Rube Burrow, king of outlaws, and his band of train robbers

Rube and Joe, on their return to Lamar County, found their lair closely beset by detectives. They found shelter, however, for some two weeks, spending the nights in the barn-loft of Allen Burrow, one of the men standing watch while the other slept.

On the 26th of October, 1889, the following telegram was received by an official of the Southern Express Company from Sheriff Morris, of Blount County, Alabama: “A posse in charge of one of my deputies attempted to arrest two men, armed with pistols and Winchesters, fifteen miles from Oneonta, Ala., yesterday. They killed two of the posse and wounded five. Am positive the men were Rube Burrow and Joe Jackson.”

Repairing to Blount County, with blood-hounds and detectives, it was soon ascertained by the express officials that the men were not Burrow and Jackson, but two “moonshiners,” who had shot and wounded a revenue officer at Blockton, Ala., about ten days prior to the date of the attack by the sheriff’s posse.

Correspondents representing several prominent southern journals hied themselves to Blount County to gather the details of another tragic chapter in the history of Rube Burrow, and one enterprising scribe, fresh from the field of carnage in Blount County, went into Lamar County, bent on an interview with the famous bandit. This was the handsome and gifted Barrett, of the Atlanta Constitution. Arriving at Allen Burrow’s, in company with Jim Cash, the young journalist made known the object of his visit.

The detectives having gone on a false trail to Blount County, Rube and Joe were at that time in old man Burrow’s barn-loft, and when Allen Burrow took Barrett’s horse thither he revealed to Rube the proposition of the correspondent to interview him. Rube declined, saying he knew the paper would publish a description of him, and he did not want that done. Mr. Barrett, however, sent a very elaborate report of an alleged interview to the Constitution, which, as a faithful historian, the author is compelled to state never took place.

A crowning sensation in American journalism was reached when the Age-Herald, of Birmingham, chartered a special train to enable it to place upon the breakfast tables of Atlanta the daring exploits of Rube in Blount County, and the Atlanta Constitution responded by chartering a like train to distribute at Birmingham an interview with the famous bandit while he was supposed to sit under the very vine and fig tree of the Age-Herald, but, as a matter of fact, was engaged in combing the hayseed out of his hair after a night’s lodging in his father’s barn.

As soon as the Blount County sensation had exploded, the detectives of the Southern Express Company returned to Lamar County, and an incessant watch was kept upon the houses of Allen Burrow, Jim Cash, and others. Detectives disguised as peddlers of books, lightning rods, and nursery stock, and others assuming the simple guise of tramps, sold their wares in the one case, and begged bread in the other, from house to house, all over Lamar County, and until Allen Burrow said one day to Rube:

“I believe there is a detective under every bush in the county; you had better leave.”

Rube concluded his father was right, and on the twentieth day of November, just about a month after their arrival, Rube and Joe left Lamar County again. The two men went afoot to within a few miles of Columbus, Miss., having resolved to walk into Florida and avoid the necessity of hiding out in the brush all winter in Lamar County.

Joe Jackson was not as robust as Rube, and was not physically equal to the task of walking several hundred miles. He proposed, after trudging about eighteen miles, to return to Lamar County, purchase horses, and make the trip on horseback. Rube dissented, fearing their trail would be discovered and that pursuit would ensue, but suggested that they return to the home of Jim Cash and purchase a yoke of oxen and a wagon owned by him and make the trip in that way. Joe Jackson was averse to this proposition at first, but Rube argued that as drivers of an ox-cart they could assume the role of laborers and thus fully disguise themselves. Returning, therefore, to Cash’s house, the oxen and cart were purchased.

It was the custom of Allen Burrow and Cash to make frequent trips by wagon across the country to Columbus, Miss., and so it was arranged for Allen Burrow to take the two men, in a covered wagon drawn by two horses, to within one mile of Columbus. Jim Cash, according to arrangement, followed with the ox team, and in the outskirts of the town, after dark, on the night of November 28th, the four men met. Through the intervention of Cash an ample supply of provisions, purchased from a store in Columbus, was stored away in the wagon, and at ten o’clock at night the outlaws, in the garb of plodding ox-drivers, resumed their journey southward. Cash and Burrow returned home the next day, the former announcing that he had sold his ox team in Columbus.

The detectives were not long in discovering, by the bearing and manner of the friends of the outlaws, that they had left Lamar County. Detective Jackson, knowing the habits and methods of Rube, was not satisfied with Cash’s story that he had sold his oxen in Columbus. Investigation developed nothing to corroborate the reported sale, and Detective Jackson declared: “We must find that team, for it’s just like Rube to give us the slip that way.”

