gers could now cross the continent in one-third of the time it formerly took by the Concord coach. The mails for the first time could be transported from the Atlantic to the Pacific several days quicker than the fastest time ever made by the pony express, which was operated more than half the distance. The new line was soon found to be indispensable to the Government, looking at it in a military point of view; for during the Indian troubles on the frontier vast bodies of troops, on short notice, could be transported to the scene of hostilities, thus not only saving valuable time but enormous sums of money, as compared with the old way of transportation before the railroad was built. In seven years after the completion and opening of the road a special fast train was arranged to cross the continent from ocean to ocean. The train left Now York via the Pennsylvania railroad on June 1, 1876--the year of the Centennial--and made the run through to San Francisco in 83 hours, 53 minutes. The distance traveled was 3222 miles. From New York to Council Bluffs, 1307 miles, the distance was covered in 33 hours, 6 minutes. From Council Bluffs to San Francisco, 1907 miles, the run was made in 48 hours, 28 minutes. Among the obstacles to impede the progress on this remarkable trip were no less than three lofty mountain ranges west of the Missouri river. The speed for the entire trip, including stops, was forty miles an hour. A three hours' ride covered a longer distance than was made by the Concord overland stage-coach in twenty-four hours a decade before. One hour's ride on the "lightning" train was equal to the distance made in two days by the Mormons who settled Utah in the later '40's and by the vast army of California gold hunters who crossed the plains by oxen in the early '50's, going a considerable portion of the way over almost the identical route along which the first Pacific railway was constructed nearly twenty years later. The generation then living, and for years eagerly watching the progress of the building of the road, will never forget that glorious day of May 10, 1869. The event was eagerly watched by the nation, for it comes but once in a lifetime. It will be remembered as a day of vast importance in history, for it closed the era of overland staging on the great central route. In building the Kansas Pacific railroad, in the '60's, after Manhattan, Junction City and Abilene were passed, early in |
April, 1867, the screech of the locomotive was heard in the new town of Salina. The next bustling camp reached was Fort Harker. Here for a short time there was great excitement in the summer. A big army of laborers was employed in the construction of the road, but operations for a while were badly demoralized by the breaking out of cholera in the camp, which made sad havoc for a few weeks, and carried off quite a number of soldiers besides many of those engaged in grading and track-laying. Ellsworth, located a little west of Harker, was also a lively place so long as it remained the headquarters and camp of the railroad builders. It was a typical Western frontier town. Shooting scrapes were of frequent occurrence. "Another man for breakfast this morning" was common talk on the streets and in a number of frequented resorts. I well remember a dreary night I passed there once in 1867, when it was virtually the end of track on the pioneer Kansas road. The company had only a. short time before laid out the new place. It was almost wholly a town of tents and small, rough, frame buildings, but one of the busiest little places I ever knew in the state. Everything appeared to be wild with excitement. There were about a hundred business houses in the town, many of them carrying on their trade in tents. All business appeared to be transacted on the high-pressure scale. It seemed as if nearly every other house in town was a drinking place, while gambling-balls and dance-houses and other questionable resorts were uncommonly numerous. Firing off guns promiscuously, and crowds filled with the vilest of liquor and yelling like wild, drunken Indians, were sounds frequently heard on the streets at all hours in nearly every direction. To sleep was an impossibility until nearly daylight, when the drunken revelry had in a measure died away. Much of the population was transient, made up largely of men who followed along with the railroad, and when the builders of the line would pull up stakes and push on to the next frontier camp, with no visible means left for support, they were compelled to And as silently steal away." During the construction of the road I
was afterwards at Hays City (near old Fort Hays) when it was
the end of passenger traffic, in the fall of 1867. The track
was laid some distance west of there, but only trains loaded
with construction material were |
