Reluctantly the fellow’s hands went up.
He was then disarmed and was soon on his way to Denver. It was then discovered that the fellow was well provided with provisions and ammunition, and that he was just starting to make his escape from the state when come upon by the officers.
Griswold had a long trial. He took a change of venue from Denver to Evans, Weld county, and there, after the case was thoroughly tried, he was remanded to jail in Denver for a new trial. Eleven of the jurymen favored hanging, and the twelfth was for bringing in a verdict of manslaughter and sending him to the penitentiary for life. No one doubted the man’s guilt. The splendid chain of evidence which Gen. Cook had prepared left no room for doubt on that score. But the twelfth man was not a believer in hanging and held out to the last, causing the jury to go before the court with a disagreement report. The murder of O’Neal had been committed on the 10th of July, 1870, but, owing to delays, the month of February, 1872, had now come around, and the law was only preparing to take its course. Griswold, who had been the cause of so much summary punishment, looked forward to his own fate with the greatest dread, and began to make preparations to escape. His plans were well laid, and as he had plenty of outside assistance, it is a great wonder that he did not accomplish his purpose. He was certainly desperate enough, as will soon appear.
It was on Saturday, the 24th of February, that an attempt was made to escape from the county jail in Denver, and which attempt resulted in one of the most exciting scenes ever witnessed in a prison. Two prisoners, Michael Henesee and a negro, named Dan Diamond, were engaged scrubbing the premises and making a general clean-up. While in the companion way leading between the cells from the front office to a room adjoining the day cell in the rear, they had occasion to wash the cells of Griswold and E. E. Wight, the last named being the man who figures in the Wall murder story. The turnkey, Sanford W. Davis, allowed these men to emerge from their cells for the purpose of going to the water closet, a few feet away, and in the enclosure, there being no accommodations for them in the cells, and as both were heavily ironed no fears were entertained of any outbreak. Griswold passed to the front office and called out to L. F. or “Till” Davis, brother to the turnkey, for a chew of tobacco. Davis was in the bedroom adjoining and did not answer, whereupon Griswold turned back, and as he did so he suddenly drew a bludgeon, consisting of a boulder in the toe of a stocking prepared in the water closet, from some place of concealment and dealt the turnkey a blow on the back of the head. This had the effect to fell him to the floor, but he soon regained his feet, and after a scuffle with Wight, Griswold and Diamond, the negro, who had joined the mutineers, he ran towards the large room in the rear, closely followed by Griswold.
During this melee, Henesee, the other prisoner, acting promptly and looking to the welfare of the turnkey, dragged Wight away from Davis and to his cell, and called for help. While the matter stood thus—Griswold and Davis, the turnkey, in the back room, and Griswold in possession of the latter’s pistol, Henesee holding the door against Wight and endeavoring to readjust the tumbler lock—the brother of the turnkey grasped a revolver and courageously entered the companion-way and tried to lock Wight’s cell door, in the meantime holding his revolver in his right hand. This all transpired in a few seconds.
Griswold, finding that Wight’s exit was barred, returned to the rear doorway, stepped down into the companion-way and stood facing young Davis, who was endeavoring to lock the cell, only a few feet distant. The situation, of course, demanded desperate action on the part of one or the other, and as Griswold leveled his revolver at the young man, the latter in turn drew bead upon the prisoner, and both fired simultaneously. The ball from Griswold’s pistol probably passed through the front doorway and into the street; the ball from young Davis’ revolver entered Griswold’s body, inflicting a mortal wound. He, however, pressed towards Davis, who retreated and discharged a shot, when Wight emerged from his cell, seized Griswold’s pistol, passed to the rear and made a second attack upon the turnkey, who endeavored to make his escape. Wight, however, fired too shots at Davis, one of which grazed the back of his head. The desperado then passed out at the rear, and secreted himself in the jail barn under the hay.
Of course, all the foregoing had happened in less time than it takes to read the account of it. The sheriff’s office at that time was where it now is on Fifteenth street, on the alley between Larimer and Lawrence, and the jail was on Larimer between Fourteenth and Fifteenth, running back to the alley, so that they were not far apart. Gen. Cook was sitting in the sheriff’s office at the time of the shooting, and, hearing it, hurried over through the alley to the prison, and stationing a man at the back door, told him to let no one in or out. The crowd was already gathering, and Cook was afraid of a general row. Running in he found Till Davis, one of the guards, with a smoking pistol in his hand.
“What’s up?” he demanded.
“Oh, the devil’s to pay,” he replied. “We’ve had some serious work here.”
“Where’s Sanford?”—Sanford Davis was a brother of Till’s. “Where is Sanford?” he asked.