FRANK JAMES WINS A BRIDE
Jesse James was married to his cousin, Miss Zerelda Mimms, in the Autumn of 1874, at the home of his mother in Clay county. Miss Mimms was an orphan, who had lived with a married sister in Kansas City. Being of age there was no one to criticise her act, and she stepped across the threshold of prescribed citizenship to share the perils of an outlaw's life.
The peculiar profession followed by Jesse and Frank James has prevented them from having any permanent residence, and their wives have been compelled, in a measure, to lead a life of seclusion, traveling from place to place, concealing their identity and experiencing few pleasures because of the constant anxiety to which they are subjected. It is understood that Frank is the father of two children, and Jesse finds consolation in two little boys and a baby girl. The outlaw brothers make affectionate husbands and loving and indulgent fathers.
The following account of the Union Pacific train robbery is not published in chronological order with other robberies, because it is not certainly known that the James Boys had any connection with it, and in this history of these noted desperadoes we have endeavored to give only such facts as are, sustainedby indisputable evidence. It is generally believed, however, that the two noted brothers led the party, and, with their usual shrewdness, succeeded in escaping southward with a large amount of booty. The following letter, written by Jesse James to a former comrade, in March previous to the robbery, is strong presumptive evidence that he and Frank were the planners and executors of the scheme, and that they had it in contemplation even before the raid into Minnesota:
Fort Worth, March 10th, '77.Dear——The boys will soon be ready. As soon as the roads dries up, and the streams runs down, we will drive. We expect to take in a good bunch of cattle. You may look out. There will be lots of bellering after the drive. Remember it's business. The rainge is good, I learn, between Sidney and Dedwood. We may go to pasture somewheres in that region. You will hear of it. Tell Sam to come to Honey Grove, Texas, before the drive seson comes. There's money in the stock. As ever,Jesse J.
Fort Worth, March 10th, '77.
Dear——
The boys will soon be ready. As soon as the roads dries up, and the streams runs down, we will drive. We expect to take in a good bunch of cattle. You may look out. There will be lots of bellering after the drive. Remember it's business. The rainge is good, I learn, between Sidney and Dedwood. We may go to pasture somewheres in that region. You will hear of it. Tell Sam to come to Honey Grove, Texas, before the drive seson comes. There's money in the stock. As ever,
Jesse J.
There is a mystery connected with the Union Pacific Railroad robbery which, for more than three years, has remained impenetrable and will, doubtless, continue so to the end of time. The particulars of this daring outrage, gathered principally from newspaper reports at the time, are as follows:
On the 10th day of September, 1877, a party ofnine men, well armed and mounted, rode to a point on the Union Pacific R. R. near Ogallala, the capital of Keith county, in the extreme western part of Nebraska. They made no special effort to deceive the people of the town, as the purpose of their visit was never mentioned. On the day following the encampment, one of the party, afterwards known to be Jim Berry, a former resident of the State, went into Ogallala and purchased four large red handkerchiefs and a gallon of whiskey. That night the camp presented a hilarious scene and the wild orgies were continued such an unusually long time that the citizens began to make remarks respecting the character of the nine strange men. Three days afterward the camp was abandoned, none of the citizens knowing which direction the party had taken, so that suspicion was directed against the object of the singular visitors.
On the 18th following, the mysterious nine suddenly appeared at a small station called Big Springs, fifteen miles west of Ogallala, where the engines of the Union Pacific railroad almost invariably stop for water. The express train was due from the west at eight o'clock,P. M., and the party disposed themselves, directly after dark, in favorable positions for the work in hand. Promptly upon time the train came thundering up to the station and the engine stopped under the water tank. As the fireman was about to mount the tender for the purpose of directing the water spout, two men wearing red handkerchiefs for masks rushed up toward the engine. For some reason the engineer had a presentiment that some trouble was brewing, so seizing his pistol he stepped to the side of the cab and peered into the darkness. It was too late; the fire through the open furnace door reflected his actions distinctly and in a moment the engineer realized that he was looking down into the fatal depths of four navy revolvers and he and the fireman were forced to surrender and keep quiet.
AN ENGINEER WHO MEANT TO FIGHT
At the same time the two robbers took possession of the engine, two others, with the same mask of red handkerchiefs, boarded the express car, while the other five commenced discharging their pistols in order to intimidate the passengers. The express messenger made an effort at resistance, but he was struck a desperate blow on the head with a pistol and then forced to deliver up the keys to the Wells, Fargo & Co.'s safe. The contents of the safe in gold, silver and currency amounted to $60,000, besides 300,000 ounces of silver in bars, the latter consigned to the Treasury at Washington. The robbers could not handle the heavy silver bars, so they were compelled to be satisfied with the other contents of the safe and about $2,000 which they took from the passengers. They then permitted the train to go on its way, and having divided their plunder they loaded the coin on three pack-mules and made off with it.
