Tales Behind the Tombstones Page 4

  On August 2, 1876, Wild Bill Hickok bought in to a poker game at the No. 10 Saloon. He was seated with his back to the door, an uncomfortable position, but he could not persuade the gambler opposite him to trade seats. Later in the afternoon Jack McCall, a card player Hickok had won $10 off of the day before, entered the bar. He swore revenge on Wild Bill for taking his money and was ready to act on his threat. At twenty minutes after four, McCall walked up behind Hickok and shot him once in the head with a six-gun. Hickok fell sideways, toppled off his chair, and died as he hit the floor. The cards he continued to clutch to his hands were aces and eights—now referred to as the “Deadman’s Hand.”

  Wild Bill Hickok’s friend Charlie Utter claimed the famed lawman’s body and placed the notice of his death in the Black Hills Pioneer newspaper. The notice read: “Died in Deadwood, Black Hills, August 2, 1876, from the effects of a pistol shot, J. B. Hickok (Wild Bill) formerly of Cheyenne, Wyoming. Funeral services will be held at Charlie Utter’s Camp, on Thursday afternoon, August 3, 1876, at 3 o’clock, p.m. All are respectfully invited to attend.”

  Wild Bill Hickok was laid to rest with his Sharp’s rifle, at Mount Moriah Cemetery in Deadwood. Almost the entire town attended the funeral. Utter had Hickok buried with a wooden grave marker that read WILD BILL HICKOK KILLED BY THE ASSASSIN JACK MCCALL IN DEADWOOD, BLACK HILLS, AUGUST 2ND, 1876. PARD, WE WILL MEET AGAIN IN THE HAPPY HUNTING GROUND TO PART NO MORE. GOODBYE, COLORADO CHARLIE C. H. UTTER.

  In 1879, at the urging of Calamity Jane, Utter had Hickok’s plot enclosed with cast-iron fence. The wooden grave marker over his burial site has since then been replaced by a stone bust of Wild Bill. Thousands visit the grave every year.

  In accordance with her dying wish, Calamity Jane was buried next to Hickok.

  Jack McCall was arrested, charged with murder, and later hanged.

  Little Bighorn Cemetery 1876

  “As Lt. James Bradley rode over a rise, he spied a large number of white objects, which turned out to be dead cavalrymen. He rode hurriedly over the field, and in a few minutes time counted one hundred and ninety-seven bodies.”

  — A BRIEF ACCOUNT FROM A SCOUTING PARTY

  THAT FOUND GENERAL GEORGE ARMSTRONG

  CUSTER AND HIS ARMY (HELENA HERALD,

  MONTANA, JULY 15, 1876)

  A raw wind blew snow flurries past the face of a well-dressed elderly lady studying the tombstones that filled the Custer Battlefield National Cemetery. Elizabeth, General George A. Custer’s widow, stared down at the numerous graves, only the wind could be heard. The distinguished seventy-year-old woman was alone at the location, remembering the day she was informed that her famous husband had perished at the Battle of Little Bighorn.

  On May 17, 1876, Elizabeth had kissed George good-bye and wished him good fortune in his efforts to fulfill the army’s orders to drive in the Native Americans who would not willingly relocate to a reservation. Adorned in a black taffeta dress and a velvet riding cap with a red peacock feather that matched George’s red scarf, she watched the proud regiment ride off. It had been a splendid picture.

  Flags and pennons were flying, men were waving, and even the horses seemed to be arching themselves to show how fine and fit they were. George rode to the top of a promontory and turned around, stood up in his stirrups, and waved his hat. After a moment he and his men started forward again and in a few seconds disappeared; horses, flags, men, and ammunition—all on their way to the Little Bighorn River. That was the last time Elizabeth saw her husband alive.

  Confirmation of Custer’s death and that of his entire regiment reached Elizabeth on June 26, 1876. Captain William S. McCaskey, a courier sent to deliver the devastating news, held his hat in his hand as he addressed the general’s wife. Elizabeth stared at the officer, her eyes pleading. “None wounded, none missing, all dead,” he sadly reported. She stood frozen for a moment, unable to move, the color drained from her face.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Custer,” the captain sighed. “Do you need to sit down?”

