Boston Globe August 9, 1903

In a previous article we made reference of the above article in which the Boston Globe described George Magoon’s attempt to make a rather unusual deal with the authorities. George was in the Machias jail for killing a cow moose and had served all but a few days of his sentence. Because the hunting was poor just then he asked to stay in jail in order to accumulate credits on his next arrest which was as inevitable as the rising of the sun in the morning. As we know George escaped from jail before receiving a reply from the authorities. Below I have reproduced the entire Bosotn Globe article as it provides some insight into the “Wild West” character of the Wesley-Crawford area in the late 1800s and early 1900s. I apologize in advance for the punctuation errors, especially the quotation marks which were very hard to reproduce accurately.

George Magoon 1903 Boston Globe Article:

Willing to Stay if He Could Swap the Time for Hunting Days. 

In all the history of forest adventurers and border outlaws there appears no more entertaining or picturesque character than George Magoon of Crawford, Washington County, Me.

Mr. Magoon is at present rusticating on the Canadian side of the line, owing to the unreasonable insistence of the sheriff that he come back and fill out an unexpired engagement in Machias jail, but New Brunswick is not so far away, and the exile frequently hears from home and friends, while there is some suspicion that he occasionally makes night visits to this side of the border when the moon is dark and deputy sheriffs are sleeping.

Magoon and his strenuous career in the wilds of Washington County were called vividly to mind the other day when, shielded from arrest by a writ of protection granted by the court, he  came over the line to testify in the trial of the various and numerous members of the Magoon and Hanscom families of Crawford for what part they may have taken individually and collectively  in a fierce fight at the village school house.

 The Magoons and Hanscoms have been at odds for years and it needed only a spark to kindle among them the conflagration of war. The spark was dropped one night a few weeks ago when one of the younger of the Magoons was tending door at an ice cream supper and sociable in the schoolhouse. One of the Hanscoms came up and tried to force his way into the building without a ticket. Instantly the war began. At first it was one Magoon against one Hanscom; presently other Magoons and other Hanscoms took a hand and in a few minutes a score of able-bodied citizens of Crawford pitched in and there was in progress the greatest battle that the region had witnessed since the days of the outlaw Wesley hunts. Fists, clubs and knives were used and several of the combatants, including one woman, were severely slashed.

The ice-cream supper was indefinitely postponed for the very sufficient reason that the interior of the schoolhouse was wrecked and the ice cream spilled. A few days afterward four of the principal combatants were arrested and brought to trial at Calais where they were found guilty, fined and ordered to recognize in $500 each to keep the peace for six months. The sentences were suspended, however, upon the conclusion between the Magoons and the Hanscoms of a formal treaty of peace.

George Magoon was present at the big fight, although he was supposed to be keeping carefully on the New Brunswick side of the St. Croix. How he managed to visit Crawford and stay there several days without any of the officers hearing of it is a question that puzzles the sheriff while it amuses the Crawfordites.

Anyway, George was there, and so he was wanted as a witness, and upon guarantee of protection from arrest he came. It is not claimed by the state that he took any part in the fight and no one who knows him very well believes that he had any hand in it, for the simple reason that he could “lick” the whole crowd without help. “It wouldn’t a-lasted fer long ‘f George had lit in,” observed an old resident. When the trial had been concluded George pocketed his witness fee, took a couple of drinks of the whisky that no one is allowed to sell in Maine and, winking cheerfully at a deputy sheriff who had rode 10 miles to arrest him, crossed leisurely over the bridge to St Stephen.

Stories of the doings of Magoon are the most entertaining literature of the eastern backwoods. One day in the summer of 1901 he appeared at the office of a Machias lawyer, held out a $5 bill and said:

“Here squire. I’m ‘rested and I want to get ye to ‘pear for me.” “Arrested?” said the lawyer. “What for?”

“Fer licking’ Laz Hodgkins,” replied Magoon promptly. “Well.’ continued the lawyer, “Did you lick him?”

“Squire,” replied Magoon, looking the lawyer over critically from head to foot. “squire, ever you get a lickin’ like the one I give Laz Hodgkins you’ll never live t’ tell about it!”

“Well what defense can I make for you?” “That’s jest the point. squire. That’s what I thought you’d know better’n me, you bein’ a lawyer. But I called it self defence. He was on my land and wouldn’t go off. It was like this: he come ’round my place kinder sassy like. ’cause I owed him a little on a cussed old wagon that warn’t no good anyhow, an’ I told him to leave. an’ he wouldn’t. I hit him- maybe two or three times, an’ somehow, he’s a awkward critter, he fell down, an’ my boots kinder got mixed up with his ribs.

