Читать книгу The New York Tombs Inside and Out!. Scenes and Reminiscences Coming Down to the Present. A Story Stranger Than Fiction, with an Historic Account of America's Most Famous Prison онлайн

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“I have never doubted that God will eventually grant my prayer. Were it not for the faith I have in myself, the merciless, unchristian condemnation I have been subjected to for the past quarter century would have sent me to hell beyond redemption! Had I been prayed for more and denounced less by those who are continually announcing their belief in prayer, and the power of God to save to the uttermost all sinners, I might have been a better man than I am. But I am forgetting that I was not asked to write a sermon—that the request was for some of the most sensational and interesting of my experiences—my exploits. The most successful, most valuable and by far the cleverest work of my life was the forging of the documents which induced Governor Buchanan, of Tennessee, to pardon me, April 3d, 1891. I was confined at Tracy City, Tenn., under a six years’ sentence. It is one of the branch prisons of the state, and the convicts are employed in the coal mines. I was put to work in ‘a 3 foot vein,’ with a negro convict—an old miner—for boss. The most arduous labor I ever performed, did little else than grumble from morning till night, and shirked all I dared. At night I laid awake trying to evolve a plan by which I could escape from my wretched plight. I decided that I would try to forge my way to liberty. I soon prepared to execute my plan, secured legal cap paper, official envelopes, ink and some good pens. In three days I forged a petition bearing upward of 150 signatures, writing differing in each, the names of the leading citizens of Tipton county, Tenn., the county in which I was sentenced. I then forged a letter bearing the signature of the firm of attorneys that defended me, one of whom was a friend of the Governor, and enclosed it with the petition, and had them mailed in Memphis, remote from where I was confined, 320 miles. I then forged another letter purporting to have been written by the aforesaid attorney to John Tipton, representative in the Legislature at Nashville, in which he was asked to see Governor Buchanan, and to urge him to pardon Henry B. Davis (my alias). All this was done in March, 1891. On the 3rd day of April, 1891, the pardon reached the warden at Tracy City. I received the glad tidings while in the dining room, writing a letter for a fellow prisoner. Warden Mottern walked in and threw a letter on the table at my side, remarking as he did so, ‘Henry, don’t let that take your breath away.’ I did not take up the letter, but continued to write. The warden, eager that I should read the letter, repeated his remark. I then felt that it was a letter bearing very important intelligence, and drew it from the envelope. I have never forgotten its contents. It read: