There is a twine factory in operation in the Minnesota State Prison having a yearly capacity of nearly eighteen million pounds of binder twine. This adjunct to the prison's industries was inaugurated about eighteen years ago, the author of the measure being the brilliant Ignatius Donnelly, known as the Sage of Nininger. At that time the farmers of this state were groaning under the iron heel of the trust, being compelled to pay eighteen cents a pound for their twine, but today the prison is manufacturing twine of superior quality and selling it to the farmers at an average price of about seven cents per pound.
In its infancy the twine plant was conducted on a very small scale, but the present management has developed and added to its equipment until now the factory supplies almost the entire demand of the state. There is little opposition from labor unions against the employment of prison labor in this industry, for there is but a small proportion of the product manufactured in this [pg 119][pg 120][pg 121] state outside of the prison, and outside factories are under the domination of the Cordage Trust.
The successful operation of Minnesota's twine plant has aroused the keenest interest among prison officials in other states, and there are now quite a number of similar factories operating in other penitentiaries. Delegations of prison officials from other states are frequent visitors at the Minnesota factory, inspecting the manufacture of twine, and they are invariably enthusiastic over results attained.
The twine factory is what is known to the trade as a “three-system plant;” that is, it contains three complete sets of each of the machines necessary to convert the fibre into twine ready for shipment. The transformation is effected principally by a series of combings. From the moment the rush-plaited cover is removed and the bale is opened until the long strands of fibre reach the spinning machines to be twisted into cord the material is constantly undergoing combing.
The binder twine fibre is unloaded from the cars inside the prison yard. It is weighed and stored in the warehouse until it is used. Adjoining the fibre warehouse is the opening room in which the bales are opened and spread out, the kinks shaken out of the long strands by hand and the fibre put through a machine called a “breaker.” The breaker subjects it to the first course of raking, and in order to toughen the material and make it more pliable distributes a limited amount of oil through it. After passing through the first breaker, it is sent on to a second, where it is again cleaned and straightened. Then it is removed from the opening room to the next shop, where it is passed through first to a coarse then a fine “spreader.” Like the breaker, the spreader is merely a steel comb on a belt.
[pg 122]
After leaving the spreaders the fibre is in long, straight and fairly clean strands, and one would think that it might at once be twisted into a cord. But the combing process is not through yet, for in the next room it is sent through first a coarse and then a fine “draw frame,” and then is given what is technically known as a “third working” in a still finer one. These draw frames not only comb the fibre, but they also regulate the sliver—that is, they determine how many strands of hemp will go to make up the finished twine.
Next the fibre is run through a “finisher,” an almost human machine, which regulates more precisely than the draw frames the size of the sliver, and then it is ready for the spinning rooms. As it comes out of the spinner it is wrapped on huge spools, which are piled on little carts and distributed among the men operating the balling machines. These latter wrap the twine into five-pound balls, tagged and ready for baling. In the balling shop the twine is weighed, tested and packed in 50-pound bales, which are sent to the twine warehouses and stored there, roof-high, until the harvesting commences.
The output of the twine factory previous to 1903 amounted to about 5,000,000 pounds, but it turned out about 15,000,000 pounds last season, and it is anticipated that this enormous increase will reach 18,000,000 in the near future. About 225 prisoners are employed the year around in this manufactury. Mr. E. C. Williams is the superintendent of the twine plant and is an excellent man for the position, thoroughly understanding the business. Under his capable management the factory is kept up to its highest capacity and few breakdowns have been recorded.
“In telling the story of the Northfield bank robbery and its frightful results I have only to say that there is no heroism in outlawry, and that the man who sows is sure to reap. After Lee surrendered I tried my best to live at peace with the world and earn a livelihood. I'd been made a guerrilla by a provocation that few men could have resisted. My father had been cruelly murdered, my mother had been hounded to death, my entire family had been tormented and all my relatives plundered and imprisoned.”
“From the mass of rubbish that has been written about the guerrilla there is little surprise that the popular conception of him should be a fiendish, blood-thirsty wretch.”
Cole Younger. In Prison Garb in Minnesota State Prison, Jan. 10, 1877 (left). As he looked “going out”,July 14, 1901 (right).
“Yet he was in many cases, if not in most, a man who had been born to better things and who was made what he was by such outrages as Osceola, Palmyra and by a hundred raids in less famous but not less infamous, that were made by Kansans into Missouri during the war.”
