Life and marvelous adventures of Wild Bill, the Scout

CAPTURED AND CONDEMNED TO DEATH

Directly after performing this remarkable dare-devil deed “Wild Bill” again concluded to re-enter Price’s lines, although to return into the camp where he must now be familiarly known, was like inviting death. Some men are never so happy as when daring fate, and to approach near the dreadful summoner often becomes a fascinating adventure. It was so with Bill, for the greater the risks to be encountered, the greater his enjoyment. He loved danger, not as the soldier who would gather fame from the mouths of roaring cannons, but as one who extracts some pleasant intoxicant from the result. For the fourth time Bill disguised himself and again made a detour so as to re-enter General Price’s lines from the South. He met the fleeing army not many miles from Little Rock, and, riding a mule, with the make-up of an Arkansas farmer, he offered himself as a recruit. It was but a short time before he was discovered, and upon being reported he was arrested, and on the following day tried by court-martial. The trial lasted less than an hour, as he was so well known in connection with the escapades already narrated, and upon conviction he was sentenced to be shot on the succeeding day.

Fortune always favors the desperately brave, and we now have to record another extraordinary visitation of good luck to Bill. Price’s army had been fleeing more than a week before the victorious Curtis, whose troops outnumbered those of Price two to one. The pursuit had been continued until both armies were very much fatigued, and Price’s was so nearly exhausted that he was compelled to go into camp on a small creek twenty-five miles south of Little Rock. Wild Bill’s arms and legs were pinioned with thongs and he was confined in a one-room log-house with a single guard to prevent his escape. The house had but one door and one window, the latter being nearly two feet square and closed by a door made of clap-boards. Being bound hand and foot there was no avenue of escape, apparently, and Bill was forced to take a melancholy view of his situation. Night coming on, and the guard being nearly worn out, dozed off from time to time, feeling that his prisoner was perfectly secure. While meditating upon the execution announced to take place on the morrow, in which he was to be the chief character his eyes caught sight of the handle of an old case-knife which was sticking in an auger hole in one of the house logs. Changing his seat without arousing any suspicion from the guard, Bill managed to secure the rusty knife, and after long effort succeeded in cutting the cords which bound his wrists together. The dozing guard permitted him also to cut the cords on his feet, and the moment he was free Bill rushed on the guard like a tiger springing upon its prey and seizing him by the throat ripped open his abdomen in an instant. The guard fell dead from the knife thrusts without being able to give any alarm, and, seizing the musket and taking the guard’s coat, which he hastily put on, Bill fled out into the darkness and made good his escape.

Bill traveled nearly two days before reaching the Union lines, and upon his return he appeared before General Curtis, to whom he related his wonderful escape from death, and declined to act any longer as a spy in Price’s army, as his return again would, undoubtedly, have resulted in his death.

A FIGHT WITH THREE BUSHWHACKERS

Being a scout, Bill was not permanently attached to Gen. Curtis’ army, but had a wide latitude in which to range; but he was fighting Confederates nearly all the time, sometimes in company with a small force and at other times single-handed. There are very few acquainted with the many phases the war assumed who do not remember the terrorism which existed in Southern Missouri from 1864 until the close of the rebellion. The country was infested with bushwhackers, whose single purpose was the murder of defenseless persons and running off valuable stock. Their depredations were terrible, and these marauding bands were composed of the renegades of both armies, which it was difficult for either side to punish. Their haunts were chiefly among the pineries and other places difficult to penetrate with a company of men so as to present an effective front.

Wild Bill, usually bent on some daring purpose, concluded to enter the pineries between Rolla and Springfield on a tour of discovery. He neglected to acquaint any one with his purpose, and left Rolla by night. After an absence of three days he returned to Rolla, leading three horses. Gen. Daviess, who was in command of the post, sent for Bill and asked him how he came in possession of the horses. The tone in which the General addressed the inquiry suggested to Bill the idea that the General entertained the suspicion that the horses were stolen. With a stolid indifference which characterized the man, Bill replied: “It’s none of your d – d business.” By Gen. Daviess’ orders, Bill was placed in the guardhouse, but he had so many fast friends, who felt satisfied that he came by the horses honorably, that on the night following, Bill appeared on the streets as usual. The General was outwitted, and, approaching Bill courteously, he received an explanation as follows: On the second day after Bill left Rolla, he met three bushwhackers in a lonely road, who commanded him to dismount. To this Bill returned the reply, “It shall be a fair fight,” and commenced firing. His first three shots killed his men. All of them fired at him, but the only effect was to split his saddle bow. Bill had some difficulty in catching the three horses, but he succeeded and brought them in. On the second day after getting into Rolla, Bill conducted a detail of six men to the spot where the fight occurred, and found the bodies of the three bushwhackers. The horses were turned over to Gen. Daviess.

