"MR. PETERSON, the Norwegian, wishes to see you," said the lady with
whom I was boarding. "Something dreadful has happened, I know," she
added, earnestly, "he looks so pale."
Going to the door, I was struck with the appearance of the caller. His
cheeks blanched to a deathly hue, his eyes glancing apprehensively
about, as he said, in a low voice,—
"You know Callahan, the one-armed Englishman, living near me?"
"Yes."
"He has disappeared; has been murdered, I fear."
"When did you first miss him?" I asked.
"Three days ago," he replied. "He lived alone in the cabin he was
building on his claim—which joins mine. Being a single man, my wife had
done his baking, for which he always came regularly. She had his bread
ready for him last Wednesday, but he didn't come for it. Supposing some
unusual business had detained him, she gave herself no uneasiness. But
Thursday and Friday passed without bringing him, so she mentioned the
circumstance to me. To-day I went over to see what the matter might be,
but he was not there. Near his shanty, however, was a great deal of
blood, and his hat and coat lying by."
"Did you make inquiries concerning him of the neighbors?"
"I did not dare to, but came away as quickly as possible. I knew he had
had trouble with old Ringe. Only last week, he said he was afraid the
old man would put him out of the way, and I advised him not to stay
alone on his claim. I have no doubt his fears have been realized, poor
fellow! I scarcely dared leave home to tell you about it, for if old
Ringe, or any of his tribe, suspected my errand, they would serve me in
the same manner. Hadn't something ought to be done?"
"Yes. We must call the neighbors together, and search for the missing
man."
"When shall we do so?" he asked. "It is now nightfall, and to-morrow
will be the Sabbath. Would it be right to attend to it then?"
"Certainly. Human life is sacred. And here, on the frontier, it is
necessary to take prompt measures in such a case, or no person will be
safe. We do not yet know that the Englishman is dead. Perhaps he is
lingering in agony in some place to which, after being assaulted, he
was borne for concealment. At any rate, this is, emphatically, 'a work
of necessity' and 'mercy,' and steps must be taken at once to ascertain
the facts, and if your suspicions are confirmed, secure the person or
persons guilty of the deed."
Messengers were accordingly sent in different directions, inviting the
settlers to start the next morning at nine o'clock for the scene of the
tragedy, seven miles distant.
Some six months before the event I am relating, an aged clergyman who
had immigrated to the vicinity, was obliged to go from home to buy hay.
He invited me to accompany him. Crossing the open prairie, six miles,
we came to a heavy growth of timber belting a sluggish creek. On the
verge of the woods stood an unfinished cabin, before which were immense
stacks of hay. The owner was a man of small stature, with curly black
hair. As he mounted a stack, the winds that careered across the prairie
blew off his hat, revealing a good brow and face. He had only one arm,
with which he worked with a will, cutting off the hay and weighing it.
His crippled condition excited our sympathy, and we helped him at his
task, for which he thanked us with a manly gratitude. How strange to
see him in the van of civilization, striving to do that with one hand
for which many men found two insufficient. Yet he had made, and drawn,
and put up that hay for sale (certainly no light proof of his energy
and foresight), and for miles around his more able-bodied neighbors
were coming daily to him to purchase. Besides this, he had quite a pile
of rails split, ready for fencing.
Falling into conversation with him, I learned that he was of Irish
parentage, though born in England, and a Roman Catholic. He was candid
and thoughtful, and on my friend mentioning that I was to preach at
R— River, next Lord's day, he promised to attend. He kept his word,
showing much sensibility during service. At subsequent interviews, he
expressed desire for religious instruction, and concern for himself
as a sinner against God. His ingenuousness and deep feeling led me to
hope for a happy result in store for him, and his lonely, disabled
state—surrounded by strangers—heightened my desire for his temporal and
spiritual prosperity.
As on our first meeting, we stood talking together, an old man,
withered yet sinewy and lithe, came and leaned against the rail
enclosure that fenced in the hay. His complexion denoted a mingling of
races. His wrinkled face wore that sinister impress that, when once
seen, is not forgotten; hard, savage, insinuating, a mingling of the
wild beast and serpent. I had not heard of him before; knew nothing
of his antecedents, but shrunk from him instinctively, as, fixing his
leering eye on me, he said, with an odious smile, that displayed in
his almost toothless gums an upper and a lower fang on each side of a
wolfish mouth,—
"Perhaps the gentleman is land-hunting. I've got a handsome piece of
property up here," pointing to a cabin just in sight; "prairie and
timber, that I will sell dog cheap."
