Library of Congress Subject Headings, 21st edition, 1998

Languages Used:

• English

LC Subject Headings:

• Lewis, J. Vance.
• African Americans -- Biography.
• African American lawyers -- Texas -- Biography.
• Slaves -- Louisiana -- Biography.
• Freedmen -- Texas -- Biography.
• Discrimination in criminal justice administration -- United States.
• Slaves' writings, American -- Texas.

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[Cover Image]

J. VANCE LEWIS, AUTHOR.
419 1/2 Milam Street, Houston, Texas.
[Frontispiece Image]

[Title Page Image]

[Title Page Verso Image]

OUT OF THE DITCH
A TRUE STORY OF AN
EX-SLAVE

BY

J. VANCE LEWIS

HOUSTON, TEXAS
Rein & Sons Co., Printers
1910

Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1910, by
J. VANCE LEWIS,
in the office of the Librarian of Congress,
at Washington, D.C.

Mrs. J. Vance Lewis.
[Second Frontispiece Image]

THIS BOOK
IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED
TO MY
BELOVED AND FAITHFUL WIFE,
PAULINE R. LEWIS

CONTENTS

• Chapter One: Birthplace . . . . . 1
• Chapter Two: Life on the Farm . . . . . 12
• Chapter Three: Doc Lewis Becomes Judge Lewis . . . . . 16
• Chapter Four: School Days . . . . . 22
• Chapter Five: College Life . . . . . 28
• Chapter Six: In the Courts of Illinois . . . . . 33 Chapter Seven: The Case of John Donovan . . . . . 38
• Chapter Eight: Henry Windgate's Murder Case in New York . . . . . 56
• Chapter Nine: Mrs. Florida Philips Tried for Murder in Indianapolis, Indiana . . . . . 66
• Chapter Ten: Before the Courts of Harris County, Texas . . . . .72
• Chapter Eleven: A Conspiracy . . . . . 83
• Chapter Twelve: A Trip to Europe . . . . . 86
• Chapter Thirteen: Home Coming . . . . . 91
• Chapter Fourteen: Nineteenth of June at Cameron, Texas . . . . . 100
• Chapter Fifteen: Into the Jaws of Death . . . . . 109
• Chapter Sixteen: Religious Parliament . . . . . 123
• Chapter Seventeen: Conflict With the Doctors . . . . . 137
• Chapter Eighteen: Home and Fireside . . . . . 153

ILLUSTRATIONS

• First Frontispiece: The Author.
• Second Frontispiece: Mrs. Pauline R. Lewis, to Whom the Book Is Dedicated.
• Third Frontispiece: The Big House.
• First Illustration: The Author and His Young Master, facing pp. 14-15.
• Second Illustration: The Trial of Rev. Benjamin by Judge Lewis for Hog Theft, facing pp. 20-21.
• Third Illustration: Isaac Carraway, the Trustworthy Old Servant of the South, facing pp. 26-27 .
• Fourth Illustration: Henry Windgate Meets His Mother and His Attorney in the Courts of New York, facing pp. 60-61.
• Fifth Illustration: H. H. Letheridge, L. Franks, Conferring With J. Vance Lewis; Miss Bernice Griggs, Stenographer; facing pp.74-75.
• Sixth Illustration: Mabel Jackson Kills Hamblen Rodgers (White), facing pp. 78-79.
• Seventh Illustration: C.E.W. Day, Chief Grand Mentor K. & D. of Tabor of Texas, facing pp. 84-85.
• Eighth Illustration: The Author in Prison, facing pp. 92-93
• Ninth Illustration: J. B. Brockman, a True Friend to the Author, facing pp. 94-95.
• Tenth Illustration: Rev. F. L. Lights, Rev. N.P. Pullum and J.B. Bell, Who Signed the Author's Bond, facing pp. 100-101.
• Eleventh Illustration: Mob at Liberty, Texas, Escorts the Author to the Train, facing pp. 110-111. [Illustration not available.]
• Twelfth Illustration: Biz Watts and Austin Polk, Life-Time Convicts, Reach Their Mother at the Depot, Corsicana, Tex., facing pp. 116-117. [Illustration not available.]
• Thirteenth Illustration: The Van Court, Residence of the Author, facing pp. 150-151. [Illustration not available.]
• Illustrated by the Texas Engraving Company,

PREFACE.

         The readers of this book may think it strange that we call it "Out of the Ditch," but it is a description of actual scenes and occurrences. Under slave conditions the author would have lived and died, both figuratively and actually, "in the ditch." Under condition of emancipation there was a chance to climb out and fight for life and liberty. This book contains a picture of slavery on a gigantic scale. There were many slave owners who were as thoughtful and as sympathetic as Mr. Cage and his son. There were some who were not and this difference in temperament as well as the difference of wealth and blood, led to the paradoxical views which the world held of slavery. I have written this little book not because I felt that there was serious need of another book, nor because I wish to boast of my own personal achievement, but because I felt that my struggles might inspire other boys to pursue their highest aspirations and be proof against discouragement. The stumbling blocks placed in my pathway may be layed in yours and if this book helps you to avoid them it will have accomplished its mission. I felt that "Out of the Ditch" might shed new light upon some of the difficult phases of the Negro problem, and might be the means of helping to change certain adverse conditions for the better. You will find some mistakes in the book, you may intice its leteran merits, but I am sure you will approve of its sincerity. Naturally in a work of this kind I have employed a good bit of ego, but I saw no way to avoid it in a simple relation of facts. Beseeching you to read carefully, and ponder thoughtfully every phase of the author's struggles and the causes therefor, whether of prejudice, jealousy, envy or conspiracy, we send this book into the world. Deal with it charitably and try to see the good rather than the bad it may contain. Into the warp and woof of every book the author weaves much that even the subtlest readers cannot fathom, far less understand. To such it is but a cross and a tangle of threads, but there is a golden thread running through the whole. Follow it and you will enter the spirit of "Out of the Ditch."

J. VANCE LEWIS

OUT OF THE DITCH.

         "The government of a nation itself is usually found to be but the reflex of the individuals composing it. The government that is ahead of its people will inevitably be dragged down to their level, as the government that is behind them will in the long run be dragged up. In the order of nature the collective character of a nation will as surely find its befitting results in its law and government as water finds its own level. The noble people will be nobly ruled, and the ignorant and corrupt ignobly. Indeed all experience serves to prove that the worth and strength of a state depend far less upon the form of its institutions than upon the character of its men. For the nation is only an aggregate of individual conditions and civilization itself is but a question of the personal improvement of the men, women and children of whom society is composed."

--Samuel Smiles.

"THE BIG HOUSE."

OUT OF THE DITCH
A TRUE STORY OF AN
EX-SLAVE

CHAPTER I.

BIRTH PLACE AND LIFE ON THE FARM.

         Have you ever visited a plantation with its long shady lane, hedged with evergreens and cedar trees, its flower gardens of holly-hocks and dahlias, princess-feathers and honey-suckle, its green lawn, neat, sweet and hospitable, partaking of and foretelling the spirit of the grand old mansion or "big house" which they so gloriously decorate? Did you ever sit upon the wide veranda over which trailed the yellow jessamine, scenting the air for miles around with its prodigious fragrance, and where the mistress sits and reads or knits and embroiders? Did you observe at the rear, across the clean-swept yard, stretching in orderly lines the cabins of the slaves, before the doors of which dance and sing numerous dark nymphs clad in one-piece suits and decorated with wreaths and garlands of wild flowers? To the right and left and in every direction stretch vast acres of farm land, black and fertile, but clothed with verdure rich and tall and magnificent.

         It is a sugar plantation and the tall red stalks waved their leafy hands in a perfect rythm as the noisy slaves chant their numerous field songs. If you have seen such a place, then you

know where I was born. It was down in Louisiana, and the plantation was owned by Colonel D.S. Cage, Sr. Whether the date of my birth interests you or not, I know that it was not passed by unheeded by my former master, for recorded upon the leaves of the family Bible, I find the following record: "Born of Doc and Rosa Lewis, on December the 25th, 18 . . ., a son, whose name is Joe, and whose birth has increased my personal property one thousand dollars."

