Chapter IV: Preface (4)

In conclusion, I wish to state that I assumed at the time all the responsibility for the manner in which the evidence in this case had been secured. The plan for obtaining the confession from Lloyd, which, in reality, was the beginning of the case against the men, was worked out myself; Fowle, or Brother Alfred, as he was known, simply played, or acted the part assigned him. True, he played the part fairly well, and carried out my instructions to the letter. At the time of the arrests, and on several occasions thereafter, a certain strike guard employed by the company, succeeded in getting his name and picture into the papers of Kansas City as one of the chief unravelers of the mystery surrounding the crime, but he had absolutely nothing whatever to do with the capture of the criminals, beyond guarding them after the arrests had been made by Sheriff Ferguson and myself. The "dope" he handed the papers was mere rot. There was also considerable said in the papers about the part a wig would play in the case prior to the trial, but all who were present at the trial will remember that the wig was not introduced in evidence. This wig was a "pipe dream," to use a slang expression.

"MOONSHINING" IN THE OIL REGIONS.

DESPERATE STRUGGLE ON A BRIDGE WITH A THIEF CARRYING A CARBOY FILLED WITH NITROGLYCERINE--NARROW ESCAPE FROM DEATH OF PRISONER AND CAPTOR.

Early in the 70's, while I was Chief of Police of Oil City, Pa., a long, wooden covered bridge spanned the Allegheny River at Oil City. This bridge was at least fifteen hundred feet in length, had a driveway through its center wide enough for two vehicles to pass each other. This driveway was boarded up closely with siding, which separated it on either side from the footwalks, which were about six feet in width with a high railing on the outside. There were lights at intervals along the footwalks, about a hundred feet apart. The main structure of the bridge was about forty feet above the river.

The bridge connected Oil City and South Oil City, extending from the south end of Seneca Street in Oil City to South Oil City. South Oil City then, as it is now, was the principal residence portion of the city, while the north side of the river was, and is, the business portion. This bridge was a toll bridge, and there were night and day toll collectors stationed at the little house provided for their use at the north end of the bridge. Their duty was to collect the toll from all drivers of vehicles, and two cents from each pedestrian who passed their window at the toll house.

There lived in Oil City at that time a notorious character by the name of Tommy Griffith, whose face and form had become familiar to all the residents of the town, also of the adjacent country. Griffith was a Welchman by birth, middle aged, stout and heavily built in stature; had a wife and a large family, and resided in South Oil City, at that time owning his own home, and was apparently fairly prosperous. He was a man addicted to drink, and was known throughout the country as the "Prince of Moonshiners."

Moonshiners, in the oil region, were men who made a business of putting explosives, which were called torpedoes, into oil wells for the purpose of increasing the flow of oil. The oil-bearing rock, or crevices in the oil-bearing rock, which were usually found near the bottom of the oil wells, would get clogged with an accumulation of parafine. After the well had been producing for a while the inlet to the well would become clogged with this accumulation, when the owner of the well would resort to the torpedo. These torpedoes were composed of a tin can or case, which would hold from one to four quarts of nitro-glycerine, which is a liquid that resembles lard oil very much, and is one of the most powerful explosives known, if not the most powerful. The cases, or tin cans, were round and nearly the size of the wells in diameter. The oil wells in those days were usually four and one-half or five inches in diameter. The cases were long enough to hold the quantity required for the explosion, and were lowered from the top of the well by means of a copper wire, which was attached to the percussion cap at the proper depth in the well, then a heavy weight, the wire through its center, would be sent down from the top over the wire and would strike the cap on the torpedo. This would cause the explosion, and would shatter the oil-bearing rock and jar the parafine, thereby making the opening by which the oil found its way into the well, and increased the production wonderfully for a period, or until the opening became clogged again from the same causes. Then the same remedy would be applied, and for this reason the torpedo business was a very profitable business, as this nitro-glycerine was sold at the rate of about ten dollars per quart.

There was, at the time I am writing of, a company known as the Roberts Torpedo Co., who had a monopoly of all the explosives and torpedoes used in the oil wells for the purpose before mentioned. The Roberts Company owned and operated the factories at which nitro-glycerine was made. They employed only men who were experts in the torpedo business, as the handling of torpedoes was very hazardous and dangerous, the nitro-glycerine being treacherous and liable to explode at any time, either from concussion, friction or heat. In fact, nitro-glycerine is liable to explode spontaneously or without any apparent cause, so that the most expert handler of the stuff does not really know when he may consider himself safe when near a quantity of it. The Roberts Company also had a number of what they call magazines, which were located in isolated spots all through the oil regions. These magazines were places for storing quantities of the nitro-glycerine, and usually close to a producing district, so that the operator in charge of said district could obtain a supply of it when he required it for use in his territory. The moonshiner made a practice of breaking into these magazines and stealing the explosives, which usually were placed in a square tin can which held from twenty to forty pounds. These heavy tin cans, or cases, were called carboys, and had a heavy wire handle attached to the top with a short spout at one corner of the top of the carboy from which the nitro-glycerine could be poured. As I said before, it was like lard oil, and of about the same consistency.

