THE CRUISE OF THE "CROCODILE."
By Commander R. Dowling, R.N.R. (Captain in the Imperial Ottoman Navy).
In December, 1900, I left Port Said for London in command of a small "hopper." For the benefit of the uninitiated, I should explain that this is a vessel with a bottom which opens out and allows the contents of the hold to fall into the sea. The "hopper" had formerly been employed in widening the Suez Canal, but had since been converted into a tank steamer for carrying oil. I had undertaken to bring her to England in tow of another steamer of some seven thousand tons burden.
COMMANDER R. DOWLING, R.N.R., WHO DESCRIBES A PERILOUS VOYAGE HE MADE FROM PORT SAID TO LONDON IN A "HOPPER."
From a Photo. by Apollon Studio.
I got the crew together with some difficulty. When I explained the project to English-speaking seamen, they all refused, in a most emphatic manner, to have anything to do with it, and in the end I had to fall back on a number of men to whom I was unable to explain it at all properly. They were one Swede, the mate; a Greek and a Frenchman, whom I understood to be engineers; four Italian seamen and four Greek firemen, and an Italian cook. Excepting the Swede, who understood English with difficulty, not one of the crew could make out a word I said, so that during the first part of the voyage I was compelled to give orders to the ship's company in a kind of pantomimic dumb-show.
We managed to bend on two five-inch hawsers to the other steamer and started on our voyage, using our own engines to assist the towing ship. The engineer was full of zeal, which he showed by repeatedly "ramming" our consort, through his failure to understand the orders sent below through the tube—we had no telegraph—and this, needless to say, caused a great deal of unpleasantness, shown chiefly in personal abuse of myself from the big vessel, though I repeatedly tried to gesticulate explanations as to the position.
The Italian cook turned out an utter fraud, giving repeated proofs of his incapacity. I endeavoured to instruct him by practical demonstration in the art of boiling pork and cabbage, but it came on to blow and, the sea rising rapidly as it does in the Mediterranean, the galley was washed out and the cooking difficulty disposed of for ever, for we had to live on cocoa, biscuit, and onions during nearly the whole of that eventful voyage.
The seas grew bigger and bigger, and the Crocodile rolled horribly. Finally we had to abandon the quarters forward for fear of being washed overboard. I had twice tried to get to my cabin, for I had stowed away all the medical comforts, my sextant, cigars, and so forth in my bunk. At the first attempt I got knocked down and nearly had my leg broken by a heavy sea; at the second I came as close to being washed overboard as possible. By a desperate effort, however, I finally got down to my cabin, where I found everything—my clothes included—washing about in a depth of bilge water and oil, while my precious sextant was smashed. I managed to rescue the barometer—an excellent one, lent me by the towing ship, but useless under the circumstances—but I was obliged to let everything else go.
"THE SEAS GREW BIGGER AND BIGGER, AND THE 'CROCODILE' ROLLED HORRIBLY."
When I clambered back on deck I found the crew simply torpid with fright. Our two little engines raced as we lifted in such a way as to threaten a smash-up of the whole of the machinery. In spite of all my threats, and even some muscular persuasion, I was unable to induce a single man of the crew, with the exception of the mate, to stir. The ship, I may remark, was an awkward one to handle; she had no bulwarks, except a small piece forward and aft, with a single chain in between. Bunker lids were being continually washed off, but, as the men were too scared to reship them, the mate and myself had to do this ourselves to prevent our going down.
In the middle of the night, the weather growing steadily worse, one of the anchors got adrift. By a mingling of menace and persuasion I got one of the Italians to go forward with me to secure it. The mate, dead beat, was lying asleep on the engine-room gratings. We watched our time and made a rush for it, when a tremendous sea came over, simply burying us in water. I smashed my left toe against a pump, got a big piece taken out of one forefinger, and felt blood running into my eyes from a wound in my head. Looking round, I saw the Italian overboard, hanging on convulsively to a rail, and made a rush to his rescue. I managed to get hold of him, and finally hauled him on deck—and an awful bundle he was, having seemingly put all the clothes he had in the world on his back. However, we contrived to pass a lashing round the anchor and secure it as well as could be done under the circumstances. We were also successful in getting back aft, though the luckless Italian was bowled over and rolled about beneath another heavy sea, but the clothes he had on seemed to protect him, and he got to the stokehold uninjured.