         So that I was a Christmas present to my master; but being born on a great day has its disadvantages, for one is in danger of being overshadowed or lost in oblivion because of the prominence given greater characters of events, and so this was a forecast of my future career, a struggle against Fate and Fortune to the great OUT OF THE DITCH. As a bare-foot boy, my stay upon the farm had been pleasant. I played among the wild flowers and wandered, in high glee, over hill and hollow, enchanted with the beauty of nature, and knew not that I was a slave, the son of slaves. Nor did I know that I was born at the moment where every note in the affairs of the government was one of discord that reconciliation was futile and that disruption and secession hung like a cloud over the nation.

         Life to me had been a June day, filled with butterflies and mocking-birds. The serenity of my skies had never been obscured by a cloud, save those natural to childhood; but when about ten years old, I realized that I was not in accord with the older people; that they were not satisfied with conditions; that their skies were sad and gray. With them there was a longing for a mysterious something called freedom. I did not know what it was, and I do not think they full understood. I know

they underrated its responsibilities. I observed them getting together in chimney corners and in other secret places whispering and talking earnestly and praying such prayers as I have never heard before, or since. My father and mother were among them and one day I heard my mother say over and over again: "Thank God, we are all free and God has at last answered the prayer of those who trust in Him."

         This was "all Greek" to me and I asked what she meant. With a low whisper and with a quiver in her lovely voice she said, "Son, we have been slaves all of our lives, and now Mr. Abe Lincoln done set us free, and say we can go anywhere we please in this country without getting a pass from Marse Cage like we used to have to do."

         My master had a son about my age who bore his father's name, and as he had always been a friend, companion and confident, I went to the big house and asked young Marse Duncan if he knew what it meant. I asked him why the big bell did not ring that morning and why the farm hands were standing around like it was Sunday, all talking about being free. He told me he did not know, but he would ask his father. I did not have long to wait for soon young Cage returned and said, "Joe, I will be dog-gone if Old Abe ain't turned them a-loose sure enough."

         I shall never forget the feeling of sickness which swept over me. I saw no reason for rejoicing as others were doing. It was my opinion that we were being driven from our homes and set adrift to wander, I knew not where. I did not relish the idea of parting with my young master who was as true a friend as I ever had. There was also a very difficult problem for us

to solve--we had three coon dogs which we jointly owned, and I did not see how to divide the dogs without hurting his feelings, my feelings or the dogs' feelings, without relinquishing my claims, which I was loathe to do. But, as we shall see later on, the matter adjusted itself.

         The Negroes as a whole, though, were overjoyed and from everywhere on the plantation there arose slave songs. Now we heard the words, "Oh, shout, you children, shout, you are free; God knows we are happy, for the Lord has gin us liberty." And from a crowd of young fellows already misinterpreting their freedom, the following chorus--

                         "Before I'd be a slave, I'd be buried in my grave,
                         And go home to my Father and be saved."

         Then a bold miscreant would sing, in a rich baritone voice the words of the verses--

                         (I) "Weeping Mary, Weeping Mary, Weeping Mary,
                         Weep no more, Weep no more, Weep no more."

CHORUS.

                         (2) ["]Doubting Thomas, Doubting Thomas, Doubting Thomas,
                         Doubt no more, Doubt no more, Doubt no more."

CHORUS.

                         (3) "Great Jehovah, Great Jehovah, Great Jehovah,
                         Over all, Over all, Over all."

CHORUS.

                         (4) "Holy Bible, Holy Bible, Holy Bible,
                         Book Divine, Book Divine, Book Divine."

CHORUS.

                         "For who can always act? But he,
                         To whom a thousand memories call,
                         No being less, but more than all,
                         The gentleness he seemed to be.

                         But seemed the thing he was and join'd,
                         Each office of the social hour
                         To noble manners, as the flowers
                         And nature growth of noble mind;
                         And thus he bore without abuse
                         The grand old name of gentleman."

--Tennyson.

                         "The wise and active conquer difficulties,
                         By daring to attempt them; sloth and folly
                         Shiver and shrink at sight of tail and danger,
                         And make the impossibility they fear."

--Rowe.

                         "Though losses and crosses
                         Be lessons right severe,
                         There is wit there you'll get there
                         You'll find no otherwhere."

--Burns.

CHAPTER II.

LIFE ON THE FARM.

         There was much commotion in the quarters that Saturday afternoon. The overseer had spread the report that the master desired to meet every man, woman and child on the plantation at the big gate on the following morning, which was Sunday. So songs were hushed, and about nine o'clock, with bated breath and inexpressible anxiety, all of the slaves waited for the coming of "Mars Dunc." We knew not what he would say.

         We had not long to wait. The master had breakfasted, and being assured that we were all ready, undertook the task which so many men shifted to overseer and subordinates--that of informing the slaves of their freedom. I shall never forget how he looked on that day. His matchless figure seemed more superb, if possible, than usual, and the long, gray Prince Albert coat he wore added dignity to grace. He wore a black string tie and a white waistcoat, and altogether I had seldom seen "Mars Dunc" so handsomely dressed. He walked with a sprightly step and his head was held erect and his countenance looked clear and contented.

         He began his address in a calm, fatherly voice, as follows: "I have called you together to impart to you, officially, a piece of news that I myself do not regret that you receive. Three days ago Abraham Lincoln, the President of the United States, issued a proclamation whereby you are made free men and women. Some of you have been with me all of your lives, and some of you I have bought from other owners, but you have all been well fed and clothed and have received good treatment.

But now you are free to go anywhere you please. I shall not drive any one away. I shall need somebody to do my work still and every one of you who wants a job shall have employment. You may remain right here on the farm. You will be treated as hired servants. You will be paid for what you do and you will have to pay for what you get. The war has embarrassed me considerably and freeing you makes me a poorer man than I have ever been before, but it does not make me a pauper, and so I have decided to divide what I have with you. I shall not turn you a-loose in the world with nothing. I am going to give you a little start in life. I have made arrangements for every man and woman to receive ten dollars a piece and every child two dollars. I have also ordered that each family be issued enough food to last them a month. I hope you will be honest and industrious and not bring disgrace upon those who have brought you up. Behave yourselves, work hard and trust in God, and you will get along all right. I will not hire anybody today, but tomorrow all who want to go to work will be ready when the bell rings."

         It was a pathetic scene and there was hardly a dry eye amongst us. We had watched the master so closely that I had not seen young Mars Dunc in the crowd and was surprised when he cried out, "Say, Joe, dog-gone it, I told you you would not have to go away. Come on, and let us get our dogs and make Mollie Cottontail cut a jig from the cane patch to the woods." And off to the woods we went in a jiffy.

         All told, perhaps there were two hundred Negroes upon the plantation and when the big bell rang they all reported for duty. Mr. Cage, Sr., assigned Isham Stewart over the plow

gang; Jeff Thomas over the hoe gang; Doc Lewis, my father, superintendent of the ditch gang--these being considered his most trustworthy men. Mansfield Williams was retained as family coachman, and the author of this book was given to understand that all time not spent in the ditch was to be at the disposal of D.S. Cage, Jr., and of his two brothers, Hugh and Albert. I ran errands and attended them when they were at school to look after the horses.

         The devotion of these slaves would make a chapter of itself, but it is sufficient to say that at the writing of this book, Isham Stewart and Jeff Thomas remain upon the plantation, and but for the sarcasm of a schoolmate the author might be there, too. But that is another story and will be related in another place.

         It was good to listen to the old plantation melodies when the slaves were so happy. They sang, "My good Lord done been here, Done blessed my soul and gone away."

                         "My good Lord done been here,
                         Done blessed my soul and gone away--
                         My good Lord done been here,
                         Done blessed my soul and gone away--
                         My good Lord done been here,
                         Done bless my soul and gone away."

         Another bright old song was--

                         "Oh rise, shine, the light is coming,
                         Rise and shine the light is coming,
                         Rise and shine the light is coming,
                         My Lord says He's coming bye and bye;

"Joe, Let's Make Molly Cottontail Cut a Jig From the Cane Patch
to the Big Woods."

