For as long as he could remember, Charles C. Scott (a.k.a. Frank Rande) wanted to be an outlaw. Not just any outlaw, but the most famous outlaw in the history of the Wild West. Born on Sept. 23, 1839 in Claysville, Pennsylvania, a borough of fewer than 200 people just outside of Pittsburgh, Rande earned the nickname “The Brilliant Bandit of the Wabash” for his exploits through Indiana, Illinois, and Iowa in the decade after the Civil War.
Rande (alias Charles Van Zandt; alias Frank Holden; alias Frank Durand; alias Frank Warner; alias Frank Sanders; alias George Alexander; alias A. Anderson; alias Frank Orton; alias Frank Danvers; alias Frank Rande; alias Frank Green; alias Frank Mills; alias Frank Anderson) made headlines for his murderous crimes and publicity-seeking bravado in the latter part of the 1870s. Rande tore through the Midwest indiscriminately, robbing citizens and shopkeepers in one town and pawning his stolen loot in the next. He thought of himself as a modern-day Robin Hood, but eventually, strong-arm robbery turned to burglary; burglary turned to assault; assault escalated to murder.
Rande’s crime spree brought him to Indianapolis, through Fort Wayne then to Galesburg, Illinois then to St. Louis, Missouri, and finally just outside of Peoria, Illinois where he found himself with a price on his head — wanted for the murder of bricklayer Charles Belden. With a posse in hot pursuit, Rande frenetically crisscrossed the region as his crime toll and body count mounted. Unlike the dime novel heroes he idolized, Rande did not die in a blaze of gun smoke — rather, he was captured, tried for murder, sentenced to life in prison, and found hanged in a lonely prison cell in the Joliet Penitentiary.
The Indianapolis Journal of March 3, 1884, ran a story headlined, “An Adventure in Indianapolis.” It detailed, “On the night of Oct. 8, 1877, Rande, while in the custody of Policeman (Thomas) Durham, of this city, shot that official and seriously wounded him. He had been arrested for demolishing a wheelbarrow, the property of a colored resident, near Mississippi and Tinker streets, and it was while being conveyed to the Sixth-street police station that he drew his revolver and opened fire upon the officer. A desperate struggle ensued, Mr. Durham using his mace with telling effect, but being unable to secure his assailant. Rande finally ran, pursued by the officer, and it was while making his escape that the shot which took effect was fired.”
Indianapolis Police Department Officer Thomas W. Durham was appointed to IPD on May 11, 1876. He previously served as a Lieutenant in the Union Army and was wounded at Shiloh, on April 7, 1862. Durham, who served for years in Lew Wallace’s regiment, wrote his memoirs titled, Three Years With Wallace’s Zouaves. The report of the incident states that Officer Durham was patrolling at 7 p.m. near the I.C. & L. railroad tracks and Third Street when he spotted a man chopping up a wheelbarrow for firewood. Durham and Officer John Minor, turnkey of the Sixth Street Station, detained the man, who identified himself as William Brown, to take him back to Sixth Street station for questioning. When Durham ordered the prisoner to remove his hand from his coat pocket, “Brown” struck both Durham and Minor in the face.
Both officers went for their maces and Brown pulled a revolver. He fired at Durham’s face but missed, then a foot chase ensued. Brown continued firing every few seconds, as did Officer Minor in return. Durham’s gun misfired. One bullet caught Durham in the leg, midway between the ankle and knee. It left an ugly hole, grazing the bone. Durham hobbled to his home on Sixth Street, not far from the shooting. Brown escaped.
A month later, on November 16, 1877, Rande was recognized trying to fence stolen property in a St. Louis pawn shop. When the St. Louis policeman grabbed Rande, the outlaw shot him in the thigh. The officer returned fire, wounding the bandit before taking him into custody. In what must have been an amazing encounter, upon learning that Frank Rande resembled his assailant, Durham traveled to St. Louis on November 21, 1877, to interview Rande. After an hour-long interview, Rande calmly confessed to shooting the officer and said he intended to shoot him in the bowels. After returning to Indianapolis and discovering who shot him, Durham said he felt lucky to be alive. Durham died in Los Angeles County, California in 1925.
The St. Louis Globe-Democrat newspaper in Missouri compared Frank Rande’s exploits to those of Jesse James, but not in a manner that would have pleased the outlaw. The paper noted, “Rande equaled the great Missouri bandit in his recklessness, disregard of danger and life, and fiendish satisfaction in the shedding of human blood. Gifted with remarkable skill in the use of his revolvers, Rande was a man to be feared by the posses that more than once hunted him through Illinois like a wild beast. Those who studied the “Bandit of the Wabash” were inclined to believe that he was insane. A desire for revenge upon the officers of the Joliet Penitentiary, where he had served a term for burglary before starting upon his career of deviltry, was a monomania with him, while life was filled with a desire for obtaining notoriety as a man-killer.”
The newspaper claimed that Rande was once a dentist in an unnamed lowa town: “an esteemed and good but erratic citizen until circumstances showed him to be dishonest. He crossed into Illinois, engaged in a burglary, and developed in Joliet as a four-year prisoner, he was one of the most unruly inmates and was frequently disciplined.” Seeking revenge, he was released from prison and “took to the brush” to use his own words, commencing in a series of depredations upon farmers, “armed with a magnificent pair of improved Smith & Wesson revolvers of the largest size, which he carried swung to a harness, directly over his breasts from where, with the slightest movement of the wrists, he could bring into play.”
