ARREST OF GRISWOLD--HE IS TAKEN JUST AS HE IS LEAVING THE
COUNTRY--PREPARED TO FIGHT, BUT CAUGHT IN A TRAP--HIS NECK SAVED ON
THE FIRST TRIAL, AND WHILE AWAITING A SECOND HE ATTEMPTS TO ESCAPE
FROM JAIL, BUT IS SHOT DEAD IN A GENERAL MELEE--HIS PLAN OF ESCAPE
DISCOVERED--A CURIOUS LETTER--ESCAPE OF PATRICK--SUICIDE OF HIS
BROTHER-IN-LAW SEVERAL YEARS AFTERWARDS.
There was now left nothing to do but to arrest the two men who had
betrayed and murdered O'Neal, and for this denouement preparations were
now made. While working up the O'Neal case, Griswold had taken a fancy to
a woman living with her husband on Clear creek, a quiet and peaceable man,
and the two becoming attached to each other, he had driven the husband
away and remained with the wife, filling the _role_ of husband himself.
Griswold lived with this woman at her former husband's home, and seemed to
feel no delicacy whatever concerning the fine points of the situation.
Two days elapsed before Gen. Cook had succeeded in obtaining the clues set
forth in the preceding chapter, and while it was feared that the murderers
might make their escape, the fact was not lost sight of that the offense
charged was a heinous one, and Cook felt that a great injustice might be
done in arresting the men as long as there was any doubt as to their
guilt. Hence the delay in taking the culprits into hand.
Detectives Frank Smith and Charley McCune were selected to make the arrest
of the precious pair, and were ordered to Clear Creek valley for that
purpose. They went first to the residence of Patrick, and found to their
regret that they had come too late. That worthy had folded his tent and
stolen away, leaving home and friends behind, evidently fearing
apprehension.
The officers proceeded with caution to Griswold's home, fearing detection
from a distance, and in case of detection a decidedly warm welcome. But
they at last succeeded in getting to his house, and upon making inquiry
for him, found that he had just gone out--out where no one knew.
The officers began now to feel that they had happened in a day after the
feast, and sadly turned their horses' heads towards the city, disappointed
and dejected that they had had such bad luck as they felt that they had
had. But there was nothing left but a return to the city, with their
report; so at least they felt, as they quitted the house where Griswold
had so recently been. Yet there was still reason for hope of at least
partial success, and they very soon came to realize that all was not lost.
Shortly after leaving Griswold's late place of abode, the officers
discovered a mounted man moving in advance of them, and across a field.
They spurred up, and were not long in discovering that this man was no
other than Griswold. The officers had come prepared to deceive him. They
were dressed as cow-boys--wore large sombrero hats, tucked their breeches
legs into their boot-tops, and carried whips in their hands, which they
twirled about and cracked as cow-boys do. Taking a different road from
that which Griswold was pursuing, the two men contrived to ride around and
come up so as to cut him off without creating suspicion. They had no hope
of finding him unarmed, and hence were desirous of avoiding a fight if
possible. Their disguise was so excellent that it served to save them from
this necessity. They rode very close to Griswold before he took any notice
of them, and were less than thirty feet distant when Griswold recognized
Smith's face, with which he was familiar.
The murderer showed his colors in a moment. Appreciating that the two
"cow-boys" were officers come to arrest him, he was prepared to defend
himself. He sought his gun with great celerity, and was raising it to
fire, when he found himself staring along the barrels of as pretty a pair
of weapons as were ever presented.
"Put that gun down, Griswold," commanded Frank Smith. "Put it down, or you
die."
The gun dropped.
"Now, hands up!"
Reluctantly the fellow's hands went up.
He was then disarmed and was soon on his way to Denver. It was then
discovered that the fellow was well provided with provisions and
ammunition, and that he was just starting to make his escape from the
state when come upon by the officers.
Griswold had a long trial. He took a change of venue from Denver to Evans,
Weld county, and there, after the case was thoroughly tried, he was
remanded to jail in Denver for a new trial. Eleven of the jurymen favored
hanging, and the twelfth was for bringing in a verdict of manslaughter and
sending him to the penitentiary for life. No one doubted the man's guilt.
