Putnam County
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1880 Burglary

A NOTED BURGLARY.

DURING the summer of 1869, the hitherto exceedingly quiet city of Hennepin became the scene of a most intense and long continued excitement, owing to the stirring events here narrated.

About the 10th of June a rather suspicious person made his appearance in town, and wandered about from day to day, with no apparent object other than to ask a good many questions, look into alleys and by-ways, and make the acquaintance of the roughs and idlers of the place. On one occasion he went into Leech & Bros' office, where they kept their safe and funds, ostensibly to get a $10.00 bill changed, but in fact to note the lay of things in the office, the fastenings upon the safe, its lock, and the position of the windows. This fellow also went to Hartenbower's warehouse for the same purpose, and asked of a young man whom he had made a "chum" of, "Where these grain dealers kept their money?" and "Where they lived?" He disappeared the morning before the attempted robbery. Another fellow had appeared upon the scene a tall, lank, illy dressed, gray-whiskered chap, who was seen in several places, apparently drunk, the day before the attempt on the safe was made, and was found next morning in a corn-crib near the scene, where it was thought he had been "telegraphing" his pals when in the warehouse, but when discovered was too drunk, or simulated it so perfectly as to completely deceive his captors, who could make nothing out of him and turned him loose. He was either too drunk for a sober man or too sober for a drunken one. In three minutes after, when the enraged citizens had begun to connect him with the gang, he was not to be found!

About one o'clock of the morning of June 23, 1869, Mr. John B. Gowdey, a respectable tradesman of Hennepin, had occasion to get a drink of water. After rising he concluded to go down to his shoeshop for a smoke, when he was astonished to hear the sound of iron striking iron close in his neighborhood. Going out softly, he heard the noise more distinctly, and followed it up cautiously, till reaching a window of Leech Bros.' warehouse, he saw three men - one holding a dark lantern, one a cold-chisel, and the third a sledge-hammer, which tools are now to be seen in the County Clerk's office at Hennepin. Mr. Gowdey's first impulse was to ''yell" at them to drive them off, but as they had not got in the safe, and didn't seem likely to for a few minutes more, he crept away and ran softly to wake up the citizens nearest the scene, and secure the burglars if possible. He aroused J. W. Leech, Mr. Small and Frank Sunderland. These men and a few others gathered around the warehouse as soon as possible. Mr. Leech stationed Mr. Sunderland near the window, going himself to the door toward the river, rightly judging that the robbers had come across in a canoe or skiff, and would head that way on being alarmed. Some one, in coming down the hill near the warehouse, tripped upon a loose stone, and thus prematurely alarmed the villains, who immediately rushed out of the building through a drive-way toward their skiff, yelling to the citizens to "stand back or get hurt," and the former, with only one gun that was available, and not being able in the dark to distinguish friend from foe, could not safely fire. The robbers returned to their boat. They were ordered to halt, and answered with a shot from a revolver, which fortunately hit no one. A lad named Everett had no gun, and began throwing stones at the retreating party, whereupon they returned several shots with their revolvers. As the boat emerged from the deep shadow of the buildings, they opened quite a lively fire upon the crowd which had by this time assembled upon the shore. Frank Sunderland took the shot-gun and replied with better luck, for the oarsman in the departing boat was numerously peppered, one shot lodging in his face under the eye and in dangerous proximity to that organ. He fell forward, or rather dropped his face between his hands and quit rowing, while his companion seized the oars and exerting his full strength; one of them broke, and he was obliged to paddle toward the shore with the other as best he could.

The country opposite town is low and flat, with a single narrow causeway leading to the main land. At all times it is little better than a morass, and now the river, swelled by the spring rains, was high, and the whole territory, with the single exception of the causeway alluded to, was more or less submerged. At the point dwelt two men engaged upon the ferry, named Barmore and Thornton, who, hearing the alarm and understanding the situation, came down to the river prepared to give the robbers the warmest possible reception. Had it not been for the broken oar, and knowing the locality well, they would doubtless have gone direct to the landing and fought their way out, or at least attempted to; but that changed all their plans, and the current carried them down stream, where they landed in the half submerged timber, seeking what safety they could.

