The spring of 1833 found me travelling through the Choctaw nation, which, at that time, with the exception of the government posts, was a wilderness. Fort Towson, Duxborough, Jonesborough, Lost Prairie, Horse Prairie, Pecan Point, and several other places throughout this wild and newly settled country, were crowded with every kind and description of people from the states, from, the government agents and contractors to the wild and mysterious refugee—the latter being very numerous, and having settled upon the south side of Red river, to evade the pursuit of the United States' officer of justice, that portion then being considered within the boundaries of Texas. The whole region was one of peculiar debasement in all respects. As might be suspected, seasoned as it was with such a population, drunkenness, debauchery, and murder walked abroad, hand in hand, day and night. Human life was valued no higher than the life of an ox or a hog, and the heart of the settlement was cold, and palsied to the most remote touch of feeling, and hardened to the recital of brutalities and crimes of the most indescribable enormity. Men talked of their evil doings, their deep, revolting guilt, with the most impudent freedom, and laughed and chuckled over them as though they were the best jokes in the world!

It was in one of the Texan settlements, in this rude, wicked tract of country, that an incident came to my knowledge, quite by accident, which I will relate. The settlement contained some seventy to eighty people, men, women, and children, white and black. I was taking a stroll with one of the settlers among the cabins and huts, he being familiar with the occupants of each, their habits and history. When we passed a spot worth notice, he gave me the character of the owner, his wealth, &c., and although all about the settlement wore an appearance of the most abject poverty, I was surprised to find the wealth which many of the inhabitants of so desolate, dreary, and forbidding a place possessed. We finally came to a small log cabin, at the extreme end of the settlement, apparently about twenty feet in length by eighteen deep, a story and a half high.

"Who lives here?" said I.

"The widow ——," replied my guide, whose name was Edmonds—"the widow of ——, but—yes—the widow of Dr ——, who was killed a few days ago."

I was struck with my companion's pauses, and thought there was something singular in them, especially as his countenance at the time seemed to change slightly. I soon mustered resolution to ask him who were the murderers of Doctor ——, but his reply was simply that he did not know.

"I should like to see the widow," said I; "will you introduce me?"

He declined, stating that he must then leave me, and go along some half a mile further, where some men were at work, chopping down a bee-tree.

"Very well," said I; "I will step in and introduce myself. You have awakened some little curiosity in my mind to know more about the murder of this man."

He left me without making any reply, and I entered the cabin, the door of which was standing ajar. I found, seated near the fire on a rude bench, a female, perhaps thirty years old, whose countenance wore a look of deep dejection, but at the same time betrayed strong evidence of having been once quite attractive. A little girl sat in her lap—two boys of the ages of perhaps seven and eleven occupied a bench at her right—an infant of, I should think, three months old, slept in the cradle, which a little girl apparently about five years old stood rocking. The group was a very imposing one. As I entered, I gave a tap upon the door, which caused the mother to turn towards me; but she did not speak, waiting, it would seem, for me to introduce my business. I apologized for my unceremonious entrance, saying, that I had learned she was formerly a resident in the states; and that I being also from thence, felt some interest in her and her family. She beckoned me to a seat, and after some time, told me she was born in Philadelphia, but that, having married a Kentuckian, she moved there, and lived some eight or nine years in that state—that her husband, at the expiration of that time, had taken his family to Little Rock, Arkansas, where they resided one year, and that from thence they had come to the place where I found them.

Here there was a pause; in fact, I discovered that the poor woman's voice faltered the moment she approached the subject of her arrival at her present residence. The silence was broken by the child, who stood rocking the cradle, and who said, "This is a bad place, ain't it, Ma? Here the bad men live that killed Pa." At this the mother burst into tears. As she did so, she kindly told the child to hush.

After the mother's tears had partially subsided, I told her to talk to me without restraint; that I had visited the settlement on the other side of the river on government business, which I expected to transact, and leave in a very few days. I here was guilty of falsehood. I had not visited the settlement for government, of course, but to pursue my iniquitous course of gambling with the refugees.

