Last of the Great Scouts

H >> Helen Cody Wetmore >> Last of the Great Scouts



"Have just noticed that Lightning Express is side-tracked to make way
for Wild west. I herewith promote you to top seat in heaven."


The trip was a continued ovation. Every station was thronged, and Will
was obliged to step out on the platform and make a bow to the assembled
crowds, his appearance being invariably greeted with a round of cheers.
When we reached the station at North Platte, we found that the entire
population had turned out to receive their fellow-townsman. The "Cody
Guards," a band to which Will presented beautiful uniforms of white
broadcloth trimmed with gold braid, struck up the strains of "See, the
Conquering Hero Comes." The mayor attempted to do the welcoming honors
of the city, but it was impossible for him to make himself heard. Cheer
followed cheer from the enthusiastic crowd.

We had expected to reach the place some hours earlier, but our late
arrival encroached upon the hour of church service. The ministers
discovered that it was impossible to hold their congregations; so they
were dismissed, and the pastors accompanied them to the station, one
reverend gentleman humorously remarking:

"We shall be obliged to take for our text this morning 'Buffalo Bill and
his Wild West,' and will now proceed to the station for the discourse."

Will's tally-ho coach, drawn by six horses, was in waiting for the
incoming party. The members of his family seated themselves in that
conveyance, and we passed through the town, preceded and followed by
a band. As we arrived at the home residence, both bands united in a
welcoming strain of martial music.

My oldest sister, Julia, whose husband is manager of "Scout's Rest
Ranch," when informed that the "Wild West" was to visit North Platte,
conceived the idea of making this visit the occasion of a family
reunion. We had never met in an unbroken circle since the days of
our first separation, but as a result of her efforts we sat thus that
evening in my brother's home. The next day our mother-sister, as she had
always been regarded, entertained us at "Scout's Rest Ranch."

The "Wild West" exhibition had visited Duluth for the first time that
same year. This city has a population of 65,000. North Platte numbers
3,500. When he wrote to me of his intention to take the exhibition to
Duluth, Will offered to make a wager that his own little town would
furnish a bigger crowd than would the city of my residence. I could
not accept any such inferred slur upon the Zenith City, so accepted the
wager, a silk hat against a fur cloak.

October 12th, the date of the North Platte performance, dawned bright
and cloudless. "To-day decides our wager," said Will. "I expect there
will be two or three dozen people out on this prairie. Duluth turned
out a good many thousands, so I suppose you think your wager as good as
won."

The manager of the tents evidently thought the outlook a forlorn one. I
shared his opinion, and was, in fancy, already the possessor of a fine
fur cloak.

"Colonel, shall we stretch the full canvas?" asked the tentman.

"Every inch of it," was the prompt response. "We want to show North
Platte the capacity of the 'Wild West,' at any rate."

As we started for the grounds Will was evidently uncertain over the
outcome, in spite of his previous boast of the reception North Platte
would give him. "We'll have a big tent and plenty of room to spare in
it," he observed.

But as we drove to the grounds we soon began to see indications of a
coming crowd. The people were pouring in from all directions; the very
atmosphere seemed populated; as the dust was nearly a foot deep on the
roads, the moving populace made the air almost too thick for breathing.
It was during the time of the county fair, and managers of the Union
Pacific road announced that excursion trains would be run from every
town and hamlet, the officials and their families coming up from Omaha
on a special car. Where the crowds came from it was impossible to say.
It looked as if a feat of magic had been performed, and that the stones
were turned into men, or, perchance, that, as in olden tales, they came
up out of the earth.

Accustomed though he is to the success of the show, Will was dumfounded
by this attendance. As the crowds poured in I became alarmed about my
wager. I visited the ticket-seller and asked how the matter stood.

"It's pretty close," he answered. "Duluth seems to be dwindling away
before the mightiness of the Great American Desert."

This section of the country, which was a wilderness only a few years
ago, assembled over ten thousand people to attend a performance of the
"Wild West."