Throughout the grim days and black nights that followed we laboured incessantly, led by the two hawsers that held us to the other ship. These hawsers had to be watched incessantly, and pieces of wood kept under the places where they came on board to prevent them from being cut. There was not a chair, or a stool, or a dry rag on board the ship. The crew spent their time praying or lamenting, and when we wanted to sleep the only place on which we could lie was the engine-room gratings, from which we got up as black as sweeps with coal-dust and grime. The seas were constantly washing over us from stem to stern, though the ship ahead had been dropping oil for three days to make things better for us. She herself was in difficulties, as we could see from the seas which continually rushed out from her water ports and scuppers.
About daybreak on the fourth day a loud report sounded through the din of wind and weather, and I saw our port hawser snap close up to the towing ship. We were then, of course, towing the broken part astern, and for hours I was in dread that it would foul our propeller. Luckily the weather moderated somewhat, and the larger vessel eased up, endeavouring to drop a line down to our end of the hawser so that we might heave it aboard. Owing to the drift to leeward, however, we found it impossible to do anything in this way, so, after waiting some hours longer, the towing vessel launched a boat to bring in the end. The boat was stove in as soon as it touched the water, and it was hauled on board again only just in time to save the crew from drowning. In the meantime I started to get out one of our own small steel boats. For four hours we laboured at this task, for the steamer rolled so much that at one moment the boat would be hanging over the water quite a distance from the side, and at another threatening to knock the funnel off. In the end we managed to launch her, pick up the end of the broken hawser, connect up again, and make a fresh start. But I defy anyone who has not gone through it to realize the labour, the difficulties, and danger we went through. Tossed about by mountainous seas, expecting every moment to be capsized, to fish up a five-inch steel hawser trailing deep below the surface, and pull back with it to the towing vessel, is a labour the arduousness of which my pen is utterly unable to describe. At last we got started again, and two days later, one lovely clear morning, we arrived at Algiers, the first port of call on our voyage.
Here the captain of the towing ship went ashore with me to obtain two Manila hawsers, these having more "give" and "spring" in them than wire ropes. We ransacked Algiers in vain, and accordingly cabled home for instructions. These were to the effect that the "hopper" was to be brought to England under her own steam, and I was given twenty-four hours to decide whether I would undertake the task. I made up my mind, now I had got so far, to see the thing through.
Most of the crew had cleared off at Algiers the moment they had the chance, and it was with the greatest difficulty that I managed to get another lot together. Having seen my friend the towing ship off, I started myself two days later for Gibraltar.
Scarcely had we got to sea again when we began to encounter the same diabolical weather as before. I made a discovery, too, that disconcerted me more almost than anything that we had already experienced—I found we had no instruments! During the voyage from Port Said all the navigation, of course, was done by the towing vessel, and the necessity of independent navigation, in consequence of the altered arrangements, had never entered our heads. I had neither a chronometer nor sextant; only a small-scale chart and a very questionable and erratic compass on the bridge. After much cogitation I found the only thing I could do was to get the bearing of the North Star, and this I did by laying a broomstick along the top of the compass and pointing it as straight as possible. By this I was able to shape a course to Cape de Gat, the south-east corner of Spain, making due allowance for wind and current.
But trouble soon began. At Algiers I had picked up a French engineer who was in perpetual trouble with his engines. He spoke no English, I spoke no French; so that after various altercations in our own languages I was obliged to intimate to him, in a fashion it was difficult for him to misunderstand, that further discussions were useless. One morning, however, when between blowing and pitching it was hard to stand upright, the engineer came tumbling on deck frantic with excitement, gesticulating madly and shouting, "Monsieur le Commandant, oily, oily!" while he pointed a quivering forefinger below.
I rushed down and found the starboard engine bearings grinding away just about red-hot for want of oil, the stench and steam being indescribable. I cursed him for an idiot, for he might have known we were half full of oil, and he promptly shut off steam. During this time our tiny vessel (she was only a hundred and thirty-five tons), having but little way on her, was tossed about like a chip, and the rest of the crew lay in a jumble in the stokehold—sick, praying and groaning—neither persuasion nor kicks having the least effect on them. It was under these cheerful conditions that, having restarted the engines, we reached Gibraltar a day or two later.
The Officer of Health at Gibraltar received my account of the voyage, first with incredulity, and then astonishment. He heard my proposal to navigate home under the prevailing conditions with a stare of stupefaction, and then remarked, significantly, "Well, rather you than me, captain."
