Last of the Great Scouts

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LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS

The Life Story of William F. Cody ["Buffalo Bill"]


by Helen Cody Wetmore




LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS

THE LIFE STORY OF COL. WILLIAM F. CODY "BUFFALO BILL"

AS TOLD BY HIS SISTER HELEN CODY WETMORE




TO THE MEMORY OF A MOTHER WHOSE CHRISTIAN CHARACTER STILL LIVES A
HALLOWED INFLUENCE




GENEALOGY OF BUFFALO BILL.

The following genealogical sketch was compiled in 1897. The crest is
copied from John Rooney's "Genealogical History of Irish Families."

It is not generally known that genuine royal blood courses in Colonel
Cody's veins. He is a lineal descendant of Milesius, king of Spain, that
famous monarch whose three sons, Heber, Heremon, and Ir, founded the
first dynasty in Ireland, about the beginning of the Christian era. The
Cody family comes through the line of Heremon. The original name was
Tireach, which signifies "The Rocks." Muiredach Tireach, one of the
first of this line, and son of Fiacha Straivetine, was crowned king of
Ireland, Anno Domini 320. Another of the line became king of Connaught,
Anno Domini 701. The possessions of the Sept were located in the present
counties of Clare, Galway, and Mayo. The names Connaught-Gallway, after
centuries, gradually contracted to Connallway, Connellway, Connelly,
Conly, Cory, Coddy, Coidy, and Cody, and is clearly shown by ancient
indentures still traceable among existing records. On the maternal side,
Colonel Cody can, without difficulty, follow his lineage to the best
blood of England. Several of the Cody family emigrated to America in
1747, settling in Maryland, Pennsylvania, and Virginia. The name is
frequently mentioned in Revolutionary history. Colonel Cody is a member
of the Cody family of Revolutionary fame. Like the other Spanish-Irish
families, the Codys have their proof of ancestry in the form of a crest,
the one which Colonel Cody is entitled to use being printed herewith.
The lion signifies Spanish origin. It is the same figure that forms a
part of the royal coat-of-arms of Spain to this day--Castile and
Leon. The arm and cross denote that the descent is through the line of
Heremon, whose posterity were among the first to follow the cross, as a
symbol of their adherence to the Christian faith.




PREFACE.

In presenting this volume to the public the writer has a twofold
purpose. For a number of years there has been an increasing demand for
an authentic biography of "Buffalo Bill," and in response, many books
of varying value have been submitted; yet no one of them has borne
the hall-mark of veracious history. Naturally, there were incidents in
Colonel Cody's life--more especially in the earlier years--that could be
given only by those with whom he had grown up from childhood. For
many incidents of his later life I am indebted to his own and others'
accounts. I desire to acknowledge obligation to General P. H. Sheridan,
Colonel Inman, Colonel Ingraham, and my brother for valuable assistance
furnished by Sheridan's Memoirs, "The Santa Fe Trail," "The Great Salt
Lake Trail," "Buffalo Bill's Autobiography," and "Stories from the Life
of Buffalo Bill."

A second reason that prompted the writing of my brother's life-story is
purely personal. The sobriquet of "Buffalo Bill" has conveyed to many
people an impression of his personality that is far removed from the
facts. They have pictured in fancy a rough frontier character, without
tenderness and true nobility. But in very truth has the poet sung:

"The bravest are the tenderest--
The loving are the daring."

The public knows my brother as boy Indian-slayer, a champion
buffalo-hunter, a brave soldier, a daring scout, an intrepid
frontiersman, and a famous exhibitor. It is only fair to him that a
glimpse be given of the parts he played behind the scenes--devotion to
a widowed mother, that pushed the boy so early upon a stage of ceaseless
action, continued care and tenderness displayed in later years, and the
generous thoughtfulness of manhood's prime.

Thus a part of my pleasant task has been to enable the public to see my
brother through his sister's eyes--eyes that have seen truly if kindly.
If I have been tempted into praise where simple narrative might to the
reader seem all that was required, if I have seemed to exaggerate in any
of my history's details, I may say that I am not conscious of having set
down more than "a plain, unvarnished tale." Embarrassed with riches of
fact, I have had no thought of fiction. H. C. W.

CODYVIEW, DULUTH, MINNESOTA, February 26, 1899.




LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS.



CHAPTER I. -- THE OLD HOMESTEAD IN IOWA.

