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

by Wesley Harris

  “Our witnesses have made it very evident Frank Mullins had an opportunity to return to his room at the Duty House and secrete his pistol beneath his pillow before making his presence known to Mrs. Sherwood.

  “Mayor Price has testified, among others, that there was gunfire from two weapons. Mayor Price also heard Frank Mullins make a threatening statement to Marshal Sisemore.

  “The State has made an issue of the veracity of some of the witnesses, particularly Mayor Price and Officer Edmondson, as if their testimony would be slanted in favor of the defendant. I urge you to look at all the witnesses, their standing in the community, their reputation for honesty and integrity, and I believe you will discover the witnesses for the defense are among the most credible, respected members of our community. Too bad we can not say the same for many of the State’s witnesses.

  “If you believe the State’s case, you must believe John Sisemore planned in advance to murder Frank Mullins. One witness testified he saw someone lying in wait near the corner of Gullatt’s store. Numerous witnesses reported Mr. Sisemore called Frank Mullins by name, questioned him as to whether he was doing the shooting on the street that night. Does that sound like an ambusher waiting for his prey? In the pitch black, giving his target an opportunity to shoot him first? I think not.

  “Frank Mullins was always cool and deliberate in his acts, but this act of going into his room and leaving his pistol and afterwards sending for it to show he was unarmed, after he had been shot and realizing the shot was fatal, was more than cool. He felt a great hatred for Marshal Sisemore and wanted this act to look like murder.

  “Gentlemen, I think the evidence is very clear in this case. John Tom Sisemore, who is not only the police chief of this town and sworn to protect it, but also a deputy United States marshal, accountable for upholding the law over much of this state, was merely doing his duty on the night in question. Doing his duty and defending his own life. I pray, I beseech you, to render a verdict of not guilty and let him go back to his duty and his family. Thank you.”

  Roberts rose to give the State’s closing arguments. Wear was the better orator, but it was Roberts’s district and a chore he had to perform.

  “Frank Mullins is not on trial here. Obviously, he himself came before this court on numerous occasions. Despite his failings, he did not deserve to die.” Pointing out a window, he said, “No one had to die on that street corner in February.

  “Now Mr. Sisemore has made numerous other arrests in Ruston and throughout the countryside, yet he was able to make those arrests without killing the suspects. In the case of Frank Mullins, however, meetings between Mr. Sisemore and the deceased have been laced with gunfire over a period of years.

  “The defense might have you believe that’s because Frank Mullins was a dangerous man and posed a threat to the marshal. We contend just the opposite—that on the night of February 26, 1898, Frank Mullins had no way to defend himself from John Sisemore. John Sisemore very possibly knew that and did what he told several witnesses he was going to do. And that was kill Frank Mullins.

  “Now a charge of murder requires malice aforethought, or a willingness ahead of time to kill the deceased. The evidence has clearly shown that. These witnesses the defense dug up to allege Frank Mullins planned to kill the defendant do not counter or justify Mr. Sisemore’s intentions.”

  Roberts went on to summarize the testimony of the witnesses who declared Frank Mullins was unarmed. In exacting detail, he explained to the jury that despite the defense’s witnesses, no one testified, “I was face to face with Frank Mullins and I saw the pistol in his hand.”

  “We’ve heard testimony of two flashes, yet no one can identify the faces of the shooters. We’ve heard testimony that Frank Mullins could have returned to his room, but no one was presented who saw him do so.”

  Roberts attacked each of the defense’s witnesses, attempting to cast doubt on their credibility or the accuracy of their observations. He noted the only two witnesses to testify they saw gunfire from two sources were employees of the town. Both had a vested interest in the matter, he argued, and felt an obligation to rescue the defendant.

