Part 7

and fishers, and asked where they could catch the best fish. The boy ran over to Ouren’s again and told them—his father objecting to his going, saying the men would shoot him. His father hitched up the horse in the wagon, but, seeing the boy so anxious to go, said he might take one of the horses and go and tell the people what he had seen, if he went the east road. He at once started for Madelia, riding at the utmost strength of the horse, which once fell and covered him with mud.

“I PICKED UP MYSELF FIRST,”

“and then the horse,” he said, “and was soon off again,” shouting to everybody to look out, the robbers were about. But no one would believe a word he said. At last he came to the hotel and saw Thomas Vought, who said they might believe him, because he always spoke the truth. He then gave up his horse and returned in a wagon. The people left him to take care of the horses, and they went down to the north branch of the river, by Andrew Andersen’s. He heard the shooting, but saw nothing till the men were caught.

DURING THE WHOLE NIGHT

the utmost order prevailed, and no word was spoken of lynching, everybody stating that if such a thing was attempted, they would protect the prisoners with their lives. An inquest was held on the dead man and a verdict found in substance that the man met with his death from the hand of one of the citizens of Madelia while resisting arrest.

THE ROBBERS’ LEVEE.

The next morning the Flanders House was literally crammed with eager people, anxious to see the captive bandits, and the street in front was thronged with an equally anxious crowd.

Cole Younger frankly acknowledged their identity, saying that he was Cole, born the 15th of January, 1844. The man lying by his side, he said, was his brother James, and the other, slightly wounded, Robert, their respective ages being 28 and 22 years.

THEY HELD A LEVEE

in their chambers, hundreds of people passing up to see them, old men and youths, aged ladies and young maidens, and a more singular sight is seldom witnessed. Many believe in their contrition. Both brothers spoke in feeling tones of their dead mother and living sister, and this touched the women wonderfully.

Neither would say who the dead man was, excusing themselves by stating it is a point with them never to speak of each other’s affairs, only of their own.

The writer mentioned to them that the other two,

THE JAMES BROTHERS

were captured, one dead and the other dying. This seemed to affect them. Cole asked who was dead, the smaller or larger of the two, adding the caution, “mind I don’t say they are the James brothers.” When the writer said that they had acknowledged who they were, Cole then asked, “Did they say anything of us.” When answered in the negative, he replied,

“GOOD BOYS TO THE LAST.”

A photograph of the two men killed at Northfield was shown them, and they were told that the shorter was recognized by Kansas City people as Chadwell, and the taller as Miller; also stating that Hazen said the taller was Pitts.

Cole said “they were good likenesses, and cannot but be recognized, but both detectives were wrong.” He then added, “Don’t misunderstand me; I did not say neither of them was Miller, but there is no Pitts there”.

No excitement was feared at Madelia. In fact, there was too much sympathy shown, and every kindness was bestowed upon the captive bandits. Caution was, however, taken to prevent their escape,

ARMED SENTINELS

being placed at the foot of the stairs and about the house.

Friday, in this brave, plucky, generous little town of Madelia, was a day which will long be remembered, not only by the staunch hearts and true of the town, but also by hundreds upon hundreds of visitors, who then for the first time trod its streets, attracted there by the widespread news which suddenly raised the obscure name to a high position upon the roll of fame.

The self-sacrificing heroism of six men made the fame of Colais in the olden time, and the plucky

COURAGE OF SEVEN MEN

has wrung from grudging fortune the renown of Madelia to-day; for throughout the length and breadth of the land, and wherever the pulsations of the electric message-bearer—the nervous system of civilization—was felt, the bosom of generous sentiment swelled with approbation, gratitude, and pride, when the tale of the cool dash and unselfish bravery of those seven Madelians was told. The united voices and hearts of the whole nation swell with gratitude and laudations for Madelia’s sturdy heroism.

All day Friday and all the night previous, there was a constant and ever-changing stream of visitors passing through the rooms occupied by Madelia’s fated captives. One could but speculate with wonder upon the source of such an inexhuastible human stream.

