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CHRIS EVANS'
AUTOBIOGRAPHY
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The Book the Famous
Bandit Wrote Just
Before His Escape From
Fresno
Jail.
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Voluminous Extracts From the
Story of His
Life Told in His Own
Words. |
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A LIFE FULL OF
ADVENTURE. |
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The Outlaw Engaged
in Authorship for
the Purpose of Aiding His Wife and
His
Family, and Has Told His Own
History From His Birth to the
Fight
With the Officers at Stone Corral - He
Tells of His
Experiences In the Army
and in Indian Warfare on the
Frontier.
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After Chris Evans
was tried and convicted at Fresno he conceived the idea of writing an account
of his life. He immediately set to work and the day before he made his escape
he completed the manuscript, which will probably soon be given to the world in
primer type and yellow paper binding.
Evans'
narrative covers his life from his birth to his capture after the famous fight
at Stone Corral. Without any attempt at embellishment of any kind Evans tells a
plain, matter-of-fact story. He neither brags nor depreciates himself. He makes
no threats, no promises, no confession of wrong-doing, and expresses no hopes,
desires or ambition.
The detectives have traced
back Evans' life for about twenty years. Prior to that his history is somewhat
blank although they claim to have discovered enough to connect him with several
Union Pacific train robberies that occupied in the early seventies. If Evans'
narrative is true in dates and details it covers this unknown ground although
it is free from sensational events, and he tells nothing that would implicate
him in any crime prior to the time that he took to the Fresno mountains with
John Sontag.
A member of the "Examiner" staff has
seen Evans' autobiography, and a great part of it is here given in the outlaw's
own words without correction or emendation. |
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I was born at
Bennington,, Vermont and I first saw the light in a house on the farm, where
the Hessians under Baum took position and where brave General Starke said to
his men, as he showed them the enemy, "We must take the flag or Mollie Starke
sleeps a widow to night."
My parents moved from
there to Canada while I was still young, and my life until I was seventeen
years old was spent in a quiet way, and I was trained by a loving mother who,
when I kissed her good-by, never to see her again in this life, told me to
always do what was right, no matter what was the result, and God, would take
care of me.
The great struggle for freedom was
going on and I left my home and entered the Union army to liberate the slave. I
was sent to Harper's Ferry, where Phil Sheridan was collecting an army to drive
General Early from the Shenahdoah valley and for six weeks was kept busy
learning the duties of a soldier.
On the 19th of
August we attacked the Confederate army near Winchester. It was my first
battle, and as we marched up to the enemy with drums beating and flags flying I
thought it was a grand sight; but before the sun set I looked over a bloody
field covered with hundreds of dead and dying comrades, as well as brave
Virginians who fell in defense of their homes, and I vowed then never again to
take human life unless in self-defense. Three days after we attacked the
Confederates at Fisher's Hill, and our brigade was sent to flank the enemy's
left. We broke their line and took several hundred prisoners. In this battle I
never fired a shot. We then received orders to lay waste [to] the valley, and
it was done in a heartless manner by a great many men, principally Illinois
regiments. After that work was done we fell back to Cedar creek, where we
rested in camp and had a good time generally. Here an incident happened to me
which I never regretted, but if the truth of it had been known at the time at
the time I would have been court-martialed and shot.
A squad of us under command of Sergeant Baker was on
picket duty two miles from camp, on the road leading to Maynesboro, and I was
stationed about a quarter of a mile up the road where a county crossroad came
in. I hid behind a butternut tree, and while there one of Mosby's men rode up.
As he was going by I covered him with my Spencer rifle and ordered him to
surrender. He did so, and I told him in answer to his question of what I was
going to do with him, that I would take him to headquarters. He begged me with
tears in his eyes to let him go, for if I took him to General Sheridan he would
be shot. As I looked into his blue eyes and I thought of my faraway home and my
dear mother, for he was a boy like myself, and after making a few inquiries as
to where he lived. I let him go. I took his horse, and when he was out of
sight, I fired a couple of shots, and taking the horse with me went back to
Sergeant Baker, and was complimented for my capture of a good horse and
saddle.
