K. THE SAD CASE OF MARY EMILY PITTS PHILIPS, DAUGHTER OF BENJAMIN FRANKLIN PITTS, SENIOR
(Benjamin was an older brother of George Richardson Pitts who was the father of Ellen Nancy Pitts Allen, my father’s grandmother. Mary Emily and Ellen Nancy were cousins.)
Have I said that I was not interested in tracing the lines of the siblings of my forebears because one lifetime is barely enough to follow out the lines of my own pedigree let alone that of their brothers and sisters? I think the length of this chapter proves my point! Yet somehow this particular saga was impossible to ignore. The life of Thomas H. Pitts and his children, which was interwoven with the letters of Grandma Kitty (the original focus of this chapter), led to all of these fascinating side stories and the discovery of the connection to my DNA African American cousins and the filing to the Freedmen’s Bureau by Elizabeth Hudson in which Benjamin Franklin Pitts, Jr. is mentioned in not too rosy a light. Unavoidably, then, drawn to look a little closer at the life of Franklin (as he seems most often called), I found in his early life he was a farmer who apparently lived poor and simply in the country with his mother and spinster sisters.
Benjamin Franklin Pitts Jr. was the youngest child and only son of Susan Sale Pitts whose husband Benjamin Franklin Pitts, Sr. died around the time her son was born in March of 1840. In the 1850 U.S. Census Susan, 50, Emily, 17, Zela, 15, Roxana, 14, and Franklin, 12, were living in Essex County, Virginia next to a family with the last name of Dishman. In the 1860 U.S. Census S.M. Pitts, 57, M.E. Pitts, 24, Z.E. Pitts, 23, R.M. Pitts, 22, and B.F. Pitts, 21 are listed in Essex County in the Lloyds Post Office area. (From the incongruity of their ages and how old Mary Emily is said to be by her sister in The Drinker’s Farm Tragedy story which follows, it seems their exact age was not a huge concern to them.)
On 21 May 1861 Frank enlisted as a Private in the 55th Virginia Infantry on the side of the Confederacy. On 18 April 1862 he was wounded and hospitalized, although no further specifics were given other than that on 15 May 1862, he “returned”. He was captured and held at Point Lookout and paroled on the 2nd of May 1865 from Ashland, Virginia. There are others by the name of Benjamin Franklin Pitts who fought in the Civil War from Virginia, but not from Essex County.
The 1870 U.S. Census lists Susan, 65, Zela, 30, Roxana, 28, and Franklin, 25, living in the Miller’s Tavern Post Office area of Essex County. Both in 1860 and 1870 the Dishmans are nearby. In the story that follows, Annie Dishman is mentioned as being at the wedding of Mary Emily Pitts, and Jeter Phillips writes about Sally and Mrs. Dishman in a letter to the family recorded in The Drinker’s Farm Tragedy. By 1880 Susan had died and Zela, 45, Roxana, 42, and B.F. Pitts, 40, were living in the 1st Magisterial District of Essex County Virginia. Again, I don’t believe they moved; the name of where they lived just changed. At that point they had an eleven-year-old “mulatto” house servant named Bland Vessels who couldn’t read or write. Most of the 1890 U.S. Censuses were destroyed in a fire. However, Virginia, U.S. Death Registers from 1853-1917 shows Zela dying on 5 July 1896 and Roxana on 15 July 1896, both from “consumption”, which was most likely pulmonary tuberculosis. In the 1900 U.S. Census Franklin Pitts, 60, was recorded in Occupacia, Essex, Virginia as a “guest” in the home of Meredith and Matilda Brown (relationship unknown). His occupation was recorded as “capitalist”, which was possibly a middleman or broker in trades of goods. In the 1910 U.S. Census he is recorded as Benjamin Pitts, 67, still living with the Brown family in Occupacia, Essex Virginia, no occupation. By the discrepancy in his age from previous censuses and the use of his first name rather than middle, perhaps he was not able to answer for himself. He died about 1912 and E. N. Hay signed a fiduciary bond as the executor of his Last Will and Testament. I have not found that Will.
So, there is the rough timeline of the life of Benjamin Franklin Pitts Jr., my first cousin three times removed who died fifty years before I was born. He did not marry and from his family only his older half-sister Sarah, who was not raised with them, had any children. (Sarah was the only child of Benjamin Franklin Pitts Senior and his first wife Sarah Jones who had died less than a month after giving birth. By information in the U.S. Censuses she did not live with her father either before or after he remarried.) I would have passed over Franklin as just another name in the family tree and his life could have faded into oblivion as so many other lives have down through time were it not for the September 1868 filing to the Freemen’s Bureau which fleshed out a dark side of his character in his violence towards the Hudsons. And then, in sharp contrast, a more sympathetic side of him is seen in the telling of the story of the murder of his sister in The Drinker’s Farm Tragedy below. (Links to the full 96-page book and articles in various newspapers of the time are at the end.)
Here is an abbreviated family tree to show family connections to this story.
Thomas Pitts II + Ann Richardson
(my 3rd great grandparents)
THP George R. + Kitty Benjamin Franklin + Susan
Pitts Spence Pitts, Senior Sale
(my 2nd great grandparents)
Ellen Nancy Pitts James Jeter + Mary Emily Zela Roxanna Ben. Franklin
(my great grandmother) Phillips Pitts Pitts Pitts Pitts, Junior
(murdered)
The following excerpts are transcribed from The Drinker’s Farm Tragedy, published in Richmond: V.L. Fore, Printer, 1315 Main Street. 1868.
INTRODUCTORY.
The hideous marvels of fiction are ever and anon surpassed by actual occurrences around us. A vivid illustration of this truth was furnished in the case of the DRINKER’S FARM MURDER, where horror and suspicion ran riot in wild conjecture, and yet failed to form even in adventurous surmise an explanation so full of dreadful atrocity as the facts themselves at last revealed. The victim was a woman, and therefore, though at first unknown, enlisted the widest and deepest sympathies of a chivalric public. There was a special pathos in the circumstances attending the discovery of that marred and murdered form, lying lonely, stark and stiff “in cold obstruction’s apathy” – an unknown woman, dead by a deserted road, nameless, with no friend or relative nigh to claim her remains, and with no intelligible clue to lead to the establishment of her identity. Who was she? Neither heaven nor earth echoed a reply to that eager and oft-repeated query. Whence came she? – Silence alone responded. Who did the foul deed? – Ay, who? To all these anxious interrogatories no satisfactory answer came, while day after day, and week after week seemed only to make the terrible mystery more and more inscrutable.
