From Boniface to Bank Burglar; Or, The Price of Persecution: How a Successful Business Man, Through the Miscarriage of Justice, Became a Notorious Bank LooterWhite, George M. (George Miles)
History
From Boniface to Bank Burglar; Or, The Price of Persecution: How a Successful Business Man, Through the Miscarriage of Justice, Became a Notorious Bank Looter
White, George M. (George Miles)
Bank robberies -- United States; Criminals -- Biography; White, George M. (George Miles)
No time was lost in catching vagrant breath and less in
talk, so in a jiffy the car was lifted to the track, and off we went as
fast as the crank could be turned. My blood, which had been seemingly
at a low ebb, began to flow hotly with the excitement, and soon the
depressed spirits which had so greatly tormented me were left far
behind with the old car shanty. In reality I was now the pal of crooks,
actually had taken part in a bank robbery, and, for the first time in
my life, was fleeing from a burglary of which I was guilty. In fact, I
began to feel that it was better to have the “game” with the “name,”
than otherwise. If any one condemn me for this, I pray it may be put
down to an intoxication of the moment and not to a callous heart. These
brain flittings gave way to thoughts of the propulsion of our “bumpous”
vehicle, for in shifts of four we did our best, two men at each handle.
When one pair showed signs of weariness, they were relieved by two
fresh men, and so we six, in turn, kept at the work. In this manner, at
least two pairs of fairly fresh arms were at the handles all the time.
Notwithstanding our energetic efforts, the rails being rough and sadly
out of repair, we made far from the speed we desired; so the first
streak of dawn was flashing in the east when we got to Cadiz Junction,
which was only ten miles on our race to safety. But, shifting the car
to the main line, we pushed on eastward toward Steubenville, for about
two miles. Here we put on brakes and paused for a consultation, all
hands agreeing it was getting almost too light for further use of the
car, and besides, we didn’t have any idea of the schedule of trains
on that line. At any moment we might meet a locomotive, which, to say
the least, would cause us great concern in getting out of its way, if,
indeed, nothing worse resulted.
We didn’t stop long to consider any question, time being too precious,
but while five of us were discussing these subjects, Tall Jim had tried
unsuccessfully to destroy any telegraphic communication that might,
uninterrupted, aid in our capture. Not being equipped with the right
sort of tools, he was compelled to give up the task, having severed
only a few of the wires. He had climbed telegraph poles and done all
sorts of stunts, but could not sever all the wires; therefore he might
as well have spared his efforts. But, for a fact, he did his best, and
I praised him for it.
By this time we had concluded that we might go on a little farther; at
least until we heard a train approaching. As we might get separated at
any moment and each of us have to work out his own problem of escape,
Hughes handed us five hundred dollars a man, with the understanding
that we keep together, if possible, until a safe hiding-place was
found, where we could remain until nightfall. In the temporary refuge a
plan of escape could be calmly discussed and the final division of the
spoils made.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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