Life and marvelous adventures of Wild Bill, the Scout

A PRIZE FIGHT IN A CHICAGO BILLIARD ROOM

In 1874 Bill engaged in a battle with a tribe of Indians under Black-Kettle, in which he received a severe wound from a spear thrust through his thigh. Being very much disabled he paid a visit to his aged mother and relatives at Troy Grove, Illinois, where he remained some weeks and until the wound healed. Before returning west he went to Chicago to see his old friend, Heman Baldwin, and while there the two entered the St. James Hotel bar to play a game of billiards. While being thus engaged seven Chicago roughs began bantering him on account of the buckskin clothes he wore and challenged him for a prize fight. Bill replied to them that he was not a fighting man, and that he was at that time still suffering from a newly healed wound. They continued their insults, and finally told him that he had to fight or acknowledge that he was a coward and his reported exploits bogus. Bill’s courage came to the surface quickly enough, and drawing his two pistols – both of which were presents to him from Vice-President Wilson – the fight began, one man against seven. The pistols were used as “billys,” and in a few seconds the seven roughs were stretched upon the floor and completely at Bill’s mercy. The injuries they received consisted of severe scalp wounds, the marks from which will be carried through life.

BILL’S MARRIAGE TO MRS. LAKE

In the fall of 1874, Bill met Mrs. Lake, the widow of William Lake, proprietor of Lake’s circus, who was killed by Jack Keenan at Granby, Missouri, in 1873. The meeting was purely accidental, but the consequences were matrimonial. A courtship followed, and in the early part of 1875 the two were married by a justice of the peace in Kansas City. Within a few months after the marriage Bill became afflicted with sore eyes, from which he suffered intensely, and for the period of nine months was unable to distinguish daylight from darkness. Dr. Thorne, previously noticed as one of Bill’s confidants, was his physician, and succeeded in restoring his sight, but his eyes never regained their former strength, and the vision remained impaired. In the winter of 1875–76, a separation occurred between Bill and his wife, the causes of which we deem it improper to relate in this epitome of his life. Suffice it to say that those best qualified to decide, claim that no blame attaches to Bill for the termination of his marital relation. No divorce, we believe, was ever applied for by either party, but they never met after the spring of 1876. The writer has tried for two years to learn the address and whereabouts of Mrs. Hickok, nee Mrs. Lake, but his efforts have been without avail. The last heard of her she was living in Cincinnati.

MAKES HIS DEBUT ON THE STAGE

In February, 1876, Wild Bill entered into an engagement with Ned Buntline, (Judson,) the novelist who created Buffalo Bill and his exploits, to appear as a leading character in a border play he had written for the stage. The troupe was made up in New York, and the principal actors were Wild Bill, Buffalo Bill and Texas Jack. The business was a most disagreeable one for Wild Bill, who entered into the engagement solely under the pressure of pecuniary needs. The authorities of Kansas City had so vigorously prosecuted the gamblers that the professionals were compelled to abandon their games, and thus Bill became, to use his own expression, “severely money-bound.” Buntline, with a vivid imagination running at all times through carnage and lawlessness, employed his best ability in getting up the posters heralding the appearance of his troupe. Wild Bill was posted in large, blood-red letters as having killed thirty-six men, and the most desperate man that ever set foot on the plains. His nature arose with revolt at such a publicity of his character, and after playing the role of a border bandit for two months, he peremptorily refused to appear on the stage any longer.

BILL’S LAST TRIP TO THE BLACK HILLS

After leaving the Buntline troupe, Wild Bill came to St. Louis for the purpose of organizing an expedition to the Black Hills. The gold fever was at its height, and St. Louis, like all other Western cities, was very much excited over the auriferous discoveries. Bill remained in St. Louis about three weeks, at the end of which time he had succeeded in organizing a party of nearly one hundred men, which was increased to one hundred and fifty by additions received at Kansas City. The party arrived at the Black Hills in the latter part of June, Bill going to Deadwood, and the others distributing themselves among the hills, where they established ranches and began their quest for gold.

Deadwood was a gay place when Bill entered its limits, and the life led by its mixed citizens was exactly suited to his disposition. Every other house was a saloon, and if ever there was a gambler’s paradise, it was there. The female portion of Deadwood’s population was limited, but the few who were there were so active and boisterous as to compensate for ten times the same number of ordinary women. Bill was in his element, although he had no disposition to take a part in the wild orgies of the drunken, maudlin crowd which infested every nook and corner of the place. He liked the freedom the society permitted, but indulged himself only in gambling and an occasional drink.

Bill made many friends in Deadwood, and it was not known that he had any enemies in the Black Hills, but while he was surrounded by friends, he should never have forgotten the fact that his enemies were almost like the leaves of the forest. They were always plotting his destruction and laying snares along his path. The end came at last, just as Bill had himself often predicted.