BILL’S BOWIE-KNIFE DUEL WITH AN INDIAN CHIEF

During the period that Bill was scouting for Gen. Curtis, he fought a duel to the death with an Indian chief, the particulars of which are partially forgotten, and the facts, therefore, can only be imperfectly recited. The details, so far as Dr. Thorne can remember them, are as follows: It will be remembered that during the civil war several tribes of Indians were employed, chiefly for foraging purposes, by both Federals and Confederates, the largest force being commanded by Gen. Jim Lane. Gen. Curtis had received information through a friendly tribe of Sioux Indians, in Kansas, that a hostile camp of Choctaws had been pitched on the Kaw river, a few miles west of Lawrence. The chief of the Sioux, Man-to-yu-kee, (Conquering Bear,) appeared before Gen. Curtis at Leavenworth and offered to accompany any white man he might choose to send, as a spy into the enemy’s camp. Gen. Curtis at once selected Wild Bill for the dangerous mission. Upon setting out on the journey, Bill had his suspicions aroused by the anxiety of the chief, and frankly told the Indian that if he betrayed him death would be the consequence.

The two proceeded cautiously, Bill’s eyes being almost constantly on the chief, lest the treachery he suspicioned would lead him into a fatal trap. His fears were realized when the two had got within a short distance of the hostile camp, for the chief had misled him and then suddenly disappeared. Bill managed, with his usual good fortune, to escape the Choctaws after getting inside the picket lines, although several times they came within a few feet of his hiding places. He made his way back to Leavenworth, where, after reporting the result of his trip, he directed his steps toward the camp of the Sioux.

Bill could never discover the motive which prompted the chief to thus betray him, but he was determined to be revenged. He was personally acquainted with many of the Sioux, and one of the most trusted ones he employed to lure the chief to a lone spot where he could take his revenge. The stratagem succeeded, and, ere the chief was aware, he was brought face to face with Bill in a sequestered spot thirty miles west of Kansas City. Bill told the chief that he intended to kill him for his treachery, and thereupon threw the Indian a pistol, telling him to defend himself. The chief knew Bill to be a dead shot, and objected to fighting a duel with pistols, but, being compelled to fight, he agreed to meet Bill in a hand-to-hand encounter with bowie-knives. Each carried such a knife, and therefore no further preliminaries were necessary. The bright, long, keen blades were unsheathed, and each holding a knife aloft in his right hand advanced to meet the other. The Indian fought shy and tried to back to cover, but Bill threatened to shoot him if he left a circle which he then made. Again the two came together, their hands clenched, at the center of the circle, and, as the chief was much the stronger, he held Bill’s striking hand for nearly half an hour, their knives being locked together. A favorable opportunity being presented, Bill partly tripped the chief, and the hold was loosened. For a third time they came together, but this time the result was fearful. Bill slashed at the Indian’s heart, but the blow lost its full effect by striking the buckskin vest and a buckle on the suspender which the chief chanced to wear. But the buckle was cleft in twain, and the Indian’s left side was cut open to the ribs. But Bill had not escaped, for the Indian, also aiming at Bill’s heart, struck his arm near the shoulder and stripped the flesh down the bone two inches.

The combatants presented a terrible spectacle as they came together a fourth time. The blood was streaming from each and making the ground fairly muddy over which they fought. The chief was the first to strike next, but the blow was caught on the edge of Bill’s knife, and, with a lightning parry and thrust, Bill cut the Indian’s throat, almost severing the head from the body.