“Well, the Hanscom boys, they picked him up in the road in front of my house, and they saw his jaw was broke, or his nose or something, an’ two of his ribs was stove in, an’ he was otherways shook up. But he can’t do nothin bout it as I see cause it was all on my land an’ I asked him to leave an’ he wouldn’t  an’ besides that squire, it ain’t no harm to lick Laz Hodgkins, no how, everybody’s licked him. He ain’t no good, an’ he’ll lie an’ steal, an’ goes round insult-in’ people, an’ he can’t fight. Lord, squire, you could lick him yourself.

 George thought he had made out a good defense, but the lawyer advised him to plead guilty. He refused to follow this advice, with the result that he was sent to jail for 30 days. He served that sentence but hadn’t been out of jail more than a week when he was caught killing a cow moose and was sent to Machias for four months more. 

This was a hard dose for the old poacher, for the game season was coming on, but he didn’t worry; he never was known to complain of anything. He got a neighbor to take care of his little farm, so that his family would at least have enough to eat, and patiently waited for his freedom. As time wore on, however, he reflected that when he got out the regular game season would be over, and he had heard that poaching was very difficult that winter, there being little snow, while the wardens were unusually active.

More than this he knew that in the last half of winter there would be nothing to do on his small farm, and he hated to follow his four months of idleness in jail with another loafing spell at home. So, one day he called for writing materials and indited this remarkable epistle to the chairman of the fish and game commission:

“Machias jail. Dec 24. 1901

“Dear, game commissioner-I am george magoon who you must no I guess. I am here for killing a cow moos. I have staid so long there ain’t nothin to do at home before spring and I would like to stay four months more and get credit for it by you.

“If I kill anything else I will have one term in jail to fall back on for I mite be bizzy just when I got caught next time and if I didn’t kill enythlng else or if I do and you don’t Ketch me you’ll be that much ahead because you’ll have that term in late out of me for nothin “

If you think this is fare rite me

 “your friend “gorge magoon.

 “please let me me quick as I’m most thru here unless you take me up.”

  After George had mailed the letter, a fine snow fell- 3 feet on the level, followed by a cold wave that made a crust that would hold up a man on snowshoes, but not strong enough to bear the sharp hoofed deer. It was a sort of crust that makes paradise for poachers making every snow bank a deer trap. George Magoon noted all this from the jail window, and it made him homesick. He had two weeks more to serve. and the commissioners had not accepted his offer to lay up time in advance. He longed to get out for a few days’ work now meant a good living for himself and family until spring.

Escape was easy. There was no discipline in Machias Jail. No prison uniform was worn, and all hands were turned out into an unenclosed yard every day to saw wood for the sheriff and clean out his barn.

Magoon knew that he could easily get away but what bothered him was his offer to the commissioners. He had always boasted that no man had ever known him to lie except when testifying in his own defense and that was different. He felt that if he should go and the commissioners should accept his offer, it would place him in a dishonorable position. So, he waited four days longer. and then, no answer having come from the ‘ commissioners he could stand it no longer. One night at dusk the jailer found this note attached to the handle of the ax with which George had been splitting wood in the yard:

“dear fred” I had to go I spose you’ll be mad but I’ll be back in a fortnit and finish up its only nine days more enyway and praps you can let that go if you heer from the commissioner let me no thru my wife she’ll no whare I be. ‘gorge.”.

Had the sheriff trusted to Magoon’s word, the old poacher doubtless would have returned as he promised but a posse was sent after him hot foot and then he bade them defiance. They chased him through six townships and finally traced him to his home but he escaped with a bullet in his shoulder. All that spring and summer the sheriff and his men were tantalized by tidings from all quarters telling of Magoon, fat and happy traveling all over the country from the St Croix to the Narragaugus fishing, hunting and guiding.

Every man in Washington county seemed to have seen Magoon and talked with him except the sheriff and his deputies, and the limbs of the law were mad all through.

 Election time came and the people began to criticize the sheriff for not catching Magoon. They said that a man as slow as that ought not to ask for reelection.

This made the sheriff desperate. and as he was fighting for reelection. he determined to get Magoon at any cost. He had a scheme. There was on the staff one deputy who was entirely unknown in Magoon’s part of the county and who had never mixed up in the game prosecutions.

This was Deputy Mac Curdy, fat and easy-going. “You. Mac Curdy. ‘ said the sheriff. “you just get up a fishing party and go up there to Cranberry Lake where old George was staying at last accounts. Hire him as a guide, fill him with whisky and get him and fetch him down here, body and bones, or we may all be looking for a job. Pack up now and get up there ‘fore he skins out.”

 Deputy MaCurdy got three friends together for the trip, and next morning they started out to get George Magoon and vindicate the majesty of the law. That night they stopped at Hayward’s camp in Wesley and that was a great mistake. Wesley is the home of the Knights, and a lot more men who have no use for deputy sheriffs and the minute an officer sets foot in the town the news of his arrival is flashed around the neighborhood as quick as horses can go.The officer might just be passing through, but he might be after some of the Wesleyans or their friends and so all hands are immediately informed of possible danger.

