Great American Adventure Stories

by Tom McCarthy

  The band had now divided, Pitts and the three Youngers forming one division, and the two Jameses, the other. It is believed to have been the James brothers whom Roberts fired upon. Continuing their flight, they stole a fine span of gray, on which they mounted bareback. This capture was a most fortunate one for them and enabled them to make rapid progress and to assume again the role of officers in pursuit of criminals. They had no difficulty in getting food and information from unsuspecting people, who found only too late how they had been imposed upon. The two men went almost due west during the next forty-eight hours, traveling day and night at the utmost practicable speed and making eighty miles with scarcely a halt. On Sunday, September 17th, they crossed the Minnesota line into what is now South Dakota. That evening they took the liberty of exchanging their overdriven grays for a span of blacks, one of which proved to be blind in one eye and the other in both. Not finding these satisfactory, they exchanged them in turn in the small hours of Monday morning for another span of grays. They now turned southward, passed through Sioux Falls, exchanged salutations with the driver of the Yankton stage and clothes with a Sioux City doctor, and quietly pursued their flight by a route and to a destination best known to themselves.

  They had not been permitted to make this escape without interference. No sooner was it known that they had gone through the picket line than scouts were sent out in every direction to overtake or intercept them. The best men in the field took up the trail. The most comprehensive measures were adopted for their capture. But owing perhaps to the unexpected celerity of their movements, so different from the previous methods of the gang, and to unforeseen slips and miscalculations, they succeeded in eluding their pursuers, most of whom abandoned the chase at the Dakota line.

  This episode had entirely diverted attention from the rest of the band, as it was not then known that a division had taken place, and when the two horsemen were finally lost track of, the general supposition was that the whole band had escaped. Some persons, indeed, believed that the four unaccounted for were still in the neighborhood in which they had last been seen. The disreputable house near Mankato, already referred to as the place where two of the robbers were known to have been on the night of September 3d, was searched, and many suspicious characters in various places were arrested and investigated. This vigilance resulted in securing some criminals, including two notorious horse thieves, but it discovered no clue to the bank robbers.

  The mortification of the pursuers was intense, and the denunciations heaped upon some of them and the ridicule upon all was a bitter reward for their two weeks of hard service. The failure of their campaign could not be denied. The only consolation they had was in reflecting that they had done their best and in joining in the general laugh at their own expense. The robber hunt was the great joke of the season.

  Thursdays were notable days in the robber calendar. On Thursday, September 7th, the attack upon the bank was made. On Thursday, the 14th, the trail of the main band was found and lost in the Minnesota valley beyond Mankato, and on the evening of that day, the two horsemen went off on their tangent, drawing almost the entire force of the pursuers after them. On Thursday, the 21st, the public was again electrified by the news that the remaining four, who had also been supposed to have escaped, were yet in the state and had been located in the neighborhood of Madelia.

  Madelia is a small village in Watonwan County and on the Watonwan River, about twenty-four miles southwest of Mankato. One of the principal features of the surrounding country is a chain of picturesque lakes lying a few miles north of the town, while about five miles southwest of the lakes ran the north fork of the Watonwan River, destined to be as famous in the closing scenes of the raid as the Cannon had been at its beginning.

  Madelia was one of the towns visited by the robbers in their preliminary survey. About two weeks before the robbery, Cole Younger and one other of the band spent a Sunday at the Flanders House in that place. They asked many questions of the landlord, Col. Vought, and excited some curiosity in the community. Younger expressed his admiration of the adjacent lake region, with whose geography he seemed to have made himself familiar. When the bank raid occurred a few days later, Col. Vought immediately understood who his guests had been and did not doubt that Younger’s interest in the topography of the neighborhood had reference to a line of retreat. And when guards were being placed throughout the region to intercept the robbers in their flight, Col. Vought advised guarding a certain bridge between two of these lakes, at a point of which Younger had made special mention and by which anyone acquainted with the region would be sure to pass. This counsel was followed, and Col. Vought himself, with two others, guarded the bridge for two nights.