  “In one area, the evidence is quite clear and without dispute,” he declared. “John Tom Sisemore shot and killed Frank Mullins on the night of February 26, 1898. The evidence is also quite clear that the relationship between the defendant and the deceased was at best, a difficult one. Ask yourself this—if any other policeman had been dealing with Frank Mullins that night, would this killing have occurred? And remember gentlemen, no one is above the law. Each of us is accountable to the law and to God for our transgressions. Through a verdict of guilty, you tell each man in Lincoln Parish he is not the law nor above the law, but is responsible for obeying the law, regardless of his rank or position.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Special to the Times.

  Ruston, La., Sept. 17 -- Great crowds of people from all parts of the parish have flocked to town every day of this week since last Wednesday watching the progress of the Sisemore trial. The hearing of testimony was closed yesterday evening and the case submitted to the jury today. It is the opinion of a great many good men who have heard the entire trial that the verdict will be an acquittal. Sisemore was acting in the capacity of town marshal at the time of the shooting and was searching for parties that had been shooting in the town when he came upon Mullins the night of that fatal meeting. Mullins’ friends had repeatedly appealed to him to leave this place and desist from selling liquor here, but he would not listen to them. A bad feeling had existed between Sisemore and Mullins for several years and everybody expected trouble between them every time they met. The verdict of the jury will not be known before Monday. The attorneys have had a great day for speech making as Judge Barksdale placed no restriction of time on them and both sides have made able talks before the jury.

  Monday, September 19, 1898

  Although the cotton harvest mitigated the crowds, the courtroom remained packed each day of the trial. Wagon after wagon rolled into Ruston, depositing huge white bales on any available spot around the railroad. The jury had reached a verdict early Saturday morning but the judge elected to wait until Monday morning to reconvene court, much to the distress of both sides.

  Nora Sisemore sat anxiously on the front bench directly behind her husband. Beside her was John’s brother, Green Simmie Sisemore, the husband of Nora’s own sister Mabel.

  Mabel had come up from Jackson Parish to watch the children throughout the trial. Judge Graham was making his first appearance in the courtroom, sitting near Nora.

  “Have you reached a verdict?” asked Judge Barksdale.

  The foreman stood and faced the judge. “Yes, we have, Your Honor.”

  “Then read your verdict.”

  The foreman complied. “We, the jury, find the defendant John Tom Sisemore not guilty.”

  A whoop of delight echoed through the small courtroom. Some applauded. The Mullins family showed no emotion, but quickly departed. Several men grumbled as they followed. A reporter rushed out to prepare his story before the Shreveport-bound train arrived.

  Sisemore’s attorneys shook hands all around. Price slapped John Tom on the back. “We did it, John. We did it.”

  Stephen Pearce left the celebrants as Nora crossed the bar to her husband. Sisemore embraced her tightly and whispered into her ear. She nodded and smiled.

  “Congratulations, John.” Judge Graham was smiling broadly.

  “I should be congratulating all of you,” Sisemore responded, his arm still around Nora. “Y’all did a fine job. I’ll never be able to repay you for what you’ve done for us.”

  Pearce returned to the group. “I just talked to Hall Laurie,” he announced. Laurie was the jury foreman. “He said the first vote was eleven for acquittal and one for manslaughter. Of course, he wouldn’t say who it was. A little more discussion and it was unanimous very quickly.”

  Barksdale allowed the celebration to continue for several minutes b
efore banging his gavel to quieten the crowd. When order was restored and the lawyers had returned to their seats, the judge thanked the jury for their public service.

  Turning to the district attorney, he asked, “Are there any other matters to come before the Court?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” replied Roberts. “We have several more cases. If it please the Court, perhaps we could take a brief recess before continuing.”

  “We’ll make it very brief. You know I’m scheduled to be in court in Farmerville tomorrow, so let’s try to move quickly.”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “This court is in recess for five minutes.”

  The cheers and scattered applause resumed as the judge left the bench.

  ***

  Steady rain fell as Sisemore escorted Nora outside. He stopped under the shelter of the roof overhang. Well-wishers surged around them, shaking John’s hand and congratulating him.

