RUBE BURROW HARBORED IN SANTA ROSA--THE FLOMATON ROBBERY.
Santa Rosa County, in which Rube sought refuge from the unflagging
pursuit of the detectives, is one of the northwestern counties of
Florida, its northern boundary being the Alabama line. Escambia River,
whose blue waters are dotted with numerous islets, marks its western
limits, and flowing onward into Pensacola Bay, interlocks the many
inlets and lakes that indent its shores.
Santa Rosa Island, stretching itself along its whole southern border,
in the white-crested waters of the Gulf of Mexico, seems to stand as
a sentry to guard its serf-beaten coast. The county is more than half
the size of the State of Delaware. It embraces 1,260 square miles of
territory, and has a population of only 7,500, or about six persons to
every square mile, and the major portion of this population is confined
to Milton, the county seat, and other towns lying along the Pensacola
and Atlantic Railway.
Yellow, East Bay, Juniper and Blackwater Rivers all find their channels
to the estuaries of the Gulf through Santa Rosa. In this isolated
and uninhabited district, amid the hooting of owls, the hissing of
reptiles, and the snarling of wild beasts, as ever and anon they
were startled from their dark coverts, Detective Jackson quietly but
persistently followed the outlaw.
On February 15th, about twenty miles north of Broxton’s ferry, Jackson
found Rube’s trail, and reaching a landing on Yellow River, ascertained
that a boy had taken him across about one hour before his arrival.
Learning that the boy had been instructed to pull the boat half a mile
down stream before landing on the opposite shore, Jackson, being afoot
and finding no other boat could be secured, swam the stream, and making
his way, with great difficulty, through the canebrake, down the river’s
bank, found, on meeting the boy, that Rube was only half an hour ahead
of him.
Pushing forward, he pursued the trail, though without result, until
darkness compelled him to abandon it and shelter himself, as best he
could, in the marshy bottoms of Yellow River.
Some weeks after this the outlaw was located in the vicinity of East
Bay, about four miles from the Gulf coast, in one of the wildest
of Florida’s jungles. Here lived Charles Wells, with his two sons
and two daughters, in a dilapidated cabin, whose roof was thatched
with cane from the brake not twenty paces distant. Wells bore a very
unsavory reputation throughout all that section, and was known to
harbor criminals of every class and type. His fealty to the criminal
classes who sought refuge in the wilds of Santa Rosa had been tested
full many a time, and Rube was not long in ascertaining that in the
person of Wells he would find a friend, whose dark record of crime
gave ample surety of his zeal in the cause of lawlessness. In this
secluded spot Rube found shelter during the spring and summer of 1890,
never venturing, at any time, however, to trust himself in the cabin
of Wells. He lived in the canebrakes like a beast, and defied the most
vigilant efforts of the detectives to dislodge him.
Meantime Detective Jackson was withdrawn from Florida early in July to
look after Brock, _alias_ Jackson, and his capture having been effected
the detective returned about August 1st to Florida, to renew his
pursuit of Rube.
While searching the swamps of Santa Rosa, Detective Jackson learned
that Rube claimed to know one John Barnes, of Baldwin County, Ala.,
and the information that Barnes had taught him how to saw logs was
confirmed by the confession of Brock that Barnes was a laborer in the
camp on Lovette’s creek, where all three of the men had worked in
March, 1888. With some difficulty the detective found Barnes, who lived
on a small farm about twelve miles from Castleberry, Ala. Barnes soon
convinced Jackson that the man known to him as Ward was Rube Burrow.
Barnes was selected to go into Santa Rosa County and endeavor to toll
the outlaw from his hiding place, or else definitely locate him, and
thus enable the detectives to capture him. Barnes was peculiarly fitted
for the task. The Indian blood that coursed through his veins gave him
both nerve and cunning. He was a native of Santa Rosa, and, as boy and
man, had traversed fen and swamp till he knew every bear trail and deer
stand in that entire section.
About August 20th Barnes went into Santa Rosa County to make a
_reconnaissance_, and in a few days visited Wells, to whom he was well
known. Barnes intimated to Wells that he expected to leave Alabama
and settle in Santa Rosa County, and fortunately for his plans Wells
suggested a copartnership between Burrow and Barnes, to which the
latter, feigning reluctance, finally consented. Barnes remained long
enough at Wells’ cabin to receive a message from Rube that he would
meet him on Sunday, August 31st, in that vicinity. Barnes returned
to his father’s home, about eighteen miles distant, and reported the
result to Jackson, who was enjoying the quiet of camp life, within
easy reach of the home of the elder Barnes. Why Rube should postpone
the meeting for a week and enjoin Barnes, as he did through Wells, to
return, was a mystery. Upon Barnes’ return to Wells, as appointed, he
was advised that Rube had declined the proffered partnership and would
not see him. Rube knew the detectives were in Santa Rosa, and shrewdly
suspecting that Barnes was being used to entrap him he refused all
alliance with him.