These moonshiners would steal three or four carboys at a time, concealing it in the mountains, and when they got an order from a producer for a torpedo they would fill the order and put in the torpedo in proper shape, as they were as expert in the handling of this dangerous explosive as the Roberts Company's men were, as many of them were ex-employes of that company. Prejudice existed among the smaller producers against the Roberts Torpedo Company, as they complained that the Roberts Company were charging them extortionate prices for torpedoes, therefore the moonshiners were protected to an extent in their nefarious business.

Upon the night of which I am writing it was after midnight when I left my office at the City Hall on the north side, and started for my home on the south side. I started on foot, and when I reached about the middle of the bridge before described, I heard footsteps coming towards me on the same foot-walk that I was on. I looked up and saw and recognized the familiar form of Tommy Griffith, as he was passing a light which was about a hundred and fifty feet from me. He was coming directly towards me, and was evidently intoxicated, as he staggered from side to side of the foot-walk. First he would stagger against the enclosed side, and then back to the outside railing. Every time he came in contact with the bridge I could hear a slight thud. He was carrying a gunnysack upon his shoulder, containing a carboy of nitro-glycerine, and I thought it would explode any moment, as he was continually striking it against the sides of the bridge as he staggered. Then again he was liable to stumble and let it fall, which would have been fatal both to himself, me and the bridge. I thought of all of these things in a great deal shorter time than it has taken me to write about it. It was in the winter, and I was wearing rubber overshoes, and for this reason I made no noise in walking. After recognizing Griffith and his condition, I instantly turned and started back for the north side of the bridge. I am satisfied that I made a record-breaking sprint until I got safely to the toll house at the end of the bridge, where I hastily told Samuel Ervin, who was on duty as night toll collector. I insisted on Ervin remaining at his position as usual until Griffith arrived at the window, where I felt sure he would stop long enough to pay his toll. Ervin was sitting in a bay window with a slide in front of him through which he could take the toll, and he could also see every person coming or going over the bridge. I hid myself around the angle of the bay window in such a manner that Griffith could not see me as he approached the toll window, and when he neared the window he presented his toll with his right hand while he was holding the end of the gunnysack with his left hand. This bag contained the carboy and was hanging over his back. I noiselessly approached him from behind, and, seizing the gunnysack containing the carboy, jerked it away from him, while Ervin held on to his collar so firmly that he could not get away or interfere with me until I had deposited the case of nitro-glycerine on the ground, which, of course, did not take me very long. I then grabbed Mr. Griffith, and he being a husky, stout little fellow, and full of pluck and whiskey, made a struggle, but I quickly overpowered him and promptly conveyed him to the lock-up.

I then returned to where I had deposited the nitro-glycerine. I found Mr. Ervin standing upon the railroad crossing, which was about seventy-five or a hundred feet from the tool house. I was then obliged to carry the carboy of nitro-glycerine on my shoulder to the nearest Roberts magazine, which was located in a ravine known as Sage Run, and about three miles from the north end of the bridge. The carboy weighed about forty pounds, and the walking was icy and slippery, and of course my progress was necessarily very slow. It was nearly daylight when I got home. It is needless to say that I was very tired.

We had been informed of the theft of more than a ton of nitro-glycerine from a Roberts magazine, which occurred a few days prior to the night in question, and after daylight the following morning I visited the home of Griffith, which was situated in a good residence portion, and surrounded by a number of good homes and families. I found in the basement of Griffith's house the remainder of the ton of nitro-glycerine, which was hidden under a stairway running from the kitchen of the house into the basement. At the time I entered the house I found Griffith's children playing and running up and down these steps under which the explosive was standing in the original packages. There was nitro-glycerine enough under those stairs to have blown up the entire city.

I was then compelled to procure a team and sleigh and do the driving myself, and to load the stuff into the sleigh and drive it to the magazine and there unload it. I could not induce any person to assist me, as I did not have time, being compelled to move the stuff immediately for the safety of not only Griffith's family, but the whole neighborhood, and, therefore, could not wait to send word to the Roberts Co. and have them send their own men, who were accustomed to handling it. It was one of the most trying situations I ever found myself placed in.

Griffith was tried in the court in due time, and was sentenced for seven years in the state penitentiary at Allegheny, on the charge of grand larceny.

Col. Roberts, who at that time lived at Titusville, Pa., and was president of the Roberts Torpedo Company, sent me a check for five hundred dollars, which I accepted.

