My Jesse James' Adventure: Music of Cracking Pistols

Kansas City Exposition Grounds, 1872

From two newspaper accounts 1872--At sundown, just as Exposition goers were leaving the fairgrounds, three masked men road up to the ticket office. "The largest of the three men quietly dismounted, handing the reins of his horse to one of his confederates: and walked up to the ticket-booth, which is a small building located just to the right of the gate as you go in. The till, a large tin box, stood on the counter nearly in front of the arched window through which tickets were sold. The desperado reached through the window, and seizing the box, attempted to make off. Meanwhile his two confederates sat on their horses like statues, holding the horror-stricken crowd paralyzed at bay with their drawn navy revolvers and threatening instant death to the first man that moved a muscle. It was one of those exhibitions of superb daring that chills the blood and transfixes the muscles of the looker-on with a mingling of amazement, admiration and horror. It was one of those rare instances when it seems as though death stood in the panoply of the flesh and exhaled a petrifying terror from his garments. It was a deed so high-handed, so diabolically daring and so utterly in contempt of fear that we are bound to admire it and revere its perpetrators for the enormity of their outlawry.

An occurrence of this kind is a rare and peculiar study. Of course it is a crime and must be reprehended and denounced. But one thing is certain. Men who can so coolly and calmly plan and so quietly and daringly execute a scheme of robbery like this, in the light of day, in the face of the authorities, and in the very teeth of the most immense multitude of peoples that was ever in our city, deserve at least admiration for their bravery and nerve."

John Newman Edwards, 1872

This romanticized and inaccurate account was written by John Newman Edwards who wrote a follow-up story entitled The Chivalry of Crime the day. An excerpt "...they ride at midday into the county-seat, while court is sitting, take the cash out of the vault and put the cashier in and ride out of town to the music of the cracking pistols. These men are bad citizens; but they are bad because they live out of their time. The nineteenth century … is not the social soil for men who might have sat with Arthur at the Round Table, ridden to the tourney with Sir Launcelot or worn the colors of Guinevere; men who might have … shivered a lance with Ivanhoe or won the smiles of the Hebrew maiden…."

Jesse under the guise of a 17th century highwayman sent a rebuttal which was printed in the paper the following day. The letter read, in part: "Just let a party of men commit a bold robbery and the cry is hang them, but [Ulysses S.] Grant can steal millions, and it is all right. Some editors call us thieves. It hurts me very much to be called a thief. It makes me feel on par with Grant and his party. We are bold robbers. Please rank me with these, and not the Grantites. They rob the poor and give to the rich, we rob the rich and give to the poor." The letter went on to express remorse for the wounding of the little girl and said that they would handle the medical expenses for her injury.

$998 was stolen, the equivalent of $17, 000 today.