Suspicion, meanwhile, was busy. It cast its scrutinizing eye hither and thither throughout the community, scanning the most innocent parties with a merciless gaze. One after another who was missing and was supposed to be the slaughtered victim, was found or accounted for. One after another who was suspected of the crime succeeded in fully explaining the circumstances which appeared to implicate him. Discovery was at fault, and the whole terrible affair promised to remain enshrouded in its original mystery.
But murder will out. No means yet used in shedding human blood have succeeded in perfect concealment. The damned deed will disclose itself, no matter with what skill of villainy it may have been planned and executed. And so it came to pass that after many a mistake and devious winding, the industry of detectives came upon the tracks of the real criminal, and they followed them up with relentless and tireless energy until they laid their avenging hands upon J. JETER PHILLIPS, and appalled his soul with the announcement: “Thou art the man!”
And who was his victim? The wife of his bosom, whom he had lured by insidious wiles from the security of her happy country home to die by his treacherous hands. That such is the fact has been found by an impartial jury of his fellow-citizens; and the evidence and argument thereupon are here submitted to the public for its instruction and warning. May God have mercy on his soul, though he had none on the confiding creature whom he sent to sudden death, with all her imperfections on her head.
THE DISCOVERY OF THE BODY, &c
On the last day of February 1867, Mr. Drinker, residing a few miles below the city of Richmond, in Henrico county, V., was horror-stricken at coming suddenly upon the dead body of a woman lying in partial concealment on an obscure and unfrequented portion of his own farm. The lonely corpse was found about twenty yards from an old road formerly used by the military during the late war, and at first appeared to be that of a young girl not exceeding fourteen or fifteen years of age, but a closer examination after he had lifted it from its repent position, showed him that it must have been of a woman over twenty years old. There was a bullet wound on the right side of her head, the impress of strangling fingers on her throat, one of her shoulders was broken and dislocated, and on her face, neck and other portions of her body were further signs of merciless violence. She lay face downward, and one of her hands, which was outstretched, appeared to have been gnawed by some prowling animal. Her extended hand clutched the earth and leaves as if done in the final agonies of death. Her dress was neat and cleanly, and from its style and texture seemed to establish the fact that the wearer was a resident of the country. Blue-eyed, of fair complexion and light hair, she had evidently been a woman of most comely aspect.
But the body was unknown to the finder and apparently to everyone in that astounded vicinity. It was carried to the residence of Mr. Geo. Turner, and there viewed on Saturday (the second day after the discovery) by a jury of inquest and by numerous person both from the county and city. But no one was able to identify the deceased, and the jury, in hope of further and more satisfactory developments, adjourned over to the following Wednesday. Still, on that day, the body remained unrecognized, and the jury had to content themselves in their verdict with describing the murdered person as “an unknown white woman,” who “came to her death by a pistol shot and other violence at the hand of some person or persons unknown to the jurors.”
The excitement which had arisen at the first intelligence of the shocking affair, did not subside. On the contrary, every day seemed to add to the intense feelings of an aroused and indignant people. Mr. Drinker had testified that there was the print of a man’s foot near the head of the unknown victim, and that the tracks of a four-wheel vehicle had traversed the disused roads in the vicinity, driven evidently by one well acquainted with the locality. Mr. Dowden, toll-keeper on the Williamsburg turnpike, deposed that on Monday or Tuesday previous to the finding of the body, he saw a lady and gentleman pass the toll-gate and go down the Darbytown road. Soon the gentleman returned, and alone. Mr. Dowden could not particularly describe the female nor her dress; but he remembered that the man was of small stature and young, dressed in a dark coat and wearing a dark cap. He also recalled that the vehicle which this man drove was a light street wagon, apparently new, the body painted red, and the running-gear white, drawn by a bay horse. But where was that wagon? Where was its driver? Who was he, the murderer – and she, the murdered?
Minute descriptions of the unknown body and its apparel were published in the newspapers of Richmond, in the trust that these might afford some clue whereby the tangled mystery might be unraveled. They were not without their effect. More than a dozen different women were in succession supposed, on what at first was considered good evidence, to be identified as the victim of the frightful crime. The two most remarkable instances of this mistaken identification occurred in the cases of Jenny Edwards, alias Grimes, and a Miss Slaughter. In the first it was confidently believed that the whole complicated problem had been solved, and some of the Richmond papers ventured to congratulate the community on the final detection of the arch criminal. The mother of Jenny Edwards declared her daughter to be missing, and she and others found so many proofs in the description of person and apparel, that the body, which had in the meantime been buried, was disinterred on the 11th of March and brought to the city, where it was deposited at the county jail. There the jailor, and two negro women in his service, positively declared that it was the body of Jenny Edwards, and certain scars on the deceased seemed surely to establish the identification. Certain parties who had disappeared with Jenny Edwards were even arrested in Norfolk; but at length some of the Richmond detectives visited Norfolk and found Jenny alive and robust. In like manner detectives found Miss Slaughter living quietly at her home in New Kent county.
And thus conjecture and suspicion were baffled through many an anxious week of untiring search. The public began to fear that the murderer and his victim would remain forever unknown. Perhaps the guilty man himself grew confident that his horrid secret would never be divulged against him in this life. If so, he reckoned upon most delusive grounds. The hunt had not been abandoned, although for weeks the press of Richmond had kept silent in reference to it. No reward (surprising to say) had been offered for the discovery or apprehension of the criminal by either city, county or State authorities, but the Governor had agreed to reimburse the detectives, who had undertaken the investigation, for all proper expenses.
The body of the unknown woman was re-interred, in Hollywood cemetery, and the mystery that enveloped her identity was still unsolved.
THE ARREST OF J. JETER PHILLIPS.
