The Jackson standard. [volume] (Jackson C.H., Ohio) 1847-1888, 1882-11-02


Dutch allies, are getting personal
liberty" worked up pretty well.
There have been four or five murders
committed by drunkards since the
election. There are six men now in
jail there charged with homicide, five
for murder and one for manslaughter.
Some months ago a man named
McHugh got drunk, bought large
butcher knife, went to the market
place about nine o'clock at night, met
his wife, and stabbed her to the heart,
in the crowd. He was tried, convict
ed, and sentenced to be hung, but he
got new trial, as the Supreme Court
Of Ohio rarely permits murderer to
be hung.
Last week a reporter Of the Cincin-
natl Gazette went to the jail, and here
is what he says about McHugh:
Near the barred entrance door stood
William McHugh, familiarly known
as "Red," and to him the reporter
turned to ask the reason of the unu-
sual silence.
"You see" was the answer, "most of
the boys have just received their in
dictments from the Grand Jury, and
it makes them feel blue. There is
hardly one of them that does not find
his case worse than he expected, so
they are none Of them in the mood
for cutting up"
II suppose that this place is begin
ming to seem like home to you, you
have been here so long?"
mo, it is just as bad as the first day
| came here. Oh, it is horrible, and
no one that does not know what
prison life is can imagine all that one
has to endure. | have been here now
for fifteen months and it seems like
fifteen years. l have been here longer
now than any man in the place"
It will be remembered that while in
a state Of intoxication McHugh killed
his wife, using a butcher knife for the
purpose. He was asked if he ever
thought Of her.
81 think of her very often, but
never as dead. I can't think Of her
as dead, or Of myself as killing her.
They tell me l did, but | had been on
q spree for week, and l can't re-
member anything distinctly: 1t just
seems as though we had been separa-
ted for short time, and were to meet
again in few days. Come to my
cell and | will show you her picture" d"
McHugh led the way to cell No. 81,
and invited the reporter to enter. It
was very clean and neat, and every
thing seemed to bear traces of wom-
ans tidy hand. There was a lace cur
tain at the window, concealing the
grim bars; a bright red cover was on
the little table, on which stood bou-e
quet Of brilliant flowers, adding bit
Of color to the cheerless walls Of iron
with their uniform gray tint; the
sheets on the cot were scrupulously
white. Over the door was the inscrip-
tion whisky brot me here" while
the following lines were written on
the opposite wall:
woas to 1,1Ssr live 6y life over again.
Than live in this sorrow and pain."
AS McHugh sat down on the bed,
the reporter occupying the single low
chair, a good look was had Of him.
His face was spare and pale and his
eyes deep sunken; his hands trembled |
nervously, and they were cold and
bloodless. 1t was evident, as he him
self said, that his long Imprisonment
was breaking him up.
'This is my wife," he remarked, as
he took tintype out of the frame of
The only picture on the walls and
handed it to the reporter. After it
nad been examined he continued.
pointing to the picture: "And this is
1er portrait that | had enlarged from
hat. You see have her where l can
ook at her all the time. If they ever
hang me for killing her, they will
lang an innocent man. [ was drunk
It the time, and had not thought of
murder ten seconds before it was COM
nltted. | never premedltated the