Great American Adventure Stories

by Tom McCarthy

  Yes, something such a one as this walked our streets, worshipped in our assemblies, and bore his share of our public burdens for ten years. And so dull is human appreciation that had he ended his days after the ordinary fashion of humanity, it is to be feared his worth had never been widely known. But not so now, since, as I may almost say, in the sight of thousands, he has been translated that he should not see death and was caught up from earth to heaven in a chariot of fire. Surely we cannot forget that spectacle to our dying day. The glory of his departure will cast back a halo of glory over all his career. We shall reread the record, as he made it, with sharpened vision. Besides, some of the virtues in which he excelled, such as integrity, moral courage, steadfastness in pursuing the right, in the tragic circumstances attending the close of his life, found their supreme test not only but their sublime climax as well. The charm lies in the perfect harmony existing between the acts of the last hour and the conduct of all the life that went before.

  And sure am I that we all, in moments when we are most calm and rational and when the noblest in us finds voice, discover the conviction possessing us that there was something most fitting, something surpassingly beautiful, in such an exit after such a career—such a sunset after such a day.

  For, for what, I pray you, was man made but to do his duty? To be brave and true, reckless of results? And what is life worth, I wonder, if to be preserved only at the price of cowardice and faithlessness? . . . Surely to him that is gone, life as the purchase of dishonor would have been an intolerable burden. . . . Whoso consents to stand on duty, in the army, on the railway train, in the banking house or store, must do it with open eyes, ready to take the consequences, fully determined, whatever befall, to play the man. . . . When so many are corrupt and venal, are base and criminal in the discharge of public duties, the spectacle of such a life as we have looked upon is worth far more to society than we can well reckon up. And if, as a result of last Thursday’s events, those just entering upon life and we all shall be warned of the evil and curse of transgression and be reminded of the surpassing beauty of honor and faithfulness and in addition shall catch an enthusiasm of integrity, it will go no small way to compensate for the terrible shock that came to this city and for the agony that has fallen upon so many hearts. . . . We know today that public and private worth are still extant and that the old cardinal virtues are still held in honor. We need no lantern to find a man.

  In the afternoon President Strong, assisted by other clergymen, conducted the funeral service proper at Mr. Heywood’s late residence and paid an equally cordial testimony to the character of the man and to the high quality of heroism which he had displayed. Dr. Strong was able to speak from the point of view of personal friendship and from that of official relation, having been Mr. Heywood’s pastor at Faribault in former years and having been more recently associated with him in connection with the college. It was in a casual conversation which they had held but a few days before the tragedy that Mr. Heywood dropped the remark which showed that he had already decided how he would meet such an ordeal if it ever came to him. The president had been inspecting the new time lock which had just been placed upon the door of the vault. The circumstance recalled to his mind the famous St. Albans bank raid, which had especially interested him through his personal acquaintance with the victimized cashier. Having spoken of the course pursued by the raiders in that case, he said, in mere playfulness, to Mr. Heywood, “Now if robbers should come in here and order you to open this vault, would you do it?” With a quiet smile and in his own modest way, Mr. Heywood answered, “I think not.” Neither of them dreamed how soon and with what tragical emphasis he would be called to test that resolution.

  Mr. Heywood was buried in the Northfield cemetery at the southern extremity of the city, where his remains still rest and where an unpretentious monument marks his grave.

  In an obscure corner of the same cemetery, at night, with neither mourner nor funeral rites, two boxes were buried, supposed to contain the bodies of the dead robbers. No one took the trouble to ascertain the genuineness of the proceeding or to guard the grave from desecration. That the bodies of criminals belong to anatomical science is a prevalent opinion. That these criminals were not too good for such a purpose was readily conceded. That they somehow found their way to a certain medical college and that one of them was subsequently rescued from its fate by friends are said to be facts of history.

  While the excitement over the tragedy was at its height and the inquests and the funeral services over the dead were in progress, the escaped robbers were not forgotten.

  They had left Northfield by what is known as the Dundas Road, leading to the town of that name, three miles to the south. Their original plan had been to go westward, over the route by which they had come, and to stop at the telegraph office on their way and destroy the instruments, in order that the news of the raid might not be spread till they were out of reach in the great forest tract lying in that direction. But, as they afterward said, finding it “too hot” for them in that part of the town, they were glad to escape by any route they could find, while the telegraph was publishing their deeds and their descriptions in every direction. Dundas being the nearest place at which they could cross the Cannon River, they made all possible speed toward it, six men on five horses. They rode abreast, like a squad of cavalry, taking the whole road, and compelling everyone they met to take the ditch. Meeting a farmer with a good span of horses, they stopped him and helped themselves to one of the horses, for the use of Bob Younger, who had been riding behind his brother Cole. A little farther on they “borrowed” a saddle for him of another farmer, representing themselves to be officers of the law in pursuit of horse thieves, a pretense which they made much use of during their flight. As soon as possible, they got back into their former route, where they were once more on somewhat familiar ground. The death of Miller had deprived them of the guide upon whose knowledge of the country they had depended. The loss of their trained and high-bred saddle horses was perhaps a still more serious calamity, a loss which they were not able to make good with any of the farm horses stolen one after another. Their rush at full speed through Dundas caused a sensation, but owing to the absence of the telegraph operator, the news of the raid had not been received, and they were not molested. Millersburg, where some of them had spent the previous night, was reached about half past four. They were recognized by the landlord who had entertained them, but they were still in advance of the news of their crime and far in advance of their pursuers. They rode hard, sparing neither themselves nor their beasts, although Bob Younger’s arm was causing him much suffering. His horse fell under him, breaking the saddle girth, and was abandoned in disgust, Younger again mounting behind one of his companions. Another horse was seized in a similar manner, regardless of the protests of his owner, but the animal balked so obstinately that he, too, had to be abandoned. Thus began a dreary two weeks’ flight, which grew more and more dismal day by day, as the fugitives skulked from place to place, now riding, now walking, now hiding in a region where, as they too well knew, every man’s hand was against them. Nature and providence seemed to be against them, too. A cold, drizzling rain set in the day after the raid and continued almost incessantly for two weeks. The way of the transgressor was hard, and it grew harder at every step.

