The Story of Thomas Cushaw

Te Aroha News, Volume VIII, Issue 488, 12 July 1890, Page 6

The Story of Thomas Cushaw

By Mauiuge Thompson, Author of ‘ Marvin and His' Boy Hunters.’

In a vast swamp region lying near the dividing line between Louisiana and Mississipi there is an island, formed by 7 the water of Pearl River flowing on either side of a strip of land nearly thirty miles long and from one to nearly ten miles wide, which is known as Honey Island. lb is for the most part a jungle of cane, marshgrass, Cyprus swamps, alligator ponds and magnolia' sloughs, with now and then a small hammock covered with beautiful liveoaks and cedars.

For a hundred years this wild island has been the place of safety for outlaws fleeing from justice. ‘ Gone to Honey Island ”is a bib of slang used by the peoplo of Louisiana'and Mississippi to mean that a roguo has made his escape. Once within the dense brakes of this wonderful wilderness the criminal is almost certainly safe from even the most determined pursuers. As well look for a hare in a weed prairie as to search for a hiding man in a jungle like that.

In 1832 a youth of nineteen, rather small for his age, bub well-knit and of cool, selfnossessed demeanour, came to a little town in Southwestern Mississippi and began to mako inquiries about Honey Island. Ho was a stranger to everybody and his speech betrayed his Northern breeding. Evidently he had made a long, hard journey on horseback, for his animal was jaded and thin, and he himself bore the marks of protracted fatigue.

Men wondered, as they looked at him, why a 3'outh of such pleasant, countenance and such gentle bearing should be making his way lo tho refuge of desperadoes. Surely he was no. outlaw seeking a hiding place, though his equipment was by no means indicative of a peaceful purpose. A pair of heavy holster pistols hung at his saddle-bow, and across the saddle, just between the pummel and his legs, he bore a long, heavy rifle. ‘ What d'ye want to go to Honey Island for?’ demanded a citizen whose curiosity overcame iiis politeness. ‘I have business there,’was the simple, evasive answer.

‘ An’ ye’ll have business away from there poorly sudden ’fore ye’ve been there long,’ remarked a bystander - . ‘ This is just what I expect,’ remarked the young fellow, with a strange smile. ‘ lb’s what I want.’

It is needless to gay that when the word passed through the village announcing the advent of a boy who was on his way to Honey Island, nob a little excitement resulted. Everybody desired to see the young stranger, and nearly everybody had some advice bo give him, the aggregate of which was, he had better not go. Ho would get lost in the brakes, he would be eaten by boars or wolves or panthers, he would mire in the quicksands, he would be killed by the desperate men who lurked there, or he would be bitten by rattlesnakes, moccasins or cotton-mouths. The fair-haired youth only smiled and went on making notes (of the information that was given him) and drawing mapsketches in his little pocket-book. ‘Maybe he’s a surveyor?’ some one suggested. ‘Or a land speculator?’ ventured another.

‘ A Government timber agent?’ added a third.

Bub he was too young, and why this secrecy, and mystery ? When ho had gone it came into some of their rriincl3 that-mayhap he was, after all, a great criminal with, a golden reward on his head. How foolish nob to have detained him! No sooner had this thought taken form than pursuit was proposed and immediately four or five determined men set forth on his brack, following as fast a 3 their fresh horses could go; bub they could riot overbake him, and at last they came to where he had swum the river on his horse. Just as they reached the bank they caught a glimpse of him disappearing into a dark tangle of cane and-bay bushes. Not one of those iron - hearted men cared to follow

further, and even if they had the effort must have been in vain, for the young rider, a 3 was evident from his movements, possessed a knowledge of woodcraft that would enable him to escape the most cunning pursuer. lb wa3 a nine days’ wonder in the village when tho party returned and told their storyq that a boy. should have the nerve to go all alone where a band of the bravest men would not follow.