Omaha, where the opening performance of this exhibition was given,
honored Will last year by setting apart one day as "Cody Day." August
31st was devoted to his reception, and a large and enthusiastic crowd
gathered to do the Nebraska pioneer honor. The parade reached the
fair-grounds at eleven o'clock, where it was fittingly received by one
hundred and fifty mounted Indians from the encampment. A large square
space had been reserved for the reception of the party in front of the
Sherman gate. As it filed through, great applause was sent up by the
waiting multitude, and the noise became deafening when my brother made
his appearance on a magnificent chestnut horse, the gift of General
Miles. He was accompanied by a large party of officials and Nebraska
pioneers, who dismounted to seat themselves on the grand-stand.
Prominent among these were the governor of the state, Senator Thurston,
and Will's old friend and first employer, Mr. Alexander Majors. As
Will ascended the platform he was met by General Manager Clarkson,
who welcomed him in the name of the president of the exposition, whose
official duties precluded his presence. Governor Holcomb was then
introduced, and his speech was a brief review of the evolution of
Nebraska from a wilderness of a generation ago to the great state which
produced this marvelous exposition. Manager Clarkson remarked, as
he introduced Mr. Majors: "Here is the father of them all, Alexander
Majors, a man connected with the very earliest history of Nebraska, and
the business father of Colonel Cody."

This old pioneer was accorded a reception only a shade less enthusiastic
than that which greeted the hero of the day. He said:

"_Gentlemen, and My Boy, Colonel Cody_: [Laughter.] Can I say a few
words of welcome? Friend Creighton and I came down here together to-day,
and he thought I was not equal to the occasion. Gentlemen, I do not know
whether I am equal to the occasion at this time, but I am going to do
the best for you that I can. Give me your hand, Colonel. Gentlemen,
forty-three years ago this day, this fine-looking physical specimen
of manhood was brought to me by his mother--a little boy nine years
old--and little did I think at that time that the boy that was standing
before me, asking for employment of some kind by which I could afford to
pay his mother a little money for his services, was going to be a boy of
such destiny as he has turned out to be. In this country we have great
men, we have great men in Washington, we have men who are famous as
politicians in this country; we have great statesmen, we have had
Jackson and Grant, and we had Lincoln; we have men great in agriculture
and in stock-growing, and in the manufacturing business men who have
made great names for themselves, who have stood high in the nation.
Next, and even greater, we have a Cody. He, gentlemen, stands before you
now, known the wide world over as the last of the great scouts. When the
boy Cody came to me, standing straight as an arrow, and looked me in the
face, I said to my partner, Mr. Russell, who was standing by my side,
'We will take this little boy, and we will pay him a man's wages,
because he can ride a pony just as well as a man can.' He was lighter
and could do service of that kind when he was nine years old. I remember
when we paid him twenty-five dollars for the first month's work. He was
paid in half-dollars, and he got fifty of them. He tied them up in his
little handkerchief, and when he got home he untied the handkerchief and
spread the money all over the table."


Colonel Cody--"I have been spreading it ever since."

A few remarks followed indicative of Mr. Majors's appreciation of the
exhibition, and he closed with the remark, "Bless your precious heart,
Colonel Cody!" and sat down, amid great applause.

Senator Thurston's remarks were equally happy. He said:


"Colonel Cody, this is your day. This is your exposition. This is your
city. And we all rejoice that Nebraska is your state. You have carried
the fame of our country and of our state all over the civilized world;
you have been received and honored by princes, by emperors and by kings;
the titled women in the courts of the nations of the world have been
captivated by your charm of manner and your splendid manhood. You are
known wherever you go, abroad or in the United States, as Colonel Cody,
the best representative of the great and progressive West. You
stand here to-day in the midst of a wonderful assembly. Here are
representatives of the heroic and daring characters of most of the
nations of the world. You are entitled to the honor paid you to-day, and
especially entitled to it here. This people know you as a man who has
carried this demonstration of yours to foreign lands, and exhibited it
at home. You have not been a showman in the common sense of the word.
You have been a great national and international educator of men. You
have furnished a demonstration of the possibilities of our country that
has advanced us in the opinion of all the world. But we who have been
with you a third, or more than a third, of a century, we remember you
more dearly and tenderly than others do. We remember that when this
whole Western land was a wilderness, when these representatives of the
aborigines were attempting to hold their own against the onward tide
of civilization, the settler and the hardy pioneer, the women and the
children, felt safe whenever Cody rode along the frontier; he was their
protector and defender.