I had literally to hold the chief engineer down at starting in order to frustrate his frantic struggles to get overboard. We made for Cape St. Vincent, the weather being bad, though endurable, thence I steered for Cape Roca and the Burlings, but made neither. Finally we picked up Cape Finisterre and were in the Bay of Biscay, where, sure enough, we caught it. It blew hard from the north-west, and the vessel at times nearly stood on end. Nevertheless, we had to be continually shifting coal and water to keep the propeller under water. In the middle of the night the second engineer crawled along to me on the bridge to tell me the piston packings of the port engine had blown out, and those of the other engine were leaking so badly that they were expected to blow out also at any moment.
Now, if the engine had gone, there was not a spar or a sail of any kind on the vessel to keep her before the wind, and our fate, had we once been cast into the trough of the sea, would have been certain. Accordingly we had to keep one engine running at half speed while we patched up the other with some valuable hose which had been used for pumping oil out. When we had finished one we turned to the other, and managed to make a tolerable job of both. This kept us going for nearly two days.
On the fourth day from Finisterre, about one in the morning, we sighted a light. At first I thought it was the coast of France, but after a while I saw the familiar stump of the Eddystone, and then I knew where I was. On receiving the joyful news the crew worked up some sort of enthusiasm, and I determined to put out to sea again and face it. The firemen threw their hearts into their work and we breasted the waves gallantly. Soon, however, I heard a muffled report and yells from the engine-room, and, rushing below, found we had to stop the port engine for a time; so we went on with the starboard one pretty comfortably for about twenty-four hours, when the repairs were roughly completed. Then the wind rose again to almost hurricane force, and the ship rolled and pitched quite in her best style. Even this was not the worst, for near Dungeness a heavy sea threw a water-tank on top of me, and when I was hauled out I found I had broken a bone in my left wrist, in addition to other injuries. At that point, too, the electric light went out. The ship was now in total darkness; we had no mast or side-lights, and presently, to crown all, a dense fog settled upon us. At that moment a nautical Mark Tapley would have been hard put to it to muster up any cheerfulness worth mentioning.
However, to make an end to a long story, we worried through our troubles somehow or other, got a pilot on board, and at last arrived off the Royal Albert Docks, where very thankfully we made fast to the Galleon buoys on December 22nd. To show one difficulty I had to contend with during this ever-memorable voyage I may mention that the compass was so untrue that to make a true east course I had to steer south a quarter west.
For ten days after our arrival I was laid up and unable to get off to the ship. When I did I found that nearly the whole of my things had been stolen. I received from the owners, in recognition of the danger and arduousness of the voyage, a gratuity of ten pounds!
[Propitiating the Weather.]
By Mrs. Herbert Vivian.
In various parts of Europe the simple peasant-folk observe some extraordinary customs—strange blendings of religion and superstition—in their attempts to avert drought and hailstorms and obtain favourable weather for harvesting their crops. This chatty article deals with a number of the most curious methods employed.
In many parts of the world the peasant and the countryman are dependent for a whole year's daily bread on the sort of weather Providence is good enough to send them. In England we are perhaps more independent than any other land, for our much-abused climate seldom runs to wild extremes. A drought makes a serious difference certainly, but it rarely ruins the entire crop. In the great plains of Hungary and Roumania, however, a winter without plentiful snow means a miserable harvest, and under the blazing sun of summer a drought there is a very much more tragic affair than it is with us. In parts of Northern Italy and the Tyrol what they most dread is not drought, but the terrible hailstorms and tempests which sweep down with sudden and relentless fury upon the country-side, doing irreparable damage in an incredibly short time.
It is interesting to notice the different ways in which country-folk meet these trials. In England after long drought we pray for rain in our churches, and in most Roman Catholic countries processions and pilgrimages are the order of the day. In Macedonia the Greeks organize great demonstrations in dry summers. A procession of children visits all the local wells and springs, accompanied by a maiden covered with garlands and masses of flowers. This sounds as romantic as our Queen of the May, and it could surprise no one if, like Tennyson's heroine, she came to a sad end, for at each of the stopping-places the poor dear is drenched with water, whilst the children sing a rhyming prayer for rain.
A TYPICAL SCENE IN THE SALZKAMMERGUT, WHERE THE PEASANTS STILL OBSERVE SOME VERY CURIOUS CUSTOMS IN CONNECTION WITH THE WEATHER.
From a Photograph.
The Russian peasants say prayers to Elisha, whom they consider a very potent rain-producer. In some countries the images of the saints are immersed in water when rain is wanted. On the other hand, sometimes more rain falls than is needed, and in parts of Westphalia they say that it is fatal to kill a swallow, for such a crime will bring at least four weeks' deluge. Swallows are considered lucky birds in that part of the world, and if they are driven away all the vegetables of the neighbourhood are sure to be destroyed by frost.
