TRAGIC DEATH OF BILL CASEY.

INCIDENTS ENCOUNTERED WHILE WORKING ON A CASE IN THE OIL REGIONS--CAPTURE OF A COUPLE OF CLEVER SNEAKS AND SAFE ROBBERS.

In 1872, a year after I had been elected Chief of Police of Oil City, Pa. (and, by the way, I had the distinction of being the first Chief of Police of that town), the safe in the store of Henry Fair, in South Oil City, was robbed late on a Saturday night. This safe contained a number of bonds, some cash and other valuable papers. The robbery was not discovered until the following Monday morning by Mr. Fair himself, who was the only person connected with the establishment who had the combination of the safe. Mr. Fair found the safe locked, as usual, and upon opening it found the bonds and cash missing from the safe. I was immediately notified of the robbery, and upon examining the premises found that no burglary had been committed. The safe and windows and doors of the store were all found to be intact on Monday morning. I also learned that the cash and bonds which were missed on Monday morning were known to have been in the safe as late as ten o'clock upon the Saturday evening previous. I further learned that at that hour quite a large crowd of people were in the store, all of whom were supposed to be customers, and at the close of my investigation there was no doubt in my mind but that the safe had been rifled of its contents by the sneak method. During the business hours prior to ten o'clock Saturday evening, the safe had not been locked and the door was left standing partially opened, so that clerks and others connected with the store might have easy access to it during the busy hours of the day to get change, to look at accounts, and other purposes, so it became apparent to me that there were probably at least two persons connected with the robbery, and that one of them had attracted the attention of the clerk nearest to the safe, while his partner quietly slipped behind the counter and to the safe and took the cash and missing papers unobserved. It was also apparent to me that this must have been done almost immediately before the store was closed for the night, as the cash box and some of the missing bonds had been out of the safe on the manager's desk until a short time before they were placed in the safe by Mr. Fair himself at about ten o'clock. Upon further investigation I learned that two young men had visited the store about ten o'clock Saturday evening. One of them purchased a package of smoking tobacco, while the other consumed considerable time in trying to select a pair of shoes, which, by the way, he did not purchase. One of these young men was known as "Butch" DeWitt, then about nineteen years of age, the other was William Heilman, twenty-one years of age. The parents of these young men were respectable, hard-working people and both resided in Oil City. The boys both bore bad reputations, but up to that time were not considered thieves. Upon learning that they were at the store at a late hour Saturday night, I concluded that I would locate and interview them, but upon further inquiry I learned that they had not been seen since the Saturday night in question, and evidently had left town. I also learned that "Butch" DeWitt had a sweetheart, whose name was Hattie Bates, who was a professional dancer and was supposed to be at the time an employe of Ben Hogan, proprietor of a large dance hall at Petrolia, Butler County, Pa.

