The battle was over. So swift had been its movement, so rapidly had its
events followed one another, that it was done before people beyond its
immediate vicinity knew that it had begun. From its opening to its closing
shot it had occupied but seven minutes. But it had been as decisive as it
was brief. The object of the attack had failed. The funds of the bank were
intact. Six of the robbers were in flight, two of them wounded. In front
of the bank lay the dead horse, the first victim of the fight. Near by was
the body of Clel Miller, and a half-block away, on the other side of the
street, that of Stiles. Of the three deaths, that of the horse alone moved
the pity of the spectators. On every hand were shattered windows, the work
of the vicious revolvers; while hitching-posts, doors, window-frames and
store-fronts were scored with bullets. Heywood lay on the bank-floor,
where he had fallen at the post of duty. Bunker was in the hands of the
surgeons. All the bells of the town had been set ringing. People came
hurrying to the scene from every direction. Excited preparations were
making to pursue the escaping robbers.
The scenes that followed showed that there were heroines as well as heroes
in the community. While the first wild rumors of the affair were rife, and
it was believed that scores of marauders had invaded the town, and that
general pillage might be expected, ladies went to the public school and to
the girls’ dormitory of Carleton College, to give warning of the impending
danger. One of the teachers in the public school was the wife of Mr.
Bunker, the wounded teller. From different sources she received
information first that he was wounded and then that he was killed.
Crediting the least alarming statement, she first made arrangements for
the care of her pupils, and then started to find her husband. Fortunately
she met a friend with a carriage, who took her to the doctor’s office
where Mr. Bunker was receiving surgical care. Mrs. Heywood’s first
intimation of her husband’s death was received by accident, and in a
painfully abrupt manner. Being at her house on the west side of the river,
at a considerable distance from the scene of the tragedy, she chanced to
hear one neighbor shout the news to another across the street. President
Strong of Carleton College had already started at the request of friends,
to break the intelligence to her, when he learned that his errand was
needless. The body was placed in a carriage and supported in the arms of
President Strong, while it was driven to the Heywood residence. Mrs.
Heywood showed herself worthy to be the wife of such a man. She bore the
awful blow with the greatest calmness; and when she heard how he met his
death, she said, “I would not have had him do otherwise.”
The dead robbers received attentions of quite another sort. The two bodies
were placed in an empty granary, where they remained during the night. The
news of the raid had been telegraphed all over the country; and the
evening trains brought crowds of curious people, eager to see and hear
everything pertaining to the affair. The next day the number of visitors
was so largely increased and the desire to see the dead bandits was so
great, that the bodies were brought out into the open square, which was
soon packed with people. Among the visitors from other town were sheriffs,
police officers and private citizens who had come to join in the pursuit
of the escaped robbers.
[THE ROBBERS—KILLED AND CAPTURED.]
THE ROBBERS—KILLED AND CAPTURED.
That afternoon the county coroner, Dr. Waugh of Faribault, held an inquest
on the three bodies, and a verdict was found according to the facts: “That
J. L. Heywood came to his death by a pistol-shot fired by an unknown man
who was attempting to rob the First National Bank of Northfield;” “That
the two unknown men came to their death by the discharge of firearms in
the hands of our citizen in self-defence, and in protecting the property
of the First National Bank of Northfield.”
The grief and indignation over the death of Mr. Heywood were intense. He
was a man greatly respected in the community, was prominent in church and
business life, and at the time of his death was the City Treasurer and
also the Treasurer of Carleton College. On Sunday, the 10th of September,
two funeral services in honor of the murdered man were held in Northfield.
In the morning came the public service in High-School Hall, the largest
auditorium in the city. The place was packed, notwithstanding the
excessive rain and mud then prevailing. The introductory exercises were
conducted by the Rev. Messrs. Gossard and Utter, the pastors of the
Methodist and the Baptist churches, and the funeral address was delivered
by the Rev. D. L. Leonard, pastor of the Congregational Church, the
regular church services of the day being omitted. The admirable address of
Mr. Leonard has been preserved in a neat pamphlet, entitled, “Funeral
Discourse on Joseph Lee Heywood,” published by Johnson and Smith,
Minneapolis, and is a valuable contribution to the literature of this
subject. As much of its biographical and historical matter is
substantially covered by the present narrative, it need not be reproduced;
but some extracts relating to Mr. Heywood’s personal character may
properly be quoted, as showing the estimation in which he was held by one
who not only knew him well, but was voicing the sentiments of the
community to which and for which he spoke.