THE CASTLE OF KAPRUN AND THE CHAPEL OF ST. JACOB, WHERE HANGS ONE OF THE MOST FAMOUS "WEATHER AND WITCH BELLS" IN THE TYROL.
From a Photograph.
Weather-wise peasants know more or less at what time hailstorms may be expected, and are on the alert for danger-signals. In Northern Italy cannons are fired off to disperse the clouds, and enough powder is expended to supply an army, while in some parts of France they rely on bombs for the same purpose.
Perhaps the most interesting methods of propitiating the skies are to be found in parts of the Tyrol, where the peasants are still refreshingly simple and full of piety. The Salzkammergut is one of the most interesting parts of Austria, from an ethnological point of view. It teems with ancient survivals and customs, and is a treasure-house of legendary lore. A certain imagination is displayed in all their tales; sly humour, picturesque turns of phrases, and distinct kindliness peep out everywhere. Few Englishmen can live in the Tyrol without acquiring an affection for the friendly folk. They are like a lot of big children, with their yellow hair, dancing blue eyes, and honest, sunburnt faces. Moreover, they are thoroughgoing sportsmen, first-rate at all games and athletics.
It is just about the time that the harvest is ripening that the farmer begins to feel qualms of anxiety concerning the weather, and keeps his eye fixed on the sky. Any particularly black clouds fill him with gloomy forebodings, for in the course of a few moments the work of the whole year may be swept away. Hoping to shield his property from the powers of evil, he employs all the means that his brain can devise, and some of these are distinctly original and curious.
As soon as low, rumbling thunder is heard in the far-off hills the house-bells that are usually found in the roofs of Tyrolese cottages begin to ring. This is known as "Ringing in the storm," and is considered an absolutely necessary precaution. As the weather grows worse you may hear the church bells all along the valleys peal as well. Hailstorms in August are most dreaded, and if the sky seems to indicate that they are coming the priest is warned and goes to stand at the door of the church, bearing the Host, to pronounce the storm blessing. Some priests are considered more gifted than others in giving this blessing, and are supposed to be able to stave off disaster by their peculiar powers. They become popular far and wide with the peasantry and are known as "storm-fighting gentlemen."
Not only the priests, but also the bells of certain churches have a great reputation for their miraculous powers of checking bad weather. The "witches' bell" in the wood at Pinzgau and the one at Muhr, in Lungau, are famous in this connection; while the two little bells of St. Jacob's chapel in Kaprun Castle are supposed to be very potent, both to avert hailstorms and to frighten away witches. In past days the peasants used to believe that many of the storms were caused by witches who flew through the air on broomsticks, scattering a powder as they went and raising the blizzard. These were called "manufactured storms."
THE GREAT "STORM CRUCIFIX" AT GRÖDIG, NEAR SALZBURG.
From a Photograph.
A mischievous spirit called Zabera Jaggl is said to bewail bitterly the difficulties that certain bells put in his path when he wants to ride out on the wings of the storm. He is supposed to explain his troubles thus: "When I want to dash through the pass of Lueg the watch-dog of Werpener will not let me by"—the watch-dog being the great bell of Werpener Castle, which was always rung at the approach of a storm till the inhabitants of Abtenau, near by, implored the castle folk to cease, since in consequence of their ringing all the tempest swept on to Abtenau. He goes on to say: "If by any chance the watch-dog sleeps and I get safely past Hell Bridge across the Fritzbach, then I knock up against the big Altenmarker hound (the church bell of Altenmark), and he will not let me fly up the forest of Kreisten, where I ought to be able to do great damage. Supposing I try to turn back and ride to St. Martin's, then the mastiff at the inn howls and all the whelps yap (the big bell of the inn and the smaller ones found on every house-top in St. Martin), and I must vent my rage as best I can on Hell Mountain. Wherever I turn a watch-dog faces me, till in despair I climb the mighty mountain, tear the trees down, and whirl around the summits, lying down at last, dead tired, to rest on Dachstein."[1]
[1] Dachstein is one of the great mountains of the Tyrol. Round it endless legends and romances are woven.