passing beyond. It was a town like those which preceded it farther east--made up largely of rough board shanties and tents. I do n't believe there was a painted house in the "city." Joe Clark, Willis Emery, and W. H. Bisbee, quite prominent newspaper men and job-printers, from Leavenworth, were there with the smallest size Washington hand-press, and in the 12x25 rough board shanty occupied by them had begun the publication. of a weekly newspaper a little larger than a sheet of foolscap, called the Railway Advance. While the Advance was small in size, it whooped up things lively for the town, and was a sheet eagerly sought after by visitors as well as all bona fide residents. It was here that I first met James B. Hickok ("Wild Bill"), who was there, and had for some time previous been in the service of the Government as a scout on the frontier. I talked perhaps half an hour with him, and found him a very pleasant and affable gentleman, thoroughly familiar with the geography of that part of the West, and in conversing with him obtained much valuable information relating to that section of Kansas, as I also had gathered from Dr. W. E. Webb, stationed there for some time as agent for the Kansas Pacific railroad lands. In the spring of 1869 the first municipal election took place in Hays, and from that time the place boasted of a city government and began to put on metropolitan airs. Hickok was chosen city marshal. He had an important task to perform. His principal duties were to stop the lawless acts that had so long been of frequent occurrence, to the detriment of the growth and standing of the place. While gamblers, highwaymen and other law-breaking persons had for some time been running things to suit themselves, they soon found that they could not ride with impunity over the orders of the newly installed brave and fearless marshal. He was selected to keep law and order and was determined to do it. Nothing of the kind had existed since the town was started. While Hickok was a quiet sort of a man, it was claimed that he had killed more than a dozen bad men on the frontier, but of all those whom he had shot, it is believed that he never killed a man except in self-defense. In the old cemetery a little west of Hays all the dead were buried until 1880. Among the various graves on the hillside of that last resting-place, it is said, upwards of eighty of them were filled by tragedies of some sort. There was no better marksman on the frontier than Wild Bill. |
Every one acquainted him knew he was a dead shot. On assuming his duties he buckled on two huge revolvers and started out. It was not his desire to bring on trouble or kill any one. One of his favorite ways in bringing a fellow to terms was clubbing with his guns. When occasion required, he could pound with ease an unruly cowboy or lawless thug until his face resembled a raw beefsteak. It was not long after he took hold until there was a decided improvement in the affairs of the town. Quiet began to reign almost from the start. Naturally many of the saloonkeepers and cowboys who had so long been running the town their own way soon became his enemies. Because they could not override his authority they secretly resolved on taking his life. In his strolls around town he steered clear of the sidewalk as far as possible, knowing he was liable at any moment to be shot down by an armed foe, who, secreted between buildings, could easily get the drop on him. Wild Bill was one of the early characters in Hays City. "In physique," according to a writer in the St. Louis Republic, "he was as perfect a specimen of manhood as ever walked in moccasins or wore a pair of cavalry boots -- and Bill was a dandy at times in attire, a regular frontier dude. He stood about six feet two inches tall, had a lithe waist and loins, broad shoulders, small feet, bony and supple hands with tapering fingers, quick to feel the cards or pull tile trigger of a revolver. His hair was auburn in hue, of the tint brightened but not reddened by the sunlight. He had a clear-cut face, clean shaven, except a thin, drooping, sandy brown mustache, which he wore and twirled with no success even in getting all upward twist at either end. Brown haired as he was, he had clear, gray eyes. He had a splendid countenance,  JAMES B. HICKOK, (" Wild Bill.") Photo. in the later '60's. -10 |
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amiable in look, but firm withal. His luxuriant growth of hair fell in ringlets over his shoulders. There was nothing in his appearance to betoken the dead shot and frequent murderer, except his tread. He walked like a tiger, and, aroused, he was as ferocious and pitiless as one." It was not long after his arrival until he had put himself on record as one in every way built to protect himself. He had already achieved a reputation, having followed the Kansas Pacific and seen almost every mile of the road built west from Manhattan. He had won considerable notoriety for "killing a man," having been a Government scout in the Arkansas valley during the war, while along the line of railroad he was known as "the Slade of western Kansas." His first exploit at Hays witnessed by the Republic correspondent was "a double shot--a right-and-left fusilade (sic)," concerning which the writer said: "Two men came out of a saloon and walked toward the newly built depot surrounded by a raised platform. Each man had a pistol drawn, when suddenly from a group of four or five 'crack! crack!' went two pistol shots, and Wild Bill stood on the edge of the platform with smoking, bone-handled revolvers in each hand, and the two men who had been approaching the platform were seen to totter, stumble forward, and fall. Death was instantaneous in each case, as if Jove had hurled a bolt at the men. A row over cards the night before caused the double death, and a double funeral as soon