Replying that I did not wish to buy, as our team started, I said to my
companion, with the "invincible assurance of a sudden presentiment,"
"that man can commit murder. How does that one-armed man dare to live
by him?" Those two were "old Ringe" and Callahan.
The following Sabbath saw no small stir in our usually peaceful
community. From various quarters men poured forth, afoot and in teams,
many heavily armed, for old Ringe was the patriarch of a numerous and
motley company, in which French, English, African, and Indian blood
intermingled, producing, with their besotted habits, a degraded and
desperate band. It was a balmy May morning. The air was fragrant with
the scent of fresh grasses and spring blossoms, while the bluebird
and the robin made joyous music. Could it be that amid such sights
and sounds we were on our way to a scene of blood? On that holy,
heaven-blessed morning, too?
"There's the cabin," said a voice at my side, arousing me from the
revery into which I had fallen. The same dreamy quiet rested on it, as
on the entire landscape. Not a person was to be seen as we drew near,
and the birds sang as blithely from the covert of the woods, as out
among the flowering hedges and shrubs of the green spreading prairie,
away from "habitations of cruelty." On the side of the dwelling at
which we stopped there was nothing to denote violence, but passing
around it, a sight met the eye that sent a shudder through every
spectator. In the hay that littered the ground was a deep sanguinary
pool. Beneath the gory mass, the blood was still limpid; the quantity
leaving no doubt on our minds as to the fatal character of the deed.
A hoe leaned against the building, a pipe, with some partially burnt
matches, near it; the dead man's cap and vest were not far off, while
scattered around were bits of clotted paper that had been written over.
These last I carefully gathered, placing them in a rifled pocket-book
I had picked up. From the blood spot to the fence the grass was bent,
and the soil disturbed as if the body had been dragged that way. On the
rails were crimson stains, while over them, the trail could be traced
towards the creek, which ran between us and a tangled grove.
Old Ringe's window, forty rods north, overlooked our group, but not an
inmate came to ascertain the cause of the gathering. It was proposed
that I should take some of our number with me, and make inquiries
there, while the rest hunted after the remains of Callahan. Two good
men volunteering, we started on our mission. At the window, as we drew
near, was the old man's son-in-law, Shuber, making ready to shave; at
his elbow a mulatto woman watching us. Two barking curs disputed the
passage as we approached the open door, at which Ringe's wife, also a
mulatto, stout and ill-favored, her heavy features badly pitted by the
smallpox, came to the door, and called out with a hoarse, savage voice,
"Be still, I tell yer!"
The dogs slunk away, while without another word the woman turned her
back on us and reentered. Heavy boxes were pulled roughly across
the floor to serve instead of chairs for us, as we followed her in.
One object, however, fixed our attention. Opposite the entrance, on
a narrow bed, his legs pendent from its side, his back against the
wall, sat the suspected murderer, as if fast asleep. His lower jaw had
dropped down, his hands hung listlessly; no attempt at life-expression
on his face to conceal its deformity. His aspect was haggard and
revolting in the extreme. Purposely raising my voice to a high key, I
said to the son-in-law,—
"Callahan is missing; we wish to know if you can tell us where he is?"
Continuing to strop his razor, he replied, jerking out his words,
"Don't know where he is, if he isn't to home! Lives in the shanty down
there. I ain't the feller's gardeen. Comes and goes jest when he's a
mind ter; perhaps he's gone off a while. He'll turn up safe and sound,
I warrant yer."
"When did you see him last, Mr. Shuber?"
"O, as to that, I haven't seen nothing of him since Wednesday morning."
"But haven't you thought it strange that he should be away so long?"
"Don't give ourselves, up here, any trouble about the 'little
Irishman,'" the last two words pronounced with a hard sneer. "He takes
care of himself, and we take care of ourselves."
"Well," said I, loudly, "perhaps your father can tell us something
about him. Won't you ask him?" at which a slight flush tinged the
cheeks of the sleeper, then quickly disappeared, while the son-in-law,
continuing to ply the razor, replied curtly,—
"He's asleep."