The men had been carelessly masked and a passenger had recognized one of them as a fellow named Joel Collins, who had been passing for a stock man about that section. From this the railroad detectives obtained information on which to act, and though the pursuit which was organized failed to overtake the outlaws, there was still a hope of recovering some of the treasure. Part of the gang had gone directly south into Kansas, and word was sent along the Kansas Pacific to be on the lookout for them. On the 25th of September, Sheriff Bardsley and ten soldiers were patroling a section of the road near Buffalo station. They had a description of one of the parties who were expected to strike about that point, and sure enough two men were seen coming down from the north with a pack animal. The soldiers kept out of sight in a ravine near by, and when the men reached the station and were watering their horses the sheriff talked with them long enough to be satisfied that they were the men he was expecting. They only stopped a few minutes, then pushed on south. The sheriff immediately brought out his squad and demanded a halt, calling Collins by name. The men even then did not seem to apprehend that they were known as the train robbers, but on being told to surrender they drew their pistols. This brought a volly from the cavalrymen which killed them both. In the pack was found $20,000 of the gold. Collins' companion's name was Bass, andhe is generally supposed to have been the Texas desperado, Sam Bass. The point at which this treasure was first recovered was only 300 miles south of where the robbery occurred. Subsequently the detectives succeeded in tracing several others of the band and making them give up some of the money, but the greater part of it was lost. It was claimed at the time that Jesse and Frank James were along with this band and that they made enough out of the haul to reimburse themselves very well for what they lost on the Northfield trip.
After the fight at Buffalo the remaining bandits separated for the purpose of dividing the trail which was being followed closely, and the hope was indulged for some time that all the robbers would certainly be apprehended. But after the bandits divided the chase was unavailing and the pursuing parties returned to their homes.
Nearly three weeks after the robbery, Jim Berry returned to Mexico, Missouri, with a large sum of money, principally in gold. He had been a resident of the neighborhood but had left for the Black Hills—so he claimed—some months before. He had never borne a good character and was known to be an acquaintance, at least, of the James and Younger Boys and other noted outlaws. Further than this he was seen in Nebraska, near the place of the robbery, by parties who knew him. The exhibition of so much suddenly acquired wealth, together with thecircumstances of the express robbery fresh in the memory of every one, created a suspicion on the part of the sheriff of Audrain county that Berry was one of the robbers. He kept his own counsel, however, and waited further developments. They came soon enough. Berry sold several thousand dollars in gold to the Southern Bank at Mexico; exhibited several fine gold watches which he offered to sell at surprisingly low prices, and besides this he exchanged his ordinary habit for the finest clothes he could have made. Another very suspicious circumstance was in the conduct of Berry; he kept himself in secret places and appeared apprehensive of some effort to catch him. The sheriff, Mr. Glascock, now felt certain that his suspicions were founded upon facts. In the middle of October a young fellow by the name of Bozeman Kazey came into Mexico with an order from Berry for a suit of clothes then being made by a tailor of the place. The sheriff learned of this and he at once arrested Kazey, after which a posse consisting of Robert Steele, John Carter, John Coons and Sam Moore was deputized by the sheriff to assist in the capture of Berry. Kazey was compelled to act as guide, and on the 14th of October the official party set out for the haunts of Berry near Kazey's house. They reached the latter's home before daylight on Sunday morning, and leaving their prisoner in the custody of Steele the remainder of the party surrounded the house for the purpose of catchingBerry when he should come to obtain the clothes he expected Kazey to bring.
Shortly after daylight sheriff Glascock made a little tour out in the woods, and after skirting a bridle path for some distance he saw Berry hitching his horse preparatory to walking to Kazey's house. The sheriff crept cautiously towards Berry and was within forty feet of him before the latter discovered the officer. Berry then started to run, heedless of the sheriff's cry to halt, and never paused until the second discharge of buckshot from the sheriff's gun tore through his leg and felled him to the ground. Prostrate as he was the bandit tried to draw his pistol, but the sheriff was upon him too quickly. Berry was disarmed and then carried to Kazey's house and surgical aid speedily summoned. On his person was found nearly $1,000 in money, and a fine gold watch and chain.
After the surgeon arrived, Moore, Coons and Steele were left in charge of the wounded man and Kazey, while the sheriff and John Carter rode over to Berry's house to see if new discoveries might not be made.
When they entered the house the sheriff addressed Mrs. Berry and said:
"Mrs. Berry, where is your husband?"
"I am sure I have no idea," she responded; "he has not been at home for several days."
"Then let me inform you," said the sheriff, "that we have just captured him, but in so doing he wasbadly wounded. You had better go over and see him, at Kazey's house."
Mrs. Berry manifested the greatest grief, and the wailings of the wife and little children quite unnerved the sheriff and his deputy for some time, but they had to do their duty, and, before leaving, the house was thoroughly searched for money and valuables, but nothing was discovered.