The youth had given the name of Thomas Cushaw, and it is his story that I have now to record, as I have it, partly from old journals of tho date and partly from the lips of men yet living who saw the boy and recollect all the circumstances of his narrative when ho returned from Honey Island nearly three weeks after leaving the village, A young man had been convicted of a foul murder in Pennsylvania, and in accordance with his sentence ho was to be hanged. Ilis name was Hiram Cushaw; his family was well to do and highly' respectable, as was that of the young girl for whose death ho had been condemned to suffer on the scaflold. On- the night before the day' set for the hanging Cushaw escaped from gaol and was never recaptured, though-every effort was made to find him. Ho baffled the detectives, who, for the largo reward offered by the murdered girl’s relatives, dogged his tiacks for more than a year, and all trace of him was lost at a village in East Tonness.eo.

Thomas Cushaw was Hiram’s younger brother, and could never be convinced that ho was guilty,, simply because Hiram himself persisted in vehemently asserting his innocence.

All the evidence at the trial had been circumstantial, but it seemed to prove beyond question that Hiram was the murderer. The young girl in question had been Hiram’s sweatiioart and later his promised bride, but another lover appeared, a rival who was botli rich and handsome, though reputed to be wild if nob positively bad. Such complications as arose in the affairs of the young peoplo were not divulged in tho court proceedings, but it appeared quite clear that Hiram Cushaw, finding that the girl was changing her love from him to his rival, flew in a passion and stabbed her to death.

Now came the strangest part of the affair. About a year after Hiram Cushaw’s escape from gaol his rival lay dying of a slow fever and in his last moments confessed that he was the real murderer of the girl.

Immediately the confession went into the newspapers of Philadelphia, New York, Baltimore and other cities, and every effort was made to find the young man who had come so near being hanged for a crime of which he was wholly innocent; bub all in vain. Iliram Cushaw had passed beyond the reach of both justice and injustice. It was when everyone else had given up all hope of ever again hearing from the unfortunate fugitive that Thomas Cushaw began his search for his lost brother. Learning from the detectives all that they knew, he went at once to the village in Tennessee and began his work where they, baffled completely, had left off. The story would be tedious, though interesting in a way, if I should give the details of all the poor boy’s labours in tracing by the merest hints of evidence, the course pursued by Hiram along the mountain range which runs from Tennessee through Georgia and far down into Alabama. The mountain people are simple and often outlandish, bub they have long memory. A stranger once seen by them is never forgotten. .. From the highlands Hiram had made his way almost directly to the coast region of Mississippi. Evidently his controlling aim had been to find a place where he could elude discovery and live the rest of his days entirely away from civilised men. How he came to select Honey Island is not known ; but thither Thomas traced him and at last found him.

Bub what the youth suffered in those last days ol the search cannot be adequately described.

Thomas had scarcely disappeared in canebrake after swimming the river on his horse when ho was confronted by three desperate looking men, who had their guns levelled upon him. ‘ Halt!’

* Drop that gun !’ ‘Hold up your hands !’ They ordered, all speaking at once, their voice.? sounding as deadly as the growls of so many tigers. Taken thus unaware, Thomas could do no less than obey ; so he let fall his rifle and held up his hands in token of surrender. One of the men stepped forward and took the pistols from his holsters, the others still holding their weapons ready to fire if he made bub the slightest movement of resistance

‘Git down off m that thar hoss,’ was the next command. Thomas dismounted.

‘Now, then, youngster,’said the largest and most savage looking of the men, as he took hold of the bridle, ‘l’m-a thinkin’ 'at this animal jest suits me,’ and without more ado he lengthened tho stirrup-straps and mounted into the saddle.

