Neither Fear Nor Favor: Deputy United States Marshal John Tom Sisemore

by Wesley Harris

  “Did you vote for him?” Price asked.

  “Of course not.”

  “Well, it was the Union Parish vote that put him in,” explained Price. “And do you think he’d be living in Ruston now if he wasn’t D. A.?”

  Price turned to Sisemore. “Well, John, you know how I feel. I have sympathy with your predicament.”

  “I know there are folks who don’t want the government interfering in their lives,” Colvin said. “A lot of people didn’t see much wrong with Frank’s livelihood. But what’s the need in a trial? Fred, you explained what you saw.”

  “It’s not that simple, Pea,” replied Price. “There’s talk going around about conflicting statements from the witnesses. And the past encounters between John and Frank Mullins.”

  He turned to Sisemore. “John, some folks say you're too quick on the trigger.”

  “Is that what you think?” Sisemore asked through clenched teeth, ice in his voice.

  “Just repeating what people are saying, John. I’m not agreeing with them. You know where I stand.”

  “Have you considered who ‘they’ are?”

  “I know, I know,” Price said. “Again, you know where I stand. I was there that night, remember? I would run’em all out on a rail if the law would allow it. If I was you, I may have done the same thing that night.”

  Sisemore tired of the colloquy. “I am to turn myself in to the sheriff this afternoon. It looks like I will be in jail for a few days, at least until the preliminary hearing is held.”

  “Oh, John! I can’t believe this!” exclaimed Colvin. “There is no reason for you to spend one hour in jail.”

  “You know the system, Pea. The bond won't be set until court convenes. You and the other officers can take care of things around here for a few days.”

  “Don’t you worry,” Price assured him. “We’ll take care of Nora and the kids and anything else that comes up. Of course, I want to defend you on this matter, too. If the judge will allow me since I’ll have to testify.”

  ***

  Friday morning Deputy Finley sat at his desk reading a Shreveport newspaper just arrived on the morning train. Sisemore’s arrest was big news.

  SISEMORE GIVES UP.

  He Asked For An Immediate

  Preliminary Examination.

  ____

  It is Said All the Best People of the Community Are With Him.

  ____

  A letter to United States Marshal James M. Martin, dated Ruston, La., says that John Sisemore, who shot and killed Frank Mullins at that place last Saturday night, came in yesterday morning and surrendered to Sheriff Howard, of Ruston, and asked that he be given an immediate examination.

  A number of his friends immediately wired Judge Barksdale, who is holding court at Homer, and asked that Sisemore's request be granted. The Judge wired back that he would set the day for trial as soon as possible.

  Sisemore's friends claim that if he is not acquitted on the preliminary examination he will be able to give a good and sufficient bond in any amount as all the best people of Ruston are with him in his trouble. It is said that Mullins, the man killed, displayed a wonderful nerve after being shot, the report is that after receiving 10 or 12 buckshot in his abdomen he ran several hundred yards to his boarding house and after extracting the empty shells from his pistol he put the weapon away and ran into the sitting room and falling across a bed called his landlady and told her he was shot and to get a doctor and Justice of the Peace at once. He then told her to go to his room and get his pistol as he wanted her to see that it had not been used.

  ***

  Finley looked up from his desk to discover twenty women crowding through the office door. He stood up abruptly.

  “What is this, ladies?”

  Eugenia Russ May walked up to the lawman. “Deputy Finley, the ladies and I would like to see Marshal Sisemore.”

  “Just a moment while I check with the sheriff,” he answered as more of the town’s most respectable ladies pressed into the office.

  Finley hurried around the corner where he found Eugene Howard sitting at a desk. “Sheriff, there’s about twenty ladies out here wanting to see Sisemore.”

  Howard sprang up, straightened his tie, and ran a thick hand over his hair.

  “Good morning, ladies. I understand you are here to see John Tom?”

  “Yes,” said Eugenia Mrs. May. “And we will not be denied.” The other ladies nodded and murmured in agreement.