“When the war ceased those of the guerrillas who were not hung or shot or pursued by posses till they found the hand of man turned against them at every [pg 126] step, settled down to become good citizens in the peaceful walks of life, and the survivors of Quantrell's band may be pardoned, in view of the black paint that has been devoted to them, in calling attention to the fact that of the members of Quantrell's band who have since been intrusted with public place, not one has ever betrayed his trust.”
“As for myself and brothers I wish to emphasize that we made an honest attempt to return to normal life at the close of the war, and had we been permitted to do so the name of Younger would never have been connected with the crimes that were committed in the period immediately following the war.”
“That my life was good or clean I do not assert. But such as it was, it was forced upon me by conditions over which I had no control. Before final judgment is passed upon the men of my kind who were with me in those days I ask that the fact be considered that we were born in days when hatred was the rule and reared among scenes of violence.”
“But I have been accused of many crimes of which I have not been guilty, and I am willing to take my oath that the crimes that were charged against me in Missouri were not mine. Never in all my life had I anything to do with any of the bank robberies in the state of Missouri which had been charged against myself and brothers.”
“In the fall of 1868 my brothers, Jim and Bob, went with me to Texas. The next two or three years we spent in an honest life, my sister joining us and keeping house for us at Syene, Dallas county. In 1870 and 1871 Jim was deputy sheriff in Dallas county. He and Bob sang in the church choir. At that time Bob, who [pg 127] was only 17, fell in love with one of the young ladies in the village.”
“I went down to Louisiana, and the story was that I killed five men and shot five others because I had been robbed by a lot of crooked cattlemen. There is just this much truth about this incident: There was a crooked race, with me as the victim. After the race I fought a duel, but not over the race.”
“The duel was forced upon me by a man named Captain James White. He circulated a scandalous tale about the young woman Bob was in love with. I sent word to him that he would have to apologize or fight. After the race I referred to White and I went to a neighboring plantation and fought it out. At first shot his right arm was shattered at the shoulder. When he thought he was dying he apologized and admitted that he had circulated the story for the purpose of forcing a fight upon me.”
“It was about this time that the Kansas City fair was robbed. This was charged against the Younger brothers, although not one of us had anything to do with it. Bob felt so keenly the notoriety that resulted from my duel and from the stories of the Kansas City robbery that he left Dallas, and later Jim and I followed him. About this time my brother John, was only 14 years old when the war closed, was forced into a quarrel and murdered as wantonly as a man was ever murdered in the history of the west.”
“When I was on the Pacific slope Missouri adopted the famous Drake constitution, which prohibited Confederate soldiers and sympathizers from practicing any profession, preaching the gospel or doing many other things under a penalty of a fine of not less [pg 128] than $500 or imprisonment for not less than six months. One section of this constitution gave amnesty to Union soldiers for all they had done after January 1, 1861, but held Confederates responsible for what they had done either as citizens or soldiers.”
“The result of this was persecution for all men who were not friendly with the carpet-bag adminstration following the war, and there was no mercy shown to any of them. After a few days of seeing my friends and old comrades hounded and imprisoned I saw there was nothing left for me to do but gather together with those that were left and do the best we could.”
“In passing swiftly over the scenes of violence in which we took part, I will take up the Northfield case by saying that we had decided to find a good bank, make a big haul, get away with the money, leave the country and start life anew in some foreign land.”
Warden Wolfer chaperoning convicts to their new “home”
“We were told that General Benjamin F. Butler had a big lot of money in the First National bank at Northfield, and that A. A. Ames, son-in-law of Butler, who had been carpet-bag governor of Mississippi after the war, had a lot there also. We were not very friendly to Butler because of his treatment of Southerners during the war, and accordingly decided to make a raid on the Northfield bank.”
“My brothers, Jim and Bob, Clell Miller, Bill Chadwell and three men named Pitts, Woods and Howard, were those who decided to take up the expedition. This was in the middle of August, and we spent a week in Minneapolis picking up what information we could about Northfield and the bank and playing poker. Then we passed another week in St. Paul, also looking for information as to the amount of money [pg 129][pg 130][pg 131] and the precautions taken in the bank to take care of it.”