  Elizabeth blinked away the tears. “No,” she replied. “What about the other wives?”

  “We’ll let them know of their husbands’ fates,” he assured her.

  “I’m coming with you,” she said, choking back more tears. “As the wife of the post commander, it’s my duty to go along with you when you tell the other . . . widows.” The captain didn’t argue with the bereaved woman.

  In the early spring of 1912, Elizabeth made a pilgrimage to the graveyard to pay homage to the fallen men in her late husband’s command. The battlefield was designated a national cemetery in 1879. Thousands of tourists have visited the site, which pays tribute not only to the westward advance of the American frontier but also to the last phases of the Indian’s struggle to hold onto their lands and way of life.

  White marble markers stand over the various spots where the 265 soldiers fell and were initially buried. In 1881 the majority of the remains of the troops were exhumed and moved to a central location surrounding a granite monument.

  Among the men who died at the Little Bighorn were three of Custer’s relatives. His brothers Tom and Boston and his nephew, Harry, all fell in the fight. Harry Armstrong, also known as Autie Reed, and Boston Custer were civilians working with the 7th Cavalry. Boston was a quartermaster employee assigned to the pack train accompanying the troops. The bodies of Tom, Boston, and Harry were mutilated by the Indians they fought. Tom’s body was disfigured almost beyond recognition. Out of respect for the celebrated “Yellow-haired General,” George’s remains were left intact.

  Other notable tombstones are that of Scout Isaiah Dorman, the only African American in the battle, and Private Frank Braun, who was the last to die from injuries sustained during the fighting.

  Mitch Bouyer, a 7th Cavalry scout and interpreter who was half Sioux, perished at the Little Bighorn, as did Private Alexander Stella, the only soldier in the regiment from Greece.

  A few grave markers list the names of men who joined the army using a false handle. For reasons that have never been revealed, Private John Dolan enlisted as Thomas Brown and Private George W. Glease enlisted as George W. Glenn. Both men were killed and stripped of their possessions. Many of the soldiers who were slain during the battle were robbed of their personal items and clothing. Army surgeon Holmes O. Paulding noted in his journal the “deprived condition” in which he found the troops when he inspected the carnage on June 26, 1876. He happened onto the clothing of two officers whose remains were never found. “I picked up a buckskin shirt from which the skin had been stripped and marked with the name Porter,” Paulding wrote. “Poor fellow, there was a hole under the right shoulder and blood over the rest.”

  Several of the regiments lie side by side at the cemetery. Privates George Horn, John Burkham, and Archibald McIlhargey rest near the grave of Corporal Henry Scollin. Scollin shared a premonition of his pending death with a Private Daniel Newell from a separate regiment. “In less than 24 hours,” Newell reported to his superiors, “Henry was lying dead on the bottom of Little Big Horn, his body riddled with bullets.”

  The granite monument that looms over the markers at the cemetery bears the name of all the officers and soldiers killed in battle. A separate tombstone commemorates the cavalry horse that died on the spot and includes the remains of thirty-nine mounts that carried troops into battle.

  Custer Battlefield National Cemetery was originally established as a final resting place for the 7th Cavalry, but it was later expanded to include deceased veterans of all wars and their dependents. The memorial park contains more than five thousand graves. It was officially closed to any further burials in 1977.

  Although there are tombstones with George Custer’s name and his brother’s etched across them, the brothers’ bodies were moved to different locations. Elizabeth had General Custer buried at West Point in New York, and Captain Thomas Custer is buried at the Fort Leavenworth National Cemetery in Kansas.

  Tombstone’s Boot Hill Founded 1878


  “We never did hang the wrong one but once or twice, and them fellers needed to be hung anyhow jes’ on general principles.”

  —A NAMELESS JUDGE IN THE OLD WEST

  The remains of some of Tombstone’s most famous and infamous rest in peace at historic Boot Hill graveyard. From 1878 to 1884, pioneers, Indian scouts, outlaws, crime victims, civic leaders, and town founders were buried there.