For the information of the reader, I will say that Ben Hogan was a prize fighter of note and a sporting character generally. He at one time fought the celebrated Tom Allen for the heavyweight championship of the world, near St. Louis. The fight was a draw and created a lot of bad blood between the two factions interested. Some time after Hogan's fight with Tom Allen he retired from the prize ring and became an evangelist, making his headquarters at Chicago, and up to a few years ago, the last heard of him, the writer has been informed had been very successful in his missionary work. Prior to the time Hogan established himself at Petrolia he had been engaged in the dance hall business at Tidicute, Warren County, Pa., which is also an oil town on the banks of the Allegheny River. While engaged in that business a party of roughs, who were looking for trouble, visited his place and started a disturbance in the dance hall, which resulted in one of the parties being killed and two or three of his companions being severely injured. Hogan was arrested charged with murder. Upon hearing of this trouble, and knowing as I did the character of the parties who created the disturbance, and that Hogan was entirely justified in protecting his premises against the violence of this gang, who had gone to his place in search of trouble, I assisted Hogan's attorneys by informing them as to the character and standing of the parties who created the trouble. Hogan was acquitted and ever afterwards was very grateful and friendly towards me, and when I learned that "Butch" DeWitt's sweetheart was employed at Hogan's dance hall, I hastened to Petrolia, thinking that DeWitt might visit his sweetheart there. Petrolia was about sixty miles south of Oil City and I arrived there on the afternoon of Wednesday, after the robbery before mentioned. This was my first visit to Petrolia, which was a big oil town or more like a mining camp, located in a valley on a tributary of the Allegheny River, and the town consisted of one main street with buildings on both sides of the street running up and down the valley, all very close together and all frame. It consisted chiefly of boarding houses, saloons, dance halls and gambling houses. On my arrival at Petrolia I started up this street. I had had a description of Hogan's dance hall, which he had built a short time prior to my going there, and it was described as one of the largest buildings in town, and when I arrived in front of what I considered the largest building there I inquired for Hogan's place. The man from whom I made this inquiry pointed out the building, which I had selected as Hogan's, which was directly across the street from where I was standing, and told me that that was Hogan's dance hall. There were two buildings standing along side of each other, and as they were almost identically the same in size and appearance, and being anxious to make no mistake, I inquired again, and the man pointed out the building to my left, so I understood, as Hogan's, whereupon I crossed the street and entered the front door of the building, which was standing open. This was about four o'clock in the afternoon. I mention this fact for the reason that everything is usually very quiet about these dance halls until later in the evening, as places of this kind do all of their business at night. There was a screen, as there usually is, in front of bar-rooms, to shield the gaze of the passers-by on the sidewalk. As I entered the house supposed to be Hogan's, and went around the screen to my left, I found a bar standing right back of the screen and behind the bar was a large young man with blonde hair, rather fine looking, standing about six feet, one inch, in height, and weighing in the neighborhood of two hundred pounds, and about thirty years old. This man was the then notorious "Bill" Casey, who was also a heavy weight prize fighter, and the proprietor of this dance hall. I knew Casey upon sight, and he also recognized me. When I went around the screen I found myself face to face with him as he was leaning over with his elbows on the bar talking to one of his employes. He straightened up, looked at me for an instant, and exclaimed, "Why, hello, Chief. What in the world are you doing down here?" at the same time extending his right hand. I shook hands with him and said, "I just happened to be passing through Petrolia on a little matter of business, and while on the opposite side of the street met a friend who told me that this was your place and that I would be likely to find you here at this time, so I just stepped in to pay my respects and shake hands with you." To which he replied, "I am mighty glad you did. You say that you are down here on a matter of business. You know that I am pretty well posted among the class of people that you are generally looking for, and if there is anything I can do for you I shall be glad to do so." I thanked him for his offer and told him that there might be some way in which he could assist me a little later on. He then said, "You know Kittie, don't you?" (Kittie was his wife), I said, "Yes, I remember her." "Wait a minute and I will call her," and he called to the rear part of the house for Kittie. When she appeared he said to her, "Kittie, you remember Mr. Furlong, don't you? He's Chief of Police at Oil City, and I want you to shake hands with him." Kittie came to where we were standing (in the meantime Bill had come behind the bar alongside of me) and good-naturedly said, "Oh, yes, I shall never forget Mr. Furlong." She then continued, "Mr. Furlong, Bill and I often speak of you. You did the best thing that ever happened that time that you arrested Bill in Oil City and he has often told me that he would always remember you with the kindest of feelings for the reason that you did not kill him at the time he was arrested. The manner in which he acted and the manner in which he abused your man Fry, if you had not appeared upon the scene as you did at that time he would have killed Fry and would probably have been hung. You know he was drinking at the time and was acting very badly, as he always did when he drank. He has never touched a drop of any kind of intoxicating liquor since that time, and it has made a man of him, and I give you credit for what you did. Bill has often said that you had a perfect right to kill him under the circumstances and has always felt very grateful." As she finished I said in reply, "Well, I am very glad that you and Bill feel as you do, and I appreciate your good will very much, although I regretted at the time what occurred, but knew that there was nothing else to do but what I did, and I am more than glad of the good results."