A PLEASANT, roomy farm-house, set in the sunlight against a background
of cool, green wood and mottled meadow--this is the picture that my
earliest memories frame for me. To this home my parents, Isaac and Mary
Cody, had moved soon after their marriage.

The place was known as the Scott farm, and was situated in Scott County,
Iowa, near the historic little town of Le Clair, where, but a few years
before, a village of the Fox Indians had been located; where Black Hawk
and his thousand warriors had assembled for their last war-dance; where
the marquee of General Scott was erected, and the treaty with the Sacs
and Foxes drawn up; and where, in obedience to the Sac chief's terms,
Antoine Le Clair, the famous half-breed Indian scholar and interpreter,
had built his cabin, and given to the place his name. Here, in this
atmosphere of pioneer struggle and Indian warfare--in the farm-house
in the dancing sunshine, with the background of wood and meadow--my
brother, William Frederick Cody, was born, on the 26th day of February,
1846.

Of the good, old-fashioned sort was our family, numbering five daughters
and two sons--Martha, Samuel, Julia, William, Eliza, Helen, and May.
Samuel, a lad of unusual beauty of face and nature, was killed through
an unhappy accident before he was yet fourteen.

He was riding "Betsy Baker," a mare well known among old settlers
in Iowa as one of speed and pedigree, yet displaying at times a most
malevolent temper, accompanied by Will, who, though only seven years
of age, yet sat his pony with the ease and grace that distinguished the
veteran rider of the future. Presently Betsy Baker became fractious, and
sought to throw her rider. In vain did she rear and plunge; he kept his
saddle. Then, seemingly, she gave up the fight, and Samuel cried, in
boyish exultation:

"Ah, Betsy Baker, you didn't quite come it that time!"

His last words! As if she knew her rider was a careless victor off
his guard, the mare reared suddenly and flung herself upon her back,
crushing the daring boy beneath her.

Though to us younger children our brother Samuel was but a shadowy
memory, in him had centered our parents' fondest hopes and aims. These,
naturally, were transferred to the younger, now the only son, and the
hope that mother, especially, held for him was strangely stimulated by
the remembrance of the mystic divination of a soothsayer in the years
agone. My mother was a woman of too much intelligence and force of
character to nourish an average superstition; but prophecies fulfilled
will temper, though they may not shake, the smiling unbelief of the most
hard-headed skeptic. Mother's moderate skepticism was not proof against
the strange fulfillment of one prophecy, which fell out in this wise:

To a Southern city, which my mother visited when a girl, there came a
celebrated fortune-teller, and led by curiosity, my mother and my aunt
one day made two of the crowd that thronged the sibyl's drawing-rooms.

Both received with laughing incredulity the prophecy that my aunt and
the two children with her would be dead in a fortnight; but the dread
augury was fulfilled to the letter. All three were stricken with
yellow fever, and died within less than the time set. This startling
confirmation of the soothsayer's divining powers not unnaturally
affected my mother's belief in that part of the prophecy relating to
herself that "she would meet her future husband on the steamboat by
which she expected to return home; that she would be married to him in a
year, and bear three sons, of whom only the second would live, but that
the name of this son would be known all over the world, and would one
day be that of the President of the United States." The first part of
this prophecy was verified, and Samuel's death was another link in the
curious chain of circumstances. Was it, then, strange that mother looked
with unusual hope upon her second son?

That 'tis good fortune for a boy to be only brother to five sisters is
open to question. The older girls petted Will; the younger regarded him
as a superior being; while to all it seemed so fit and proper that the
promise of the stars concerning his future should be fulfilled that
never for a moment did we weaken in our belief that great things were
in store for our only brother. We looked for the prophecy's complete
fulfillment, and with childish veneration regarded Will as one destined
to sit in the executive's chair.

My mother, always somewhat delicate, was so affected in health by
the shock of Samuel's death that a change of scene was advised. The
California gold craze was then at its height, and father caught the
fever, though in a mild form; for he had prospered as a farmer, and
we not only had a comfortable home, but were in easy circumstances.
Influenced in part by a desire to improve mother's health, and in
part, no doubt, by the golden day-dreams that lured so many Argonauts
Pacificward, he disposed of his farm, and bade us prepare for a Western
journey. Before his plans were completed he fell in with certain
disappointed gold-seekers returning from the Coast, and impressed by
their representations, decided in favor of Kansas instead of California.