  A few rods from this bridge lived a Norwegian farmer named Suborn, with his wife and his son Oscar, an intelligent and active lad about seventeen years of age. As the men kept watch at the bridge in the evening, Oscar would come down and sit with them, talking of the robbers and the robbery and forming in his mind a pretty distinct idea of the appearance and the tactics of the outlaws. He repeatedly expressed the wish that he might meet them and have a shot at them with his father’s old gun. When the band was supposed to have escaped and the guards were withdrawn, Col. Vought charged Oscar to keep a sharp lookout and, if he saw any fellows that he thought might be the robbers, to come into Madelia and tell the colonel. This the boy promised to do.

  On the morning of September 21st, while Oscar and his father were milking the cows, two men walked by, bidding Oscar a civil good morning as they passed. Something in their appearance instantly convinced the boy that they were the bandits, and he ran to his father and said, “There goes the robbers.” His father scouted the idea and bade him go on with his milking. But the conviction grew upon the boy as he milked, and he soon set down his pail and ran to look after the men, making inquiries of the neighbors and freely expressing his views concerning them. When he returned to the house, he learned that the men he had seen and two others had been there asking for food and saying that they were fishermen. Oscar insisted that they were the robbers and, after many objections on his father’s part, finally got permission to take a horse and go and tell people what he had seen.

  He instantly started for Madelia, seven or eight miles away, urging the old farm horse to the top of his speed and shouting to everybody he passed, “Look out! The robbers are about!” but finding nobody to believe him. A short distance from Madelia, the horse fell down, throwing the excited rider into the mud, but he was soon up and away again faster than ever.

  Entering Madelia, he rode straight to the Flanders House, according to his promise to Col. Vought. The latter was standing on the porch of the hotel when the messenger dashed up, boy and horse equally out of breath and both of them covered with mud. A few questions sufficed to convince the colonel that the boy knew what he was talking about, and he immediately seized his gun, mounted his horse, and started for the Suborn farm. Sheriff Glispin had come up during the conversation with Oscar and also joined in the chase. Dr. Overholt, W. R. Estes, and S. J. Severson did the same. These five went in company. C. A. Pomeroy heard the news and hastened after them. G. A. Bradford and Capt. W. W. Murphy followed hard and reached the field in time for effective service. From St. James, a neighboring town to which the telegraph had carried the news came G. S. Thompson and B. M. Rice, most of their neighbors being too incredulous or too indifferent to join them. In the immediate vicinity of the robbers, all was excitement, and people were gathering in greater and greater numbers as the facts became known.

  The first detachment from Madelia had no difficulty in learning where the robbers were and lost no time in reaching the locality. The band was soon descried, making its way on foot through what is known as Hanska Slough. Sheriff Glispin called upon them to halt, and as they paid no attention to his demand, he and his men fired upon them.

  The robbers ran until they were out of sight behind a knoll and, before their pursuers came up
with them, had crossed Lake Hanska, a considerable body of water. The Madelia men, finding some difficulty in getting their horses through the water, separated, part of them going upstream and part down in search of crossings. Reaching the other side, Col. Vought and Dr. Overholt again caught sight of the robbers, and the doctor fired at them, with so good an aim as to hit the stick with which Cole Younger was walking. Sheriff Glispin and his two companions now came up from the other direction. Seeing that the robbers were making for a herd of horse on an adjacent farm, the Madelia men intercepted the movement and for their pains received a volley from the enemy’s revolvers, the bullets flying thick about the heads of the pursuers, though at pretty long range, and one of them grazing Glispin’s horse.