A legend is told of the witch bell of Muhr, in Lungau, which is of a peculiar shape, very ancient in appearance, and very much chipped. It hangs in the middle of the peal of bells in the village church, and the story runs that the devil once rode down to Muhr, determined to enjoy himself, on the back of one of the biggest hurricanes ever seen. But the witches' bell was rung for Ave Maria, and every man in the village fell on his knees to pray for the defeat of the Evil One. So fervent were their prayers and so potent was the Ave Maria bell that Satan had to turn again. The memory rankled, and he determined to revenge himself. Now it happened that he was in league with one of the very worst witches of the neighbourhood, so he went to give her instructions, taking with him a "hell hammer," which is a very infernal weapon. According to instructions, she mounted her broomstick at midnight and flew away to the belfry at Muhr. She went straight to the middle bell and began hitting it with all her might with the hell hammer. But the bell had been consecrated, and resisted all her efforts till just before one o'clock, when she managed to chip it. At one o'clock, however, the hour for witches, ghosts, and ghouls is over, and so she had to pick up her hammer and fly home again. Since that time, however, the bell has lost most of its tone, and instead of being heard for miles around it can now only protect its own little parish.
Among the sights that strike one most in passing through the villages of the Salzkammergut are the "storm crucifixes" and "hail crosses." Sometimes you find them in the church porches, sometimes in the graveyards, and sometimes right out in the fields. They stand about fifteen feet high, and are often painted a reddish brown. There is almost always a second and shorter plank nailed across to form two extra arms. The figure of Christ is usually carved out of wood in a primitive fashion and highly coloured. All around, fixed on to the four arms, are the emblems of the Passion. These are the chains, the ladder, the sword, the staves, the lantern, the cock, the dice, the seamless robe, the sponge, the purse of Judas, and many more. Village artists and carvers frequently employ their winter evenings in making every emblem that they can think of, and they call them "Christ's weapons." On the 3rd of May, the day of the finding of the true Cross, they take them to the parish priest, who blesses them and fixes them to the crucifix.
THE "HAIL CROSS" AT UNTER ECHING.
From a Photograph.
The storm crucifix at Grödig, near Salzburg, of which we give a photograph, is a very curious-looking and primitive erection, standing in a great open field behind the village. Another photograph shows the hail cross of Unter Eching, an immense thing over twenty feet high. It does not bear the figure of our Lord, but, on the other hand, there is a great collection of "Christ's weapons." A leaden cock always stands on the very top of all the crucifixes. At the foot is usually found a little pew where pious pilgrims frequently come to pray for fine weather at harvest time, and close by there will frequently be seen a frame of wood across which is stretched a piece of wire. Ten little wooden balls run along the wire and are used by passers-by as a roadside rosary.
BUNCHES OF CATKINS ARE GIVEN AWAY IN THE CHURCHES ON PALM SUNDAY, AND THESE ARE BURNT AT HARVEST-TIME TO AVERT THE EVIL EFFECTS OF STORMS.
From a Photograph.
The Tyrolese peasants have a strongly superstitious as well as a religious side to their characters. They invoke the aid of Heaven, but they also place a good deal of reliance in the help of amulets and charms. It is only fair to say that these have usually been blessed by the Church. For instance, little bunches of catkins are blessed and given away in the churches on Palm Sunday, and are carefully preserved by the country-folk till harvest time. Then if the weather becomes threatening and they fear for their crops they fling them into the fire to avert the evil effects of the storm.
St. John's Wort or Hypericum is regarded in most countries as a plant with every sort of wonderful power. When lightning is heard a bunch of it is hung up in front of the window to protect the house. If it is picked before breakfast it is almost infallible as a talisman against lightning. St. John's Wort gathered on Midsummer Eve has marvellously magical properties.
In some parts of the Tyrol it is considered dangerous to touch anyone who has been struck by lightning till the priest has said a prayer over the body. There are even countries where it is considered a Divine favour to be killed by lightning. Another protection against being struck is the Antlass Ei, an egg laid on the Thursday before Easter and then placed in the roof.
A "STORM CANDLE"—THESE ARE LIGHTED TO DRIVE AWAY HAILSTORMS.
From a Photograph.
Summer hailstorms are feared more than anything else, and in cases of severe hail the farmers have a "hail Mass" performed in church. In some places where storms are much dreaded hail processions take place every Sunday from Whitsuntide till the end of August. When the big stones come pelting down, black and red "storm candles" are lighted. These are kept in readiness for such occasions in every well regulated household.
I am told that in Belgium blessed wax is burnt in times of tempest. Among the various recipes for avoiding danger the following may be mentioned: Never point your finger at a thunderstorm. Do not eat or drink while it lasts, but wrap yourself in silk and put a candle under the table. If you are caught by a storm out of doors, go and lie down under an elder tree. There can then be no danger, for the Cross was made of elder wood.
