Delaware gazette and state journal. (Wilmington, Del.) 1883-1902, 1891-05-07
WIDOWS OF THE LYNCHED MAFIA.
Great Grief Over the Deaths In
New Orleans.

tains to Caccamo in search of the widow
and orphans of Pietro Monastero. High
up ON a crag among the crooked streets of
a village that existed before Christ, found
her. Below the valleys were full Of orange
groves and flowers; above lowered the an
cient castle of Caccamo and the giant sun
scorched rocks, among which the bandits
held the merchant ArigO for ransom last
year i'll spite Of battalion of troops sent
to find him.
Down the crazy lane crept to the dim
room from which Monastero went less
than two years ago to America. BronAed
mountaineers and their children clattered
out to see the Herald correspondent who
had come all the way from st. Petersburg
to visit the families of the slain Sicillans.
/ have looked upon sorrow in many
lands, but here i saw the most pitiful
scene of my life, In the middle Of q bare
stone chamber sat the widow, draped from
head to foot in black in the native man
ner. Around her stood the five small
orphans Of the dead man--three toddling
boys and two girls. The widows face was
Madonnalike in its simple beauty. Her
eyes were soft and dark.
On rude table beside her were few
handfuls of raw wheat contributed by the
neighbors to feed the little ones On the
wall was the dusty cructix ut which
Monastero prayed for success on the day
he left his mountain home. Around the
room sat the five sisters of the dead man,
and the doorway was choked up with the
neghbors, who told me how good Monas
tero had been TO the poor, and how. every
body was contributing. few confines to
keep his helpless family from starvation.
heard for the first time that Monastero
was a member Of the municipal council
and a hard working, respectable shoe
maker, who went to New Orleans to get
money enough to pay his village debts.
one mountaineer showed ME list of
names scrawled down by the committee
that collected enough every day to barely
feed the orphans. When told the widow
why her husband was killed by the New
Orleans mob, She cried Ikea child.
God in heaven How could they muir
der the father Of these helpless children ~
She walled. "Niy poor husband, he was
killed by towards. where he could not
help himself. a better, truer man never
lived, No, no! ] want no vengeance, no
vendetta. | want no blood. WHAT do
care whether his murdercrs are punished
or not 1t will not bring my poor husband
back to life. Oh, God! God God If
you had only seen him here and known
what good man he was The frail
figure in black trembled. Every one in
the room began to cry.
In the name of God. see how his chill
dren refuse to wear black, because they
will not believe their father is dead. Two
of them do not remember him at all, and
! have no photograph TO show them. Ask
every one in the mountains about my htS-
band He never dill wrong in his life, and
he wrote to me from prison saying that he
was innocent, and asking me to pray to
holy st. Joseph to send him back to his
home. We prayed night and day to our
good patron saint,
He was not guilty Never, never neverl
| II is impossible. ! cannot understand how
| he came to he with those other men, but
know he committed no crime. 1t was all q
cruel mistake. Why did they not send him
away from America, instead of killing
him? My husband was 4 shoemaker here
and got into debt. because he was an
honest man he went to America TO earn
money enough 10 pay his debt; then he
| was coming back TO Caccamo and was
never, never going away again If could
only get his body, 50 ! might take the
| children to his grave?
NO, ] do not think the American
! people are cruel. They must be sorry for
| the murder Of my husband and for me
and my children. We have nothing to
eat now but what the people give us. My
| husbands five sisters and his old father
and mother are all supported by his
| brother, priest, who only gets one Ira
and half a day go cents, Are you
sorry for MS, tpo?'
] had 10 leave the house The scene be.
came too terrible.
Higher mp among the crnmbling walls
| found the white haired father and mother
Of Monastero sitting in dreary hutch.
| The poor priest, Giuseppe came down
from the sleeping loft, his black eyes
| sparkling at the sight Of a stranger and
tho weeping villagers.
ALI he said, u am glad the Herald
has sent for the truth. Ny brother was n
| spotleSs man, and | firmly believe he was
| innocent" The priest spoke pure Italian,
| but now and then he would drop word
or two in the Sicilian dialect to comfort his
old parents. "Pietro used to write to me
| from prison telling me he was innocent.
He even wrote poetry TO me, A guilty
man could not write such letters. He went
/ to America because he could net bear to
be in debt, lie had credit Of $50 Ira for
| his little shoe shop, and when he failed in
business i was simply because the times
| We're hard.n
When asked the priest if the people of
Caccamo had any desire for vengeance,
/ he made the sign Of the cross and shook
| his head sadly. mo, we only weep and
pray for the soul of my brother and try to
! feed his widow and orphans. Life is very
hard here.
They call my brother .Mafioso, but
they speak words they do not understand
| The Malta passed away from this land
long ago. there is no such thing now, Tell
the American people that we are honest
folk who cannot understand how they
allowed an innocent man to be publicly
murdered, Tell them his widow and
orphans are helpless
Every one in the village had sad story
to tell, and the venerable bandmaster said
that everybody understood that the Ameri
can republic was not a nation Of savages,
| but that the lyncbing was done under ex-
| traordnary circumstances. He said that
only yesterday eight men left Caceamo TO
| seek their fortunes in New Orleans. Every
one in the village had printed copy of a
eulogv of the dead Monastero, written by
Rev. NJ. Guaggent.
| But not alone at Caccamo did | find
mourners. There is confused tumble of
poor dwellings along the sea front Of
Palermo, and hundreds Of Sicilans have
gone out from those winding streets to
start for America. On the top floor Of an
old stone house | found the aged mother
and two brothers of Antonio Abbagnato
who was strangled IN such a horrible
manner in the presence of the mob. The
mother is a wrinkled, feeble woman, who
stood shiyering and crying in her black
garb, while her eldest son read the dead
mans last letter from prison, protesting
his innocence and asking them not to tell
his mother OF his trouble A blind bird
sang i'll cage on the wall. The dark
skinned young wives Of the brothers
wrung their hands.
God will defend me, for I am inno-
cent, said the letter. Il send my mother
q kiss and ask for her blessing. Pray to
God for me and believe me that / am
innocent. The whole thing seemed a
dream to the poor mother. Her son had
written that lie would soon come home
but the days had pastand no Antonio came,
Then she was told that the public had nut
her, son to death, although he had been
declared innocent by a jury, and that the
police did nothing. to prevent it, No one
dared to describe the awful details of the
death.
..Mr SON had nnthinr. u do .,.itl Il :