On Friday, June the 13th, 1867 [3 ½ months later], JAMES JETER PHILLIPS was arrested at Mr. Turner’s farm near the scene of the mysterious tragedy, on a warrant, granted by Justice Wade, of Henrico county, charging him with the murder of his wife, whose maiden name had been Mary Emily Pitts. The warrant was executed on the accused by Constable Cole and Detective Knox. Not far from the spot where the body of the unfortunate woman had been first buried, they saw Phillips passing through a cornfield, whereupon they hailed him, and he stopped. Mr. Knox first approached, saying, “I arrest you for the murder of your wife!” Phillips changed color at this, but at once replied with tolerable firmness, “you shock me; I’ve got no wife!” Mr. Cole then spoke: “Tell us where your wife is, and that will end the matter.” But he still persisted in his first assertion, that he had no wife. The detective responded sternly, “you say you have no wife, but before we get through with you you will wish you had one!” taking him then to Mr. Turner’s residence, so that he might change his clothing, the officers there found in his trunk a dark-colored waterfall, bearing evidence of having been tumbled in the sand, a lady’s dress, sack, collars, cuffs, a handkerchief, resembling the one found upon the head of the murdered woman, a lady’s belt, a Bible and other books. One of these books was inscribed, “Miss Emma.” In the trunk, or room, was also found the photograph of a female, said by Philips to be that of Miss Gerdy Pitts [perhaps a false name]. In the room was discovered an Allen’s six-shooter, belonging however to a young Mr. Turner, but easily at the service of Philips. Of this weapon three barrels were loaded and three were discharged – Phillips accounting for the empty barrels by avowing that he had recently fired them on a dog.
James Jeter Phillips at the date of his arrest was about twenty-four years of age, having light brown hair and a ruddy complexion, of a slight build, and five feet nine inches high. Of a respectable family (his father having once been sheriff of Henrico county), and being himself esteemed by all his acquaintance as a most exemplary young man, it was difficult to believe that he could have committed the enormity attributed to him. In the late war he had been a gallant member of the 13th Virginia Calvary, and both as a man and a soldier he had so borne himself as to win golden opinions from all sorts of people.
For some time previous to the discovery of the murdered woman on Drinker’s farm Jeter Phillips had resided and worked on an adjacent farm belonging to a Mr. Turner. A brother of his had married a Miss Turner, and he himself (supposed generally to be an unmarried man) was looked upon as the lover of another member of the family into which his brother had wedded. Moreover, some time during February, 1867, a letter had come into the possession of Mr. Turner, Sr., directed to Jeter Phillips, and which, having been opened under circumstances not clearly explained, purported to be from a person claiming to be the wife of Phillips. Upon this a rumor arose, which extended beyond the Turner family, that Phillips was really a married man. But he industriously denied the imputation, not only in that neighborhood, but in Richmond and elsewhere, and always bore himself among acquaintances, friends, and relatives as an untrammeled bachelor. If he were married, he had made no communication of that important fact to any of his kith and kin. Nevertheless, there was the rumor, and the same party claiming to be his wife had threatened to visit him. Being at Mr. Turner’s when the dead body was found, he did not visit it – did not go to the inquest, nor express any of the interest or curiosity exhibited by everyone else in that vicinity. Yet, later, his first apparent calmness and stolidity seemed to give way before unexplained apprehensions of some dread kind. He was so conspicuously distraught and excited by secret uneasiness as more than once to attract the suspicious attention of Mr. Drinker. Mr. Drinker avowed his suspicions to Justice Wade and Constable Cole, and these latter at once began to institute inquiries in Caroline county from which Phillips’ putative wife had (it was erroneously supposed) dated her letter of February. The speedy result of this investigation was an overwhelming revelation against Phillips.
The information came from the sheriff of Caroline county. It was in a letter of reply to one of inquiry from Justice Wade, as follows:
“BOWLING GREEN, June 4, 1867.
“Wm. E. WADE:
“Dear Sir, — Your letter of the 17th ultimo was duly received, and I have deferred answering until the present in order to make such inquiry as would lead to the information requested. Dr. W. A. Baynham has just informed me that soon after the fall of Richmond he married a soldier by the name of Phillips to a Miss Emily Pitts, in the neighborhood of Loretto, Essex county, Virginia, and that Mr. Phillips and wife have left the county, and he is not advised as to their whereabouts at present, but that Mrs. Phillips has a brother (B. Franklin Pitts) living near Loretto, who, if written to, will give the desired information.
“Geo. W Marshall,
“Sheriff Caroline County.
“P.S. – Dr. B. says he may be mistaken in the name Emily/ that it may be Emma, as you mention.
G.W.M.”
Next came a letter from B. F. Pitts, addressed to the same gentleman as the preceding:
“June 10th, 1867.
“Mr. W. E. WADE:
“Dear Sir, — I received an extract from a letter written some time since, bearing your name, and addressed to George Marshall, of Caroline county, trying to obtain information in relation to Mrs. James Jeter Phillips. Your impression was she was in Caroline county at this time, or was formerly from that county. Such is not the case. Mr. J. J. Phillips, who married my sister, is a son of Mr. Dabney Phillips, of Surry county, who came to Essex county, and married July 13, 1865, Miss Mary Emily Pitts. She remained with us until this year. He then removed to Henrico. I have received but two letters from Mr. Phillips since his removal. The last letter stated she had been very sick. He also wrote he was doing business for a Dr. Dorsett, ten miles below Richmond. Your letter to Mr. Marshall was very abstruse; so much so I could not come to any definite conclusion as regards your inquiries in the matter. On the reception of this you will do me a great favor by writing immediately and giving me all the information you can concerning their whereabouts, &c., &c. The whole family, all of her relations and numerous friends are anxious to hear from Mrs. Phillips; and your letter to Mr. Marshall has created wonderful excitement in this community. You will, therefore, comply with my request.
“With respect,
“B. F. Pitts
“Loretto, Essex county.”
One can conceive the consternation in that quiet rural home, occasioned by the “abstruse” inquiries of Justice Wade.
Phillips was placed in Henrico county jail—all accessible evidence was gathered against him—and June the 18th was fixed for his preliminary examination before a magistrate of the county. Meantime the prisoner stoutly denied his guilt, or contented himself by referring inquirers to his counsel … The examination, however, was postponed to June 19th, on account of the absence of important witnesses for the prosecution.
About an hour after the adjournment, Miss Roxana Pitts and Mr. B F. Pitts, sister and brother of the missing woman, having arrived in the afternoon train, by request of the magistrates visited the jail, in order to have an interview with the prisoner. We give the conversation exactly as it occurred. The party being ushered into the cell by Constable Cole, Phillips arose and exclaimed:
“How are you, Frank? How are you, Roxy?”
Both drew back, and the brother exclaimed:
“Don’t touch him, Roxy!”
Phillips repeated, “Don’t touch me?” and, with head hung, retired to another part of the cell.
Miss Pitts then asked: “Mr. Phillips, where is my sister whom you took from us on the 15th of February?”