The wound Bill received caused him great annoyance, for after partially healing, a fistula formed, which Dr. Thorne treated for several months before he recovered the use of his arm. This fight was one of the most terrible ever man engaged in, and nothing could evidence a man’s pluck more conclusively than this did Bill’s.

INDIAN AND BUFFALO SPECULATION

Shortly after the close of the great civil war Wild Bill engaged in a novel enterprise, the result of which was a complete financial failure, though it furnished rare amusement for a great many wealthy people. He secured six fine, full-grown buffalos, and with four Commanche Indians, he made a trip to Niagara Falls, for the purpose of treating the visitors of that fashionable and famous resort to a genuine buffalo chase. The entertainment was duly advertised and a very large number of persons was attracted to witness real Indians, bespangled with beads, paint and feathers, in pursuit of a genuine herd of wild buffalos. The chase occurred on the Canada shore, and created the greatest excitement; hundreds of gentlemen engaging in the pursuit, mounted in excellent style, and rendering efficient aid at the close in securing the buffalos, unharmed, and returning them to pens previously provided. Niagara sight-seers, perhaps, never witnessed a more interesting and exciting entertainment, but they were not willing to pay properly for the amusement. No admission fee could be charged, as the chase could not be conducted within an enclosure, and Bill had to depend upon voluntary contributions, which were so meagre as to leave him a heavy loser. He was compelled to sell his buffalos and pilot his Commanche braves back to their reservation.

An incident occurred at the close of the chase worthy of record in this connection. Among the many spectators was a party of English snobs, one of whom seeing Bill dressed in buckskin breeches and generally frontier style, asked him if he were an Indian or white man. The question was addressed in a cockney way peculiar to English haute tons, and gave such offense that Bill replied: “This is the kind of a man I am,” at the same time striking the impertinent fellow a blow in the face which sent him sprawling into the street.

BILL’S DUEL AT SPRINGFIELD

In the latter part of 1865, Wild Bill went to Springfield, Missouri, where he remained some time. It was while at this place that he fought a duel with Dave Tutt in the public square, and, as usual, killed his man, and came out of the encounter scathless The particulars of this affair are as follows: Springfield became a meeting place, after the war, of Confederates and Union men. Both sides recruited their forces from this section, and though the war had ended, many of the animosities then engendered still remained. Another peculiarity of the place consisted in the excess of border ruffianism, which made the town notorious. Murders had been so frequent in that section that the value of a life could scarcely be computed for its smallness. Among the rowdies was one Dave Tutt, a man of terrible passion, strong revenge, and one withal who had his private graveyard. He and Bill had met before; in fact, had shared the smiles of the same woman, a few years previous; but Bill had won “in a square court,” and Dave was anxious to meet Bill with pistols to settle the point finally. Some months passed while the two were in Springfield before any opportunity was presented for Dave to introduce a row, and when it came it was of Dave’s own manufacture. It is claimed that Bill killed a particular friend of Dave’s some years before, but of the truth of this we have no proof. One of the strong points of difference between the men consisted in the fact that Bill had been a Union scout and spy, and Dave had performed a similar duty for the Confederates.

Springfield was a great place for gamblers, and Bill and Dave belonged to the profession. One night, the two met in a saloon on the north side of the square, and Dave proposed a game with Bill, which, not being agreeable, Dave offered to stake a friend to play Bill. Thus the game was started. When Bill sat down to the game he drew out his heavy gold watch and laid it on the table, remarking that he intended to quit the game promptly at 12 o’clock. After nearly two hours playing he had won two hundred dollars, the greater part of which had come from Dave as a loan to his friend. Having broke the friend and Dave also, the latter remarked, “Bill, you’ve got money now, so pay me that forty dollars you’ve been owing me so long.”

“All right,” replied Bill, “there’s your money,” and thereupon passed the forty dollars to Dave.

“Now,” remarked Dave, further, “I want that thirty-five dollars I won off you Friday night.”

Bill’s reply was very courteous: “Beg your pardon, Dave, it was only twenty-five dollars; I put the amount down in my memorandum-book at the time.”

Receiving this mild reply, Dave reached across the table and took Bill’s watch, with the remark, “You’ll never get this watch until you pay me that thirty-five dollars.”

