choose to write and print?”
To that question I think I made no reply, and he then further said:
“Come, now, we’ve talked about the matter long enough. I want your final
answer–did you write that article or not?”
“I cannot in honor tell you who wrote it.”
“Did you not see it before it was printed?”
“Most certainly, sir.”
“And did you deem it a fit thing to publish?”
“Most assuredly, sir, or I would never have consented to its appearance.
Of its authorship I can say nothing whatever, but for its publication I
assume full, sole and personal responsibility.”
“And do you then retract it or not?”
“Mr. Winters, if my refusal to sign such a paper as you have demanded
must entail upon me all that your language in this room fairly implies,
then I ask a few minutes for prayer.”
“Prayer!—you, this is not your hour for prayer–your time to pray was
when you were writing those–lying charges. Will you sign or not?”
“You already have my answer.”
“What! do you still refuse?”
“I do, sir.”
“Take that, then,” and to my amazement and inexpressible relief he drew
only a rawhide instead of what I expected–a bludgeon or pistol. With
it, as he spoke, he struck at my left ear downwards, as if to tear it
off, and afterwards on the side of the head. As he moved away to get a
better chance for a more effective shot, for the first time I gained a
chance under peril to rise, and I did so pitying him from the very bottom
of my soul, to think that one so naturally capable of true dignity, power
and nobility could, by the temptations of this State, and by unfortunate
associations and aspirations, be so deeply debased as to find in such
brutality anything which he could call satisfaction–but the great hope
for us all is in progress and growth, and John B. Winters, I trust, will
yet be able to comprehend my feelings.
He continued to beat me with all his great force, until absolutely weary,
exhausted and panting for breath. I still adhered to my purpose of non-
aggressive defence, and made no other use of my arms than to defend my
head and face from further disfigurement. The mere pain arising from the
blows he inflicted upon my person was of course transient, and my
clothing to some extent deadened its severity, as it now hides all
remaining traces.
When I supposed he was through, taking the butt end of his weapon and
shaking it in my face, he warned me, if I correctly understood him, of
more yet to come, and furthermore said, if ever I again dared introduce
his name to print, in either my own or any other public journal, he would
cut off my left ear (and I do not think he was jesting) and send me home
to my family a visibly mutilated man, to be a standing warning to all
low-lived puppies who seek to blackmail gentlemen and to injure their
good names. And when he did so operate, he informed me that his
implement would not be a whip but a knife.
When he had said this, unaccompanied by Mr. Lynch, as I remember it, he
left the room, for I sat down by Mr. Lynch, exclaiming: “The man is mad–
he is utterly mad–this step is his ruin–it is a mistake–it would be
ungenerous in me, despite of all the ill usage I have here received, to
expose him, at least until he has had an opportunity to reflect upon the
matter. I shall be in no haste.”
“Winters is very mad just now,” replied Mr. Lynch, “but when he is
himself he is one of the finest men I ever met. In fact, he told me the
reason he did not meet you upstairs was to spare you the humiliation of a
beating in the sight of others.”
I submit that that unguarded remark of Philip Lynch convicts him of
having been privy in advance to Mr. Winters’ intentions whatever they may
have been, or at least to his meaning to make an assault upon me, but I