A dangerous Mail Route--Wheat Bran--A faithful Mail Carrier--Mail
Robber shot--A "Dead-head" Passenger.
An old Offender--Fatal Associate--Robbery and Murder--Conviction
and Execution--Capital Punishment.
Traveling in Mexico--Guerillas--Paying over--The Robbers routed--A
"Fine Young English Gentleman"--The right stuff.
In the early annals of our country, many instances of mail robbery are
found, some of which occasioned the display of great intrepidity and
daring, as the perusal of the following pages will show.
While the country was yet thinly settled, and the mails were
transported on horseback, or in different kinds of vehicles, from the
gig to the stage-coach, often through extensive forests, which
afforded every facility for robbery, the office of stage driver or
mail carrier was no sinecure. Resolute men were required for this
service, who on an emergency could handle a pistol as well as a whip.
Some thirty or forty years ago, a mail-coach ran in the northern part
of the state of New York, through the famous "Chateaugay woods." The
forest was many miles in extent, and common fame and many legends gave
it the reputation of a noted place for freebooters and highwaymen.
One morning the stage driver on this route had occasion to examine his
pistols, and found, instead of the usual charge, that they were loaded
with _wheat bran_! A daring villain had, through an accomplice, thus
disarmed the driver, preparatory to waylaying him. He drew the
charges, cleaned the weapons, and carefully loaded them with powder
and ball.
That afternoon he mounted his stage for his drive through the
Chateaugay woods. There was not a passenger in his vehicle. Whistling
as he went, he "cracked up" his leaders, and drove into the forest.
Just about the centre of the woods a man sprang out from behind a
tree, and seized the horses by the bit.
"I say, driver," said the footpad, with consummate coolness, "I want
to take a look at that mail."
"Yes, you do, no doubt, want to overhaul my mails," replies the
driver; "but I can't be so free, unless you show me your commission.
I'm driver here, and I never give up my mails except to one regularly
authorized."
"O, you don't, eh? well, here's my authority," showing the butt of a
large pistol partly concealed in his bosom. "Now dismount and bear a
hand, my fine fellow, for you see I've got the documents about me."
"Yes, and so've I," says the driver, instantly leveling his own trusty
weapon at the highwayman.
"O! you won't hurt nobody, I guess; I've seen boys playing soger
before now."
"Just drop those reins," says the keeper of Uncle Sam's mail bags, "or
take the consequences."
"O! now you're joking, my fine lad! but come, look alive, for I'm in a
hurry, it's nearly night."
A sharp report echoed through the forest, and the disciple of Dick
Turpin lay stretched upon the ground. One groan and all was over. The
ball had entered his temple.
The driver lifted the body into the coach, drove to the next stopping
place, related the circumstances, and gave himself up. A brief
examination before a magistrate resulted in his acquittal, and
highwaymen about the Chateaugay woods learned that pistols might be
dangerous weapons, even if they were loaded with wheat bran, provided
they were in the hands of one who knew how to use them.
* * * * *
Another exciting case occurred near Utica, early in the present
century, when Western and Northern New York was a wilderness.
An old rogue, who had long been steeped in crime, finding his
companions nearly all gone--the prisons and gallows having claimed
their own--and his material resources nearly exhausted, sought for a
profitable alliance. He succeeded in getting into familiarity with a
very young man, son of a gentleman of standing and reputation, a
worthy citizen and an honest man. These two laid their plans for
robbing the mail. Considerable sums of money were known to pass
constantly in the great mail running East and West.
Watching their opportunity, they stopped the coach one night when
there were no passengers. The driver was bold and faithful to his
charge, and made a stout resistance. They tied him to a tree, and
opened the mail. Fearing detection and not obtaining much money, the
veteran villain drew his pistol and shot the poor driver. As in most
criminal transactions, fortune went against the perpetrators. They
were both taken, and sufficient evidence being produced, they were
sentenced to be hanged.
Though there was but one opinion as to the comparative culpability of
the two individuals, no one could say but that both were equally
guilty, in a legal sense, of the murder. Out of respect to the parents
of the young man, great efforts were made to obtain a pardon, but they
were unsuccessful.
Both the sentences were carried into execution. The circumstance gave
rise to a thorough discussion of the policy, the humanity, and the
right or wrong of Capital Punishment. One of the most powerful
arguments ever made against the death penalty, was written by the
father of the younger criminal, and obtained a wide circulation in
pamphlet form.
In the summer of 1851, a company of travelers were seated in the mail
stage that runs from Mexico to Vera Cruz. Marauding parties of
_guerillas_ had often stopped the mail, and when practicable, robbed
the passengers. Sometimes returning Californians, and other travelers,
gave these freebooters a rather warm reception.
On the present occasion there were but three or four passengers, some
of whom were armed with small revolvers. Suddenly a party of mounted
guerillas appeared, nearly a dozen in number, and at once stopped the
coach and ordered the passengers out.
Either from fear or collusion, the drivers never interfere, but remain
neutral. Probably, if they resisted, their lives would pay the
forfeit. The passengers, supposing there was no hope of escape but to
give up their watches and money, commenced "paying over."
A young English gentleman in one corner of the coach, immediately took
up a double-barreled gun and shot the villain at the door of the
coach, and then with the other barrel killed another of the party, by
shooting him off his horse. He then drew a revolver, and jumped out.
The other travelers concluded, like Wellington's reserve at Waterloo,
that they might as well "up and at 'em," and, quite unprepared for
such a reception, the freebooters--the surviving ones--fled with
precipitation. The papers resounded with the praises of "this fine
young English gentleman, all of the modern time."
His father was a distinguished member of Parliament, and soon had the
pleasure of meeting his son, who had been abroad and shown that he was
made of the right kind of stuff for a traveler in a dangerous
country.