No reply.
In a moment after, the prisoner inquired when Mr. Pitts left home. The latter exclaimed: “Home! What home? Whose home?”
No reply was given, but Philips sat down, and Mr. Pitts continued:
“Where is your wife? Did you carry her to Surry, as you said?”
Still no answer. Miss Pitts then asked, in tones which would have touched the sternest heart:
“Oh, Jeter, do you remember what occurred in our parlor on the 13th of July?”
“A great many things.”
“Do you remember Miss Annie Dishman?”
“I think I ought to.”
“Do you remember when you sat upon the sofa and she asked you were you frightened? You told her no, and asked if your voice trembled when you said ‘I will.’ You said Em. was more frightened than you.”
The prisoner again hung his head.
Frank Pitts then asked: “Do you remember promising to protect her, saying clearly you would?”
Receiving no reply, Miss Pitts asked: “Do you know that Dr. Baynham is with us?”
“I have heard so.”
“Can you face him?”
“Yes.”
“Can you face our mother?”
“Yes, I can.”
“Your mother?”
“Yes; I can face any person,” he answered, with a slight smile.
Miss Pitts then remarked in a low tone:
“I left at home a heart-broken mother [Susan] and sister [Zela], who have not tasted food since Saturday. You have disgraced one mother and broken another’s heart.”
Phillips dropped his head, and the lady continued:
“Here we stand side by side by side, with a just God looking down upon us – Can you deny that you murdered my sister?”
“I refer you to my counsel for an answer to that.”
“I left at home,” continued Miss Pitts, “a mother who wants to know the last words of her dying daughter. What did my sister say?”
Phillips turned away with tears in his eyes.
This painful visit soon terminated without any practical result.
EXAMINATION BEFORE JUSTICE NETTLES.
On the morning of the 19th of June Henrico courthouse was crowded by an eager and excited multitude. Justice Nettles presided as the examining magistrate, and soon after the hour of 10 A.M. the investigation began. The first witnesses established the facts already recited in reference to the finding of the body, when Mr. B. F. Pitts was introduced:
He said that he was brother to the wife of the prisoner. He first got acquainted with Phillips during the war, when, returning home on furlough to Essex county, he found Philips sick at his mother’s house. He could not fix the exact date of that event. The marriage between the prisoner and Mary Emily Pitts took place on the 13th of July, 1865 [two years before the trial]. Two weeks thereafter the prisoner left his wife and her mother, and did not return for a period of five months. He again left—corresponding regularly with his wife during his absence—his letters being all post-marked Richmond. Philips next visited his wife about Christmas, 1866 [1 ½ years after they married], and stayed until the 15th of February following [body discovered two weeks later], when he again left Essex, this time taking his wife with him. Soon after Mr. Pitts received a letter from Phillips, in which he stated that he and his wife had reach Richmond safely, stopping on their arrival at the Virginia House; and, moreover, that he had received and accepted an offer from Dr. Dorsett, of Henrico, to manage the farm of that gentleman. On the 14th of May he received the subjoined:
[Note that Jeter wrote the following letter almost three months after he had murdered Emily.]
“RIVER VIEW, James River,
May 14, 1867.
“TO ALL AT HOME:
“Your very welcome messenger came to hand a few days ago. We were delighted to hear from all. Am sorry our letters have not reached their destination. Em. wrote to Sally and Mrs. Dishman, but received no answer as yet. She would have written again, but has been suffering with a very sore finger. The doctor called it a whitlow I do not know what it is; it is dreadful. She takes morphine and laudanum to compose her. The doctor is very fearful she will have the lockjaw. She is looking dreadful from it; neither eats nor sleeps. It was caused from sewing. I wrote you all about my situation, that we were housekeeping; that is, Em. wrote to ma, and told about having chickens, &c. We are some distance from market; do not go to town oftener than once a month then: it is for the doctor. I have sent you a great many papers; sorry they did not reach you.
“I am sorry you are sick of the river; was in hopes you were making plenty of money to spree on Christmas. Farmers are very much behind-hand this year. We have a very good garden. No one has planted corn scarcely; we have too much rain. The negroes are fighting the white people in Richmond. They are constantly holding meetings and turning out in the streets with drawn sabers. Things are coming to a point rapidly; they scarcely obey us on the farm. If you can secure for me a situation anywhere, let me know, for I do not like this place; it is sickly in the summer. The doctor will move his family away in a day or two. Give our love to all. Em. says ask Sally how she and Mr. W. are getting along. She says you must give our very best love to all the family and neighbors. Says she would write again, but has a very sore hand. There is a great deal of sickness about. Both of us have been sick but are better. Kiss all for us. Good bye.
“Jeter and Em.”
The following excerpts of testimony, as recorded in Drinker’s Farm Tragedy, were given during the first trial:
Roxana Pitts recalled: “Phillips became acquainted with my sister in 1863 at my mother’s house, where he came sick, remaining there at that time about five months. After leaving our house he corresponded regularly with my sister. He left in May, 1863, and returned the following October. He was again at my mother’s in the spring of 1864. He did not come to our house from the time the war closed until the 6th of July, 1865. He had been engaged to my sister ever since he was sick at our house [a two-year engagement]. The relations between him and his wife were kindly, but he was self-willed. I never saw him treat her unkindly. I think my sister was in her thirtieth year; she was older than I am, and had never been married before she married Phillips. My sister taught school a year in Caroline and part of a year in King George.”
Benjamin Franklin Pitts recalled: “I went to Milford Depot twice to meet the prisoner when he wrote that he intended to visit his wife, but he disappointed her. In one of his letters was an undated note apologizing for not having come.”
[This note, though rejected as testimony, was read to the jury, as follows:
“Em.—Be sure and let me hear from you as soon as possible, and partially relieve my troubled mind. Nothing would soothe me more than to have you with me. I am very sorry indeed that I disappointed you last Monday; but, my dear, I could not help it. It was not my fault, though I know every one will say that it was; that I had gone to a frolic, or something of the kind; but try and disabuse their minds of this fact. Bear it all with resignation and fortitude. Do not murmur. I will see you soon, and repair all damages, I hope. May God protect you, is the prayer of your devoted husband. Good night, my own darling one. From your own
“Jeter.
“I have picked out a hat for you; will try and get you a cloak and dress, if possible. I am very bad off; I have no overcoat; my shirts are wearing out. I have on drawers now that I put on six weeks ago; socks also. Good night, my dear.”]
