Great American Crime Stories Page 7

  When he had answered the Coroner’s questions Walworth sent the following dispatch to Chicago:

  M. I. Hardin, La Salle street, Chicago:

  I Shot father this morning.

  F. H. WALWORTH.

  A reporter of the New York Sun obtained an interview with young Walworth, and gives the following as the conversation which occurred:

  Reporter — What led you to this dreadful crime?

  Walworth — Family troubles. It’s been going on for some time, and the story is a long one.

  Reporter — When did you come to the city ?

  Walworth — I left Saratoga yesterday, and arrived here at a quarter of three in the afternoon.

  Reporter — Excuse my asking the question (here the prisoner looked hard at the reporter and smiled. His smile is very sweet), but did you come here with the intention — why did you come here?

  Walworth — I came here to do what I have done.

  Reporter — When you arrived here what did you do first?

  Walworth — I went straight to my father’s boarding-house, on Fourth avenue, near Fifty-second street.

  Reporter — You did not find your father in?

  Walworth — No; but I had prepared a note, which I left for him.

  Reporter — When your father entered your room this morning what passed between you ?

  Walworth — I took out my pistol and pointed it at him. I said, “I want you to promise that you will not threaten to shoot, me or my mother any more.”

  Reporter — What did he answer?

  Walworth — He said, “I will promise not to do so.”

  Reporter — What did you do then?

  Walworth — I said, “Will you promise that you won’t insult me or my mother any more? In the past you have done it with impunity, but you cannot do it any more.”

  Reporter — And what was the reply?

  Walworth — He said, “I won’t trouble you any more.” Then I said, “You have broken your promises many times before. I am determined you shall keep them this time. Then I shot him.

  Reporter — Did he offer to defend himself?

  Walworth — The last shot I fired he was close up to me.

  The venerable Judge Barbour was holding a court in the Superior Court, No. 2, when one of the counsel stepped up to him and informed him of the killing of Mansfield Tracy Walworth by his son. Judge Barbour immediately gave way to an emotion he could not control. He leaned his head on the desk for a few moments and then said:

  “Gentlemen, we will adjourn the Court for to-day.”

  He then tottered down the steps, so that he had to be helped out of the court room. He immediately took a coach, and, going in search of ex-District Attorney Garvin, went in his company to the Sturtevant House, where he asked for the “boy.” When told that he was a prisoner at the Twenty-ninth precinct station house he asked where it was, and immediately repaired there. He entered the police station at one o’clock, accompanied by ex-District Attorney Garvin.

  After a few words with Captain Burden, they were admitted to the prisoner’s cell. Judge Barbour merely looked at the prisoner and immediately quitted the cell without speaking. He walked up and down the station while Mr. Garvin was conversing with the prisoner. Mr. Garvin was occupied with the prisoner nearly half an hour.

  Mr. William A. Beach, while in Court in the morning, also received a telegram from Saratoga asking him to take the case of Frank H. Walworth in charge, and await the arrival of his mother, Mrs. Ellen Harden Walworth, who was expected to arrive in New York in the evening.

  Soon after the interview with Mr. Garvin, Frank Walworth was removed to the Tombs. Officer Malony, who went with him, asked him several questions in regard to the murder, but he refused to say anything. He smoked his segar and spoke about the squares and streets which they passed and his having forgotten most of their names.

  “I have seen a great many murderers,” the officer told a Herald reporter, “But I never saw one who was so cool. He was just as much excited as you are now.”

  Walworth reached the prison between half past two and three o’clock. He was attired in a suit of light colored spring clothing, and had also a spring overcoat of a light color and texture. He had none of the appearances of a prisoner.

  “You might say he came down here himself,” said a keeper. “He walked in free and quiet in manner. There was no excitement about him, and I tell you it’s a rare thing to see a man come in here as easy and offhanded as he did.”