Griffith served out his sentence, and returned to Oil City, where he was living at my last account of him, and was following his old vocation, that of moonshining, in a more moderate manner than of yore.

THE CAPTURE OF WESS WATTS.

AFTER STANDING OFF A SHERIFF AND POSSE, THE NOTORIOUS BANDIT IS TAKEN SINGLE HANDED.

During the years of 1875-6 I was Chief Special Agent of the Allegheny Valley Railroad. One morning I was called to Brookville, Pennsylvania, to investigate the burglary of the company's office at that point during the preceding night. On arriving in the little town I found the office of the company almost a wreck, the safe having been blown to pieces with dynamite or some other explosive, and its contents, including quite a sum of money and a number of Centennial Exposition and railroad tickets were missing. After some hard work, I obtained a clue which led me to believe that the job had been done by the notorious Watts gang.

This outlaw band, which originally consisted of eight men, had long terrorized the good citizens of Jefferson, Clarion, Forest and Elk Counties--in much the same manner as had the James Boys and their gang of cut-throats the citizens of western Missouri.

Noted Pennsylvania bandit leader run down and captured by Detective Furlong.]

There was no crime too big or too little for them to commit, but they made a specialty of arson, murder, robbery and safe-blowing. The organizer and leader was Wess Watts, who, before he had adopted outlawry as a profession, had been a gun and locksmith in Brookville, and had the reputation of being a skilled mechanic. He was about 28 years of age, 5 feet 11 inches in height, and weighed in the neighborhood of 190 pounds. There had never been any question of his gameness and he was known as the crack shot of that portion of Pennsylvania. He often gave exhibitions of his expertness in the handling of firearms. One of his favorite stunts was to shoot an apple from the head of his brother at a distance of twenty paces with either a gun or revolver.

In reporting to Mr. David McCargo, the General Superintendent of the road, a day or so later, that I was convinced that the Watts gang was responsible for the Brookville job, and venturing the opinion that this gang would continue to prey upon the railroad at intervals until they were exterminated; whereupon Mr. McCargo said, "You are hereby instructed to bend every effort toward the suppression of this gang, and you will be relieved from all other duties until this has been accomplished."