Questioning other members of the household, who returned confused and
contradictory answers, I again said to Shuber, "Perhaps Mr. Ringe can
give us some information about Callahan."
"Father's asleep," interposed Shuber's wife, "and we don't like to wake
him up."
The old man's wife had been uneasily moving about, now going out of the
house, now returning, avoiding conversation. Turning suddenly to her,
I said, authoritatively, "We wish to ask your husband a question. You
must at once wake him up."
Stepping to the bed, she placed her hand lightly on his knee, and ere
she had uttered a word, he opened his eyes, stretched up his arms and
yawned, saying, confusedly,—"What—what—what do you want?"
"These gentlemen have called to ask about Callahan," said the wife,
quickly. "They say he's gone off, or something."
"What, the little Irishman—as I call him? Some folks call him an
Englishman, but I say he's an Irishman. O, he's all right. He's often
taking a notion to go nobody knows where, and to come back nobody knows
when. Can't put no dependence on him. But we never give ourselves any
trouble about it; we're used to his tricks. Why, I don't suppose he
knows any more about us, or we about him, than if he lived 'tother side
of the ocean. We don't hold to meddling with other folks' business.
He'll turn up again, I'll warrant. Why, you 'couldn't kill' the little
feller if you should try."
"How long has he been away this time?"
"Can't say as to that. The last time we saw him was Tuesday afternoon.
He was hoeing his potatoes there—right over there," pointing through
the window; "and I said to the folks, guess the little Irishman means
to get ahead of us. Soon after I saw him go toward his shanty, to rest,
I suppose. You see he's got only one hand, and gets tired pretty easy,
and then goes down by the cabin, and stands there and takes a smoke
till he feels better. Well, as I was saying, he went down there, and
pretty soon I heard a gun go off down that way, and Shuber says to
me, 'What does that mean?' and says I, 'O, it's nothing but a wagon
jouncing over a root or a stone in the road.' After that he was gone
from the shanty, and I spoke to Shuber about it."
"When did you find out that he was gone?"
"Thursday morning. You see Shuber and I were at hunting deer along
the creek, and we had to go right close to his house, for the creek
is close by, you know. And says I, 'Wonder if the little Irishman's
up yet? Let's give him a call, and see!' So I called out 'Callahan,
Callahan!' but he didn't answer. And we both hollered, but all was
still as death. And, says I, 'The little feller sleeps sound this
morning.'"
"Did you go back that way?"
"Yes, but 'twas on 'tother side of the house. And we called to him
again, but he didn't say a word, nor show his head."
"When you went after deer, the path led you within a few feet of his
dwelling and the fence. Did you see any thing unusual there? any blood
on the rails, or on the ground, or any article of clothing?"
"No; it was so dark you couldn't see your hand before your face. Saw
his vest, though, kicking about, that's all; but he's a mighty careless
feller about leaving his things round."
"Well," said I, "you are a neighbor to him, and acquainted with these
woods; we suspect something very serious has befallen him, and we want
you and Shuber to go and help find out about it."
They consented; but as they walked, grew excited, and talked fast; and
although no charges had been made against them, protested that "they"
didn't murder "the little Irishman," that they knew nothing about the
matter, that they believed he would turn up alive and well;—ending by
stating that he was killed; that they knew who the murderer was; that
it was a young German living in the vicinity, and that they could prove
it.
"We think the body is in the creek," said a man in a low tone. "The
trail ends there—we could follow it no further."
Stepping to where some willows had been felled into the stream, I was
searching among them, when I caught sight of a pair of boots floating
among the branches. They were fastened together with a rope. Taking
hold of this to draw them out, to my surprise I found that they were on
the remains of the Englishman. He was naked to the waist; his only hand
was lashed to his feet; and as I deposited him on the bank, the blood
still stood in what seemed to be deep gashes in the back. I had just
stooped down to ascertain the character of the wounds, when, to our
horror, old Ringe, officiously gathering a handful of dry leaves and
grass, with a grim smile wiped away the blood, saying,—
"That's only where the blood has settled like."
He knew. The marks were indentations caused by the twigs on which the
body had rested. Death was inflicted by a heavy charge of slugs shot
into the back under the right shoulder.