Evidently the curious four-armed cross given below must have some special connection with storms. It is a little metal one intended for personal use, and is inscribed with mystic letters which seem to have no meaning, but must convey some subtle sense of protection to the wearer. In the middle is a little medallion representing the Host.
A TALISMAN INTENDED TO PROTECT THE PERSON CARRYING IT AGAINST LIGHTNING AND TEMPEST.
From a Photograph.
The photograph reproduced on the next page shows a "Letter of Protection" against storms and other evils, which is regarded as a very potent charm by the Tyrolese peasant. At the top of the page on the right-hand side, St. Anthony of Padua is expelling demons, unpleasant-looking creatures with wings and forked tails. Beneath him is St. Roch, protecting from pests, and St. Benet from sorcerers. Here again we see the cross with four arms. The two heads are those of St. Anastasius and St. Anastasia, both beheaded martyrs, who are invoked against ghosts and demons, and below them, in the corner, is St. Francis Xavier, repulser of tempests. The hands, feet, and heart of our Lord preserve from serpents.
On the left hand side comes, first, St. Francis. Below him are St. Michael and St. George, on either side of a cross. St. George preserves the believer from lapses of faith and St. Michael keeps malign spirits at a distance. The three kings sitting in a row beneath are invoked as protectors of faithful travellers, and a very evil-looking beast is seen grovelling before the uplifted cross of St. Ignatius. Right in the middle is a particle of earth from the Holy Land and three relics as safeguards against fever, fire, and lightning.
In the Tyrol the labourer when sowing the seed scatters his field with charcoal "for luck." In Bohemia a splinter of wood from which a coffin has been made is stuck upright in the fields to protect them from sparrows. Another idea is that a piece of wood from a coffin that has been dug up will defend crops from caterpillars.
AN ANCIENT "LETTER OF PROTECTION," REGARDED AS A VERY POTENT CHARM BY THE TYROLESE PEASANTS.
From a Photograph.
It is all very well for us to laugh at these superstitions, but not so long ago in parts of Scotland the farmers used to leave one portion of their land uncropped year after year. The spot was supposed to be dedicated to the devil, and known as the good-man's croft or landlord's acre. This was done so that the Evil One should busy himself with it and leave the rest of the place alone.
In conclusion, I should like to acknowledge the kind help I have received from Mr. Adrian, of Salzburg, the well known authority on folklore, who furnished me with much information for the purpose of this article.
[The Affair at Greenville.]
By N. H. Crowell.
An account of a tragic happening which abruptly broke in upon the peaceful routine of life in a small American village. But for the important part played by the cross-country telephones it is probable that the desperate trio with whom the narrative deals would have got clear away to continue their career of crime.
The fall of the year 1901 was remarkable for the number of bank robberies occurring in the States of Iowa, South Dakota, and Minnesota. The daring of the travelling bands of criminals, commonly known as "yeggmen," manifested itself in frequent and generally successful attempts on the vaults of various financial institutions. In Iowa alone there had been no fewer than thirteen robberies without a single arrest up to the date of the Greenville Bank case, which I am about to set forth.
On Saturday morning, November 16th, 1901, a Greenville business man, rising early, was attracted by a peculiar object lying in the middle of the main thoroughfare. Greenville, being only a small village of some three hundred people, possessed but one principal street, which ran through it from east to west. Upon approaching the object the man saw that it was the door of a bank-safe, and his surprise may be imagined when, looking about him, he discovered that the large glass front of the bank building near by was entirely shattered.
In a very few moments he had gathered an anxious crowd, and the more daring ventured into the ruined building. It then became apparent that the safe had been blown open by nitroglycerine and its precious contents carried away. On the bank counters were found a small dark lantern, two bars of soap, some chisels, and a silk handkerchief. The completeness of the job showed it to have been the work of persons who were either unacquainted with the terrific power of the explosive used, or of extraordinary daring and recklessness.
The cashier of the bank, Mr. E. B. Harrington, lost no time in reaching the local telephone office, from which point he immediately notified the sheriff of the county at Spencer, nine miles north, of the robbery, afterwards reporting it to the town marshals of all the surrounding towns.