as the corpses could be prepared for interment. "It was only a few months after the obsequies following the demise of the two gentlemen whose taking off has just been rerecorded that Wild Bill came near furnishing, in his own person, the subject for a 'first-class funeral.' He was sauntering west on Front street (traversed by the railroad) when, near the corner of Fort street (the avenue leading toward Fort Hays), a small man, an Irishman, of the name of Sullivan, jumped out in front of Bill with a cocked revolver, exclaiming: 'I have got you! Hold up your hands. I am going to kill you, you ---- ----.' Up went Bill's hands, Sullivan having 'the drop' on him. Sullivan then started into a gloating dissertation about killing him, while Bill stood before him as rigid as the Apollo Belvedere. Opening his eyes wide and frowning, Bill in a few moments uttered in an expostulatory tone, looking over Sullivan's head: 'For God's sake, |
do n't stab the man in the back. Give him a chance for his life.' Sullivan turned to see his enemy in the rear--and his funeral came off the next day. Strange to say, several years after the death of Sullivan, Wild Bill 'died with his boots on,' in Wyoming, while at a game of cards." Wild Bill was marshal of Abilene when that town was the shipping point for the cattlemen of north Texas and the Indian Territory. His most desperate encounter with the rough characters of the border is graphically described in an article written by Col. Ed. C. Little, and printed in a recent number of Everybody's Magazine, as follows: "It was about this time that big Phil. Coe, keeping faith with his comrades, but with no eager avidity, leisurely walked up in front of the Alamo,* then packed with excited men, and fired his pistol at a dog, as he claimed. Wild Bill told Williams to stay at the Novelty,* ran swiftly across to the rear door, sprang into the crowded Alamo, roughly inquiring as to who was doing this shooting. In terse and vigorous language he talked to Dunbar, of the Alamo, roundly denouncing the whole business. He declared that the cowboys had promised him there should be no shooting if he allowed this one last round- up. Coe stood at the well-curb outside as all this passed very quickly, and in response to Bill's second inquiry said that he fired the shot. Immediately he fired another, which grazed Wild Bill's side as he stood at the bar. With that wonderful swiftness which stood him in. good stead so many times, Bill threw two guns on Coe, shot him twice in the abdomen, exclaiming, 'I've shot too low!' At the same instant, he turned and fired twice at another man, who came running down the dark sidewalk from the north and burst on the scene shoving two pistols in front of him. Coe fired one more shot and fell across the well-curb. A hundred guns clicked as Wild Bill fired his first shot, but before he had fired his fourth the room was cleared, and not one bad man was left to stand by Coe. The stranger, with two bullets within an inch of his heart, threw both hands in the air, dropped his pistols to the floor, and pitched forward stone dead. It was Mike Williams, the deputy, a brave fellow, who, despite his chief's instructions to stay at the Novelty, could not keep away from the fight. Wild Bill cried out that he had killed *The Alamo and Novelty were two saloons. |
his best friend, gathered the little man in his arms, and with his eyes full of tears laid him across a poker table. Long years of combat had so little deadened his sensibilities that the next day I saw his face still pinched and white as a sheet over this death of his friend, the last man he ever killed. But the fury that burned in his veins when he whipped the McCandlas gang sprang to life again at this accident, and he proceeded to hold the Texas men responsible. That night the desperate heroes of border strife hid in cellars and sunflower patches, or on swift ponies found their way to their cattle camps." The party of Vice-president Wilson was guided over the West by Wild Bill. The following is the letter opening the correspondence which led to his engagement: "WASHINGTON, D. C., May 17,1869. "James B. Hickok, Esq.:
DEAR SIR--A
party consisting of several gentlemen, ladies and myself
desire to spend a few weeks in the far West during the warm
season, and I hope it will be our fortune to secure your
excellent services as guide. I have heard much concerning
your wonderful exploits in the West, and of such a
character, too, as commend you highly for efficiency in the
scouting service of the Government. If it be possible for
you to accompany our party as guide sometime during the
following month, please write me at once, at Willard's
hotel, Washington, indicating what compensation you will
expect, and also from what point in Kansas we had best start
on the tour. I shall leave to you the selection of a
pleasant route, as your general acquaintance with the places
of interest between the Missouri river and Rocky Mountains
better qualify you for deciding the trip that promises the
most attractions. Following is the closing part of the
last letter Wild Bill wrote to his wife: J. B. HICKOK (WILD BILL), AGED 48 YEARS;* MURDERED BY JACK MCCALL, AUGUST 2, 1876.
*At the time of his death Wild Bill's age was 39 years, 10 months, and 12 days. |
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