YesterYear: The Great Train Robbery Part II
 | Author:
Linda Huth, Broadwater County Musuem Curator
Linda Huth: MT43 News Board Member and Copy Editor |
The Great Train Robbery Part II
Linda Huth
Broadwater County Musuem Curator
This letter from Ira Merritt was sent to Royal Smith. Royal was born in Hassell and was a lifelong Broadwater County resident.
This is Part II of a letter written to Royal from Ira Merritt.
What I am about to write about now, I did not actually see, but I heard about it right after the hold-up and I know it is authentic.
To begin with, one of the band had boarded the blind baggage back along the line somewhere. When the train reached the designated spot where three other members of the gang with four horses were waiting, he crawled up over the coal car and took charge. The engineer and fireman, along with other members of the train crew that got out to see what was going on, were ordered to disconnect that train and get the express car out by itself. They didn’t want to wreck any of the other cars. Big-hearted, weren’t they?
The Auditor and the Baggage man in line with their sworn duty put out the danger flags on each end of the train to warn any oncoming train that they were stopped. Each had one of his arms shot up so bad that the arm had to be amputated, gangrenes got in on one of them and he died a short time after the hold-up.
When the express car was properly placed the bandits proceeded to blow the safe open. It must have been a tough baby, it took three charges to open it. Those explosions I heard along with the continuous rifle fire.
Now, let’s get back on the train. It was not long before the people inside knew some blasting was going on up front. What was being blasted they didn’t know. When the second blast went off women began crying and men wringing their hands and a lot of them wondering out loud if they were going to blow the whole train up one car at a time. About that time the conductor came down the aisle trying to assure everybody that no harm would come to them, that it was just a little Fourth of July celebration.
Of course, that didn’t go over very big. Too many people had seen the horseback rider come and go in record time. Someone asked him to take a look at the girl’s wounded shoulder and explain how come if it was just a celebration. Royal, I’ll never forget the look on that man’s face when he saw the blood spattered all over that girl’s clothes. He turned as white as the driven snow and had to clutch one of the seats to keep from crumpling on the floor. I have learned later in life that the sight of blood affects lots of people that way.
There was a sheriff on the train from somewhere in Montana. I remember he made one trip at least down through the car. He had his coat thrown back showing off his star letting it be known that he had a six-gun, and what he would do if the bandits tried to enter the coaches. Some of the people pleaded with him not to start a gunfight. As I think about it now, I don’t think he needed any convincing on that score. He knew no doubt that Kid Curry was tough. Anyway, he wasn’t the type of sheriff like our hero Billy Deadmond.
Coming to the final acts of the big show, the blasting was over the firing suddenly ceased and someone cried out “There they go”. I looked out through the window across the aisle toward the Milk River and I could see four men mounted on fast-moving horses heading for that river. They were half-turned in their saddles and firing back at the train as they left. What a sight that was for a six-year-old kid to never forget.
Someone came into the coach then and began giving a detailed account of what happened outside. Someone else brought in some pieces of silver that had been damaged by the explosions. The girl that had been wounded was given some of the silver as a souvenir. Kid-like I wished to myself that I’d had some sort of scratch so I could have had some of that silver.
The train was soon coupled together and had just started to roll when the posse arrived on the scene. That necessitated a little more delay.
Some lady spotted the man that had been shot at by the robbers and saw that he had a grin on his face. She promptly branded him as one of the gang or he wouldn’t be laughing. She also couldn’t see why the posse didn’t take right after that gang. You know, I think that posse knew quite a bit more about why they didn’t than she did.
They knew Curry, they knew that country and they no doubt knew they would be like so many sitting ducks if they tried to cross that river behind him.
That is it, Royal, as far as the actual hold-up itself is concerned.
Kid Curry, as accounts go, escaped to South America, and later committed suicide. Latin American fashion, that is trying to escape from some law officers and being shot in the back for your troubles.
All of the others, I believe court records will show, that were connected with the robbery directly or indirectly were apprehended in due course of time and sentenced to prison terms that suited their particular part in the crime.
My brother, Jerome, who lives in Townsend, Montana, as you know, and I are the only living members of our family. You check with him and see if I am not reasonably right on the details of that great thriller that was enacted in the rolling hills of Montana somewhere between Malta and Havre, on the afternoon of July 3, 1901.
Sincerely,
Your old Friend and neighbor
Ira Merritt
P.S. Royal, you can have this letter published anywhere, any place at any time you so desire.
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PhotoCredit: Broadwater Bygones
Image 1 Caption: Royal Smith