In this connection I will say that just prior to my arrest of "Bill" Casey at Oil City, which was more than a year prior to the time of the foregoing interview, Casey and his wife had a quarrel and had separated. Mrs. Casey (or Kittie), as he called her, came to Oil City and was boarding with a woman named Mrs. Brown, who had sixteen or eighteen other female boarders. Casey, at this time, was living at Petroleum Center, in the oil country, and had heard that his wife was boarding with Madam Brown. He came to Oil City in search of her and visited Madam Brown's house one afternoon about two o'clock. Madam Brown's house was situated in Oil City in what is known as the "Red Light District" and was a large and well furnished establishment, in fact the finest of its kind in the oil regions of Pennsylvania at that time. It so happened that I was passing Madam Brown's house, when I heard a tremendous uproar in the house; women were screaming and shouting for help, and it was a general tumult. Some person I met on the street said to me, "You had better go into Madam Brown's house. Officer Fry has just gone in there and it seems as though he is in trouble," whereupon I hastened into the place, and in one of the parlors on my right as I went in I could hear Officer Fry calling for help. I ran into the parlor, where I found several women, all screaming at the top of their voices, and "Bill" Casey standing at one side of a large square, old fashioned piano, from which he had twisted one of the legs. He held this piano leg in his hand similar to the way in which a ball player holds his bat, and had Officer Fry backed up into a corner alongside of the piano and was about to bring the piano leg down upon the officer's head. Fry had his revolver in his hand, but was unable to raise it, as Casey had him covered with the leg of the piano. Casey was standing with his back to the door from which I entered, and, upon taking in the situation, I pulled my revolver from my pocket and struck Casey over the head with it just above the right ear, which cut an ugly gash and caused him to fall to the floor. I had dealt him a heavy blow, which took him completely by surprise, and before he could rally and arise from the floor he was seized by Fry and myself and subdued only after a vigorous rough-and-tumble fight. He was locked up, but owing to the fact that his wife had been found by him in this disreputable place, and that he was under the influence of liquor, the committing magistrate fined him $200.00 and costs, with the agreement, on his part, that he was to leave town immediately, upon the payment of the fine and costs, which he did, and further agreeing that he would never again appear in Oil City, or any place else under the influence of liquor. That promise he always kept until the day of his death.

With the above explanation I feel that it is unnecessary for me to say to the reader that I did not enter "Bill" Casey's place voluntarily. I had not the slightest idea "Bill" Casey was there. The last time I had seen him was at Oil City on the day of his arrest, and he had said to me before leaving that he would get even with me if it took him the balance of his life, so the reader can imagine my predicament better than I can describe it, when I first found myself in the presence of "Bill" Casey and in his own place. It would have taken a good sized rope to have dragged me into that place had I known that Casey was its proprietor, but on confronting him I could think of no better way than to act boldly and act as though I had voluntarily come in to call and pay my respects, which worked admirably.

After ascertaining the friendly feeling of Casey and his wife towards me, I told them that I wanted to locate "Butch" DeWitt, who was a friend of Hattie Bates, who, I understood, was living next door with Ben Hogan. Mrs. Casey said to me, "I know Mrs. Hogan, and we are warm friends. I will go over and see her about this and see whether she knows anything about the whereabouts of DeWitt or not." She did so, and in a few minutes returned with Mrs. Hogan, who said to me, "'Butch' DeWitt and a young thief by the name of Heilman were here the night before last. DeWitt, you know, is a sweetheart of the Bates girl, who lives with me. DeWitt and Heilman had some money and left here yesterday morning at two o'clock for New Brighton, Pa., where they have a job of some kind that they expect to do, and intend to return here in a couple of days from New Brighton."

I took the first train from Petrolia to Pittsburg, and then from Pittsburg to New Brighton, Pa., where I arrived the following morning early. At New Brighton I learned that the night before my arrival the safe in a factory had been blown open by burglars and a quantity of money stolen. At New Brighton I received a good description of Heilman and DeWitt, and traced them down the railroad to Rochester, Pa., to a hotel. Upon entering this hotel I found that they had registered under fictitious names and were still in their rooms at the hotel. I went to their room, forced an entrance, and found DeWitt and Heilman there. I arrested them and took them to Oil City, and in the meantime Heilman made a clean breast of the robbery. He told me that while he was examining the shoes before mentioned, DeWitt sneaked around behind the counter and took from the safe, which was unlocked, the money and bonds that were missing. They took the currency with them and secreted the bonds and other things stolen by them from the safe in a tin lard can, which they had buried on a farm south of South Oil City, known as the Faren Farm. They accompanied me to the place and we recovered the can and its contents. These boys were convicted and sent to prison.