This threw Bill into a violent passion, although he restrained himself. Rising from his chair and looking piercingly into Dave’s eyes, he said: “I am anxious to avoid a row in this gentleman’s house. You had better put that watch back on the table.”

Dave returned an ugly look, and walked out of the room with the watch.

It was the only time, perhaps, in Bill’s life, that he permitted himself to be thus bullied. Everyone who knew him thought he had lost his pluck. It was indeed a seven days’ wonder with the people.

Dave kept the watch two days, during which time Bill remained in his room closely, revolving in his mind whether he should add another to his already long list of victims, or stop there and begin a life which flows in a more peaceful current. But he was not permitted to think and resolve without the advice of his friends. Almost every hour one or more of them would come to him with a new story about Dave’s boasts and intentions.

On the morning of the third day after the row, Dave sent word to Bill that he intended “to carry the watch across the square at noon, and to call the hour from Wild Bill’s watch.” Bill sent back the following reply: “Dave Tutt will not carry my watch across the square to-day unless dead men can walk.”

This reply satisfied everybody that there was going to be a death fight. Accordingly, shortly before noon, an immense crowd had assembled on the public square to see the duel.

At five minutes to twelve Wild Bill made his appearance on one side of the square opposite the crowd, where he could command a view of Tutt and his many friends, nearly all of whom were standing with their revolvers in their hands.

Just before twelve Dave stepped out from the crowd and started across the square. When he had proceeded a few steps and placed himself opposite to Bill, he drew his pistol; there was a report as of a single discharge, and Dave Tutt fell dead with a bullet through his heart. The moment Bill discharged his pistol – both pistols having been fired at the same instant – without taking note of the result of his shot, he turned on the crowd with his pistol leveled, and asked if they were satisfied; twenty or more blanched faces said they were, and pronounced the fight a square one. Bill expected to have to kill more than one man that day, but none of Dave’s friends considered it policy to appeal the result.

Bill was arrested, but at the preliminary examination he was discharged on the ground of self-defense. The verdict may not have been in accordance with the well defined principles of criminal jurisprudence, but it was sufficient, for all who know the circumstances believe that Tutt got his deserts.

A QUADRANGULAR DUEL IN NEBRASKA

Bill remained in Springfield several months after killing Tutt, and until he was engaged, in 1866, to guide the Peace Commission, which visited the many tribes of Indians that year. Henry M. Stanley, the African explorer, accompanied the commission as correspondent of the New York Herald, and wrote some amusing sketches of Bill during the trip, but none of a nature which would make them appropriate in the history of his escapades. They related chiefly to his feats of markmanship, knowledge of Indian cunning, and droll humor.

Upon the return of the Peace Commission, Bill made a trip into the eastern part of Nebraska, and in the spring of 1867, fought a remarkable duel in Jefferson county, with four men as his antagonists. The particulars of this fight were obtained from a gentleman now living in St. Louis, who, at the time, lived within a few miles of where the fight occurred, and heard the details from eye-witnesses.

The origin of the difficulty was in bad whisky and ruffian nature. Bill went into a saloon – which was well filled with cattle drivers, who were half drunk and anxious for a fight – and called for a drink without inviting any one to join him. While raising the glass to his mouth one of the ruffians gave him a push in the back which caused him to drop the glass. Without saying a word, Bill turned and struck the rowdy a desperate blow, felling him outside the door. Four of the rowdy’s friends jumped up from their chairs and drew their pistols. Bill appreciated his situation at once, and with wonderful coolness, said: “Gentlemen, let us have some respect for the proprietor. You are anxious for a fight, and I will accommodate you if you will consent to step outside. I will fight all four of you at fifteen paces with pistols.” There was a general consent, and the crowd filed out of the saloon. The distance was stepped off, and the four men stood five feet apart, facing Bill. The saloon-keeper was to give the word “fire,” and the arrangements were conducted in as fair a manner as four men can fight one. Bill stood as calmly as though he were in church. Not a flush nor tremor. All parties were to allow their pistols to remain in their belts until the word “fire” was given, when each was then to draw and fire at will, and as often as circumstances permitted. The saloon-keeper asked if all were ready, and receiving an affirmative reply, began to count slowly, pausing at least ten seconds between each count: “one, two, three – fire!” Bill had fired almost before the call had died from the saloon-keeper’s lips. He killed the man on the left, but a shot also struck Bill in the right shoulder, and his right arm fell helpless.