"Cody, this is your home. You live in the hearts of the people of our
state. God bless you and keep you and prosper you in your splendid
work."


Will was deeply touched by these strong expressions from his friends. As
he moved to the front of the platform to respond, his appearance was the
signal for a prolonged burst of cheers. He said:


"You cannot expect me to make adequate response for the honor which
you have bestowed upon me to-day. You have overwhelmed my speaking
faculties. I cannot corral enough ideas to attempt a coherent reply in
response to the honor which you have accorded me. How little I dreamed
in the long ago that the lonely path of the scout and the pony-express
rider would lead me to the place you have assigned me to-day. Here, near
the banks of the mighty Missouri, which flows unvexed to the sea, my
thoughts revert to the early days of my manhood. I looked eastward
across this rushing tide to the Atlantic, and dreamed that in that
long-settled region all men were rich and all women happy. My friends,
that day has come and gone. I stand among you a witness that nowhere in
the broad universe are men richer in manly integrity, and women happier
in their domestic kingdom, than here in our own Nebraska.

"I have sought fortune in many lands, but wherever I have wandered, the
flag of our beloved state has been unfurled to every breeze: from the
Platte to the Danube, from the Tiber to the Clyde, the emblem of our
sovereign state has always floated over the 'Wild West.' Time goes on
and brings with it new duties and responsibilities, but we 'old men,'
we who are called old-timers, cannot forget the trials and tribulations
which we had to encounter while paving the path for civilization and
national prosperity.

"The whistle of the locomotive has drowned the howl of the coyote;
the barb-wire fence has narrowed the range of the cow-puncher; but
no material evidence of prosperity can obliterate our contribution to
Nebraska's imperial progress.

"Through your kindness to-day I have tasted the sweetest fruit that
grows on ambition's tree. If you extend your kindness and permit me to
fall back into the ranks as a high private, my cup will be full.

"In closing, let me call upon the 'Wild West, the Congress of Rough
Riders of the World,' to voice their appreciation of the kindness you
have shown them to-day."


At a given signal the "Wild West" gave three ringing cheers for Nebraska
and the Trans-Mississippi Exposition. The cowboy band followed with
the "Red, White, and Blue," and an exposition band responded with the
"Star-Spangled Banner." The company fell into line for a parade around
the grounds, Colonel Cody following on his chestnut horse, Duke. After
him came the officials and invited guests in carriages; then came the
Cossacks, the Cubans, the German cavalry, the United States cavalry, the
Mexicans, and representatives of twenty-five countries.

As the parade neared its end, my brother turned to his friends and
suggested that as they had been detained long past the dinner-hour in
doing him honor, he would like to compensate them by giving an informal
spread. This invitation was promptly accepted, and the company adjourned
to a cafe, where a tempting luncheon was spread before them. Never
before had such a party of pioneers met around a banquet-table, and
many were the reminiscences of early days brought out. Mr. Majors,
the originator of the Pony Express line, was there. The two Creighton
brothers, who put through the first telegraph line, and took the
occupation of the express riders from them, had seats of honor. A. D.
Jones was introduced as the man who carried the first postoffice of
Omaha around in his hat, and who still wore the hat. Numbers of other
pioneers were there, and each contributed his share of racy anecdotes
and pleasant reminiscences.



CHAPTER XXXI. -- THE LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS.

THE story of frontier days is a tale that is told. The "Wild West"
has vanished like mist in the sun before the touch of the two great
magicians of the nineteenth century--steam and electricity.

The route of the old historic Santa Fe trail is nearly followed by the
Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railroad, which was completed in 1880.
The silence of the prairie was once broken by the wild war-whoop of the
Indian as he struggled to maintain his supremacy over some adjoining
tribe; the muffled roar caused by the heavy hoof-beats of thousands
of buffaloes was almost the only other sound that broke the stillness.
To-day the shriek of the engine, the clang of the bell, and the clatter
of the car-wheels form a ceaseless accompaniment to the cheerful hum of
busy life which everywhere pervades the wilderness of thirty years ago.
Almost the only memorials of the struggles and privations of the hardy
trappers and explorers, whose daring courage made the achievements of
the present possible, are the historic landmarks which bear the names of
some of these brave men. But these are very few in number. Pike's Peak
lifts its snowy head to heaven in silent commemoration of the early
traveler whose name it bears. Simpson's Rest, a lofty obelisk,
commemorates the mountaineer whose life was for the most part passed
upon its rugged slopes, and whose last request was that he should be
buried on its summit. Another cloud-capped mountain-height bears the
name of Fisher's Peak, and thereby hangs a tale.