Father had very extravagant ideas regarding vehicles and horses, and
such a passion for equestrian display, that we often found ourselves
with a stable full of thoroughbreds and an empty cupboard. For our
Western migration we had, in addition to three prairie-schooners, a
large family carriage, drawn by a span of fine horses in silver-mounted
harness. This carriage had been made to order in the East, upholstered
in the finest leather, polished and varnished as though for a royal
progress. Mother and we girls found it more comfortable riding than the
springless prairie-schooners.

Brother Will constituted himself an armed escort, and rode proudly
alongside on his pony, his gun slung across the pommel of his saddle,
and the dog Turk bringing up the rear.

To him this Western trip thrilled with possible Indian skirmishes and
other stirring adventures, though of the real dangers that lay in our
path he did not dream. For him, therefore, the first week of our travels
held no great interest, for we were constantly chancing upon settlers
and farm-houses, in which the night might be passed; but with every
mile the settlers grew fewer and farther between; until one day Will
whispered to us, in great glee: "I heard father tell mother that he
expected we should have to camp to-night. Now we'll have some fun!"

Will's hope was well founded. Shortly before nightfall we reached a
stream that demanded a ferry-boat for its crossing, and as the nearest
dwelling was a dozen miles away, it was decided that we should camp by
the stream-side. The family was first sent across the ferry, and upon
the eight-year-old lad of the house father placed the responsibility of
selecting the ground on which to pitch the tents.

My brother's career forcibly illustrates the fact that environment plays
as large a part as heredity in shaping character. Perhaps his love for
the free life of the plains is a heritage derived from some long-gone
ancestor; but there can be no doubt that to the earlier experiences
of which I am writing he owed his ability as a scout. The faculty for
obtaining water, striking trails, and finding desirable camping-grounds
in him seemed almost instinct.

The tents being pitched upon a satisfactory site, Will called to Turk,
the dog, and rifle in hand, set forth in search of game for supper. He
was successful beyond his fondest hopes. He had looked only for small
game, but scarcely had he put the camp behind him when Turk gave a
signaling yelp, and out of the bushes bounded a magnificent deer. Nearly
every hunter will confess to "buck fever" at sight of his first deer, so
it is not strange that a boy of Will's age should have stood immovable,
staring dazedly at the graceful animal until it vanished from sight.
Turk gave chase, but soon trotted back, and barked reproachfully at his
young master. But Will presently had an opportunity to recover Turk's
good opinion, for the dog, after darting away, with another signaling
yelp fetched another fine stag within gun range. This time the young
hunter, mastering his nerves, took aim with steady hand, and brought
down his first deer.

On the following Sabbath we were encamped by another deep, swift-running
stream. After being wearied and overheated by a rabbit chase, Turk
attempted to swim across this little river, but was chilled, and would
have perished had not Will rushed to the rescue. The ferryman saw the
boy struggling with the dog in the water, and started after him with his
boat. But Will reached the bank without assistance.

"I've hearn of dogs saving children, but this is the first time I ever
hearn of a child saving a dog from drowning," ejaculated the ferryman.
"How old be you?"

"Eight, going on nine," answered Will.

"You're a big boy for your age," said the man. "But it's a wonder you
didn't sink with that load; he's a big old fellow," referring to Turk,
who, standing on three feet, was vigorously shaking the water from his
coat. Will at once knelt down beside him, and taking the uplifted foot
in his hands, remarked: "He must have sprained one of his legs when he
fell over that log; he doesn't whine like your common curs when they get
hurt."

"He's blooded stock, then," said the man. "What kind of dog do you call
him?"

"He's an Ulm dog," said Will.

"I never heard tell of that kind of dog before."

"Did you ever hear of a tiger-mastiff, German mastiff, boar-hound, great
Dane? Turk's all of them together."

"Well," said the ferryman, "you're a pretty smart little fellow, and got
lots of grit. You ought to make your mark in the world. But right now
you had better get into some dry clothes." And on the invitation of the
ferryman, Will and the limping dog got into the boat, and were taken
back to camp.