“His life was that of a tramp. He roved from farm to farm, seemingly actuated with an ambition to steal. He cared nothing about the value of the articles. He was satisfied to know that they did not belong to him. When he was run to earth in St. Louis, a little book was found in his pocket containing a list of 20 names and express office addresses (including offices in Greencastle, Union City, Montgomery, Anderson, 3 in Lafayette, and 3 in Indianapolis. 10 out of 20 of Rande’s stashes were in Indiana.) Inquiry was made at these points, and at each one a valise, box, or other package was found containing plunder, which he had stolen and shipped to alias addresses, to be subsequently claimed. In all, of upward of twenty packages received, not a single article of real value was discovered. He seemed to run to the theft of books, but in the packages were found the cheapest and coarsest articles of household ware-cups, plates, odd knives and forks, gaudy chromos, mantel clocks, and well-worn articles of wearing apparel.”
On his early days in Indiana, the Globe commented, “He had been prowling about the neighborhood like a sheep-stealing dog, raiding farmhouses, and making one effort, at least, to burglarize a store. The people turned out to capture him one Sunday morning and pursued him to a field near the Wabash River, where, being cornered, he gave an exhibition of his wonderful skill with the revolvers, when he mounted a fence, and discharging both of his weapons, killed two of his pursuers. He then fled, firing as he ran, wounding another of the posse, but made his escape through the country, which was horrified and paralyzed by his bloody daring.”
Upon fleeing to Illinois, “Within three weeks he developed at the small village of Joslin, on the C., B. & Q. railroad (Chicago, Burlington, and Quincy), not far from Galesburg, where lie burglarized a store. A posse was formed to pursue him, and he was overtaken in a field, again on a Sunday morning. Like a rat, he turned and gave battle. Although the villagers were armed with shotguns he fought against the odds, amid the ripening corn he used his revolvers with deadly effect, killing a farmer named Gilsin one of the most respected citizens of the county and seriously wounding a young man who was with him.”
In late June, once again, the murderous bandit made his escape. The Globe continued, “On July 4 he came to St. Louis and secured a loan upon a valise filled with medical books which he had expressed to St. Louis. He then returned to Illinois and renewed his depredations. In the meanwhile, the whole countryside was aroused, and officers of the law in every county were on the alert for the terrible being whose revolver belched forth sure death. Heavy rewards were offered for him. Frank Hitchcock, of Peoria, a thief-taker of national reputation, took the field and soon secured an accurate description of the desperado. He traced him through his bloody wanderings, and learned of the aliases to which the boxes of plunder had been shipped.
“On the morning of Nov. 18, 1877, Frank Rande walked into Wright’s pawnshop, on Vine Street, between Third and Fourth streets, and inquired for the valise which he had pawned on July 4. Wright recognized Rande by the description which had been furnished him and making a pretense for delay sent his clerk, Hess, out for an officer. The clerk returned, closely followed by Officers John S. Wliito and Tom Heffernan. They knew nothing of the desperate character of the man with whom they dealt or they would have given him no chance for defense. They simply understood that he was wanted at headquarters. White so informed the dark-muzzled, trampish-looking individual, who, quickly drew a revolver from beneath his coat.
“There was an immediate clinch and struggle, and both men went down. Rande’s pistol was discharged, and a ball from it passed through the officer’s left femoral artery. Rande fought like a tiger. He cocked his pistol a second time and pulled the trigger just as Officer Heffernan grasped it, and saved White from immediate death, the hammer falling upon his thumb. Here the clerk, seeing the desperate strait of the officer, leaned over the counter, and, taking deliberate aim, shot the writhing desperado through the right breast. Then a fearful struggle ensued between Rande and Heffernan for possession of the pistol which the bandit still held, and it was once more discharged, passing through the bandit’s leg.
“Other officers arrived at this juncture, and the bleeding combatants were separated. Patrolman John White was sent to his home on Fourteenth street, where he died under an amputation two days later. Rande was taken to the city hospital, where his worthless life was saved by the skill of the physicians. When he was convalescent he was brought to the Four Courts, where for upwards of a week he was visited by hundreds of people daily. He seemed to keenly enjoy the notoriety he had achieved and presented at all hours a most insufferable exhibition of braggadocio and conceit. He talked big about what he had done and would do when he got out, vowed vengeance upon his enemies, and wrote illiterate scrawls to the press and doggerel poetry, as is the custom of ex-convicts.
“As it was doubtful whether he could be convicted of anything but manslaughter in Missouri, he was reluctantly turned over to the Illinois authorities, and sent to Galesburg, under a strong guard, the idea prevailing that he would be lynched. Rande’s conduct on the train was full of insolence and bravado. The next day after being jailed he induced the sheriff to allow him to have his photograph taken, with his terrible revolvers strapped upon him.” That Carte-de-visite (see the photo), sold for $1,645 (double the estimate) at Cowan’s auction house in Cincinnati in December of 2010.
Next Week: Part 2 of Frank Rande’s banditry.
Al Hunter is the author of the “Haunted Indianapolis” and co-author of the “Haunted Irvington” and “Indiana National Road” book series. His newest books are “Bumps in the Night. Stories from the Weekly View,” “Irvington Haunts. The Tour Guide,” and “The Mystery of the H.H. Holmes Collection.” Contact Al directly at Huntvault@aol.com or become a friend on Facebook.