On the 19th of October while we were
cooking breakfast we were attacked by the Confederates. It was a complete
surprise, and our men ran without firing a shot. I stayed too long watching the
Confederate charge, and when I turned to go I was almost cutoff. I turned to
see what our fellows were doing, and finding myself alone, I started for the
rear. The Johnnies had flanked us, and when I had got over half a mile away and
overtaken several of my comrades, I was ordered by a Confederate officer to
stop, with the remark, "Halt, you little Yankee --- -- ----." I told him to go
to hell. They fired on me and missed, but just when I was thinking I was out of
range a ball struck me below the right knee and knocked me down. I got up and
ran on, but staggered and fell after going half a mile, when some of our men
carried me back, and during the afternoon I lay under a tree listening to our
boys driving the Confederates from our camp. I went to the hospital at
Winchester, and when I got well I rejoined my company and afterwards was sent
to Monrovia station to guard the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad from bushwhackers.
We stayed there till July and then went out to Fort Leavenworth and relieved
North Carolina Union troops, who were known as Galvanized Yanks. After resting
there a while we went into Western Kansas and built Fort Fletcher, and all that
fall and winter we carried the mail to Denver and fought the
Cheyennes. |
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[Evan's recital
of his army experiences on the frontier is long and includes accounts of many
skirmishes and battles with the Indians] |
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It was a pitiful sight to see men begging piteously for
water, while others were raving mad and trying to sing until death ended their
sufferings. One of the recruits named Jackson struck out with me for the river
twenty miles away, and we reached the wagon road about 9 o'clock P. M. and
crossed it, to find ourselves in a tule swamp, but no water, for the river was
hid from view behind a sand ridge. We were in despair, for our brains were in a
feverish state and we thought that we imagined we saw a river during the day.
We had stripped down to our drawers and our shoes, when the sunset and the
mosquitoes tortured us dreadfully, Jackson left me and went back to the road,
where he was found by a relief party from an emigrant train that was camped two
miles down the road. I held out for some time where I was and starting through
the marsh for the road found a spring of water. I shall never forget the
sensation I felt at the sight of that water, and after drinking slowly and
bathing my heated brow, I filled my canteen and started for the road singing
with joy. I found one of my comrades lying in the road, and after giving him a
drink I started down the road to get help, for he told me that several of our
boys were back from the road, unable to travel, and reached the emigrants camp,
one wagon train of Mormons and one of Gentiles going to settle near Pike's Peak
in Colorado. They vied with each other in rescuing and taking care of our boys,
and one lady who was going to Colorado, after giving several of us a good
supper put me in a cozy bed with her own son, and after finding out my past
life and where I was from bent over me and kissed me for my
mother. |
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In July my term of
service expired and, refusing a tempting offer to re-enlist, I went to work on
the Union Pacific, and in one year and a half I saved up $800, which I
afterwards spent prospecting and traveling over the country, arriving in San
Francisco in May, 1869, where I stayed two weeks, and then went to work on the
Western Pacific in Livermore Pass, and had charge of a gang of Chinamen at a
tunnel. |
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An old acquaintance
named John Egan, who was born in St. Lawrence county, New York, and now lives
in Tipton, Mo, went with me to look for more work. He wanted to go down the
coast, while I wanted to go to Calaveras and work in the mines. So to settle it
we stood a stick up in the middle of the road and agreed to go the direction in
which it fell. It fell in a southeast direction, and we struck out for Visalia,
both of us wearing red shirts and accompanied by a dog. * * * At Visalia I went
to work for W. R. Owen, commonly known as Pike Bill Owen, and spent nearly two
of the happiest years of my life with his family, for his wife was a mother to
me and treated me as one of her own, and the children loved me. There I became
acquainted with Tom Love, Who was shot by Newt de Masters over a pasture bill.
I nursed him until he recovered.