                         When I get on the mountain top,
                         My Lord says He's coming bye and bye;
                         Going to shout and shout and never stop--
                         My Lord says He's coming bye and bye."

CHORUS.

CHAPTER III.

                         "Careless seems the great avenger,
                         History's lessons but record
                         One death grapple in the darkness
                         'Twixt old systems and the word;
                         Truth forever on the scaffold,
                         Wrong forever on the throne,
                         Yet that scaffold sways the future,
                         And behind the dim unknown
                         Stands God within the shadow,
                         Keeping watch above his own."

--Lowell.

"DOC" LEWIS BECOMES "JUDGE" LEWIS.

         It was next to impossible to run a large plantation like ours without help, and Mr. Cage employed a man to take direct charge of the farm. He was time-keeper and general business manager. It was a custom, borrowed from slavery, to call such men overseers, and even now upon the large sugar plantations, in Louisiana, the custom prevails. It happened that the overseer, who styled himself Jimmie Welch, was born in Ireland. It was no fault of his that he was born an Irishman, but very inconvenient. He had many peculiar characteristics, and the Negroes who have a saying that "An Irishman is only a Negro turned inside out" disliked him almost to the extent of hatred. Mr. Welch was as quick-witted as other members of his race and tactful, too. Mr. Cage had always trusted most of his slaves, and Mr. Welch saw that to maintain his position he must win the good will of the slaves. This he did in the following manner: We always quit work at 12 o'clock on Saturdays, and on one Saturday he announced that he would deliver an Irish oration on freedom, after which each of us would be presented with a handsome gift. It was something entirely new and out of the ordinary and it appealed to the curiosity of us all. We were all anxious to learn everything we could about freedom, whether it was Irish freedom or Negro freedom mattered very little, for the colored people believed it would be the same thing anyway if it could be turned inside out.

         Saturday afternoon and night was the only time which was allotted to the colored for doing their washing and sewing, and in which to perform their ablutions, but an extraordinary occasion

like this was not to be missed, whatever else went undone. If you had been there on the plantation that day, you would have done just what the others did. You would have allowed your individual work to take care of itself till the oration was heard. Mr. Welch was no mean orator, and the words he had used to fire his comrades on the "Emerald Isle" were very much appreciated by those who heard them. The author was filled with a burning desire to be able to coin phrases that had proven to make the audience laugh or cry as the speaker willed. He was humorous, he was pathetic, he was dramatic, and no wonder the simple-minded folks were led captive. Mr. Cage had been apprised of the scheme, and as was usual in matters that worked for the welfare of all concerned, entered heartily into it. When Mr. Welch had concluded his address, he said: "It now becomes my very pleasant duty to bestow upon you certain gifts, as evidence of the appreciation of your excellent service. To every married man, by the authority vested in me by Mr. Cage, I give a pig, which you may go to the hog lot and select for yourself; to every woman, who will come to the commissary, I will give a head handkerchief and a pair of stockings; to every boy and every girl I will give a half gallon of molasses and a ginger cake; to every grandparent a cob pipe and a sack of tobacco."

         The effect of this was electrical. Everybody said he had never heard of an overseer doing such a thing, and Mr. Welch had pretty smooth sailing from that time on. He had achieved by strategy what he could not accomplish by force.

         It is a strange thing that humanity is continually hungering and thirsting after something for nothing. You can easily

cheat a man out of a dollar if he thinks you are giving him a nickle. Thus we all rejoiced in our something-for-nothing gifts of pigs, head handkerchiefs and stockings, molasses and ginger cakes, pipes and tobacco. All were exceedingly happy save one and he was filled with the gravest of apprehensions, for if Mr. Welch's troubles ended here those of Rev[.] Frank Benjamin began.

         You remember that Mr. Welch instructed the men to get a pig and he meant a pig, but the parson was near-sighted and killed the biggest hog in the pen. Mr. Welch was angered about it and charged Benjamin with hog theft.

         Mr. Cage did not know the particulars and was sorry to hear the charge, but in order to teach his servants just how they would be treated by the civil authorities, organized the most sensible of the Negroes into judge and jury to try the case.

         My father, "Doc" Lewis, was selected as judge because he bore the name of being the most level-headed Negro on the place, and it is well that he was so, for as matters terminated, few judges ever have to pass upon harder cases. The whole thing resolved itself into the question, "When does a pig become a hog?"

         Witness after witness testified that it was a full grown hog that the parson took, and not a pig at all, as he had been allowed, but none of them when asked the conundrum as to when it became a hog could answer. They were fixed in their opinion that it was a hog. When asked, "Well, how do you know?" they would reply, "Case, I jis' knows a hog when I sees him," or "Because I seed him with these eyes," or as others said, "I know 'twas a hog 'cause I 'members when that pig was born."

         The evidence was varied and vague and to judge Lewis' way of looking at things, unsatisfactory and irrelevant to the case, which centered as we have said upon when the pig became a hog. No one proved that the pig was a hog. He was in the pen with the pigs, which raised some doubt as to his proper classification. If he was a pig the prisoner was innocent; if he was a hog, the prisoner was guilty of hog theft.

         The prisoner had thus far said nothing since his declaration of "Not guilty." It was now his time to speak. There were no witnesses to testify in his favor and guilty or not guilty it was evident that he was scared almost to death. He sat with his head down. It was an awful thing for the parson who had exhorted his fellows to honesty and right living to be charged with dishonesty and unrighteousness. It was a pitiful sight to see one who had lived all of his days honorably go down in disgrace at the time when his gray hairs ought to have been an honor to him.

         Rev. Benjamin was now called to the stand and made a few stammering statements, which did him no good with the jury. They seemed to prove his guilt. Some who had been in doubt lost hope. But just then there was a change. The Judge began to cross-examine him, and it matters not how he turned the questions around and changed them, the answer to the questions upon which the others hesitated were always prompt, clear, and the same.

         He always spoke as follows: "The shoat that I killed was sucking its mammy, and if it had not been sucking its mammy I would not have killed it." Nothing could shake him from this

answer. It was enough--the jury saw the point, the judge saw it, the audience saw it and cheered him.

         In delivering the charge to the jury, the judge said, "As long as a pig sucks his mammy, irrespective of size or age, it is not a hog."

         Without retiring from their seats the jury returned a unanimous verdict of "Not guilty."

         Frank Benjamin preached such a sermon the next day as he had never preached before. His text was: "Lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world." He began the service with--

                         "Give me that Old Time Religion,
                         Give me that Old Time Religion,
                         Give me that Old Time Religion,
                         Oh, Lordy, it is good enough for me.

                         It is good for the Hebrew Children,
                         It is good for the Hebrew Children,
                         It is good for the Hebrew Children,
                         Oh, Lordy, it is good enough for me.

                         It was good for Paul and Silas,
                         It was good for Paul and Silas,
                         It was good for Paul and Silas,
                         Oh, Lordy, it is good enough for me.

                         It was good for my Old Mother,
                         It was good for my Old Mother,
                         It was good for my Old Mother,
                         Oh, Lordy, it is good enough for me.

TRIAL OF REV. BENJAMIN.

                         It is good when you are in trouble,
                         It is good when you are in trouble,
                         It is good when you are in trouble,
                         Oh, Lordy, it is good enough for me."

         I cannot recall all of the verses that were sung, but I know that the people believed in the parson's religion as they never had before, and showed it by shouting and "Amens." It was an instance where good came of evil.

         No one came in for more praise than "Doc," who Mr. Cage said was a born lawyer. I did not then know just what that meant, but I knew it was something big and something good from the way Colonel Cage put it and the gracious manner in which my father received it. So that a short time after this when the white boys were all talking about what they were going to be, I announced that I was going to be a lawyer. It sounded funny and they laughed at the thought of Joe becoming a lawyer. But I had been their page boy and had learned much from them that they had learned at school, and I did not see why I should not be able some day to apply what I had learned as well as they.

         It was as Whittier beautifully said:--

                         "Oh, black boy of Atlanta!
                         But half was spoken;
                         The slave's chains and the master's
                         Alike are broken;
                         The one curse of the races
                         Held both in tether;
                         They are arising--all are arising--
                         The black and white together."