I at once took up the work, by visiting the Western Penitentiary at Allegheny City, where I found a former member of the Watts gang, who had been convicted of horse stealing and was at that time serving a ten-year sentence for the same. This man's name was Lafayette Edwards, and he had been connected with the Watts gang for a number of years and was a member at the time of his arrest. He was about thirty-five years of age. He had a younger brother by the name of Horace Edwards, who had been connected with the gang until about a year previous to the arrest of Lafayette, when he grew tired of the life he had been leading, and, as the gang was daily growing bolder in their depredations, he was afraid they would all be brought to justice sooner or later, so he disappeared, no one knowing his whereabouts in Brookville. On approaching Lafayette, at the penitentiary, I told him who I was, that I had learned of both his and his brother's connection with the Watts gang and that I desired to find Horace, so that I might get the facts from him as to his knowledge of the crimes perpetrated by the gang while he was a member of it. Lafayette Edwards said he believed that his brother would tell all he knew, providing he would not be punished for the part he had taken while working with the gang. I explained to him that so long as Horace had severed his connection with the gang, that I had no doubt but that the prosecuting officers would use his testimony against the other members of the gang and nolle prosequi all charges against him, which is a custom, as the prosecuting attorney in criminal cases has the right, with the permission of the court, to annul proceedings against a criminal, where he has been used as a State's witness. I also told him if he would assist me in locating Horace, that I would do all that I could, consistently, with the proper officers to have the charges annulled against his brother. Finally he told me that Horace was engaged as a farm hand at a point near Vermillion, Illinois. He said that Horace had joined the church and was living an honest and conscientious life. I went to Vermillion and located Horace Edwards, who was working as a farm hand under an alias, and found that he had established a good reputation, joined the church, and was respected by all who knew him. In other words, he had made friends with everybody with whom he came in contact during his few months' stay in that neighborhood. This information I verified before approaching Horace. I finally called on him and told him who I was, that I was from Pennsylvania, and that I had seen his brother Lafayette, who was in the penitentiary in Allegheny City, who had given me his address, and, in fact, I told him the line of facts that I knew he would recognize as facts. I then proposed to him that he go back to Pennsylvania with me, at my expense, promising that I would keep him quietly in a small town near Brookville, where he would not be known until I had apprehended the balance of the Watts gang, and that I would pay his expenses back to Illinois, where he had so many friends, and was favorably known, and that the people would not become aware of his identity after his return among them. In this connection, I wish to say that Horace had adopted his mother's maiden name. To this Horace replied promptly that, as he had become a church member, he would render all the assistance in his power towards bringing his former companions to justice, and thereby preventing them from committing further depredations. I told the parties by whom he was employed that his presence was required as a witness in an important case in court in Pennsylvania, and that I had come after him and had no doubt but that he would return again in a few weeks. I took him back to Pennsylvania, and rounded up the balance of the gang, with the exception of the leader, Wess Watts. I learned that he had last been heard from at Paducah, Kentucky. This I learned through the assistance of a sister of Mrs. Watts, who was in correspondence with her. I went to Paducah and found Mrs. Watts. From my investigations I had become so familiar with the depredations of the gang, the dates and places where they had been committed that I decided to approach Mrs. Watts by representing myself as a friend of her husband and other members of the gang. At this she became angry and excited, and told me that if she had a kettle of boiling water convenient she would scald me, as she had no further use for her husband or any of his friends. He had deserted her and their child, and had run away with another man's wife. It was then my turn to sympathize with her, which I did to the best of my ability, and of course, denounced Wess Watts in plain words for having deserted his wife and child in such a manner. Mrs. Watts, who, by the way, was really a good natured woman and rather good looking, of the blonde type, about 25 years of age, finally told me that her husband had taken this other woman, and that she had heard, a few days prior to my visit, that he and Oliver Brooks had opened a gun and locksmith repair shop at Shawneetown, Illinois. She said Watts and this woman and Oliver Brooks and the Brooks woman were living together, and that they had their shingle out for gun and lock repairing, but in reality were committing burglaries and thefts almost nightly in the vicinity of Shawneetown. I took a boat at Paducah for Shawneetown, which is on the Ohio river some 50 miles from Paducah. I arrived at Shawneetown, which was then a very small place, about 3 o'clock in the morning. The town is very low, the Ohio river being held out of the town by a high levee along its banks. After leaving the boat I went over the levee to the only street in the town parallel to the river and had no trouble in locating the gun shop, by reason of the sign over the door. Directly opposite this shop was a general merchandise store with a large pile of empty dry goods boxes standing in front of it. I seated myself upon one of these boxes, as it was not quite daylight when I found the place and, as I had had some sleep coming up on the boat, I was not sleepy. I could not go to a hotel at that time without arousing some comment, and, therefore, concluded I would wait in the vicinity of the gun shop and watch for developments. I had been sitting on the box for perhaps three-quarters of an hour, and day was just beginning to break, when I noticed a little cloud of smoke coming out of the stovepipe (which served as a chimney) in the shanty in which the gun shop was located. A few minutes later the door of the gun shop was opened and I could see, from my perch on the box across the street, that some one was sweeping. I could see the broom, but could not see who was operating it. I watched the broom for a few minutes and then concluded I would go over to the shop and look in and see who was doing the sweeping.

This shop was a one-story frame shanty, about 16 feet wide, by perhaps, 24 feet long. It was divided in the middle by a partition, making two rooms. The front room, being the gun shop, contained a vise bench to the right of the front door, upon which were a lot of tools, such as files, wrenches, one or two old guns and a couple of pistols.

Diagonally across the shop and to the left was a door opening into the rear room, which was used as a living room. When I peered into the front room or gun shop there was no one in the room, but the door leading into the rear room was open and I rapped on the shop door. My knock was answered by a man, who came from the rear room and had a broom in his hand. He was clad in blue overalls, a knit undershirt and wore a pair of rubbers, but no socks. I saw at a glance that it was Wess Watts, himself. I had a very good description of him and had seen his brother, sister and mother, and he resembled them very strongly. I noticed that he had nothing in the shape of arms on him except the broom. I decided then and there to arrest him. When he came from the rear room I saluted him, saying, "Good-morning," and he replied in the same way. I then said, "Are you the gunsmith?" He said he was. I said, "I have a job for you. I have an old gun here, but I don't know whether you can do anything with it or not."

In this connection I wish to state that before I left my perch on the boxes across the street, I placed my revolver, which was a 41-Colts, short barrel, double action, in my right-hand coat pocket. I also had a pair of automatic hand-cuffs, which I placed in my left-hand pocket. I was wearing a sack coat, and when Watts replied that he was the gunsmith, I took the revolver out of my right-hand pocket in an awkward manner, holding it about in the middle. He turned around, in a leisurely manner, and set the broom in the corner near the door, and while he was doing this, I placed my gun in working position, and as he turned extending his hand, evidently for the purpose of taking and examining my pistol, I leveled it at his head and told him to "throw up his hands." He hesitated for an instant, but I commanded him a second time, telling him to throw them up at once, or I would blow his head off. He threw up his hands, and, just at the time I commanded him the second time to throw up his hands, a man with a bushy head of red hair peered through the door leading into the rear room, but when he saw what was going on, he ducked back his head, as he was in direct range with my gun. I then commanded Watts to about face, and step forward to the door, which he did, keeping his hands up. I was right behind him with my gun at the back of his head, and told him to step down and out of the door. He obeyed. I then took my hand-cuffs out of my left-hand coat pocket, and snapped them on his wrists, while his hands were still above his head. I then told him he could drop his hands, and marched him up the street to the hotel, which was but a few hundred feet from the shop. In the meantime Watts did not utter a word, but merely complied with my commands. On our arrival at the hotel I found the night clerk or porter in charge, but asleep in a chair in the office, and as we marched in he awoke and appeared to be frightened at our intrusion. I told him that I was an officer and that Watts was my prisoner. I told him we were hungry and asked him how soon we could get something to eat. He awakened the help and in about half an hour breakfast was announced.