The woman implored me to be watchful; that I was in the midst of the most abandoned description of men that could possibly be conceived of; and that they would make a victim of me the more readily, on account of my extreme youth. I told her that they could want nothing of me, for the simple reason that I had nothing valuable about me. She assured me that it was not always avarice which tempted these men to deeds of blood. They had butchered her poor husband in the very house where we were, within hearing of herself and children, and when all were imploring that his life might be spared. And yet money was not the temptation. She then gave me a history of the cruel murder of her husband, which was as follows:—

Doctor —— was educated a physician in the city of Philadelphia, though a native of Kentucky. He married his wife in that city; after which he went back to Kentucky, where he settled down in the practice of his profession. It was not many years after he took up his abode in his native place before he became involved, and subsequently being accused of committing a forgery, he concluded it was best to leave his native state. His first stopping-place, after leaving Kentucky, was Little Rock, Arkansas, where he remained until his brother-in-law joined him with his family. Becoming uneasy and unhappy there, he finally removed to the settlement, where an end was put to his earthly career by the band of assassins.

His wife, when she came to this portion of her husband's career, was again deeply affected; but she soon mustered composure enough to continue the story.

After my husband came here, he proceeded to build this house, and we all moved into it in a very short period after the first log was laid. He was a changed man, and my health had become impaired by the exposures which it was necessary to encounter, in travelling through this wilderness. Doctor —— was a changed man; most painfully was this the case. He was not only moody and sullen in his temperament, and at times unhappy to the last degree; but he did not seem to take that pleasure which he once did in the society of his wife and children. Now and then he would drink hard, and become intoxicated, in which case he abused me most shamefully, and I bore all for the sake of the children. Some few days before his death, he entered into a speculation with some bad fellows here, to smuggle spirits through the nation, which they succeeded in doing, and with great profit. About this time, or just after, when in a calm and subdued mood, he confessed to me, that he was not an honest man; that he was a refugee from justice, and a doomed man; that a trap had been laid for him a short time after he was married; that he fell into it; that he was a sworn member of a band of desperadoes and villains, and that he was doomed to be a guilty wretch so long as he lived. I thought he was crazy, but his assurance was in a few days fully verified.

Not long after my husband made this confession to me, he ran a partition across the cabin—making two rooms. In the other department he put two beds, and whenever any of his cronies called to see him, he would order myself and the children into the room. Here we remained while he and his companions drank and played cards—making sometimes such a noise that it seemed as if the very roof would be raised. They often kept it up all night long.

One morning, after one of these frolics, he said to me he wished I was at home with my father; that he never intended to return to Philadelphia himself; but he would see that I was safely taken there. I asked why he was so much inclined to part from me. He stated that that was his business; I must leave him. Only the night before, he had been accused of divulging secrets to me in regard to his companions; that he had promised them to send me home. He added, that I might take all the children but the two eldest boys. I protested against separating me and my children. His only reply was, that his determination on the point was fixed.

That night he ordered myself and the children into the room, in a more angry tone than ever, and barred us in. It was not long after this before his wicked companions arrived and planted themselves down at the table. I listened at the door, and while my husband had gone out of the cabin for some purpose, I heard them whispering busily together. As he entered the apartment, however, the whispering ceased, and one of them said, "Let's play for the liquor first, and decide that point afterwards."

