Pages 75-78

75

In all the seventy-five years of Fulton county’s history there has never been a legal execution within its limits. In that time there have been scores of murders, many of them meriting the death penalty, but owing to the tricks of lawyers and the weakness of juries, these criminals have all escaped serious punishment.

However, I beg permission in this letter to discuss some of the pioneer hangings that I have witnessed, although it is not a very pleasant subject to write about. But there are valuable lessons connected with these tragedies that will not be lost upon the readers of The Fulton Democrat.

The first execution that I ever witnessed was that of a father and his son who were hung in Rushville, Illinois, in June 1835. They were Elias McFadden and son, David, who lived a mile south of Macomb. The sheriff came one day with an execution to levy on a crib of corn, and got a farmer named John Wilson a quiet and much respected citizen of the neighborhood, to go with him with his horses and wagon to haul the corn away. When the two men arrived at McFadden’s farm the older McFadden in great heat struck the horses with a stick and ordered them to leave the place. But they persisted in levying on the corn, when young McFadden fired from their cabin window and shot John Wilson so that he died within a couple of days. The McFaddens were arrested, but took a change of venue to Schuyler county. They were tried before Judge R. M. Young and prosecuted by

Cyrus Walker, prosecuting attorney for that district. The two men were convicted of murder and sentenced to be hung. Notice was given in the newspapers that the execution would be public, and hundreds of people from Fulton, McDonough and Schuyler counties went to see the double hanging.

76

I was then living at Havana, and with another young man started to see the execution. On the road we came up with Hugh Lamaster, Nathan Beadles and Robert Gamble, all from Lewistown one their way to Rushville. Mr. Lamaster invited us to stop over night with their party at the home of one of his uncles, about three miles north of Rushville. Here we found a Christian and hospitable home in which no pay would be taken for our entertainment. The next day was the time of the execution, and we found 1000 to 1200 people gathered about the jail to see the prisoners as they were to march to their death. About twenty minutes before they were taken out, a couple of two-horse wagons were driven up to the jail, in each of which was a coffin in plain view. The prisoners were brought from the upper portion of the jail down a flight of stairs on the outside. They were both tall men, and were dressed in white shrouds, with white caps on their heads. They made a very ghostly appearance as they walked down the long stairs and climbed into the wagons and took their seats on top of their coffins.

I should here remind the readers that when a person was buried they were dressed in white cambric shrouds, similar to those the prisoners wore, which added so much to their horrible appearance. It was not until about in 1845 that the people commenced to bury their friends in their wearing apparel.

The distance from the jail to the place of execution was about a mile, and a long procession was formed, some in wagons, some on horseback, and others a-foot. One of the strangest things about this event was the fact that the wife and mother of the two men was in the procession to go and see husband and son executed. The place of execution was a hollow between two hills which afforded the people a good view of the hanging. It was estimated that from 2,000 to 3,000 people were present. The men both testified that they had both experienced religion while confined in the jail and had received forgiveness for their awful crime. They talked for a few moments, then shook hand with some of their friends, then shook hands with each other, and then embraced and kissed each other, and then the white caps were drawn over their faces and the trap was sprung. As they were

77

launched into eternity the old lady, the wife of one and mother of the other, was only a few rods away gazing intently upon the scene. As the drop fell with her beloved ones dangling at the end of the ropes, she gave one awful scream of anguish and terror and then all was still. After they had hung about fifteen minutes they were taken down and laid in their coffins. It was all so tragical and dreadful to behold that it haunted my young mind by night and by day for many months.

The net hanging that I had an opportunity of seeing was that of Peter McCue, who hung himself in his hatter shop in Lewistown in about 1843. I happened to be in town that day. (His shop was on the spot where the Walter Belless building is now going up.) I was riding down Main street and observed a great crowd of men and boys peeping through the windows to see the body. I got off of my horse and took a peep at him myself. He had fastened a cord to a joist in his hatter shop, and was hanging with his toes just touching the floor. The only person that I can recall, now living, who was present was Maj. Newton Walker. I knew Peter McCue very well, while he was carrying on the hatter’s trade, for about nine years. He was single, about thirty-five years of age, an Irishman by birth and Catholic in religion. He learned his trade in the old country and was a very good and successful hatter. When he put an end to his life he was in the habit of going to St. Louis once a year. His friends used to say it was for the purpose of confessing his sins to a priest. The last time he started on this annual trip he went as far as Havana, and while waiting for a steamboat the Illinois river froze up and he had to return to Lewistown. His friends observed that he was melancholy after his return home, but did not dream that it was a serious matter. It was inferred that his failure to see the priest had something to do with his suicide. I remember that Peter one time made a fur hat for my father for $8.50, and it was well worth the money, for it was one of the most beautiful hats I have ever seen. My father had only worn it three or four times before his death, and my mother subsequently gave it to the Rev. Dr. David Nelson, a Presbyterian minister, who was conducting a camp meeting near Canton, in the fall of

78

1838, when some 150 to 200 people were converted and joined the church. I have had occasion once before to speak of Dr. Nelson, and will only add that he was one of the early pioneer Presbyterian ministers who traveled through the country between the Mississippi and Illinois rivers and organized very many churches and Sabbath schools.

A year after Peter McCue went to Lewistown I also went there to attend school, and for a long time boarded with Peter with the family of W. C. Osborn. So we were a good deal together. He was kind and friendly disposed, and I had come to like him very much, and was very sad indeed to see the poor fellow hanging dead in his own shop.

Mr. W. C. Osborn, the man we boarded with, was the second lawyer that settled in Fulton county. Hugh R. Coulter was the first lawyer, and William Elliott the third. At that time Mr. Osborn owned the entire block west of the public square in Lewistown, and his dwelling house stood on the south side of the block. He was one of the well-known pioneers of that time.

PREV          NEXT