All this time Watts and I were sitting in the office gazing at each other, not a word having been spoken by either, and when we went into the dining room and sat down to the table, Watts looked at me and then at the hand-cuffs as much as to say, "Aren't you going to remove these hand-cuffs?" He did not speak, however. I shook my head, looked at the table and food and then at Watts, as much as to say, "There it is, you can eat it or leave it alone." I sat opposite him at the table and he helped himself to some ham and managed to eat a pretty good breakfast with the hand-cuffs on.

On arising from the table it occurred to me for the first time that my prisoner was not very well dressed to make a long journey. I espied a large-sized, old-fashioned linen duster, and a big-brimmed straw hat hanging on the wall of the hotel sitting room. After some dickering with the porter I purchased them for 75c and put them on my prisoner. The addition of these garments made Watts look more like the leader of a rube band, than the bold, bad man that he really was.

At that time there was a branch of the Wabash Railroad running into Shawneetown, and I had ascertained there was a train leaving there shortly for McLeansboro and East St. Louis. We boarded the train at 6:00 a. m. and started for East St. Louis. After we had been on the train for half an hour or more, Watts, who was sitting in the seat with me, and to the left, next to the window, turned around facing me and said, "Who are you, and where are you taking me, and what have you arrested me for?"

I replied that I was a deputy sheriff from Vermillion and that I had arrested him on suspicion of committing a burglary there a week before.

He said, "Why, I was never in Vermillion in my life. You have made a big mistake."

"I guess I am not very much mistaken," I replied, "some of our citizens saw the burglars when they left the bank, and have described you accurately. Of course, if they fail to identify you on your arrival at Vermillion, I will apologize to you, and then be obliged to pay your expenses back to Shawneetown."

He then said, "You say you are a deputy sheriff? Well, don't deputy sheriffs have to give bond for the careful performance of their duties?" I replied, "Yes, they have to give bond."

"Well," he continued, "these people won't identify me and I will make your bondsmen pay dearly for this outrage."

"We'll see about this," I replied. "I can't be mistaken. I have been a deputy sheriff for the past two years, and I have arrested two house thieves and they were convicted, so I can not be mistaken."

"Well, you are very badly mistaken now," he answered, and with this he stopped talking and seemed to be at ease, as he knew he could not be identified at Vermillion, and felt sure that he would be released. In due time we arrived at East St. Louis, and I explained to him that I did not care to proceed to Vermillion that night, as I had some little business to attend to in St. Louis, and therefore, I proposed to come over to the city, remain over night and take the first train out in the morning to Vermillion. He seemed perfectly satisfied. I brought him across the river and took him to the Four Courts and turned him over to Major McDonough, who was then Chief of Police of St. Louis. I had known Chief McDonough for years. He locked Watts up, and I, of course, had his meals taken in to him and had him well cared for. The next morning we took an early train for Indianapolis over what is now a part of the Big Four system. We got along very nicely until we reached the Wabash river, which separates Illinois from Indiana, when Watts suddenly turned to me and in a loud and excited manner said, "Where in h--l are you taking me? You haven't told me the truth."

"No," I replied, "I did not tell you the truth about where I am taking you, but I will do so now. I am taking you to Brookville, Pennsylvania."

"Why didn't you tell me this in the first place?" he asked.

I replied, "My reason for not telling you this in the first place was, that after I had located you, as I supposed, at Paducah, Kentucky, I reported the facts to Sheriff Steele of Jefferson County and asked him to apply for the proper papers so that you might be taken back to Pennsylvania. Sheriff Steele obtained the papers and insisted on bringing a posse of men to assist in your capture, to which I objected and I told him that I did not think it necessary for anybody to come after you, but he and myself. He reluctantly consented to accompany me. He had the papers and came as far as St. Louis. The weather was very warm and when we arrived in St. Louis, Steele was very feverish and complained of being sick, and was afraid that he was taking typhoid fever, and insisted on returning to Pennsylvania immediately, which he did. He insisted on me going back with him, but I told him that I was going to get hell before I returned. He left me and returned home."