The night that MacCurdy and his party slept at Hayward’s in Wesley  George Magoon slept at Gardner’s camp on Township 30. And long before morning Dick Knights had warned him of his danger and together, they had planned a campaign. What happened afterward is best told by Dick Knights himself.

“You see.” said Dick. I knew MacCurdy, he’s awful good feller, and he can handle any man in this country. He’s rough and tumble, but we don’t fight much nowadays in Wesley-we kinder use our heads and after I had seen George and posted him, I struck back for Hayward’s.

“I waited around for some time before that crowd got up and then it wasn’t long before I made chums with them. I got ‘specially’ sociable with MacCurdy and finally I took him to one side and says I: Say, could you act as an officer way up here, in case I should want you?’

Why. certainly,’ says he. ‘What’s up.’ ” ‘Well,’ says I, nothing much, only that old cuss of a George Magoon’s been breaking up my traps and I thought maybe if an officer should come up this way, I could get him took back to Machias jail where he belongs. If you want to try it, I’ll take you out to where he is.

 “He seemed suspicious of me at first, but I kept on talking pretty smooth like and finally I says: ‘Of course, if you’re scart to go after him, why I’ll go down to Machias and get an officer.

“I knew he wasn’t scart of the devil himself, but I just said that to edge him on. He flushed up some, and he said: No. I ain’t scared of him, nor you nor any man in Wesley. You show me that critter and I’ll take him, quicker’n scat.’

I’ll show him to you.’ says I but you don’t want to hunt old George Magoon with no brass band. You start out with me and your friends, and take your gun along and your handcuffs, and we’ll drive out to Robinson’s dam and fish awhile. Then we’ll shake the crowd and I’ll land you where you can find him.’

Mac showed me his gun. It was a peach-seven shots, self-cocking  Smith and Wesson one of them kind that you can hit a barn with if the barn’s handy and no one joggles your elbow.  He showed me his spring handcuffs and his twisters and the whole outfit, and then we took another drink and shook hands. 

“By 10 o’clock I had all hands fishing down below Robinson’s dam with the black flies so thick they’d almost eat a man. We was all drinking whisky pretty often and Mac oftener than anyone else. He seemed to like whisky which was natural, he being a deputy sheriff.

“Bimeby, I says to Mac. Come on now, this is our time if you want to find old George. We’ll get to him by noon if we start now.’ So we started, taking a quart of whisky apiece out of the big lot his crowd had brought along. Mac, being fat. couldn’t walk very fast, but we took a drink pretty often, and that helped him along.

“After a few drinks he got kinder confidential. and told me that ketchin’ this George Magoon was going to be a great feather in his cap, and it would land him high sheriff. Well about noon I landed him at Gardner’s camp. “We stopped a bit to wipe the sweat off our faces and Mac he was just taking a look around when the camp door opened and there stood old George. Without waiting for anyone to say a word George he yells out: ” ‘Hello. Dick. Come right in an bring your friend. I’m just frying a steak mutton that’s never seen no pasture, it’s good. Come in an’ have a feed.’

“Well, Mac he just stood and stared at him and then he says: ” ‘Are you George Magoon?’

” Be I George Magoon? Why, of course I be and right glad to see you if you’re a friend of Dicks. Come right in.’

“At that Mac pulls his gun, and pointing it at George, he says: -Don’t make no mistakes, George Magoon you’re my prisoner. I’m Deputy Sheriff MacCurdy and if you move a hair I’ll fill you full of lead. “You never see a man look so crest-fallen as old George. It made me feel mean though I knew it was all put on. He says: ” ‘I see, I see. I didn’t think it of you. Dick. I spose it’s all along o’ them traps. An’ so you’ve brought an officer up here? Well, Mr. Sheriff. I aint no fool. I give up. Come an’ take me, an’ do what you want to with me.

MacCurdy walked up and snapped the handcuffs on him, and then we all went into the camp and sat down. George had some deer steak frying over the fire and it smelt elegant. It was a nice dinner, and after Mac and I had had a few drinks and a bite of that steak, Mac  took all the shells out of  George’s gun and put it up on top of a bunk. Then he took the handcuffs off him and told him to set up and eat and drink with us.

 “I wish you could have heard George talk. He told how glad he was to see us and that he was glad he was took. He said he’d wandered ’round in the woods so long without seeing anyone that he’d got kinder wild like. He said he’d have given himself up long ago only for pride and that Machias Jail seemed like heaven to him after wandering round in the woods so long,  sleeping out half the time in all kinds of weather.