  The pursuers were after them. Before the robber cavalcade was out of sight of the scene of their raid, almost before the smoke of the battle had passed away, men were running for their guns and horses to join in the chase. The first movements were made under intense excitement and were necessarily irresponsible and futile. But more deliberate measures were soon taken. Mr. J. T. Ames called for volunteers for a systematic pursuit and telegraphed to the state capital for aid. Sheriffs, detectives, chiefs of police, and scores of private citizens promptly responded. As soon as practicable, a small army of pursuers was organized, and systematic plans for their transportation and sustenance were perfected.

&n
bsp; Three times on Thursday afternoon, advanced detachments of this force encountered the fugitives. First a couple of volunteer scouts mounted, by a singular coincidence, on the horses of the dead robbers came within sight of the band as they were seizing the farmer’s horse on the Dundas Road. But as the robbers were six to the scouts’ two, the latter did not venture an attack but contented themselves with trailing their game until reinforcements should arrive. Again, at Shieldsville, fifteen miles west of Northfield, a squad of Faribault men had arrived in advance of the pursued by taking a shorter road. But not knowing how close at hand the bandits were, they had gone within doors, leaving their guns outside, when the raiders suddenly appeared before the door, from which they did not permit their unarmed pursuer to issue but coolly watered their horses at an adjacent pump, shot a defiant volley of bullets into it, and went on their way. The outwitted scouts quickly regained their guns and, being reinforced by a dozen or more local recruits, hastened after the robbers. The band was overtaken in a ravine about four miles west of Shieldsville, where the two forces exchanged some long-range shots without effect on either side, and the robbers escaped into the thick woods beyond.

  While these preliminary contests were taking place, the more systematic campaign was arranged and inaugurated. Before Thursday night two hundred men were in the field, and on Friday, five hundred. Other hundreds still joined the chase later on, swelling the number at one time to at least a thousand. It is impossible to give a list of those engaged or to do justice to the zeal, the determination, and the endurance that they showed. Among those who were prominently engaged, either in organizing the forces or in conducting operations in the field, may be mentioned Mayor Solomon P. Stewart of Northfield; Sheriff Ara Barton and George N. Baxter, Esq., of Faribault; Chiefs of Police King of St. Paul and Munger of Minneapolis; Detectives Hoy and Brissette; and many others. Of the men under them, several were experienced officers, and not a few were veteran soldiers. There were also, of course, in so large and hastily mustered a force, very many who had no fitness for the service, either in personal qualities or in equipment, and no conception of the requirements of such a campaign. They came armed with small pistols and old fowling pieces of various degrees of uselessness and utterly without either judgment or courage. Their presence was a source of weakness to the force. Their foolish indiscretions embarrassed and defeated the best-laid plans, and their failure at critical moments and places to do what they had been depended upon to do made them worse than useless—worse than enemies. Many went into the service from mercenary motives. Large rewards for the capture of the robbers dead or alive were offered by the Northfield bank, the governor of the state, and the railway companies, and this inducement drew into the ranks of the pursuers much poor material. These statements need to be made, not so much by way of censure upon the inefficient as in justice to the better members of the force and as an explanation of some of the vexatious delays and failures of the campaign. For, while it constantly suffered from the presence of these mercenaries and blunderers, it did not lack, from its first day to its last, a nucleus of brave, keen-witted, coolheaded, determined men, whom nothing could daunt or discourage. And the best of them were not too capable for the work. Two objects were to be accomplished—the retreat of the fugitives was to be cut off, and they were to be hunted down and captured. To secure the first, picket lines were thrown out in advance of them, covering every route which they could possibly take and especially guarding roads, bridges, and fords. To secure the second, scouting parties were put upon their trail to follow them from place to place and to explore the country far and near in search of them. It was no holiday excursion. They were in a vast forest tract known as the Big Woods, broken here and there by clearings and by settlements great and small but embracing also wide area of uncut timber, full of dense thickets and ravines and abounding in lakes, streams, and swamps. The weather made difficult trailing, as tracks and other signs were soon obliterated, and the nature and extent of the ground to be covered rendered it impossible to keep the picket line strong at all points. The rain and the mud, the dripping forests, the swollen streams, the softened fields multiplied the hardships of the pursuers. Their very numbers caused confusion. They were for the most part unable to recognize with any certainty either the robbers or one another or to tell whether some squad of horsemen in the distance were friends or foe. The bandits were shrewd enough to take advantage of this doubt. It was their favorite trick to pass themselves off as a sheriff’s posse in pursuit of the bank robbers. Under this subterfuge they inquired their way of unsuspecting people, obtained provisions, secured information about the position and movements of their pursuers, and repeatedly supplied themselves with fresh horses. But this is in advance of our story.