The prize fighter "Bill Casey" continued as proprietor of the dance hall and saloon at Petrolia, where he did a profitable business, and where he had many friends among the drillers and tool dressers who were employed at the oil wells in the district which surrounded Petrolia. He was noted for being big-hearted, sociable and clever while sober, and it will be remembered he had quit drinking after his arrest at Oil City. He had accumulated a small fortune, and upon the Christmas Eve following my interview with him, as before related, he and his wife left Petrolia for the purpose of visiting his parents, who were living at the time at Lockport, N. Y. They boarded what is known as a mixed train, northbound, on the Allegheny Valley Railroad, bound for Buffalo. This train consisted of a number of freight cars, some of which were loaded with crude oil, a baggage car and two passenger coaches, which were at the rear of the train. The passenger coaches were crowded to their utmost capacity with passengers, as there were many people leaving the oil country to spend the holidays in other regions. As the train was rounding a very sharp curve near Scrubgrass a front axletree broke on one of the freight cars, which precipitated the entire train, behind the breakdown, over a high bank into the Allegheny River, which was at the time at high water mark. The crude oil ignited, by reason of the wreck, and set fire to everything. The oil spread out over the water, and, as crude oil burns just as fiercely upon water as it does upon land, the whole river was afire in a very short time from bank to bank, and the fire was carried down stream by the current at the rate of four or five miles an hour. Many of the passengers were drowned, or injured and burned to death by the flames, as it should be remembered that the oil cars were ahead of the passenger coaches, and as the train was running upstream the flames immediately enveloped small portions of the passenger coaches which remained above the surface of the water. Casey managed to escape from the wreck, and, being a very powerful man, took his wife with him and reached the bank in safety with the exception of a few burns. There was a crippled newsboy employed upon the train, and in the wreck he had managed to get a portion of his body through one of the windows which was upturned and out of the water, while his lower limbs were fastened in the wreck, and he was about to be engulfed in a body of floating burning oil, which was rapidly approaching him, when Casey spied him. Casey immediately left his wife standing on the bank and rushed to the assistance of the newsboy, and while tugging away trying to extricate the boy from the wreck Casey was engulfed by the burning oil and lost his life, and thus died in the act of performing a humane and heroic deed.

SUBDUING A NOTORIOUS BULLY.

ONE OF MY EARLY EXPERIENCES WHILE CHIEF OF POLICE OF OIL CITY--HOW A BAD MAN, WITH A LONG RECORD, WAS TAKEN TO JAIL.

The notorious Tom Daly of Buffalo, New York, was arrested at Oil City, Pa., early in the summer of 1872. Daly had been regarded in and around the city of Buffalo for years, prior to his arrest at Oil City, as a desperate and bad character. He had a police record almost as long as the state statutes. He was a fighter and associated and lived with the most vile and vicious characters to be found in the city. He was never known to work at any legitimate trade or business. He did pretend to gamble. He drank at times to excess, and was known to the police as a strong-arm, or hold-up, man, and was considered by the police a hard and bad man to arrest--a task which they were frequently called upon to perform. But as bad as his general reputation was, he had what was called a political pull in the slums district, in which he resided. He had a following of his own class because he was more aggressive and more physically powerful than his associates and followers, and not for the reason of any superior intellect on his part.

A couple of days before his arrest at Oil City, complaint was lodged against Daly and some of his associates by a man in Buffalo, who charged them with having held him up and robbed him, by force, of a sum of money. The man also stated that Daly and his confederates had brutally beaten him, the marks of which he bore plainly. Two police officers were instructed to arrest Daly and bring him to headquarters. As all the officers who were located in and about the precinct in which Daly made his home knew him personally, the two officers who were detailed to make his arrest easily located him. When they approached him and told him that they had been instructed to arrest him he smilingly inquired on what charge, at the same time, as the officers were standing within his reach, he promptly struck first one and then the other terrific blows with his clenched fist, knocking both of them down. He then ran into a brothel, or dive, in front of which he had encountered the police officers. He, of course, disappeared and escaped being arrested.

The part of the city was known, at that time, as Rock Street, or the Five Points, and was the worst and lowest district of not only the city of Buffalo, but probably as bad, if not worse, than any other in the country. It consisted principally of low dance halls and drinking places which were patronized almost entirely by the lower grade of sailors and canal boat men. As this district was bounded on the east by the Erie Canal and on the west by the Buffalo Creek, which is the lake harbor of Buffalo, it was consequently a peninsula, narrow, and frequented by the class before mentioned.