* This yer gun is good ’nough for me,’ said another, taking up the fallen rifle. ‘ S’pose I’m left wi’ the pistols,’grumbled the third, as he sulkily, appropriated the weapons. ‘ Gob any money on yer body, youngster?’ Thomas had a few dollars, which he was compelled bo give up. The man on the horse rode away, the other shouldered his two guns and disappeared ; bub the one who had taken the pistols and money lingered. ‘ \Yhab made yo come yer ?’ he growled, when he saw that Thomas was pale and almost crying ; for the lad’s courage had failed him as all hope fled from his heart. ‘ Can’t ye talk ?’ What did ye come yer for ?’the ruffian repeated in a still gruffer voice. Then Thomas Cushaw looked him straight in tho eye and said : * I came to look for my brother.’ ‘ An’ wdio’s yer brother ?’ ‘ Hiram Cushaw.’ ‘ Bey, they’s no sich man or boy on this yer island. ‘ He calls himself Abe. Randall now, and I know that he is here.’ The man looked keenly at Thomas, as if to read his face.. ‘ls Abe yer brother?’ he presently inquired. ‘Yes, and oh, sir, I must—l must find him !’ There were great tears in the boy’s eyes and he was trembling violently. What was the loss of weapons and money, what the'danger of this haunt of criminals with the thought of Hiram whirling in his brain ? * Take me to him, sir, oh, do take me to him !’ he cried, as the sentiment suppressed so long rushed over him and mastered him. ‘Ef yer Abo’s brother, an’ ye’il stop yer snivelin’, I’ll jes’ take ye to him,’ said the robber, showing (if any feeling at all) a sorb of indifferent contempt for the youth’s display of tender emotion. ‘ Oh, will you? Ob, sir, it will be so kind of you !’ :

Somehow Thomas had lost all control of himself. After the long ' strain of his search, 1 after all the disappointments, dangers and baffling mishaps of his tedious journey, was he at last to see his brother?

‘ Shet ep yer solb-solder talk, youngster, ef ye wants anything of Bigo Turner, an’ come ’long tin's yer way.’

He led and Thomas followed through all kinds of tangled greenery, splashing through the water here, floundering in the mud there and anon breaking into the almost smothering depths of grass and cane or creeping under the low, dense foliage of trees that were overburdened with vines and long, grey moss. Everywhere there was a strange fragrance as of some wild, delicious fruit, but it was only the smell of decaying wood called ‘swept punk.’ A flock of wild turkeys flew up before them and once or twice a herd of deer dashed by. On every hand were gaudy flowers and never before had Thomas seen such luxuriant leafage. But all this savage wildness and strangeness did not impress him ; his whole soul was centred in the thought of meeting Hiram. .It was not long. Less than a half hour’s walk brought them to a little opening, where beside a ditch-like, sluggish stream, stood a low, rude cabin. A rough, weatherbeaten young man sat in the doorway. ‘There’s Abe,’ said Bige Turner, step ping aside.

There could be no mistake it was Hiram Cushaw.

The brothers gazed at each other for a moment. Hiram turned as pale as his tanned face would permit, and Thomas spread his arms and rushed forward with a cry of joy, waiting not a moment, began telling, as fast as bis lips would move, the glad tidings he bore. ‘ And now ycu must go back with mo to father'and mother. Their hearts are breaking to seo you.’ Hiram heard, but he did not speak. A quiver ran through his frame and he rolaxed his arms, letting them fall as ho withdrew from his brother’s embrace.

‘No, sir,’ said Bige Turner: ‘ Abe don’t go out’n yer, neryou nother, me boy. W’en a feller comes yer he sta3'3 yer, dead or alive.’

Thomas looked from Turner’s swarthy, wrinkled face into the strange calm eyes of Hiram. He saw something that appalled him. It was a look of dark, terrible despair that burned like smothered fire.

