Life and marvelous adventures of Wild Bill, the Scout
It was only at rare intervals he could be induced to talk of his terrible conflicts, and even when he was in the most communicative mood, the particulars of his encounters had to be extracted by the most patient and persistent endeavors.
Dr. Thorne and Capt. Kingsbury, the two gentlemen previously referred to, enjoyed the most confidential relations with Wild Bill. Kingsbury was a captain in the Second United States cavalry at the time Bill was acting as guide for that regiment, and, as the two were acquainted many years before, their intimacy became much greater during this companionship in the service. Dr. Thorne was Bill’s physician, and divided his purse with him many times when Bill was in pecuniary straits. Bill was a frequent visitor to Dr. Thorne’s house, and there were few secrets that he kept from his physician friend.
During one of the conversations had with Dr. Thorne, Wild Bill asseverated that in all his fights he was surrounded by spirits, who kept him cool and collected while they made fools of his enemies. It was to their presence on trying occasions that he gave the credit for the nerve and fearlessness he displayed.
His character, in some respects, was enigmatical. While rarely evading a fight, yet he was always sorry for its consequences. After his great fight with the McCandlas gang, at Rock Creek, he sought and found Jim McCandlas’ widow, and, finding that she was almost destitute, he contributed to her support several years and until her death. Dr. Thorne had removed eleven bullets from Bill’s body, nearly all of which had been received in the Rock Creek fight, but while enduring the pain consequent upon their extraction, he had nothing but kind feelings towards those who shot him. He had seven bullets in various parts of his body at the time of his death.
His conclusions were always logical, and his manner of conversation most convincing. He was a listener rather than a talker, and his answers to inquiries were usually made in conclusive gestures. He loved the society of the refined, and attributed his difficulties solely to the associations he was, in a measure, compelled to keep.
His love for children was almost a mania, and it is said that the most timid and cross infant would leave its mother’s arms for him at first sight, and at once manifest its pleasure. Another peculiarity he possessed was the serenity of his countenance during danger. In the midst of his most desperate fights there was a smile constantly playing on his lips. His wide range of travel had thoroughly familiarized him with almost every stretch of territory between Hudson’s Bay and Mexico, and from the Saskatchewan to Texas. It was impossible to lose him, as the points of the compass came to him as naturally as to a migratory bird.
BILL’S WONDERFUL ACCURACY OF AIM
It may be asserted, without fear of contradiction, that Wild Bill was the best pistol shot America has ever produced. Much of his marvelous accuracy of aim was, of course, acquired by years of experience, but he was a good shot from the moment he first fired a pistol. For a long period he carried two small derringers, both of which he used effectively in many sanguinary encounters. These pistols are now in the possession of Dr. Thorne, to whom they were given by Bill before leaving on his last trip to the Black Hills. On one occasion, while visiting the Doctor, Bill was in a melancholy mood. It was during the summer season, and the visitor and his guest were sitting out in the yard on a settee. The Doctor expressed some dissatisfaction concerning the autocratic disposition of an old rooster he had, which took delight in running the other chanticleers off the place. Bill asked the Doctor to let him shoot at the rooster with his derringer at thirty paces, agreeing to put up $5 to cut the rooster’s throat without breaking its neck or touching either the head or body. The Doctor, giving his consent, the distance was measured off, and the chicken chased to the space required. Bill raised the pistol – without taking aim, as was his invariable custom – and fired. The bullet cut the rooster’s throat as cleverly as it could have been done with a knife, and the neck was not broken either. To give the Doctor further proofs of his marvelous accuracy, he shot sparrows from the top branches of the high trees with his small derringer.
A favorite pastime with Bill was shooting at a silver dime, fifty paces, for one dollar a shot. He would place the dime in a position that the sun’s rays would concentrate on it, thus affording him a good sight. He could send a bullet through the dime nine times out of ten. Another remarkable fancy shot he made at thirty paces was in driving a cork through the neck of a bottle, and knocking the bottom out without breaking the neck. He could shoot a chicken’s head off at thirty or forty paces nineteen times out of twenty. He was no less proficient in the use of the rifle than he was with a pistol. In shooting with a rifle he took deliberate aim, while with a pistol he would invariably shoot before bringing the weapon up to a level with his eye.
Wild Bill had but little of what he called “book learning,” but he was, nevertheless, an educated man. His extensive travels among such a variety of people gave him a thorough understanding of human nature. He had a natural mind for analyzing men and things.
BLACK NELL, THE WONDERFUL MARE
During the early part of the war, Wild Bill came into possession of a young black mare, having captured her from a bushwhacker during Price’s invasion of Missouri. The mare was as black as a coal, and at the proper age to enter upon the course of training Bill put her in. She was full of fire, and the exquisite symmetry of her head, neck, limbs and body, showed the pure blooded stock that was in her. Bill devoted all his leisure time for more than a year teaching the mare tricks which afterwards he used to so much advantage. The mare at length acquired such a complete understanding of Bill’s wishes that her obedience was truly marvelous. First of all, no one could ride or approach the mare except Bill, and to him she was as gentle as a mother to her child. He named her Black Nell, presumably suggested by Claude Duval’s Black Bess, of whose exploits he was so fond of reading.