  As the crowd thinned, Judge Graham walked up. “This is your day, John, but I share in your victory. Yesterday was my birthday, and this has been a wonderful present.”

  “Happy birthday, Judge.”

  “Yes, happy birthday, Judge,” echoed Nora.

  Graham looked up at the rain. “There’s still lots of cotton to pick,” he observed. “Hope this doesn’t last too long.” He smiled at the couple and walked out into the rain.

  Dodging puddles, they headed home.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Special to the Times.

  Ruston, La., October 5 -- Our town has been in a dilemma about receiving our soldier boys of the first regiment lately mustered out in Jacksonville. The town council and health board after wrestling with the question yesterday and last night this morning called a meeting of the citizens to consider the advisability of permitting them to come into the town but owing to much diversity of opinion no definite conclusion was arrived at. Our mayor wired to Shreveport to know if he would admit our boys with the two companies from that city, this town bearing the expense, and received from Dr. Egan the following reply: “We cannot receive your soldier boys; will you take ours, we paying expense?” And later a telegram was received from Dr. Egan asking if the Chautauqua management would grant the use of the Chautauqua grounds for a detention camp for the Shreveport companies. Several resident members of the Chautauqua board were seen and all agreed that it would not do the Chautauqua justice to grant the use of the grounds for such purpose. Later a telegram from Dr. Forsyth of Monroe reported that the state board of health was investigating the situation. Our board decided to await results of the investigation and accept its findings. If the state board say there is no danger Ruston will receive her returning soldier boys with open arms and a hearty welcome.

  Cotton continues to come into town briskly despite the present ruinous low price. Since the late hard rains much damage to the open crop has been reported.

  October 1898

  Sisemore heard a shout. “They’re back! The boys are back!”

  A man burst into the Marbury and Jackson’s drug store. “The army boys are back!” he cried. “The train just came in.”

  Sisemore, A. T. Jackson, and several customers hurried outside. An unscheduled train had pulled into the station. Young men hung out the windows shouting and waving as stores and shops emptied patrons and keepers alike into the streets.

  “I know the health board said a quarantine was unnecessary, but I did not expect them so soon,” Jackson said.

  After hugs and handshakes, several soldiers disengaged themselves from the celebration and walked to a box car near the end of the train. The door was pulled back, revealing a plain pine coffin.

  “It’s Nick Goff,” a soldier explained to no one in particular. “He died last Sunday at Jacksonville. Typhoid fever.”

  “Too bad for his mother,” a bystander observed. “She lost a husband and now a son.”

  ***

  The regiment’s return only heightened the already fervent enthusiasm infecting the town. The next day, John Tom and Nora loaded the children in a buggy and headed to Ben Smith’s horse racing track. The opening day of Ruston’s first fair replaced the somberness of the previous days with excitement and anticipation.

  Although Sisemore disliked crowds and had little use for cheap amusement, Nora had insisted they take the family to the fair. It would be a new experience for the children and an opportunity for their father to spend some time with them. Sisemore did not mind that at all.

  The race track was located a couple of miles west of town, out past the college, so Sisemore did not have to patrol the grounds during the festivities. Finley and another deputy would handle that task. In town, Sisemore couldn’t walk down the street, even to church on Sunday, without someone flagging him down about some business matter. He hoped that would not happen today.

  Ben Smith’s latest love was horse racing. He still enjoyed the excitement of a fight, but since Frank Mullins’s death, Sisemore had observed Smith had drifted to more legitimate associates. He was certainly a different breed of entrepreneur than most of Ruston’s genteel proprietors. He still distressed the women in his life. First, his mother while selling moonshine whiskey in his stores, and now his wife as he relished opportunities to fight or gamble.

  Ben traveled the country with his horses, occasionally winning considerable purses. He had quit the liquor trade, both in Ruston and at his store at Allen Greene station.

  He greeted Sisemore warmly as the lawman walked up.“I thought I’d run Starpatch one last time,” Smith explained. “I paid twenty-five hundred for him, and I’ve made that many times over.”