After his escapade with the police, Daly, on the same night, made his escape from Buffalo and went direct to Oil City, Pa., where he had some friends and acquaintances. He arrived at Oil City the next day about noon, where he met parties whom he knew and from whom he heard about the prowess of a valuable bulldog, owned by a respectable citizen named Ziegenheim, and who was connected with a meat market on Center Street. This man Daly was about thirty-five years of age, was over six feet in height and weighed at least two hundred pounds. He had an athletic build, was dark complexioned and somewhat marked by the after effects of small-pox. He had rather small dark eyes and the most villainous expression I think that I have ever seen. He was considered an expert boxer and was known to be a powerful man--at least by the two police officers whom he had knocked down and escaped from in Buffalo. I had heard of Daly and knew of his record, but I had never seen him until I was called upon to arrest him in Oil City, and I did not know who he was at that time.

When Daly had learned from the friends he had met in Oil City of the valuable fighting bulldog before mentioned, he at once went to the meat market, where he found Mr. Ziegenheim, and tried to purchase the dog from him for the purpose of using him as a fighting dog. Ziegenheim informed Daly, in a polite but firm manner, that his dog was not for sale, as it was a pet of his wife and children, and that he would not part with the dog under any consideration, and especially not for the purpose Daly proposed to use him. Daly became angry and assaulted Ziegenheim, who was fully as large a man as Daly, but was a gentleman, and not a fighter. Ziegenheim immediately sought refuge behind a large, round table, known as a meat block, which is used in all meat markets to cut meat on. It was probably about four feet in diameter, and by keeping on the opposite side Ziegenheim was out of Daly's reach. Daly picked up a large cleaver, which he was holding in a threatening manner. At this juncture I entered the shop, having been summoned by Mr. Steele, Ziegenheim's employer, who had run from the meat market to my office, which was just around the corner in the same block, and told me, in a very excited manner, that there was a big man trying to kill Ziegenheim in the shop.

At the time that Steele came into my office I was talking with the Mayor, William M. Williams, and when Steele apprised me of Mr. Ziegenheim's danger I sprang to my feet and was about to leave for the meat market when the Mayor said to me, "Tom, you had better take a club or a gun with you. Steele has said Ziegenheim's assailant is a big, strong fellow." I hastily grabbed up a mace, or club, which was hanging on a rack near where I was standing, and hastened to the shop, where I found Daly standing in front of the meat block before described, with his back to the door. He was holding a cleaver, as I said before, and facing Ziegenheim, who was at the opposite side of the block. I approached him from the rear without being noticed by him, and placed my left hand upon the right collar of his coat as though I meant it, at the same time commanding him to drop the cleaver. Whereupon he immediately turned his head and looked down upon me with a very disdainful and defiant expression. I saw in his eyes the most vile expression that I have ever seen. I instantly realized that I was in for trouble. He was wearing a stiff derby hat set back fairly well on his head, and it seemed to be tight fitting. Upon noticing the expression on his countenance I instantly struck him as hard a blow as I could with the mace, which I held in my right hand, at the same time tightening my grip on his coat collar and vest. However, before I struck him he made a desperate backward lunge, evidently intending to get clear of me so that he might get far enough away from me to strike me with his fists. But, by reason of the strong hold I had on him I had drawn myself up close to him, and in his lunge he was so much heavier and larger than I that he carried me back with him, probably a distance of four or five feet. It was while he, or rather we, were making this lunge, that I struck him. My mace caught him, or more truthfully speaking, his hat, just above his forehead. It forced his hat, which was a stiff one, as stated, and drove it down over his forehead to his eyebrows. The hat was tight and the lining was leather, and with the force of the blow the lining cut the skin clear across the top of his forehead, and as the hat was forced down the skin peeled down over his forehead, and of course, the blood spurted over both of us. He fell to his knees with the force of the blow, but immediately tried to rise, when I hit him a second time, which felled him to the ground. I was still holding on to his collar, and when he fell I started for my office, dragging him behind me. He was upon his back and therefore helpless so long as I kept him moving. He regained consciousness when he had gone about a hundred feet and began pleading with me to let him up, which I did, with the understanding that he was to accompany me peaceably. This he agreed to and did.

It being at the time of the day when the streets were crowded with people, an immense crowd was attracted by the excitement, and a great many comments were heard, many of them condemning my action as brutal and uncalled for. There was both a morning and an evening paper published in Oil City at that time. The evening paper got out an extra, which censured me severely, and was entirely in accord with the previous comments made by many of the crowd. They were, by the way, entirely ignorant of the facts which led me to act as I had found it necessary.