Not an inconsiderable moiety of the great total of visitors was of the gentler sex, and to one watching with interest the great bandits’ matinee and evening receptions, the changing expressions upon the eager, expectant and occasionally indignant countenances of visitors, was of singular interest. A strong, energetic man would enter with knitted brow, and stern, unrelenting features, who would be followed by a timid, half-fearful, half-loathing woman’s face. Then there were angry faces, curious faces, bold, proud faces—faces exhibiting every phase of human passion and human temperament—but they had scarcely passed the threshhold of either prison chamber wherein lay the objects of all-absorbing curiosity, when lo! presto! a metamorphose as sudden as it was complete, and as radical as it was rapid, had taken place. Doubt, wonder, and astonishment would grow into

SYMPATHY,

and often admiration. It is safe to say that out of every hundred visitors who looked only for a few seconds upon those daring and notorious men, ninety-nine came away with very different, almost opposite opinions concerning the lawless Younger brothers.

Was it really true that anger, malice, revenge, cruelty, hard, unyielding, implacable hatred ever marred such countenances!—that cold, murderous, steel-like scintillations ever beamed from those eyes? Was it possible that blasphemous execrations and hellish denunciations ever polluted such voices and blistered those pleasant tongues? Was it really true that those three intelligent men—courteous and affable—had plotted and executed some of the most cold-blooded, atrocious diabolisms ever known in modern times? Questions, perhaps, like these, were asked of themselves by hundreds of visitors yesterday, and left unanswered satisfactorily.

COLE YOUNGER

was more demonstrative than either of the rest. He always respected religion, he told one lady. His mother, he said, was a good, praying, Christian woman, and two of his uncles were Methodist ministers.

To another who urged him to pray for himself, for although “the prayers of the righteous availeth much,” salvation must necessarily depend upon himself, he said: “I conceive prayer to exist in every action, every thought, and considering the eventful life I have led, I cannot say I have been a praying man. A splendid theme for earnest sermons,” he continued, “is that divine mandate, ‘Remember thy Creator in the days of thy youth.’ ”

To another lady he said: “It is not my raising, but from the”

FORCE OF CIRCUMSTANCES,

“I am what I am. Accused of all manner of crimes before I had committed one, I am like the Wandering Jew.”

In expressing his gratitude for the kindness manifested by the ladies and the people generally, he said: “It takes a brave man to fight a battle, but a braver man to treat well a fallen foe.”

Every lady that entered his room he greeted courteously, and as she was leaving, he would ask her to pray for him and his brother—when James would chime in, “Not for us, never mind us, but pray for our dear sister.”

To a group of ladies who shrinkingly looked upon the two wounded men, Cole said: “Ladies, this is a terrible sight.” When one asked him in trembling, gentle tones, “Do your wounds pain you?” his reply was, “Wounds do not trouble me, madam; I would as leave die as be a prisoner.”

WHEN ASKED ABOUT HEYWOOD,

he said that ninety-nine out of a hundred would have opened the safe. “At least,” he added, “I know I would.”

Asked why Heywood was shot, he said, “he supposed the man who shot him, whoever he might be, thought Heywood was going to shoot him. The fact that the man was on the counter and turned round, as the papers say, and shot him, is sufficient proof of this. Heywood went to his desk and the man thought chat he was about to take a pistol out of the desk.” “That was an unfortunate affair,” he continued, “and the man who did it, no doubt regretted it immediately.”

BOB YOUNGER,

the youngest brother, is not disposed to talk cant, but answers questions frankly and promptly when directed to his own affairs, but he will not answer a word about any other member of the gang. When asked if he did not think Heywood a brave fellow, he remarked that he thought he acted from fear throughout. He was too much frightened to open the safe, or he could not do it. He (Bob) was was of the opinion that Heywood could not open the safe, and he did not wish to go any further with that job. When asked

WHY HEYWOOD WAS SHOT,

he said it was not on account of revenge, but simply in self-defense, “for what object could there be in such a cold-blooded crime, when the party must be the sufferers. It was a very unfortunate affair for us,” he said.