Benjamin Franklin Pitts continued: “I received three letters from Phillips after he left home with his wife. I had no intimation, till the officers arrived at my house, that my sister was anywhere else than with her husband. I had no idea that she was dead.”
Dr Dorsett testified: “I never rented a farm to Phillips, never had an interview with him, never saw him until to-day, and never heard of him until I saw his name in the papers. I have no place called River View.”
What follows is an uncomfortable questioning, recounted in The Drinker’s Farm Tragedy, of Miss Indiana Turner, who was apparently the young lady in her early twenties everyone thought Jeter Phillips was courting. It seems there was rumor that she may have been the cause of the murder, if not the originator of the idea or even accomplice to the crime. The letter she references seems to be the one that was written by Mary Emily and addressed to Jeter but opened by someone else, ending up in the hands of Indiana Turner’s father. This whole experience with Jeter may have so traumatized her trust in being “courted”; she did not marry until she was 41. Neither of the other sisters of Mary Emily Pitts, Zela and Roxana, married, nor did their brother Benjamin Franklin Pitts.
Miss Indiana Turner: “I know the prisoner at the bar. His brother married my sister. I saw a letter addressed to the accused in 1866. I don’t know what became of it; my father had it. I read and returned it to him. I never saw it afterwards, and supposed it was destroyed. I did not communicate to the accused the fact that I had seen the letter. I did not write to him on the subject. I never informed the prisoner, either verbally or in writing, that I saw the letter. He was at my father’s house from October, 1865, to June, 1866. I regarded him as a single man. He never alluded to the fact that he was married. I had no information from him that he was a married man, during his whole stay at my father’s. I saw a letter addressed to the accused. It was received in February, 1866. Mr. Phillips was not at our house then, nor do I know where he was. There was no envelope on the letter when I saw it. I communicated with the writer of that letter [return addresses were included in the body of letters themselves]. I wrote to the writer. In April, 1866, I received a reply. I communicated to the prisoner the answer I received to my letter. I wrote to him, but I handed the letter to him in person. This was about the last of May, or in June, 1866 [eight months or so before the murder]. I do not recollect distinctly what was the substance of my communication to him, but it was in regard to the reply I received to the letter I wrote to the writer of the one to him. I stated that I had written to the lady and received a reply.”
The following line of questioning, again from The Drinker’s Farm Tragedy, is between the prosecutor representing the Commonwealth of Virginia John B Young and Indiana Turner.
Mr. Young: “Miss Turner, did you say in your communication to the prisoner anything about his relation to the lady from whom you received the letter?”
“It has been so long I can’t recollect. I think I stated from whom I had received the letter, but am not certain.”
Mr. Young: “What was there in this letter that induced you to communicate this to the accused?”
Counsel for prisoner arrested the answer until the question could be put in writing.
The Court suggested that the question be: “Why did you communicate with the accused?”
Counsel for defense objected.
Mr. Young: “If the question stood alone it would be obnoxious to some of the objections urged by counsel; but it is evident, for what reason I cannot say, that the witness is determined to tell nothing more than she is compelled to, for she has several times, before answering a question, asked whether she should answer.”
The Court thought it perfectly proper to ask the witness what was the tenor of her letter.
Mr. Young: “Did you communicate to the accused that you had received a letter from the lady?”
“Yes, sir”
Mr. Young: “What lady Miss Turner?”
“The lady to whom I had written.”
Mr. Young: “Did you state her name?”
“I think it very probably I did.”
Mr. Young: “Did you say you had received a letter from any particular lady?”
“I think I did.”
Mr. Young: “Who was that lady? Did you state her name?”
“I think I said from Miss Pitts.”
Mr. Young: “Did you sate in your communication to the prisoner what relation or connection the lady from whom you received the letter said she bore to him?”
“Well I suppose I did, but don’t recollect.”
Mr. Young: “Have you any doubt whether you stated what relation the lady said she bore to him?”
“I supposed I must have done so, but I don’t recollect at all whether I did or not.”
Mr. Young: “Was the communication you had received from this lady the subject of your note to the accused?”
“I wrote to him that I had written to her, and had received a reply. I recollect that, but don’t recollect anything more about it.”
Mr. Young: “Did you communicate what the lady said?”
“I don’t know whether I did or not.”
Mr. Young: “What did you communicate?”
“I wrote to him because I had received an answer to my letter to the lady, and so stated, but further than that I have no recollection.”
Mr. Young: “Did you communicate the name that was signed to the letter?”
“I wrote to him that I had written to Miss Pitts, and had received an answer from her.”
Mr. Young: “Was that all you wrote to him?”
“I have no doubt I wrote more, but what it was I can’t say.”
Mr. Young: “Did you communicate to the prisoner that this lady said in her letter to you that she was his wife?”
After much hesitation—“I don’t know whether I did or not.”
Mr. Young: “You don’t’ know whether you did or not?”
“I might have done so, or I might not. It has been so long I can’t recollect. I tried to forget it.”
Mr. Young: “Why did you try to forget it?”
“I don’t’ know.”
Mr. Young: “Did you say to him in that letter that he ought not to conceal the fact that this lady was his wife; or that he ought not to be doing as he was doing?”
Miss Turner was evidently laboring under intense excitement, and paused long: “I think I said”—here she paused again and put her hand to her head, in a deprecating gesture—“I don’t’ remember what I said.”
Mr. Young: “Miss Turner, do you remember telling me the other day that you wrote to the prisoner that he ought not to do as he did?”
“I told you so, but I now say that I do not remember what I wrote to him.”
Mr. Young: “Do you remember telling me that you wrote to the prisoner that you would give him any assistance in your power?”
“Yes, I remember that.”
Mr. Young: “Did you tell him what the contents of the letter from the lady were?”
“I suppose I did, but I don’t remember!”
Mr. Young: “Did you receive any reply to your letter to the prisoner?”
“I did not.”
Mr. Young: “Did you regard him in the same light after the receipt of the letter from the lady as you did before?”
“I regarded him as a single man until the arrival of the letter in February.
“I was in the city when the body was found in Drinker’s woods. On the Monday week before the body was found I think I was at home. I did not see the prisoner on Sunday, the 17th of February, before the body was found. I was in Richmond on the Monday before the finding of the body. I was at Mrs. Smith’s. I went first to Mr. Pleasant’s when I came to town, and then went to my aunt’s.”