  “By all means, ladies. If you will wait here, I’ll send Finley to get him. There is no need for you to go into the jail.”

  “We appreciate your courtesy” May said.

  Finley was back with Sisemore within minutes. A woman thrust a picnic basket full of food into Sisemore’s arms as many of the ladies spoke at once. Eugenia May raised her hand to silence them.

  “Marshal, on behalf of many good families of Ruston, I want to acknowledge our appreciation for your hard work and extend our sympathy for the situation you now find yourself in.”

  Sisemore was somewhat taken aback. He had never addressed so many women. “Thank you, ladies. I don’t know what to say. Your kindness is overwhelming.”

  Another woman spoke. “Just assure us, when this is all over, that this unfortunate matter will not deter you from continuing to do your duty.”

  “You have my assurance on that, Mrs. Lewis.”

  Eugenia May turned to the sheriff. “Mr. Howard, why does Mr. Sisemore have to be locked up like this? Surely, you don't expect him to flee, do you?”

  “No, not at all. We must follow the law. John understands. Judge Barksdale is holding court in Homer and sent word he will be here at the earliest possible moment. Just as soon as the court can meet, John’s bond will be set and I am sure his release will be arranged shortly thereafter.”

  Mrs. May patted Sisemore on the hand. “Don’t you worry, John. The moment the bond is set, my father and husband and any other gentlemen I can corner will be here to post your bond. And now, we would like to call on your wife and see if we can do anything to assist her during this time.”

  “Thank you again, ladies, for coming.”

  Finley and Howard herded the women out, while repeatedly assuring them Sisemore would be treated well.

  “Come on, John. I’ll walk you back,” said Howard. “That’s a site I thought I would never see,” he commented as they reached Sisemore’s cell.

  “It surprised me, too, Sheriff.”

  “John, it seems like everyone is this town is either your best friend or your worst enemy. Doesn’t seem to be much middle ground.”

  Sisemore did not respond. As he entered the cell, he sat down his food basket and picked up a newspaper Finley had brought him earlier. Howard stood outside the bars for a moment until he realized the conversation had ended.

  ***

  Sisemore walked to the courtroom with Finley at his side. Men and women lined the hallway, indicating the spectators had packed the courtroom. Four men broke away from the crowd to intercept Sisemore.

  “This is outrageous, John,” declared United States Marshal James Martin, shaking his head. “One of my deputies in jail for killing the likes of Frank Mullins. I hope our presence here illustrates our support for you and what you had to do.”

  Sisemore smiled faintly as a gesture of appreciation as he shook hands with Martin, Alex Berstein, Calvert, and Matt Wood. He tried not to show it, but the presence of the four lawmen brought on the fiercest emotions of the last few days. These men had fought with him, suffered with him, and achieved victories with him. They would die for him and he likewise for them. Had he any words to say, those feelings choked his ability to speak.

  District Court Judge Allen Barksdale sat on the bench, hearing a brief matter before dealing with the Sisemore affair. Tall and distinguished, Barksdale looked almost regal in his bearing and demeanor. As one of Ruston’s most respected citizens, he could expect to hold public office for the remainder of his natural life, had his modesty
allowed such conceit.

  Sisemore liked Barksdale and respected his fairness. The community respected him. The law was just one of Barksdale’s passions. He was one of the original directors of the Chautauqua. For years, he had served as Commander, Camp Number Seven, United Confederate Veterans, which proudly counted over one hundred Ruston citizens in its membership. When Jeff Davis was disinterred in New Orleans in 1893, Barksdale was one of the escorts who took the body home to Virginia.

  C. B. Roberts was writing furiously at the prosecutor’s table.

  “Is the State ready to proceed?” Barksdale asked.

  Roberts rose to address the judge. “Your Honor, Judge Wear will be assisting in prosecuting this case, but he will not be able to reach Ruston until tomorrow. I would ask for a continuance until that time. I have prepared a motion to that effect.” He handed over the document.

  Judge Barksdale read the motion briefly. Fred Price walked up to join the conversation. “How long do you anticipate your case will last, Mr. Roberts?” Barksdale asked.