Old Ringe sat over the ghastly form of Callahan like an ogre,
gesticulating with the hand that held the clotted leaves, by turns
asserting his innocence, and railing at the unconscious dead.
"'I've' nothing against the little Irishman. We had a little
difference, it is true, but I jest taught him his manners, and he's
been good enough since then. We haven't had a word together since last
spring, when I slapped him, and he's been as quiet as a pig ever since."
His manner and language were horrible.
While waiting for the coroner, some of us went to a spring, a few
rods distant, to allay our thirst. Old Ringe and his son-in-law
followed, incessantly talking. He reiterated that he was guiltless, and
implicated the young German. At length I abruptly said,—
"Mr. Ringe, it is an old proverb that 'murder will out.' I have much
faith in that saying, and for this reason: There is a God. His eye is
ever on us. He has said, 'Thou shalt not kill.' He can alone give life.
It is one of the greatest crimes possible for man wantonly to destroy
that life. God is the Governor of the world, and he will punish the
murderer. For the safety of society, and that bad men may be deterred
from this highest form of sin, he takes special pains to bring to light
the murderer. From him there can be no such thing as escape. Man is
sometimes deceived and foiled, but God never!"
His countenance grew dark. The clamor of his tongue ceased, and for
a few moments we were permitted to think in quiet as we stretched
ourselves by the fountain's side.
Returning to the cabin, I had seated myself on a log, Ringe and
Shuber by my side,—for they did not lose sight of me,—when the former
stealthily left me, and went to the south side of the dwelling. A small
ell had been attached to the main building. That only had been occupied
by the owner, as the rest of the cabin was unfinished. In front of the
ell was a high rail fence, making a snug enclosure a few feet square
before the door. Ringe stopped at the little yard, and stood intently
looking, now on the ground, now in at the door. Was he afraid that some
clew had been left there by the assassin? His manner was eager and shy.
Springing over the fence, I began to pick up fragments of letters
thickly scattered among the loose straw, when suddenly it occurred to
me that that was the place where the fiend had laid in wait for his
victim. The Englishman had been shot on the other side of his house.
From the condition of his field, and the fact that his hoe and pipe
were near where he fell, it was plain that he had been hoeing, and had
left his work in order to rest and, smoke a while. The murderer having
crept into his cabin, had no doubt shot him then. But if so, as there
was no window on that side of the house, an aperture must have been
made in the building, through which to take aim. A bed stood before
the open door against the northern wall. Getting upon that, I saw an
opening had indeed been made. It looked out over the bloody spot.
Calling a neighbor, and directing him to stand by the spot, I found he
was in exact range.
Ringe and Shuber were arrested on suspicion.
The justice, before whom the first trial was to occur, resided at a
newly-settled town, twelve miles from our place. A friend, who acted as
sheriff, invited me to ride over with him. Before the justice's cabin
were a large number of persons watching our buggy as we drove up. Old
Ringe and his friends were among them, and, as I alighted, he came
forward, extending his hand as to an old acquaintance, saying,—
"Welcome! welcome! Glad to see the minister,—was afraid you wouldn't
be here. 'You' will want justice done. 'You' won't stand by and see an
innocent man like me falsely condemned. Look at my gray hairs and my
dim eyes. Why, sir, these poor eyes couldn't 'see' to shoot a man, even
if I wished to take the life of a follow-creature. But why should I
do such a thing? I am almost in my grave,—have but a few days here at
most. No; no, you are a minister of Christ, and I know you can't have
an old man like me hung,—I know you can't!"
This appeal, so unexpected, so affecting in its allusion to his
advanced years, uttered in the thrilling tones of one who felt that his
life was at stake, came near unmanning me. Releasing myself from his
grasp, I said, aside to the sheriff, "How is this? Persons arrested
for a capital offence at large—prisoners and witnesses mingling freely
together! What does this mean? Why, they can agree on any testimony
they choose!"
"Oh," replied the easy official, "never mind; the lawyers will pick the
witnesses to pieces when they come to the stand!"
At the hotel a mile off, after tea, old Ringe met me again, with the
most touching and insinuating appeals. They were hard to withstand,
even from him. And when, next morning, he renewed his entreaties, I
said,—
"Mr. Ringe, it is useless to appeal to me in this way. You know that I
would not wrong you for the world. I shall state, as a witness, only
what I have seen and heard, no more, no less. I can keep back nothing.