* * * The next
spring I left, intending to go home to Canada, but when I reached Visalia I
changed my mind and went into the mountains, going to work on the county road
and boarding at Jesse Byrd's, where I first became acquainted with my wife. It
was a case of love at first sight, never to end in this life, and we were
married in her father's house on the 4th day of November, 1874; and went to
Hyde's Mill to live, where I had charge. The next fall I thrashed a man named
Bigelow for insulting her, and a Visalia jury found me guilty of battery and
Judge Clark fined me $100, with the remark that I should not take the law into
my own hands. Bigelow died in the spring and his friends claimed that he never
recovered from the thrashing he so richly deserved. I was blessed with a loving
wife, who proved to be a true helpmate and we never had a quarrel. Our first
baby lived only a few hours, and our second boy (Elmer) lived only sixteen
months. * * *
In the spring of 1886 I took charge
of the Grangers' Bank warehouse at Pixley and Alila, and the following winter
their warehouse at Tulare, known as the Farmers' Warehouse, and during the
summer of 1887 was manager of that one. There I first made the acquaintance of
John Sontag and offered him work in the warehouse as soon as a fanning mill
arrived that I had sent for to clean wheat, but before it came he went to work
for a threshing outfit and I hired Perry Byrd at $3 per day, when I could have
got any man I wanted for $2.50 per day. He worked with me all summer and quit
when I turned over the warehouse to F. Miller, and rewarded me for my kindness
by bringing me a cart to Wilcox canyon from my wife on the 15th of April 1893,
staying with me all day and going back to Visalia and making a bargain for $300
with the Sheriff to post them that I was coming home that night and for them to
shoot me as I went away. |
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[A commonplace
recital of events of a commonplace life takes the reader along until the time
of the Colfax train robbery and the beginning of Evans' career of murder and
outlawry. There is laboring on farms and in the mountains, camping trips to the
Sierras, the buying and selling of horses and the shooting of a bear in Bubbs'
creek. Evans and John Sontag put $1,500 into a livery stable in Visalia, and
Andy McGinnis, who died at Stone Corral, did collecting for them. The stable
burned and all was lost. Sontag worked on the railroad, and afterward when his
leg was broken was nursed by Evans' wife in her home. Evans tells in detail a
story of his trip to Fresno at the time of the Colfax robbery, and what he knew
of the doings of John Sontag and George Contant. He tells of his return to
Visalia at night and of his keeping away from home all night because he was
drunk. Then the story of blood and outlawry goes on in the same calm,
matter-of-fact way. It was the next day that the officers in search of the
train robbers visited Evans' house and the shooting of Will Smith and Al Witty
and the escape occurred.] |
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As I rode out home
and when within three blocks of my house a buggy passed me with three men in
it. After driving past me it stopped and one man got out, who proved to be
Perry Byrd. He waited for me to ride up, and said that he had rode out with two
men to show them my house. I asked them why they did not speak to me when they
passed if they were going to my house, and he said that Will Hall had sent them
out for to bring George Contant up town, that he wanted to have a chat with him
for he had been told that George was on the train that had been robbed, and he
wanted him to tell what he knew about it. Perry said to me then they think he
robbed the train, but are not sure of it. I rode on home and saw him get into
the buggy with him and go up town. I went to the barn and split some wood, when
John Sontag came to me and said the he would go up town to see what had become
of his brother. He went away, and about 1 o'clock my daughter Ines came to the
barn and said, "Papa, come to dinner." I put on a light summer coat and going
toward the house, saw two men on the front porch, who turned and walked into
the house. When I was within twenty feet of them and without saying a word to
me I stepped on to the kitchen porch and my wife said to me, "Dinner is ready,"
and going to the washstand, which was at the pump back of the house, I met Eva
running out of the house, when she said to me, "Papa, that man insulted me,"
meaning Will Smith, who I had never seen before. As I stepped into the hall I
looked into her bedroom and picked up a revolver, a forty-four Colt that I
always left at home for their protection. I then walked into the parlor and
said to the front man. "What in hell do you want!" He said, "Where is John
Sontag!" I told him that he went up town, and he replied that he did not do
anything of the kind and pulled his gun. I jumped quick to one side, drawing
mine as I did so, and he missed me, and both men ran out at the front door, for
at that moment John Sontag stepped into the room with a shotgun. I followed
them out and ducked down as John Sontag fired. One man ran for the gate [?] and
the other, jumping off the corner of the porch, fell headlong into some tomato
vines, and I thought Sontag had shot him. I followed the other man over to John
Howell's house and shot him, thinking he was the man that had insulted my
daughter. When I walked up to him he raised up and begged me not to shoot him
