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Madison

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... plaintiff, ordered it dismissed.   "Not so fast, Mr. Bright," said Mr. Marshall, rising to his feet.   "I have something to say about that."   He proceeded to state the case, and succeeded in satisfying the court that it should not be dismissed. The trial proceeded, and Mr. Bright made an ingenious speech in which he quoted much law, and when he sat down it seemed certain that his case was won. Mr. Marshall arose, and with unusual deliberation addressed the court. He said that as the case was a small one--the amount involved being but sixty dollars--he had given it but little thought; that Mr. Bright knew the law, and as he was attorney for the plaintiff, attorney for the defendant, and defendent, himself, he had no doubt thoroughly familiarized himself with the case; that, if what he had laid down to the court as law was the law, he was entitled to a finding in his favor; therefore, he moved the court that Mr. Bright be put upon his oath, and required to answer as to whether or not the law he had given the court was the law of the land. Turning to Mr. Bright, and pointing at him with his finger, he exclaimed:   "Will you swear, Mr. Bright, will you swear, sir?"   The effect was electrical. Mr. Bright would not swear, and Mr. Marshall won the case.

The County Commissioners in these days were Nathan Robinson, John E. Gale, John Kirk, John Smock and James W. Hinds. It was during the administration of the first three of these gentlemen that the present jail and jailer's residence were built. Before undertaking a work requiring so large an outlay of money they concluded to go on a tour of observation and examine the best models of such buildings they could find. Accordingly, accompanied by their architect, Monroe W. Lee, they went to Ohio to inspect the prisons of that State. They journeyed in a stage-coach-for in those days railroads were not so common as they are to-day--and one afternoon during the trip they had for a fellow-passenger a loquacious gentleman who made himself exceedingly agreeable to "the innocents abroad." When night drew her curtains over the earth and the bright eyes of the stranger could no longer light the stage-coach, the honorable gentlemen from Jefferson went to sleep. They could not retire to the arms of Morpheus, for there was no couch to repose upon, so they contented themselves with sitting still and doing homage to the sleepy god by reverentially bowing their heads. "Some wee short hour ayant the twal" the coach stopped at a country town to permit the stranger to alight. Having touched terra firma, he sought his baggage in the dark, and as Captain Kirk sat sleeping, with his head nearly touching his knees, the stranger awoke the Captain and brought him to his senses. He angrily demanded the cause of the assault.   "Pardon me, sir," replied the stranger, "I thought I had hold of my carpetsack."

John H. Taylor was Clerk of the courts during the time of which I speak. He was a small mah, [sic] of light complexion, affable in manner and a fluent talker. Dr. Tefft, at that time editor of the Ladies' Repository, declared, in an article published in his magazine, that Mr. Taylor's house was the home of the prophets--referring to the fact that it was the uniform stopping-place of the Methodist clergy.

Mr. Taylor was a great lover of tobacco. He chewed it constantly when not asleep, and was never seen, in-doors or out-doors, at home or abroad, without his cheek being distended by an enormous quid of the narcotic plant. About this time Daguerrean artists first appeared in the West, and one of them came to Madison. There was a rush to his rooms for pictures, and among others was Mr. Taylor. He succeeded in securing a good likeness of himself, and took it home to show it to his family. Handing it to his wife he asked her how she liked it. "Better than the original," replied the dame; "the tobacco is there but not the spittle."

The sheriffs of Jefferson county during this time were William H. Phillips, Robert Right Rea, Henry Deputy, and Robert M. Smith. Mr. Phillips still lives among you, so it is unnecessary to speak of him, but I can not pass Messrs. Rea and Deputy without notice. They were both men of marked peculiarities of character and took active parts in the public affairs of their day. Mr. Rea was a well built man of ordinary size, with a bald head and kindly face. He was unlettered but was unusually shrewd and cunning. He was a natural detective and a terror to absconding thieves and runaway cows. He was also feared by runaway slaves, for many a panting fugitive was arrested by him and returned to bondage. I never could satisfactorily account for this trait in his character, for he had a kind heart and was no slave to Mammon. It probably was the effect of his early education. Mr. Rea was easily teased and had no relish for a practical joke when he was the subject. Cool White, a negro minstrel, once offered a gold pen as a prize for the best conundrum. The offer brought a large audience to the entertainment, and among others present was Mr. Rea. When the excercises were ended White announced that the prize had been awarded to Captain Horace Hull for the following conundrum:

"Why is our sheriff like old Uncle Ned."
Because he has no hair on the top of his head."