I shall add nothing. This is all I could promise the dearest friend on
earth."
As I spoke, a stern, bitter glance shot from his eyes, and a deathly
pallor spread over his face. He avoided me from that time.
"Would you like to ride a few miles before court?" asked the sheriff.
"I am going for two of Ringe's daughters, who were from home at the
time of the murder. He says he can prove by them that the young German
intended to kill Callahan. He states that they dropped corn for the
German a short time before the murdered man was shot, and that he had
tried to hire them to poison Callahan, that he might get his claim.'"
"Well," said I, "there is one request I wish to make; and that is,
that the girls shall not be tampered with by the father, or any of his
witnesses."
"Don't see the need of that. But if you wish it, I can take them to
another house, and keep them there till you see the justice about it."
They were singular enough in appearance. Short, stout, tawny; with
large, oval eyes; ears so long as to look inhuman; bold faces, and
an oily speech. I had heard that they could lie and steal, and what
might they not do, if their own father was ready to testify that their
employer had sought to bribe them to poison his neighbor?
"Father didn't kill that man!" said one of them, sharply.
"How do you know that?" asked the officer.
"Because he's almost blind, he's so old. He couldn't see," she added,
"if he was here in this wagon, to shoot the tail of that horse!"
"How does that agree with his deer-hunting before daylight?" said the
sheriff.
The girls were kept secluded, despite the ravings of the father and
the arts of his supporters; and it was significant that they were not
summoned as witnesses, nor was the German accused.
During the trial, the State's attorney, taking me aside, said, "Search
should be made through time neighborhood in which the murder was
committed, for evidence that may serve as a clew to the murderer. I
am persuaded that if any thing can yet be found, you can discover it.
Would you be deputized for that purpose?"
"Yes, rather than let the criminal escape."
His horse and buggy were placed at my service, and, accompanied by a
Frenchman, and a substantial farmer, I soon arrived at our place of
destination. Cabin after cabin was visited, boxes and trunks opened,
beds stripped, floors taken up, each nook and cranny scrutinized,
without avail. Repairing to the creek, I noticed that on the stumps of
the willows, that had been felled to conceal the body of the murdered
man, gaps in the ax used, had left their impress on the wood. The
farmer at once cut off the willow stumps, and taking them with us, we
examined the axes in the neighborhood. In Ringe's house was one, the
edge of which corresponded perfectly with the impression in the wood.
The steel and the helve were also bloody.
"Now look sharp for bloody garments," said I.
A low, unlighted attic, to which access was had by a ladder, held
the accumulated cast-offs of the household. Such a dusty, filthy
collection! Only the friendship cherished for the inoffensive deceased,
deepened by that peculiar interest felt in one for whom the Christian
minister has toiled and prayed, and a strong desire that justice should
be done, could have borne me through the repulsive task. The search was
vain.
"Mr. D., hadn't we better give it up?" cried the farmer. "It's getting
late, and we've seen all this house has to show!"
"A moment more," I replied, as I remembered that two beds, lying side
by side on the floor, had not been removed. Lifting them up, we found
beneath one a man's shirt, the arm and shoulder saturated with blood.
As we reëntered the court-room with the discoveries we had made, a deep
silence prevailed. We had brought also another witness, who testified
that old Ringe attempted, on one occasion, to burn Callahan to death;
and that the old man had repeatedly said in his presence that he meant
to kill him yet. The ax, willows, and garment were critically examined,
the counsel for the prisoners not being able to explain away the
evidence thus presented.
That night I slept in the same room with one of Ringe's lawyers. I
shall not soon forget him, and the developments of our interview.
He had a calm, keen eye; dark hair thrown back from a finely-turned
forehead; a physiognomy sincere and refined. In his address there
was a perfect air of good-breeding that inspired respect. He had an
acute and logical mind, liberal acquirements, and a well-balanced
intellectual and moral character. He realized my ideal of a learned,
cultivated, upright lawyer. A "protegé" of Hon. Mr. Giddings, he had
come to Minnesota on account of impaired health, and this was his first
case in the territory. After retiring to our room, he wished to know
the particulars of the terrible tragedy. The narrative impressed him
deeply. I soon after fell asleep, but was in a short time awakened by
his groaning and restlessness.
"Are you ill?" I asked.