On the same afternoon Berry was taken to Mexico in an ambulance and given quarters in the Ringo hotel, where he was attended by the best surgeons in the town. The wound was much more severe than at first supposed. Seven buckshot had penetrated the leg, cutting the arteries and fracturing the tibia bone. His sufferings were excruciating until Monday night when mortification began, and on the following day he died.
At all times Berry positively refused to give the names of his associates in the express robbery, nor did he ever admit his own participation.
The mystery connected with the robbery is found in the impenetrable veil which masks the identity of the robber band. The three who were killed gave no clue as to who were their comrades. In the absence of any proof, judgment being laid entirely upon circumstances and conjecture, it is popularly supposed that the four whose personnel has never been discovered were Sam Bass, Jack Davis and the two James Boys.
In the early part of September, 1880, Col. George Gaston, of Kansas City, while spending a summer vacation at Minnetonka and the Minnesota lakes, went to Stillwater for the purpose of seeing the Younger Boys, whom he had known before the war. He was accorded an interview with the imprisoned bandits, the result of which was published in the Kansas CityTimesof September 6th, from which the following is taken.
This interview is of special value, considering the obscurity which surrounds the shooting of Jesse James by George Shepherd, and the identity of the James Boys in the Northfield robbery.
After describing his introduction to the prison authorities and entrance into the penitentiary, Mr. Gaston proceeds as follows:
"There was a man at the top of the steps to receive us, another official with the conventional bunch of keys. 'Come this way,' said he, and we followed him into a square room with walls and ceilings of stone. There were chairs and we sat down. A door at one side opened and three men walked in. They were Cole, Jim and Bob Younger. They took chairs opposite and directly facing us. They wore the prison garb, and their faces were shaven and their haircropped close. They looked so genteel, despite their striped clothing, that my nervousness disappeared at once. I told them who I was and whence I came, and introduced my wife. They were very courteous, and bowed, and said they were glad to see me. Jim hitched back in his chair, and addressing my wife, said, laughingly: 'It is so long since we have been permitted to converse with anybody that I don't know as we can talk.' Then followed a desultory conversation. Cole said his health was poor; he complained of suffering from the effects of the wound in his head, received at the time of his capture. The rifle ball entered near the right ear and lodged under the left ear and has never been removed. Jim was shot in the mouth, but there are now no signs of a wound. Bob had his jaw broken, but he too has entirely recovered, and is the handsomest one in the trio. He is the youngest. I remember him as a boy. He has developed into a robust, fine-looking young man. The escape from death these men had at the time of their capture was a miracle. Sixty guns were discharged at once. Cole and Jim lay on the ground—the one with a bullet through the head and the other with a frightful wound in his mouth; Bob's jaw had been broken but he did not fall—he threw up his arms and cried, 'Don't fire again, gentlemen, they're all dead.' And so they were to all appearance. The pursuers picked them up and carried them back. Slowly they began to mend and ultimately theyrecovered. By pleading guilty to the crime charged they escaped the death penalty and were sentenced to life imprisonment."
"It was really very touching," pursued Col. Gaston, "to hear them talk of the past and of the present. Cole told of his army life—how at the age of nineteen he had been promoted to a captaincy in the Confederate army. He spoke of the murder of his father and of his career since the close of the war. 'My exploits in the army were exaggerated,' said he, 'just as my exploits as an outlaw have been exaggerated. In one instance I have been too highly praised, and in the other grossly wronged.'
"I learned from their own lips the story of their prison life. Cole Younger is a changed man. I found him positively entertaining. He converses with a correctness, fluency and grace that are charming. None of the brothers are compelled to do very much work; they spend a great deal of their time reading in their cells. Jim is reading law books and Bob is studying medicine; Cole seems to have developed a theological turn of mind. These three men are great favorites in the prison—they are looked up to by their companions as sort of demi-gods, creatures immeasurably above the ordinary inmates of the penitentiary."
"The most dreadful feature of their life," said Col. Gaston, "is the fact that though they occupy adjoining cells, they are not permitted to converse witheach other. It is only once a month that they can meet and talk to one another, and then only for a few moments. They told me that they prayed earnestly every night that the month might pass quickly. It was touching beyond expression to hear Cole speak of his early days. His misspent life he charges to the faults of his early training. He says he was taught to be ruled by his passions and his passions alone. And as he talked in this vein the tears came into his eyes and I felt that he was indeed a penitent man. He inquired after his old army friends, and I told him what I knew of them and their whereabouts. In the course of our conversation the James Boys were mentioned. 'Do you believe Jesse is dead?' I asked. Cole straightened up, glanced quick as a lightning flash at his brothers on either side of him, and replied, 'He is, if George Shepherd says he is.' I asked him what he meant, and he answered: 'There are sometimes two things alike in the world, and Jesse James and George Shepherd were as near alike as they could be, in character, I mean. Both are quick, nervous and brave. Jesse was so nervous that sometimes he did things rashly.' As Cole said this he leveled out his right arm as if he were aiming a pistol. Instantaneously it struck me that he sought to convey the impression that it was Jesse James who perpetrated the Northfield bank murder in a moment of nervous rashness. But the subject was pursued no further. As we left them I felt that wewere leaving the most wretched and hopeless of men."