{illust. caption = {signature of} W. F. Cody}

Captain Fisher commanded a battery in the army engaged in the conquest
of New Mexico. His command encamped near the base of the mountain which
now bears his name. Deceived by the illusive effect of the atmosphere,
he started out for a morning stroll to the supposed near-by elevation,
announcing that he would return in time for breakfast. The day passed
with no sign of Captain Fisher, and night lengthened into a new day.
When the second day passed without his return, his command was forced to
believe that he had fallen a prey to lurking Indians, and the soldiers
were sadly taking their seats for their evening meal when the haggard
and wearied captain put in an appearance. His morning stroll had
occupied two days and a night; but he set out to visit the mountain, and
he did it.

The transcontinental line which supplanted the Old Salt Lake trail,
and is now known as the Union Pacific Railroad, antedated the Atchison,
Topeka and Santa Fe by eleven years. The story of the difficulties
encountered, and the obstacles overcome in the building of this road,
furnishes greater marvels than any narrated in the Arabian Nights'
Tales.

This railroad superseded the Pony Express line, the reeking, panting
horses of which used their utmost endeavor and carried their tireless
riders fifteen miles an hour, covering their circuit in eight days'
time at their swiftest rate of speed. The iron horse gives a sniff of
disdain, and easily traverses the same distance, from the Missouri line
to the Pacific Coast, in three days.

Travelers who step aboard the swiftly moving, luxurious cars of to-day
give little thought to their predecessors; for the dangers the early
voyagers encountered they have no sympathy. The traveler in the
stagecoach was beset by perils without from the Indians and the outlaws;
he faced the equally unpleasant companionship of fatigue and discomfort
within. The jolting, swinging coach bounced and jounced the unhappy
passengers as the reckless driver lashed the flying horses. Away they
galloped over mountains and through ravines, with no cessation of speed.
Even the shipper pays the low rate of transportation asked to-day with
reluctance, and forgets the great debt he owes this adjunct of our
civilization.

But great as are the practical benefits derived from the railways, we
cannot repress a sigh as we meditate on the picturesque phases of the
vanished era. Gone are the bullwhackers and the prairie-schooners!
Gone are the stagecoaches and their drivers! Gone are the Pony Express
riders! Gone are the trappers, the hardy pioneers, the explorers, and
the scouts! Gone is the prairie monarch, the shaggy, unkempt buffalo!

In 1869, only thirty years ago, the train on the Kansas Pacific-road was
delayed eight hours in consequence of the passage of an enormous herd
of buffaloes over the track in front of it. But the easy mode of travel
introduced by the railroad brought hundreds of sportsmen to the plains,
who wantonly killed this noble animal solely for sport, and thousands
of buffaloes were sacrificed for their skins, for which there was a
widespread demand. From 1868 to 1881, in Kansas alone, there was paid
out $2,500,000 for the bones of this animal, which were gathered up on
the prairie and used in the carbon works of the country. This represents
a total death-rate of 31,000,000 buffaloes in one state. As far as I am
able to ascertain, there remains at this writing only one herd, of less
than twenty animals, out of all the countless thousands that roamed the
prairie so short a time ago, and this herd is carefully preserved in a
private park. There may be a few isolated specimens in menageries
and shows, but this wholesale slaughter has resulted in the practical
extermination of the species.

As with the animal native to our prairies, so has it been with the
race native to our land. We may deplore the wrongs of the Indian,
and sympathize with his efforts to wrest justice from his so-called
protectors. We may admire his poetic nature, as evidenced in the myths
and legends of the race. We may be impressed by the stately dignity
and innate ability as orator and statesman which he displays. We may
preserve the different articles of his picturesque garb as relics. But
the old, old drama of history is repeating itself before the eyes
of this generation; the inferior must give way to the superior
civilization. The poetic, picturesque, primitive red man must inevitably
succumb before the all-conquering tread of his pitiless, practical,
progressive white brother.