The splendid chain of evidence which Gen. Cook had prepared left no room
for doubt on that score. But the twelfth man was not a believer in hanging
and held out to the last, causing the jury to go before the court with a
disagreement report. The murder of O'Neal had been committed on the 10th
of July, 1870, but, owing to delays, the month of February, 1872, had now
come around, and the law was only preparing to take its course. Griswold,
who had been the cause of so much summary punishment, looked forward to
his own fate with the greatest dread, and began to make preparations to
escape. His plans were well laid, and as he had plenty of outside
assistance, it is a great wonder that he did not accomplish his purpose.
He was certainly desperate enough, as will soon appear.
It was on Saturday, the 24th of February, that an attempt was made to
escape from the county jail in Denver, and which attempt resulted in one
of the most exciting scenes ever witnessed in a prison. Two prisoners,
Michael Henesee and a negro, named Dan Diamond, were engaged scrubbing the
premises and making a general clean-up. While in the companion way leading
between the cells from the front office to a room adjoining the day cell
in the rear, they had occasion to wash the cells of Griswold and E. E.
Wight, the last named being the man who figures in the Wall murder story.
The turnkey, Sanford W. Davis, allowed these men to emerge from their
cells for the purpose of going to the water closet, a few feet away, and
in the enclosure, there being no accommodations for them in the cells, and
as both were heavily ironed no fears were entertained of any outbreak.
Griswold passed to the front office and called out to L. F. or "Till"
Davis, brother to the turnkey, for a chew of tobacco. Davis was in the
bedroom adjoining and did not answer, whereupon Griswold turned back, and
as he did so he suddenly drew a bludgeon, consisting of a boulder in the
toe of a stocking prepared in the water closet, from some place of
concealment and dealt the turnkey a blow on the back of the head. This had
the effect to fell him to the floor, but he soon regained his feet, and
after a scuffle with Wight, Griswold and Diamond, the negro, who had
joined the mutineers, he ran towards the large room in the rear, closely
followed by Griswold.
During this melee, Henesee, the other prisoner, acting promptly and
looking to the welfare of the turnkey, dragged Wight away from Davis and
to his cell, and called for help. While the matter stood thus--Griswold
and Davis, the turnkey, in the back room, and Griswold in possession of
the latter's pistol, Henesee holding the door against Wight and
endeavoring to readjust the tumbler lock--the brother of the turnkey
grasped a revolver and courageously entered the companion-way and tried to
lock Wight's cell door, in the meantime holding his revolver in his right
hand. This all transpired in a few seconds.
Griswold, finding that Wight's exit was barred, returned to the rear
doorway, stepped down into the companion-way and stood facing young Davis,
who was endeavoring to lock the cell, only a few feet distant. The
situation, of course, demanded desperate action on the part of one or the
other, and as Griswold leveled his revolver at the young man, the latter
in turn drew bead upon the prisoner, and both fired simultaneously. The
ball from Griswold's pistol probably passed through the front doorway and
into the street; the ball from young Davis' revolver entered Griswold's
body, inflicting a mortal wound. He, however, pressed towards Davis, who
retreated and discharged a shot, when Wight emerged from his cell, seized
Griswold's pistol, passed to the rear and made a second attack upon the
turnkey, who endeavored to make his escape. Wight, however, fired too
shots at Davis, one of which grazed the back of his head. The desperado
then passed out at the rear, and secreted himself in the jail barn under
the hay.
Of course, all the foregoing had happened in less time than it takes to
read the account of it. The sheriff's office at that time was where it
now is on Fifteenth street, on the alley between Larimer and Lawrence, and
the jail was on Larimer between Fourteenth and Fifteenth, running back to
the alley, so that they were not far apart. Gen. Cook was sitting in the
sheriff's office at the time of the shooting, and, hearing it, hurried
over through the alley to the prison, and stationing a man at the back
door, told him to let no one in or out. The crowd was already gathering,
and Cook was afraid of a general row. Running in he found Till Davis, one
of the guards, with a smoking pistol in his hand.
"What's up?" he demanded.
"Oh, the devil's to pay," he replied. "We've had some serious work here."
"Where's Sanford?"--Sanford Davis was a brother of Till's. "Where is
Sanford?" he asked.
"Oh, he's dead," replied Till; "shot by Griswold."
"Where's Griswold?"
"He's back there somewhere--I don't know where."
