GENTLEMAN BANDIT

A writer with a fascination for the storied crimes of the Wild West turns to the stagecoach robber of history and lore.

English-born Charles Boles had gone west seeking fortune, failed, returned to the Midwest in time to serve with distinction in the Battle of Vicksburg and Sherman’s March to the Sea, and then gone west again. Somewhere along the way, he decided it was less strenuous work to hold up stages, and so he did. As Boessenecker recounts, an early exploit was a robbery of a stagecoach on the twisty seaside road near Mendocino, California, where, according to some passengers, he told the driver, politely, “Please throw out the box and the mail bags.” Boles later left a taunting poem directed at Wells Fargo, the owner of the loot. The politeness and witty literacy—he had excelled in childhood in “reading, writing, and penmanship” as well as Bible study—of the unknown robber offered the local press a field day in recounting tales of the “gentleman bandit,” aka Black Bart. The outline of Boles’ career is well known. However, as Boessenecker observes, it’s so shot through with legend, courtesy of inventive journalists, that much of it is just plain wrong. The author helpfully corrects many of the myths—e.g., that a supposed run-in with a nefarious Wells Fargo agent had sent Boles careening off into a life of vengeful crime, when there’s no evidence to support the assertion. While serving up a lively account of Black Bart’s career, Boessenecker does the math to conclude that Boles committed 32 holdups—three, daringly, after he’d done time in San Quentin for the previous 29. Following that last blast, Boles disappeared in the late 1880s, never to be seen again, conjectured to be working mine claims in Mexico or ranching in Arizona. As Boessenecker concludes, “the fate of Black Bart, the poet highwayman, remains one of the great mysteries of the Wild West.”

An entertaining, well-researched foray into the life of a well-known but legend-layered outlaw.