  The prisoner was duly registered by the clerk at the desk, and in a minute afterward passed through the grated doors which were to shut him out from the world. He passed with a quick, thoughtless pace through the prison yard, walked into the main prison building and the clanking iron door that leads up to the first iron gallery in the corridor was opened for him. In two minutes more the door of cell No. G7 was opened to him, and he stepped inside without any hesitation, being obliged to stoop as he entered in consequence of the lowness of the doorway. This cell is on the north corner of the corridor, on the rear or Elm street side, and was furnished simply with a cot and stool, the bed being provided with the ordinary prison clothing. The door was then closed on him.

  After an interval of about an hour Walworth was removed to cell No. 44, in the southern wing of the corridor, but on the same tier. This brought him into the neighborhood of the notables who occupy “Murderers’ Row,” and his fellow residents on the same block of habitations were Sharkey, Scannel, King, and some other subjects of sanguinary fame. In this cell also the furniture was of the same plain description.

  When left alone Walworth took off his his light overcoat and sat down on the miserable bed, alone with his thoughts. Up to six o’clock he sat on the bed, thinking deeply, but in no wise depressed in spirits, he made no requests to the prison officials for food or extra pharaphernalia, two candles being the only things furnished him.

  Shortly before six o’clock a reporter wrote a series of eight questions to the prisoner, which were conveyed to him by one of the keepers, with a request that, if unobjectionable, he would make either written or verbal reply.

  When the keeper presented the questions, together with the reporter’s personal card, Walworth was seated on the bed. Without rising he listened to the keeper’s explanation of his visit, then took the paper, read the questions and the name on the card, and handed them back to the keeper saying:

  “Will you please tell him that I cannot answer any questions, as I am advised by my counsel not to hold any communication with any one.”

  AT THE STURTEVANT HOUSE.

  Immediately after the shooting, the greatest excitement prevailed in the Sturtevant House. The room adjoining that in which the tragedy was enacted was occupied by Mr. Morehead. He was aroused by a shot, instantly followed by a shriek of murder — a shriek so loud and terrific that it chilled and almost paralyzed him. A second shot and a second shriek, not loud but full of appalling agony, rang out and echoed through the corridor. A third shot startled the horrified listeners — for by this time a score of guests stood at their open doors with bleached faces and quaking forms. Then there was a heavy thud and silence!

  Soon the door of No. 267 was opened, and a young man, wearing a light overcoat and Alpine hat, stepped into the corridor, closed the door after him, and rushed toward the staircase, down which he disappeared. The alarmed guests re-entered their rooms, and dressed hurriedly.

  As soon as the young man reached the clerk’s desk and uttered the words, “I’ve shot and killed my father,” the night watchman, the steward, and the bell boy rushed up stairs, entered the chamber, and catching one glimpse of the horrible truth precipitately retired.

  The watchman hastened to Mr. Louis Leland’s room and aroused him, informing him that a man was shot in 267, but that he still breathed. Mr. Leland told the man to run forthwith for Hrs. Childs and Mulf
ord.

  On Mr. Leland’s descending he went, accompanied by the watchman, to the fatal room. Mr. Morehead joined them, and pushing open the door, Mr. Leland entered, followed by Mr. Morehead. The two men stood with suppressed breath and whitened lips, gazing first at the awful spectacle at their feet and tlum at each other with mute horror. The watchman grasped the door with his trembling hand, and fastened his distended eyes upon the hideous sight.

  There, stretched out upon the floor, with the head against the washstand, lay the lifeless form of a strong, hale, handsome man, in the prime of life. One hand was thrown over his forehead, the other lay by his side.

  [An included diagram exhibited the scene of the murder, including the door to room where the murder took place, the location of the hallway, the position of the washstand and hatrack, where Walworth had stood when when the fatal shots were fired, the place where the murdered man fell with his head resting in a pool of blood, and the bed where he was placed immediately after death.]