As soon as it was sufficiently light and skiffs could be procured, the people, now thoroughly aroused, turned out, armed with every available weapon, and the river bottoms were effectually scoured for the skulking vagabonds. Early in the morning the fellow who had been wounded was caught. He maintained a degree of innocence of the attempted crime and knowledge of the whereabouts of his pals that was refreshing! "He had been out hunting, and had scratched his face with a thorn," but at a later period confessed that he had been shot as above stated, and had fallen behind his comrades while endeavoring to allay the pain and stop the flow of blood from the wound on his face, and while bathing his eye the others had left him, and he dare not call them for fear of attracting their pursuers. About eight or nine o'clock in the morning the remaining burglars were found lying by a log in the edge of a swamp or slough. Mr. Thornton, who discovered the culprits, made signs to Holland, Cook and others to come to him. The signals were speedily passed along the line, and each man, with weapon in hand ready for use, advanced. The leader, seeing the situation and knowing his retreat was cut off and resistance useless, held up both hands, exclaiming, "Don't shoot; I give up." His companion also surrendered. They were searched, and no weapons found, but afterward revolvers were found hidden deep in the mud near the place of arrest. Seeing themselves surrounded by so many persons all in citizens' attire, they feared violence, and begged not to be mobbed. One of them was escorted by I. H. Cook, but he pretended entire ignorance of what had transpired. He was a poor trapper looking after his traps, and could not understand why he should be arrested by armed men. As they neared the shore, where a large crowd waited their arrival, he thought of the possible lynching that might follow, and forgetting the trapper role enquired "what they did with the other fellow they caught;" to which the reply was made that they "hung him before breakfast."

The prisoners were escorted up town through a dense crowd of excited, scowling citizens, only waiting a leader to take the law into their own hands and give the villains the justice they richly deserved at the end of a rope. An examination was had before a Justice of the Peace, and the prisoners placed under heavy bonds to wait the action of the Grand Jury, which they not being able to give, were escorted to the jail and a special guard put over them.

Subsequent events proved this to have been a deep laid scheme, coolly planned by the leading cracksman of Chicago, the notorious Buck Holbrook, well known to the police and dreaded by them as a desperate scoundrel of herculean strength, cool courage and utterly devoid of fear. Hennepin had no bank for the safe keeping of valuables, it was an important grain market, and they rightly considered if the haul was made it would be a rich one.

Two previous attempts had been made, both failures. In one of them they stole a couple of horses and hitched them to a sled, loading the safe (a small one) upon it with the intention of hauling it away; but in their ignorance they had harnessed an unbroken colt which refused to pull, and their plans were frustrated.

Another was upon the safe of a Mr. Atkins, which they tried with all the improvements known to burglars; but the noise alarmed a servant girl, who frightened the robbers off. Various reasons conspired to invite an attempt of the kind. The place had no trained police, no watchmen; the town stands on the high bluff of a deep river, with its business houses near the stream; across the river a wilderness of swamps, lakes, tangled weeds, trees, underbrush etc., all afforded splendid hiding places for the thieves and their plunder.

The capture of Holbrook and his pals deeply excited his friends in Chicago, who sent messages of condolence and friends to visit the unlucky trio in the Hennepin jail. Among the latter came a richly attired female claiming to be Holbrook's wife. She was known as Mollie Holbrook, the keeper of a noted bagnio, and wore upon her person a profusion of laces and diamonds of "purest ray serene." Her will was law among her associates, among whom she ruled like a queen, and it was hinted a golden key she carried had unlocked dungeons ere now and set her friends at liberty. She played the role of an injured and innocent female, whose husband, a perfect paragon of honesty, needed no other vindication of character than her word. He was the victim of conspiracy, and should be liberated without a question. Failing in this mode of attack, she grew indignant and threatened to burn the town and murder the citizens. She obtained permission to visit her husband, and it is believed handed him a ten dollar bill in which was hidden some diminutive tools for breaking jail.

