Black Bart, Gentleman Bandit And PO8

 

Black bart looked like a prosperous businessman

Black Bart was a dapper-looking gentleman. No one would ever have suspected him of being a stagecoach robber. If you met Bart on the street, you most likely would have taken him for a prosperous businessman. He wore only the finest hand-tailored clothes, stayed in the best hotels, sported a gold pocket watch, and wore a large diamond ring on his finger.

Bart stood ramrod straight, 5 feet 8 inches tall, with gray hair and a bushy mustache. And when he robbed a stage, he was always on his best manners, asking the driver to “Please throw down the box.”

Bart’s first robbery took place on Funk Hill, a mountain pass in Calaveras County, California, on July 26, 1875. John Shine drove the stage that day. Bart appeared out of nowhere. He wore a long, soiled duster; on his head, he wore a flour sack with holes cut in it for his eyes. He waved his shotgun as he talked. Bart asked the driver to “Please throw down the box.”

Shine looked around, not sure what to do. He could always make a run for it or grab his rifle. But from the corner of his eye, he glimpsed six rifle barrels pointed at him from a group of nearby boulders.

Shine tossed down the box and drove away. As he rode off, he saw Bart hammer away at the box with a hatchet. When he got a little farther away, Shine stopped the coach and walked back to the site of the robbery. He discovered the broken strongbox, and upon further investigation, realized the gun barrels he’d seen earlier were nothing more than sticks that had been positioned in the boulders to make it appear as if a gang of cutthroats were watching.

Black Bart and the Funk Hill stagecoach robbery

Bart’s fourth robbery occurred four miles outside Fort Ross in Sonoma County, California, on August 3, 1877. He left a mysterious poem that gave him his name.

I’ve labored long and hard for bread

For honor and for riches

But on my corns too long you’ve tread

You fine-haired Sons of Bitches

                                   Black Bart, the PO8

 

Almost a year later, on July 25, 1878, Bart robbed another stage about a mile from Barry Creek Sawmill in Butte County, California. Investigators found another poem in the strongbox.

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,

But if there’s money in the box,

It’s munny in my purse.

                                 Black Bart, PO8

The press had a field day. They printed and reprinted the poems and wasted endless days trying to decipher their meaning.

During his eight-year crime spree, Bart robbed twenty-eight stagecoaches, all of which belonged to Wells Fargo. He never fired a shot in any of the robberies. In fact, there is some question whether or not his shotgun was loaded. Unlike Belle Starr, Jesse James, and the Younger Brothers, Bart never took a dime from a passenger. He told passengers that Wells Fargo’s gold was reward enough.

But that doesn’t mean the stagecoach drivers didn’t fire at him. Bart jumped in front of a stagecoach driven by George W. Hackett on July 13, 1882. Hackett grabbed his rifle and let loose a flurry of bullets. Bart took off running like a chicken with its head cut off as he hurried towards the trees. One bullet grazed his head and left a mark he would carry for the rest of his life.

Bart’s last robbery has been described many times, and there are as many versions of it as Carter has pills. However, this account seems to be the one most agreed-upon.

Black Bart left poems in several of the strong boxes he robbed

It occurred near the spot where he pulled his first job. Reason E. McConnell drove the stagecoach up Funk Hill that day. Just as he rounded the bend of Yaqui Gulch, a hooded stranger jumped in front of him, shotgun in hand.

Bart told McConnell to “Please throw the box down.” McConnell said he couldn’t because the box was bolted to the floorboards of the coach.

Bart ordered him to get off the coach and put rocks under the wheels so that the stagecoach wouldn’t roll backward. Then he had McConnell unhitch the horses and told him to walk away. As he walked away; McConnell could see the bandit whack at the box with a hatchet.

A short while after he left, McConnell met up with Jimmy Rolleri, a passenger he’d let off the stage earlier to do some hunting. They made their way back to the stagecoach and fired a barrage of bullets that sent Bart scurrying into the woods. Finally, McConnell and Rolleri hitched the horses up and headed back into town. Later, they escorted a team of Wells Fargo detectives to the robbery scene.

The detectives scoured the area and found a small valise. One item they discovered inside it eventually proved Bart’s undoing. It was a linen handkerchief with the laundry mark FXO7.

Back at Wells Fargo headquarters, Detective James Hume assigned Harry Morse to check with each of the 91 laundries in San Francisco. A week into the search, Phineas Ferguson at Biggs California Laundry recognized the handkerchief. He directed Morse to Thomas C. Ware, who ran a local tobacco shop. Ware identified Bart as Charles Boles and gave the detective his home address. A few days later, Morse returned to ask a few more questions, and as the two men talked, Ferguson noticed Boles walking down the street and offered to introduce him.

Black Bart's last robbery

Morse struck up a conversation with Bart and told him that he had an interest in mining. He invited Bart into his office at Wells Fargo, and that’s where they met Detective James Hume.

Bart played it cool. But eventually, the detectives searched his room and found several handkerchiefs with laundry marks that matched the one found at the robbery site. They also found a duster like the one worn by the robber. Next, they had Reason McConnell and another driver meet with Bart. Both men identified him.

With overwhelming evidence against him, Bart confessed and took the detectives to where he stashed the gold. At his trial, he pled guilty to one stagecoach robbery and was sentenced to six years in San Quentin. Bart was a model prisoner and secured an early release for good behavior on January 21, 1888.

Just over a month later, he disappeared, never to be heard from again.

 

Here’s what we know about Black Bart.

His real name was Charles E. Boles. His parents came to the United States from England when he was two years old. Charles and his cousin Dave headed off to California in 1849, hoping to strike it rich in the goldfields.

They didn’t have any luck and returned home the following year. Charles, his brother Robert, and Dave returned to California to try their luck again in 1852. Shortly after their arrival Dave and Robert took sick and died.

Charles threw in the towel and headed back east. He wound up in Illinois, where he married Mary Johnson in 1854. He farmed there until the Civil War, then enlisted in the 116th Regiment of Illinois Infantry. He took part in several major campaigns, including Sherman’s March on Atlanta.

After the war, Bart returned home to Mary and the kids in Illinois, but he soon grew restless and struck off for the goldfields in Montana. He staked a claim there with Henry Roberts near Deer Creek. Not long after they set up their claim, several gentlemen associated with Wells Fargo tried to buy their land. When they wouldn’t sell, the men shut off the water flow to their sluices, and Charles was forced to abandon his claim.

Several years later, Charles Boles turned to a life of crime, robbing only Wells Fargo Stagecoaches.

Charles never admitted he was Black Bart. The name he gave prison officials was Charles Bolton or T. Z. Spalding. His real name is known only because he wrote many letters home to his wife in Illinois.

Investigators believe he chose Black Bart after a favorite character from a popular science fiction story written in 1871, The Case of Summerfield.

 

Before you go ...

If you’ve ever caught yourself saying, “I remember that,” you’re in the right place.

I dig up stories about Old West lawmen, outlaws, gunfighters, robberies, murders, forgotten towns, and all the strange, fascinating pieces of history that somehow slipped through the cracks. No clickbait. No fluff. Just authentic stories and actual history.

If you enjoy what you read and would like to help keep the lights on, consider buying me a Big Gulp.

Every little bit helps pay for books, newspaper archives, research trips, and the countless hours spent tracking down stories most people forgot decades ago.

Buy Me a Big Gulp / NickVulich.com

If the Old West is your thing, you may enjoy these books...

Shot All To Hell

Shot All To Pieces