  Sisemore patted the gelding’s neck. “Fine animal, Ben.”

  “Glad your trouble is all over, John,” Smith blurted unexpectedly. “I hate what happened to Frank but he had plenty of warning. I begged him many a time to find something else to do.”

  “Well, it’s over now, Ben.”

  “Don’t take offense, but he was a lot like you.”

  Sisemore narrowed his eyes. “How do you figure that?”

  “He loved what he was doing,” Smith replied. “He couldn’t give it up. Just like you, John.” Smith smiled and led his horse to the track.

  ***

  Sisemore led his family through livestock exhibits and food booths. A vague uneasiness overcame him. He was disturbed by the comparison to Frank Mullins. Never considering himself similar to Frank in any way, now he realized there was a stubbornness the two of them shared. Some would called it bullheadedness.

  Sisemore turned and looked about him. While Ben Smith’s comment bothered him, there was something else. He sensed he was being followed. He examined many of the faces around him. No one seemed to be paying any particular attention to him or the family.

  “Is something wrong, dear?” Nora asked.

  “No. Just looking around.” He did not want to upset Nora. Someone had hinted vaguely to her that the Mullins family, dissatisfied with the outcome of the trial, would seek justice in other ways. When she asked him about it, Sisemore dismissed it as idle talk.

  He continued to scan the faces around him. Maybe the truth of Smith’s observation agitated him more than he thought. He ignored the inventions of his weary mind, smiled at Nora, and taking her arm, strolled to the grandstand to watch the race.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Shreveport Times. October 26, 1898. The Louisiana Industrial Institute in Ruston opens November 1.

  Tuesday, November 15, 1898

  John, I hope we can do well by the children this Christmas.” Nora Sisemore said. Her husband sat across the kitchen table from her, the light of a lamp casting a golden glow on his face.

  Squawking chickens interrupted the conversation. Sisemore waved a quieting hand at Nora.

  “Something’s stirring up the chickens,” He rose from his chair. “Take the lamp out of the room.”

  “John, don’t go out there,” Nora pleaded, absolute terror showing on her face.

  “I’m not. I just
want to do some looking and I need you to take the lamp.” He handed Nora the lamp and eased her out the door. “Don’t worry, it’s probably just a fox or a possum,” he whispered unconvincingly.

  When the room was dark, Sisemore moved to a window overlooking the back yard. Slowly, he eased back the curtain. The disturbed chickens reached a fever pitch. In the darkness, Sisemore saw the outline of the chicken coop but little else. He moved to the back door. Standing to the side of the doorway, he turned the key and threw open the door.

  Nothing happened. The chickens continued their protest. Sisemore peeked out, avoiding the pale moonlight flooding in the open door. Nothing but still shadows. The marshal stepped back deeper into the kitchen to avoid the moonlight as he maneuvered to the opposite side of the doorway. Again he glanced out, surveying the shadows for movement.

  “John?” Nora called, her voice hoarse and trembling.

  “Hush, woman,” he whispered roughly, immediately regretting his retort. He kept his eyes fixed on the silhouettes of the night, discovering his sidearm in his hand. He did not recall drawing the Colt from its holster.

  The chickens were settling down now. Whatever aggravated them must be gone now, Sisemore thought. He closed the door, locked it, and reholstered the gun. He left the kitchen to find Nora.

  As he rounded the corner into the adjoining room, he found a shotgun pointed at him. His heart froze. ...

  ***

  Nora trembled as she struggled to support her husband’s shotgun. Sisemore gently took the weapon from her as she threw her arms around him.

  “Oh, John,” she cried, tears staining his shoulder.

  ***

  Nora Sisemore awoke in the morning determined not to reveal her fear to her husband. The day was a long and tedious one. Each of Hardy’s little acts irritated her. John returned home twice during the day, but seemed devoid of apprehension and oblivious to his wife’s anxiety.