  “Your Honor, the State has about a dozen witnesses, but I see most are not in the courtroom. I believe the testimony will take more than one day.”

  “Your motion says the deceased man’s brother is paying for Judge Wear’s services. Have you communicated with the judge?”

  “No, Your Honor. But I am advised he will be here in the morning.”

  Price addressed the judge. “Your Honor, the defendant deserves a speedy hearing and an opportunity for bail at the earliest possible moment.”

  “I am going to deny your motion,” Barksdale ruled, “to continue the case, but if the testimony is completed before Judge Wear’s arrival, I will agree to keep the matter open as long as necessary before making a final determination.”

  Price returned to his seat beside Sisemore. The mayor had insisted on participating in the marshal’s defense. “What was all that about?” Sisemore whispered.

  “Roberts has some help coming in to assist in prosecuting the case. Will Mullins has hired George Wear. He was judge in Columbia for many years and very competent. If I was Roberts, I’d want some help, too.”

  “Will doesn’t have that kind of money,” Sisemore said, a little louder than he intended.

  Price shrugged. “Maybe he’s got friends.”

  Witness after witness paraded back and forth through the courtroom. Sam Barksdale, George McElroy, and Price himself repeated their testimony from the coroner’s inquest. Witnesses to Frank Mullins’s dying statements were also called.

  Duncan Downing of North Carolina was called by the defense. He had been traveling by train on February 26 and spent the night at the Duty House.

  “I was in my room reading and heard gunshots fairly close by,” Downing testified. “Not long after the shooting, I heard someone running up and onto the veranda. He was breathing heavily and moaning and groaning all the time.”

  “Could you tell by his steps where he went?” asked Price.

  “He passed right by my room and around the corner of the veranda. I heard noises behind my room—I didn’t know there was another room there until later. Very quickly he came back down the veranda past my room and opened the front door and came inside.”

  “What happened then?”

  “I heard him say ‘I am shot’ to someone and then a woman’s voice. I put down my book and went to the door and found a man and Mrs. Sherwood in the hall. He was bleeding and Mrs. Sherwood asked me to get a doctor and I did.”

  “Did you later learn the identity of this man?”

  “Yes, I was told he was Frank Mullins.”

  “And what did you learn about his reason for being at the Duty House?”

  “He had a room there. The one behind mine.”

  “Is that the room you heard him go to before coming into the hall and meeting Mrs. Sherwood?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it your opinion that Mullins had time to secure a pistol under the head of the bed before coming in the main door?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  ***

  Testimony lingered into Tuesday. When Sisemore reached the courtroom that morning, he found Marshal Martin and Deputy Bernstein seated behind the defendant's table. Beside them were Calvert and young Matt Wood. Whispers spread through the courtroom to identify the four strangers.

  Price and Sisemore conferred briefly. “John, let me tell you what I believe the outcome of this will be. I think it is most likely Judge Barksdale will find there is probable cause to proceed to trial. I think we all know this matter will not be resolved short of going to trial. With that in mind, I withdraw my earlier request that you testify. I see no need at this point.”

  “I have no intention of testifying at this or any point,” Sisemore responded bluntly.

  “In any case, I will seek a reasonable bond and see if we can schedule the trial for the earliest possible date.”

  Sisemore gave a vague nod of his head. His taciturn nature had taken a decidedly extreme turn since the shooting.

  ***

  When Sisemore returned to the sheriff's office with Finley, he discovered a huge crowd from the courtroom had followed them.

  “Can I help you gentlemen?” asked Finley.

  “We are here to post the marshal’s bond,” replied J. J. Neilson.

  Finley smiled. “Your wife said you’d be coming by, Mr. Neilson.”

  “We all want our names on there,” declared another man.

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Lewis. Just give me a few moments to get the papers together.”

  “John, the community stands behind you completely in this matter. If there is anything we can do to help, please let us know.”

  “Thank you very much,” replied Sisemore, “but you men don’t have to do this.”

