St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1888-09-01
HE DIED A HERMIT.
Stranger Than Fiction Is the
True Story Of Patrick
Welsh.
For Seventeen Years He Slept
in a Coffin in His Da-
kota Shack.
A Life Of Romance and Ad-
venture, Love and
Despair.
A Scandal When a Priest
Drove Him to Dakota
and SecluSiOn.
Special to the Globe.

Special to the Globe.
Elk POINT, Dak., Aug. 31.-Eighteer
miles north of this city in a rude cave
dug into the blff there has lived, up tC
the past week, lonely hermit, whose
history sounds more like romance than
reality, and the incidents of that life,
if faithfully portrayed. would prove a
rich theme for the modern writer OF
fiction. Sixty years ago, near Kill
kenny, Ire, lived old Thomas Welsh,
who held eighty acres of land in his
own right and was the proud father OF
two sons-Patrick and Michael.
On the adjoining estate lived sweet
Rose Mccarthy, the flower of Kilkenny,
the beauty of the country, whose coal
black
EYES AND ROSEBUD LIPS
made sad havoc with the bold Irish
laddies for miles around. SWANS
wOoed in vain. She had a sweet
smile and kind word for every one,
but her sweetest smiles and kindeSt
words were reserved for the Welsh
boys, of whom she seemed equally
fond.
One bitter cold night in the terrible
winter of 1929, sweet Rose, who had
been on an eIrand of mercy to Door
tenant ON the neighboring estate was
lost on the bleak and barren moor. The
whole parish Joined in the search for
the favOrite, but in the early gray of the
morning they sadly sought their homes.
saying that she was dead-all but the
Welsh boys. They continued the search
although suffering intensely with cold.
AT 9 O'Clock the next morning Patrick
found
THE MISSING COLLEEN.
who was badly frozen, but who eventu-
ally recovered and became his affianced
Previous to this time the brothers had
been inseparable friends; but now a
GOODNESS suddenly sprang up between
them.
A short time after the father died and
their differences were evidenced over
the division of the estate, which was not
entailed and the bulk of which went to
Patrick
Rose was only sixteen, and the mar
riage day was set three years ahead,
Michael, meantime, deciding to go to
America to add to his already gOOdly
store.
On the eve of his departure he be-
came involved in a quarrel with q con-
stable and injured him severely with
his blackthOrn. AT the hearing before
the magistrate the next morning his
brother positively swore that Patrick
had repeatedly threatened the consta-
ble's life and he was bound over under
heavy bonds to the fall asszes when
the judge sentenced him to
TEN YEARS IMPRISONMENT.
On his way to prison he managed by
some means to effect his escape from
the officers and made his way to this
country.
Upon reaching Castle Garden he was
taken in charge by Cherry street
clearinghouse runner. who succeeded
in getting him drunk and rObbing him
of all the money he had in the'world.
Homeless, stranger in strange
employment, until at length a kind
hearted Catholic priest took pity on his
fOr,orn condition and took him into
his family. He had previously received
a good education and he now deter
mined to cOnSecrate himself
TO GODS SERVICE
and was sent to Baltimore college to
prepare for the priesthood. He at last
succeeded in getting ordained and soon
took charge of congregation in Cam
bridge. Md. He soon became involved
in scandal with the wife of a promi-
nent member and was compelled to flee
the country. From this time until 1849
his career was indeed checkered one,
he being at different times a teacher,
book agent and quack doctor. All this
time he had not heard from his affianced
wife in Ireland, and he now determined
to join the fortune seekers who were
seeking the new eldorado-the Cali
fornia gold fields. Here he succeeded
in accommodating fortune and returned
to his old country home, only to find
that Rose, who had long since given
him up for dead, had
MARRIED HIS BROTHER
Michael and was the mother of a large
family.
With bowed head and broken heart
he returned to this country, and, after
drifting around for a few months, he
on school section north of
town, where he has since resided in
lonely solitude.
One day last week your correspondent
visited his home, which was nothing but
a mere hole dug in the side of q bluff,
in the front of which was rude porch.
Crossing the porch l knocked for admit
lance, but no response came and | en-
tered unannOunced.
Immediately at the right, standing on
a slight elevation, was
A GRUEsoME COFFIN.
whose rusty black drapery,SO suggestive
of mortality, made me invOluntarily
shiver. This had been his only bed
for seventeen years, and he had never
missed one nights repose i'll it during
all that time. Above the coffin, on
were arranged,a number of
and cruciixes of solid
silver. Underneath the coffin, fastened
by slender cord, was a gaunt and
hungry looking wolf, whose Jaws
viciously q as l hurried by,
only to stumbled over
A MONSTER BULL SNAKE
which lay coiled up directly i'm my
path, but which was undesirable in
the Egyptian darkness.
The old man, clothed IN a monde
script garment made of gunny sacks,
received me rather cOldly at first, but
soon warmed up under the genial in
fiuence of my flask of mountain dew
and related the facts as above given.
The room was bare of furniture, and
what little cooking he did was done
over an open fire.
Last Thursday, neighbors passing by
noticed that his cattle were suffering
for water, and went into the hut to
see if the old man was sick.
HE WAS DEAD.
Stretched out in his coffin, with
crucifix lying on his breast, was all
that remained of one who, but for the
mistake of his life. would have been
bower for good in the world he loved