The citizens were prepared. They had observed strange faces about the vicinity of the jail, and a class of comers and goers far different in their dress, manners and looks from their own people. The Sheriff, if not on terms of social intercourse with these suspected persons, was too confiding in their word of honor, too indulgent to them, so people argued, and they recommended a special police force to help guard the jail. The Sheriff became angry at this, and intimated that he would attend to his own business, and the citizens, unknown to that officer, guarded not only the jail, but the town, a precaution which, though expensive and arduous, was rewarded most amply, as will be seen.

On the night of Saturday, June 28, 1869, a guard of two citizens who had been recently placed on duty in a barn near the jail, heard a singular noise, like a cat "whetting its claws" upon a tree or fence, as the saying is. They watched intently, and became convinced it was near or under the jail. Between one and two o'clock of Sunday morning this sound ceased, and presently from a hole at the side of the jail emerged the form of a man, which proved to be that of Buck Holbrook. Standing a moment, he looked cautiously around, and exclaimed in a low voice, ""Boys, the coast is clear." In a few moments one, and then the other of his companions came forth, when Buck said, "Now for Chicago!" At that instant the guard fired, and he fell, his person from the top of the head to the lower part of the stomach riddled with shot, eighty-four having been counted afterward. He never spoke or groaned, but seemed to have fallen dead. The other two men fled; one around the building, and escaped, and the other ran to the kitchen door of the jail, and begged to be admitted. The former ran across two lots, into Mr. Unthank's barn, crept in the hay-mow, and lay hid all that night and next day until evening. In the meantime the excited citizens were alert everywhere. They never thought of looking for their escaped bird so close to his cage, but surrounded the town, posted watchmen, and sent trusty men to guard the avenues of escape. As the bells were calling people to church in the evening, the culprit came forth and joined a throng of people on their way to the house of worship. He slipped past and struck out for Peru, and at about eleven o'clock P. M., while crossing a bridge, fell into the hands of a policeman stationed to intercept him. He was returned here, and himself and his "pal," under the names of Watson and Norton respectively, on the 26th of October, 1869, were tried and sent to the penitentiary for five years.

The morning of the shooting of Holbrook, his reputed wife was notified of the fatal affair, and at once came down, accompanied by a repulsive looking fellow, with "villain" in every feature. They proceeded to the Court House, where the dead body of the burglar lay. As they entered the room, which was crowded with people, she uttered a wail like the scream of an enraged tigress, and he, looking upon the corpse, exclaimed, while a scowl of brigand-like ferocity gleamed from his hideous face, "Eighty-four buckshot, by __ !" Just then Watchman Cassell's gun was heard to "click, click," as he raised the hammer, ready for any emergency, which the heavy villain interpreted to "mean business," and quietly left with his howling charge, making a quick departure out of the city. She caused his remains to be expeditiously boxed up and shipped to Chicago, where the demi monde, roughs and lower order of thieves of the city turned out to honor the memory of their fallen chief with a pompous funeral procession.

The frail and furious Mollie not only shook off the dust of her shoes as a testimony against Hennepin when she left it, but, between groaning and moaning and screaming at the top of her voice, she put in some very bitter curses and frightful denunciations against it and all who had been concerned in the death of her friend.

Since then Mollie has served a term in the penitentiary, and Hennepin, instead of suffering from the fearful imprecations which the consort of Holbrook invoked upon it, has grown and prospered, and there is not a town in the State to-day of its size where better order reigns, and none which burglars, robbers, thieves and persons of that ilk seem as by general consent so willing to avoid.

Extracted 14 Apr 2017 by Norma Hass from Records of the Olden Time, 1880, by Spencer Ellsworth, pages 192-197.


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