CHAPTER IV.

SCHOOL DAYS.

                         "Still sits the school house by the road,
                         A ragged beggar sunning:
                         Around it still the sumachs grow
                         And blackberry vines are running

                         Within, the master's desk is seen,
                         Deep scars by raps official;
                         The warping floor, the battered seats,
                         The jack-knife's carved initial."

         In those days there were no public schools for Negroes and even the white children had to pay tuition. Mr. Welch proved a hard taskmaster, but a true friend. There were about two hundred children all told upon the plantation, or at least it seemed that many to me, and Mr. Welch advised the colored people to get a teacher and open a school. As good fortune would have it, Mr. Cage had heard of a West Indian who had recently made his appearance in our vicinity, and he was employed to organize a school for the children from Woodlawn and Ashland plantations.

         It was my father who selected the location for the school house, and I regarded it ever afterwards as his monument, for soon after this he was called to "Come Up, Higher," and receive his reward. How well I remember how we cut the logs, and dragged them with ox-teams to that spot midway between the two centers of the population. It was, in fact, about a mile from any house, but at that time it was "just a little piece down the

road." We had no shingles and the clap-boards with which we covered the house had to be drawn out of blocks by hand. If I should look upon that house today, I could not say that it is beautiful, but to my youthful eyes it was the handsomest building I knew, not because of any architectural excellence, for it was a plain log house which knew not paint nor finish, but rather because I had helped to build it. And even now "when fond recollection presents it to view" there is a feeling within me that says it is the dearest spot on earth. I do not remember about the "sumach trees," but I could pilot you to the place where "blackberry vines are running."

         One fine day, to our exquisite pleasure, the school house was finished and the teacher came. Prof. H. C. Hardy was his name. He had been educated in English on the Island of Jamaica, and his peculiar accent as well as his bearing was decidedly English. I fancy now that our flat, clumsy, broken talk must have seemed as peculiar to him as his polished language and queer accent did to us.

         Can your imagination for a moment conjure up a picture of two hundred under-sized, over-sized and all-sized pupils all in the first grade? Such was the old plantation school. Prof. Hardy believed in doing things orderly, and the first thing he did was to make a rule about passing. He said, "Now, children," and you never got too big nor too old for him to call you that, "you must be governed by the taps of the bell: the first tap will mean get ready for class; the second tap to stand, and the third to line up in your classes."

         When the first bell rang, everybody stood, and it looked as if the thing could not have been improved if we had

practiced it a hundred times, but when the third tap came it was different. There was commotion, there was a mad struggle, there was denunciation, there was declaration, there came near being a fight, and all because everybody wanted to be head. The pupils at each end of the line claimed that their end was head. The principal disputants were Warner Wright and myself, since we held the extremes. Prof. Hardy had us to do the thing over again and to proceed orderly throughout, the head this first day falling to the one who naturally would occupy the position from the situation of his seat. I lost the place, and I should not have minded except that Warner, or "Dick" as we called him, won. We were good friends but rivals, and many were the contests we had. He was a smart boy, and if my experience as a page, where I had learned much from my young master, had not served me well, I might have been worsted many times, but as it was I had a little advantage over him. Prof. Hardy remained with us only three years, and then his successor came. He was a Mr. H. C. Sidney, a keen little man from New Orleans. He was not so strict a disciplinarian as Prof. Hardy, perhaps, but thoroughly in sympathy with his pupils, and they seemed anxious to please him and eager to learn. Many made very rapid progress. Of these no one did so well as Warner. If I had had an advantage over him, he now had double advantage over me. Just about the time when Prof. Sidney made his arrival among us a cloud arose over my horizon which time alone could dispel. My mother joined my father in the gates of the New Jerusalem, and I was left an orphan to fight life's battles. Warner on the other hand was in school every day and had a loving mother to help and encourage him

and a father to correct him and support him in whatever he undertook. Prof. Sidney advised his father to send him to college and he sent him to Leland University at New Orleans, La.

         Everybody liked the boy. He was jovial and had good manners, being especially thoughtful of old people. When he got ready to leave the farm, scores of people came to bid him Godsped. "God bless that boy" was heard in the mouths of many that day. Many brought little evidences of their sincerity. I shook hands and hastened away. I could not help but shed tears, not that I was sorry to see him go but because I longed to go with him.

         He went and the time passed rapidly. The term was over before long and the pupils returned to their homes. When it was known that "Dick," or rather Warner, was expected, his many friends were anxious to see him and congratulate him upon his year's work. Nine months is not a long while, but sometimes it is long enough to make a fool out of an otherwise sensible chap. Well, I had heard of Dick's college airs, of how he cut those who met him at the train, of the ridiculous use of big words and so was about the last to call on him. I had known "Dick" too well to believe any of these things. He had been at home a week. I had remembered that it was a Sunday afternoon, a beautiful day, too, it had been. The breeze was balmy and jessamine-scented, and just as the sun was softening into shadows preparatory to bidding goodnight to the world, I emerged from my home and went forth in the spirit of joyous anticipation to greet my dear old friend and rival.

         I saw him before I reached his house. He was standing on the porch over against one of the new posts his father had

placed there when he had remodeled his home that spring. He was gazing upon the violets and jonquils and numerous other flowers that looked up to him. As I look back now I think he must have fancied that people were like the flowers and must look up to him.

         I walked across the road and up to the spot where he stood, with a broad smile on my face. I said, "Hello, Dick, how do you do? Gee, but you are looking fine!" and extended my hand. But disappointment awaited me. He did not extend his hand; did not seem especially glad to see me, but drawing back a little way said, in a proud tone, "Pardon me, Joe, but your familiarity meets only the contempt it deserves from me. My name is Mr. Warner Wright. I wish you good evening." For a moment I thought he must be joking, but seeing that he was not, I replied as nicely as I could: "You may be Mr. Wright to others, but to me you are plain 'Dick,' or nothing, see?" and turning on my heels strode proudly away without looking back.

         The last faint rays of the sun were reflected upon the horizon. It was just twilight, the time of thought and meditation, and as I turned the thing over in my mind, I wondered if it were really true or if I were under the spell of some strange hallucination or delusion. One thing is certain and that is that the desire to enter school returned with doubled force, not that I should be like my rival, but that I might excel him and show that education did not necessarily produce a misfit out of a Negro. I had no money and no one to help me, but submitted my case to God and felt that the way would be provided.

         Warner went back to school and no one except immediate relatives went to see him off, and even they looked relieved when

The Trustworthy Old Servant of the Old South.

he was gone. I went to work harder and steadier than I had ever worked before. It was a splendid season for crops and labor was in great demand. In order that our hands might not be tempted to go elsewhere their wages were raised. Men were raised from seventy-five cents to one dollar, and women from fifty cents to seventy-five cents, large boys from seventy-five cents to a dollar and children from thirty-five cents to fifty cents. I was classed among those who received a dollar, and during the season managed to save sixty-four dollars. I had bought a nice suit of clothes, and as soon as the Christmas holidays were over made it known that I was going to college. Everybody was surprised and most everybody disgusted. They did all they could to dissuade me, but while I listened patiently and respectfully, all such attempts were as futile as the water which falls on a duck's back. I had decided to go to college and I was going. I knew that it was not the most appropriate time to enter school, but I also knew it was my only chance. When I boarded the train that morning I was the happiest mortal this side of glory.

CHAPTER V.

COLLEGE LIFE.

                         "One leaf is for Hope and one is for Faith,
                         And one is for Love, you know;
                         And God put another one in for Luck;
                         If you such reach, you will find where they grow;
                         But you must have Hope and you must have Faith,
                         You must Love and be strong, and so
                         If you work, if you wait, you will find the place
                         Where the four-leaf clovers grow."

