CHAPTER XVIII.
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.