The Great Northern Train Heist That Wasn't
A bungled opium bust and a wild chase through the woods turned an everyday commuter trip into a farce.
The story, cleaned up
A cleaned-up reading of the newspaper page: spelling and layout repaired, one story lifted off a crowded page. It follows the original closely but it is not a transcription. The original page is below; read it if a detail matters.
The passengers on the southbound Great Northern train yesterday had the trip interrupted by two amusing incidents. When United States Customs Inspector McClellan boarded the train at Blaine and made a search for contraband goods, he found two five-tael cans of opium in the valise of A. J. Tolmie, the genial host of the Windsor Hotel at South Westminster. In spite of his protestations of innocence, Mr. Tolmie was placed under arrest. Accompanied by several friends, he was taken off the train. But he had hardly reached the platform when it was reported that he had been the victim of practical jokers. The opium cans were tapped and found to contain only white sand, and the prisoner was released. Some of his friends had obtained two empty cans, filled them with sand and put them in his valise.
The train had hardly reached Ferndale when it was reported that the man who had burglarized C. A. Ostrander's store at Blaine and taken several revolvers was riding the brake-beam. A break was made to the rear car, where he was supposed to be, and with yells that would have done credit to Indians on the warpath, a tall negro broke cover and with the speed of a deer made for the woods, closely followed by the brakeman, Conductor Reed, who had armed himself with a club, the customs officer, and various passengers. The chase was most exciting, the man holding his own for the first few yards. To add to the fun, Engineer Koope leaped from the engine, iron in hand, and crawling over a log, started in pursuit, shooting in the air and ordering the burglar to 'hold up.' When the pursued neared the river, great efforts were made to cut off his retreat and the shooting became pretty frequent, Mr. McClellan opening fire. Suddenly the man was seen to drop like a log. His pursuers were soon upon him, and, finding him unhurt, handcuffed him. Headed by the perspiring engineer, the procession started for the train, but a difficulty now arose. Though it was believed that the prisoner was the burglar, he had no stolen property on him and there was no evidence of his guilt, and he stoutly maintained his innocence. He was accordingly released. He then demanded a free ride as compensation for the fun he had afforded and was much disgusted when the request was refused.
“He then demanded a free ride as compensation for the fun he had afforded and was much disgusted when the request was refused.”
While this account reflects the casual racism of 1892 journalism, it also captures an era where regional rail transit acted as a central nervous system for society. Today, we still see 'practical jokes' and transit-related panic, though the tools of modern surveillance and private security have replaced the wild, gun-toting pursuits of conductors and engineers.
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