"Why, he wasn't sick at all, he was just afraid of me," said Watts. "He was afraid to meet me, for he knew if I saw him I would kill him. I stood off Steele and seventeen of his men, all armed, in Brookville once. Those fellows are all afraid of me. So you came down here to get me yourself? Well, you haven't any papers for my arrest, have you?"

"No," I said, "I haven't any papers. I have nothing but you."

"Suppose I object to going any farther with you," he remarked.

"In that case," I replied, "I would simply have to have you locked up and wait until the papers arrive. They are all made out, therefore you can raise all the objections you like. I am a deputy sheriff, and I could have locked you up in Illinois, but I did not know what that red-headed fellow and your other associates in Shawneetown would do, and not wanting to be bothered with them, I decided to just bring you right along."

Watts then said, "You saw that fellow with the red hair, did you?"

"Yes," I answered.

"Where did you see him?"

"At the time I pointed my gun at your head he peered in at the door leading into the back room, but when he saw the condition of things, he ducked back into the rear room," I told him.

"Oh!" Watts said, "he is a coward. If I ever get my eyes on him I'll kill him on sight." Continuing, Watts said, "Did you notice when you told me to throw up my hands, that I hesitated for a second?"

I said, "Yes, I did."

"Do you know what I thought of when I hesitated?" he asked.

"No, I don't," I answered.

"Why, I thought of just jumping forward and taking that gun away from you."

I said, "Why didn't you do it?" looking him straight in the eye.

He replied, with an oath, "I thought you'd shoot."

"I guess you were right about that," I answered.

He stopped talking for a few minutes and then began to cry. He became almost hysterical. We were riding in the smoking car when this conversation occurred and his sobbing and crying attracted the attention of the passengers in the car, and it was really pitiful to see a strong, athletic looking young man like Watts sob and cry like a child. He finally ceased and said, "Well, I am glad you got me. I have never had an hour's peace or rest since that night at Catholicsburg, Kentucky."

"Why," I said, "What happened at Catholicsburg?"

He answered, "Oliver Beach shot my father, James Watts, in our boat at Catholicsburg, and he and Brooks put the body into the Ohio River. He killed him with my gun. I knew they were going to do it, but I did not take any part in the killing. Now, I am going to tell you all about myself and my companions since I left Brookville."

I told him that while I would be interested in hearing what he had to say, it would be used against him at his trial at Brookville, and that I would, therefore, prefer that he would not tell me anything about his crimes until we got back to Brookville, and then if he felt like talking and making a confession, he could do so to the prosecuting attorney, and the authorities there; that my part in the matter would end upon my delivering him to the officers, and I would rather that he defer talking until we arrived in that city. However, he insisted on telling me about the numerous crimes that he and his associates had committed while going down the Ohio River, about his capture at Paducah, Kentucky; his conviction, his pardon and the conviction and pardon of two members of his gang from the penitentiary.

He was especially proud of one piece of work done by the gang while making their home in a house-boat anchored on the Illinois side of the river opposite Paducah. Watts, Beach and Alston rowed across the river to the Kentucky side in a four-oared skiff. It was cold and freezing. They were looking for plunder and spied a large egg-shaped coal stove in the office of a coal company on the levee. This stove had been filled with coal and was red hot, and the fire had been banked for the night with ashes, and the "gentlemen" before named, broke open the door of the coal office, procured a wide, strong plank, run it under the red-hot stove and took it to their house-boat, where they installed it without permitting the fire to go out. So that they thus succeeded in stealing and getting away with a red-hot stove, which was a verification of the old saying that "there was nothing too hot or too heavy for them."

In due time we arrived at Brookville, where he insisted on making a full confession, which he did, in the presence of Prosecuting Attorney Reed, Sheriff W. P. Steele and myself. This confession, which was voluntarily made and sworn to before the clerk of the court, witnessed and attested by Mr. Reed, Steele and myself, is as follows:

CONFESSION OF J. W. WATTS.