  We left the robbers in their Thursday night’s hiding place in the woods beyond Shieldsville. Thence on Friday they moved first westward and then southwestward in the direction of Waterville. Coming to a ford of the Little Cannon River, guarded by three men poorly armed, they were fired upon and turned back into the woods. Finding shortly afterward that the guard had withdrawn, they returned to the ford, crossed over, and disappeared in the forest beyond. Thus the picket line which had been so laboriously posted was broken at its weakest point.

  The news of the escape was immediately carried to those in command, a new picket line was thrown out in advance of the robbers, and the pursuer pressed the more eagerly after them. The whole region was now aroused. The telegraph was kept constantly busy, flashing items of fact and a good many items of fiction to and from the field of operations. The railways did good service in transporting men to accessible points, but the flight and the pursuit were chiefly out of the range of towns, telegraphs, or railways in the heart of the forest.

  Pushing on into the township of Elysian, the robbers found themselves in a labyrinth of lakes and swamps, where it seemed easy to prevent their escape. At an isolated farm, they exchanged two of their exhausted horses for fresh ones, against the owner’s protest. In the evening they made a similar exchange in an out-of-the-way pasture without consulting the owner. Late Friday night they went into camp between Elysian and Gentian Lake. The stolen horses were now turned loose, and all returned to their masters. The remaining horses were tied to trees; a sort of tent was made by spreading blankets over some bushes, and under this the fugitives spent the rainy night.

  On Saturday morning they abandoned their horses altogether; tied their blankets about their bodies with the bridles; and, though already lame and disabled, continued their journey on foot. The horses were found three days later, one of them still tied to the tree, the other two having gnawed off their halters and escaped. The robbers now proceeded more circumspectly. The dash and daring of their previous course were exchanged for the stealth and caution more befitting their condition. They went no farther on Saturday than to find a hiding place on an island in the middle of the swamp, where they encamped for the day. After dark they took up their journey, marched slowly all night, and at daylight on Sunday morning again halted near the village of Marysburg, whose church bell they could hear from their camp in the woods. Passing around Marysburg, they next encamped four miles south of that village, so slow was their progress and so short their marches. Nine miles west of this camp and within two or three miles of Mankato, they found a deserted farmhouse in the woods, where they spent Monday night, Tuesday, and Tuesday night, having advanced less than fifty miles in five days.

  Even at this rate, they had distanced their pursuers, who did not suspect that they had abandoned their horses and who, confident that no mounted cavalcade had passed their lines, were still searching the swamps and bottoms about Elysian. This delusion was painfully dispelled on Tuesday morning by the discovery of the half-starved horses and the deserted camp. The robbers had stolen away on foot and had at least a three days’ start. This was regarded as evidence of the hopelessness of the chase. The fugitives were no doubt far away, and in what direction no one could conje
cture. A large proportion of the pursuers, including many of the most efficient leaders, therefore gave up the hunt and returned to their homes. Even some authentic reports from persons who had caught glimpses of the robbers near Mankato were scouted as absurdly incredible.

  Soon, however, further news was received which could not be disputed and which at once aroused fresh interest in the chase. On Tuesday the robbers, it seemed, had invited themselves to breakfast at the house of a German farmer. On Wednesday morning they had captured another farmer’s hired man in the woods and, after binding him, extorting information from him, threatening to kill him, and finally swearing him to secrecy, had let him go. Believing that a bad promise was better broken than kept, he had immediately reported the incident to his employer, who hastened with the news to Mankato, whence the telegraph sent it everywhere. Excitement was at once renewed. The disbanded forces hurried back, and hundreds of fresh recruits joined in the chase. A thousand men were soon on the ground, and a new campaign was organized under the direction of Gen. Pope of Mankato. Again patrols and searching parties were sent out, and every possible avenue of escape was guarded night and day. But again the fugitives escaped, not so much by virtue of their own cunning as through favorable accidents and the inefficiency of the guards on duty. Part of them crossed the railroad bridge over the Blue Earth River during Wednesday night. Two others mounted on a stolen horse passed the picket line near Lake Crystal on Thursday night. These last were challenged, fired upon, and probably wounded by a brave young fellow named Richard Roberts, whose sleeping companions had left him to hold the pass alone. The horse threw his riders and ran away, and they escaped in the darkness to the adjacent field, one of them leaving his hat behind him.