Part 8

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 the circumstances 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 catching Berry 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 was badly 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.

AN INTERVIEW WITH THE YOUNGER BROTHERS.

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 City _Times_ of 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 hair cropped 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 they recovered. 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 with each 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 we were 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 enjoying yourself 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."

ANECDOTES OF JESSE AND FRANK 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 was a 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. Louis _Times_, 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 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 present knew 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.

BASSHAM'S CONFESSION OF THE GLENDALE ROBBERY.

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.