While thus engaged an employé of the Minneapolis and St. Louis Railway arrived with the intelligence that the station tool-house had been broken open and a hand-car taken therefrom. The operators on the line at Spencer to the north, and at Sioux Rapids to the south, were at once called up, but both protested that no hand-car had passed their station at any hour of the night. The mystery was solved half an hour later by the discovery of a broken hand-car at the crossing of the Rock Island and Minneapolis and St. Louis roads, one mile south of the town. It was evident that the robbers, fleeing on the car, had met with an accident and had been forced to abandon it. The clue was serviceable, however, in that it pointed out the direction of the miscreants' escape, and the officials at Marathon, Laurens, and Albert City—towns in the general line of flight—were promptly advised to be on the alert to intercept all suspicious characters and hold them till examined.
At this juncture a young lady employed in the Spencer telephone exchange imparted the information that she had observed three nasty-looking strangers the night before eating a late supper at a Spencer restaurant. The restaurant proprietor corroborated this, and added that one of the men was of very dark complexion, and, in his judgment, was a mulatto.
The wires were again resorted to and neighbouring officials given the fresh information. At nine o'clock on the morning of the robbery the marshals of every place within a radius of forty miles were in possession of the facts, and had trusted deputies guarding all approaches to their respective towns. Assuming it to be a fact that the robbery had been committed by two white men and one black man, who were now travelling on foot in a south-easterly direction, it seemed but a question of hours before they would be halted by some one of the representatives of the law.
An hour passed by, then two, and a third. Not a word came from Marathon, the nearest town in the line of flight. It was impossible for the men to escape by train, as all depôts were under close surveillance; it was equally impossible to conceal themselves in a farming community so thickly inhabited as the one they were now traversing. It appeared inevitable, therefore, that their whereabouts must soon be reported.
Just before noon a farmer living five miles east of Sioux Rapids drove into that town and, upon being questioned, stated that he had given three strangers breakfast less than an hour before. He stated that one was a negro, and that all three were well armed and were apparently desperate characters. Upon being informed that the trio had burglarized the Greenville Bank, the farmer was considerably surprised, but was able to give a minute description of the robbers to the marshal.
It being now evident that the men were heading for Albert City, a small town on the Milwaukee railroad, fifteen miles to the south-east, Marshal Snyder, of Sioux Rapids, lost no time in picking a posse to aid him in the capture of the desperate men. In twenty minutes he, with three others, whirled away in a carriage drawn by the fleetest team in the town. Marshal Snyder knew that a freight train was due to leave Albert City shortly after the dinner-hour, and he hoped to reach the depôt in time to thwart this method of escape.
While Snyder and his deputies were speeding toward Albert City, the town marshal of that little place, Mr. C. J. Lodine, received definite word by telephone that the robbers were moving in his direction. Barely had he hung up the instrument when he learnt that three men answering the descriptions sent out were in the waiting-room of the Albert City depôt, awaiting the arrival of the freight train, concerning which they had been questioning the agent.
Marshal Lodine, a brave and efficient officer, knew that there was no time to lose. The train was due in a very few minutes, and he felt that upon him devolved the success or failure of all the efforts that had been put forth for the capture of the three criminals.
Seizing a Winchester rifle, he started out to secure men to assist him in the capture. No one refused his call. He darted into a forage store, and the proprietor grasped his hat and followed readily. A doctor's office came next, and the physician was added to the little party. At the bank he secured the cashier, while a farmer who was hitching up his team joined him with alacrity. In the space of ten minutes Lodine had five armed and determined men behind him, and speedily made his way to the waiting-room of the little depôt.
Far to the north sounded the whistle of the approaching freight train, and the posse stepped a trifle faster at its summons. They knew the crucial moment was soon to arrive.
Down the length of the narrow platform they walked and approached the door of the waiting-room. With his men close at his back Marshal Lodine entered, and located his men seated in the corner of the room. Rifle in hand, he took a step in their direction and commanded:—
"Hands up! We want you!"
"THE THREE MEN WHIPPED OUT REVOLVERS AND OPENED A FURIOUS FIRE."
Immediately, without warning or replying, the three men whipped out revolvers and opened a furious fire. Marshal Lodine was hit in the body and staggered out on to the platform, where he dropped the rifle. Mr. M. H. Conlin, a farmer, snatched it up and ran for cover from the galling fusillade that was being poured in his direction.
The posse, unprepared for such an unexpected onslaught, scattered wildly, and as they ran the desperadoes emerged upon the platform and fired repeatedly upon them. Lodine, sorely wounded, secreted himself near the depôt, while Conlin and the forage-store proprietor, John Sundblad, dropped behind a pile of rocks. Conlin was uninjured, but a bullet found poor Sundblad, and he fell writhing in agony.