“Mr. Heywood was, beyond most men, modest and timid. He shrank from the
public gaze; and, considering his high gifts and his standing in the
community, he was retiring almost to a fault. He set a low estimate upon
himself. He would not own to himself, did not even seem to know, that he
was lovable and well-beloved. He courted no praise and sought no reward.
Honors must come to him unsought if they came at all. He would be easily
content to toil on, out of sight and with service unrecognized, but in
every transaction he must be conscientious through and through, and do
each hour to the full the duties of the hour”.
“Yes, something such a one as this walked our streets, worshipped in our
assemblies, and bore his share of our public burdens, for ten years. And
so dull is human appreciation, that had he ended his days after the
ordinary fashion of humanity, it is to be feared his worth had never been
widely known. But not so now, since, as I may almost say, in the sight of
thousands he has been translated that he should not see death, and was
caught up from earth to heaven as in a chariot of fire. Surely we cannot
forget that spectacle to our dying day. The glory of his departure will
cast back a halo of glory over all his career. We shall re-read the
record, as he made it, with sharpened vision. Besides, some of the virtues
in which he excelled, such as integrity, moral courage, steadfastness in
pursuing the right, in the tragic circumstances attending the close of his
life, found their supreme test not only, but their sublime climax as well.
The charm lies in the perfect harmony existing between the acts of the
last hour and the conduct of all the life that went before.”
“And sure am I that we all, in moments when we are most calm and rational,
and when the noblest in us finds voice, discover the conviction possessing
us that there was something most fitting, something surpassingly
beautiful, in such an exit after such a career,—such a sunset after such a
day.”
“For, for what, I pray you, was man made but to do his duty? to be brave
and true, reckless of results? And what is life worth, I wonder, if to be
preserved only at the price of cowardice and faithlessness?…Surely to him
that is gone life as the purchase of dishonor would have been an
intolerable burden…Whoso consents to stand on duty, in the army, on the
railway train, in the banking-house or store, must do it with open eyes,
ready to take the consequences, fully determined, whatever befall, to play
the man.…When so many are corrupt and venal, are base and criminal in the
discharge of public duties, the spectacle of such a life as we have looked
upon is worth far more to society than we can well reckon up. And if, as a
result of last Thursday’s events, those just entering upon life, and we
all, shall be warned of the evil and curse of transgression, and be
reminded of the surpassing beauty of honor and faithfulness, and in
addition shall catch an enthusiasm of integrity, it will go no small way
to compensate for the terrible shock that came to this city, and for the
agony that has fallen upon so many hearts…We know today that public and
private worth are still extant, and that the old cardinal virtues are
still held in honor. We need no lantern to find a man.”
In the afternoon President Strong, assisted by other clergymen, conducted
the funeral service proper at Mr. Heywood’s late residence, and paid an
equally cordial testimony to the character of the man and to the high
quality of heroism which he had displayed. Dr. Strong was able to speak
from the point of view of personal friendship and from that of official
relation, having been Mr. Heywood’s pastor at Faribault in former years,
and having been more recently associated with him in connection with the
College. It was in a casual conversation which they had held but a few
days before the tragedy that Mr. Heywood dropped the remark which showed
that he had already decided how he would meet such an ordeal if it ever
came to him. The President had been inspecting the new time lock which had
just been placed upon the door of the vault. The circumstance recalled to
his mind the famous St. Albans bank-raid, which had especially interested
him through his personal acquaintance with the victimized cashier. Having
spoken of the course pursued by the raiders in that case, he said, in mere
playfulness, to Mr. Heywood, “Now if robbers should come in here and order
you to open this vault, would you do it?” With a quiet smile, and in his
own modest way, Mr. Heywood answered, “I think not.” Neither of them
dreamed how soon and with what tragical emphasis he would be called to
test that resolution.
Mr. Heywood was buried in the Northfield cemetery, at the southern
extremity of the city, where his remains still rest and where an
unpretentious monument marks his grave.
In an obscure corner of the same cemetery, at night, with neither mourner
nor funeral rites, two boxes were buried, supposed to contain the bodies
of the dead robbers. No one took the trouble to ascertain the genuineness
of the proceeding, or to guard the grave from desecration. That the bodies
of criminals belong to anatomical science, is a prevalent opinion. That
these criminals were not too good for such a purpose, was readily
conceded. That they somehow found their way to a certain medical college,
and that one of them was subsequently rescued from its fate by friends,
are said to be facts of history.