Going to Columbus, the faithful detective, day by day, sought diligently to discover the missing team, but it was not until about January 15th that his labors were rewarded in finding the trail near Carrollton, in Pickens County, Miss., forty miles south of Columbus. The detective was on foot. The outlaws were then forty-five days ahead of him, and were evidently heading for southern Alabama or Florida. Returning and reporting the discovery, it was deemed best to go by rail to Wilson’s Station, on the Louisville and Nashville Railway, and thence to Gainestown, a landing on the Alabama River, about forty miles distant, where it was thought the men would cross. The conclusion had been wisely made. The cunning detective had shrewdly divined the very spot at which the robbers would cross the river.

Arriving at Gainestown January 24th, Jackson found that the ox-cart, in charge of two men, had crossed the river on the night of December 11th. Encouraged by this discovery the officer pursued the trail on through Escambia County, and found that on the evening of December 14th the two men had driven into Flomaton, Ala., a small station on the Louisville and Nashville Railway, forty miles north of Pensacola. Here it was discovered that the men had camped about half a mile from the station, and had made inquiries concerning a logging camp in Santa Rosa County, Florida.

Leaving Flomaton on the morning of January 29th, Detective Jackson went to McCurdy’s ferry, on the Escambia River, two miles south, and there ascertained that a man calling himself Ward had crossed the ferry with an ox team on the morning of December 15th, and that he was alone. Pursuing the trail south some twenty miles, Milton, Florida, was reached. Here it was found that one man had crossed Blackwater with an ox team at that point on the night of December 17th. The belief that Joe Jackson had separated from Rube at Flomaton was confirmed, for the man in charge of the ox team was, beyond question, Rube Burrow.

Leaving Milton, the detective went to Broxton’s ferry, on Yellow River, about ten miles south. Arriving at the ferry he was confronted by a stream about thirty yards wide, whose tortuous length stretched itself through a jungle of cane and cypress which seemed to defy his further progress. There was no boat in sight, and the unbroken wild-wood on the opposite bank gave no sign of a mooring. The screech of an owl from his perch in the dark cover of the jungle broke the stillness that prevailed, and awakened the detective from his lonely reverie.

Jackson learned from a man, who came stalking through the brush at this juncture, that the opposite bank was that of an island, and in order to reach the south side of the river the point of the island must be turned by rowing about half a mile down stream and then stemming the current for a like distance along the opposite shore. While the distance across the island from shore to shore was only about five hundred yards, the view was wholly obscured by the canebrake that covered it.

By shrewd questioning, Jackson found that Rube, under the name of Ward, was engaged in hauling feed from the landing on the opposite shore to Allen’s log camp, about eighteen miles away, and at that very hour he was loading for his return trip on the south bank of the river. Broxton, the ferryman, had, unfortunately, gone to Milton with the only boat used at the ferry, and it was impossible to cross the river that day.

It was ascertained that Rube’s practice was to leave the log camp about seven o’clock in the morning, reach the ferry about two in the afternoon, and after loading repair to the house of Broxton, the ferryman, where he would spend the night, and making an early start on the succeeding day arrive at the camp in the afternoon. It had, therefore, been his practice to reach the ferry landing on Yellow River every alternate day.

Jackson, being unable to cross the river, returned to Milton on February 4th, and sent the following telegram to an official of the Southern Express Company: “I expect to secure title to tract number one, about ten miles south of here, Wednesday, February 6th. The papers are all in good shape.”

Rube Burrow had always been designated in correspondence between the officers and detectives as number one, and the telegram therefore meant that Jackson had located his man, that his plans were in good shape, and the capture would be made at the hour and place designated.

At four o’clock on the morning of February 6th Jackson was joined at Milton by the express officials, to whom the details of the situation were given. At an early hour the start for Broxton’s ferry was made in a hack, Jackson having selected four reliable men from Milton to assist him. The party reached the ferry landing on the north bank of the river about eleven o’clock A. M., and after some difficulty a boat was secured and a landing on the south shore was effected.

It had been determined at first to continue the journey beyond the river and capture Rube in the road, but on reaching the south landing the surroundings seemed so advantageous that it was decided to await his arrival at the ferry. The roadway, after leaving the south bank of the river a few miles, wends its course through a sparsely timbered pine forest. It is very straight, and persons traversing it from opposite directions could see each other for miles. It was therefore feared that Rube, ever on the alert, might take the alarm at sight of the posse. On the contrary, at the ferry all seemed propitious. There was moored the boat which contained the camp supplies to be loaded into Rube’s cart with his own hands. It seemed a very trap, baited and set in the certain pathway of some beast whose lair had just been discovered, and here it was agreed to quietly await the hour of his coming. The exit from the landing where the boat was moored was a narrow corduroy road that debouched from the water’s edge, through overhanging boughs and vines, for some three hundred yards, to the foot of a hill, and, curving to the south, shut out all further view from the river. On either side of the road, approaching the landing, were the fallen trunks of huge cypress trees, which afforded a splendid cover for the posse.

