Mr. Ashmead sat down amid a burst of applause, which was immediately checked. His speech which occupied about an hour and a half, was spoken of by several as one of the most brilliant specimens of logical eloquence which has been heard in this Court for years. It was listened to with breathless attention by the largest audience which had assembled inside those walls since the Huntingdon trial.
[From the New York Sun.]
STEPHEN H. BRANCH’S SPEECH.
My counsel has done well. He has made an effort of which I am proud, and of which your Honor ought to be proud.
The Recorder—I am, sir.
Branch—I am sorry that I have not prepared to address you. I came to this country thirty-five years ago, a poor boy. I got a clerk’s situation at $2 a week. Then I went to Leary’s hat store, in Water Street. Afterwards I went to Harper’s, then to the New York American, and afterwards to the Evening Post. Then I returned to Rhode Island, and went afterwards to Boston, Hartford, Springfield and New Haven, and worked at the printing business, and was the first compositor on the Washington Globe. and set up the first article on that paper, which was a comment on the conduct of General Jackson, from the pen of Amos Kendall. I then took a room with Edward Dodge, of Philadelphia, and roomed with him some time. My father sent me a letter from Providence, and procured for me a situation in the Post Office, and I was there four or five years. I became ambitious, and studied at nights. I studied with Thomas F. Carpenter. I left the Post Office, and continued my Greek and Latin studies. I returned to the Post Office, but such was my desire for learning that I went to Cambridge Law School, and studied under Judge Story. I mingled with Southern students, and spent much money. They were high-bloods, and I spent a dissolue winter. I came back, and went to Andover, where I resumed my studies in Greek and mathematics. I then left for Providence, and was unfortunate in my domestic life. I left Providence and went to Washington, where I got $10 a week at the printing business. I went next to Columbia College, when I would take my basket of bread and butter, work all day at the job office, walk back to the College at ten o’clock at night, and study till daylight. I would then get to the office at seven in the morning. I lost my health in doing this, and was reduced to the verge of the grave. My father remained true to me, notwithstanding my domestic misfortunes. I came to New York, and saw an advertisement in a paper, that a teacher was wanted in Alabama. I secured the situation, and afterwards went to Apalachicola, thence to Alabama, and taught school. I found they were cruel to slaves there. The lady on the plantation used to whip the slaves early in the morning; it disgusted me, and I went to New Orleans. My brother Albert printed the New Orleans Times. I advertised for a situation as teacher, and soon secured one. I remained there till my brother Albert died—no, I am mistaken, he did not die then. I came to New York, and had but little money left. I could not work at the printing business. My father sustained me in the sun and rain, although he was a man of limited means though of high position, for he was a Judge of Rhode Island. I went to Arthur Tappan, who introduced me to his brother Lewis. I told him that I wanted to teach colored scholars. I suppose you will call me a lunatic for that. I told him my qualifications, and he sent me to Mr. Van Rensselaer, under the Journal of Commerce. I taught a colored boy for him, for which he gave me my board. I lost my health, and finally—but I won’t mention names—I taught a candidate for Alderman of the Fourteenth Ward. That was the first public man I ever taught in New York. There was a man named Gouraud, a Frenchman, a teacher of the art of memory. I found he was trying to humbug the public. I saw he was an impostor, and exposed him. He had secured the press and the people, and I exposed him. I attended his lectures, and saw there William Cullen Bryant, Horace Greeley, Judge Oakley, and all the leading men and women of the city. His system was an exploded system of the Sixteenth Century. I exposed him in various cities. I exposed him, and stopped him. He was denounced in Philadelphia. Through educating public men, I got into politics. There may be a desire to get me into prison as soon as possible, and so I will be brief.
The Recorder—There is no desire to get you into prison, Mr. Branch.
Branch—I taught the Aldermen till the California mania broke out, when I went to California. I wrote a letter to the New York Herald, about alligators on the Isthmus, which gave me the title of “Alligator.” I taught servants and public men. Alfred Carson wanted me to write his reports for him, which I did. In 1855, I got into the Matsell campaign. I pursued him. You all know the result. I went to Brandon, England, to find his birth-place, and I found it. Soon after I saw Carson, I found that the officers of this city were very corrupt. Carson asked me to write his reports. He informed me that the officers around the City Hall interfered with the affairs of the Fire Department. I advised him to resist it, I wrote his reports for some years, I got through with the Frenchman, Gouraud. I got through with teaching public men and servants, and with the fire and Matsell campaign. I thought I would start the Alligator. I did, and I don’t regret it. There is a gang of thieves around the City Hall, and your Honor knows it, and we all know it. I pursued them hard, days and nights for years, in defence of honesty, industry, and the tax-payers, rich and poor, but especially the poor, who go to corner groceries, barefooted, naked, who live in attics. I—a lunatic, so-called, have passed my days in their defence. Ask Carson; ask Harry Howard—I saw him here to-day—ask the editors, if I have not passed the midnight hours in their editorial habitations—if I have not been true to them, to Carson, and all for whom I professed friendship—to all whom I found advocating the cause of the poor tax-payers? Do I regret the establishment of the Alligator? No; and why? I have attacked thieves indiscriminately. Hitherto these men had reputation as public officers, and amid tears oftentimes, my shafts have fallen harmless. But now, I have struck at a dynasty which has existed in this city for thirty years, the Peter Cooper guild. He was Alderman in 1828, ’29, and ’40. Tiemann was Alderman in 1839, ’44, ’62, and ’63. Through Denman, who was a pupil of mine, I first heard that Tiemann and Cooper were corrupt men.
The Recorder—Mr. Branch, I must stop you. You cannot be allowed to use such language In this Court.
Mr. Ashmead—Will your Honor remember the case of Lord Norbury, to which I drew your attention this morning?
Recorder—I remember Lord Norbury, and every other lord, but I cannot permit such language.