         When I arrived at Leland University I was as much surprised and astonished as the queen of Sheba was when she visited the realm of King Solomon, and the magnificance of his surroundings could not have impressed her more than mine did me. From a log cabin to a large four-story brick building, equipped with all modern improvements, is a long leap. When I stepped upon the spacious green campus, I felt out of place, and I was tempted to run away, and really my courage might have failed me if, just then, I had not heard some one call my name. On looking around I beheld Warner Wright coming towards me in a double quick run. His greeting was very cordial, indeed. His voice had the old-time ring to it and so I said, "Dick, I am certainly glad to meet an acquaintance here, and you may be kind enough to show a fellow what he should do first." He carried me to his room and after re-arranging my toilet he took me to the president and told him I was a boy from his home who was very anxious to get an education. He advised me to be perfectly frank with the president, and so I told him my exact condition

--that I was an orphan, and had just sixty-four ($64.00) dollars with which to complete my education. I told him I always had worked and was neither afraid nor ashamed of it and that if I could work out a part of my expenses I would appreciate the opportunity. He told me that many boys worked out their entire board and tuition, but that arrangements were always made before hand in such cases. He assured me, however, that he would take my case up with the proper committee and do what he could for me. I was given an opportunity and continued my studies at this institution until I finished the Normal Course. During the whole time that Warner was there he was the best friend I had. He stood by me through thick and thin. Of course I never forgot the treatment I received from him the day I called on him at his home, but he literally overcame evil with good, "and I freely forgave him and rejoiced that he was my friend.["] Some one has said:--

                         "He who has a thousand friends,
                         Has not one to spare:
                         But he who has an enemy,
                         Meets him everywhere."
This may be true, but I have observed a strange thing almost in direct contrast to this, and that is that a man who is too conceited to speak to you at home will oftentimes go out of his way to be cordial and friendly if you chance to meet him in a strange place. Dick's kindness completely healed the breach and we were life-long friends. He was ever plain "Dick," as I had always been "Joe."

         When I finished my course at Leland University I was

not quite decided what step to pursue immediately. I knew, of course, what my ultimate plan was. It was to study law, but first I had to get some capital. I had not been educated to teach, in fact had never planned to teach, but learning that Texas was in need of teachers and paid good salaries I went to Beaumont. I met Prof. A. J. Criner over there, who told me that I should first attend a Normal and secure a State certificate, if I desired to teach. I went to the Normal at Orange, Texas. At that time the questions were made out by the conductors of the Normals, and as they bore largely upon the subjects taught, in the manner taught, it was much easier to get a certificate then than now. I left the Normal and went forth in search of a school. If you have ever chased that mirage you know what a fleeting, treacherous undertaking it is. You hear of a school that needs a teacher and run about over the country, sometimes eight or ten miles before you see three trustees, each in person, and then are informed that the place is supplied or that you are too young or your experience is too limited.

         At last one day I found a school. It was in Angeline county and the school was the Cripple Creek school. The trustees said I might have the school if I thought I could handle it. They warned me that there were some very troublesome boys in the school. I heard that they had run one teacher away and that others had not applied for the position after the first year. I began right though and taught two years and might have taught a third if the city school of Lufkin had not called me as principal. At the end of three years, by rigid economy, I had saved a neat little sum and I thought it time to be getting prepared

for my life's work. I was already beginning to get that feeling of "Once a teacher always a teacher" and so I decided to make the venture with what I had.

         I went to Lincoln University, up in Pennsylvania, and managed to stay two whole terms. I meant to finish my course there, but one day while I was in Buffalo, New York, I visited the courts of that city. It was a grand sight that I saw, but what I heard was unspeakable. A Negro lawyer was pleading for a Negro man's life before a white jury. He swept everything before him. The force of his eloquence was insatiable. When he closed the case I followed him to his office to congratulate him. I asked if he thought a Negro could succeed down South in the practice of law. He said: "The American bar needs able men and our race brilliant lawyers, and if you will equip yourself, the South or any other region will gladly receive you. The best school for you to attend is at Ann Arbor, Michigan. They train the head and the soul, too, for service."

         In the fall I went to Ann Arbor, and after graduation in 1894 was admitted to the Supreme Court of Michigan. But there were some things yet to learn and I took another course still. This time it was at the Chicago College of Law. I graduated here in 1897 and was admitted to all of the courts of Illinois.

         I have necessarily been brief in describing my college experiences. Many incidents of great importance as well as much that is amusing has been left untold. I enclose just here some correspondence I had bearing upon my trip to Washington and my admittance to the Supreme Court of the nation. I made application on November 1st at Washington, D. C., for admission to the United States Supreme Court. Ten days later I

received the following notice from the clerk of the United States Supreme Court at Washington, as follows:

"Washington, D. C., October 11, 1897.

J. V. Lewis, Chicago, Ill.

         Dear Sir: Your application for admittance to the bar of the Supreme Court of the United States, has been duly filed, and you are hereby notified to be present November 22nd, along with other applicants, in the chamber of the Supreme Court at Washington, on the above date. Chief Justice Harlan will administer the oath.

Yours truly,

M. M. GRAY."

         On the 22nd eighteen lawyers of the bar from other states, all being white save myself, were presented before Chief Justice Harlan to have the oath administered to them as members of the bar of the Supreme Court of the United States.

         That grand old learned sage who presided over the last court of resort of the land, remarked to those of us who were about to be sworn in: "Gentlemen, the dignity of the law is the highest calling to which man may aspire and attain; law is the fundamental principle that governs a man and keeps in operation our great civil and political institutions. With power vested in me, as Chief Justice of the United States, I administer the oath to you, citizens of the United States, which will make you members of the bar of this Court. Gentlemen, hold up your right hand."

         When a boy on the farm I was very observant. One day in a drove of blackbirds I saw one with a white spot on him. In vain did I try to kill that bird. He looked so odd among the other jet black birds, but I could never get him. Out of sport

my father told me that there was only one way to capture him and that was to sprinkle salt on his tail. I followed that drove of birds but could never get close enough to be sure that I had salted the right one. Well, when I held up my black right hand among all of those other fair hands, I thought of that bird. I am unable even now to express the feeling that came over me as I stood there with uplifted hand promising to protect the sovereignty of a great nation. I wondered what comparison there was between the bird with the white spot and the slave who came "Out of the Ditch."

CHAPTER VI.

IN THE COURTS OF ILLINOIS.

         Might I give counsel to any young man I would say to him try to frequent the company of your betters. In books and in life, that is the most wholesome society; learn to admire rightly; the great pleasure of life is that note that great men admired; they admired great things; narrow spirits admire basely and worship meanly.--W. M. Thackery.

         When I left Washington I went back to Chicago. I desired to prepare myself thoroughly for my work. I always meant to practice down South, but I felt that I could get the desired equipment, or rather post course, better right there in Chicago than anywhere else in the world, because I had studied there and several of my former instructors were presiding judges. A friend on the bench is invaluable to a young lawyer. Among the the judges who knew me were: Thomas A. Morane, H. M. Shepherd, John Gibbens, E. W. Shope, O. M. Carter and E. W. Burke. I asked permission of each of these gentlemen to visit

their courts that I might have an opportunity to hear experienced lawyers plead cases. I told them that while I was doing this as a post course and not yet setting up for regular practice I would appreciate an opportunity to represent any person too poor to employ counsel. They one and all granted me the privilege of visiting their respective courts and said it would really be a pleasure to them to give me a case whenever an opportunity prsented itself. I thanked them and prayed that an opportunity would soon come. Every day thereafter I visited the various courts and gave strict attention to every case tried. There were so many courts in Chicago, the county seat of Cook county, that I soon discovered the necessity of some kind of system about my visits. I made out a slate and called it my circuit.

         The first court in my circuit was the police court at Polk and Dearborn streets, better known as Kangaroo Court. From a long period of actual observation I am prepared to say that to win any kind of case in that court one would have to have strong political pull either with the judges or the political bosses or men "higher up" as they are called. On the other hand, no evidence can convict one who "stands in" with the right parties.

         I remember the trial of a poor unfortunate white woman which I chanced to hear. Her name was Hager Roundtree. At least that was the name that was on the docket. When the prisoner was brought before the bar the judge said, "I understand that you are Miss Hager Roundtree, and from the charge here I see that the police rounded you up somewhere about Twelfth and State streets. You are charged with being out at an unbecoming hour without male company. What is your plea,

guilty or not guilty?" The prisoner looked the judge straight in the face and said: "Please, your Honor, Judge, I was out without male company because I am an old maid and prefer not to have men for companions. I am forty-seven years old and I prefer being alone to having some horrid man near me. Sir, I was just returning from a spiritual engagement where we old maids meet and talk with our lost lovers, the only true men that ever lived."