One of the counsels for the defense, Colonel Marmaduke Johnson, chimed in.
“Do you know whether the prisoner had anything to do with the Drinker’s farm murder?”
“I do not.”
Col. Johnson: “Do you know who did it?”
“No.”
Col. Johnson: “I ask you this question because we have been trying very hard to find out who did it, and so far we have not been able to do so.”
Mr. Young: “What induced you to write to this lady: was there anything in the conduct of the prisoner towards you that induced you to write it?”
“No, sir, nothing connected with myself.”
Mr. Young: “Was the conduct and demeanor of the prisoner towards you that of a single man?”
“I have known him a very long time. He has always treated me as a brother—nothing more.”
Mr. Young: “How long have you known him?”
“Eight or ten years.”
Mr. Young: “How long has his brother been married to your sister?”
“Since 1857.” [10 years]
The following is the reply to the letter which Miss [Indiana] Turner addressed to Mrs. [Mary Emily]Phillips, and which was simply signed “Leah:” [not using her real name]
“WOODLAND, ESSEX COUNTY, VA.
“May 25,1866.
“To Miss Leah, though I believe I am writing to Miss Cora Phillips, a sister of Jeter’s, as I recognized the handwriting of Mr. Joe Phillips, as he stayed with us some during the war.
“My maiden name was Mary Emma Pitts, but was married to Mr. James Jeter Phillips on the 13th of last July—nearly a year ago. He is a kind and affectionate husband, and is at this time staying near Richmond. I am certain he is a brother of Mr. Joseph M. Phillips, and a son of Mr. Dabney Phillips, of Surry county, Va. I thought his relations were aware of our marriage.
“I received a letter from Jeter with yours this morning, and as I wish to answer both by return mail, I hope you will excuse this badly-written letter; and if you are Cora, may blessings go with this to thee; and also that we be strangers no longer, for I am so much devoted to Jeter that I would do as much for his sisters and brothers as I would for my own.
“Jeter said in his letter that you were in town, which makes me feel that I am writing to his sister, though under an assumed name. My address is M. E. Phillips, Loretto, Essex county, Va.
“If I am right in my suggestion about your being Cora, I should have liked so much to have seen you, and would have written had I sooner got the letter, but did not get it in time. Well, I must stop to write to Jeter. In haste, yours, truly and friendly,
“EMMA PHILLIPS.”
In his closing arguments prosecutor for the Commonwealth of Virginia John B. Young, again as recounted in The Drinker’s Farm Tragedy, refers to the letter Jeter wrote home to the Pitts family after he took Emma to Richmond:
By these letters he effectually blinded the family of the murdered woman as to his movements. No letter could have been sent to Surry to his wife, and all letters, by this change, were to come to Richmond, where they would be kept by Batterman until called for by the prisoner in person. He did not go to church, as he wrote, but dined with his wife,–and just after this an incident occurred which illustrated the feelings of his wife towards him. When he commenced reading a newspaper she came up, put her arms around him ,and said, ‘let me read, too.’ The prisoner looked around, but said nothing. He left his wife immediately after dinner and went to Mrs. Winfree’s, where Batterman and Mrs. Crawford lived; and … he left [there]about 4 o’clock and went up Broad street, by the nearest route he could have gone, to the Virginia House, where his wife awaited him. She was sitting in the room with Miss Waddell, and either saw or heard him coming with quick sense of a fond and anxious woman, and sprang up, saying, ‘there is Jeter, now,’ and went out to meet him.
Then, just within time to allow them to walk down the street, they are seen walking down Franklin, between Twenty-First and Twenty-Second streets, by Mrs. Frayser and Mrs. Wright. When he is asked about this subsequently, we have another untruth, he declaring that if he was walking with any lady, it must have been Miss Turner. The fact is demonstrated that the last time that Mrs. Phillips was ever seen alive was on the afternoon of the 17th of February, in company with the prisoner. Her dress and general appearance are particularly described both by Mrs. Frayser and Mrs. Wright. It is demonstrated, and there is no other reasonable hypothesis than that this woman was the prisoner’s wife.”
The following was published 20 November 1867 in The New York Times, originally transcribed by Ancestry member kdhcom and posted to her Padgett-Van Sickle Family Tree. Without the original article from which to verify accuracy, I have attempted to correct any obvious typos. A few discrepancies between this and the story above: The New York Times reported she clutched “a handful of beads” while the Drinker’s story says it was “the earth and leaves as if done in the final agonies of death.” The New York Times also said she was from Caroline County, but she was from Essex County.
VIRGINIA
The Drinker Farm Murder Trial-Peculiarity Atrocious Character of the Crime.
From Our Own Correspondent
Richmond, Monday, Nov 18, 1867
As Drinker’s farm murder trial will be reported, no doubt, among the celebrated murder causes celebres of WEBSTER and COLT and MRS. CUNNINGHAM, it may be well to give a brief synopsis of the facts as elicited after a trial of fourteen days. The case is now being argued, and this is the fifteenth day of trial. I have listened attentively to the evidence, and gather the following as the history of the memorable case, which has excited more interest and feeling in the State of Virginia than any trial of a similar character that has ever taken place:
On the 28th of February last as Mr. DAVID DRINKER and one of his colored servants were walking over the farm of the former, which is situated about three miles below the city in a thicket of pines they suddenly came upon the dead body of a young woman lying on the face, with one hand under the breast, and the other stretched out clutching a handful of beads. An examination of the body proved her to be a young countrywoman—her dress indicating that she came from the rural districts, as most of her clothing was home-made. The marks on the body showed that she had been shot in the head, but the ball had not penetrated her skull, and from the fact that there were finger marks upon her throat it was evident: death had been produced by strangulation. The finding of this body evicted the people to the wildest degree, and every effort was made to unfold the mystery which enveloped the murder. No track nor trace could be found to the identity of the girl, who was both young and handsome. A number of people in different portions of the State had lost daughters, and some parents even recognized the body; but their own girls afterward turning up, justice was still at fault. For a week the remains were kept in the County Jail for identification, and then were buried, and the case given up as hopeless. The clothing found on the body was retained, and all the marks specially noted. His clothing, deposited in the hands of the City authorities, was nearly all stolen subsequently by a negro, sold to a junk-dealer, by him to a paper-maker and turned into paper, upon which, doubtless, the reports of some of the incidents of this wonderful case have been made.
