6 
6 
A ten-year-old could have captured me.
Sometimes returning to the scene of the crime can be a bad idea. On November 3, 1883, Black Bart decided to rob the Sonora-to-Milton stage again, at Funk Hill, the same spot of his first robbery. After 27 successful robberies, perhaps he was overconfident. The ghostlike figure wore a flour sack over his head, with two holes for his eyes, topped by a derby hat. He held a shotgun aimed at the driver. “Throw down that box,” he ordered.
“I can’t,” driver Reason McConnell, answered.
This time, the box was bolted to the floor inside the stage. Bart ordered McConnell to unhitch the horses and move ahead with them, away from the stage. As Bart climbed into the coach, he was relieved to see it empty of people. Unfortunately for him, he did not see the passenger who was not there.
Bart got to work on the treasure box, which was bound with iron. It was hard work. It took him nearly half an hour to break. But he must have been pleased with this haul, which contained 228 ounces of gold worth $4,400, some gold dust, and coins. Bart quickly gathered up the riches and bid McConnell goodbye. He then set off into the brush with his shotgun under his right arm.
Jimmy Rolleri was a local teenager who liked to hunt. Earlier that day he had decided to ride along with the stagecoach driver and try his luck at hunting. Before the stage began the slow climb up Funk Hill, Jimmy got off with his rifle. His plan was to scout the area for game and rejoin the slow-moving stage on the other side. As Black Bart made his escape, McConnell caught sight of Jimmy and signaled him to quietly bring the rifle. The driver took the weapon and fired at the escaping robber.
The first shot surprised the bandit. A second shot convinced him to run. Neither shot hit him. “Here. Give it here. I won’t miss,” Jimmy said, and grabbed the rifle back from McConnell. The teenager’s shot struck the bandit’s hand, leaving a trail of stolen mail and blood as Bart fled. Black Bart later said, “A ten-year-old could have captured me.”
Reason McConnell rehitched the horses and hurried off into Copperopolis, the nearest town, where he notified the authorities. A posse formed and headed out to the site of the robbery with Calaveras County Sheriff Ben Thorn. Jim Hume was notified, and while he headed to the scene, the sheriff collected evidence. Thorn then set off to track Bart, notifying neighboring sheriffs Tom Cunningham of San Joaquin County and George McQuade of Tuolumne County to be on the lookout. On the road, Thorn interviewed a trapper, Thomas Martin, who identified a man who’d stopped at his cabin for food and fit the robber’s description.
This time, the robber left behind a long-awaited abundance of clues for Jim Hume: a derby hat, empty flour sack masks, a bag of crackers, and a handkerchief. When Jim examined the handkerchief he noticed faded letters and a number etched into the cloth—F.X.O.7—a laundry mark. Jim knew that laundries marked clothing with a special code by which to identify each customer. When he found the customer who belonged to that mark, he would finally find Black Bart.
Jim returned to San Francisco and handed the handkerchief to Harry Morse, a former sheriff who had established his own detective agency in the city. Morse set out to visit all 91 laundries in San Francisco. Jim had long theorized that Bart lived there and used the city as his headquarters between holdups.
For eight days Morse trudged from one laundry to the next until he finally traced the mark to a small tobacco shop and laundry agency at 316 Bush Street, owned by Thomas Ware. The helpful shopkeeper identified the laundry mark as belonging to C. E. Bolton, a mining engineer who regularly brought his laundry to the shop. Ware offered to introduce Morse to the handkerchief’s owner. Morse discovered that Bolton lived in room 40 of the Webb House, located at 37 Second Street, and stationed a plainclothes detective outside to watch for Bolton. When Bolton did not appear, Morse returned to Ware’s shop. By chance, Ware saw Bolton approaching. In a matter of minutes, Ware introduced Bolton to Morse, who found himself standing before a man who “was elegantly dressed, carried a cane, wore a natty little derby hat, a diamond pin, a large diamond ring on his little finger and heavy gold watch and chain.”
“He looked anything but a robber,” Morse later said, “[but] I knew he was the man I wanted.” Thanks to Jim Hume’s detailed detective work, Morse “knew at once from the description and his hollow voice that the fellow was Black Bart.” He thought quickly and invited Bolton to walk along with him to discuss a mining opportunity.
