“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.”
“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 [pg 45] 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 [pg 46] 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.
CHAPTER VI. PURSUING THE FUGITIVES.
While the excitement over the tragedy was at its height, and the inquests and the funeral services over the dead were in progress, the escaped robbers were not forgotten.
They had left Northfield by what is known as the Dundas Road, leading to the town of that name, three miles to the south. Their original plan had been to go westward, over the route by which they had come, and to stop at the telegraph office on their way, and destroy the instruments, in order that the news of the raid might not be spread till they were out of reach in the great forest tract lying in that direction. But, as they afterwards said, finding it “too hot” for them in that part of the town, they were glad to escape by any route they could find; while the telegraph was publishing their deeds and their descriptions in every direction. Dundas being the nearest place at which they [pg 48] could cross the Cannon River, they made all possible speed toward it, six men on five horses. They rode abreast, like a squad of cavalry, taking the whole road, and compelling everyone they met to take the ditch. Meeting a farmer with a good span of horses, they stopped him and helped themselves to one of the horses, for the use of Bob Younger, who had been riding behind his brother Cole. A little farther on they “borrowed” a saddle for him of another farmer, representing themselves to be officers of the law in pursuit of horse thieves,—a pretense which they made much use of during their flight. As soon as possible they got back into their former route, where they were once more on somewhat familiar ground. The death of Miller had deprived them of the guide upon whose knowledge of the country they had depended. The loss of their trained and high-bred saddle-horses was perhaps a still more serious calamity,—a loss which they were not able to make good with any of the farm-horses stolen one after another. Their rush at full speed through Dundas caused a sensation; but, owing to the absence of the telegraph operator, the news of the raid had not been received, and they were not molested. Millersburg, where some of them had spent the previous night, was reached about [pg 49] half-past four. They were recognized by the landlord who had entertained them, but they were still in advance of the news of their crime and far in advance of their pursuers. They rode hard, sparing neither themselves nor their beasts, although Bob Younger's arm was causing him much suffering. His horse fell under him, breaking the saddle-girth, and was abandoned in disgust, Younger again mounting behind one of his companions. Another horse was seized in a similar manner, regardless of the protests of his owner; but the animal balked so obstinately that he too had to be abandoned. Thus began a dreary two-weeks flight, which grew more and more dismal day by day, as the fugitives skulked from place to place, now riding, now walking, now hiding, in a region where, as they too well knew, every man's hand was against them. Nature and Providence seemed to be against them, too. A cold, drizzling rain set in the day after the raid, and continued almost incessantly for two weeks. The way of the transgressor was hard, and it grew harder at every step.