Peter Matthiessen - Killing Mister Watson

The stink of that pathetical little family was only the excuse for what them people was aiming to do anyway. They didn't want to be anywheres near no Watsons, not with Leslie Cox still on the loose. Man sent his wife out to tell Edna Watson they couldn't put up with 'em no more. Never even let 'em in, they pushed their stuff at 'em through the cracked door.

The ones that drove that desperate family from their house, the husband was supposed to been a friend to Watson, and the wives was close-well, this man and his brother, who was visiting from Marco, they was in that crowd. He was one of 'em claimed later on he never pulled the trigger, which means he was along with us for the wrong reason. Don't matter if he pulled the trigger or he didn't.

I don't need to name no names. The men who scared Watson's little family and those folks who drove 'em out, they know who they are right to this day.

So Mamie took Edna and her children into that tore-up house of hers, and that family never did forget her kindness. Mamie had redneck ideas when it come to certain people, but she had grit and a big heart, no doubt about it. Lots of Chokoloskee folks are the same way-you hate some of that stubborn ignorance, that prejudice against everyone except their own, but you got to admire 'em all the same. They are good, tough, honest, and God-fearing people, got a lot of fiber to 'em. They have 'em a hard life, and they don't complain.

The lawmen went down to Watson's on the Falcon, picked up Mister Watson's horse and four thousand gallons of his syrup to be taken up and sold off at Fort Myers. Four thousand gallons! By Jesus, if I had sweated out the hot hard hours that man must of worked that hot hard ground, raking the shell off forty acres every year to grow good cane, I'd be heartbroke to leave it all behind. All the point of his whole life was in that cane patch he had made with his bare hands in the meanest kind of snake-crawling scrub jungle.

Oh, that was a fine plantation, I can see it yet, the boathouse, sheds, that dock, that strong white house! Chatham Bend was what he had to show at the end of his hard road. He was not a youthful man no more, he was sick of running, and maybe that is when his life caught up with him.

After a while, some of them folks that had took a liking to Ed Watson and didn't feel right about the way he died, they got to saying all the trouble come from rumor and misunderstanding, that the killings down there never started until Cox come, so it must been Cox who give E.J. Watson his bad name. For some years afterward, people was nervous that Cox was still around down in the rivers, cause that was a hombre that would shoot a man just to see him wiggle.

Unless them Injuns got to him first, Mister Watson rescued Cox or killed him. Otherwise he'd be there still, because Chatham Bend is on an island in them rivers and Cox couldn't swim too good, the nigger said, and anyway he was scared of them big gators that follow the overflow down from the Glades after a hurricane, tracking fish and turtle all along the edge of brackish water. There was no one to come by and take Cox off, lest it was Watson, cause that terrible storm just cleaned the Islands out.

Some years after, one of the Daniels boys claimed he seen Cox in Key West. He said Cox spotted him, ducked away quick. We figured Cox might of shipped out on a freighter. That was the first word of him in a long time, and the last one, too.

I never met one person yet who believed Watson killed Cox. To believe that you would have to believe that hombre set there on the Bend day after day, thinking his thoughts, until Mister Watson come back home and blowed his head off. But if you don't believe it, then you have to explain how in hell Cox got away, and where he went to, and where he is living at today.

Anyway, they dug up E.J. Watson, reburied him beside Mrs. Jane Watson in the old Fort Myers cemetery. I keep meaning to get up there, have a look, but I never do. I always heard them older children built a statue to Ed Watson by the cemetery gate, but maybe they didn't. Anyway, he's still up there, I imagine, resting in peace as good as any of 'em.

THE END OF A MOST DEPLORABLE TRAGEDY HAS COME DOWN NEAR CHOKOLOSKEE

FORT MYERS, OCTOBER 30, 1910. On October 23, a week ago, the lawmen investigating the dreadful happenings at Chatham River sailed for Chokoloskee, where they arrived on October 25. By happenstance, a group of citizens of that island was just returning from Rabbit Key, where they said they had buried Mr. E.J. Watson, owner of the plantation where the murders occurred.

Sheriff Tippins was informed that after their meeting on October 19 at Marco, Mr. Watson had stopped over at Chokoloskee to advise Mrs. Watson that he was on his way to Chatham Bend. The people there were in a very high state of agitation, especially about the killing of the woman, Miss Hannah Smith, of Georgia, with whom many in the community had been friendly. Due to his past reputation, it was generally suspected that Mr. Watson must be implicated, but nobody attempted to detain him. However, the men said, Mr. Watson was to produce Leslie Cox dead or alive or accept the consequences, and he thereupon stated that he intended to return with Cox's head.

When Mr. Watson reappeared in Chokoloskee on the evening of October 24, he produced a hat pierced by a bullet hole, said to have been worn by Cox. He claimed he had killed Cox-here was the proof. Declaring that this hat was insufficient, a posse of citizens demanded that he return with them to Chatham Bend and produce the body. He refused, stating that Cox's body had fallen into the river, and that only the hat had surfaced. When this story was challenged, Mr. Watson appeared to become incensed that his neighbors were questioning his word, and one exchange led to another. The witnesses furthermore stated that when ordered to put down his gun, Mr. Watson attempted to fire into the crowd, and the posse killed him.

Thus ends one of the darkest tragedies ever recorded in the history of this State. Leslie Cox-if indeed he is alive, as most believe-is still at large down in the Islands. Even if the Negro's account of the murders can be accepted, the red truth of what happened that day, and why it happened, may never be known.

I don't care to speak about what happened. Three House boys and their father had a part in it, maybe they will say why and maybe not. Ted took no part. He was one of the few could hold their head high in the long years after, cause he didn't have no cause to feel ashamed. Course the House boys never felt shame neither, which might been why we had hard feelings in our family.

The twenty-fifth, Sheriff Frank Tippins finally showed up with the Monroe sheriff, Clement Jaycox, brought down by Cap'n Collier on the Falcon. This was a week after the hurricane, and Chokoloskee was still cleaning up. The men told the sheriff he had come too late, so they was obliged to take the law in their own hands. Others blamed the death of Mister Watson on his late arrival.

Some men went with the law into the rivers on a hunt for Cox. Never found hide nor hair of him, of course. They took aboard a large cargo of Mister Watson's syrup, and they come on back.

Sheriff Tippins issued a summons to the men who took part in the death of E.J. Watson. He had that authority cause in 1910 Chokoloskee was still Lee County, and Chokoloskee is where E.J. Watson died. The men wanted the postmaster to go with 'em to Fort Myers and vouch for their upstanding characters, which he did. By that time there was a few complaining that the only one didn't have to go was the one who killed him-didn't count, I guess.

I asked my brother Bill about it, he just shook his head. Well, Bill, I says, what in the name of goodness does that darn old head-shake tell me, yes or no? And Bill said, Mamie, there is no way to explain. It ain't a matter of a yes or no, so just forget about it.