THE FIGHT BETWEEN THE LAW AND THE BANDIT. (From closing argument in the trial and conviction of William Ryan, one of the James Boys.) Note: In order to properly understand this speech and the Frank James speech, which is published in this volume in full, just a few of the facts from the thrilling history of those days should be given. It should be stated and emphasized that the great body of the people of Missouri were opposed to the outlaw band. In Western Missouri, however, especially in Clay, Jackson, Cass, Johnson and Lafayette Counties, there lived a large number of ex-Guerrillas, who had fought in the "Border Warfare with the Jameses and Youngers, and who, while not approving of their depredations, were in sympathy with them on the ground of old comradeship. Besides this, the outlaws had many relatives living in the counties above named, especially in the country part of Jackson. The ex-Confederates, however, with the exception of one solitary man, not only in the counties above named, but throughout the State, were intensely opposed to the outlaws, and led in the fight to overthrow them. The unfounded claim was constantly made that these bandits were the last remaining relic of the Southern army, and the ex-Confederates regarded their deeds as a stigma upon them and the cause for which they had fought. The facts, briefly stated, were as follows: For fifteen years the "Missouri outlaws," probably the shrewdest, boldest band of free-booters the world has known, had held Western Missouri in absolute terror. From Minnesota to Alabama, and from Virginia to Kansas, they had robbed banks and trains, shot down cashiers, conductors, officers of the law and citizens supposed to have given the slightest information against them. Every mouth seemed sealed, and the work of plunder, pillage and death went on, lasting seven years under a Republican State administration and eight years under the Democrats. Pinkerton hunted the band for years, but his only recompense was the corpses of his men. Missouri was excoriated throughout the Union. Her lands were depreciated and thousands of travelers actually passed around her in going west or east. It was considered political if not actual suicide to oppose these outlaws, and no Republican or Democrat had ever denounced them, or called their names from the stump in the country districts. In 1880 Mr. Wallace made his canvass for prosecuting attorney on horseback in Eastern Jackson County, speaking usually at night. He denounced the band in the midst of its friends, called its six members by name and promised the people if elected he would do all he could to bring them to justice. This caused astonishment, indignation and threats, but he was elected. In a few months after he became a sworn officer, William Ryan, one of the most desperate of the band, was in the grasp of the law and forced into trial at Independence. He was the first one of the James Boys brought to trial in Missouri. The most intense excitement prevailed. The friends of the band from far and near, armed to the teeth, packed the court room, many of them sleeping during the nights, which were pleasant, in the court house yard so as to secure seats upon the opening of court. It was known to the officers that Jesse James, at the head of his band, was in hiding a short distance from Independence. Sky rockets were sent up from various places out in the country at night, presumably to assure the defendant and his friends that the band had not deserted him. Information that a rescue of Ryan was contemplated by the outlaws, the plan being to shoot the prosecutor and the other officers in the court room, and during the excitement, conduct the prisoner to the outside and place him on an extra horse, was afterwards corroborated by Dick Liddil, who gave himself up afterwards and became a State's witness, and who was a member of the band at the time of the trial. Such was the intense excitement that Tucker Bassham, a raw recruit, who had participated in the robbery and who was a witness against Ryan, had to be guarded for his protection, his house being fired during the trial, and it failing to burn, all his household goods piled in the yard and burned, his wife and children taking refuge in Independence. Toward the middle of the trial, which lasted several days, Mr. Wallace received a written communication, which he had reliable information came from Ryan's comrades, telling him that unless he desisted in the prosecution he would be killed. He did not desist, and Ryan was convicted and placed in the penitentiary for twenty-five years. The backbone of the band was broken. Liddil's surrender followed almost immediately, and he became a State's witness. Clarence Hite, another member, was placed in the penitentiary for twenty-five years, and the officers now fully informed, took up the chase, and in less than one year the band was totally destroyed, Frank James, its last member, handing his pistols to the Governor of the State. During the long trial one of the editors of the Kansas City Journal, the Republican daily at Kansas City, sat within the railing in the court room. He said he doubted if Mr. Wallace, a Democrat, raised in Missouri, would prosecute one of the James Boys in real earnest, and he wanted to see. The next morning after the jury returned its verdict the Journal contained a leading editorial, from which the following is clipped: A TRAIN ROBBER CONVICTED. "The prompt conviction of Ryan, the train robber, at Independence, yesterday, was very gratifying to a large majority of the people of this city. The prosecution was conducted with signal ability and unflinching courage throughout. The counsel for the defense spared no effort in behalf of their client, and money was furnished him from some mysterious source in ample sums to secure everything that was needed in his trial. The jury was out but fifteen minutes when it returned a verdict of guilty and fixed the punishment at twenty-five years in the State prison." T EXTRACT FROM THE CLOSING SPEECH OF MR. WALLACE. HE EVIDENCE shows, gentlemen of the jury, that the defendant has loitered in the house of Bacchus just long enough to feel his cups. This increases his bravado, but makes him a little slower in getting his finger to his trigger. "Stand back! Stand back! I am an outlaw and a desperado, and my name is Tom Hill," he exclaims. But almost as quick as thought the brave Tennesseean, Earthman, rushes upon him, encircles him in his arms and Bill Ryan, alias Tom Hill, next to Jesse James the most daring member of the band, is a prisoner at a village near Nashville, Tennessee. He is handsomely dressed. His splendid steed stands hitched to the rack. When searched two large, costly revolvers are found in his belt under his coat, burnished and ready for the work of death. Next to his person he wears a buckskin vest or sack containing over one thousand dollars in gold coin. He is brought to Missouri and we are now engaged in the hottest and most important trial in the history of this glorious Commonwealth whose magnificent people love good government as truly as any people beneath the skies. It is a test case. My defending brothers, all of them standing in the very first ranks at our bar, have traversed such a wide field in their arguments that I am now at liberty to make honest and candid reply. For fifteen years this band of men, so highly eulogized by counsel, has so terrorized Western Missouri that no citizen has dared give information or institute proceedings against them for fear of losing his life. Meantime they have startled the world with their deeds of daring their bank robberies, their train robberies, their murders, their assassinations. At last one of their number is compelled to face a Missouri jury. His friends and the friends of the band cluster close about him, even inside of the bar here, until I barely have room to stand and speak. The forces of the outlaw are pitted against the forces of the law, and the verdict of twelve men-I believe twelve courageous men-is awaited with intense interest by a law-abiding people. You are soon to say which you prefer, the mask of the bandit or the torch of civilization. I have analyzed the evidence in detail. It is enough to say in short at this point in my argument that six men, the regulation number of this skilled and desperate band, masked their faces, placed obstructions upon the track, took charge of the agent of the Chicago & Alton Railway at Glendale in our county and forced |