  Blood was on the face, the hands, and hair. The marble top of the washstand was covered with clotted blood, the murdered man having probably leaned upon it while his lifeblood was ebbing away. There was also a quantity of blood which had trickled down the wall. But more singular than this, there was also a quantity of blood on the opposite side of the washstand, about three feet away, where it had apparently spurted, some being congealed on the surface of the marble and a quantity being in a still liquid condition under a glass on the further side of the washstand. The soap dish was half full of blood, as was also the toothbrush dish, which had mingled with the soap into a kind of frothy foam. Where the murdered man lay, there was a large quantity of blood, probably several quarts, which had run through the carpet for a space of about two feet in diameter. A towel also lay on the floor, saturated with blood. Along the carpet over which the dead man was carried to the bed there were spots of blood. A black hat, surrounded with a three-quarter mourning band, was picked up and hung on a peg.

  Dr. Mulford and Dr. Childs examined the body simply to satisfy themselves that the man was dead. They found a pistol shot wound in the right breast, another in the left breast near the heart, another in the left arm, and another under the right ear.

  One of the doctors who attended on the murdered man said that when he went up stairs to room 207 [sic] he found Mr. Walworth was not yet dead. He was lying on the floor with his head on the carpet and gasping. His pulse gave one or two pulsations when the Doctor took his arm in his hand and then stopped completely. Blood was gushing from the wound in his left breast and from his arm. He died in about a quarter of a minute after the Doctor went into his room. He was shortly after placed upon the bed. The Doctor says that when young Walworth was brought into the room he reported the conversation between him self and father as follows:—

  Walworth the Son (standing before his father) — You have again written to my mother threatening both her life and my own. Will you solemnly promise never to make such threats again?

  Walworth the Father — I do make that promise.

  Walworth the Son — You have also repeated the insult made to my mother. Do you promise to never use insulting language to my mother again?

  Walworth the Father — I do make such a promise.

  Walworth the Son — (drawing the revolver and pointing it at his father) — You have made that promise before, and I do not believe you. You shall never have the opportunity of doing so again.

  And then the firing took place, without a moment’s interval of hesitation.

  When Coroner Young arrived at the hotel the undertaker was sent for. At about ten o’clock the undertakers’ wagon, from Senior & Benedict’s, in Carmine street, drove up to the door of the hotel. The large ice coffin was then taken up stairs and the body was speedily placed in it, just as it was. The whole thing did not take more than fifteen minutes, when the box, with its dead freight, was again placed in the wagon, which rapidly drove away. When in the undertakers’ establishment it was disrobed and washed and placed in a preserving coffin. The face bore, an expression of great suffering; the lips were slightly parted, and the wound in the forehead plainly showed the terrible death he had died.

  7

  Laura Bullion and the Wild Bunch

  Laura Bullion (1876–1961) was a female outlaw of the Old West, best known for her occasional association with members of the Wild Bunch of outlaws and train robbers, whose fame was renewed by the 1969 film Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid starring Paul Newman and Robert Redford. At the time of her November 6, 1901, arrest in St. Louis (partly recounted here) police said she was a prostitute. She also had banknotes in her possession that were part of the loot from the Great Northern Train Robbery of July 3, 1901.

  STOLEN BANK NOTES REPRESENTING $7,000 IN SATCHEL OF BANDIT’S WOMAN COMPANION.

  St. Louis Police Are Fast Weaving a Web About the Suspected Montana Train Robber Arrested Tuesday Night—Admissions From Woman Already Point to Guilt of Pair—Complete Confession May Be Secured Leading to Arrest of Others and Recovery of More Plunder.

  “BUTCH CASSIDY,” THE THIRD MEMBER OF THE GANG, THOUGHT TO HAVE BEEN HERE.

  In “John Arnold.” the prisoner arrested Tuesday night on suspicion of being implicated in the robbery of the Great Northern express at Wagner, Mont., July 3, Chief of Police Kiely and Chief of Detectives Desmond are confident they have Harvey Logan, alias Harry Longuebaugh [sic], alias Harry Alonzo. The prisoner answers exactly the photograph and description of Logan, sent broadcast immediately after the robbery, for whose arrest a reward of $5,000 has been offered.