“Chadwell, Pitts, Bob and myself procured horses at St. Peter, where we stayed long enough to break them and to train them for the hard riding to which we knew they would be submitted later on. It was at St. Peter that I made the acquaintance of a little girl who afterwards was one of the most earnest workers for our parole.”
“A little tot then, she said she could ride a horse, too, and reaching down, I lifted her up before me, and we rode up and down. I asked her her name and she said it was ‘Horace Greeley Perry,’ and I replied:”
“ ‘No wonder you're such a little tot with such a great name.’ ”
“ ‘I won't always be little,’ she replied. ‘I'm going to be a great big girl and be a newspaper man like papa.’ ”
“Will you still be my sweetheart then, and be my friend?” I asked her, and she declared she would, a promise I was to remind her of years later under circumstances of which I did not dream then.
“Many years afterward with a party of visitors to the prison came a girl, perhaps 16, who registered in full, ‘Horace Greeley Perry.’ ”
“I knew there could not be two women with such a name in the world, and I reminded her of her promise, a promise which she did not remember, although she had been told how she had made friends with the bold, bad man who afterwards robbed the bank at Northfield.”
“Very soon afterward, at the age of 18, I believe, she became, as she had dreamed, in childhood, [pg 132]‘a newspaper man’, editing the St. Peter Journal, and to the hour of my pardon she was one of the most indefatigable workers for us.”
“A few years ago failing health compelled her removal from Minnesota to Idaho, and Minnesota lost one of the brightest newspaper writers and staunchest friends that a man ever knew. Jim and I had a host of advocates during the latter years of our imprisonment, but none exceeded in devotion the young woman, who as a little tot, had ridden unknowingly with the bandit who was soon to be exiled for life from all his kin and friends.”
“Preliminary work on the Northfield robbery was got down to during the last week of August 1876, and while Pitts and I were waiting for Bob and Chadwell, who had gone up there to look over the ground, we scouted all over the country thereabouts and around Madelia in order to get ourselves familiar with the lay of the land. When the two boys joined us we divided into two parties and started for Northfield along different routes.”
“On Monday night, September 4, the party I was with reached Le Sueur Center, where we had trouble finding places to sleep, as court was in session. Tuesday night we put in at Cordova, and Wednesday we were in Millersburg. At the same time Bob and his crowd rounded up in Cannon City, which was south of Northfield.”
“On Thursday morning, September 7, we all came together on the Cannon river, on the outskirts of Northfield. That afternoon I took a look at the bank, and in camp at dinner I told the gang that no matter what came off we mustn't shoot anybody. While I was making this point as strong as I could one of the [pg 133][pg 134][pg 135] crowd asked what we should do if they began shooting at us. Bob at once said that if I was so particular about not having any shooting the best thing for me to do was to stay outside and take my chances.”
“Well, at last the time came. Bob, Pitts and Howard started for town ahead, the scheme being that they should round up in the town square and not go into the bank until the rest of the party joined them. It was fixed that Miller and I should go on guard right at the bank, while the rest of the gang was to wait at the bridge and listen for a pistol shot signal in case they were wanted for help. We had it schemed out that as there were no saddle horses around anywhere we could get off with a flying start and get away before they could stop us, wrecking the telegraph office if necessary to prevent any alarm being sent out by wire.”
“Whisky spoiled the whole plan. Between the time they left camp and reached the bridge the men who went ahead got away with a quart of whisky—the first time I had ever known Bob to drink, and as a matter of fact, I didn't know he had done so then until the day and its terrible events were over. The blunder was that when these three men saw us coming, instead of waiting for us to get up with them they slammed right on into the bank regardless, leaving the door open in their excitement.”
“I was out in the street, pretending I was having trouble with my saddle. Meantime I had told Miller to close up the bank door. A man named Allen, who kept a store near by, was then trying to get into the bank, but Miller foolishly shouted at him and told him to get away. Allen at once became excited and saw [pg 136] that something was wrong, and ran off up the street shouting to every one to get his gun, as the bank was being robbed.”
“A Dr. Wheeler, who saw that something was happening out of the ordinary, began to yell ‘Robbery!’ Then I saw we were in for it, and would need all the help we could get. I first called to Miller to come inside and get out of harm's way and then I fired a signal to the three men at the bridge for them to come up and help us, as we had been trapped.”