Col. Gaston said that upon his return from his interview with the Youngers, inspector Reed told him the following, which has never before been made public: "A short time before the Northfield robbery," said the inspector, "I was on my way home to St. Paul from a point in Iowa. I endeavored to secure a Pullman car berth, but found that I had been preceded by two men who had engaged eight berths—the only ones remaining in the car. Later, however, I was informed that I could have one of the berths, as one of the party had failed to put in an appearance. As I sat in that car that evening a man wearing a slouch hat sat directly behind me; in the seat opposite him was a man whom I subsequently discovered was Cole Younger. While thus seated, a big, boisterous countryman, accompanied by his young lady, entered the car and demanded my seat. 'We've been to a dance and are tired'—that was his apology. I told him that his lady could sit beside me, but I didn't propose to yield my seat to a man. As we were arguing, the man in the slouch hat came over and said to me quietly, 'Why don't you throw the d—d yahoo out of the window?' I made no reply, whereupon he turned to my persecutor and said, 'Here, you d—d loafer, if you don't go about your business I'll throw you off the train. You have been dancing and enjoyingyourself and I guess you can stand up awhile. This gentleman has a long way to travel, he has paid for his seat, and by G—d, he shall keep it.' This was quite enough. The big man moved off. The next day, when I was in my bank, in walked the two strange men who had secured the berths on the car. They asked for a bank almanac of last year. I told them we had none to spare; that the almanacs were issued to banks alone and were really invaluable. Then they asked if they could borrow an almanac of the previous year, and I said yes, if they would be sure to return it. As I passed it over the counter the man in the slouch hat pushed a ten dollar bill toward me. 'Take this,' said he, 'so you will be compensated if we should fail to return the book.' I reminded him he had promised to return the book—that it was part of a file and could not be spared. He insisted, however, that I should retain the money, because something might occur preventing the return of the almanac. Well, the book never came back. Three days later the Northfield Bank was robbed, and shortly afterward I identified Cole Younger as one of the two men who had taken the almanac from me. From the descriptions I have read and the pictures I have seen of the men, I am satisfied that the other man, the man with the slouched hat, the one who came to my rescue on the train, was the notorious outlaw, Jesse James."
Sometimes incidents, in themselves trivial, serve to reveal the character of persons connected with them better than those actions which are esteemed as more important. The James Boys are robbers, but nevertheless they are still capable of generous actions. It may be that the remembrance of former days sometimes disposes their minds to the contemplation of the true, the beautiful and the good in humanity. Jesse James was once baptized, and became a member of a Baptist church in Clay county, Missouri, and it is said that for a considerable time before the war, his conduct was exemplary in the highest degree. But he has since sadly fallen from grace.
Some years ago a tenant on the Samuels farm had a difficulty with the mother of Jesse and Frank. In the heat of passion he denounced the old lady as a liar. Jesse heard of the affair, and, as he always exhibited the warmest affection for his mother, those who knew of the circumstance fully expected that the tenant would be called to account in the usual way by Jesse James. One day the offending tenant was engaged in some domestic labor near his home and adjacent to a corn-field, when suddenly there wasa rustling of the dry corn-blades and the next instant the dreaded outlaw leaped his horse over the fence and dashed up to the affrighted citizen with a heavy revolver ready cocked in his hand. "I have come to kill you!" he said, at the same time making an ominous motion with the pistol. "Did you not know better than to call my mother a liar? Now, if you want to make your peace with God, you had better be at it." The poor man dropped upon his knees and began to pray. As he proceeded, he became more and more fervent. He asked God to pardon his transgressions and have mercy upon him. Then he commended his loved ones to the protecting care of that Beneficent Being to whom alone they could look, now that he was so soon to be taken away from them. The prayer had become pathetic in its earnestness. As the man proceeded, the hard lines in Jesse James' features relaxed, a shade of sadness stole over his countenance, the muzzle of the pistol was unconsciously lowered, and when the poor frightened farmer had finished, the look of stern resolve was all gone, and the outlaw's pistol had been sheathed. "I cannot kill you thus," he said, "but you must leave the country," and Jesse James wheeled his horse and disappeared as he had come.
What tender reminiscences may have come to Jesse James then? Who can tell? The farmer settled up his affairs and departed from the country soon afterward. His prayer had prevailed with Jesse, and he was spared to his loved ones.
The following anecdote illustrates a trait prominently developed in the character of the outlaws—that is, their willingness to make personal sacrifices to serve anyone whom they regard in a friendly light.