Bob did not hesitate to answer any question proposed to him which concerned himself. He volunteered the statement that he was one of the three who entered the bank, and it was he who tried to keep Manning from firing up the street. Being asked if he was not considered a good shot, he said he had always considered himseif a good marksman, but he thought that he would now have to forego all claim to being a crack-shot, after considering the unusually bad shooting he made in the bush when captured.

To the boy who put the Mankato men upon the track, Cole extended his hand, and said:

“READ YOUR BIBLE,”

“my lad, and follow its precepts. Do not let them lead you astray. For your part in our capture I freely forgive you.”

Every opportunity he could get when ladies were present, he would ask them to pray for him, and he would incessantly talk on religious subjects and his previous history, laying the blame of his position to the “force of circumstances,” tracing the beginning of his trouble to the “murder of his father by a band of militia thieves.”

He said that many of the great crimes for which he and his companions were blamed, he had nothing at all to do with.

There were not a few of the visitors who were of the opinion that Cole Younger was

FOXING IT,

and that he was trying to play off the “pious dodge,” awakening commisseration and sympathy from the tender-hearted and religious. The asperity and bitter irony shown when a lady less sympathizing and more matter of-fact than most of his visitors spoke severely of his disgraceful position and degraded life led many to think that Cole is a consumate actor and an arch hypocrite.

When asked why they went to the Northfield bank, and whether it was not more risky than even Mankato banks, he said he told the others at the first that it was

A DANGEROUS UNDERTAKING,

and if they had taken his advice, they would not have gone out to Northfield. There was no means of getting away, for the roads were bad and the woods filled with lakes and sloughs. It would have been better for the band to have gone across the prairie from Mankato, for then they would have had some $30 each.

He was asked if he had tried to shoot any one, when he pointed out the fact that seven of the men were almost within hand’s-reach of them, and asked what good would it have done him if all the seven were killed. There were men enough at long range with rifles to shoot him and his party down at their leisure.

While Bob Younger was conversing with the writer, a poor woman came into the room, sobbing, “Don’t you know me?” she said, addressing Bob.

“No, madame, I have not that pleasure,” said Bob.

“Don’t you know me?” reiterated the woman between her sobs.

“Indeed, I cannot recollect you, madame,” replied Bob, gently.

“Don’t you remember the woman who gave you bread and butter?” she asked.

“Oh yes, certainly; and most thankful were we for it,” he replied.

“Oh, forgive me, sir,” she sobbed, “indeed, I did not intend to do it.”

“I have nothing to forgive,” said Bob; “you were very kind to us and we shall not forget it.”

“But forgive me, sir,” she persisted, “I did not mean to betray you.”

“Why, really, madam, we never supposed you did. We did not blame you at all. We are only very grateful for what you did for us.”

“But, sir. it was because you were at our house you were caught; but it”

WAS NOT MY FAULT,

“indeed it was not.”

Bob, concerned, “I hope you won’t trouble about it, madam. It is nothing. We cast the die and lost, and do not blame you in the least. We are only very thankful for what you did.”

“But forgive me,” persisted the poor woman, “I am so sorry,” and she began again to shed tears.

“I have nothing to forgive, only to be grateful for,” said Bub, “but if it will make you feel better, I will say I forgive you,”

The poor woman seemed to be greatly relieved and left the room, when Bob turned round to the writer with a concerned and troubled look, and asked the woman’s name.

“Mrs. Suborn, the mother of the lad who informed the people of your whereabouts,” was the reply.

“I shall never forget that name,” said Bob.

The cashier of the First National Bank of Mankato coming in asked Bob if he did not change a bill at his bank. Bob replied promptly that he did—a $50 bill, “But” said he, “you were not in the bank at the time, we were, however, merely giving you a call, only a little matter prevented it, and we unfortunately went to Northfield instead.” The cashier asked what their intentions were in Mankato. To which Bob replied that they intended to go through both banks—the City and First National, and he thought that it would have been a much safer job than the Northfield. No doubt the “little circumstance” he alluded to as destroying their plans was the fact of Jesse James being recognized by Robinson, as related elsewhere.