         The judge who had listened patiently picked up his pen in a dignified way and thrust it into the ink well up to his thumb nail. I thought the prisoner's story had struck a tender place in the old judge's heart and that he was deeply moved. He flashed his eyes around the room over the other prisoners and turning in his chair said, "Miss Roundtree, you are the daughter of much misfortune. Your conduct has been fully explained by yourself and needs no corroboration, and so I sentence you to one round year in the county jail, and by that time I hope you will learn to stay off the streets at night with your dead lovers." I felt like remonstrating. I could almost have screamed "heartless wretch" as she did, but another case was called and I was soon interested in it. More interested than in the former case.

         The case was that of Sandy Fewclothes, an old Negro sixty years old. He was charged by the officers with disturbing the peace. The audience was so wrought up over the decision in the former case that they were giving little heed to the old Negro's case, so the judge rapped in a vigorous manner on his desk, threatening to clear the court room if his order were not heeded. When he said "Order in court" he meant it.

         The judge looked over his glasses at poor Uncle Sandy

Fewclothes standing there before him, his very attitude one of a suppliant, imploring mercy from those who had power to condemn the innocent and the guilty alike. His hoary hair, withered face and feeble frame told of many a hardship in a long life, the best of which had been spent in slavery. Down South here "Old Uncles" are respected and protected by the better class of white people. They are trusted when their relatives of various kinds are not, and they are trustworthy in the highest degree. These old Negroes take pleasure in serving "folks of quality." But there was no sentiment and no sympathy in this court.

         The judge remarked laughingly to the officer who advanced to be sworn: "Where did you get this great pick up?" The officer replied, "On Armour and Twenty-Third Place, Your Honor." Then turning to the old man, the judge said: "So you have called to see us at last, Uncle Sandy?" To which Uncle Sandy replied, "Yes, boss, 'gainst my will. I never 'spected to come up here and I wouldn't be here now if that police had not brung me."

         "But it is reported that you broke the peace and dignity of the commonwealth of Illinois, by disturbing the peaceful inhabitants of the city of Chicago. Are you guilty or not guilty?" said the judge.

         Uncle Sandy, though bending on a cane, did his best to straighten up to his full height, as if his dignity was wounded by such implications, and said: "Jedge, I ain't break the peace of the city or the nation or nothing, but dey done break mine and my head, too. I was a-singing in the street I admit, but I wasn't botherin' nobody or nothing 'tall. Dis here am the very song that I was singing--

Kangaroo Court in Chicago--Sandy Fewclothes Sentenced to Eight
Months in the County Jail.

                         'Steal away, steal away,
                         Steal away to Jesus--
                         Steal away, steal away, home;
                         I ain't got long to stay here.' "

         The judge chimed in as Uncle Sandy finished his verse, "No, you ain't got long to stay here. You are sentenced to eight months in the county jail."

         Uncle Sandy had the last say, though. He said: "If this is the way the white folks up North treat a servant of the Lord, when my time is out on that rock pile, Ise gwine back to Dixie, where the 'taters and the cotton blossoms grow." But he was hurried out and another case called.

         It was now past ten o'clock and I hurried on my circuit. I went next to the County Court. The will of E. Z. Williams, Sr., was being read. Mr. Williams was a colored man who had died in the city of Chicago, leaving his only heir, E. Z. Williams, Jr., $15,000 in cash and $40,000 worth of real estate on Wentworth avenue in Anglewood. The attorney representing Mr. Williams was Mr. W. H. Ward, a very able colored lawyer. I was engrossed in the proceedings and was very much surprised when a messenger boy inquired if J. Vance Lewis was in the room. He brought word that Judge Dunn requested my presence at Criminal Court at 2:30 p.m. As it was then about a quarter of two I arose and went immediately to the Criminal Court on the North Side.

CHAPTER VII.

THE CASE OF JOHN DONAVAN.

         I was a few minutes ahead of the appointed time, but Judge Dunn was in his office, and I informed his clerk that I was at the judge's service whenever he was ready to see me. He sent word for me to come right in, and as I entered he arose from his desk and extended his hand to me in a hearty welcome. I sat down and before I could say a word he began telling me why I had been summoned there by him. It seemed that Judge Dunn was in something of a dilemma about securing efficient counsel in the case of one John Donavan, charged with the murder of Hilliard Baker. He might have chosen any of the dozen lawyers who hung around his court, but they were ungrateful and deficient. He said that while he did not know me personally, that his friend, Judge Thomas A. Moran, dean of the Chicago College of Law, had spoken in very complimentary terms of me, and advised that I be given the appointment to represent the defendant. He told me that if I were in court when the case was called he would take pleasure in giving me the appointment.

         I withdrew at once from the office and going into the court room took a seat in the front row, where the judge would be sure to see me when John Donavan was brought in to trial.

         In a few minutes Judge Dunn entered the court room, and, seating himself in the great chair, with gavel in hand, ordered the sheriff to declare the court open. John Donavan's case was the first on docket and the sheriff brought him in immediately. As he stood before the bar the judge asked him if he had secured counsel for his defense and being answered in the

negative explained that it was necessary in such a case for the judge to appoint some one. There were many other lawyers in the court room who were anxiously hoping that they might be given the case, but Judge Dunn whispered to the sheriff to have J. Vance Lewis come forward. The sheriff not seeing me called out, "J. Vance Lewis, Lawyer; J. Vance Lewis." I arose and Judge Dunn seeing me standing said: "Mr. Lewis, you are appointed to defend John Donavan, charged with the murder of Hilliard Baker. The state is now ready; consult with your client and early as you can let the court know your announcement." I thanked the judge for the appointment and walked behind the bar, where my client was seated, drew up a chair and attempted to converse with him about the case. I want the readers of this book to understand that John Donavan was a white man and a very prejudiced one.

         When I came around to speak with him he was so overcome with hatred, astonishment and scorn, that I could get nothing out of him. He said half aloud, "Is this what the State of Illinois gives a man to help break his neck?" The sheriff heard the remark and cried out, "Order there in the court."

         I asked my cilent if he had any witnesses, if he was guilty or not guilty, if he was ready for trial, etc., but he ignored me and refused to answer anything I asked. As I could get no information from my client as to his guilt or innocence, I arose and announced to the court, "The defense is now ready for trial." The court was a little surprised at the dispatch exhibited. He wondered how and what I had learned sufficient for the defense of the man so quickly. I had one thing in my favor. The prisoner had a "still tongue," and we had no witnesses to tell conflicting tales.

         It was my plan to win by making the best testimony of the State void. A list of the jurors was given me to select the men I desired to go on Donavan's jury. At the other end of the table I saw the District Attorney with his list of jurors. He scratched out several names and once I thought to follow his example, but soon decided not to do so. The clerk said to me, "Have you completed your jury list? If so, let me have it." Whereupon I passed him the list with not a name scratched. The clerk read off the names and asked each juror as his name was called to take his seat in the jury box, twelve being the number to serve. The jury being empaneled, the District Attorney forwith read the indictment charging John Donovan with the murder of Hilliard Baker. At the close of the reading of the indictment by the District Attorney, I pleaded not guilty for Donavan. Then the first witness for the State, A.B. Badger, was called, who testified as follows:

         "I am a resident of the city of Chicago, residing at 1262 Wabash avenue, and have lived in the state all of my life."

         The District Attorney asked Mr. Badger where he was on the night of August 20th, 1897.

         Badger's answer: I was in the city of Chicago on State street, on the night of August 20th.

         District Attorney--Did you, on the night of the 20th, see a man running down State street after you had heard the report of a gun?

         Badger's answer: Yes, sir.

         District Attorney--Would you know the man if you should see him?

         Badger's answer: Yes, sir.

         District Attorney--Do you know the defendant?

         Badger's answer: No, sir.

         District Attorney--Have you seen him at any time before this trial?