Morse guided the well-dressed man to a building at 320 Sansome Street and up the stairs to the second-floor offices of Wells, Fargo & Company. Bolton seemed unconcerned. With a twinkle in his eye, Morse took great pleasure in introducing Charles Bolton to James Hume. After eight years, the search for Black Bart, the Po8 bandit, was over.
Bolton at first denied that he was Black Bart. When Hume pointed to the F.X.O.7 mark, Bolton said, “Why someone may have stolen the handkerchief from me.” Hume asked Bolton to put on the derby hat found at the robbery scene.
“Why, gentlemen,” Bolton said, “it fits very well, doesn’t it? And it’s a very good hat. Perhaps you would allow me to buy it?”
As Hume’s questioning continued, Bolton angrily exclaimed, “I am a gentleman. I do not know either of you, nor in what way my personal business concerns you.” Morse, remembering the bloody waybill left at the scene of the robbery, observed that Bolton’s right hand showed fresh healing.
“How did you receive that wound?” he asked.
Bolton responded, “It is none of your business, but I will tell you. I struck it on the car rail at Reno.”
San Francisco offices of Wells Fargo.
“No you didn’t,” Morse responded, “you got it when you broke open Wells, Fargo’s box.”
Bolton was silent. Hume and Morse then called in Captain Appleton W. Stone of the San Francisco Police, who placed Bolton under arrest. Then the three officers accompanied him to his home.
A thorough search of Bolton’s apartment revealed other handkerchiefs carrying the same laundry mark. Morse again showed Bolton the handkerchief found at the robbery site and reminded him, “It was found where you dropped it after robbing the Sonora stage.”
Bolton responded, “I am certainly not the only individual with this laundry mark on his clothes.” At that point, Bolton became angry and blurted, “What! Do you take me for a stage robber? This is the first time my character has been brought into question,” and threatened to sue Wells Fargo.
Hanging in the room was a set of old clothes identified as those worn by Bart at the last holdup. A Bible was also found with an inscription: TO MY BELOVED HUSBAND, CHARLES E. BOLES, finally revealing his real name.
As Hume, Morse, and Stone escorted Boles back down the stairs, they encountered the landlady. Ever the gentleman, Boles told her that he was suddenly called away on business by his three friends. He offered to pay his rent right then and there but could only offer gold coins for which she did not have change. Morse then took a dollar from his own pocket and gave it to the landlady. With his rent fully paid up, Boles spent the night in the San Francisco City Jail.
Charles E. Boles, alias Black Bart, alias Charles Bolton, shortly after his capture.
The next day a reporter went to the rooming house and asked the landlady if Charles Bolton lived there. She innocently replied, “Yes, he does. Can you tell me where he is? He went away very mysteriously last night.” Upon hearing that her respected lodger was Black Bart, she responded, “Oh, my! That man a stage robber! Who would have thought it? Why, he told me that he was a mining man.” Then she nearly fainted.
The lawmen who helped capture Black Bart. Seated left to right: Tom Cunningham, Ben Thorn, Harry Morse. Standing left to right: A. W. Stone, John Thacker.
From all accounts, Bolton was a good neighbor. He enjoyed reading and even spent time writing poetry. He had a hobby—painting watercolors. He was a good card player and often went to the theater after dinner. He never received or sent mail but enjoyed reading the daily newspapers.
The next morning, Morse, John Thacker of Wells Fargo, and Captain Stone of the San Francisco Police took Boles to San Andreas, to be charged in Calaveras County, where the robbery took place. There, Thomas Martin, the eyewitness who had seen Boles in the area at the time of the robbery, would identify him. During the trip, the outwardly calm robber refused to admit to the crime.
News of the arrest spread quickly, and a large crowd of curious onlookers greeted Boles upon his arrival. After dinner, Morse took Boles into a room and began interrogating him about the robbery. He presented Boles with all the evidence that had been collected and urged him to confess. Boles refused at first but eventually told Morse, “I don’t admit that I did this, but what would happen to the man who did—if he should confess?”
Morse told him that such a confession would earn the criminal a lighter jail sentence. Boles then confessed and offered Morse a surprising bit of information—the shotgun he carried was never loaded.
Boles also volunteered to show where he had hidden the treasure taken during the last robbery. That night, Boles, accompanied by Morse, Stone, and Sheriff Thorn of Calaveras County, rode 24 miles away near the scene of the robbery and pointed out where the loot was hidden. The next day, Morse sent the following message to Wells Fargo: “‘Black Bart’ throws up the sponge. Stone, Thorne and myself have recovered all the stolen treasure.”