Left Brookville, June 20, 1874, for Parkers Landing. Got a boat there and went down the river. My father, James Watts, traded a gun for the boat. We built a shanty on the boat as we proceeded down the river. The names of the parties on that boat were: Charles Beach, Oliver Brooks, James Watts, J. W. Watts, Sarah M. Watts and Myrta Watts. There was no difficulty on the boat until we arrived at a point near Ironton, Ohio. We got a woman by the name of Fanny Rose on board the boat, and from there down to Maysville there seemed to be some trouble between Oliver Brooks and James Watts, my father, about Fanny Rose, the girl above named. My father had been talking of turning state's evidence, and on Sunday, the 6th of September, 1874, he took an axe and cut a hole in the bottom of the boat. I remonstrated with him and he was going to strike me with the axe. The water began filling the boat, which necessitated our landing. On the night of the 6th of September, 1874, Oliver Brooks shot James Watts, killing him almost instantly, for threatening to turn state's evidence, concerning what had been stolen during our trip down the river, by the male portion of the gang on the boat. James Watts stole nothing himself. He only lived a few minutes after Brooks shot him. I was on another boat about sixty yards above the one James Watts was on. I knew that Oliver Brooks was going to shoot my father, and it made me very nervous. It made me sick and I laid down. I got up and started down to tell my father, when I heard a gun shot, but having an idea of what had occurred I was very much frightened, and was very weak through fear, and did not go into the shanty on the boat, where James Watts and Oliver Brooks were. During this Sunday afternoon Oliver Brooks and James Watts had some difficulty, and Brooks told us all, except James Watts, that he would shoot James Watts. Alston told Brooks that he would get my father to play a game of cards by a window, in order that Brooks could slip around and shoot him from the bank of the river through the window, and he did shoot him.

I am here to tell the whole truth, and want to keep nothing back. My father stole nothing, but he did help conceal what the rest of us stole.

After he was shot, and when I came up, either Brooks and Beach, or Brooks and Alston, were gathering up stones on the bank and carrying them into the shanty on the boat where my father was lying, and I suppose they were taking them in to tie around his neck to sink him in the river, from what they said before the deed was committed. After they got everything fixed up, I heard them putting my father into a skiff and rowing out into the river and I heard them throwing him overboard. They used sixty or eighty feet of half-inch rope to tie the stones to him, judging from the amount that was gone from the boat. Alston told me he had just dealt the cards and turned trump. The old man passed, and he (Alston) turned it down. My father said he would make it hearts, but turned and looked towards the window from where the shot came and then fell. Alston caught him to keep him from falling so hard. This is what Alston told me. After they took my father out into the river and threw him in, Oliver Brooks said he felt just as well as he did before he committed the deed and better, too. After this there was no more conversation about it in my presence as I would not listen to them, nor permit them to talk to me about it. I did not go into the room where he was killed, for five or six weeks. It was my rifle that he shot him with and it was the best rifle I ever saw or used, but after Brooks used it to shoot my father, I never shot out of it, or looked into the muzzle of it, but what I saw blood, or thought I saw blood in it. Other persons saw blood in the muzzle of the gun after shooting it. I showed it to them without giving them any other information. There was an understanding and mutual agreement between us that we were never to say anything about the killing of James Watts. We pushed the boat off that evening, after my father had been killed and thrown into the river and went on down stream following our usual avocation of stealing, etc., and we did not stop permanently until we got to Paducah, Kentucky. At Paducah, all the males in our party were arrested on the Illinois side by Marshal Geary of Paducah, Frank Farland, Wood Morrow and Bill Green, on a charge of grand larceny, committed at Buddsville, Ky. We were tried, convicted and sent to the penitentiary at Frankfort, Ky. I got three years, Oliver Brooks got two years and nine months, Pete Alston got one year and six months and Charlie Beach got three years. Brooks got pardoned through his wife on the 14th of May, or June, 1875, and I got pardoned on the 7th of July, 1875, and M. P. Alston on the 10th of August, 1875.

Brooks and his wife got Beach pardoned. Brooks' wife, as I understood it, had illicit relations with the son of the Governor of Kentucky, and through the influence of the son on his father, Beach was pardoned. My wife got Governor King to write to Governor Leslis, then acting Governor of Kentucky, and through his intercession I was pardoned. After Brooks was pardoned out he stayed until Beach and I got out. As soon as I got out I started for or back to Paducah, Ky., and left Brooks and Beach in Frankfort. I left there on the 7th day of July, 1875, and have never seen any of them since. Alston, a short time after he got out of the penitentiary, went down the Kentucky river, broke into a store, and got shot in the back. He was sent back to the penitentiary for five years, and is there at the present time. Up to the time I left Brookville I was in the habit of going out with a gang composed of Dan Miller, Frank Watts, John Johnson, Frank Loader, Oliver Brooks, John Lyons, and his father, and Charlie Beach. Frank Watts and myself went through Eshelman's grocery store at Dowlingville, and at other places, I cannot now remember.

I make this confession of my own free will and without the expectation of any reward or through any fear. I make it because this thing has been lying on my mind like a lead weight, and I concluded I would tell the whole thing just as it occurred. My wife and I had a conversation at one time in regard to the affair and we thought of going to the officers and telling all about it, but for some reason we did not do it. This was when we were in Paducah.