  Laura Bullion, a companion and possible confederate of Logan, was arrested yesterday morning at the Laclede Hotel, just as she was on the point of taking her departure. She had been living there since last Friday, when she arrived there with a male companion, said by the police to be Logan, who registered the couple as “J. W. Rose and wife, Vicksburg, Miss.” “Mrs. Rose” at first made a show of indignation when arrested, but later consented to accompany the officers to the Four Courts. Her baggage, consisting of a trunk and a satchel, was also taken there.

  Chief of Police Kiely took “Mrs. Rose” in hand early yesterday morning for examination, and Chief of Detectives Desmond took Logan into his “sweat box.” The two Chiefs spent the entire day and evening endeavoring to elicit a confession or, at least, some damaging admissions from the prisoners, but with very unsatisfactory results until a late hour last night, when the woman made admissions, which, the Chief believes, will materially assist them in rounding up the remaining members of the gang and recovering much of the stolen money.

  When “Mrs. Rose’s” trunk was searched in the Chief’s office, nothing of an incriminating nature was found. It contained masculine and feminine apparel, toilet articles, bric-a-brac and odds-and-ends. A pocket dictionary, however, which she said belonged to Logan, contained something which interested the police. On the inside of the cover was pasted a newspaper clipping containing an account of the capture of Sam Ketchum, a train robber, in Wyoming on July 19, 1900. Ketchum had a broken arm, shattered by a ball, and died a month later. On the fly leaf, in pencil was the following memorandum: “45.500, 51,000. H. in W. Wyoming,” followed by a series of initials. Chief Desmond believes this memorandum refers to the booty obtained in the Great Northern express robbery, and that “H. in W. Wyoming” means that a portion of the spoils is hid in some Wyoming town.

  STOLEN BANKNOTES FOUND IN “MRS. ROSE’S” SATCHEL.

  “Mrs. Rose’s” satchel contained $7,000 of the stolen banknotes, in denominations of $10 and $20. The notes are unsigned. On her person was found $600 of the same notes, to all of which had been forged the name “J. W. Smith” as president of the bank on which they were issued.

  Logan is one of the most uncommunicative prisoners Chief Desmond has ever handled. He is 6 feet tall, weighs 200 pounds, and possesses a powerful frame and the active, alert bearing
of an athlete. He is a good-looking chap, though dark, sullen face and his wicked eye, when in surly mood, rob his features of much of their attraction. All together, he is a fair type of what is known as a “dangerous man.”

  Although the Chief “sweated” him continuously from early morning till midnight and used his most persuasive methods, he elicited little information. Logan was sullen and replied, when at all, mostly in monosyllables. His photograph and Bertillon measurements were taken yesterday morning, and will be sent to the authorities at Wagner and other Western cities.

  Logan persisted in declaring that his name was John Arnold, even when confronted with his photograph, taken from the Bertillon bureau, containing a record of scars and blemishes which tallied with those found on his body. He refused to tell anything of his past history, or to give an account of his whereabouts since last July. When asked where he obtained the $483 found upon him, he said he had won it in a gambling game in a town in Mississippi. Later, when confronted with the unsigned banknotes found in the woman’s satchel, he acknowledged they were his, but denied having given them to the woman. He said the satchel found with her belonged to him. He said he had known the woman a couple of months, having picked her up in Hot Springs.

  WOMAN GETS TANGLED UNDER FIRE OF QUESTIONS.

  “Mrs. Rose” made several conflicting statements when first questioned, and later, when detected in them, acknowledged that she had lied. She first said she met Logan in Hot Springs two months ago, and had been with him since, coming to St. Louis via Nashville and Memphis. Later she ad-mitted that this was a lie, and that she had been a companion of the train-robbing gang for years. Her real name, she said, is Laura Bullion, and her former home in Knickerbocker, Tex., where she had lived with her grandparents. Mr. and Mrs. E. B. Fyler. The Fylers, she said, are now living on a ranch near Douglas Post Office, Ariz.

  The woman declared that the bank notes found in her purse and in the satchel had been given her by Logan. She said she had forged the name of “J. W. Smith” to the notes found upon her and Logan, purporting to be the name of the president of the Montana bank. Later, when the discrepancy between her own handwriting and that on the bills was shown her, she confessed that Logan had forged the signatures.