Captain Hull walked to the platform amid shouts of laughter and cries of "bravo," to receive the prize. He returned with it down the aisle to where Mr. Rea was seated, and bowing, offered it to him.   "Which, which," said the sheriff; "damn it, which?"  Captain Hull kept the prize.

Henry Deputy was a large man, of dark complexion and with black hair and beard. He was affected in his voice and manners and particular in his dress. He wore shirts with ruffled fronts and was seldom on the street with hands ungloved. He was long in the service of Sheriff Rea, first as clerk and barkeeper in the old hotel that stood on the south side of the public square, and afterwards as deputy sheriff. The late Dr. Cross used to tell a good story on Mr. Deputy. He said he was in the hotel one day when a Kentuckian entered, and addressing Mr. Deputy, said:   "How is it that every time I come here Right Rea has a new barkeeper.  What is your name, sir?"   "My name, sar, is Deputy, sar."   "Then, Mr. Deputy, sar, will you please, sar, hand me a cigar?"   "With pleasure, sar," and he handed the Kentuckian a cigar, accompanied with a lighted match.  "I tell the tale as it was told to me," and with out vouching for its truth, but it is entirely consistent with Mr. Deputy's character and manners. If there was a Beau Brummell in Madison, it was he, and if he was not a Chesterfield it was for the want of ability rather than desire. While he was deputy sheriff he was the keeper of the jail and lived in the front rooms of the jail building. One night the prisoners made an effort to escape, and had almost succeeded before they were discovered. When Mr. Deputy reached the cell door and found them engaged in picking the wall, he called out in his blandest tones:   "Gentlemen, gentlemen, desist from your operations, or I shall be under the disagreeable necessity of putting handcuffs upon you."   The "gentlemen" desisted, but whether it was the polite and persuasive manner of the officer or the fear of handcuffs that stayed their hands, is not written in the chronicles of these days. Poor, Deputy! He afterwards became penniless, but his prided did not forsake him. I remember that on a cold day, several years after the time of which I am speaking, he came to me in the Court-house and asked for money to buy a load of wood. His clothes were seedy and threadbare, and as he sat in a chair before the fire, he drew the tail of his well worn overcoat over his knees to hide the rents in his clothing. It was the ruling passion, strong in death.

At this time Joseph B. Stewart was a student in the law office of Marshall & Glass. He was six feet tall or over, and of gigantic frame; vain and pompous. He was loud of speech, and ever ready to talk in public. On the breaking out of the Mexican war a meeting was held in the Court-house to stimulate enlistments. It was addressed by General Milton Stapp and John Lyle King, and perhaps by others. Stewart was present, but was not called upon for a speech. After the meeting adjourned and the crowd were leaving the Court-house there were loud calls for Stewart. He mounted the wall which surrounded the public square and commenced to harangue the people. He eloquently descanted upon the glory to be won at the cannon's mouth and upon the beauty of the halls of Montezuma. He closed his speech about as follows: "Business prevents me, my fellow citizens, from drawing my sword in this glorious cause. I would gladly unsheath it in my country's defense, but duty to others forbids. But there are some things I can and will do. Those of you who go to war and die in the service will not be forgotten by me. I will assist in settling your estates on the most reasonable terms. I will advice your widows of their legal rights, and see that your orphans are not defrauded of their patrimonies. These things I will do at a considerable reduction on regular rates for such services." Stewart is now, and for many years has been, one of the most noted and successful of Washington lobbyists. He has engineered several of the largest jobs ever put through the National Congress, and if the political morals of the country do not improve it is probable that he will engineer many more.

One of the prominent men of these days was General Milton Stapp. He was a public spirited man, and was as brave as Julius Caesar. He had filled many responsible offices, and had filled them well. He was vain of his talents and his honors; so much so that his vanity at times was very marked. He was a soldier in the war of 1812, and he commanded the Madison brigade in the Irish war. On that occasion he, like

"The King of France, with forty thousand men,
Went up a hill, and so came down agen."