any more, for that I had killed him, and I saw that I shot the wrong man, but,
like the poor dog Tray, he was in bad company. I went back to my house and put
on my shoes, and went out and drove their team to the barn. Sontag when I
ducked had fired at Witty, striking him with a few bird shot, and then fired
three more shots with the shotgun at Will Smith and never touched him. Smith
got up from where he fell and made a jump for the top of the picket fence,
about twenty feet to the left of the front gate, and fell flat on his back. He
turned over on all fours and butted through the picket fence like a billy-goat,
and running past the corner of a wire fence that inclosed a block of land
across the street, scratched his hand on it and thought he was shot. John
Sontag came out to the buggy with my Ballard rifle and shotgun and we drove out
the county lane and stopped at my brother-in-laws, Henry Byrd's place, and
watered the team and got a lunch from his wife, telling her that we were going
to hunt Grat Dalton.
Friday night we went to
Wilcox canyon and I sent a letter to my wife requesting her to meet me at her
mother's old ranch in the canyon, but she sent Eva with a letter to me, who
brought me all the papers and told me what threats had been made against me,
and that they did not intend to take me alive.
Saturday afternoon we heard a man whistling and I went
to him and saw Clarke Moore, who told us that Crabtree had told him if he found
us to tell us to go away: that a band of Arizona trailers and Apaches were at
his house and he did not want any trouble. We started up the trail and that
night camped on Pine Ridge, about two hundred yards from the Bear spring and
within ten yards of the trail. We could have annihilated the trailers at that
place, but we let them pass by on Sunday afternoon, and as they did not return
on Monday and we had no bed or food, we started Tuesday morning for Young's
cabin to get something to eat. We found some bread and bacon and making some
coffee, we satisfied our hunger.
About 9 o'clock
I saw a man approaching who I recognized as Mainwaring and I introduced Mr.
Sontag to him, and after a few minutes' rest he chatted with us while he soled
a pair of shoes and told us of his meeting the posse at different times and
Wilson's threats, who he said was their leader. I told him that we saw them go
to the valley on Sunday, and we did not think that they would come back, and he
asked us what he should do if they found him with us there. I told him that
they would kill him if they found him with us and if they came, to take the
bucket and go to the spring and keep going. About 11 o'clock I told him to get
dinner, for we were hungry, and he was cooking dinner when, looking up, he saw
the trailers at the gate, seventy yards from the house, with Wilson in the
lead. He exclaimed, "--- ----, here comes the whole gang right on top of us;
what shall I do!" John Sontag told him to take the bucket and go quick and not
look back. He went out the door and turned the corner of the house and we saw
him no more. Four of the trailers dismounted and walked toward the house, while
the two Apaches where on foot in the rear. I was sitting inside the window
reading a book and John was next to the door. Wilson and McGinnis were in the
lead while McGinnis right behind Wilson, and when they were twenty feet from
the door I told John to step in the doorway and tell them to stop. He did so
and McGinnis who was carrying his Winchester in both hands ready to shoot, and
eyeing the house very closely, fired at once. John Sontag dodged to the side of
the door and McGinnis missed him. Seeing Wilson pull his pistol I drove my
shotgun through the window and fired it, when both men fell. I jumped to the
door and fired at the crowd at the gate, and one slug struck Al Witty in the
neck, and he howled like a calf. I took my Winchester and charged them, firing
at Burke. As he disappeared behind the fence he fired in return and got behind
a rock pile near the gate, where he fired again. I got a close shot at him that
time, and he ran down the gulch, under cover of the fence, like a jackrabbit. I
than turned my attention to the rest, and shot Warren Hill's horse, when he
struck out for Sanger through the brush on the hillside, and was last seen on
that day carrying a broom on his shoulder when passing Tod's ranch, thinking it
was a gun. Will Smith wheeled his horse to escape and clasping his horse round
the neck with both hands, put the spurs in his flanks and on the third jump of
the horse fell off, losing his gun, revolver and hat and leading Warren Hill
and Al Witty established his reputation as a sprinter. Two Indians ran for the
rock pile to their left, which commanded the whole place, and went to a big
pine log that lay about forty yards to front of them and about thirty feet from
where Wilson and McGinnis lay with my back to them. Here my early experience
with the Indians won me the day, for whenever the shadow of one of the Apaches
showed up I blazed away at him, and Mr. Apache, not caring to expose his head,
put his gun up over the rock and shot at me without taking aim. A ball made the
bark fly by my side, and I looked quickly in the direction of Burke's flight to
see if he was firing at long range. Then, turning, I saw the Apache's head
moving slowly out by the rock to get a shot at me, and I had drawn a fine bead
on him and was pressing the trigger when a ball struck me from behind and I
missed converting Telon into a good Apache.