It was during the war. Col. J. H. R. Cundiff, now editor of the St. LouisTimes, had been in North Missouri on recruiting service for the Confederate army. The whole country was overrun by Federal soldiers, and the situation of the recruiting officers in that region was perilous. One night Col. Cundiff and several officers visited the house of Mr. Bivens, in Clay county, to obtain food and secure a trusty guide to pilot them out of that region. They learned that a man who resided some miles away was thoroughly acquainted with the by-ways of the country, and could be relied upon in such an emergency. Among all the men present not one knew the way to the house of the person whose services were sought. Miss Bivens, a beautiful and accomplished young lady, at length offered to venture through the darkness and find the guide. Frank James was there, and spoke up, "Oh, no, that is not necessary. Just get on my horse behind me, and I will take you there." The lady, who was at that time very fond of the society of the guerrilla, trusted herself with him, and mounting on the horse behind him they rode away into the night, she indicating to him the route to be taken. Though the roads were guarded by Federals, the gauntlet of pickets was successfully run,and the guide was secured. In those days Frank and Jesse James were esteemed as chivalrous gentlemen, and fit guardians of female honor. Col. Cundiff and his fellow officers were enabled to effect a change of base in comparative security, by the chivalrous services rendered by Frank James.
A story is told of Jesse, which shows that he is not impervious to the appeals of the suffering. One day he was riding in a sparsely settled region in western Texas. Passing through a belt of timber along a stream, he came to the camping place of an emigrant family. There a most distressing spectacle presented itself. The "movers" were people in indigent circumstances, evidently. The old blind horse and poor mule which had drawn the rickety wagon seemed as if their days of toil were about numbered. The man who had driven them had died there under a tree two days before; the woman was extended on the earth, almost in the agonies of death, and three children, the eldest not more than nine years of age, were crouched around, wailing piteously for something to stay the ravages of hunger.
Jesse saw the miserable condition of the unfortunate emigrant family. He at once dismounted, examined the poor sick woman, administered to her necessities as best he could, and also gave the children something to eat from his own small store of supplies. He then bid the woman be of good cheer,promised to come again before night, mounted his horse and galloped away in search of assistance. Ten miles from the camp he found a physician, and two miles further he found a coffin-maker. The first he sent to the lonely camp by the stream, the other he set to work to make a coffin. Then he found a man with a spring wagon and engaged his services. With a supply of things of present necessity, he turned once more toward the camp. Arrived there he prepared the food and made the coffee himself for the unfortunate family. The physician came and prescribed for the sick lady. The undertaker brought the coffin, and the owner of the spring wagon came to remove the bereaved woman and her little ones to a place of shelter. The stranger was buried—where?—in an untimely tomb.
"No human hands with pious reverence rear'd,But the charmed eddies of autumnal winds,Built o'er his mouldering bones a pyramidOf mouldering leaves in the waste wilderness."
"No human hands with pious reverence rear'd,But the charmed eddies of autumnal winds,Built o'er his mouldering bones a pyramidOf mouldering leaves in the waste wilderness."
"No human hands with pious reverence rear'd,But the charmed eddies of autumnal winds,Built o'er his mouldering bones a pyramidOf mouldering leaves in the waste wilderness."
"No human hands with pious reverence rear'd,
But the charmed eddies of autumnal winds,
Built o'er his mouldering bones a pyramid
Of mouldering leaves in the waste wilderness."
The bereaved one and her orphaned children were carried to the house of a pioneer some miles away, and every want was bountifully provided for, and in a pleasant farm-house she and her children call their own home, she blesses the outlaw, and prays that he may be kept from harm, and that he may be led aright at last.
They tell a story of Frank James which illustrates one peculiar trait of the outlaw's character—that is,his gallantry and knightly devotion to the honor of the fair sex. It happened in Kentucky. There was a young lady resident in a neighborhood where Frank James was a visitor, who had become the victim of the persecutions of a certain fellow whose addresses she had refused. On every possible occasion this low-bred person sought to mortify and insult the young lady, who was unfortunate in not having any near male relatives to champion her cause. One evening, at a social entertainment, the neighborhood coxcomb and instinctive ruffian approached the young lady in a very rude and offensive manner, just at the time when she was engaged in conversation with Frank James, who had been only a few minutes before presented to her. Without apparently noticing the insolence of the person, Frank suggested a promenade, and the young lady took his arm, and they walked away. In no long time they met the rude fellow again, and he took special pains to mortify the young lady, and threw out a gratuitous insult to her escort. Very politely Frank begged the lady to release him for a moment, and he followed the coxcomb. Coming up with him, he quietly requested him to step aside for a moment. The fellow treated the request with contempt, and added insult to injury. Without the least show of passion, Frank rejoined the lady and conducted her to her friends. He then calmly awaited his opportunity. It came that same evening. Some persons presentknew the desperate character of Frank James, and had told the fellow he was in danger. The fellow attempted quietly to withdraw from the company, but he could not effect his purpose. Frank James had his attention fixed upon the ill-mannered man. When he had gone away from the house some distance, Frank arrested his progress. He had a pistol drawn, which he presented. "You deserve to die," said Frank James in a low, quiet tone, "but on one condition I will spare you, under the circumstances. Will you comply?" "Name your conditions!" responded the other, now thoroughly frightened "These:" said Frank James, "You must write a note to the lady, abjectly apologizing for your conduct. It must be done before ten o'clock to-morrow, and you must leave the country within five days, and never return. If the letter does not reach the lady by noon to-morrow, I will hunt you until I find you, and then as sure as there is a God in heaven I will kill you. If after five days you are found in this country, I will shoot you. Remember what I say!" The man promised compliance, and Frank James returned to the merry-makers, and no one who saw him suspected that the quiet gentleman had thoughts of bloodshed in his mind. The letter came, and in three days the neighborhood fop had disappeared.