‘But you will go, Hiram?’ ho appealed in a choking voice. •No, ho won’t,’ said Turner. ‘ No, I won’t,’ echoed Hiram. ‘I can’t.’ There was something final and immovably determined in liis manner as he spoke. ‘And you will have to stay hero with us, Thomas,’ he presently added in the same grim tone. The record from which I get this part of my story gives the particulars of the oathbound organisation by which the outlaws of tho island were bound and governed. Death was the penalty incurred by any one of the community who attempted to leavo the place save on a predatory excursion agreed to by all. Hiram had become a genuine outlaw, though lie was not tho worst, and he was bound by oath to his brutal companions. Thomas was compelled to take the oath of fraternity and was formally admitted to membership, Hiram and big Turner vouching for him, and so the poor boy found himself, at least in name, a robber, a cutthroat and a desperado, with a price upon hishead, but never for a moment did he lose the hope of getting his brother away from that horrible place and back to theold home in Pennsylvania. At every opportunity he urged, with all the art and eloquence he could command, all the argument and per suasion of his loving and faithful heart in trying to induce Hiram to join him in an effort to escape. Bige Turner suspected this and kept a close watch over their movements, but after a week or. two he became satisfied and appeared to relax his vigilance, though Thomas noticed the fact that a huge bloodhound was kept chained near the cabin door,and he guessed what.the meaning was. How or by what means Thomas at last prevailed upon his brother is nob cerbainiy known, but one bright, moonlit night, the attempt at escape was made, and the two Cushaws stole forth from the cabin, leaving Turner sound asleep on his pallet. Hiram took his rifle with the single charge that was in it, bub Thomas took no arms whatever.

Rapidly they made their way towards the river. If they could cross that they should be safe, and they had gone the greater part of the distance thither when a horn sounded high and clear from the cabin. It was the signal blown by Turner to call up the outlaws, and a few minutes later a lusty baying told that the bloodhound was coming.

‘Hurry ! hurry, now !’ exclaimed Hiram, * follow right at my heels !' They ran in terrible earnest, dashing through or over everything, tearing their clothes and their flesh, straining to reach the water, breathing loudly, their limbs aching with the intensity of the effort. The dog came like the wind and was upon them as they emerged from the jungle in sight of the broad stream that shono like silver in the brilliant moonlight. Hiram turned about and levelled his long ride. A sharp report was followed by a hoarse whine and the dog leaped high, fell backward and lay quite still. Down dropped the gun. ‘ Off with your coat and boots !’ cried Hiram, and in a moment the brothers were swimming sideffiy side in the cool water of Pearl River. The sense of escape gave vigor to their limbs as they reached away for the other shore. Both were excellent swimmers, and the danger behind them, as well as the freedom before, made them forget the fatigue of their long run through the jungle. Thomas felt, and well he might, a thrill of joyous triumph in his heart. He had found his long-lost brother and was taking him back to home, father, mother and an honest life. Swiftly they lunged through placid, shining water : they were almost across, when a shout of discovery rang out behind them. It was the voice of Turner. Involuntarily both looked back. The outlaw was standing on the bank and was aiming his rifle.

Thomas plunged under bhesutface just as he heard the long, clear sound of the rifle and the deadly * cluck’ of the bullet striking near. He held his breath and swam beneath the water until he touched the bank, where he struggled out and dragged himself almost exhausted up the slope. Panting and too weak to stand, he crawled along toward the thicket that fringed the low bluff.

Where was Hiram ? Thomas called him, once, twice, three times. No answer. Turner had reloaded his gun in the meantime, and now took deliberate aim at the distressed boy. His shot missed, owing to the distance and the difficulty of sighting his piece accurately by moonlight. Thomas felt his heart sinking and his strength fading out; but he struggled on and at last pulled himself almost fainting into the cover of the bushes.

Accounts are conflicting, so that the fate of Hiram Cushaw 13 not certainly known. One story is that he was killed outright by Bige Turner’s first shot; the other is that in diving under the, water he inadvertantly turned toward the wrong shore of the river and so came out on the side from which he had set out and was captured by the outlaws who tried him, condemned him to death and then pardoned him on condition that he would still remain with them. One thing is well authenticated : He was never again seen by any of his kindred. , Thomas went home to his parents broken in health and spirits and died two years afterwards of pneumonia. ’