  “Yes, we do,” argued J. J. Raley. “It is only a small way to show our support for your work in cleaning up this town. This is a matter affecting all of us. You find yourself in this situation due to your service to us, the citizens of Ruston. We have an obligation, John.”

  Sisemore shook hands with several men but hesitated when he saw Ben Smith in the crowd. The slight smile on Sisemore’s face disappeared.

  “John,” Smith said quickly, “we don’t always see eye to eye and folks may not believe it, but I’m for law and order, too. I want to put my name on there, too.”

  Sisemore seemed to think a moment and extended a tentative hand. “Alright, Ben, that’s fine by me.”

  When the papers were signed, Sisemore shook hands with dozens of well-wishers. Outside, he found the four lawmen who had sat faithfully through the preliminary hearing.

  “What can we do to help?” asked Calvert.

  “I can't think of a thing,” Sisemore answered.

  “Do you need any witnesses?” asked Martin. “Perhaps we can find evidence to further support your case.”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary, but thanks,” replied Sisemore. “Thank you for being here, Marshal. Thanks to all of you. I would be more hospitable, but I have not seen my family for almost a week.”

  “Go home, John. By all means,” encouraged Martin. “We will speak later.”

  The men shook hands again and Sisemore walked up the hill toward home.

  “Men, John is not himself,” Martin declared. “That old fire is not there. He should be jumping up and down to find witnesses and prove himself innocent.”

  Calvert spoke up. “He’s awful quiet. It’s almost scary.”

  “It’s just not right,” Wood protested, choking out the words. “It’s not right to be locked up for enforcing the law.”

  Calvert patted the young man on the back. “Matt, don’t worry about John. He’s been in fixes before. He got out of those and he will get out of this one. You see what kind of support he has in this town.”

  “Then why this ordeal?”

  “Part of it is politics,” Martin explained. “While John has great support here, I would suspect there are many with sympathy for the othe
r side.”

  “Yeah,” said Wood, again with anger. “Bootleggers, moonshiners, and whiskey runners.”

  “And to some folks,” Martin continued, “the evidence is mighty convincing. This is the third gunfight between John and this Mullins fellow.”

  “I heard two men talking during one of the recesses,” Wood volunteered. “They said if Frank Mullins was shooting his gun off, there had to be someone around. They said ‘he didn’t perform without an audience.’”

  “Let’s split up and spend the remainder of the day listening around town,” Martin suggested. “Eavesdrop or ask questions but find something to help John.”

  A light shower of rain fell that night. The days continued to warm and young vegetables promised to fill idle summer days and hungry winter stomachs.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Ruston Leader. March 28, 1898. The Ruston Rifles had another drill Saturday night. Our boys, should war be declared, will stand among the best drilled men in the State. Then again there is not one who would shirk his duty to his country. Brave, gallant, and wholly immersed in a true sense of justice is what our home soldier boys are.

  Shreveport Times. Ruston, La. April 1 - Marshal Sisemore went to Monroe today on business for Uncle Sam.

  Shreveport Times. April 5, 1898. Ruston is to be congratulated on driving out the last vestige of the blind tiger.

  Spring 1898

  War with Spain filled the newspapers. Young Ruston boys yearned to march into battle, unaware of the horrors of war endured by their fathers and grandfathers. More American flags decorated Ruston streets than ever before. If nothing else, the war united North and South under one flag again.

  Sisemore’s mare broke into a frisky trot in the pleasant spring sun as he toward the Redwine post office. Crops stretched their necks, breaking through the crusty soil toward embrace the warmth. A light breeze soothed the lawman’s face.

  The community a few miles south of Ruston was known interchangeably as Woodville, or Redwine, in honor of the family that founded it. Eli Redwine headed the family now, as well as parish’s schools. Eli’s store, which had seen better days, housed the post office. Business diminished considerably after the railroad missed the community and most everyone moved to Ruston. Since Redwine was not needed at the store and the growing pupil population had increased his responsibilities as superintendent, he spent more time in Ruston than at home.