Great American Adventure Stories

by Tom McCarthy

  As we have already seen, the two divisions of the band spent the night of Wednesday, September 6th, in neighboring villages, within easy reach of their next day’s destination. Early on the morning of Thursday, the 7th, they took up their march along the roads converging upon Northfield, meeting in the woods west of the town. In the course of the forenoon, some of them appeared upon the streets and in the stores, where two of them were recognized as the same two that had made the previous visit of inspection already referred to. They all wore linen dusters, a garment much more common with the traveler in those days than in our own and one that seemed entirely suitable for the sultry weather then prevailing, while it served to conceal the pistols and cartridge belts with which the robbers were so liberally supplied. Five of the men dined together at a restaurant on the west side of the river, waiting contentedly for their dinner to be cooked, conversing with the proprietor on politics and other indifferent subjects, and, after they had finished their meal, still delaying unaccountably, probably to give time for the arrival of the rest of their accomplices. Finally, they remounted their horses and rode over the bridge.

  It is difficult and, so far as the present writer is concerned, impossible, after the most painstaking study of all available sources of information, to determine the exact order of events at the opening of the attack. No one observer followed all the preliminary movement of the robbers. One person noticed one thing and another, and each depended more or less upon hearsay for items not within his personal knowledge. The similarity of dress already referred to made it difficult to distinguish the robbers from one another, while the wild excitement which soon ensued gave little opportunity for careful observation. With no attempt to reconcile conflicting statements, therefore, which happily differ only in unimportant details, this narrative will confine itself to those facts upon which all witnesses agree.

  The center of operations was the corner of Bridge Square and Division Street. On this corner stood a two-story stone building known as the Scriver Block. Its upper story was used for offices and was reached by an outside stairway on Division Street. The larger part of the lower story was occupied by two stores ranging north and south and having their front entrances on the northern Bridge Square side. At the extreme southern end of the building and having its entrance on the eastern, or Division Street side, was the object of attack, the First National Bank. On the western side of the block ran a narrow alley, affording rear entrances to the stores and the bank. West of the alley and fronting on the square were two hardware stores, whose respective proprietors were leading actors in the scene that followed—J. S. Allen and A. R. Manning. On the eastern side of Division Street, opposite the Scriver Block, were a hotel and a number of stores, in front of one of which stood a young man who was also to have a prominent part in the coming affray—Mr. H. M. Wheeler, then at home on a vacation from his medical studies in Michigan University.

  As has been previously stated, the robber band comprised three subdivisions—the two James brothers, the three Younger brothers, and three odd ones—Miller, Pitts, and Stiles. In their active operations, another threefold division was adopted, each of the squads containing one of the Younger brothers and one of the odd ones, and two of them containing one of the James brothers. That is, there were two trios and one couple. Of these, one trio was detailed to commit the robbery, while the couple cooperated with them on Division Street and the other trio acted as a rear guard on Bridge Square, the direction in which the band intended to retreat.

  It was about two o’clock in the afternoon that the first trio, consisting of Pitts, Bob Younger, and, it is believed, one of the James brothers, came over the bridge and, crossing the square from northwest to southeast, dismounted in front of the bank, throwing their bridle reins over some hitching posts beside the street. They then sauntered to the corner and lounged upon some dry-goods boxes in front of the store (Lee and Hitchcock’s), assuming an air of indifference and whittling the boxes, like the most commonplace loafers. Presently the two horsemen constituting the second detail entered Division Street from the south and rode toward the bank. They were Cole Younger and Clel Miller. Upon their approach the three men at the corner walked back to the door of the bank and went in. Miller, dismounting in front of the door, left his horse unhitched, went to the door, and looked in and then, closing it, walked back and forth before it. Younger dismounted in the middle of the street, where he made a pretense of tightening his saddle girth.

  By this time the attention of several citizens had been attracted to the maneuvers of the robbers. Word had been brought that nine men on horseback had been seen coming out of the woods southwest of the city, and the presence of so many strange horsemen on the street began to awaken uneasiness. Yet when some expressed these fears, they were laughed at by others and assured that the men were merely cattle buyers on a legitimate business tour.

  Among those whose suspicions had been especially aroused were Dr. Wheeler and Mr. J. S. Allen, already referred to. Dr. Wheeler was sitting under an awning in front of his father’s store on the east side of Division Street when the men entered the street, and as their actions seemed to him to indicate some mischievous intent, he rose and moved along the sidewalk till he was opposite them. Mr. Allen was on the other side of the street, and when he saw the three men enter the bank, he attempted to follow them in. He was instantly seized by Miller, who had been placed there for that purpose and who, drawing his revolver and pouring forth a volley of oaths, ordered Allen to stand back and warned him on peril of his life not to utter a word. Allen jerked away from the ruffian’s grasp and ran back to and around the corner toward his store, shouting in a voice that resounded blocks away, “Get your guns, boys! They’re robbing the bank!” At the same time, Dr. Wheeler had stepped into the street and was shouting, “Robbery! Robbery!” his alarm being at once justified and intensified by the round of pistol shots within the bank.

