Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Rose Koven, Charles Franks
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JIM CUMMINGS
OR
THE GREAT ADAMS EXPRESS ROBBERY
With a portrait of the notorious Jim Cummings and illustrations of
scenes connected with the great robbery
By Frank Pinkerton
Vol. I, March 1887. The Pinkerton Detective Series, issued monthly, by
subscription, $3.00 per annum.
Chicago
CHAPTER I.
THE CONSPIRATORS--THE FORGED LETTER--THE PLAN.
In the rear room of a small frame building, the front of which was
occupied as a coal office, located on West Lake street, Chicago, three
men were seated around a square pine table. The curtains of the window
were not only drawn inside, but the heavy shutters were closed on the
outside. A blanket was nailed over the only door of the room, and every
thing and every action showed that great secrecy was a most important
factor of the assembly.
The large argand burner of a student's lamp filled the small room with
its white, strong light, The table was covered with railroad
time-tables, maps, bits of paper, on which were written two names a
great number of times, and pens of different makes and widths of point
were scattered amidst the papers.
One man, a large, powerfully-built fellow, deep-chested, and
long-limbed, was occupied in writing, again and again, the name of
"J.B. Barrett." He had covered sheet after sheet with the name, looking
first at a letter before him, but was still far from satisfied. "Damn a
man who will make his 'J's' in such a heathenish way."
"Try it again, Wittrock," said one of his companions.
"Curse you," shouted the man called Wittrock. "How often must I tell
you not to call me that name. By God, I'll bore a hole through you yet,
d'ye mind, now."
"Oh, no harm been done, Cummings; no need of your flying in such a stew
for nothing. We're all in the same box here, eh?"
"Well, you be more careful hereafter," said "Cummings," and again he
bent to his laborious task of forging the name of "J.B. Barrett."
Nothing was heard for half an hour but the scratching of the pen, or
the muttered curses of Cummings (as he was called).
Suddenly he threw down his pen with a laugh of triumph, and holding a
piece of paper before him, exclaimed: "There, lads, there it is;
there's the key that will unlock a little mint for us."
Throwing himself back in his chair, he drew a cigar from his pocket,
and, lighting it, listened with great satisfaction to the words of
praise uttered by his companions as they compared the forged with the
genuine signature.
These three men were on the eve of a desperate enterprise. For months
they had been planning and working together, and the time for action
was rapidly approaching.
The one called "Cummings," the leader, was apparently, the youngest one
of the three. There was nothing in his face to denote the criminal. A
stranger looking at him, would imagine him to be a good-natured, jovial
chap, a little shrewd perhaps, but fond of a good dinner, a good drink,
a good cigar, and nothing else.
One of his colleagues, whom he called "Roe," evidently an alias, was
smaller in size, but had a determined expression on his face, that
showed him to be a man who would take a desperate chance if necessary.
The third man, called sometimes Weaver, and sometimes Williams, was the
smallest one of the conspirators, and also the eldest. His frame,
though small, was compact and muscular, but his face lacked both the
determination of Roe and the frank, open expression of Cummings.
After scrutinizing the forgery for a time, Roe returned it to Cummings
and said, "Jim, who has the run out on the Frisco when you make the
plant?"
"A fellow named Fotheringham, a big chap, too. I was going to lay for
the other messenger, Hart, who is a small man, and could be easily
handled, but he has the day run now."
"This Fotheringham will have to be a dandy if he can tell whether
Barrett has written this or not, eh, Jim?"
"Aye, that he will. Let me once get in that car, and if the letter
don't work, I'll give him a taste of the barker."
"No shooting, Jim, no shooting, I swear to God I'll back out if you
spill a drop of blood."
Jim's eyes glittered, and he hissed between his teeth:
"You back out, Roe, and you'll see some shooting."
Roe laughed a nervous laugh, and said, as he pushed some blank
letter-heads toward Cummings, "Who's goin' to back out, only I don't
like the idea of shooting a man, even to get the plunder. Here's the
Adam's Express letter-heads I got to-day. Try your hand on the letter."
Cummings, somewhat pacified, with careful and laborious strokes of the
pen, wrote as follows:
"SPRINGFIELD, Mo., October 24th, '86.
MESSENGER, TRAIN No. 3, ST. L & ST. F. RTE:
DR. SIR: You will let the bearer, John Broson, Ride in your car to
Peirce, and give him all the Instructions that you can. Yours,
J.B. Barrett, R.A."
"Hit it the first time. Look at that Roe; cast your eye on that elegant
bit of literature, Weaver," and Cummings, greatly excited, paced up and
down the room, whistling, and indulging in other signs of huge
gratification.
"Well done, Jim, well done. Now write the other one, and we'll go and
licker up."
Again Cummings picked up his facile pen, and was soon successful in
writing the following letter, purporting to be from this same J. B.
Barrett.
"SPRINGFIELD, Mo., Oct. 21, '86.
"JOHN BRONSON, Esq., St. Louis, Mo.
"DR. SIR: Come at once to Peirce City by train No. 3, leaving St. Louis
8:25 p.m. Inclosed find note to messenger on the train, which you can
use for a pass in case you see Mr. Damsel in time. Agent at Peirce City
will instruct you further.
"Respectfully, J. B. BARRETT, R. A."
Jim drew a long, deep sigh of relief as he muttered:
"Half the work is done; half the work is done."
Drawing the railroad map of the Chicago & Alton road toward him, he put
the pen point on St. Louis, and slowing following the St. L. & S. F.
Division, paused at Kirkwood.
"Roe, here's the place I shall tackle this messenger. It is rather
close to St. Louis, but it's down grade and the train will be making
fast time. She stops at Pacific--here, and we will jump the train
there, strike for the river, and paddle down to the K. & S. W. You must
jump on at the crossing near the limits, plug the bell cord so the
damned messenger can't pull the rope on me, and I will have him foul."
Roe listened attentively to these instructions, nodding his head slowly
several times to express his approval, and said:
"When will we go down?"
Jim Cummings, looking at the time-table, answered:
"This is--what date is this, Weaver?"
"October 11th."
"Two weeks from to-day will be the 25th. That is on--let's see, that is
Tuesday."
"Two weeks from to-day, Roe, you will have to take the train at St.
Louis; get your ticket to Kirkwood. I see by this time-table that No. 3
does stop there. When you get off, run ahead, plug the bell-cord, and I
will wait till she gets up speed after leaving Kirkwood before I draw
my deposit."
Thus did these three men plan a robbery that was to mulct the Adams
Express Company of $100,000, baffle the renowned Pinkertons for weeks
and excite universal admiration for its boldness, skill, and
completeness.
The papers upon which Cummings had exercised his skill, were torn into
little bits, the time-tables and maps were folded and placed in coat
pockets, the lamp extinguished, and three men were soon strolling down
Lake street as calmly as if they had no other object than to saunter
into their favorite bar-room, and toss off a social drink or two.