Cooper has immortalized for us the extinction of a people in the "Last
of the Mohicans." Many another tribe has passed away, unhonored and
unsung. Westward the "Star of Empire" takes its way; the great domain
west of the Mississippi is now peopled by the white race, while the
Indians are shut up in reservations. Their doom is sealed; their sun is
set. "Kismet" has been spoken of them; the total extinction of the race
is only a question of time. In the words of Rudyard Kipling:

"Take up the White Man's burden--
Ye dare not stoop to less--
Nor call too loud on freedom
To cloke your weariness.
By all ye will or whisper,
By all ye leave or do,
The silent, sullen peoples
Shall weigh your God and you."

Of this past epoch of our national life there remains but one well-known
representative. That one is my brother. He occupies a unique place in
the portrait gallery of famous Americans to-day. It is not alone his
commanding personality, nor the success he has achieved along various
lines, which gives him the strong hold he has on the hearts of the
American people, or the absorbing interest he possesses in the eyes of
foreigners. The fact that in his own person he condenses a period of
national history is a large factor in the fascination he exercises over
others. He may fitly be named the "Last of the Great Scouts." He has
had great predecessors. The mantle of Kit Carson has fallen upon his
shoulders, and he wears it worthily. He has not, and never can have, a
successor. He is the vanishing-point between the rugged wilderness of
the past in Western life and the vast achievement in the present.

When the "Wild West" disbands, the last vestige of our frontier life
passes from the scene of active realities, and becomes a matter of
history.

"Life is real, life is earnest," sings the poet, and real and earnest it
has been for my brother. It has been spent in others' service. I cannot
recall a time when he has not thus been laden with heavy burdens. Yet
for himself he has won a reputation, national and international. A
naval officer visiting in China relates that as he stepped ashore he
was offered two books for purchase--one the Bible, the other a "Life of
Buffalo Bill."

For nearly half a century, which comprises his childhood, youth, and
manhood, my brother has been before the public. He can scarcely be said
to have had a childhood, so early was he thrust among the rough scenes
of frontier life, therein to play a man's part at an age when most boys
think of nothing more than marbles and tops. He enlisted in the Union
army before he was of age, and did his share in upholding the flag
during the Civil War as ably as many a veteran of forty, and since then
he has remained, for the most part, in his country's service, always
ready to go to the front in any time of danger. He has achieved
distinction in many and various ways. He is president of the largest
irrigation enterprise in the world, president of a colonization company,
of a town-site company, and of two transportation companies. He is the
foremost scout and champion buffalo-hunter of America, one of the
crack shots of the world, and its greatest popular entertainer. He is
broad-minded and progressive in his views, inheriting from both father
and mother a hatred of oppression in any form. Taking his mother as
a standard, he believes the franchise is a birthright which should
appertain to intelligence and education, rather than to sex. It is his
public career that lends an interest to his private life, in which he
has been a devoted and faithful son and brother, a kind and considerate
husband, a loving and generous father. "Only the names of them that
are upright, brave, and true can be honorably known," were the mother's
dying words; and honorably known has his name become, in his own country
and across the sea.

With the fondest expectation he looks forward to the hour when he shall
make his final bow to the public and retire to private life. It is his
long-cherished desire to devote his remaining years to the development
of the Big Horn Basin, in Wyoming. He has visited every country in
Europe, and has looked upon the most beautiful of Old World scenes. He
is familiar with all the most splendid regions of his own land, but to
him this new El Dorado of the West is the fairest spot on earth.

He has already invested thousands of dollars and given much thought and
attention toward the accomplishment of his pet scheme. An irrigating
ditch costing nearly a million dollars now waters this fertile region,
and various other improvements are under way, to prepare a land
flowing with milk and honey for the reception of thousands of homeless
wanderers. Like the children of Israel, these would never reach the
promised land but for the untiring efforts of a Moses to go on before;
but unlike the ancient guide and scout of sacred history, my brother has
been privileged to penetrate the remotest corner of this primitive land
of Canaan. The log cabin he has erected there is not unlike the one of
our childhood days. Here he finds his haven of rest, his health-resort,
to which he hastens when the show season is over and he is free again
for a space. He finds refreshment in the healthful, invigorating
atmosphere of his chosen retreat; he enjoys sweet solace from the cares
of life under the influence of its magnificent scenery.