  Upon this, Miller and Younger sprang into their saddles, ordering Wheeler back with oaths and threats and firing one or two shots over his head to intimidate him and to give notice to their confederates that their game was discovered. Then the two robbers began riding up and down Division Street at their utmost speed, shooting right and left, with horrible oaths calling upon everyone they saw to “get in”—an order that was obeyed with pretty general promptness and unanimity. At the same time, the three men near the bridge took up the same tactics and came dashing across the square, shooting and shouting like their comrades, whom they joined on Division Street. Wherever they saw a head out of doors or at a window, they sent a shower of balls. The air was filled with the sounds of the fray, the incessant bang, bang of the heavy revolvers; the whistling of bullets; the crashing of glass; and the chorus of wild yells and imprecations. The first intention of the robbers was not to kill anyone but to strike terror into the mind of the people and, by driving everybody from the streets, to give the men in the bank time to work, to prevent any attempt at interference, and to secure themselves an unobstructed line of retreat. Strange to say, during this part of the affray, though the robbers kept up a constant fusillade from their revolvers, but one person was shot—a Scandinavian who could not understand English and who was fatally wounded while persistently remaining on the street.

  Meantime, a very different scene was enacted within the bank, where the first trio of robbers were dealing with a trio of bank employees as resolute as themselves. These were Mr. A. E. Bunker, teller; Mr. J. L. Heywood, bookkeeper; and Mr. F. J. Wilcox, assistant bookkeeper. The cashier, Mr. G. M. Phillips, being out of the state, Mr. Heywood was acting cashier. The bank was at the time occupying temporary quarters, not arranged with reference to emergencies of this kind. A counter, constructed somewhat like an ordinary office or store counter, extended across two sides between the lobby and the interior of the room. This was surmounted for nearly its entire length by a high railing containing glass panels, but in the angle between the two sections of the counter, there
was an open space, entirely unprotected, wide enough for a man to pass through.

  When the three robbers entered the bank, the employees were busy at their tasks and had no suspicion of approaching danger. Mr. Bunker, the teller, hearing footsteps in the lobby and supposing that some customer had entered, turned from his work to wait upon him, coming to the open space before referred to. There three revolvers were pointing at him, and he was peremptorily ordered to throw up his hands. His first impression was that one of his friends was playing a practical joke upon him. Before he had time to comprehend the situation, the three robbers had climbed over the counter and, covering him and his associates with their revolvers, commanded them to hold up their hands.

  “We’re going to rob this bank,” said one of the men. “Don’t any of you holler. We’ve got forty men outside.” Then, with a flourish of his revolver, he pointed to Heywood and said, “Are you the cashier?”

  “No,” replied Heywood.

  The same question was put to Bunker and to Wilcox, each of whom made the same reply.

  “You are the cashier,” said the robber, turning upon Heywood, who was sitting at the cashier’s desk and who appeared to be the oldest of the employees. “Open that safe—quick, or I’ll blow your head off.”

  A second robber—Pitts—then ran to the vault and stepped inside, whereupon Heywood, who had risen to his feet, followed him and attempted to close the door. He was instantly dragged back, and the two robbers, thrusting their revolvers in his face, said, “Open that safe now, or you haven’t but a minute to live,” accompanying their threats with oaths.

  “There is a time lock on,” Heywood replied, “and it cannot be opened now.”

  “That’s a lie!” retorted the robbers, again repeatedly demanding, with threats and profanity, that the safe be opened and dragging Heywood roughly about the room.

  Finally, seeming to realize what desperate men he was dealing with, Heywood shouted, “Murder! Murder!” Whereupon one of the robbers struck him a terrible blow on the head with a revolver, felling him to the floor. Pitts then drew a knife from his pocket and, opening it, said, “Let’s cut his—throat,” and made a feint of doing so, inflicting a slight wound on Heywood’s neck as he lay helpless upon the floor. The two men then dragged him from where he lay at the rear of his desk back to the door of the vault, still demanding that he open the safe. Occasionally also they turned from him to Bunker and Wilcox, pointing their revolvers at them and calling on them to “unlock that safe.” To this demand the young men answered that they could not unlock the safe. The statement was true, though in a sense quite different from that in which the robbers understood it. The reason that they could not unlock it was that it was unlocked already. The door was closed and the bolts were shot into place, but the combination dial was not turned. This was one of the humors of the situation but one which those in the secret were not in a position to enjoy. As a last resort for coercing Heywood, who was still lying on the floor in but a partially conscious condition, Pitts placed his revolver close to Heywood’s head and fired. The bullet passed into the vault and through a tin box containing jewelry and papers left by some customer for safe keeping. This was the first shot fired in the bank, and its futility well foretokened the failure of the whole effort.

  While Bunker and Wilcox received occasional attention from Heywood’s assailants, their special custodian was Bob Younger. As Bunker had his pen in his hand when first ordered to hold up his hands, it remained for a time poised in the air. When he made an effort to lay it down, Younger, noticing the movement and thinking it an attempt to reach a weapon, sprang at Bunker and, thrusting his revolver into his face, said, “Hear, put up your hands and keep ’em up, or I’ll kill you!” Then, to hold his prisoners more completely under his control, he compelled them both to get down on their knees under the counter. All the robbers were very much excited and increasingly so as they found themselves baffled and resisted. Younger would point his pistol first at one of the young men and then at the other, turning from time to time to search among the papers on the desk or to open a drawer in quest of valuables.

