“Stuff,” I growled; “you see the error you committed--there was nothing against me. Good night, Babbitt, and I hope for your sake we don’t meet again on this boat.”
He disappeared into his state-room and didn’t come out until after we touched the New York shore the following morning.
A letter came to me in the summer of 1868, two years after the Cadiz, Ohio, bank robbery. It was in June, and upon opening it, with no little curiosity, it proved to be from Mrs. Hammon, a sister of Tall Jim. As will be remembered, Jim was sent to the prison at Columbus.
“If possible, come on to Ohio at once,” the letter said, among other things, “for Jim has reason to think he has a plan to free himself, George Wilson, and Big Bill. As for Jack Utley, he’ll be left to his fate.”
“Well, I think so too,” was my mental comment as to Utley.
Having full confidence in the genuineness of the letter, I made a hurried trip to Columbus and conferred with Mrs. Hammon. The gist of the whole thing was that Tall Jim had found what we called a “right” guard; that is, a prison official who is willing to betray his trust, sell his honor, or do anything in that line provided there’s money enough in it. The guard who promised to do the job said it would cost twelve hundred dollars; that is, he could arrange matters in the tier where Jim’s cell was so that escape to the roof of the hospital would be easy. At that point, outside assistance would be available. Something was said about getting Jack Utley out too, provided all hands were agreed, but I flatly declared that I would not have anything to do with the plot if Utley was to benefit by it. His mean, sneaking ways had poisoned my mind against him for all time. I would not have allowed his treatment of me in the Ohio expedition to stand in the way of his freedom, but his later betrayal of the lads who trusted him was too much for me to overlook. I was firm in this determination, declaring that he must be left in prison, to get out the best way he could--which was no more than a man of his caliber deserved. I had often heard, when a lad, the expression, “Be a Man or a Monkey or a Long-tailed Rat,” and I had placed Utley in the rodent class, with a bright chance of carrying off all the honors.