“Chadwell, Woods and Jim came galloping up, and at the same moment that they arrived I heard a shot fired inside the bank. The three boys were firing their guns as they rode along, shouting to everybody they saw to get out of the way and get indoors, but I am quite sure they never killed anybody. My theory always has been that the man Gustafson, who was shot down in the street, was struck by a glancing shot from some of the citizen's rifles, as they were out blazing away at this time.”
“Miller was then shot by a man named Stacy and his face filled full of bird shot. A man named Manning killed Pitts' horse, and, as a matter of fact, the street was full of flying lead, coming from every direction. It wasn't long before I was wounded in the thigh by Manning, and the next instant he shot Chadwell through the heart.”
“Dr. Wheeler, from an upper floor of a hotel, got a bead on Miller and brought him down, so that he soon lay dying in the middle of the street. Every time I saw a man pointing a gun at me I dropped off my horse and tried to drive the shooter under cover, but there were so many of them, and I couldn't see in [pg 137][pg 138][pg 139] every direction, so I soon found out that, wounded as I was, I was helpless. Meanwhile there was a tragedy going on inside the bank.”
Reproduction of record from files of Minnesota State Prison, showing record of former inmate.
“Bob came out in a hurry and started down the street toward Manning, who ran into a store, hoping he would get a shot at Bob from under cover. Bob ran on, but didn't notice Dr. Wheeler, who was upstairs in the hotel, behind him, and Wheeler's third shot smashed Bob's right arm. Bob switched his gun to his left and got on Miller's horse, thinking that Miller was dead. By this time Howard and Pitts had got out of the bank, and I told them that Miller was still alive and we'd have to save him. I told Pitts to put Miller on my horse, but when we lifted him I saw he was dead, so I told Pitts that I would hold off the crowd while he got away, as his horse had been killed. While Pitts ran, less than ten yards, I stood stood with my pistol pointed at anyone who showed his head, and then I galloped off and overtook him and took him up behind me.”
“Pitts then confessed to me about the drinking, and said they had made an awful mess of it inside the bank. It had been arranged that they should hold up Joseph L. Heywood, the acting cashier, at his window, and after roping him get to the safe without any trouble. Instead of that, these three drink-crazed lunatics leaped over the rail and scared Heywood so badly that he immediately got on the defensive, and in a minute the alarm was out and it was all over.”
“It seems that one of the robbers had waved his revolver at Heywood the minute he entered the bank and asked him if he was the cashier. Heywood had said he wasn't, and then the same question was put [pg 140] to the other two men who were in the bank. Each of the three said he was not the cashier, but the robber turned to Heywood, who was sitting at the cashier's desk, and said:”
“ ‘You're the cashier; open that safe d—n quick or I'll blow your head off.’ ”
“Heywood jumped back and Pitts ran to the vault and got inside. Heywood then tried to shut him in, and was seized by the robbers, who told him to open the safe at once or he would not live another minute. Heywood told him there was a time lock on it that positively couldn't be opened, whereupon Howard pulled a knife and tried to cut Heywood's throat, the cashier having been thrown to the ground in the scuffle that had taken place. Incidentally, Pitts told me afterwards that Howard fired a pistol near Heywood's head, but only with the intention of frightening him.”
“A. E. Bunker, the teller, by this time had tried to get hold of a pistol that was near where he was, but Pitts got the gun first, and it was found on him after he was killed, and consequently furnished just that much good evidence that we were the men at Northfield.”
“The boys saw by this time that the safe could not be reached, so they asked Bunker about the money that was outside. Bunker pointed to a little tray full of small coins, and while Bob was putting them away in a sack Bunker made a dash through a rear window. Pitts fired at him twice, the bullet going through his right shoulder.”
Group showing St. Paul police department, J.J. Connor, Chief.
“By this time the men in the bank had heard the commotion and firing outside and started to leave. [pg 141][pg 142][pg 143] Heywood, who had been on the floor, unfortunately rose at this instant, and Pitts, still under the influence of liquor, shot him through the head and killed him.”
“Meantime we who had escaped slaughter in the terrible bombardment we had faced were trying to make our way to some safe place. Not far from Northfield we met a farmer, who lent us a horse for Pitts to ride, and we got past Dundas ahead of the news of the raid on the bank. We were also beating it at Millersburg, but at Shieldsville we ran into a squad of men who knew what had happened and were after us. These men had, foolishly for themselves, left their guns outside a house, and we didn't let them get hold of them until we had a good start, but they overtook us about four miles away and shots were exchanged without any trouble resulting.”