ASSASSINATION OF WILD BILL

On the 2d day of August, 1876, Wild Bill was in Lewis & Mann’s saloon, playing a game of poker with Capt. Massey, a Missouri river pilot, Charley Rich, and Cool Mann, one of the proprietors of the saloon. The game had been in progress nearly three hours, when about 4 o’clock, P. M., a man was seen to enter the door and pass up to the bar. Bill was sitting on a stool with the back of his head towards and about five feet from the bar. When the man entered, Bill had just picked up the cards dealt him, and was looking at his “hand,” and therefore took no notice of the newcomer. The man, who proved to be Jack McCall, alias Bill Sutherland, after approaching the bar, turned, and drawing a large navy revolver, placed the muzzle within two inches of Bill’s head and fired. The bullet entered the base of the brain, tore through the head, and made its exit at the right cheek, between the upper and lower jaw-bones, breaking off several teeth and carrying away a large piece of the cerebellum through the wound. The bullet struck Capt. Massey, who sat opposite Bill, in the right arm and broke the bone. At the instant the pistol was discharged, the cards fell from Bill’s hands and he dropped sideways off the stool without uttering a sound. His companions were so horrified that several moments elapsed before it was discovered that Capt. Massey was wounded.

The assassin turned upon the crowd and compelled them to file out of the saloon before him. After reaching the street he defied arrest, but at five o’clock he gave himself up and asked for an immediate trial. Deadwood was, at that time, so primitive that it had no city officers, and there was no one legally competent to take charge of or try the prisoner. During the same evening, however, a coroner was chosen, who impaneled a jury and returned a verdict to the effect that J. B. Hickok (Wild Bill) came to his death from a wound resulting from a shot fired from a pistol by John McCall, alias Bill Sutherland.

Having proceeded thus far, it was determined to elect a judge, sheriff and prosecuting attorney to try McCall on the following day. Languishe, the lessee of McDaniel’s theatre, offered the use of the theatre for the purposes of the trial, which was arranged to take place at 9 o’clock on the following morning. Three men were sent out in different directions to notify the miners in the neighborhood of the murder, and to request their attendance at the trial.

Promptly at the time appointed, the improvised court convened, and Joseph Brown, who had been chosen sheriff, produced the prisoner. F. J. Kuykendall, the pro tempore judge, then addressed the crowd in a very appropriate manner, reminding those present that the court was purely a self-constituted one, but that in the discharge of his duty he would be governed by justice, and trust to them for a ratification of his acts. His remarks were greeted with hand-clappings of approval. The prisoner was then led forward and conducted to a seat on the stage to the right of the judge.

Never did a more forbidding countenance face a court than that of Jack McCall; his head, which was covered with a thick crop of chestnut hair, was very narrow as to the parts occupied by the intellectual portion of the brain, while the animal development was exceedingly large. A small, sandy moustache covered a sensual mouth, and the coarse double-chin was partially hid by a stiff goatee. The nose was what is commonly called “snub;” he had cross eyes and a florid complexion, which completed a more repulsive picture than Dore could conceive. He was clad in a blue flannel shirt, brown overalls, heavy shoes, and, as he sat in a stooping position, with his arms folded across his breast, he evidently assumed a nonchalance and bravado which were foreign to his feelings, and betrayed by the spasmodic heavings of his heart.

The selection of a jury consumed all the forenoon, as it was next to impossible to select a man who had not formed or expressed an opinion concerning the murder, although but few who were in the panel had heard of the tragedy until a few hours before. A hundred names were selected, written upon separate scraps of paper, and placed in a hat. They were then well shaken, and the committee appointed for the purpose drew from the hat one name at a time. The party answering to the name then came forward and was examined by the judge touching his fitness to serve as an impartial juror. Ninety-two names were called from the panel before the jury was made up. Following are those who were selected and served: J. J. Bumfs, L. D. Brokow, J. H. Thompson, C. Whitehead, Geo. S. Hopkins, J. F. Cooper, Alexander Travis, K. F. Towle, John E. Thompson, L. A. Judd, Edward Burke and John Mann. The jurors being sworn, they took their seats, and testimony for the prosecution was begun.

The first witness called was Charles Rich, who said that he was in the saloon kept by Lewis & Mann on the afternoon of the 2d, and was seated at a table playing a game of poker with Wild Bill and several others, when the prisoner, whom he identified, came into the room, walked deliberately up to Wild Bill, placed a pistol to the back of the deceased, and fired, saying: “Take that!” Bill fell from the stool upon which he had been seated without uttering a word.

Samuel Young testified that he was engaged in the saloon; that he had just delivered $15 worth of pocket checks to the deceased, and was returning to his place behind the bar when he heard the report of a pistol shot; turning around, he saw the prisoner at the back of Wild Bill with a pistol in his hand which he had just discharged; heard him say, “Take that!”