While Barnes was vainly endeavoring to negotiate a copartnership
between Rube and himself, the wily outlaw was planning another train
robbery.
It was suggested to Brock, _alias_ Jackson, a few days after his
arrest, that all of Rube’s partners being captured he would doubtless
recruit his forces before robbing another train. Brock replied, “If
Rube takes a notion to rob a train by himself, he will do it.”
When it was reported, therefore, that the north-bound express on the
Louisville and Nashville Railway had been boarded on the night of
September 1, 1890, at Flomaton, Ala., only about seventy-five miles
from the hiding place of Rube Burrow, it was quite evident that the
bold adventure was the work of the famous bandit.
It was a _chef-d’œuvre_, in the execution of which he doubtless
congratulated himself. That a man should, under any circumstances,
successfully hold an entire train crew at bay, and, single-handed,
rob the express car, is a deed of such daring as to almost challenge
admiration, at least for his dauntless courage, whatever may be thought
of his lawless purpose; but that a man hunted down by detectives,
living like a wild beast in the swamps, afraid to show his face in
daylight because of their dreaded presence, should emerge from his
place of concealment and rob the very corporation whose sleuth hounds
had tracked him to his lair, betokens a degree of audacity unparalleled
in the history of crime or the realms of fiction. Rube is credited with
possessing a sense of the ridiculous, inherent in the Burrow family,
and doubtless this turning of the tables on his would-be captors
appealed strongly to his sense of humor, if, indeed, the dare-devil
deed was not inspired thereby.
The train pulled into the station of Flomaton about ten P. M., where it
was delayed some twenty minutes in awaiting the Pensacola connection.
Meantime a tall man, coarsely dressed, was seen to mount the steps
of the express car, next the engine, and look in upon the messenger
through the glass door in the end of the car. When he came down from
the car he was seen to have a coal pick, which he had taken from the
tender of the engine. A few minutes afterward, just as the train was
pulling out, he ran toward the engine and mounted it. The yard-master
observed these movements, but simply thought the man was some employe
of the railway.
Before the train was fairly under headway the engineer, facing about,
saw himself and fireman covered by two revolvers in the hands of a man
whose face was masked and who held under his arm a coal pick.
“Pull ahead and stop the train with the express car on the north side
of Escambia River bridge, or I will blow the top of your head off,” was
the stern command.
“All right, Captain,” said the engineer.
The bridge was about three quarters of a mile north of the station.
While _en route_, Rube said:
“If you obey my orders, I will not harm you, but the penalty is instant
death if you disobey.”
On arriving at the bridge the sharp command “Stop!” was given, and the
engineer instantly complied.
“Get down,” said Rube to the engineer and fireman, and he followed the
two men to the ground.
The colored fireman, as soon as he reached _terra firma_, made instant
flight from the scene. Rube fired two shots at him as he fled, which
had no other effect, however, than to increase his speed.
When called upon afterwards to explain the cause of his retreat, the
darkey replied:
“I thought I heerd him say run, and as we was all ’beyin’ orders, I
run.”
Rube now ordered the engineer to take the coal pick which he gave him
and break in the front door of the express car. While the engineer was
engaged in doing so, Rube, standing on the platform of the car behind
him, fired five shots into the air on the one side, and four shots on
the other side, and by this ruse made it appear that the woods were
full of robbers.
Johnson, the messenger of the Southern Express Company, stood on the
floor of his car, pistol in hand, as the engineer entered, the door
being broken through, and manifested a disposition to resist the attack
upon his car. Rube, however, standing in the doorway, covered him with
his two Colt’s revolvers, and threatening to shoot both engineer and
messenger, the latter, being entreated also by the engineer, like Ben
Battle, of old, “laid down his arms.”
Rube threw a sack to the engineer, not trusting himself to cross the
portals of the doorway in which he stood, and bade him hold it, while
the messenger was ordered to place within it the contents of his safe.
The messenger complied, but the bulk of the matter placed in the sack
was so small that Rube insisted he had not received all. The messenger,
taking from his safe a book, said:
“This is all--do you want this?”
“No,” said Rube, “don’t put that in.”
“Give me your pistol,” then said Rube, “butt end foremost.”
The messenger complied, and Rube backed out of the car, saying to the
messenger and engineer:
“If you poke your heads out of the car before I get out of sight, I
will shoot them off.”
The work was done so quickly that the passengers were hardly aware of
what had occurred until all was over. The conductor, who came forward
and entered the rear compartment of the express car, which was used
for baggage, while the messenger was delivering the contents of his
safe, was observed by Rube and ordered to retreat. Taking in the
situation, the conductor deemed prudence the better part of valor, and
complied.
This proved to be Rube’s last exploit at train robbing, and he secured
only the pitiful sum of $256.19.
Officers of the Express Company, with several detectives, arrived on
the scene the next day, and it was soon ascertained that Rube had gone
back into Santa Rosa County, from which he was quickly driven by the
detectives, on the long, last chase of his career.