After this, they played and swore, and one would have supposed the room to have been occupied by fiends incarnate rather than by men. At about twelve o'clock, one of the company said, "Well, boys, now is the time; what are we here for?" "Out with the light," said another. My husband now asked what they proposed doing, when, without giving him the slightest notice, the light was put out, and a heavy blow descended. I heard my husband cry out, "Do not murder me;" but the strokes fell heavy and fast, and spite of my screams and the screams of my children—spite of our efforts to beat the door in, the bloody work was kept up until I heard my husband's body fall upon the floor. In a short time his murderers left. I tried to burst the door open, but without success. At last, I raised my eldest boy to the window, and he crawled outside, and ran round, entering the door which led to the room containing his father's corpse. As the child moved towards the door of the room, for the purpose of unbarring it, he fell over the dead body of his father. The door was finally unbarred, and I rushed into the room where my murdered husband lay. Oh, sir, I cannot tell you what were then my feelings. The lights which the children brought into the room exposed the whole scene, and it was one which I could not describe if I would—my husband's body lying upon the floor, weltering in blood. I tried to lift it up to the bed, but could not. I then, with the assistance of the children, rolled it up in a counterpane, and we sat down and watched it till morning—fearing that, if we did not, it might be carried off by wolves—a large number of which howled about the house until day dawned. Oh, sir, it was a sorrowful night! The next morning several of the neighbours called in, and after expressing their horror at the deed of blood, assured me that they would aid in bringing the murderers to justice. That they knew them, and that they resided on the Sabine river. Would you believe it, sir? Two of the very sympathizers I knew to have been concerned in the murder of my husband.

A coffin was made, into which my poor husband's body was laid, and then the neighbours buried him, but in such a manner that he lay but a foot or two below the earth's surface. I have been afraid the beasts of prey which infest this region would get possession of his corpse; so, with my children, I build every night a fire near his grave.

"Now, sir," added the woman, "I have told you the painful story, and you will see in what a dreadful situation I am. I am here in this dreadful place, with perhaps one hundred dollars in money, and five children, nearly all of whom constantly require my watchful care. Can you not assist me in my wretchedness?"

I told the poor thing I would endeavour to do something for her. I had hardly done so, when Edmonds passed the door of the cabin on his way back from the choppers. Seeing me, he turned back and said, as I passed out to meet him, "Well, Green, what do you think of the widow?" My reply was, that she was so shy and distant that I could not learn much about her, one way or the other; that she appeared unwilling, or afraid to converse.

"It is well enough that she did," was Edmond's reply, "she does not know what she talks about. When she does choose to speak, I believe her to be either crazy or foolish, and d—n me if I know which."

Edmonds invited me to go with him to his home. So I went along. I found there a man, named Scoggins, with whom Edmonds got into a very free conversation. I heard him say, "We must send that woman away; she talks to somebody every day; she must be taken care of in one way or the other. She must, Scoggins, she must."

It was not long after this, before Scoggins took me aside, and in a friendly manner advised me not to go to the widow's again; that she was a bad and a meddlesome person withal. I did not visit her afterwards; indeed, I had no opportunity to do so, for the day following the incidents I here related, in company with Edmonds and Scoggins, I left the settlement for Fort Towson—about one hundred and fifty miles east. Our object was to play cards with the officers at the fort, and lighten them of some of their change. We also expected to fall in with some of the half-bred Choctaws, who are not inexpert in the shuffle. Edmonds and Scoggins were ordinary players, and depended on my skill. The former was a shrewd fellow, a Georgian by birth—aged about forty-five; the latter, a Canadian, was about the same age. They had served together during the war of 1812, and in the same company. Two more peculiar men could not be found. Like a pair of well-trained horses, I saw very soon, after we joined company, they pulled together. They had a negro with them, who was deaf and dumb; and he was one of the best servants I ever saw. He had been Edmonds' attendant for fifteen years, and was, I should think, about fifty years old. This old negro knew every route from Canada to Texas. He would stand and sleep, like a horse, for hours, and seemed to care much more for horses than he did for himself. I thought there was something more than at first appeared about the old darkey. While at the fort, he would, in our company, stand for hours, it seemed to me listening attentively to all that was said, and appearing to understand it. He was very submissive and polite to any one who noticed him, and, from the beginning, appeared to take a wonderful liking to me. At Fort Towson I tried to get rid of Edmonds and Scoggins, telling them I had resolved to leave them, and that I was going to cross the Nation to Fort Smith, about one hundred and fifty miles distant. They appeared to like the route I had chosen, and said they would accompany me. While at Fort Towson, I discovered that both of my companions had a large number of acquaintances there, mixed in among the Indians; and, likewise, that many of the slaves appeared to know them.

