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Updated: May 22, 2025
Sir Roger Heuer of Harcliff, too, His sister's son was he; Sir David Lambwell, well esteemed, But saved he could not be. And the Lord Maxwell, in like case, With Douglas he did die; Of twenty hundred Scottish spears, Scarce fifty-five did fly. Of fifteen hundred Englishmen Went home but fifty-three; The rest in Chevy Chase were slain, Under the greenwood tree.
"'Ruggam had been given some repair work to do near the outer prison-gate. It was opened to admit a tradesman's automobile. As Guard Lambwell turned to close the gate, Ruggam felled him with his shovel. He escaped to the adjacent railroad-yards, stole a corduroy coat and pair of blue overalls hanging in a switchman's shanty and caught the twelve-forty freight up Green River." Stewart had paused.
"Special dispatch ... Wyndgate, Vermont, October 27th ... Ready?" The editor of our paper answered in the affirmative. The rest of us grouped anxiously around his chair. Stewart proceeded: "'Hapwell Ruggam, serving a life-sentence for the murder of Deputy Sheriff Martin Wiley at a Lost Nation kitchen-dance two years ago, killed Jacob Lambwell, his guard, and escaped from prison at noon to-day.
Several posses have already started after him, and sheriffs all through northern New England are being notified. "'Christopher Wiley, lumber magnate and brother of Ruggam's former victim, on being told of the escape, has offered a reward of five thousand dollars for Ruggam's capture, dead or alive. Guard Lambwell was removed to a hospital, where he died at one-thirty'.... All right?"
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