Cook went to work to investigate, and found a confused state of affairs,
which has been described as well as can be in the foregoing. The officers
of the jail had not yet had an opportunity to ascertain the true state of
affairs. In fact, the smoke of the late affray had not yet cleared away.
It was generally believed that Sanford Davis had been shot, and no one
knew that Griswold had received the liberal dose of lead for which his
malady called so loudly. Confusion reigned supreme, and everybody was
excited. The jail was a pandemonium. Nothing was known. There was chaos
everywhere. A half dozen men might have been killed.
Gen. Cook lost no time in beginning to straighten matters out. Finding
that Wight had taken part in the melee, Cook hurried to his cell, but
found Griswold in it instead of Wight. Cook demanded his pistol. He said
he had given it to Wight.
"I am dying, don't you see?" he muttered, "and couldn't use it if I had
it. So I opened the cell and came in and let Wight out and told him to
make his escape if he wanted to get away, as I couldn't."
"Shot! Of course you are! Come out of here!" exclaimed Dave, who never
dreamed that the old scoundrel had been hurt in the row which he had
instigated, and did not dare hope that he had been mortally wounded. With
this exclamation he dragged the fellow out by the coat collar, large as he
was, and laid him out in the office, when he discovered that the man was
really not feigning. He then found that Till Davis had planted a ball in
the old fellow's breast, and left him to make his peace with his Maker;
and went to look for Wight.
Cook tracked Wight to the stable and began looking for him with a
pitchfork in the straw. He had sent the steel prongs of the implement
piercing through the hay but once or twice, when out he crawled, leaving
the pistol cocked lying on the floor. When Cook took Wight back to jail,
old Griswold was dead. He had been shot through and through.
Everybody considered that he deserved his fate, and there were few
mourners to follow his body to the old cemetery on the hill the next day.
There may have been one or two. It was afterwards discovered that the jail
delivery had been planned with the assistance of two citizens of the town,
who had horses in waiting for the murderers. One of them has since died.
The woman with whom Griswold had lived was another mourner. She seemed to
be sincerely attached to the man, whom she now called her poor, dear
husband. It was discovered after Griswold's death that during his
imprisonment this woman had done everything in her power to assist him in
his escape, and had been his confidant and adviser throughout.
After Wight, one of the prisoners who attempted to escape from the jail,
had been rearrested, it occurred to the officers to search his person in
order to ascertain, if possible, the origin of the difficulty which had
resulted in the death of one of the parties thereto. In one of his pockets
was found a package of letters, which scrutiny disclosed to have been
written by Griswold. These letters were perfectly unintelligible to the
ordinary reader, being traced in cipher, probably invented by Griswold
himself. To pick them out was, however, a comparatively easy matter to the
detectives, as they had already discovered the key to the cipher. One of
the letters, developing the plot for escape, ran as follows:
"Dear Jennie--The horses must not be more than two blocks away; we
will come out of the front door, and you or Alex----ought to be on
the opposite side of the street, so that when we went out you could
walk by where the horses were, and then there could be no mistake. We
only want the horses now to go to the mountains. I want Alex to come
and get them. Then you or him see Henry and have other ones got. I do
not know whether we will have Spencers or Winchesters; we will have
one or the other, but we may not get cartridges. Have Alex get 5
hundred rounds of each, so we can take which ever we want; also
twenty-five rounds of 36, and the same of 44. Those we don't want he
can take back. Have plenty of cakes (provisions). Take two sacks, a
part full of eatables; they must be more than half full, so that we
can lay them across the saddles, one sack on each horse. The principal
things are bread; hard tack if you can get it; no more than seven or
eight pounds of bacon; lots of salt and pepper, and lots of coffee,
ground. Mind you, lots of that is all that has kept me alive. You had
better have a quart of whiskey on each saddle, for we are nothing but
skin and bones, and very weak. We can not ride far without stimulants.
We will stay near Denver until we get strength; we are getting worse
here every day, and I assure you I will not leave here until I square
accounts with Smith.