         Badger's answer: I think so.

         District Attorney--State to the court and jury if you know of your personal knowledge that a man was killed on the night of August 20th, on State and Twelfth streets.

         Badger's answer: Yes, sir; a man was killed on State and Twelfth streets to my personal knowledge.

         District Attorney--Did you see the deceased that night?

         Badger's answer: Yes, sir.

         District Attorney--Did you see the wound that caused his death?

         Badger's answer: I did.

         District Attorney--Will you state where the bullet struck the body of the deceased?

         Badger's answer: The bullet pierced the body of the deceased about half an inch below the left breast nipple.

         District Attorney--What kind of a wound did the bullet make?

         Badger's answer: The hole had a very ragged appearance.

         District Attorney--In what direction did the bullet seem to course after entering into the body?

         The defendant's counsel, Mr. Lewis said: "I object to Mr. Badger's answering this question until he is qualified as a medical expert." Judge Dunn said: "I hereby sustain the objection."

         District Attorney--Do you know whether the bullet wound

was the direct cause of the death of Hilliard Baker?

         Defendant's counsel again said: "I still urge my objections upon the ground that the court has ruled that Mr. Badger is not qualified under the law as a medical expert, and because he was not authorized to hold the autopsy and did not participate in the post-mortem examination.["] Judge Dunn said: "The objection is sustained."

         District Attorney--State all you know that happened the night of the murder.

         Badger's answer: On the night of the 20th of August, while walking down State street near Twelfth street, I heard a shot from a pistol or a shotgun, and immediately a man came running southward on State street. He seemed very much excited. Just as the man passed by me, I saw a shining instrument in his hand that I took to be a pistol, and if I judge rightly, the defendant is the man whom I saw that night.

         The District Attorney said: "Mr. Lewis, you may now have the witness."

         The defendant's counsel, J. Vance Lewis, began as follows: Mr. Badger, are you positive that you were in Chicago on August 20th, 1897?

         Badger's answer: I think so.

         The defendant's counsellor--What is your age, Mr. Badger?

         Badger's answer: I am twenty-seven years of age.

         Lewis--At what age did you leave school?

         Badger's answer: I was fifteen.

         Lewis--At what age did you go to work for yourself?

         Badger's answer: I was fifteen.

         Lewis--Who gave you your first employment?

         Badger's answer: My first employment was as a messenger boy for the Western Union Telegraph company.

         Lewis--How long did you serve in that company?

         Badger's answer--Eight years.

         Lewis--Leaving that company, where did you next find employment?

         Badger's answer: My next employment was with the Milwaukee & St. Paul Railroad company. I served in this company as bill clerk for three years.

         Lewis--Leaving that company, where did you next find employment?

         Badger's answer: I left the state and went to Pasadena, California, and remained there three years for my health. While there, I ran a milk dairy.

         Lewis--Where did you go when you left California?

         Badger's answer: I went from California to Tucson, Ariz.

         Lewis--How long did you remain in Arizona?

         Badger's answer: I remained in Arizona five months.

         Lewis--Where did you go when you left Arizona?

         Badger's answer: From Arizona I came directly to Chicago.

         Lewis--What time did you arrive in Chicago?

         Badger's answer: I don't remember.

         Lewis--Was it Spring, Summer, Autumn or Winter?

         Badger's answer: I think it was the winter season.

         Lewis--How long after your arrival in the city of Chicago was it before the killing?

         Badger's answer: The same evening that I came.

         Lewis--Mr. Badger, you have said that you are twenty-seven years old and that you were fifteen years old when you

left school, and that since you left school you had served the following companies: The Western Union Telegraph company, eight years; Milwaukee & St. Paul R. R. company, three years; remained in California three years, and in Arizona five months. Is all this true?

         Badger's answer: Yes, sir.

         Lewis--Leaving school at fifteen, serving eight years at one place, three years respectively at another and five months in Arizona, and yet you are twenty-seven years of age?

         Badger's answer: Yes, sir.

         Lewis--Isn't it a fact that you are twenty-nine years of age?

         Badger's answer: No, sir, I am not twenty-nine yet.

         Lewis--You stated that you came to Chicago some time during the winter. State the day and date and time of your arrival.

         Badger's answer: I came over the Chicago & Alton from St. Louis, arriving in Chicago the night of the killing of Hilliard Baker, but do not know the month, date nor day.

         Lewis--Do you remember if it was during the winter season?

         Badger's answer: Yes, sir.

         Lewis--How long had you been in the city before you saw the man running down the street?

         Badger's answer: Not long.

         Lewis--But how long?

         Badger's answer: About four or five hours.

         Lewis--You stated that you saw the defendant running down State street on the night of the 20th of August. Is that true?

         Badger's answer: Yes, sir.

         Lewis--How long had you known him before that night?

         Badger's answer: That was my first time to see him.

         Lewis--When you saw him, was he near the viaduct on Twelfth street?

         Badger's answer: Yes, sir.

         Lewis--Was there a light near or about the viaduct?

         Badger's answer: I don't remember.

         Lewis--Was the moon shining?

         Badger's answer--I think so.

         Lewis--Then you recognized the defendant through the moonlight?

         Badger's answer: Yes, sir, that is the way I recognized him.

         Lewis--About what speed was the defendant making when you saw him?

         Badger's answer: He was going as fast as his feet could carry him.

         Lewis--How far did you go before you saw the deceased?

         Badger's answer: I went about twenty yards.

         Lewis--Was the moon shining where the deceased was lying?

         Badger's answer: Yes, sir.

         Lewis--Could you see the man that ran past you and the deceased at the same time?

         Badger's answer: Yes, sir, I could.

         Lewis--Did Donavan begin running before he came to the spot where the deceased was lying?

         Badger's answer: I think he did.

         Lewis--Did you go immediately to the deceased as soon

as you saw him on the ground?

         Badger's answer: No, sir.

         Lewis--What did you do?

         Badger's answer: I crossed the street to watch what happened.

         Lewis--State what happened while you wore standing across the street?

         Badge's answer: I saw two men come from under the viaduct and look upon the dead man and rush away.

         Lewis--What did you do next?

         Badger's answer: I returned to my room and retired.

         Lewis--Did you notify anyone that there was a dead man lying on the street?

         Badger's answer: Not then.

         Lewis--When did you?

         Badger's answer: I told the officers about two o'clock that night.

         Lewis--Thought you had retired for that night?

         Badger's answer: I had but had gotten up again.

         Lewis--About what time did you return to the scene of the shooting?

         Badger's answer: About two o'clock.

         Lewis--Was the dead man still lying where you first saw him?

         Badger's answer: He was.

         Lewis--Do you know who killed him?

         Badger's answer: No, sir.

         Lewis--Did John Donavan kill him?

         Badger's answer: I did not see him kill Hilliard Baker.

         Lewis--Have you told all you know about the case?

         Badger's answer: Yes, sir.

         T. J. Ball, police officer, testified for the State as follows: I am a police officer, and parole the streets from Polk and State to Twenty-Second and State and thence around Armour avenue, and around about the viaduct to Twelfth and State streets.

         District Attorney--Were you on duty on the night of August 20th? And did you parole your beat as was your usual custom?

         Police--I was on duty and paroled my beat as was my usual custom.

         District Attorney--Was a murder committed on your beat that night?

         Police--Yes, sir.

         District Attorney--Did you make an arrest that night?

         Police--I did.

         District Attorney--Whom did you arrest?

         Police--This man, John Donavan.

         District Attorney--Why did you arrest him?

         Police--Because he was pointed out as the man that did the crime.

         District Attorney--Who pointed him out?

         Police--He was pointed out by the young chap that has just left the stand.

         District Attorney--Did you hear a gun shoot that night?

         Police--I did not.

         District Attorney--What did Donavan have when you arrested him that night?

         Police--He had a twig of tobacco, one dollar fifty cents and a paper of cigarettes.

         District Attorney--Did you tell him why you arrested him?

         Police--Yes, sir; I told him that he was charged with the murder of Hilliard Baker.

         District Attorney--Did you examine the body after finding it?

         Police--I did.