We finally left the fort, in company with ten Choctaws. I had purchased, while in the nation, twelve head of horses, two of which were quarter horses, that is, intended to run a quarter of a mile in singularly quick time. I obtained them of a half-bred Choctaw, and they were valued at five hundred dollars each.

We encamped, the first night after our departure, about thirty miles distant from Fort Towson. The next morning I found that my two valuable quarter horses, with six others of the drove, were missing. I said something about my chance of finding them again, but soon had every hope of the kind destroyed, by being informed that the Pawnee Indians were very numerous in the neighbourhood; that they were great horse thieves; and had undoubtedly appropriated to themselves my valuable beasts. We went fifty miles further, when we again encamped. Here the horses of the dumb negro and Scoggins were missing. They appeared to think their animals might be recovered, and turned back for that purpose, promising to overtake us, if possible, at Fort Smith.

When we arrived at the fort, I disposed of the horses I had left, and took passage on the steamboat Reindeer, for the mouth of White River. Edmonds insisted on accompanying me. I made no objection, of course, but was anxious to get rid of him. It was about the twentieth of May, when we arrived at Montgomery's Point, on the Mississippi. Edmonds, daring the passage, frequently sympathized with me on the loss of my horses. He also, now and then, spoke to me about the widow of Doctor ——, commiserated her forlorn situation, and stated that he had a strong desire, and in fact determination, to communicate intelligence of her deplorable condition to her friends in Philadelphia. He asked me, if I did not, myself, think of doing something of the kind. I told him that I had forgotten her name, and had I remembered it, I hardly thought that I should trouble myself about her or her affairs. He said, he, too, had forgotten the name, but he could procure it of Scoggins when he returned.

We remained at the Point several days, awaiting the arrival of a steamboat. Finally, the Chester came along, bound for St. Louis. I took passage in her, and left Edmonds behind, not a little to my gratification. We had not proceeded far from the Point, when the Chester broke down, and I was obliged to get on board of a down boat, and return to the Point. On arriving there, the first person I encountered was the dumb negro, who told me that Edmonds had died suddenly, since my departure, of the cholera, which was raging at that time on the Mississippi, and which cut men down almost without warning. On inquiry, I found the negro had told me the truth, and must confess I was not a little astonished at it. But a few hours previously, I had left Edmonds, apparently well; now he was a corpse! The thought gave me a shade of melancholy, especially as I knew and felt that he had been cut down in guilt; for that he was both a robber and a murderer I could not for a moment doubt.

I made some inquiry about the amount of money left by Edmonds, and discovered that after paying all the expenses of his funeral, the amount of nine hundred dollars would be left, which, according to his request just before his death, was to be sent to his friends in Savanna, Georgia.

Not long after I got back to the Point, when walking out alone, the dumb negro joined me, and motioned me to follow him: I did so, without hesitation. We had not gone far out of the way, before he placed himself near me, and, to my surprise, spoke to me as plainly and distinctly as any one could. He said he knew he would surprise me when he talked like other folks; but he would give me a good reason for having seemed to be dumb. He then gave me a sketch of his chequered career. He was once a slave, but had been a free man between thirty and forty years. At the age of twenty, he was purchased from his master, at Petersburg, Virginia, to save his life, by a band of outlaws of which he became a member, in a servile capacity. These men had freed him, soon after they purchased him from his master, and in consideration he had taken the oath as one of their gang, and had sworn, with other things, to appear to be deaf and dumb, so long as he should live—the penalty for any forgetfulness, or otherwise, that should betray that he could either speak or hear, being death! That he had been educated to this end; that the band had men who could converse with him readily by signs, and that he had been so much accustomed to communicate his thoughts in that manner, that it had become second nature. He told me he was now determined to go to Canada, where he proposed remaining for the balance of his life. I asked him how he meant to go? His reply was, that he should make the journey by land; that he knew every foot of the route, and had hundreds of warm friends all the way along. He further said that he could communicate to me a secret, which he thought it would be better for me to keep—and this is the first time I have ever publicly revealed it.

