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.
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 City _Journal_ of 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 Glendale they 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, as reported, 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.
The James Boys Heard From Again.
THE TRAIN ROBBERY AT WINSTON, MO., JULY 15, 1881.
FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS REWARD OFFERED FOR THE ARREST OF THE GUILTY
PARTIES.
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.