The following ode was copied from The Greene County Citizen, published by John F. Rainey on Thursday, February 9, 1939. According to Mr. Rainey, the poem was brought to his office by John W. Pillow of Route 5, Paragould. Pillow had received the piece from his friend, J. Sam Thompson, County Clerk, who had preserved it in his files. The story dates back to 1875, a time when citizens were struggling with a severe drought and soaring prices.
John and Nancy Newberry had settled in Greene County in 1854, establishing their home on rich lowland south of Gainesville along Locust Creek. When the Civil War began, John enlisted in the Confederate Army and was killed in 1862, leaving Nancy to raise their five sons and one daughter alone. Their eldest son, James F. Newberry, was wounded at the Battle of Murfreesboro on December 31, 1862. He was taken prisoner on November 10, 1863, and returned home after the war. Due to the family’s losses, sacrifices, and their reputation for hard work, the Newberrys were respected and beloved throughout the county. Any harm done to a Newberry was considered an offense against the entire community.
Nancy Newberry was a strong woman—physically and mentally. She continued farming the land with the help of her sons until they moved away, after which she hired laborers. In 1874, Mrs. Newberry harvested a bumper crop of corn, storing it in the bins of two barns. The drought of 1875 drove corn prices up, and she was able to sell her crop for one dollar a bushel. With no banks in Greene County at the time, word spread that she had hidden her earnings in the cracks of her log cabin.
A man named Conroy, having heard of her “corn money,” secured a job on her farm. One day, while working in the field with several other laborers, he slipped away, went to the widow’s home, and robbed the 69-year-old woman. He shot her and left her for dead. Conroy was a poor shot. Hit in the hip, the widow Newberry recovered and lived to be seventy-six. She died in 1883.
Sheriff “Stape” White—appointed following the death of Sheriff J.A. Owen in January—assembled a posse and set out in pursuit of Conroy. Among the posse were former sheriffs Memory Gramling and J.P. Willcockson, along with John N. Johnson, Jim Jackson, Verni Luney, Lon Stedman, “Ruff” and Jim Cole, and John Wright. Doctors Wyse, Thorn, and Wall also rode with the group to provide emergency medical care if needed.
The following lyric was said to have been written by Conroy after his capture by Sheriff White’s posse and his incarceration in the Gainesville jail.
Song of a Jailbird
by Conroy
Come all good people,
come listen to me.
“Tis my own adventures
that I will tell thee.I’m lying in this county jail
waiting the course of the law;
For a crime I’ve committed
in the State of Arkansas.“Twas on a trip to Crowley’s Ridge,
this story I will tell;
And for a couple of weeks or so,
succeeded very well.I intended to rob some folks,
get rid of the law.
You see they have me
in the Gainesville Jail,
Greene County, Arkansas,There was one thing I didn’t like
but still it did take place.
For shooting a woman, boys,
brands coward on my face.May she live to forgive me, boys,
of the deed against the law,
The deed I commited, boys,
in the State of Arkansas.While riding along I saw a horse
belonging to Sheriff White;
I thought I’d go and buy that horse,
but I knew I’d have to fight.I gave the captain a wide berth,
he had been through the war;
And left the horse at Freeman’s store
in the State of Arkansas.I rode almost to Chalk Bluff
in a couple of hours, or so.
Then turning my face quite westward,
to the Cache River I did go.My clothing was wet and frozen stiff,
no fire the frost to thaw;
I left the boys to hunt for me
in the State of Arkansas.I rode over hills and valleys,
I rode thru creeks and sloughs,
My clothing was thin, yes, very thin;
And holes were in my shoes.I slapped my spurs to the sorrel horse,
and made him scratch and claw;
And carry me like the devil, boys,
from this part of Arkansas.The men that followed after me
made up a fearful gang.
Each one himself a-hoping
to see this devil hang.But, ah, I thought quite different, boys,
and soon they plainly saw,
For I left the boys to hunt for me
in the swamps of Arkansas.After my capture at De LaPlains,
I would have killed the crowd,
if it had not been for my shackles and chains,
that rattled so awlful loud.They seized me and disarmed me,
and told me to shut my jaw.
They’d soon have me in the Gainesville Jail,
Greene County, Arkansas.Well, here I am, all shackled and chained,
lying in their county jail;
Without a friend in this whole world,
that sure would go my bail.And here I’ll wait ’til Circuit Court
goes thru the course of law.
I’ll take a trip to Little Rock
on the River of Arkansas.There is one thing I must not forget,
in speaking of my case;
I’m sure it was that little sorrell horse,
that stood me in such a race.May he be taken care of,
his bed made of straw,
and live a ripe old age
in the State of Arkansas.Oh, if I had the money boys,
and was out of this here scrape,
I’d purchase that little sorrell horse,
that stood me in such a race.I’d tie a ribbon around his neck,
place him upon the cars;
He’d never be seen on Crowley’s Ridge,
Greene County, Arkansas.Come all good hearted people,
come all you jolly lads,
Oh, if you get in trouble, boys,
be sure you have the scads.If you have the money, boys,
You sure can beat the law;
There’s not locks enough to hold you in
The prisions of Arkansas.Here goes now boys,
For a finishing touch,
I think I’ve said enough;
You see my present condition, boys,
I think it rather tough.
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