What remains is soon told. A few inquiries in the proper direction
revealed that on the morning of the first of May, 1868, when the tug
boat from Chicago made its usual trip to the Crib to supply provisions,
the dog was discovered dead upon the floor, and near by—just to the
right of the entrance, and about ten feet distant from it—hung the dead
body of Gustav Stahlmann, suspended by the neck from one of the rafters.
It was at once cut down and the Coroner quietly notified. Among his few
effects was found the memorandum book which so curiously came into my
possession.
The authorities were in no way to blame for this unfortunate occurrence.
On that day they placed several persons in charge of this lonely
structure and have changed them at regular intervals ever since. Because
if the circumstance were known, they were fearful they could get no one
to fill the situation, either on account of the solitude or from the
fact that many persons are afraid to live in a house that has been the
scene of a suicide—they wisely concluded to say nothing whatever about
the melancholy event, and, as I said before, few persons in the city are
acquainted with its details.
[Illustration]