  Thus foiled, the bandits went down to the riverbank opposite the house of Andrew Anderson and, telling him that they were in pursuit of the bank robbers, ordered him to bring his horses over to them. The old ruse did not work. Instead of putting his horses at the service of the band, the shrewd farmer ran them off in the opposite direction. Foiled again, the men went up the river to a ford, crossed over, and came down through the Anderson farm to a granary, where they seemed about to make a stand, but changing their plan, they made one more effort to supply themselves with horses. Mr. Horace Thompson and his son of St. Paul were hunting in the neighborhood and had two livery teams belonging to Col. Vought of Madelia. Spying these horses, the robbers made a rush for them, but the Thompsons promptly exchanged their light charges for wire cartridges loaded with goose shot and prepared to give the freebooters a warm reception. The freebooters did not care to risk the encounter and, turning back, took refuge in the brush in the river bottom. Mr. Thompson proposed to some of those present to go in after them and hunt them out, but the armed force then present was not thought to be strong enough for such a movement.

  The robbers were now hemmed in upon all sides. On the south was a high bluff, curving slightly outward to enclose the low bottom land at its base. On the north was the Watonwan River, washing the bluff on the left, then swinging away from it in a double curve, and then back toward the bluff again. A rude triangle was thus enclosed, some five acres in extent, nearly level, open in some places, but for the most part covered with an almost impenetrable growth of willows, box elders, wild plums, and grapevines.

  The robbers having been driven to cover in these thickets, the next effort was to prevent their escape. A considerable number of people had by this time collected, some on one side at the river and some on the other. Glispin and Vought went down to the lower end of the ravine and posted guards on the bluffs to watch that point. Meantime Capt. Murphy had arrived and at once took similar precautions on the other side of the river. But they had no intention of waiting for the robbers to come out or to give them a chance to escape, as they had so often done, under cover of darkness. Capt. Murphy, having made his picket line secure on the north side of the river, came around to the south side, where some of his Madelia neighbors and other resolute men were gathered, and proposed that they go into the brush and rout out the bandits. A number seemed willing to join him in this attempt, but the list was much reduced when they heard his startling instructions as to the method of procedure. Moreover, some of the best men on the ground had been assigned to guard duty and were not available for this service. In a few minutes, however, six brave fellows stood by his side, ready to go wherever he would lead them.

  The roll of this Spartan band of seven is as follows: Capt. W. W. Murphy, Sheriff James Glispin, Col. T. L. Vought, B. M. Rice, G. A. Bradford, C. A. Pomeroy, S. J. Severson. Capt. Murphy formed his men in line, four paces apart, ordering them to advance rapidly but in line, to keep their arms ready, observe the front well, and the instant the bandits were discovered concentrate the fire of the whole line upon them.

  They advanced promptly across the eastern side of the triangle, from the bluff to the river, and then, turning to the left, followed the river’s course, with the line at right angles with it. They had advanced some fifty or sixty yards in this direction, when they discovered the robbers, crouching and almost concealed in a thicket of vine-covered willows and plumtrees. At the same instant, one of the robbers fired. It was the signal for a general fusillade on both sides. Firing was rapid and at close range, the two forces being not more than thirty feet apart at the center of the line and all heavily armed. The battle was sharp but brief. Again, as in the Northfield fight, the palm of marksmanship was with the citizens and not with the professional crack shots. Mr. Bradford had his wrist grazed by a ball as he raised his rifle for his first shot. Another ball grazed Mr. Severson. Another still struck Capt. Murphy in the side and, glancing on a brier-root pipe in his pocket, lodged in his pistolbelt. With these exceptions not a man in the party was touched. Of the robbers, on the other hand, Bob Younger was wounded in the breast, his brother James had five wounds, Cole had eleven, and Pitts was dead, having been hit five times. When Capt. Murphy ordered firing to cease and called upon the robbers to surrender, Bob Younger was the only one who could respond. “I surrender,” said he. “They are all down but me.” As he rose to his feet, at the command of his captors, the movement was not understood by the guards on the bluff, and they fired at him, wounding him slightly, but Capt. Murphy immediately checked the untimely attack.

