The revenge of John Pryor A native son recounts the tales, murder of his father
Editor’s Note: Greg Gray of the Polk County Historical Society sent along this piece continuing a look back at local history here in the past weeks. The true and thrilling story of the life of a noted North Georgian, written by Houston R. Harper of the Rome, Georgia Tribune on April 18, 1897.
This is part one of a multi-part series. The next one will be in the March 29 edition of the Polk County Standard Journal.
“After the appointment of my father, H.M. Pryor, as Captain of the home militia in the Cedartown District, we began active measures to check the marauding bands,” said Mr. Pryor. “One day on the road between Pryor’s Station and Cave Spring, we came upon a band of five of the so-called scouts, whom we had been pursuing. The desperadoes were armed to the teeth, but my father and I and the others of the party got the drop on them and ordered them to ride up one at a time and surrender. All of them did so except one, who was riding a showy calico or piebald horse. His name, I afterwards learned, was Ducky Ward, and that he was from Texas. I had covered him with my rifle.
As the last man was riding up to surrender, Ward, who could ride like a cowboy, threw himself on the side of his horse and started off in a gallop. In a few moments, I sent a rifle ball after him, and we knew it did its work, as we saw the dust fly. Just before we took up our line of march with our prisoners for Cedartown, a man came down the road leading Ward’s horse and said that there was a man lying dead near a branch up the road.
After a few days in the Cedartown jail, our prisoners were sent to Newnan to the military prison, but within two weeks had been set free and were back in this section. They threatened to kill my father for having them arrested, and a fellow named Phillips was very bitter.
In arresting these desperadoes, we often ran great risks. Colquitt, the leader of the Colquitt scouts, was in Cedartown shortly after this, and his men were terrorizing everybody. I was detailed to arrest Colquitt and went in search of him one night with another officer.
We found him in a drunken stupor on the counter of a store in Cedartown. When we aroused him, he was very quarrelsome and cursed loudly. We let him rage, but when he reached for his pistol to shoot us, I saw I had not a moment to lose. I sent a bullet through his heart. All the people said it was a good riddance. I have now told you of the killing of two men.
It was on April 6, 1865, shortly before the assassination of Lincoln, that my father was murdered by some of the desperadoes we had arrested. They had threatened to kill him, but he never took it seriously. The murder occurred on the road between here and Cave Spring, and about two miles from Pryor’s Station. Father had been to visit Mr. Hampton, and left there to return home; when not one hundred feet from the gate a party of the lawless scouts met him. The leader of the party, of whom there were four, was the fellow Phillips, whom we had arrested in the first gang not far from the very spot he now held up my father. Mr. Hampton did not like the looks of the fellows and stood out in his yard watching them. There was some conversation between them, and my father, while his colored body servant was a short distance behind.
Phillips then drew his pistol and deliberately killed my father, shooting him at close range through the heart. With the murderer as particeps criminis were two men named Montgomery and Bishop, and a young fellow whose name I do not care to mention.
The killing occurred about 10 o’clock in the morning, but I did not hear of it until about noon, as I was out hunting. As quickly as possible I had my horse saddled and rode to the scene of the murder.
I learned all I could as to the murderers and leaving the body to be cared for by one of my brothers, I rode off with the single purpose of killing the guilty men. However, I was unable to get any trace of them and returned to my home about dark.
About 1 o’clock, accompanied by a faithful negro and several friends, all on horseback, I started out again. We were rewarded by striking a hot trail. At the Wheelers, a few miles from my home, we found they had been robbed by the prowling scouts. One of the Wheeler boys joined us in the pursuit. About sunup, we reached old Tom Treadaway’s and found he himself had been driven out of the house by outlaws. Mrs. Treadaway was a good old soul, and was weeping as she told of the outrages they committed.
“May the good Lord help you catch them,” she said, and then she fell on her knees and prayed for the deliverance of the bandits into her hands. I am sort of an infidel, but I believe that old woman’s prayer helped to catch up with the guilty scoundrels.
We rode on rapidly across the Alabama line to Ladiga, for which point we thought they would make, but we could learn nothing of them. Baffled, but never despairing, I rode three miles to Cross Plains, a point lower down. Here, I find no clue.
On my return to Ladiga, it occurred to me that there was a certain road leading out of the town on which there was a schoolhouse, and riding there, I asked the teacher’s permission to question the boys.
It was given and to my delight, I was given a good description and found the men had passed there.
We were joined by a young man at Ladiga with a fresh horse, and as mine was very spirited, we rode ahead of the others by a mile or two.
I soon could tell that we were not very far behind the gang, as the tracks of their horses were fresh. I rode even faster, hoping to catch sight of the rascals.
It was between 11 and 12 o’clock when just beyond Coloma, Alabama, I rode up in front of the Widow Lane’s house and saw two men sitting under some trees and three horses tied nearby. I remember the pink and white blossoms of the peach trees, and the house situated as it was at the foot of the Wiseman Mountains made a most inviting place. The men, I think, saw me about the same time I saw them and both sides were somewhat surprised. One of them made a movement to reach for his gun. I jumped off my horse in a single bound, cocking my double-barrel shotgun, fired before he raised his. One of the men fell over riddled with buckshot, while the other ran around the house.
I drew my pistol and ran after him, but just around the corner came upon his dead body where he fell.
A girl about sixteen years old came running to the door and said,”I’m so glad you killed them. They threatened to shoot me if I did not cook their dinner.”
When I was about to jump off my horse, one of my men had yelled to me that there was a fellow down the road shooting at me. I had looked in that direction and had seen the smoke. When I got back to my horse, they told me the fellow had taken to the woods. I quickly caught up with him and killed him. His name was Poe, and the names of the other two were Slack and Tucker. They were not the murderers of my father, but doubtless belonged to the same gang.
They were all well armed. Tucker had on four pistols and about $200 in money, which I divided among the men who accompanied me. I gave my negro one of the horses and a pistol. I insisted on the girl in the house taking half the money.
She would not do it, so I gave her five dollars. We then rode back home which I reached in time to attend my father’s funeral.
For several weeks following the murder of my father, I stayed around home, occasionally going off on short trips, when I heard of Phillips, Montgomery or Bishop being in our section of the country. They knew it was dangerous for them to get into my neighborhood, as I would kill them on sight. It was Phillips that I wanted more than the other two, as he was the murderer, although I swore to never rest until all had bit the dust.
The country was considerably excited with the news of the assassination on President Lincoln, but nothing made me lose sight of my purpose to revenge the cold-blooded murder of my father. I learned that Phillips, when not on a free-booting excursion, lived on a farm down in Haralson County. I made a trip there in June, but missed him.