         District Attorney--What kind of a wound did you find on the body of the deceased?

         Police--I found a very ragged hole under the left breast.

         District Attorney--Who was with you during the examination?

         Police--Edmund Morango, Luyher Jovice, Billy Quinn and the defendant, John Donavan.

         District Attorney--Did all those whom you named examine the body of the deceased?

         Police--They did.

         District Attorney--Mr. Lewis, you may have the witness.

         Mr. Lewis--Mr. Ball, you have testified that you are a police officer, and in actual service. You parole the following streets--Polk, State, Armour avenue out to Twenty-Second, and then back to Twenty-Second and State. Is that true?

         Police--Yes, sir.

         Lewis--On the night of August 20th, 1897, you have stated that a man was killed on your beat. Is that true?

         Police--Yes, sir.

         Lewis--Where were you when the homicide occurred?

         Police--At this time I am unable to tell.

         Lewis--What time of night did it occur?

         Police--I do not know.

         Lewis--Did you hear a report of a gun that night?

         Police--I did not.

         Lewis--What was your usual time to report to headquarters when you return to Twelfth and State streets?

         Police--I go on duty at seven o'clock, and I begin paroling my beat immediatelly, leaving State street near Twelfth at 7:30 and return again at 9 o'clock, remaining there about fifteen minutes, making the same circuit twice before twelve.

         Lewis--Did you at any time on the night of the 20th of August, between the hours of 7 p.m. and 12:30 a.m., find a man dead on your beat?

         Police--No, Sir.

         Lewis--Was a man found dead on your beat that night?

         Police--Yes, sir.

         Lewis--What time of night was he found?

         Police--Some time after 1 o'clock.

         Lewis--Who was the first to find the deceased?

         Police--Two fellows across the street on State and Twelfth streets reported the death to me.

         Lewis--After being informed that a man was killed and lying in the street, what did you then do?

         Police--I went immediately to the spot where the dead man was lying.

         Lewis--Did you proceed with the examination of the dead man alone?

         Police--No, sir.

         Lewis--Who helped you to examine him?

         Police--Billy Quinn, Luther Jovice, Edmund Morango and the defendant, John Donavan.

         Lewis--Did you know either of these before that night?

         Police--No, sir.

         Lewis--Whom did you arrest that night?

         Police--John Donavan.

         Lewis--Why did you arrest Donavan?

         Police--Because I was informed that he was the man that was seen running down the streets on that night.

         Lewis--Who gave you the information?

         Police--Mr. Badger.

         Lewis--Is that all you know about the case?

         Police--Yes, sir.

         Space will not permit me to give you the testimony in full of the State witnesses, Badger, Morango, Jovice and Billy Quinn. I've only to say that the testimonies of all were nearly the same.

         The State, through its District Attorney, believing that he had made a complete case under the circumstantial evidence, closed. The defendant, John Donavan, was then called to the stand to testify for himself.

         He testified as follows: I was born in Rotterdam, New York, thirty-nine years ago. I came west fifteen years ago. I lived in Chicago twelve years, and during all this time I have been employed by Armour Packing Company in the scientific department. On the night of August 20th, as had been my custom and pathway twelve years, I crossed the viaduct going and coming from work. I left the stockyard and boarded a Wentworth avenue car and came as far as Twelfth street, and there got off the car. I saw four men huddled together, and another lying on the ground. I thought to watch them and see

what they were about. I heard one of them say, I think it was the police: "How long do you think he has been dead?" That aroused my curiosity more than ever and so I walked over near by and inquired of them the trouble. They in answer to my question said a man had been killed. By that time I had joined the group of spectators. We examined the man and found that he had been shot in the left breast below the nipple. The police suggested that we stay there until he could call up the dead wagon. The dead wagon soon came and we assisted in putting the man in and just as the wagon was about to leave the officer said to me: "You had better come along as the State will need you. Why were you out so late?" I was locked up that night and have been in jail ever since. So far as I am concerned I am innocent of knowing anything about the death of the man.

         Mr. Lewis--District Attorney, you may have the witness.

         District Attorney--Mr. Donavan, why did you run that night?

         Donavan--I did not run.

         District Attorney--What did you do with that gun you killed that man with?

         Donavan--I own no gun.

         District Attorney--Why were you out so late?

         Donavan--Returning from my work.

         District Attorney--I think that's all; the State will rest.

         Lewis--The defense will also rest.

         Judge Dunn said: "Gentlemen, it is now 8 p.m.; the sheriff will take the prisoner back to jail, and he is further instructed to prepare suitable quarters for the jurors for tonight, and return them to this court room at 8 o'clock tomorrow morning. Gentlemen of the jury, you are also instructed by the court

that you are not to discuss this case until it is given to you by this court. Mr. Sheriff, you may excuse all witnesses in the Donavan case and declare this court adjourned until tomorrow at 8 o'clock."

         On the next morning court was opened promptly at 8 o'clock. The sheriff brought in John Donavan and announced that the court was now opened. Judge Dunn now being seated in his great revolving chair, turned towards the spectators within the court room, and said: "I would like to confer with the counsels for the defendant and State." He further added: "There are no other cases to be tried here today, gentlemen, and our docket is somewhat crowded and it would please the court if you would limit your addresses to the jury to about two hours each, and by this you will be able to close the case about the noon hour."

         Both counsels, defendant and State, agreed to the time suggested by the court. The opening address was delivered by Mr. H. J. Holland, a young lawyer who had assisted the State in the prosecution of Donavan. He began his address to the jury in the following language: "Gentlemen of the Jury: I am here assisting in the prosecution of the defendant, and pray your consideration of all the facts bearing upon this case, under the circumstantial evidence. It is my opinion that the commonwealth of Illinois has proven beyond a reasonable doubt the guilt of the defendant." Mr. Holland gave a brief outline of the case and then closed by saying: "I leave it to you, gentlemen, to do your duty. As I see it, it is a verdict of guilty, assessing the punishment of the defendant to that of death or life punishment."

         This being my first case, I did not know the proceedure of

the court in these matters and therefore I did not know I had to follow Mr. Holland.

         Judge Dunn, after waiting a few moments, said: "Mr. Lewis, it is your time to address the jury." The court room was crowded to its utmost capacity with spectators, and I here confess that I was very much frightened, for I had never addressed a court or jury before. Notwithstanding, I began my address to the jury in the following words: "May it please this court and gentlemen of the jury, I am here today, appointed by the court to defend John Donavan, charged with the murder of Hilliard Baker. I wish first to thank you for the patience that you have shown me during the trial and assure you that I will be brief in presenting this case. It is my opinion that it will not be necessary to go through all of the evidence that the State has produced here, asking men of your ability who are sane men, to convict a man and a citizen of so grave an offense as murder. Every sober man upon this jury will agree with me that the testimony of Mr. Badger so far as the truth goes is as shallow as a goose pond. Mr. Badger has been traced from his infancy to the present time, and we find him unable to be accurate on any one question put to him. It is Mr. Badger's testimony the State relies upon for a conviction, and to convict a man upon such worthless testimony, you will be charged by all citizens of Illinois with hounding down an innocent man and doing an unrighteous act."

         To the best of my ability I presented the case to the jury, and closed with the following remarks: "The court will instruct you, gentlemen, upon the law and the evidence, and will further say that you are the judges of the credibility of the witnesses and weight of the evidence in this case, and by your

leave ask you gentlemen to deal with John Donavan as you would have some good citizen to deal with you. I submit to you John Donavan's life, liberty and pursuit of happiness."

         The closing address of the State was made by District Attorney Deneen. He said: "Gentlemen, the State of Illinois asks you to deal fair with every man. She is not seeking revenge through its agents, but through them for its fair name justice shall ever shine. Why is it the wolf is given such a bad name? Is it because she prowls at midnight, or is it because of the mischief she does after dark? This human wolf the State finds prowling after midnight, seeking, not only seeking, but devouring human life. The law has given us a chain and this chain has been well connected; the circumstances within this chain gives us John Donavan. I ask you, gentlemen, to write a verdict for the commonwealth of Illinois, assessing the punishment of Donavan at that of death or life imprisonment."