The robbery of the Chicago and Alton train at Glendale, Missouri, as already described, has been surrounded with considerable mystery, concerning the identity of all those engaged in the outrage.
The large rewards offered for the apprehension of the robber-band,—amounting to $75,000—caused a very active search, which resulted, at last, in the capture of Daniel (better known as Tucker) Bassham, under circumstances already related on page ninety-nine. The writer visited Bassham at the county jail in Kansas City, in October, 1880, for the purpose of interviewing him, with the hope of obtaining some interesting facts concerning the robbery, but though he had made a written confession, he refused to talk on the subject, saying that he had already told too much for his own good.
On the 6th day of November, Bassham was brought into court for trial, having entered a plea of "not guilty," despite his confession, but this plea was soon changed to that of "guilty," and he then threw himself upon the mercy of the court. The following summary of his confession appeared in the Kansas CityJournalof November 7th:
"On Monday night preceding the robbery," said Bassham in his confession, "two neighbors of mine came to me and said they had put up a job to rob a train, and wanted me to go in with them. I told them I didn't want nothin'to do with robbin' no train, and wouldn't have nothin' to do with it nohow; but they kept on persuadin' and finally went away, sayin' they would come back in the morning and that I must go with them. They said a very rich train was coming down on the C. & A., and that we could make a big haul, perhaps $100,000. Wa'al, that kind o' half persuaded me, but still I didn't like to go. They finally told me that Jesse James was arrangin' the thing and that it was sure to be a success."Wa'al, then they left. My wife kept pesterin' me to know what was goin' on an' what they wanted, but I didn't like ter let on. I kept thinking about it all night. Of course I'd heerd often of Jesse James and kinder had confidence in him, then I was pretty poor, there wasn't much crops on my place and winter comin' on, and I tell you it looked pretty nice to get a little money just then, no matter whar it kum from. 'Sides I thought to myself, ef I don't go it'll be done jest the same anyhow, they'll be down on me and ten to one I'll be more likely to git arrested if I ain't thar as if I am."Wa'al, I kep' kinder thinkin' it over an' in the morning they came to the house early and eat breakfast, and then went out and loafed around the timber and in the cornfield all day so nobody wouldn't see 'em. In the evenin' they all cum in and we eat supper and then they giv' me a pistol, an' we all got on our horses an' rode off together. We soon met another man on the road, an' when we got to Seaver's school-house, 'bout a mile and a half away from my house, they giv a kind of a whistle for a signal, and two men came out of the timber an' rode up. I was introduced to one of them as Jesse James. This was the first time I had ever seen Jesse James in my life.""And who was the other?" demanded the prosecutor."The other was Ed. Miller, of Clay county."Bassham said that Jesse James then gave him a shot-gun and furnished each man with a mask, and that they all then rode on in silence toward Glendale. No instructions were given to any one man. When they arrived at Glendalethey noticed the light in the store, and Bassham was ordered by Jesse James to go in, capture the inmates and bring them over to the station. On looking in the windows he found the usual crowd of loiterers had left the store and lounged over to the depot to wait for the train to come in. He then went on over to the depot and found the crowd in the waiting-room guarded by one of the men. Jesse James then told him to walk up and down the platform, as the train approached, and fire off his shot-gun in the air as fast as he could. The telegraph operator was forced, at the point of the pistol, to lower the green light and thus signal the train to stop. Jesse James then asked him if there were any loose ties there that they could lay across the track, and he said he didn't know of any. The men then went and got logs and laid them across the track to obstruct the train if it should take the alarm and not stop for the green light. Meanwhile the train approached; Bassham walked up and down the platform firing off his gun; Jesse James and one of the men jumped into the express car, and Miller jumped on the engine in the manner already described and with which all are familiar. The train was not stopped more than five or six minutes.As soon as it was over, Jesse James fired off his pistol, which was the signal for all to leave, and they jumped on their horses and rode rapidly for about half a mile, till they came to a deserted log-cabin. Here they alighted and entered. Somebody produced a small pocket-lantern and somebody else struck a match. Jesse James threw the booty down on a rude table in the middle of the compartment, divided it out, and shoved each man a pile as they stood round the table. Bassham's share was between $800 and $900. Jesse then said: "Now, each one of you fellows go home and stay there. Go to work in the morning, and keep your mouths shut, and nobody will ever be the wiser. This country will be full of men in the morning hunting for me and you."