“Soon there were a thousand men on our trail and about $5,000 in rewards for our capture. We tramped and camped and rode and watched in a strange country and among the lakes. We didn't know the trails and were afraid to try the fords and bridges, knowing that our hunters would be sure to keep their eyes on these places. Saturday morning we abandoned our horses and decided to keep up the fight afoot. We tramped all night and put in Sunday near Marysburg. Bob's elbow by this time was in pretty bad shape and we had to go slow. Finally, on Monday night and Tuesday we couldn't go anywhere, so we passed the time in a deserted house near Mankato. A man named Dunning found us there and we took him prisoner. On the theory that the dead are silent, some of the men wanted to kill him, but I wouldn't stand for that, so we made him swear by all that was holy that he [pg 144] wouldn't tell that he had seen us until we got away. Then we turned him loose. He lost no time in getting into Mankato and giving the alarm, and in a few minutes another posse was after us.”
“That night Howard and Wood decided that they wouldn't hold back any longer and that we were losing valuable time because of Bob's wound, so they left us and went on west. They stole two horses very soon, and this helped us as well as them, for the posse followed the trail of the stolen horses, not knowing that we had divided.”
“On Thursday morning, September 21, just two weeks after the raid, the end came. A party of forty men soon surrounded us and opened fire. We were cut off from our horses and our case was hopeless. We were on the open prairie and not ready for our last flight against such odds, we fell back into the Watonwan river bottoms and hid in some bushes.”
“When the iron doors shut behind us at the Stillwater prison we all submitted to the prison discipline with the same unquestioning obedience that I had exacted during my military service. The result was that we gained friends both in prison and outside. We had been in prison a little over seven years, when, on January 25, 1884, the main building was destroyed by fire at night. George F. Dodd was then connected with the prison, while his wife was matron. There was danger of a panic and a terrible disaster. Dodd released Jim and Bob and myself. To me he gave a revolver. Jim had an axe handle and Bob a small iron bar. We stood guard over the women prisoners, marched them from the danger of the fire, and the prison authorities were kind enough to say that had [pg 145][pg 146] it not been for us there must have been a tremendous loss of life.”
Head Officials, Minneapolis, Minnesota Police Department. 1. Capt. H.L. Getchell, 5th Precinct. 2. Capt. P.J. Quealey, 2nd Precinct. 3. Capt. Michael Mealey, Asst. Supt. Hdqrtrs. 4. Capt. Frank T. Corriston, Superintendant. 5. Capt. Nicholas Smith, Capt. of Detectives. 6. Capt. Geo. Reviere, Night Capt. Hdqtrs. 7. Capt. Frank Ferm, 3rd Precinct. 8. Capt. Geo. Sinclair, 4th Precinct.
“I can say without fear of contradiction that had it been in our minds to do so we could have escaped from the prison that night, but we had determined to pay the penalty that had been exacted, and if we were ever to return to liberty it would be with the consent and approval of the authorities and the public. A little later Jim was put in charge of the mail and library of the prison, while I was made head nurse in the hospital, where I remained until the day we were paroled.”
“As the years went by the popular feeling against us not only subsided, but our absolute obedience to the minutest detail of the prison discipline won us the consideration, and I might even say, the esteem of the prison officials. In the meantime it had been a life sentence for Bob, he having died of consumption September 16, 1889.”
“Jim and I went out into the world July 14, 1901, after serving a few months less than twenty-five years. Each of us immediately found work, and life again took on its normal hues. Poor Jim, however, was subject to periodical spells of deep depression. The bullet that shattered his upper jaw in our last fight in Madelia imbedded itself near the brain and was not removed until long after we were in the prison at Stillwater. That bullet was the cause of his occasional gloominess. After our relase from prison Jim's health continued precarious. He finally gave up the fight, and on October 19, 1902, took his own life in a hotel in Minnesota.”
“I am not exactly a dead man, but I have been shot [pg 147] twenty-eight times and am now carrying in my body fourteen bullets that physicians have been unable to extract. Twelve of these wounds I received while wearing the gray, and I have ever been proud of them, and it has been one of my keenest regrets that I did not receive the rest of them during the war with Spain.”
The following is an authentic copy of Younger's commitment papers.