Friday evening at supper time, when the dining hall of the hotel was crowded, at one of the table, there were dark whispers and ominous

THREATS OF LYNCHING,

and some talk, of several hundred people coming up from St. Paul and Northfield to carry out the disgraceful threat. This was sufficient to rouse the precautionary energy of Sheriff Glispin, who at once appointed an armed guard, which filled the entire hotel. The guard and the populace generally were determined to protect their prisoners to the bitter end, if the worst came to the worst, and at half past eight o’clock the hotel was cleared, but on the arrival of the 9 p. m. train, it was found that the rowdies had either missed the train, or had abandoned the scheme, or the whole thing, (which was most probable) was a hoax.

The talk at the supper table arose from a man recently from Mankato, asserting that the scoundrels should be lynched, offering to bet $500 that they would be strung up before morning. It was said that the man was intoxicated, but that was no palliation of his brutish threat.

DISPOSITION OF THE CAPTIVES.

As soon as the news of the capture was received at St. Paul, Captain Macy, secretary to the Governor, telegraphed the executive, then at the Centennial, the fact. The Governor promptly responded, directing Capt. Macy to order the Madelia authorities to bring their prisoners, with the body of the dead bandit to this city. Capt. Macy spent about two hours in telegraphing with the sheriff of the county, who at first strongly opposed the removal, partly on the ground the wounded men were not in a condition to be moved, but principally from a fear that had somehow taken possession of the minds of those taking part in the capture, that their removal to St. Paul would invalidate their claim for the reward offered for their arrest. To this latter objection Capt. Macy answered that the Governor would be responsible for the preservation of all their rights, upon which the Sheriff telegraphed they would be sent down by the morning train, on a sleeper tendered for that purpose, by Supt. Lincoln. Later, however, the sheriff, in consultation with citizens, changed his mind, and determined to send his prisoners on to Faribault, the county seat of Rice county. Accordingly they were placed in the cars at Madelia on Saturday morning, and at every station en route a curious and eager mob awaited the arrival of the train, anxious to get a glimpse of the notorious freebooters. At Mankato, half the city turned out, and arrangements were made at the depot for the crowd to pass through and feast their eyes upon the big show.

At Faribault the crowd was comparatively small, owing, perhaps, to the fact that they were unexpectedly brought on by a freight train, but when it got generally noised about that the infamous desperadoes were lodged in the jail, people of all classes and both sexes thronged the building anxious to gain admittance.

AT ST. PAUL,

Capt. Macy received a telegram from Sheriff Barton, of Rice county, as follows: “I start for Madelia in half an hour. Will bring them by St. Paul.”

Saturday morning thereafter, about eleven o’clock crowds began to gather along the bluffs and on the bridge and in any position in which a view of the Sioux City train (on which it was supposed the robbers were being brought to the city) could be obtained. The train was seen crossing the river and immediately the crowd commenced swarming like a hive of bees. As the train approached, and when it came in front of the open space above the upper elevator, the rear platform of the cars appeared to be crowded with people, one man waving a roll of white paper. Then the excitement seemed to culminate. Crowds rushed down the streets in danger of being crushed under the wheels of buggies, wagons and vehicles of all descriptions, which dashed down the streets at a rate which set all ordinances at defiance, and scattered the mud around in a promiscuous manner. At reaching the levee a crowd of fully three thousand people in a terrible state of excitement, were assembled, some climbing up on the still moving train in spite of all efforts of the officers to prevent them, while others ran ahead of the engine and alongside. It soon became evident, however, that the prisoners were not aboard, and a rumor got afloat that they had been taken off the train at Chestnut street and brought to the county jail from thence.

Then there was a scattering among the crowd, and a race was made for the jail, where the moving mass was equally disappointed. Here a large number of persons had already congregated and secured seats around the several entrances of the portico of the Court House, and everywhere where there was a chance of seeing anything.