"On Monday night preceding the robbery," said Bassham in his confession, "two neighbors of mine came to me and said they had put up a job to rob a train, and wanted me to go in with them. I told them I didn't want nothin'to do with robbin' no train, and wouldn't have nothin' to do with it nohow; but they kept on persuadin' and finally went away, sayin' they would come back in the morning and that I must go with them. They said a very rich train was coming down on the C. & A., and that we could make a big haul, perhaps $100,000. Wa'al, that kind o' half persuaded me, but still I didn't like to go. They finally told me that Jesse James was arrangin' the thing and that it was sure to be a success.
"Wa'al, then they left. My wife kept pesterin' me to know what was goin' on an' what they wanted, but I didn't like ter let on. I kept thinking about it all night. Of course I'd heerd often of Jesse James and kinder had confidence in him, then I was pretty poor, there wasn't much crops on my place and winter comin' on, and I tell you it looked pretty nice to get a little money just then, no matter whar it kum from. 'Sides I thought to myself, ef I don't go it'll be done jest the same anyhow, they'll be down on me and ten to one I'll be more likely to git arrested if I ain't thar as if I am.
"Wa'al, I kep' kinder thinkin' it over an' in the morning they came to the house early and eat breakfast, and then went out and loafed around the timber and in the cornfield all day so nobody wouldn't see 'em. In the evenin' they all cum in and we eat supper and then they giv' me a pistol, an' we all got on our horses an' rode off together. We soon met another man on the road, an' when we got to Seaver's school-house, 'bout a mile and a half away from my house, they giv a kind of a whistle for a signal, and two men came out of the timber an' rode up. I was introduced to one of them as Jesse James. This was the first time I had ever seen Jesse James in my life."
"And who was the other?" demanded the prosecutor.
"The other was Ed. Miller, of Clay county."
Bassham said that Jesse James then gave him a shot-gun and furnished each man with a mask, and that they all then rode on in silence toward Glendale. No instructions were given to any one man. When they arrived at Glendalethey noticed the light in the store, and Bassham was ordered by Jesse James to go in, capture the inmates and bring them over to the station. On looking in the windows he found the usual crowd of loiterers had left the store and lounged over to the depot to wait for the train to come in. He then went on over to the depot and found the crowd in the waiting-room guarded by one of the men. Jesse James then told him to walk up and down the platform, as the train approached, and fire off his shot-gun in the air as fast as he could. The telegraph operator was forced, at the point of the pistol, to lower the green light and thus signal the train to stop. Jesse James then asked him if there were any loose ties there that they could lay across the track, and he said he didn't know of any. The men then went and got logs and laid them across the track to obstruct the train if it should take the alarm and not stop for the green light. Meanwhile the train approached; Bassham walked up and down the platform firing off his gun; Jesse James and one of the men jumped into the express car, and Miller jumped on the engine in the manner already described and with which all are familiar. The train was not stopped more than five or six minutes.
As soon as it was over, Jesse James fired off his pistol, which was the signal for all to leave, and they jumped on their horses and rode rapidly for about half a mile, till they came to a deserted log-cabin. Here they alighted and entered. Somebody produced a small pocket-lantern and somebody else struck a match. Jesse James threw the booty down on a rude table in the middle of the compartment, divided it out, and shoved each man a pile as they stood round the table. Bassham's share was between $800 and $900. Jesse then said: "Now, each one of you fellows go home and stay there. Go to work in the morning, and keep your mouths shut, and nobody will ever be the wiser. This country will be full of men in the morning hunting for me and you."
It will be observed that in the confession, asreported, only the names of Jesse James and Ed. Miller appear, when it is now positively known that the gang comprised not less than six persons. The confession implicated two of the most respectable farmers in Jackson county, Kit Rose and Dick Tally, one a brother-in-law and the other a cousin of the Younger brothers, both of whom were arrested, but soon afterward released, as not a scintilla of evidence could be discovered corroborating Bassham's disjointed statements. The other party, who Bassham swears was connected with the robbery (and in this he certainly guessed rightly), was Jim Cummings, who shot George Shepherd in the affair at Short Creek.
In November last (1880), Bassham was brought into court with a plea of "not guilty," notwithstanding his confession, but he had so completely convicted himself that the plea was withdrawn, and he threw himself upon the mercy of the court. He was then sentenced to the penitentiary for a period of ten years. Since his confinement at Jefferson City, there has been a considerable change of opinion respecting his guilt, and there is no doubt but that now a large majority of persons believe Bassham innocent of any complicity with the train robbery, and that his so-called confession was the result of influences which the writer does not wish to assume the responsibility of naming.
FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS REWARD OFFERED FOR THE ARREST OF THE GUILTYPARTIES.