Turk played so conspicuous and important a part in our early lives that
he deserves a brief description. He was a large and powerful animal of
the breed of dogs anciently used in Germany in hunting the wild boars.
Later the dogs were imported into England, where they were particularly
valued by people desiring a strong, brave watch-dog. When specially
trained, they are more fierce and active than the English mastiff.
Naturally they are not as fond of the water as the spaniel, the
stag-hound, or the Newfoundland, though they are the king of dogs on
land. Not alone Will, but the rest of the family, regarded Turk as the
best of his kind, and he well deserved the veneration he inspired. His
fidelity and almost human intelligence were time and again the means of
saving life and property; ever faithful, loyal, and ready to lay down
his life, if need be, in our service.

Outlaws and desperadoes were always to be met with on Western trails in
those rugged days, and more than once Turk's constant vigilance warned
father in time to prevent attacks from suspicious night prowlers. The
attachment which had grown up between Turk and his young master was but
the natural love of boys for their dogs intensified. Will at that time
estimated dogs as in later years he did men, the qualities which
he found to admire in Turk being vigilance, strength, courage, and
constancy. With men, as with dogs, he is not lavishly demonstrative;
rarely pats them on the back. But deeds of merit do not escape his
notice or want his appreciation. The patience, unselfishness, and true
nobility observed in this faithful canine friend of his boyhood days
have many times proved to be lacking in creatures endowed with a soul;
yet he has never lost faith in mankind, or in the ultimate destiny of
his race. This I conceive to be a characteristic of all great men.

This trip was memorable for all of us, perhaps especially so for brother
Will, for it comprehended not only his first deer, but his first negro.

As we drew near the Missouri line we came upon a comfortable farm-house,
at which father made inquiry concerning a lodging for the night. A widow
lived there, and the information that father was brother to Elijah Cody,
of Platte County, Missouri, won us a cordial welcome and the hospitality
of her home.

We were yet in the road, waiting father's report, when our startled
vision and childish imagination took in a seeming apparition, which
glided from the bushes by the wayside.

It proved a full-blooded African, with thick lips, woolly hair, enormous
feet, and scant attire. To all except mother this was a new revelation
of humanity, and we stared in wild-eyed wonder; even Turk was surprised
into silence. At this point father rejoined us, to share in mother's
amusement, and to break the spell for us by pleasantly addressing the
negro, who returned a respectful answer, accompanied by an ample grin.
He was a slave on the widow's plantation.

Reassured by the grin, Will offered his hand, and tasted the joy of
being addressed as "Massa" in the talk that followed. It was with
difficulty that we prevailed upon "Masse" to come to supper.

After a refreshing night's sleep we went on our way, and in a few days
reached my uncle's home. A rest was welcome, as the journey had been
long and toilsome, despite the fact that it had been enlivened by many
interesting incidents, and was thoroughly enjoyed by all of the family.



CHAPTER II. -- WILL'S FIRST INDIAN.

MY uncle's home was in Weston, Platte County, Missouri, at that time the
large city of the West. As father desired to get settled again as soon
as possible, he left us at Weston, and crossed the Missouri River on
a prospecting tour, accompanied by Will and a guide. More than one day
went by in the quest for a desirable location, and one morning
Will, wearied in the reconnoissance, was left asleep at the night's
camping-place, while father and the guide rode away for the day's
exploring.

When Will opened his eyes they fell upon the most interesting object
that the world just then could offer him--an Indian!

The "noble red man," as he has been poetically termed by people who have
but known him from afar, was in the act of mounting Will's horse, while
near by stood his own, a miserable, scrawny beast.

Will's boyish dreams were now a reality; he looked upon his first
Indian. Here, too, was a "buck"--not a graceful, vanishing deer, but
a dirty redskin, who seemingly was in some hurry to be gone. Without a
trace of "buck fever," Will jumped up, rifle in hand, and demanded:

"Here, what are you doing with my horse?"

The Indian regarded the lad with contemptuous composure.

"Me swap horses with paleface boy," said he.

The red man was fully armed, and Will did not know whether his father
and the guide were within call or not; but to suffer the Indian to
ride away with Uncle Elijah's fine horse was to forfeit his father's
confidence and shake his mother's and sisters' belief in the family
hero; so he put a bold face upon the matter, and remarked carelessly, as
if discussing a genuine transaction:

"No; I won't swap."

"Paleface boy fool!" returned the Indian, serenely.

Now this was scarcely the main point at issue, so Will contented himself
with replying, quietly but firmly:

"You cannot take my horse."

The Indian condescended to temporize. "Paleface horse no good," said he.