The crowd filled the Mayor's office to overflowing, and among those present were a few friends and former associates of Daly's, who succeeded in getting one of the citizens, a saloon proprietor and considered a good citizen and fairly well off, to come forward and intercede with the Mayor, who at that time, in accordance with the laws of Pennsylvania, was a committing magistrate. Daly's friends told the Mayor that they would pay his fine and the costs and would see that he left town within the hour, if he (the mayor) would let Daly go upon the payment of the fine and costs for his having assaulted Zeigenheim.

The Mayor assented and fined him one hundred dollars and costs, three dollars and fifty cents, making a total of one hundred and three dollars and fifty cents. The citizens before mentioned paid this fine and Daly left town immediately thereafter. He gave an alias to the Mayor, and his friends did not betray him, and for this reason the Mayor or myself did not know who he was until after he had departed.

Mr. St. John, who was the editor of the evening paper, and who had so unmercifully roasted me, had always, prior to this occurrence, acted in a friendly manner towards me. The write-up that he had given me that evening, therefore, hurt my feelings beyond description.

A Mr. Bishop, who was the editor and proprietor of the morning paper, had come from Buffalo, where he was born and raised, to Oil City, and he at once took it upon himself to investigate, through correspondents in Buffalo, by wire, what and who this man Daly was. The result of which was that he devoted the entire first page of his paper, on the following morning, to Daly's complete history, setting forth his police record, his vocation and his desperate character, as well as the full particulars and details of his most recent encounter with the two Buffalo police officers, his escape from Buffalo and his subsequent arrest by me at Oil City. The article wound up with the most complimentary comments that I have ever received, considerable space being devoted to the fact of my having succeeded in subduing and arresting Daly unassisted by any one. This article caused a majority of those who had so loudly denounced my actions of the previous evening to apologize for their hasty conclusions. Mr. St. John, of the evening paper, was among the first to approach me with an apology for his publication of the evening before.

If I had known that it was the notorious Tom Daly I had been called upon to arrest I don't believe that I could have been pulled into that meat market with a large rope attached to my neck; but I was fully convinced that prompt and decisive action was required on my part the instant that I saw that vicious, and I might say, hideous expression on Daly's face.

The result of this arrest had more to do with securing me the confidence and respect of the law-abiding citizens of Oil City than any other one arrest that I had ever made, and I had made many of them.

A RUSE THAT WORKED.

HOW EVIDENCE TO CONVICT AN ANONYMOUS LETTER WRITER WAS OBTAINED.--TRAGIC DEATH OF TWO BROTHERS AFTER THEIR ARREST AND AFTER BREAKING JAIL.

Early in the 1870s, Sam Ackert called at my office one cold winter morning in the month of February. I was then Chief of Police of Oil City, Pa. Mr. Ackert was known to me as the owner of a large oil lease, on what was known as the Towles Farm, on the Plummer Road, about eight miles north, and a little east of Oil City, and in Venango County. Mr. Ackert was considered at that time, one of the largest oil operators in that district. He was operating twelve or fifteen oil wells, all of which were producing large quantities of oil. Some were being pumped, while others were flowing wells. My recollection is that one of these flowing wells was producing four hundred barrels per day. Crude oil was selling at that time for about eight dollars per barrel at the well. Ackert employed quite a large number of men to attend to the wells and look after his interests in general. Some of these men were employed as engineers, which were commonly known in the oil country as pumpers. Two of these engineers, or pumpers, were required to operate each well, each man usually working from 12:00 noon until 12:00 midnight. These watches were morning and noon watches, and men so employed usually lived adjacent to the well upon which they were employed.

Mr. Ackert had a superintendent who had charge of the employes and who lived on the lease. His name was Joseph Sullivan. He also had two engineers whose names were George and Henry Book. George Book was a young man, married and lived in a cottage on the lease. His brother Henry was single and lived with George. George was the eldest. They were both employed on the same well as pumpers. George was on the noon watch each day and was considered a very good engineer. He was sober, competent and attentive to his business; while his brother Henry had also been considered competent and energetic, but not as reliable as George. He had been found asleep while on duty by Supt. Sullivan, on various occasions, for which he was reprimanded and finally discharged from the service.

Some months after Henry's dismissal, Mr. Ackert received an anonymous letter through the mail. This letter threatened dire destruction to his property by fire, or other methods unless he (Ackert) would discharge Sullivan, his superintendent. This letter was followed by three other threatening letters, also anonymous, which were received at intervals of four or five days by Ackert. Sullivan being a very competent and reliable man of good character, Mr. Ackert at first did not pay any attention to the threatening letters, but laid them away in his desk.