The Border Outlaws, those whose crimes began with the hot and infectious breath of war and left a bloody trail around Jackson, Clay and Harrison counties, Missouri, still survive to wreak a desperate vengeance, and live by tributes levied upon corporations and individuals. Many of the old band, it is true, have been palsied by death, dying, belted and armed, by a fate anticipated, but like the excision of a cancer, the germs have remained from which a new growth has constantly developed to harass the State and disorder society.
The James boys, aside from their reckless courage, are possessed of extraordinary capabilities, cunning resource, domineering resolution, woods-craft and dash. As if by a thorough consideration of the beneficial result to be secured thereby, they first terrorized the people of Western Missouri, and then heroized themselves in the eyes of those whose political sympathies were in consonance with their own. Thus upon the one side the people were afraid to attempt any punishment of the outlaws or giveinformation of their rendezvous; while upon the other they were protected and encouraged without concealment. It is for these reasons that the James boys and their confreres have eluded every pursuit and been able to give free license to their impious passions.
There are peculiar features, however, connected with every outrage perpetrated by the James gang which readily manifest them in the deed. Among these several distinguishing features are: their appearance in the vicinity where the robbery occurs some days before its accomplishment; the thorough maturity of their plans; the wearing of long linen dusters; unhesitating disposition to commit murder; a splendid mount; the invariable sack carried in which to deposit the plunder; the line of retreat always southward when the robbery has been committed north of Clay county, andvice versa; masks of red handkerchiefs, and the ease with which pursuit is eluded. In addition to these unmistakable peculiarities, another fact is particularly noticeable, viz: within twenty-four hours after the James boys commit a robbery, Mrs. Samuels, their mother, never fails to make her appearance in Kansas City, the purpose of these visits being undoubtedly to discover what means are employed looking to the apprehension of the gang, and gather up any and all such information as might prove serviceable in aiding the escape of her sons.
Considering well all these points of evidence, any shrewd analyzer of human nature can readilydetermine whether or not either of the James boys was connected with any robbery reported.
On the night of July 15th, 1881, an outward going passenger train from Kansas City over the Chicago, Rock Island & Pacific Railroad was robbed at Winston Station, Daviess county, Missouri, under the following circumstances: The train left Kansas City at 6:30P. M., in charge of William Westfall, the conductor; Wolcott, the engineer, and Charlie Murray, express messenger. The train consisted of six coaches and a sleeper, all of which were well filled with passengers. Reaching Cameron, a stop was made for supper, and when the train started off two men were observed to jump on, each of whom wore a large red bandana handkerchief around his neck, partly concealing his features. Nothing indicative of the robbers' intentions, however, transpired until the train reached Winston, at 9:30P. M., at which station four men took passage, each having his face covered with a handkerchief identical with those worn by the two that got on at Cameron, and all wearing long, linen dusters. Getting under headway again, the train had proceeded nearly one mile from Winston when suddenly, as Conductor Westfall appeared in the second car to collect tickets, the passengers were startled by the largest of the robbers rising from his seat and shouting out in a loud voice, "All aboard!" which was the signal for action. The large man, heavily masked with a red handkerchief, as were all the others, seven in number, thrust out a large pistol, and saying to Westfall, "You are the man Iwant," fired. The ball struck Westfall in the arm, producing only a flesh wound, but as the wounded man turned to run out of the car two more shots were fired by the same robber without effect. This bad shooting seemed to exasperate another one of the outlaws, who gave an exhibition of his skill byshooting Westfall in the brain, killing him instantly, the body falling off the platform onto the ground.
DEATH OF CONDUCTOR WESTFALL
While this unprovoked murder was being perpetrated three others of the outlaw gang rushed through the cars toward the engine. Wild confusion followed, and a stone mason named J. McCulloch, from Iowa, who had been working near Winston, attempted to get out of the baggage car as the robbers entered it. Suspecting that he was either the engineer or intent upon raising an alarm, one of the outlaws shot him dead and pushed his body off the train, which had now come to a stop.
The robbers then went about their business of robbing, two mounting the engine, three were left to guard the passengers, while the remaining two made for the express car. Mr. Murray, the express agent, hearing firing and suspecting the real cause, made a hasty attempt to close and lock the doors of his car, which had been left open, owing to the oppressively warm weather, but while he was thus engaged one of the robbers jumped through the partly closed door and grabbing Murray, struck him a violent blow on the head with his pistol, at the same time saying, "Open up, d—n you, or I'll kill you!" Looking into the muzzles of two large pistols, Murray was forced to comply, and delivered up the safe keys. The treasure box was quickly opened and its contents extracted, consisting of coin and currency to the amount of $8,000 or $10,000, which was thrown into a sack the outlaws carried for the purpose. The train was then started up by one of the robbers, butafter proceeding a few hundred yards stopped again and the bold free-booters jumped off, running for their horses which were tied in a clump of trees less than one hundred yards from the track. They did not take the time to untie their horses, but cut the reins, and mounting, rode in a half circuit aroundCameron, then took a course almost due south. They crossed the Missouri river near Sibley's Landing, in couples, having divided up immediately after the robbery was consummated.