  While still on his knees, Bunker remembered a revolver kept on a shelf under the teller’s window and edged toward the place in hope of reaching it. Turning his head that way while Younger’s back was toward him, his movement was instantly detected by Pitts, who leaped before him and, seizing the pistol, put it in his own pocket, remarking, “You needn’t try to get hold of that. You couldn’t do anything with that little derringer, anyway.” It is no doubt fortunate that Bunker did not succeed in reaching the weapon, as he would almost certainly have been shot down by the robbers before he could use it. The pistol was found upon Pitts at the time of his capture and death.

  Bunker now rose to his feet, intending to make some effort to escape or to give an alarm. As he did so, Younger turned to him and said, “Where’s the money outside the safe? Where’s the cashier’s till?” Bunker showed him a partitioned box on the counter containing some small change and fractional currency but did not call his attention to a drawer beneath the counter containing $3,000 in bills. Again ordering Bunker to get down on his knees and keep his hands up, Younger drew from under his coat a grain sack, which he began to fill from the box. Presently he turned again to Bunker, and finding him on his feet, he said with a wicked look and with an outburst of horrible profanity, “There’s more money than that out here. Where’s that cashier’s till? And what in—are you standing up for? I told you to keep down.” Seizing Bunker and forcing him to the floor, Younger pressed the muzzle of his revolver against Bunker’s temple and said, “Show me where that money is, you—or I’ll kill you!” Receiving no answer, he left Bunker and renewed his search for the money.

  Bunker once more regained his feet, and taking advantage of a moment when the robber’s face was turned, he dashed past Wilcox into and through the directors’ room, to the rear door, then closed with blinds fastened on the inside. His intention was to enter the rear of Manning’s hardware store on the other side of the alley and give the alarm. He knew nothing yet of what was going on in the street, and he believed Heywood to be dead from the effect of the pistol shot apparently aimed at his head.

  The first of the robbers to notice the escape was Pitts, whose eyes seemed to be everywhere at once and who was then with Heywood in front of the vault. Before he had time to shoot, however, Bunker was out of his range around the corner of the vault and making for the door. With a mad yell, Pitts bounded after the fugitive and, coming in sight of him, fired as he ran, the ball whizzing past Bunker’s ear and through the blind in front of him. Bunker threw his weight against the blinds, bursting them open; plunged down a flight of outside steps; and had nearly reached the rear entrance of the next building when he was again fired upon by Pitts. This time the ball hit its mark, passing through the right shoulder near the joint, barely missing the subclavian artery, and coming out just below the collarbone. As he felt the sting and shock of the wound, he stumbled, but keeping his feet and not knowing how badly he might be wounded, he ran on across a vacant lot and around to a surgeon’s office in the next block. Pitts gave up the chase and returned to his companions in the bank but only to hear one of their confederates on the outside shout, “The game is up! Better get out, boys. They’re killing all our men.” Hearing this, the three robbers sprang through the teller’s window and rushed into the street. As the last one climbed over the counter, he turned toward poor Heywood, who had gotten upon his feet and was staggering toward his desk, and deliberately shot him through the head. The act was without provocation or excuse and was afterward denounced by others of the gang as “a fool act,” though others still made an absurd attempt to justify it on the ground of self-defense. It was a piece of cowardly revenge on the part of a ruffian who was made desperate by defeat and who, as was evident throughout the entire scene in the bank, was badly under the influence of liquor.

  The battle in the street was
now at its height, and the spirit in which it was waged on the part of the citizens showed how grossly the robbers had mistaken the mettle of the people with whom they had to deal. The community was taken by surprise and at a great disadvantage. It was at the height of the prairie chicken season, and a majority of the men who had guns were away in the field. The excellent hunting in the neighborhood had drawn many sportsmen from the larger cities, accustoming the people to the presence of strangers, while they had no reason to expect a hostile invasion. When the mounted bandits on Bridge Square and Division Street began riding and shooting, the first impression was that of surprise. Some thought it the reckless fun of drunken scapegraces. Some took the riders to be the attachés of a traveling show advertising their performance. When the bullets began to fly about people’s ears and the character of the invaders became evident, everybody was stunned and dazed, and there was a general scramble for shelter. But the next moment, there was an equally prompt rally of brave men to repel the attack.

  Dr. Wheeler, who had been one of the first to give the alarm and who had been driven from the street by the imprecations and bullets of the robbers, hastened to the drugstore, where he usually kept his gun. Remembering as he went that he had left it at the house, he did not slacken his pace but kept on through the store, heading first for the house of a neighbor, where he hoped a weapon might be found, but on second thought turning into the Dampier Hotel, close at hand, where he remembered to have seen one. There, instead of the fowling piece he looked for, he found an old army carbine, for which, with the help of Mr. Dampier, the clerk, three cartridges were discovered in another part of the house. All this was so quickly done that he was at a second-story chamber window with his gun loaded in time for the beginning of the fight.