But the officers of the law were not idle—the Justice of that Magisterial District and the Constables worked at the case with untiring zeal and vigilance, and about the 20th of May last, three months after the commission of the crime, their energy was rewarded by tracing a very strong suspicion of the crime to the door of James Jeter Phillips, a young man of good moral and religious character, of high standing in the circle in which he moved, and very popular with the young ladies and with his associates. This young gentleman was employed on the farm of Mr. TURNER, which adjoins the one upon which the body was found. He had a brother married to one of TURNER’S daughters, and was himself, it was well known, engaged to be married to the youngest daughter of that respectable farmer. PHILLIP’S family are very respectable people. His father was formerly Sheriff of Henrico County, which is the most important in the State as it contains the capital, but for many years past has been engaged in farming in Surry. His uncles and his brothers and sisters are all good people in moderate circumstances. Hence the deepest interest centered in the trial, and the Herculean efforts being made to clear him. (Was there ever a white man hung for a murder in Virginia?) The accused is himself rather handsome, but his face is not indicative of much mental capacity; and the stolidity, not to say stupidity of intellect and indifference he has manifested throughout, shows him to be devoid of all feeling. He has a rustic air about him, which one cannot reconcile with his alleged popularity with some of our city ladies, as is shown by the testimony. His age is about 25 years; he is of medium stature, slimly built, blue eyes that constantly stare, a puckered mouth, angular chin, sharp nose, retrousse, good forehead and glossy chestnut hair. When he speaks his voice is low and soft, and his smile when he does smile, which is seldom, is a very sickly and forced effort. His calmness throughout all his trials has been very remarkable, and is the subject of general comment. He was a soldier in the rebel cavalry, having served in the Ninth Virginia Regiment to the close of war, and his comrades say he was a brave soldier, too, and frequently bore his colors far to the front, courting death in the impetuous assault. There is no sympathy, however, for him on this score. It is rather against him, for it is written that the “bravest are the tenderest,” and if he be guilty he was by no means a gentle savage or a tender husband.
The facts disclosed against him in connection with this dreadful crime are, that after the surrender of LEE, weary and worn and sick, on his way home from Appomattox Court House in company with a brother of his future wife, Mr. FRANK PITTS, who had been his comrade in the army, he stopped at the house of the latter’s mother in the County of Caroline. He had visited this family previously on a furlough in 1863. Here he was so kindly received by MISS MARY EMILY PITTS, a young lady of some thirty years, and yet with the freshness of twenty, that the tender passion took root in his heart and grew there till it bloomed into full love—and he proposed. The young lady had long shown her preference for him, and his suit was successful. She was a member of the Baptist Church, and although her family was poor, was equal in respectability and standing to his own. They knew but little about PHILLIPS further than what he told them himself, and the minister who performed the ceremony in July 1865, warned the young lady that he did not approve of marrying adventurers whom “nobody knows.” Well, they had a happy, joyous wedding, music and dancing, a supper, and the family were well pleased, and the neighbors congratulated her upon the advantageous match she had made.
PHILLIPS spent but a few weeks with his wife, and then left for Richmond, where he was greeted by his old friends, and renewed his former relations with society, telling no one of his marriage. He conducted himself in all respects as a single man, both when in the company with the ladies and with gentleman—and there was not the slightest suspicion on the mind of a single friend or relative that he was other than he declared himself to be. He neglected his poor wife in the country for the caresses of the city dames; but he would occasionally write to her, and these letters were filled with most monstrous falsehoods, yet to an unsophisticated, loving, self-sacrificing, all suffering, all enduring country girl, they were held to be sacred truths. A year after he paid her a visit—a brief one, however—and reassured her by further lies about his misfortunes in business, the rascality of partners, and his disappointments generally, which precluded the possibility of giving her any relief, or carrying her with him to the City. His course in Richmond became now even more reckless than ever, and he held a sort of “high carnival” in general dissipation. It is understood that he was now courting a young lady near the City, and engaged himself to her. An inkling of this having reached the wife in her distant home in the country, she addressed a note to the young lady in question, stating her relations to the prisoner. This letter the young lady did not answer, but she showed it to PHILLIPS, who protested to her that he knew nothing of the writer, or at least that there was no such relation existing between them.
I have been thus particular upon these points to show the motive the prisoner had for committing this bloody deed, and for performing his work so effectually as to leave no clue to discovery. He knew that he must act, and that promptly or he would be exposed, as the wife had threatened to visit the City and assure herself of her lord’s fidelity. Accordingly about Christmas of last year, he repaired to the home of his wife in the country, ostensibly for the purpose of passing the holidays there; be he had already concocted and perfected his scheme of murder. He remained at her home until the 15th of February, when he told his wife that he must return to the City and she should accompany him. Overjoyed at the prospect of being in future with her husband, she hastily prepared her scanty wardrobe, and scanty enough it was, for she packed not only her own but her husband’s clothing and other articles of property into one small sheepskin-covered trunk, and bidding farewell to friends and relatives, left that morning in the company of her husband for the depot on the Fredericksburg Railroad, where they took the cars for Richmond. On Saturday, the 16th of February, they arrived in this city, and leaving the trunk at the depot, put up at the Virginia House, on Grace Street. The boarders say the couple appeared quite loving and affectionate, especially the wife—who was remarkable for the rusticity of her dress and manners. PHILLIPS was well known to the landlady, as he had boarded there before, and he introduced the young woman as his wife. They remained there that night and the next day till after dinner, when they went out. The wife said that her husband was going to take her to see his brother’s family in the country. This was the last seen of the poor woman at the boarding-house. Nor did PHILLIPS himself return. The same evening they were met by a gentleman going down Capitol Street, past the rear of the Powhattan Hotel and subsequently PHILLIPS was twice seen by ladies of his acquaintance in company with a commonly-dressed lady, passing down Franklin Street, which leads to the scene of the murder. And this was the last that was seen of the unfortunate woman alive. This day was Sunday, the 17th of February. Ten days afterward the body of the woman on DRINKER’S farm was found. When it was found it was taken to the house of Mr. TURNER, where it was kept in an outhouse for two days. The first night that it was brought there, the testimony shows, JETER PHILLIPS returned from a trip down the river with young GEORGE TURNER. They slept together that night, PHILLIPS saying his prayers as usual before retiring; but, strange to say, although the body of his murdered wife lay within twenty feet of where he slept, he never once inquired about the particulars of the finding, or went to look upon her face or gaze at her accusing wounds! The next morning he got up, took breakfast, returned to the city, and from that day to this has not been heard to say that he ever had or had not a wife. He remained away from the farm till April last, when he returned to it, carrying his trunk with him. Something he said one day in the field excited the suspicion of old Mr. DRINKER, who at once communicated with the law officers. This led to the discovery of the fact that he had a wife who answered to the description of the murdered woman, and who was missing about that time, who could not be found, and of whom he refused to give any account. Outraged law determined then to make him responsible for her appearance, as her legal custodian, and hence this long and exciting trial.