Black Nell was usually allowed great freedom, because she was so prompt to answer the whistle of Bill; she would leave her feed and come galloping to the call with the most astonishing alacrity. While riding Nell it was only necessary for Bill to wave his hand to set her in a dead run or stop her instantly. A downward motion of his hand would cause her to drop as suddenly as if she had been shot dead, and she would lie perfectly still until the command to rise was given. On one occasion, while Bill was being pursued by a detachment of bushwackers, in passing through a prairie where the grass was very high, his life was saved by the prompt obedience of Nell in dropping down and remaining so quiet that the pursuers passed by within fifty feet without discovering him.
In 1867, while he was in Springfield, Missouri, he astonished a crowd of saloon-loafers by first going into the bar-room and calling his mare to follow. Nell came in, following her master like a dog, without the slightest hesitation. There was an old billiard table in the saloon, too much worn for further service, and upon this he ordered Nell to place herself. She reared up and placed her fore feet upon the table, but it was only after repeated effort and great strain that she succeeded in raising her hind feet to such a height. After getting upon the table, Bill poured out a pint of whisky into a wash-basin, which Nell drank with evident relish. At a wave of the hand she leaped from the table and out into the street, where Bill allowed her to exercise her freedom for several hours.
One of Nell’s greatest accomplishments was leaping, and in this she certainly never had an equal. She had frequently leaped ditches twenty feet in width with apparent ease, and Bill had no hesitancy whatever in riding her over a six feet fence, which she could clear like a deer. This wonderful animal died in 1869, of a complication of diseases, and was buried near Kansas City. Bill mourned her loss as he would that of his parents, whom he devotedly loved, and Nell’s name was never mentioned to him afterwards that he did not burst into tears. He regarded her as the dearest friend he had on earth, and to have her die almost in her prime was a blow and loss he could scarcely endure.
CONCLUSION – DOES BILL DESERVE A MONUMENT?
It has been customary among every nation to perpetuate the daring deeds of its heroes, by rearing a monument commemorative of their heroism. The general who commands armies, and by chance wins great battles, is no more deserving a monumental tribute than the man who discovers new means for the more rapid advancement of knowledge, or the man who extends the highway of civilization.
In opening the vast, illimitable resources of the great West, sturdy pioneers were as essential as the brain and muscle that propel the industries of the nation. Every new country must, of necessity, gather the vicious elements eliminated by the stern application of law, from the older communities. If there were no compensating influence, new countries could never advance, but would become the asylum for lawlessness and vagrancy. The fairest and most fertile districts might thus be withheld from the hand of industry and become as plague spots, from which would spread a disease that ultimately might destroy the nation.
Wild Bill played his part in the reformation of pioneer society more effectively than any character in the annals of American history. It is true he killed many men, but many men are killed in every war, and Wild Bill waged a legitimate war against the desperadoes who sought to destroy the bulwarks of law and order. The killing of men is often as necessary as the extermination of destructive wild animals. Both law and society, and the rights of man, so declare, and no man can say that Wild Bill was anything more than the stern administrator of a wholesome law. Every man he killed made society the gainer, and while he was near, the order-loving, law-abiding people felt secure in their lives and property.
When the war broke out he was among the first to enter the ranks; not as a soldier, but as one who takes the heaviest burdens and bares himself to a thousand dangers and privations where the soldier meets with one. His valuable services, no less than his unexampled bravery, have received the highest meeds of praise from his commanding officers. No danger was too great to prevent him from doing his duty; no labor was too severe to deter him a moment from carrying out his intentions. He had a mind to dissect dangerous undertakings with the precision that a rhetorician would analyze a sentence, and his failures were as few as his successes were conspicuous. Wild Bill was essentially great in many respects and callings. He was undoubtedly the greatest scout and conservator of the peace that ever crossed the plains; as a spy and strategist he has, perhaps, never had an equal. The service he has rendered the country at large, and the West in particular, cannot be estimated. Abilene and Hays City, the people of which places he served so effectively, cannot afford to withhold their respect for the memory of Wild Bill, and it would be as creditable to the people of Kansas as it would be deserving to the brave heart that was stilled by the assassin’s bullet, to bring the remains of Wild Bill into their state and give it a resting place among the most illustrious of their dead. If ever a hero deserved a monument, Wild Bill is worthy a shaft that would rear its apex so high as to overlook every spot of territory between the great Missouri and the Rocky Mountains. Kansas was his home and first-love; will the people of Kansas make the state his sepulchre?