Carl Mann was one of the proprietors of the saloon in which Wild Bill was killed; was in the poker game; noticed a commotion; saw the prisoner (whom he identified) shoot Wild Bill.

The defense called for the first witness, P. H. Smith, who said he had been in the employ of McCall four months; that he was not a man of quarrelsome disposition; that he had always considered him a man of good character; that he (the witness) had been introduced to Wild Bill in Cheyenne, and drank with him; that the deceased had a bad reputation, and had been the terror of every place in which he had resided.

H. H. Pickens said that he had known defendant four years, and believed him to be a quiet and peaceable man. Wild Bill’s reputation as a “shootist” was very hard; he was quick in using the pistol and never missed his man, and had killed quite a number of persons in different parts of the country.

Ira Ford had known the defendant about one year; “like a great many others, he would go upon a spree like the rest of the boys.” Wild Bill had the reputation of being a brave man, who could and would shoot quicker than any man in the Western country, and who always “got away” with his antagonist.

The defense called several others, the tenor of whose evidence was but a repetition of the foregoing. No attempt was made to show that Wild Bill had ever seen the prisoner.

The prisoner was called upon to make a statement. He came down from the stage into the auditorium of the theatre, and with his right hand in the bosom of his shirt, his head thrown back, in a harsh, loud and repulsive voice, with a bull-dog sort of bravado, said: “Well, men, I have but a few words to say. Wild Bill threatened to kill me if I crossed his path. I am not sorry for what I have done. I would do the same thing over again.” The prisoner then returned to his place on the stage.

The prosecution then adduced testimony to prove that Wild Bill was a much abused man; that he never imposed on any one, and that in every instance where he had slain men he had done so either in the discharge of his duty as an officer of the law or in self-defense.

The case having been placed in the hands of the jury, the theatre was cleared, with the understanding that the verdict should be made known in the saloon where the murder was committed. The prisoner was remanded to the house where he had been imprisoned during the night. At 9 o’clock the following verdict was read to the prisoner:

Deadwood City, Aug. 3, 1876. – We, the jurors, find the prisoner, Mr. John McCall, not guilty.

The prisoner was at once liberated, and several of the model jurymen who had played their parts in this burlesque upon justice, and who had turned their bloodthirsty tiger loose upon the community indulged in a sickening cheer which grated harshly upon the ears of those who heard it. The first vote taken by the jury resulted in eleven for acquittal and one for conviction, and the single man who desired justice was so intimidated by his fellow-jurors that he was induced to sanction the iniquitous verdict. It was even proposed by one of the jurymen that the prisoner be fined fifteen or twenty dollars and set free.

After the inquest the body of the deceased was placed upon a litter made of two poles and some boards; then a procession was formed, and the remains were carried to Charley Utter’s camp, across the creek. Charles Utter, better known as Colorado Charley, had been the intimate friend of the deceased for fifteen years, and with that liberality which is a feature among mountaineers, had always shared his purse with him. Charley was much affected by the death of his friend, and incensed at the villain who had murdered him. A tepee was pitched at the foot of one of the giant trees which rise so majestically above Charley’s camp. Preparations were at once made for the funeral. The following notice was printed and sent out:

“Funeral Notice. – Died in Deadwood, Black Hills, Aug. 2, 1876, from the effects of a pistol shot, J. B. Hickok (Wild Bill,) formerly of Cheyenne, Wyoming. Funeral services will be held at Charley Utter’s camp, on Thursday afternoon, Aug. 3, 1876, at 3 o’clock. All are respectfully invited to attend.”

At the time appointed a number of people gathered at the camp – Charley Utter had gone to a great deal of expense to make the funeral as fine as could be had in that country. Under the tepee, in a handsome coffin, covered with black cloth and richly mounted with silver ornaments, lay Wild Bill, a picture of perfect repose. His long chestnut hair, evenly parted over his marble brow, hung in waving ringlets over the broad shoulders; his face was cleanly shaved excepting the drooping moustache, which shaded a mouth that in death almost seemed to smile, but in life was unusually grave; the arms were folded over the stilled breast, which inclosed a heart that had beat with regular pulsation amid the most startling scenes of blood and violence. The corpse was clad in complete dress-suit of black broadcloth, new underclothing and white linen shirt; beside him in the coffin lay his trusty rifle, which the deceased prized above all other things, and which was to be buried with him in compliance with an often expressed desire.

A clergyman read an impressive funeral service, that was attentively listened to by the audience, after which the coffin-lid hid the well-known face of Wild Bill from the prying gaze of the world.

A grave had been prepared on the mountain side toward the east, and to that place in the bright sunlight, the air redolent with the perfume of sweet flowers, the birds sweetly singing, and all nature smiling, the solemn cortege wended its way and deposited the mortal remains of Wild Bill.