In another instant he had transferred his pistol to his left hand, and three more successive shots dropped his antagonists. Three of the men were shot in the head and instantly killed. The other was shot in the right cheek, the ball carrying away a large portion of the cheek bone. He afterwards recovered, and may be living yet. The names of the four were: Jack Harkness, the one who recovered; Jim Slater, Frank Dowder and Seth Beeber.

Bill was lionized by the others in the crowd in a moment after the fight; his wound was carefully bandaged and his wants administered to; but he considered it safer to quit the county at once, and returned to Kansas, going direct to Hays City, where he remained until he recovered the use of his arm, none of the bones having been broken, and in the latter part of the same year he was made city marshal, as he was the only one capable of dealing with the lawless class which had often overrun the town and set law and decency at defiance.

WILD BILL’S OPINION OF YANKEES

In 1868, Wild Bill was engaged to guide a party of thirty pleasure-seekers, headed by Hon. Henry Wilson, deceased ex-Vice-President, through some of the Western territories. Mrs. Wilson, wife of the Vice-President, was among the party, and being of a most vivacious and entertaining disposition, added greatly to the enjoyment of the trip. Wild Bill’s introduction to her resulted in a pleasing episode at the conclusion of the trip. She requested Bill to carefully scrutinize the party, and then give her his impartial opinion of Yankees. Bill replied that it was not customary for him to form rash conclusions, but if it were her wish he would deliver his opinion upon their return.

The thirty days roaming through the canyons and over the mountains furnished a most enjoyable diversion to the entire party. There was scarcely a day passed but that Bill gave them samples of his unerring aim, killing enough game with his pistol to provision the company. The ladies, who composed nearly one-half the party, never tired of praising him, listening to his stories of border life, and wondering at his marvelous escapes. Bill naturally felt elated, and could not refrain from evincing his very deep interest in the pretty girls from the states. The gentlemen exhibited equal interest in the exploits of Bill, and gave him full credit for his performances. There was one thing about the party which Bill could not comprehend, viz.: the tight-legged pants which they wore – which at that time were the prevailing fashion in the East – and gave to the wearer the appearance of skeleton legs, wrapped with checked bandages, or a grasshopper dressed in an overcoat.

Upon the return of the party, Mrs. Wilson, in bidding Bill good-bye, asked for a fulfillment of his promise. He rather reluctantly responded, “Well, madam, I always like to keep my promise, but in this instance I should like to be excused.” But no excuse would answer; his disinclination only excited a more anxious interest in Mrs. Wilson to obtain his opinion.

Being pressingly importuned, Bill at length gave his opinion as follows: “If you Yankee women have as small legs as the sample of Yankee men we have here, then I have a d – d poor opinion of the tribe.”

The frankness with which Bill spoke, no less than his remarks, threw the entire party into disorder. The young ladies hid their faces, and the men generally exhibited their umbrage, but Mr. and Mrs. Wilson were fairly convulsed with laughter. The sting was taken out of Bill’s opinion by Mrs. Wilson exclaiming, “Well, Mr. Hickok, that is just my sentiment.”

HOW BILL KILLED JACK STRAWHAN

After Bill’s return from the trip with the Wilson company of wealthy “Yankees,” he resumed his duties as city marshal of Hays City. It would be difficult for any one not familiar with the terrorism of border life to form an approximate estimate of the condition of society in Hays City when Bill became the custodian of its peace. Saloons and gambling hells were the most flourishing branches of business, and never closed their doors. The Sabbath was ignored, and the revelry of ruffians continued day and night. The population, it is true, was not a large one, but it was an exceedingly vicious and lively one. There were, of course, many good citizens, but, to use a border expression, “they never aired themselves,” yet it was through their instrumentality that Bill became marshal. Among the most violent and dangerous of the rowdy element in Hays City was Jack Strawhan, a large, double-fisted bully who boasted that he could clean out the town, and who had his record well made by killing several men.