JOHN SUNDBLAD, WHO DIED FROM THE EFFECTS OF THE WOUND RECEIVED IN THE FIGHT.
From a Photograph.
Having cleared the field, the robbers ran across the railroad tracks and entered a barn belonging to one Johnson. Finding a horse therein, one of the white men led it out and began a hurried attempt to hitch it up to a buggy standing near, being protected in his efforts by the negro, who stood by firing at every hiding-place where lurked a member of the posse.
From his cover behind the rock-pile Farmer Conlin began shooting at the horse, intending to kill it and thus prevent escape by that means. In his excitement, and being under a severe fire, Conlin was unsuccessful, and desisted. A moment later, however, as the men were about to leap into the buggy, he resolved to make one more effort. At the crack of his rifle the white man dropped to the earth, struck squarely in the breast. The negro at once ran up and stripped his fallen comrade of his guns and money.
At this point the freight train drew in and separated the combatants. A delay ensued, during which the two remaining robbers leaped into a farmer's wagon and compelled him to drive north at breakneck speed. As rapidly as was possible three rigs were dispatched in hot pursuit, and the chase became so warm that the fleeing men were forced to stop a single rig driven by two boys, whom they threw out and thus continued their flight. This rig was soon exchanged for another, a lady's vehicle being commandeered in this instance. This team failed them shortly, and a farmer, fixing fence along the highway, was next required to deliver his team. Stripping the harness off, the men mounted the animals bareback and started away at a gallop. The horse ridden by the negro, however, suddenly "bucked" and threw his rider off. He was unable to mount, and, seeing the pursuers approaching, dropped the reins and turned into a cornfield at one side of the road. His partner, observing this, also dropped off his horse and dashed into the cornfield.
The men were now practically cornered. From the east the posse from Marathon was just in sight, and would have intercepted them in another mile.
Conlin, with the Winchester rifle, sent big bullets screaming through the corn-shocks (sheaves), and as the field was not an extensive one the men were in considerable danger of being struck down unless they surrendered, and this they finally decided to do. The desperadoes, having thrown down their guns, were directed to approach with their hands in the air. Thereupon they were securely tied with straps taken from the harness.
At this moment Farmer Conlin discovered that he had fired his last cartridge. Brooks, the negro, then stated that had he known this a moment before he would never have been taken, as it was the fear of the big rifle alone that had caused them to surrender.
The two robbers were driven rapidly back to Albert City, at which place Marshal Snyder had arrived. He searched the men, and, not satisfied with a superficial examination revealing more guns and ammunition, ordered the men to strip. This they did with evident reluctance. Around the negro's neck was tied a razor and a bag containing a quantity of some liquid. As Snyder removed the latter the negro remarked:—
"Be careful of that; it's dangerous!"
Needless to say this liquid was nitroglycerine, and as there was enough of it to have blown off at least twelve safe-doors it is not difficult to understand the ferocious nerve of the man who carried it when exposed to bullets and the eccentricities of bucking horses.
The examination over, the negro hastily snatched up his under-garments and began donning them hurriedly. This aroused Snyder's suspicion further, and realizing the calibre of the men with whom he was dealing he searched the garments. Sewn in the seams of the shirt he found two fine saws nearly twelve inches in length, with which he cut an iron stove-poker as easily as a dull knife cuts cheese. This discovery was a serious one for the negro, and his spirits fell noticeably thereafter.
The men were now turned over to the sheriff and deputies who had arrived from Storm Lake, and by them taken to that city and lodged in the county jail.
"THEY WERE DIRECTED TO APPROACH WITH THEIR HANDS IN THE AIR."
John Sundblad died on Sunday afternoon from the effects of the wound received in the fight, and Marshal Lodine, after battling bravely for eight days, also succumbed to his injuries. The robber shot by Farmer Conlin lingered until Sunday noon, and before dying confessed that it was he and his companions who had robbed the Greenville Bank. He stated that his name was Dolan, although he was apparently of Italian descent.
The two surviving men, giving the names of Albert Phillips and Louis Brooks, were tried for murder, found guilty, and sentenced to be hanged.
Upon appeal to the Supreme Court errors were found, and a new trial granted the accused. They were found guilty of manslaughter at this trial and sentenced to life imprisonment at hard work. At the present time they are in the Iowa State Penitentiary at Anamosa.
The money stolen from the bank was subsequently recovered, being found concealed in the field where the desperate men made their last stand.