"No," he replied; "but it is so horrible, so horrible—that murder!"
Again, as he turned from side to side, he exclaimed, "Blood cries from
the ground for vengeance!"
And this was the man who, in the court-room, was so unimpassioned,
permitting nothing to pass that was adverse to his client, without the
most searching scrutiny!
Before day broke, he said, "I have been dreadfully harassed by this
case." Then, after a few moments, he added, "I have no doubt of the
guilt of that old man. He's the murderer; but I can clear him. My
partner has proposed a plan, which I am not at liberty to explain, that
must be effectual. What shall I do? Help spring the legal trap, and let
the criminal loose, and thus succeed professionally, or not?"
"Let me entreat you," said I, "to do right. God will bless you in it,
and you will have a clear conscience."
"I will think it over," he replied, "and see what I can do," and he
relapsed into his uneasy slumbers.
With eager scrutiny I studied his countenance in court the next day
to ascertain his decision. In vain. I trembled for him, so severely
loyal did he seem to his client's interests, and true to the pride of
success. But his sterling, moral principle prevailed and Ringe and
Shuber were recommitted.
He knew my anxiety, and said, as he passed from the court-room, with a
happy smile upon his handsome face,—
"'Did I do right?'"
As for myself, procuring a box, I put the ax, willows, and shirt in it,
in the presence of suitable witnesses, and committed the whole to the
justice for safe keeping.
No jail had been built. The sheriff, therefore, took the accused to
his own home. He lived quite a distance from the culprit's place,
and it was not long before the cunning old man had so won upon his
unsuspecting nature, as to be permitted to hire out as a day laborer.
Wherever he went he pleaded his cause so effectually that the public
mind became strongly excited in his behalf. He made also another
diversion in his own favor. Among his children was one, familiarly
called Bill, who was about eighteen years of age. He was the youngest
of his boys, as well as the whitest. He was a great rogue, and was well
known as such. His father called him half-witted, but he was an adept
in villainy. Horse-stealing, robbing trunks, money-drawers, and stores
of their goods, were among his exploits. Over the vices of his boy,
Ringe whined and groaned among his new friends, and at last accused
Bill of being the murderer. The lie was believed. When the witnesses
of the State went to the second trial, they found that the settlers at
the county-seat and vicinity had prejudged the case. A jury was drawn
from the material at hand, and, although on hearing both sides most of
them modified their views of the case, such was the previous condition
of their minds, coupled with the fact, perhaps, as stated afterward
by a juror, that several of their number were "opposed to capital
punishment," Ringe and his confederate were cleared.
The terror that this result inspired among those who had been active in
endeavoring to bring the perpetrators of the murder to light, can not
be described.
The Norwegian went armed. Every night he and his family slept in the
wretched attic of his low-roofed cabin, drawing the ladder up after
them on retiring. But this state of things could not be endured. A
party of resolute men went to the cabin of liberated desperadoes, and
warned them off, on pain of forcible ejection. They soon disappeared.
The murdered man's valuable "claim," with its movable property, that
his assassins had intended should become theirs, were sold at a good
price. The fragments of paper which I had saved, on being put together,
proved to be a letter from a brother of Callahan, residing in Lowell,
Massachusetts, to whom we had the pleasure of sending the avails of the
estate.
Who can predict the next new thing that will transpire on the frontier?
One day, some two months after Ringe's final trial, an elderly man
called on me, and said,—
"I have come to ask, sir, if you will not make a five o'clock
appointment, some Sabbath, to preach at my place. We have a very
respectable community there, sir, now. Many new families have come in,
and we would like to hear a gospel sermon now and then."
"Where do you live?" I inquired.
"At Slough Creek, seven miles from here."
Assenting to the request, the next Sabbath found me on my way there.
"Can you tell me where Mr. C. lives?" I asked of a well-dressed woman
whom I overtook.
"Just through the woods, a few rods, the first house," she replied.
On arriving, what was my surprise to find that the meeting was to be at
Ringe's log-house, now in new hands, and refitted and enlarged so as
to present quite a neat and comfortable appearance. There was a good
attendance and earnest attention. Among the audience, here and there,
was one who had been partially of Ringe's company. They listened with
no less respect because of the part I had taken in seeking to make the
power of the law felt among the lawless dwellers upon our frontier.