My counsel has done well. He has made an effort of which I am proud, and
of which your Honor ought to be proud.
The Recorder—I am, sir.
Branch—I am sorry that I have not prepared to address you. I came to
this country thirty-five years ago, a poor boy. I got a clerk’s
situation at $2 a week. Then I went to Leary’s hat store, in Water
Street. Afterwards I went to Harper’s, then to the New York _American_,
and afterwards to the _Evening Post_. Then I returned to Rhode Island,
and went afterwards to Boston, Hartford, Springfield and New Haven, and
worked at the printing business, and was the first compositor on the
Washington _Globe_. and set up the first article on that paper, which
was a comment on the conduct of General Jackson, from the pen of Amos
Kendall. I then took a room with Edward Dodge, of Philadelphia, and
roomed with him some time. My father sent me a letter from Providence,
and procured for me a situation in the Post Office, and I was there four
or five years. I became ambitious, and studied at nights. I studied with
Thomas F. Carpenter. I left the Post Office, and continued my Greek and
Latin studies. I returned to the Post Office, but such was my desire for
learning that I went to Cambridge Law School, and studied under Judge
Story. I mingled with Southern students, and spent much money. They were
high-bloods, and I spent a dissolue winter. I came back, and went to
Andover, where I resumed my studies in Greek and mathematics. I then
left for Providence, and was unfortunate in my domestic life. I left
Providence and went to Washington, where I got $10 a week at the
printing business. I went next to Columbia College, when I would take my
basket of bread and butter, work all day at the job office, walk back to
the College at ten o’clock at night, and study till daylight. I would
then get to the office at seven in the morning. I lost my health in
doing this, and was reduced to the verge of the grave. My father
remained true to me, notwithstanding my domestic misfortunes. I came to
New York, and saw an advertisement in a paper, that a teacher was wanted
in Alabama. I secured the situation, and afterwards went to
Apalachicola, thence to Alabama, and taught school. I found they were
cruel to slaves there. The lady on the plantation used to whip the
slaves early in the morning; it disgusted me, and I went to New Orleans.
My brother Albert printed the New Orleans _Times_. I advertised for a
situation as teacher, and soon secured one. I remained there till my
brother Albert died—no, I am mistaken, he did not die then. I came to
New York, and had but little money left. I could not work at the
printing business. My father sustained me in the sun and rain, although
he was a man of limited means though of high position, for he was a
Judge of Rhode Island. I went to Arthur Tappan, who introduced me to his
brother Lewis. I told him that I wanted to teach colored scholars. I
suppose you will call me a lunatic for that. I told him my
qualifications, and he sent me to Mr. Van Rensselaer, under the _Journal
of Commerce_. I taught a colored boy for him, for which he gave me my
board. I lost my health, and finally—but I won’t mention names—I taught
a candidate for Alderman of the Fourteenth Ward. That was the first
public man I ever taught in New York. There was a man named Gouraud, a
Frenchman, a teacher of the art of memory. I found he was trying to
humbug the public. I saw he was an impostor, and exposed him. He had
secured the press and the people, and I exposed him. I attended his
lectures, and saw there William Cullen Bryant, Horace Greeley, Judge
Oakley, and all the leading men and women of the city. His system was an
exploded system of the Sixteenth Century. I exposed him in various
cities. I exposed him, and stopped him. He was denounced in
Philadelphia. Through educating public men, I got into politics. There
may be a desire to get me into prison as soon as possible, and so I will
be brief.
The Recorder—There is no desire to get you into prison, Mr. Branch.
Branch—I taught the Aldermen till the California mania broke out, when I
went to California. I wrote a letter to the New York _Herald_, about
alligators on the Isthmus, which gave me the title of “Alligator.” I
taught servants and public men. Alfred Carson wanted me to write his
reports for him, which I did. In 1855, I got into the Matsell campaign.
I pursued _him_. You all know the result. I went to Brandon, England, to
find his birth-place, and I found it. Soon after I saw Carson, I found
that the officers of this city were very corrupt. Carson asked me to
write his reports. He informed me that the officers around the City Hall
interfered with the affairs of the Fire Department. I advised him to
resist it, I wrote his reports for some years, I got through with the
Frenchman, Gouraud. I got through with teaching public men and servants,
and with the fire and Matsell campaign. I thought I would start the
_Alligator_. I did, and _I don’t regret it_. There is a gang of thieves
around the City Hall, and your Honor knows it, and we all know it. I
pursued them hard, days and nights for years, in defence of honesty,
industry, and the tax-payers, rich and poor, but especially the poor,
who go to corner groceries, barefooted, naked, who live in attics. I—a
lunatic, so-called, have passed my days in their defence. Ask Carson;
ask Harry Howard—I saw him here to-day—ask the editors, if I have not
passed the midnight hours in their editorial habitations—if I have not
been true to them, to Carson, and all for whom I professed friendship—to
all whom I found advocating the cause of the poor tax-payers? Do I
regret the establishment of the _Alligator_? No; and why? I have
attacked thieves indiscriminately. Hitherto these men had reputation as
public officers, and amid tears oftentimes, my shafts have fallen
harmless. But now, I have struck at a dynasty which has existed in this
city for thirty years, the Peter Cooper guild. He was Alderman in 1828,
’29, and ’40. Tiemann was Alderman in 1839, ’44, ’62, and ’63. Through
Denman, who was a pupil of mine, I first heard that Tiemann and Cooper
were corrupt men.
The Recorder—Mr. Branch, I must stop you. You cannot be allowed to use
such language In this Court.
Mr. Ashmead—Will your Honor remember the case of Lord Norbury, to which
I drew your attention this morning?
Recorder—I remember Lord Norbury, and every other lord, but I cannot
permit such language.
Branch—I will spare your feelings. Peter Cooper and his daughter I
taught in his own house. He does not deny it; but, if I had taught my
father, and was satisfied he was corrupt, I would trample him down. I
have attacked the Mayoralty, and for that I am on my way to a prison.
_Send me there._ I will walk with a firm step to my dungeon. Before
God—before God, I declare with my hand on my heart, that this is the
happiest moment of my life. What have I stolen? Whom have I murdered?
What crime have I committed? I have pursued the plunderers of the
masses, and for that you send me to a dungeon. You can desert me—the
prosecution can oppress me, but God—but God will not desert me. Your
prisoner is ready.
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Stephen H. Branch’s Alligator.
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New York, Saturday, August 14, 1858.
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