  The arms of the robbers were taken from them, and they were placed in a wagon and taken to Madelia in the custody of the sheriff, escorted by their captors as bodyguard and by a miscellaneous company of those who had been directly or indirectly connected with the engagement. A mile from town, they met another company of people who had come by special train from other towns where the news of the reappearance of the robbers had been received. The visitors found themselves too late to take part in the capture, the honor of which belonged solely to local heroes, but they could join in the general rejoicing and help to swell the triumphal procession. As the returning throng entered Madelia, it was received with great demonstrations of joy, to which the wounded bandits responded by waving their hats.

  The chagrin and exasperation which followed the escape of the two Jameses were changed to exultation over the victory in the Watonwan bottom—a victory well worthy to close the campaign so bravely begun in the streets of Northfield. Whatever blunders had been made, whatever hardships and disappointments had been endured, the final result was fairly satisfactory. Of the eight desperados who rode forth so confidently on their career of plunder, three were dead, three were prisoners, and the other two were in ignominious retreat—one of them wounded. They had wasted a month in fruitless effort, lost their splendid horses and equipment, spent much money and gained none, suffered unutterable hardship, and achieved nothing but two brutal and profitless murders.

  Arrived in Madelia, the captured men were taken to the Flanders House, where Cole Younger and his now-dead comrade Pitts had played the role of gentlemen travelers a month before. Younger had recognized Col. Vought and saluted him as “landlord” when they met as captor and captive on the bloody field of the Watonwan. He also recognized Mr. G. S. Thompson, who was doing guard duty at the time of the capture, and reminded him of a visit which Pitts and himself had made to Thompson’s store in St. James during the same preliminary tour.

  The Flanders House was made for the time being a hospital and a prison. Guards were posted within and without, and every precaution was taken to prevent either the escape of the prisoners or any unlawful attack upon them. The men were wet, weakened by fatigue and exposure, nearly famished, and shockingly wounded. They received such attention as humanity dictated. Their wounds were dressed, their wet garments were exchanged for dry ones, their hunger was appeased, and they were placed in comfortable beds.

  They appreciated this treatment most gratefully. They had hardly expected less than being lynched or torn in pieces by the infuriated people, and they repeatedly expressed their admiration both of the bravery of their captors and of the magnanimity of those who had them so absolutely at their m
ercy. It was indeed rumored that a trainload of lynchers was on the way, bent on summary vengeance, but the officers of the law and the people of Madelia were prepared to resist such an attempt to the utmost, and it never was made.

  Sightseers and lion hunters came by hundreds from every direction. On the day following the capture, the hotel was besieged by an eager throng that filled its halls and corridors and the adjacent street and kept a continuous stream of visitors filing through the room where the robbers were confined. Reporters, photographers, and detectives were there, each intent on his own professional ends, and every type of sentiment was represented, from open vindictiveness to morbid sympathy and admiration for criminal audacity.

  The prisoners talked freely on certain subjects and with shrewd reserve upon others. They claimed to be the victims of circumstances rather than of their own inclinations. They talked pathetically of their family and their antecedents, advised young men to shun bad ways, and requested the prayers of pious women. Being allowed an opportunity to confer together, they agreed to admit their own identity but refused to divulge that of their companions, either the dead or the living. They denied that the two who escaped were the James brothers but would give no further information concerning them. The work of identification was effected, however, without their aid. Chief of Police McDonough of St. Louis and other officers and citizens were able of their own knowledge, with the aid of collateral testimony and of rogues-gallery pictures, to identify the two killed at Northfield as Clel Miller and Bill Stiles and the one killed in the capture as Charley Pitts, alias George Wells. Little doubt was entertained, also, that the ones who escaped were Jesse and Frank James, who about that time reappeared in their old haunts in Missouri.

  On Saturday, September 23d, the prisoners were delivered to Sheriff Barton of Rice County, by whom they were taken to Faribault and safely lodged in the county jail a few miles from the scene of their crime.