"But we must have plenty of ammunition, for it makes no difference
whether we fight in the streets or anywhere else. I will never be
taken, and if I should have the good fortune to get killed, you will
find the address of those you want, with full directions. It will be
in the waist bands of my pants that I have on. If I am not killed I
will write and have some money sent to you. The 'old man' can go for
wood and bring provisions. I don't expect you to buy anything, but
tell Alex to get them. Better get some chewing tobacco. I want one
bottle of morphine, for riding will hurt me. I wear napkins. I can
almost span my arm above my elbow. I am the poorest I ever was but I
must or die. I have some time thought you was afraid of me if I should
get away. I have never showed myself a brute yet. I don't think I will
begin now. I will send for you as soon as I can. I will send you money
very soon, if I go to h--ll for it. Remember that I think everything
will be furnished, if I once get out. They are all scared about it. We
will go some time between 12 and 3--I think about 2 o'clock. Let Alex
be on the opposite side and walk near the horses, but not come near
us; he must follow so to get the horses. If you are bothered or
insulted, we know I will make their blood run a rain of terror or burn
their city until they stop. I tell you, if they cross me I will have
their hearts, but to you I will be as I always have been, your
husband; will stake my life for you in any way it may be necessary. If
I am killed, remember my waist band. Be careful of the key I gave you.
I will risk my life for it. They can't read. Good-by.
"L. P. G."
This letter was not fully deciphered until the body had been buried. It
was afterwards disinterred by W. F. Smith, the county jailer, in order to
ascertain whether it had been buried with any valuable papers, as the
above would indicate. He searched the clothing thoroughly, but found only
two scraps of paper--one two leaves from Harper's magazine containing the
poem "Hannah Jane," and the other a piece of paper with a few words in
cipher. On the former was the following significant problem--significant
in the light of recent events. Griswold was probably trying to study it
out. It was as follows: "A problem: A prisoner anxious to escape, and a
dead man awaiting burial; how were these two things to be exchanged so
that the living man might pass out without going to the grave?"
So ended, with his own life, the bloody work which "Old Griswold" had
begun. His wife, or "woman," is still living in or near Denver. Wight, his
accomplice, was the man who had assisted Witherill in the murder of Wall,
the herder on Dry creek, an account of which crime is elsewhere in this
volume related.
Dan Diamond, the negro, was one of the worst "coons" that ever came to
Denver. He, as well as Wight, is probably also at Cañon. He never stays
out more than a few months, as he is always stealing when out. But he
escaped on the day of the fracas. The officers heard of him a few days
afterwards at a ranch twenty-four miles down the Platte, and followed him
down there. They were told that he was in the second story of a house
there. Cook went with a posse after him and stationed men outside with
guns pointing at every window, and went up to where he was himself, with
drawn revolver. They expected him to jump out and be killed. But he
didn't. He was a downright disappointment. Cook found him lying flat on
his face on a bed, crying: "Oh, Missah Offisah, I dun gib up; don kill me
now; I'se yer man. I go right along wid you." And he did go.
As for Hennessee, the gambler, who came to Davis' rescue, he was pardoned
out immediately and voted a resolution of thanks.
Till Davis was but slightly hurt, after all. He thought he had been shot,
but wasn't. The wound caused by the stone stunned him and the blood flowed
freely for a while, but he soon recovered and is supposed to be still
living.
Patrick, the man who went with Griswold to arrest O'Neal, and who was
supposed to have been equally responsible for his death, has never, since
the day after the murder, been seen in Colorado. It was believed that he
went to Kansas, but no satisfactory clue being obtained, he was not
searched for in that state.
With one other name and one other fatality this record closes. John Tusawn
was a brother-in-law of Patrick. He lived near Brown's bridge previous to
and after O'Neal's death. Common report made him a party to the murder of
the victim; but, although circumstances pointed to his guilt, evidence
sufficient to convict him was never found, and he was not molested. It is,
however, known that ever after the ghastly tragedy he lived a moody,
gloomy life. When the grasshoppers came along in 1875, he lost his crops,
and that fall he ended a now thoroughly miserable existence by committing
suicide. It was given out that the ravages of the locusts had produced his
despondency, and had indirectly caused him to take his own life, but those
who knew him best say that he took this step to avoid the further sight of
the horrible spectacle of O'Neal's dead body dangling constantly before
his eyes.
Old Griswold was a curse to all who came in contact with him. He did not
die any too soon, and the world would have probably been better had he
never been born.
THE LEICHSENRING ROBBERY.