The secret was, that he and Scoggins, after leaving Edmonds and myself, had retraced their steps to the skirts of Texas; that my horses had not been taken, as I supposed, by the Indians, but that hired tools of Edmonds and Scoggins had stolen them. That it was well for me I laid my money out in horses: had I not done so, they would have murdered me, to possess themselves of it. He further assured me, that I had been for three months in the most heartless and desperate region which the country affords, and among my worst enemies. The negro added, that he had heard hard letters read concerning me since I was in the country. That they were written a year before, by certain men belonging to the same band, whom I knew, but least suspected. One of them lived near Lawrenceburgh, Indiana; another was Goodrich, the notorious villain to whom I have alluded in the preceding part of the work.

This negro also told me that Dr. ——, who had been murdered on the Texan frontier, was himself a member of the Secret Band, and that he was killed to save many a better man. That he and Scoggins had gone back to see that the widow and her family were removed; but they found, on reaching the settlement, she had left. We had learned, moreover, that when seventy or eighty miles on her journey to her friends', she was taken sick and died, and that she had lost her youngest child before she left the settlement. It was further stated that the remainder of her family were at Little Rock, with a friend of her husband's, who would provide for them till her family could either send for them, or give some directions in regard to their disposition.

The negro advised me never to divulge my opinions in relation to the doctor's death, nor to the history of his family out west. I told him I did not recollect their names, and therefore could not do so if I would. He assured me that it was well for me, perhaps, that it was so; and that it could do me no good if I did. I spoke to the negro about the lively sympathy which Edmonds had expressed for the family, a few days before I parted with him; that he had told me, in case he could procure the name and residence of their friends at the east, he would write them; and that he had asked me if I remembered them. I told him I did not.

The negro assured me that it was well for me I had been so ignorant on the subject; Edmonds was only trying me. Had I appeared to have known any thing, and betrayed any disposition to give publicity to what I knew, he would have prevented me, even if he had taken my life.

I discovered from the negro, that the secret band of outlaws, to whom I here alluded, had a large number of members scattered among the different tribes of Indians; that they are all about the western country, in fact, and that all are true to each other as steel itself. The negro assured me that he could find friends at every turn; yes, those who would die for him! He was well off, however, without them, and had determined to pass the remainder of his days in living a life of honesty; hoping that, by so doing, God would forgive him, if man did not.

The negro told me much more in regard to himself and his companions. He said he had been deaf and dumb, in order to find out what was going on. He stood about and heard much said, which would not have been said had it been supposed he could hear, and much, too, that was at times extremely valuable to the band.

I told him that I had often noticed and pitied him. His reply was, that he saw I felt for him, and it was none the worse for me that I did. This very county where we were, was afterwards infested by Murrill and his gang; and it was here that, in 1841, the citizens turned out and put to death, by shooting and drowning, some forty or fifty villains.

But to return to the negro. I told him that his intelligence startled me. He assured me, that while with him I was not in danger; that, to tell the truth, where we then were was not a very bad tract of country. For, said he, the brethren of Arkansas and Mississippi are not "clear grit." That a few weeks preceding, a man by the name of Jeffries, who had passed counterfeit money, they permitted to be taken and put to death. He had, it seems, got off about one thousand dollars of the spurious money on some river boatmen and traders; who returned when they found the money was bad, pursued the counterfeiter to an island on the river; where, after having stripped him naked and tied him to a tree, they beat him to death! It was true this man was not a member of the secret fraternity; but he would have been had his life been spared.

At this point of my conversation with the negro, I discovered the steamboat HURON near by, so I shook hands with him and left him. Rejoicing that a boat had at last come along, I was soon on board her, bound for Louisville. We "wooded" some thirty miles distant from Montgomery's Point, and at the wood-yard, I overheard one of the workmen telling about the skeleton of a man which had been found on an island near by; that it was tied to a tree, and that it was the remains of a man who had been whipped to death for passing counterfeit money. The woodman added, that the poor victim's watch and clothes were found hanging near his skeleton. This story confirmed the statement of the dumb negro on this point, and gave me confidence in all he had told me.