Here they waited patiently for a while, when some one started a story that the prisoners would be brought through the Fifth street entrance, and a run was made up Cedar street for that point. On arriving there they were assured that no prisoners had been brought into the jail through that entrance, and the idea began to creep through their brains that they had been badly sold. Some, however, could not be persuaded but that they would be smuggled into the building, when the crowd had dispersed, and after waiting for a considerable time longer, reluctantly coming to the conclusion that there was no chance for them to satisfy their curiosity with a sight of the desperadoes, slowly and reluctantly left the ground, and the square surrounding the jail was soon abandoned to its usual and casual passers by and occupants of the several offices.

The dead man, Charley Pitts, was brought on to St. Paul and placed under the care of Dr. Murphy, Surgeon General of the State, for embalming. He was exhibited to an admiring throng of St. Paulites, who being disappointed in not having the big show of real live bandits, were obliged to content themselves with the dead one.

MR. JAMES MCDONOUGH,

chief of police at St. Louis; a member of the police force of that city; and Mr. C. B. Hunn, superintendent of the U. S. express company, arrived in St. Paul on Saturday morning. These gentlemen came for the purpose of establishing the identity of the robbers. They were satisfied those killed at Northfield, were Bill Chadwell and Clell Miller, immediately recognizing their photographs.

Chief McDonough is a straight, fleshy gentleman, with a military bearing, a keen eye, and the appearance of a man possessed of the executive ability requisite to control and conduct so great a force of men, (over five hundred,) as compose the splendid police force of the city of St. Louis. He had obtained from Hobbs Kerry, one of the gang engaged in the bold raid on the train at Otterville, Mo., July 7th, detailed descriptions of the other members of the gang, and early yesterday morning he visited the capitol to view the body lying there. As soon as he looked upon it he recognized it as Charley Pitts, whose real name is George Wells. Every mark was found as detailed by the captured robber, and the chief was evidently pleased to find that he had succeeded in getting so much truth out of one of the members of a gang whose honor is pledged not to “peach” on their comrades. One of the most noticeable peculiarities of Pitts, who is a man of most powerful build, is his extremely short, thick feet. They require but number six boots, and look inadequate to support the ponderous form above. His hands, which are also small and fat, were roughened by work, and covered with black hair, exactly as Kerry had said. From Mr. McDonough, it was learned that Pitts is one of the men who are summoned when “dirty work” is on hand. His home is in Texas, and he is known as one of the boldest and most successful horse thieves in the country. His knowledge of horses is so great, that the care of the stock of the gang is always confided to him.

DETECTIVES’ TRIP TO FARIBAULT.

Having decided the identity of Pitts, the officers returned to the Merchants’ Hotel, and it was arranged that a special train should be procured to transport them, in company with several officials of this city, and a few well known citizens, to Faribault to interview his

BROTHERS IN CRIME.

The train was ready at about 1:30, Superintendent Lincoln having, at very short notice, provided an engine and an elegant passenger coach. Among the few that took passage in the train, were Chief McDonough, Mr. Russell, and Superintendent Hunn, of the United States Express Company, all of St. Louis; Mayor Maxfield, Chief King, Captain Webber, Captain Macs, Dr. Murphy, Col. John L. Merriam and his sons, W, R. Merriam, cashier of the Merchant’s National Bank, and master John L., Jr., who was with his father at the time of the Gad’s Hill robbery three years ago; Superintendent Lincoln (who was also a victim of the same raid), Col. Hewitt, R. C. Munger, H. H. Spencer, of West Wisconsin railroad; Mayor Ames, of Northfield, and

A LARGE NUMBER OF LADIES,

who desired to look upon the desperate fellows, but who evinced no more curiosity than their male comrades.

The run to Faribault was accomplished at about 4 o’clock. During the ride a most open discussion of the situation of the affair took place, and there was no concealment of the disappointment felt of any of the bandits being taken alive, and the desire was freely expressed that the three

BLOODY BANDITS

should not be permitted to take advantage of the clemency which the laws of Minnesota afford to a self-convicted murderer.