It was the opinion of the paper, as well as of the officers
of the law, that the proud young man, unable to face the cruel
disgrace and injustice, had made way with himself.
It was announced in heavy black type that his county would not rest
until the body of the last of the Jenisons was found and laid away
with the greatest ceremony. David laughed with the others at this
laudable but tardy appreciation.
As for the story of Frank Jenison's death, it was, according to the
newspaper, "so strange that fiction paled by contrast." Jenison and
his negro accomplice, Isaac Perry, had quarreled in one of the private
card-rooms at Brainard's place in Richmond, where they had met by
appointment. The negro, driven desperate and in great fear of the
white man, finally drew a revolver and began firing wildly at his
employer, who returned the shots. Perry was killed by a bullet which
found his heart. One of the negro's shots, however, had penetrated the
abdomen of Frank Jenison. He was mortally wounded. On being informed
by the surgeons that he had but a few hours to live, the miserable
wretch directed that his confession be written out at his dictation,
that he might put his signature to it and thereby set his unhappy
nephew straight in the eyes of a condemning world.
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