Upon a large stump at the head of the grave the following inscription was deeply cut:

“A brave man; the victim of an assassin – J. B. Hickok (Wild Bill,) aged 48 years; murdered by Jack McCall, Aug. 2, 1876.”

JACK McCALL PAYS THE PENALTY

After the farcical termination of the trial, and the burial of Wild Bill, several friends of the deceased met at Charley Utter’s ranche and determined to avenge the cowardly assassination of their friend. McCall, unfortunately, heard of the meeting and its purposes, and lost no time in getting out of the country. He roamed around in the far West, and finally settled at Yankton. In the following year a United States court was established in Dakotah Territory at Yankton, and Jack McCall was again apprehended and put upon trial. George Shingle, now a resident of Sturgis City, eighteen miles south of Deadwood, was an eye-witness of the shooting, but left Deadwood to escape the excitement on the same evening Bill was killed, and therefore did not appear as a witness at the original trial, but appeared in answer to the summons which called him to Yankton, and there told the story of the murder. The result of this trial was the conviction of McCall, and in July, 1877, he expiated his cowardly crime on the gallows at Yankton.

WILD BILL’S REMAINS EXHUMED AND FOUND TO BE PETRIFIED

On the third day of August, 1879, just three years after the tragedy, Charley Utter and Lewis Shœnfield, the particular friends of Bill during his life, determined to give the remains a better resting place, where the thorns and briars of the bleak mountains would not hide the spot where so brave a heart lay buried. Accordingly, early in the morning of that day they, proceeded to the grave, and, with heads uncovered, out of respect for their dead friend, they exhumed the body and took off the coffin-lid to take a last look before transferring the remains to Mount Moriah cemetery, at Deadwood. It was a sad sight to the eyes of friends. There was scarcely a perceptible change in the body, excepting a darker color of the face. The features were all preserved with remarkable naturalness. There was the shattered wound in the right cheek, made by the cruel bullet which took his life, but the countenance bore a tranquil look, as though the wearer was glad to escape a world in which there was nothing but buffet and anxiety to him. The lips wore a placid appearance – a smile of peace, the graceful contour of content.

The extraordinary weight of the body caused the friends to make a more careful examination, when it was found that the remains were in process of petrifaction. The hair still bore its silken lustre, but the flesh was so indurated as to approach the solidity of wood. The weight of the body at the interment was one hundred and sixty pounds, but at the exhumation it weighed a fraction less than three hundred pounds.

The carbine that was buried with him was in a perfect state of preservation. After clipping off a lock of hair, which is now in the possession of William Learned, musical director of the Gem theater, at Deadwood, the coffin-lid was again screwed down, and the remains taken to Moriah cemetery, where they now repose, in a lot purchased by Charley Utter. An Italian marble tombstone was also purchased by Mr. Utter, which he had erected at the head of the grave in the latter part of August. The inscription on the stone is as follows:

Here let him rest, but the bivouac of an advancing empire will soon dispel the primeval sounds with which he was so familiar. The soughing of the primitive forest in which he lived such a stirring life with his trusty rifle, is mingling with the hum of a more perfect civilization, and will soon be heard no more. The forest birds are drifting westward, and their songs, which for centuries have made musical the deep solitude of that vast region, will be cadenced into the whirr of a different life. The rough sounds of a border settlement, with its dangers and privations, will give place to the melody of a maiden’s voice, and other generations, like the recurring ocean waves which wash out the sand marks on the beach, will destroy the vestiges of the early settlement, and point to Wild Bill’s grave as the spot where sleeps a hero-pioneer – a man whose heart was as gentle as a child’s prayer, and as brave as God could make it. If he had faults they were tempered with so much compassion and affection that we lose sight of them entirely. An appreciation of the services Wild Bill rendered the civilizers and pioneers of the West belongs to those who come after us. “No man is appreciated until he is dead.”

IDIOSYNCRACIES OF BILL – HIS BELIEF IN SPIRITS

We have now described nearly all the adventures in which Wild Bill was a participant, but before closing this very brief and unvarnished recital of his life, it is eminently proper to speak of him in his private and social relations; his peculiar beliefs; his feats of marksmanship, and his companion in many vicissitudes – the dearest of all his friends – Black Nell.

As mentioned in a previous chapter, Wild Bill was a fatalist – at least he believed that he was predestined to be killed. In fact, it would appear from his oft-repeated assertion, that “he would die with his boots on,” that he brooded over this belief and was frequently attacked by melancholy superinduced by that impression.

The very few intimate friends Bill had were well acquainted with his peculiar belief in spiritualism. He claimed to be clairavoyant, especially when danger threatened, and the many narrow escapes he had gave some evidences of the reality of his spiritual sight, but the manner in which he met his death furnishes a contra proof.