At the hour of noon, with the ferryman sitting not thirty paces distant, so as to watch the road and give the signal when the cart should appear in sight, the posse went into ambush and anxiously awaited Rube’s arrival. He had never been later than two o’clock in reaching the ferry. It had been arranged that upon his arrival, and immediately upon his halting his team, all six of the posse would cover him with their breech-loading shotguns, and Detective Jackson should order the bandit to surrender; and if he failed to do so, the discharge of Jackson’s gun would be a signal for the rest of the posse to fire.

Every alternate day for five weeks Rube had arrived at this spot between two and three o’clock P. M. The presence of the posse at the ferry was known to no one save the ferryman, and he was kept under careful surveillance. The capture of the outlaw seemed absolutely certain.

As the silent hours rolled by the detectives watched with bated breath for the signal from the ferryman. In the awful stillness that prevailed the ticking of the watches that marked the passing hours could be heard. Two o’clock, three o’clock, four o’clock came, and yet the crack of the ox-driver’s whip, the longed-for music of the “gee-whoa,” which, on Rube’s coming, were wont to disturb the solitude of this wild retreat, were heard not. Finally, at five o clock, after another hour of anxious waiting had passed, a colored laborer in the log camp from which Rube was expected, appeared. He was questioned as to the whereabouts of Ward, the name assumed by Burrow, and answered that one of his oxen was sick; that he had not started at eleven o’clock, and would probably not come until next day. This was a sore disappointment. The camp could not be reached until long after dark. The outlaw might start at any hour, and the posse might miss him in some of the many by-roads that intervened the long distance. It was concluded, therefore, to remain on watch at the ferry, hoping that he might still arrive before night.

With the slowly sinking sun sank the hopes of the anxious officers, who felt that the cover of night would bring some untoward event to mar the plans which had been arranged for the capture. Darkness came, but the silent watch was continued. Broxton, the ferryman, lived about one mile from the ferry, and immediately on the road along which Rube had to travel. It was now quite certain if Rube should arrive he would spend the night at Broxton’s and reach the ferry next morning. Ascertaining that there was a vacant house a few hundred yards beyond the house of the ferryman, and only a few feet from the road, it was determined best to remove the posse to this building and watch there during the night.

About seven o’clock the posse started from the river, giving orders to the driver of the hack not to follow until time had been allowed the advance guard to reach the ferryman’s house. This order was, however, disobeyed, and just as the detectives approached the house, and when only about three hundred yards distant, Rube drove up to the gate and inquired of Mrs. Broxton the whereabouts of her husband.

The woman answered: “He has been at the river all day with a party of hunters.”

Rube, ever on the qui vive, gathered his Marlin rifle from his cart, saying: “I’ll go down and see Mr. Broxton.”

Walking towards the ferry about fifty yards he heard strange voices, saw the hack, and intuitively knew that he himself was the game the hunters were after. Like a deer he bounded into the forest and was lost to his pursuers.

A guard was placed over the team which Rube had left as a trophy to his would-be captors, in the hope that the owner would return to confirm his doubts, if he had any, but Rube took the safe side, ran no risk, and did not return.

Rube set out at once for the log camp, arriving there about midnight. Arousing the cook, he bade him prepare supper, which he ate with great relish, while he recounted a story of thrilling adventure with highwaymen, in which he had luckily escaped with his life. Supplying himself with a goodly store of provisions from the camp’s larder, the outlaw about three o’clock A. M. said good-bye to his comrades, and went forth into the solitude of the forest, consoling himself with the reflection that he had again outwitted the detectives.

There are those who would doubtless have managed the affair at Broxton’s Ferry, on the eventful evening of February 6th, differently, perhaps successfully, but fortunately for Rube they were not present.

The ox team was taken to Milton and sold for the sum of $80.

Detective Jackson, undaunted by the luckless result of the chase, equipped himself for a tour through the swamps of Santa Rosa, and, leaving him in pursuit, the rest of the party turned their faces homeward.

As an example of the unparalleled audacity of the noted train robber it may here be recorded that a few weeks afterward he endeavored to recover the value of the oxen and cart by executing a bill of sale therefor to one Charles Wells. The latter demanded the property, but it is needless to say he did not succeed in obtaining it. The express officials notified the would-be purchaser that the outfit had been sold, and that the title of the party to whom sold would be defended against any and all claimants.