General Stapp was Mayor of Madison, and never did the city have a better one. He often arrested offenders on the street and, unaided, marched them to jail. On one occasion he had a difference with a prominent citizen which led to angry words. He pronounced the man a liar and a scoundrel to his face. The prominent citizen retorted: "You dare not repeat those words." General Stapp went to the door of the office he was in and called to several gentlemen who were near. In their presence he said: "I have called you gentlemen to witness that I here pronounce Mr. -------- a liar and a scoundrel." The insult was not resented. General Stapp was president of the convention held at Charlestown, in 1849, that nominated William McKee Dunn for Congress. I well remember the speech he made on taking the chair. He complained of his neglect by the Whig party, and declared himself entitled to more consideration than he had received. He said he had recently returned from Washington where he went to get an office from General Taylor, but his application was refused. He declared that he experienced great difficulty in getting an interview with Mr. Clayton, the Secretary of State, while others who had done nothing for the party were admitted without trouble. Continuing in this strain for awhile, he said: "When I first met Mr. Clayton, he inquired who I was. I told him I was General Stapp, of Indiana. He said he had never heard of me before. 'What, sir,' said I, 'never heard of Milton Stapp, and you the Secretary of State of the United States?' " The General had supposed his fame was national, not provincial.

Three noted men in these days were McKinley, Newberry and Murray. They were demented but harmless. McKinley believed he owned the major part of the city. His possessions also included lands in foreign countries, and sometimes he thought himself the governing power of at least one European monarchy. At times he would saw a load of wood, or perform other manual labor, but usually he was upon the street discoursing upon his riches. Sometimes he would disappear and be gone for awhile, but he would soon return and repeat "his thrice told tale." He was about as well known at Indianapolis as at Madison, and I have seen him more than once in that city and at Franklin with a crowd about him listening to his wondrous stories. He once became very angry with me because I told him that he and Murray (who also claimed to own the city) should settle the question of title before he disposed of some property he was trying to sell. He said Murray was "nothing but a damned old Yankee, and had no sense no how." Newberry was a very different man. He approached you as stealthily as a cat, and would be bending over you and whispering in your ear before you were aware of his presence. He talked in a low voice, and his words were generally incoherent and sometimes meaningless. He always had a short gun strapped to his back, and his appearance was anything but inviting. He harmed no one, but the wonder is that he did not. His whispered words, his wild look and the gun upon his back always inspired me with terror, and made me watch him like a hawk. In his young days he was a prosperous man of business, and he became insane by trying to solve an impossible problem.

Murray was the worst man of the three, if not the greatest lunatic. He was given to liquor, and was terribly abusive when in his cups. At such times he would walk the streets, and "swear like the army in Flanders." He was particularly abusive of Moody Park, the Mayor of the city, who had often sent him to jail for drunkenness. He believed he was owner of all the property in the city by virtue of a judgment he had recovered for one million of dollars for false imprisonment. This hallucination ever possessed him. Whether drunk or sober he thought himself the lord proprietor of Madison, and her citizens his tenants. He threatened suits of ejectment against those in possession, and was often exceedingly abusive in his notices to quit. The only way to mange him was by force, and it was frequently employed. He was often committed to jail, and there compelled to remain for months. At that time the Mayor's office was in the row of buildings on Main Cross street known as the buzzard roost, and the jail was immediately south of and back of it. Every morning Murray would be at the window of his cell when the Mayor opened his office. So soon as he saw that official he would commence to curse and abuse him. On these occasions it was his custom to sing a doggerel song, running thus:

"When first King Moody began to reign, began to reign,
He bought a peck of buckwheat bran, of buckwheat bran,"

and so on for quantity.

No man in his day more deeply impressed himself upon Madison than David White. He came here in 1846 from Pennsylvania, where he had been engaged in the wool trade. He was about six feet tall, with rather less than average flesh for one of his height, had stooped shoulders, and walked with his head well forward and his eyes upon the ground. His life was one of vicissitudes. He was rich to-day and poor to-morrow. He failed in business in Pennsylvania, in Madison, in Iowa and, I believe, in St. Louis. But failure with him was but a stimulus to new exertions. Most men sink under adversity; not so he. If he touched the bottom it was to reach a foundation for a rebound. He went down under one wave and sprang in triumph upon the top of the next. His energy never gave way and his industry never tired. He was a leader in every public enterprise of his day. Madison is mainly indebted to him for her gas works, for her marine railway, and for the establishment of one of her insurance companies. He labored hard to connect her with the world by a net-work of railroads, but in this effort he failed. He saw the trade which had been hers directed to other cities, and the sight made him sad. He left us and went elsewhere, but so long as the great enterprises he inaugurated remain he will not be forgotten. It was eminently proper that his mortal remains should be brought here and consigned to rest among a people for whom he had done so much.

