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The E-Sylum: Volume 25, Number 44, October 30, 2022, Article 28

STAGECOACH ROBBER BLACK BART THE POET

In today's "This Week in Literary History" email from the Literary Hub is a profile of stagecoach robber "Black Bart the Poet". -Editor

  Black Bart

Black Bart the poet robs his last stagecoach.

On November 3, 1883, the gentleman bandit known as Black Bart the poet—because of the poems he left behind at the scenes of two of his crimes—robbed his last stagecoach before being apprehended by the authorities. By then, Black Bart had been robbing stagecoaches in California's gold country for eight years—unbeknownst to the many members of San Francisco high society who knew him as Charles Bolton, a courteous middle-aged mine owner who sported diamond accessories along with his cane, derby hat, and gold watch. (According to Daniel R. Seligman writing in True West Magazine, Bolton got the name Black Bart from the villain in William H. Rhodes's novel The Case of Summerfield, which had been serialized in the Sacramento Daily Union in 1871.)

Black Bart was courteous too—he avoided violence (some say his shotgun was never even loaded) and declined to steal from the passengers of the stagecoaches he robbed. All he would take was the Wells Fargo express box and the mail. During his first robbery, on July 26, 1875, near the top of Funk Hill at the head of Yaqui Gulch, writes Seligman, he politely requested the Wells Fargo box. When a thoroughly frightened woman passenger threw her purse out of the window, he gallantly returned it with the words, I don't want your money—only the express box and mail. And also courteously . . . he left poems.

After his fourth robbery, he left behind this fine piece of verse:

  I've labored long and hard for bread
For honor and for riches,
But on my corns too long you've tred
You fine-haired sons of bitches.
–Black Bart, the P o 8.

After his fifth robbery, he got a little more ambitious:

  Here I lay me down to sleep
To wait the coming morrow.
Perhaps success, perhaps defeat,
And everlasting sorrow.
Let come what will, I'll try it on,
My condition can't be worse;
And if there's money in that box
Tis munny in my purse.
–Black Bart, the P o 8.

It wasn't until Black Bart's 29th holdup that he was finally caught, after he left a handkerchief (seriously!) at the scene. He was apprehended on November 12th, and four days later, he pled guilty and was sentenced to eight years in jail. He was released after only four, for good behavior—as befits a gentleman—and soon after that, he disappeared entirely—as befits a poet.

For more from the Literary Hub, see:
https://www.lithub.com/



Wayne Homren, Editor

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