Made, signed and sworn to in the presence of Thomas Furlong, detective for the Allegheny Valley Railroad Company, Wm. P. Steele, deputy sheriff of Jefferson County, Pennsylvania, and John W. Reed, Attorney-at-law, August 22, 1876.

Watts made the above statement with a view to shielding himself as much as possible. He, himself, killed his father, and Mrs. Brooks so testified. She said it was not only Wess Watts' gun that killed old man Watts, but the gun was in the hands of Wess Watts.

I, having been subpoenaed as a witness for the state against Wess Watts, arrived at Brookville on the morning set for his trial. The whole forenoon was consumed in selecting a jury. When the last juror had been selected it was about twelve o'clock, and the court took a recess until one p. m. At that time, his Honor, Judge Sterritt, stated that the prisoner, Wess Watts, should be brought into court, when the testimony for the prosecution would begin. I went to the hotel, ate my dinner and had returned to the sheriff's office in the courthouse a few minutes before one o'clock. While sitting there talking to Sheriff Steele an old man entered the office, whom the sheriff familiarly greeted, calling him Uncle John, in the following manner:

"Hello, Uncle John. I haven't seen you for a long time. How've you been?"

Uncle John replied, "Quite well, but I'm getting old. Mammy wanted to get some things in the store and we drove in this morning from Beechwoods. I've been reading in my paper about Wess Watts and it says that he is to be put on trial today. You know, Bill, I knew old Bill Watts, Wess' father, before Wess was born. I've been reading all about the boy and his gang and he surely must be a very bad and desperate man. While I'm here in town, I'd like to get a look at him."

To this Sheriff Steele replied, "Court will convene at one o'clock, which will be only a few minutes now, and I've been ordered by the Judge to bring Wess into court at that time. If you will go up and sit in the courtroom, Uncle John, you will have a good chance to see him when I take him in."

Uncle John was a man more than seventy years of age, was a good citizen and had lived in the backwoods in Jefferson county all his life. He knew everybody in the county. His home was on a small farm about eighteen miles from Brookville. He was a strong, hale man for his age, and had a full, heavy, white beard. He was an inveterate tobacco chewer and a typical backwoods farmer.

At the close of his conversation with the sheriff, Uncle John walked to the door leading into the hall, but, just before reaching the door, he suddenly turned and said, "Bill, I see in the paper that Wess Watts was captured down in Egypt by one man, and that man brought him back here all alone. The paper said that man would be at the trial here today. I'd like very much to see him, too."

The sheriff (pointing to me) said, "Uncle John, here's the man who captured Wess Watts and brought him back here."

Whereupon, Uncle John quietly walked across the room to where I was sitting, keeping his eye upon me all the time, till within a few feet of me, when he said, "Young man, I wish you would stand up, I want to look at you."

I stood up, and the old man walked about half way around me, eyeing me from head to foot. He then turned without saying a word and started for the door. Before leaving, he said, stroking his long beard with his left hand and pointing his right at me, "Bill, by jove, it didn't take much of a man, either."

Then he left the room.

Court convened at one o'clock and everything appeared to be ready for the beginning of the trial. The courtroom was packed with spectators as the Watts trial had aroused a great deal of interest, and people were attracted from local and neighboring counties to see the prisoner and witness his trial. The sheriff did not appear with his prisoner, however, and the judge sent an officer to notify him that the Court was waiting. In a few minutes the sheriff appeared, with the officer, but without the prisoner. He approached the judge's stand and informed him that he had been unable to induce the prisoner to leave his cell, and Watts had said he would kill any person who attempted to take him into court.

The jail was an old-fashioned stone jail, and the doors leading into the cells were only about two and one-half feet wide and four feet high, therefore, a person above four feet in height was obliged to stoop on entering or leaving the cell. They had old-fashioned wooden bedsteads in each cell, and Watts had torn his bedstead to pieces that morning and had taken off one of its legs, which was about three feet long and four inches square, and of heavy hardwood. He was a powerfully strong man, and had declared his intention of massacring any person attempting to enter his cell. He defied the sheriff or any of his officers to enter. After Judge Sterritt had listened to the sheriff's report, he summoned me to his chair and said, "Mr. Furlong, you arrested this man in Illinois and brought him to Brookville. Now I deputize you to go to the jail and bring Wess Watts, the prisoner, to this bar, as soon as possible."

I left the court with the sheriff and went to the jail, in the rear of the courthouse, and direct to the door of Watts' cell, where I found him standing in the center of his cell armed with the big club. I tried to persuade him to leave his cell, and accompany me to the courtroom, but in vain. He was obstinate and declared he would kill me or any one else who tried to enter that cell. I found that persuasion was unavailing and called the sheriff to one side, out of ear shot, and said, "How long will it take you to heat a few gallons of water to a boil?"