I was
shot through the left eyebrow and turning quickly I saw McGinnis working the
lever of his gun to shoot me again. I worked mine and, bringing it quickly to
my shoulder shot him through the head. The gun fell from his hands, he quivered
a moment and Andy McGinnis climbed the golden stairs. |
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[Following is
Evans' account of the fight at Stone Corral.] |
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I think we were
betrayed. I know the men now, although I thought at first it was a mere
accident their being at the cabin. Now I believe differently.
We left Fort Defiance on Saturday, the 10th of June and
next morning at daylight went into camp on the hill about one mile southwest of
the Widow Perkins' house, eat breakfast, and then went to sleep under an oak
tree, where we could watch the surrounding country. We woke up and eat our
dinner at noon and then watched the Perkins house until 5 o'clock P. M.
I proposed to Mr. Sontag that we go to the house after
dark, get our horses, and eat, and drive out the main road, He replied that
there was treachery at that place, and that he had been shot at in that cart
once and that he would not ride in it any more.
His words were prophetic. I told him it was easier
riding then walking and that if we were fired on and badly wounded it would be
almost impossible to get back to camp. He insisted on walking, and so that we
might reach Visalia in time to go to bed and sleep before daylight, we started
at once and took the trail that come out of the hills near the cabin. We
carried a shotgun and rifle apiece, intending to hide two of them in
Patterson's grain. But as we approached the house we saw the manure and a
little straw where an old barn had stood, but which had been torn down and
removed, and I walked rapidly to it to see if we could put the guns in it so
that we could find them handily when we could come back some other night. I sad
down with my right side toward the house and unstrapped my shotgun and looked
into the straw. There was a squirrel hole in it next to me, and I was thinking
how to cover up the guns when a bullet struck me in the right side and went
through my back, grazing the spine. It hit me like a sledgehammer. At the same
moment a bullet hit me in the right eye, destroying the sight.
I fell backward; my right had slipped off my
Winchester, drawing the hammer partly back and discharging the gun, though I
did not know it at the time.
Mr. Sontag was
coming to me and said: "Did your gun go off?"
I
answered him: "Look out! I'm hard hit." and then another ball struck my right
wrist, passing through my arm and coming our near the elbow.
The blood was pouring out from my eye and another
stream was running down my back. I rallied and sat up, took my shotgun in my
left hand, cocked it and fired both barrels into the house, laid it down -- for
I could not put the cartridges into it with one hand -- and took my
Winchester.
It snapped so I worked the lever to
put in another cartridge, and at that moment I saw a man look around the corner
of the house. As I brought my gun to bear on him he stepped quickly back out of
sight, but I swung my gun in the direction and sent a bullet through the corner
of the house. It struck him, breaking his leg.
I
fell over, saying to Mr. Sontag: Goodbye John. I'm done for." and fainted away.