One important part I have omitted. The prisoner undertook to cover up his tracks by writing letters as late as last May to her relatives, in which he falsely tells them they are living comfortably together, some ten miles below the city, talks about household affairs and his wife’s general health and daily occupations; but, cunningly enough, in order to pave the way for the announcement of her death soon, and thus silence all future inquiry, he tells them she has a whitlow on her finger which causes her much anxiety and pain, and which the doctor fears may terminate in lock jaw and death. His next letter, had he been permitted to write it, would have probably announced her death and burial.
This is in brief the great Jeter Phillips’ case, a trial that has created, alike from its novelty in this region, and for its atrocity, an interest that overshadowed all other events. It has been conducted before Judge CHRISTIAN in the Chamber of the House of Delegates, the galleries and lobby and members’ seats of which have been crowded daily by an anxious crowd of people of all ages, conditions and orders, who have laid aside their daily occupations to listen with breathless interest to the details of the horrible crime.
The defense has exhausted its ingenuity in the attempt to prove an alibi, and they succeeded in establishing by witnesses, mostly relatives of the deceased, where he was every day of the ten, from the time his wife was missed till the body was found—which it is denied was her body; but the Commonwealth Attorney kept constantly ringing in their ears, “Where is his wife—let him produce her?” To which the reply was: “Is a man his wife’s keeper?” a question rather difficult to answer in these times.
The argument is now going in. It was commenced to-day, and the State House is crowded. It will perhaps last two days more. The most distinguished counsel are engaged on the side of the defense—MARMADUKE JOHNSON and Judge CRUMP—while Col Young battles alone for the Commonwealth. The jury for the last three weeks have been kept close prisoners in the Exchange Hotel. It is probable they may not agree. KAPPA
And they did not agree. In the Drinker’s Farm Tragedy, it is reported “On the 19th day the jury was discharged, they having found it utterly impossible to agree upon a verdict. Ten, it is understood, were for conviction, and two only … for acquittal. These two jurors were loudly accused of bribery and corruption, but if so, they had only postponed the fate of the prisoner.”
To find impartial jurors for the second trial men were brought in from Alexandria and Charlottesville and a year later, on the 10th of July 1868 Jeter Phillips was found guilty. He was sentenced to be hung on the 6th of November 1868. Nine appeals and respites were granted until the U.S. Supreme Court denied his final appeal and he was hung on the 29th of July 1870, over three years after the murder. Before he was hung, his confession, as published in the Bristol News from Bristol, Virginia, was read aloud as follows:
Jeter Phillips Confession
Richmond, July 22, 1870.
“I, James Jeter Phillips, condemned to be hanged on the charge of murdering my wife, and expecting soon to appear in the presence of my Creator and Judge, do make the following confession:
“I acknowledge that I am guilty of the crime for which I am condemned, and deserve the punishment for which the laws denounces against me. I need not detail the circumstances of my crime. They are mainly as they were presented in the testimony on my trial. I lived unhappily with my wife. I scarcely know when I formed my last purpose of getting rid of her. While on my last visit to her mother, I revolved the subject in my mind.
“After I brought her to Richmond my purpose was settled. I borrowed a pistol, and on Sunday evening took her from the boarding-house and we walked to the place where her body was found, and murdered her. I confess the greatness of my guilt, and I do not understand how I should have been led to commit such a dreadful deed. I have confessed it with sorrow before God and hope that He has forgiven me through the merits of Jesus Christ. Acknowledging my sin before the world, I hope that all will forgive me now. I die in peace with all men, but with a deep sense of my own guilt and unworthiness.
“I wish to say distinctly before God, all persons present that I am alone in my guilt. No one suggested my crime to me, knew my purpose, or gave me the slightest countenance in my deed, either before or after the act. All the rumors that I was engaged to be married or was in love are entirely false. I had no motive for the commission of my crime but to escape from a connection which seemed to destroy my prospects for happiness in life.
“I bid you all farewell, hoping that we may meet again where sin and sorrow are unknown. Let others be warned by my example and fate.
“And now I yield my body to the dust, in hope of a joyful resurrection, and I commend my soul to the God who gave it, and to the Lord Jesus Christ, who I think redeemed it by His precious blood, and fitted it through grace for his eternal kingdom.
signed “James Jeter Phillips.”
After reading the above statement, Dr Dickinson also read the following postscript, which he said had been placed in his hands by the criminal within the last half hour, and which was in his own handwriting:
“As to the Judge and Commonwealth’s attorney I have no unkind fellings [sic], nor have I towards any human being; as to the officers of the law they have been very kind to me, especially the jailor and guards; as for the Governor he acted right I justly deserve all I have suffered.
signed “James Jeter Phillips.”
_____________________________________________________
Link to The Drinker’s Farm Tragedy, a 96-page book written in 1868 following the second trial but before the final outcome: https://iiif.lib.harvard.edu/manifests/view/drs:5793028$104i
Transcription by someone else (typos included) from The New York Times from 20 November 1867:
Link to a page from the New York Herald from 27 November 1869. The article about the case is on the far-right column about halfway down, titled “The Philips Murder Case in Virginia.” https://www.ancestry.com/imageviewer/collections/7689/images/NEWS-NY-NE_YO_HE.1969_11_27_0005?pId=508423173
Link to an article from the Virginia Free Press from 16 May 1870:
Link to a page from Bristol News which gives Jeter’s confession and also a description of the hanging, which is quite graphic, so reader discretion is advised!! https://www.newspapers.com/image/76176240/?clipping_id=124932465&fcfToken=eyJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiIsInR5cCI6IkpXVCJ9.eyJmcmVlLXZpZXctaWQiOjc2MTc2MjQwLCJpYXQiOjE2ODQ1MTY0MDgsImV4cCI6MTY4NDYwMjgwOH0.w7ED1geaj2jabL0KhaGe4iMB-OlO5tovZIGD41LNnPE
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