William G. Wharton was a prominent man at the time of which I speak. In stature he was tall and straight. His physique was splendid. In earlier days he had been both a major of militia and a justice of the peace. Apropos to this: Some years previous to this time he was in New York, and meeting General Stapp at the Astor House he was prevailed upon to call upon General Scott. Major Wharton was not given to running after great men, nor to crowding himself anywhere uninvited; therefore, it was with reluctance that he consented to call upon the hero of Lundy's Lane. But the persistency of General Stapp prevailed, and the two went to the rooms of General Scott. General Stapp approached the great captain and said: "General Scott, allow me to present my friend, Major Wharton." "I am happy to know you, Major," said the General; "to what part of the service do you belong?" "I am an officer by brevet," said the Major; "I am from the great West where every man is a major or (bowing to Stapp) a general." Major Wharton used to tell this story with great gusto.

At this time, deeds signed by married women, to be valid had to be acknowledged by the wives, separate and apart from and without the hearing of their husbands. Major Wharton was a notary public, as also was William McKee Dunn. The latter took the acknowledgment of a deed from Wharton and his wife and inadvertently signed the Major's name to the certificate instead of his own. Judge Billy Hendricks saw this deed in the Recorder's office and determined to have some fun out of the mistake. "How is it, Major, " said the Judge, "that you certify under your oath of office that you have examined your wife separate and apart from and without the hearing of her husband?" "What do you mean?" asked the Major. "I mean," answered the Judge, "that you have done this thing, and here is the evidence of it." With that he proceeded to read as follows:

"STATE OF INDIANA,          }
   COUNTY OF JEFFERSON} ss:

   "Before me, the undersigned, a notary public within and for said county, this day personally came William G. Wharton adn Eliza Wharton, his wife, the grantors in the foregoing deed, and acknowledged the signing and sealing of the same to be their voluntary act and deed for the uses and purposes therein named. And the said Eliza Wharton, wife of the said William G. Wharton, being by me examined separate and apart from and without the hearing of her said husband, declared that she signed and sealed the same of her own free will and accord, and without any fear of or compulsion from her said husband.
     (Signed)           "W.G. WHARTON, Notary Public."

"Go and get Newberry's gun and strap it on my back," said the astonished Major.

Major Wharton was a devoted Mason. He was a Methodist, but he placed his lodge above his church. One day he came into the office of the Firemen and Mechanics Insurance Company and applied to the late Caleb T. Lodge, then president of the company, for a permit to smoke meat in his warehouse, on which that company had written a policy. There was a controversy about the rate to be charged, when Wharton petulantly said: "I'll have nothing to do with your company; all insurance companies are swindling concerns." "I am surprised, 'Squire," said Mr. Lodge, "that a good Methodist, like yourself, should belong to a swindling concern." (Mr. Wharton was a stockholder in the company.) "Don't quote Methodism to me," responded the 'Squire; "the other day I wanted some shingles and went to the yard of Mr. -------, a brother Methodist, to buy them. I selected the shingles I wanted and ordered them sent to my house. Those received were not those I bought, but were greatly inferior. Had I bought the shingles of old man Todd--a hell-bound sinner--I should have received what I bargained for. He is a good Mason, and show me a good Mason and I'll show you a good man."

Gamaliel Taylor, familiarly called "Uncle Gam," was known to every one in the city. His form was lithe and erect, although his locks were white and deep furrows were in his face. He was both a minister of the gospel and a minister of justice. On Sunday he dispensed gospel truths with a pure hand, and during the week he dispensed justice with an even one. He united in wedlock young men and maidens, and when death came he preached the funerals of the fathers and mothers. Gold and silver he had none, but he was passing rich in the love of all who knew him. His memory, like sweet incense, perfumes this hall as I speak, and if the spirits of the blest are premitted to leave their heavenly abode that of the old patriarch, so dear to us all, is hovering o'er us now.