When I came to the sun has set and Mr. Sontag
was in my right trying to get a shot at an enemy who was firing at us from a
rock pile on a ridge about 300 yards away in the south of us. Mr. Sontag raised
up, when he was shot through the shoulder, the ball breaking his right arm. The
shot came from a rock pile about 100 yards to the west. I told him to keep
down, and asked him where he was shot. He said in the side.
In a little while he raised up again and was shot in
the face.
He groaned and moaned pitifully for
some time and did not answer me. Then he asked me to kill him and end his
misery. I told him to keep up his nerve and when it got dark we would get out
of hell hole.
Bullets were plowing the ground
under me all the time, and several of them bushed my hair. I could not see
twenty feet from me, and drenched with blood and craving a cup of water I had
to wait for the coming of night, listening to the sharp crack of the rifles,
the screech of the bullets and the heartrending groans of my brave
comrade.
I tried repeatedly to get him to go with
me, but he did not answer, and I started to creep away. A rapid fire was opened
on me and a bullet struck me in the left wrist, breaking it and causing me to
leave my rifle.
I straightened up and staggered
off, and heard a voice say: "Shoot that damned rascal!"
Bullets whistled around me for some time, but finally
ceased; and after a lapse of half an hour I heard three shots, and then all was
silent.
I lay down, but could not rest, and tried
to find water, but did not succeed.
I could not
see now to travel and fell over the rocks and struck trees again and again.
With a bullet hold through my back, another through my right arm, my left wrist
shattered and a bullet to my head, almost blind, burning up with thirst and
weak from loss of blood -- I was helpless.
A
rattlesnake lay in the way, but he was kinder to me than those who had shot me,
for he gave me warning of his presence, and after I passed he curled up and was
found the next day on my trail.
As day dawned I
reached the foot of the hill on the other side and, reeling as I walked I made
my way to the Cottonwood creek.
I passed by Mr.
Dudley's house, but could not open the gate to get a drink of water and went to
the creek, tried to scoop out the sand with my feet, but failed, and after
resting a few minutes I started up the road that led to the window Parkins'
home. I walked into the house, went through the parlor and dining-room to the
pump and working the pump handle with my elbow, took a drink.
I went up stairs and lay down on a bed, after some time
Mrs. Parkins' grandson came up and said, "Hello, Chris, what's the
matter?"
I told him to tell his grandmother to
come up, but to say nothing to anyone about me.
My mind was wandering in delirium through the day and I
do not remember if I ate anything.
About 11
o'clock P. M. I became conscious and heard men's voices below and then I knew
that a posse had arrived.
After several minutes
had passed Al Perkins came up the stairs, grabbed both my wrists and said, "You
will have to give up."
I said, "Let go my hands;
you are hurting me. What's the matter with you!"
Elijah came up and said: "Chris, I have done the best I
could for you. The Fresno gang found out where you were and I though it was
best to bring Will Hall to you, and they will give the reward to your
wife.
I thought [?] that the posse offered Al
Perkins $100 to go to me and get me to surrender, for that I might shoot them
if they came near me. I told Elijah to bring Will Hall up. He went down and
brought him up. Hall said to me:
"Chris, this is
too bad. Don't you know me?"
I replied, "You are
Will Hall."
"Well, Chris, you are my
prisoner."
I answered, "All right." I could not
offer resistance if I was ever so willing. He said that he would take me to
Visalia and make me as comfortable as possible. There were several men on the
stairs behind Hall and they said I was their prisoner. Hot words followed and
it looked for a few moments that there would be shooting over me. Sheriff Scott
told them to stop, for the law would settle it.
They put me a spring wagon on a good bed and started
for Visalia. They were excited and halted every one that came near them and
told them to keep away.
When we got to the jail,
there was a number of people waiting to see me and shake my hand.
I was placed in a room opposite to the one John Sontag
occupied, and a Dr. Matthewson intended me. He was not the county
physician.
He amputated my arm and told my wife
that she could get it any time. He now refuses to let her have it, with the
shallow pretense that some one took it from the place he left it.
John Sontag died on the 3d of July asserting his
innocence to the last and was buried in the Catholic Cemetery on the 4th where
one lone cedar throws its shadows o'er his grave.
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