Wells Fargo arranged visits for Black Bart to several photography shops, and his portraits soon appeared in newspapers and on souvenir postcards. The photos were very popular in San Francisco and the areas of Bart’s successful holdups. Everyone wanted to see what the legendary masked bandit looked like. Many were surprised to see the photograph of a well-dressed, prosperous-looking gentleman staring back at them. He did not fit the image of the typical stage robber. But his appearance perfectly fit the description Jim Hume publicized in 1878 of Bart’s visit with the McCreary family.
Boles provided the law officers with a detailed description of his escape after the last robbery. After hastily hiding the treasure in a hollowed-out log, he walked 100 miles, eventually arriving in Brighton, near Sacramento, 50 hours later. Dressed in a new change of clothes he bought in Sacramento, he made his way by train to Reno, Nevada, where he spent a few days. Then it was back to San Francisco, where, to be safe, he stayed overnight in a hotel. Then he returned to his lodgings and resumed his usual city life.
Police officers were surprised to later learn that, when in San Francisco, Boles often took his meals in the New York Bakery, a Kearney Street restaurant frequented by them. They could not believe that the well-dressed model gentleman, a polite mining engineer with whom they had had many pleasant conversations, was a wanted criminal.
Judge C. V. Gottschalk of Calaveras County sentenced Charles E. Boles, also known as Charles E. Bolton and Black Bart, to six years in San Quentin Prison. Boles admitted to only the one robbery and implored the judge for mercy. When asked if he denied he was Black Bart, he replied, “The officers say that I am Bart, though I say not.” Jim Hume was convinced otherwise since Boles actually confessed to him that he really committed all the robberies but only publicly accepted responsibility for the last one. On behalf of Wells Fargo, Jim issued a circular stating that “all doubts are at rest—that the man is really the notorious highwayman ‘Black Bart, the Po8.’” Appended to the announcement was a list of Bart’s 28 robberies. A newspaper reported that Boles “seemed rather pleased with the sentence.”
For his part in capturing the robber, Wells Fargo presented Jimmy Rolleri with a specially designed rifle. Detective Morse and the other officers split the $800 reward and one-quarter of the recovered money. Hume and Thacker, as Wells Fargo employees, received their regular salaries and did not share in the reward money.
Sheriff Thorn accompanied the now convicted robber by train back to San Francisco to serve his jail sentence. Awaiting them was a crowd of well-wishers. The San Francisco Chronicle commented that if the Po8 Bandit had been the famous poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, the reception could not have been better. On the way to San Quentin Prison, Boles was greeted by old friends. William Pike of the New York Bakery was there, and when Thomas Ware, the laundry owner, tried to convey his sorrow for identifying him, Boles turned to him and said, “I know that my dear fellow. Don’t talk about it any more.” Even his landlady came to wish him well. With tears rolling down her cheeks, she spoke softly and left him with a simple “Good-bye.”
Wells Fargo’s announcement of Black Bart’s last robbery.
San Quentin Prison.
When asked why he returned to the same robbery site after eight years, Boles told Hume, “It still was the best holdup spot on the road.” To a reporter, he said, “If I had my usual time to clean up and cover my tracks they never would have caught me and they never would have found the ‘stuff.’”
By all accounts, Bart was a model prisoner. He obeyed the prison rules and largely kept to himself with limited interaction with others. After little more than four years in jail, Black Bart, prisoner number 11046, was released early for good behavior, on February 23, 1888. A reporter asked if he planned on robbing any more stagecoaches. He answered no. When asked if he planned to write any more poetry, he smiled and said, “Didn’t you just hear me say that I wasn’t going to commit any more crimes?”
The saga of Black Bart did not disappear with his imprisonment. Stories about his exploits continued to circulate, some true but most not. Famed writer Ambrose Bierce wrote a witty poem called “Black Bart, Po8” originally published in the San Francisco Examiner on January 29, 1888, a few weeks before Bart’s release from San Quentin. It began with these lines:
Welcome, good friend; as you have served your term,
And found the joy of crime to be a fiction,
I hope you’ll hold your present faith, stand firm
And not again be open to conviction.
Your sins, though scarlet once, are now as wool:
You’ve made atonement for all past offences,
And conjugated—’twas an awful pull!—
The verb “to pay” in all its moods and tenses.
You were a dreadful criminal—by Heaven,
I think there never was a man so sinful!