"Good enough for me," replied Will, smiling despite the gravity of the
situation. The Indian shone rather as a liar than a judge of horseflesh.
"Good enough for me; so you can take your old rack of bones and go."

Much to Will's surprise, the red man dropped the rein, flung himself
upon his own pony, and made off. And down fell "Lo the poor Indian" from
the exalted niche that he had filled in Will's esteem, for while it was
bad in a copper hero to steal horses, it was worse to flee from a boy
not yet in his teens. But a few moments later Lo went back to his lofty
pedestal, for Will heard the guide's voice, and realized that it was the
sight of a man, and not the threats of a boy, that had sent the Indian
about his business--if he had any.

The guide had returned to escort Will to the spot which father, after
a search of nearly a week, had discovered, and where he had decided
to locate our home. It was in Salt Creek Valley, a fertile blue-grass
region, sheltered by an amphitheater range of hills. The old Salt Lake
trail traversed this valley. There were at this time two great highways
of Western travel, the Santa Fe and the Salt Lake trails; later the
Oregon trail came into prominence. Of these the oldest and most historic
was the Santa Fe trail, the route followed by explorers three hundred
years ago. It had been used by Indian tribes from time, to white men,
immemorial. At the beginning of this century it was first used as an
artery of commerce. Over it Zebulon Pike made his well-known Western
trip, and from it radiated his explorations. The trail lay some distance
south of Leavenworth. It ran westward, dipping slightly to the south
until the Arkansas River was reached; then, following the course of this
stream to Bent's Fort, it crossed the river and turned sharply to the
south. It went through Raton Pass, and below Las Vegas it turned west to
Santa Fe.

Exploration along the line of the Salt Lake trail began also with this
century. It became a beaten highway at the time of the Mormon exodus
from Nauvoo to their present place of abode. The trail crossed the
Missouri River at Leavenworth, and ran northerly to the Platte, touching
that stream at Fort Kearny. With a few variations it paralleled the
Platte to its junction with the Sweetwater, and left this river valley
to run through South Pass to big Sandy Creek, turning south to follow
this little stream. At Fort Bridger it turned westward again, passed
Echo Canon, and a few miles farther on ran into Salt Lake City. Over
this trail journeyed thousands of gold-hunters toward California,
hopeful and high-spirited on the westerly way, disappointed and
depressed, the large majority of them, on the back track.
Freighting outfits, cattle trains, emigrants--nearly all the western
travel--followed this track across the new land. A man named Rively,
with the gift of grasping the advantage of location, had obtained
permission to establish a trading-post on this trail three miles beyond
the Missouri, and as proximity to this depot of supplies was a manifest
convenience, father's selection of a claim only two miles distant was a
wise one.

The Kansas-Nebraska Bill, which provided for the organizing of those
two territories and opened them for settlement, was passed in May. 1854.
This bill directly opposed the Missouri Compromise, which restricted
slavery to all territory south of 36'0 30" north latitude. A clause in
the new bill provided that the settlers should decide for themselves
whether the new territories were to be free or slave states. Already
hundreds of settlers were camped upon the banks of the Missouri, waiting
the passage of the bill before entering and acquiring possession of
the land. Across the curtain of the night ran a broad ribbon of dancing
camp-fires, stretching for miles along the bank of the river.

None too soon had father fixed upon his claim. The act allowing settlers
to enter was passed in less than a week afterward. Besides the pioneers
intending actual settlement, a great rush was made into the territories
by members of both political parties. These became the gladiators, with
Kansas the arena, for a bitter, bloody contest between those desiring
and those opposing the extension of slave territory.

Having already decided upon his location, father was among the first,
after the bill was passed, to file a claim and procure the necessary
papers, and shortly afterward he had a transient abiding-place prepared
for us. Whatever mother may have thought of the one-roomed cabin, whose
chinks let in the sun by day and the moon and stars by night, and whose
carpet was nature's greenest velvet, life in it was a perennial picnic
for the children. Meantime father was at work on our permanent home,
and before the summer fled we were domiciled in a large double-log
house--rough and primitive, but solid and comfort-breeding.

This same autumn held an episode so deeply graven in my memory that time
has not blurred a dine of it. Jane, our faithful maid of all work, who
went with us to our Western home, had little time to play the governess.
Household duties claimed her every waking hour, as mother was delicate,
and the family a large one; so Turk officiated as both guardian and
playmate of the children.