He made us fell sorter sad, telling what a hard time he’d had and so we took a drink every few minutes to cheer him up only George and I took smaller sips than Mac. Pretty soon we emptied both bottles and then we lit our pipes and laid down in the bunks for a smoke.

‘George, he kept telling Mac how grateful he was to him for coming after him, but he kinder condemned me. He said he wanted to be took, but he couldn’t see why I should want to mix in. He said crucifixions was all right because they was ordered ahead but he never  had no opinion of Judases.

“Well, what with the whisky and the feed and the long, tramp and the heat and George’s gab   we all felt kinder dozy like and I wasn’t at all surprised when I heard a snore from Mac’s bunk. George, he winked and talked some more. The snoring got louder. I got up and looked at Mac. He was laying flat on his back with his mouth wide open, and the flies a-crawling in and out. “George looked at him and says he to me “ Dick. I don’t know jest what to do. I’m took and it would be kind of mean to go off and not say nothing about it to this friend of yours. I don’t want to do nothing that would look uncivil to a guest even if he wasn’t exactly invited up here into these parts. I guess I’ll wait until he wakes up and talk it over with him and meanwhile take a nap too.”

 With that the old man takes the handcuff and springs them on Mac’s wrists, awful gentle like, and then be takes some cord line out of a locker and makes a slip knot and puts It on over Mac’s head and ‘round his neck and fastens the end to a stanchion so if Mac tried to get out of his bunk it would haul taut and choke him.

“Then he turns to me and says: ‘Dick. Preps  I’d better tie you up too so to save any awkward questions your friend might ask when he wakes up. Then he tied me up good and strong and laid down and went to sleep.

 We must have slept two hours when Mac woke us up with his hollering and swearing. As soon as I could get my senses I began to holler and swear too and pretty soon old George he wake up and says he:

 “What’s the trouble. boys. Where’s the b’ar?”

 Well Mac he used some pretty, strong talk to old George but he couldn’t seem to interest him much, and pretty soon George goes over to the side of the bunk and sits down and he says: “‘Young feller.’ he says. I’ve changed my mind about going back as maybe you’ve noticed. You captered me jest’ as I wanted to be captered but I’ve’ c’ncluded to uncapter myself. I don’t mean no harm to you nor Dick, though I think he’s a mean little cuss but I must be goin.”

“I’ll strike out along the road a bit and find your friends and you can stay here till they come in which won’t be much ‘fore dark. Then you’d better go home. I don’t want to be bothered no more jest yet awhile, specially by men like you. You’re too careless Iike to be strayin ’round the woods without no gardeen.”

“Then old George he lit out giving me a powerful wink as he slid through the door. When the crowd came in Mac was awful glad to see them. They said an old farmer had told them where we was and said he’d seen George Magoon tie us up and that George drove him off with a gun and was going to burn the camp with us in it. They got so excited about it they seemed to be kinder disappointed to see us instead of our bones and ashes.”

“The whole crowd went back to Eastport that day. and I ain’t never heard’ nothing about ’em making MacCurdy High Sheriff but when court time come around and Mac got his bill allowed he sent me up a check for $6 for acting as aid. He certainly was a square man.

“Anyway, he’s the only man that ever captured George Magoon, and if he had as much gumption as he had sand he might have held on to him.”

Magoons home in Crawford, he’s in the light shirt in middle

The house is on the left on the long straight stretch going west before the Crawford dance hall. It is still standing as far as I know

Edward Ives George Magoon and the Downeast Game War contains dozens of George Magoon stories, many recount his numerous trials in the Machias Court and his ongoing attempts, usually successful, to outwit the game wardens. Typical is one recounted by Rob Golding of Perry:

Rob Golding:

*Well, I didn’t know George Magoon too well, but I saw him quite a few times. I think the first time I saw him to know him was down to Machias. They had him down there for selling moose meat in closed season, and I was over there on the jury, and we heard the trial.

 I wasn’t on that jury, but they had two witnesses in there that claimed they bought moose meat from him. And so the judge asked him if he was guilty or not guilty. He said, “Not guilty.”

And the judge said to these men, “Didn’t you buy moose meat from Mr. Magoon?”

And they said, “Yes, we bought moose meat.”

And [the judge] asked him, “Now these men say you sold them moose meat. Was it moose meat you sold them?”

“No, it was a three-year-old heifer.”

[The judge] said, “Why did you tell them it was moose meat?”

He said, “It sells a good deal better!”

They asked these fellows . . , , “Could you swear that what he sold you was moose meat?”

And they said, “No. It was good meat, but we couldn’t swear it was moose meat. But he told us it was moose meat.”

That ended that! So, they had to let the old fella go.  

Edward Ives’ very entertaining book is available on Amazon.

George Magoon was born in 1851 and died in 1929. He is buried in the Old Crawford Cemetery.