  Tombstone, the notorious Old West locale, came into being in 1877. Miner Ed Schieffen discovered silver in the southwest corner of the state and named his find the Tombstone. News of the rich strike spread, and an avalanche of settlers converged on the area. By late 1881, more than seven thousand people lived in or around the Arizona boomtown. In addition to the hopeful prospectors and their families came the lawless, violent types. They frequented the gambling houses, taverns, and brothels that lined the thoroughfare.

  The gun-toting outlaws shot their way in and out of such well-known stops as the Bird Cage Theatre, Crystal Palace, and Oriental Saloon. The criminal behavior became so out of control in Tombstone that in 1880 President Chester A. Arthur declared martial law and sent in troops from nearby army post Fort Huachuca to bring about order.

  Sinners who met their demise in drunken brawls, jealous rages, and crooked poker games were taken to a lot of land on the side of a hill overlooking the northern portion of town. The sagebrush-covered field acquired the name Boot Hill because it was filled with people who had died suddenly—with their boots on.

  Most of the bodies buried at Boot Hill could be identified, and the wooden or stone headboards that mark the graves list their names. Some remains, however, lie on the hill under the inscription UNKNOWN. One such grave contains the body of a man found in 1882 at the abandoned Minute Mine at the bottom of a sixty-foot shaft. According to the tombstone, HE WAS WELL-DRESSED, INDICATING THAT HE WAS NOT A MINER.

  A number of graves belong to thieves, cardsharps, murderers, and rustlers. Some of the names on the tombstones were recognized scoundrels and outlaws. Charley Storms was a professional gambler shot by gunfighter Luke Short. Short had killed so many men he was given the nickname the “undertaker’s friend.” Storms’s grave marker includes his name and the year he was gunned down: 1882. It also reads GUNS BLAZED AGAIN AS THESE TWO GAMBLING MEN MET. STORMS WAS SHOT IN FRONT OF THE ORIENTAL SALOON, WHERE SHORT DEALT CARDS.

  Lester Moore’s headboard became popular not so much because of the man but because of the verse inscribed under his handle. HERE LIES LESTER MOORE, FOUR SLUGS FROM A .44. NO LESS, NO MORE. Moore was a Wells Fargo agent who was shot over a dispute about a delivery.

  Tombstone’s Boot Hill is the place of interment for several criminals who were hanged for a variety of misdeeds. An angry mob strung up John Heath on February 22, 1884. Ironically, the lynching took place a short distance from the county courthouse. His marker simply carries his name.

  Dan Dowd, Red Sample, Tex Howard, Bill Delaney, and Dan Kelley were all legally hanged on March 8, 1884. The host of bandits was found guilty of murder and robbery. Their mutual grave is marked by a weathered piece of wood bearing only their names.

  The remains of numerous gunfight victims are scattered throughout the cemetery. Among them are men who fell at the gunfight at the OK Corral. They aren’t the only ones to meet their maker by way of a six-gun, but they are the most famous.

  Among others who died by the gun was Chas Helm, a local rancher. A neighboring rancher killed him in 1882 after a quarrel over how to drive cattle. William Clayborne shot James Hickey in the head in 1882 after demanding the man join him in a drink. Dick Toby was gunned down by Sheriff Behan in 1881. The wooden markers of all these men contain their names and year of death.

  Tombstone’s Chinatown is represented in the Boot Hill Cemetery by such names as Quong Kee and Hop Lung. Kee owned and operated a restaurant and was initially buried in a pauper’s plot. His body was later moved by the townspeople who knew and respected him. No information exists about the life and death of Hop Lung. Both men died in 1880.

  A pair of soiled doves keep company with the predominately male residents of the graveyard. Dutch Annie, also known as the Queen of the Red Light District, was the proverbial prostitute with a heart of gold who helped out anyone in need. More than a thousand mourners attended her graveside service. Annie’s tombstone and the tombstone of a woman known as Margarita have crosses over their graves with their names on them.

  Margarita’s life ended at the hands of a fallen woman named Little Gertie. The two fought over cowboy Billy Milgreen (known as Gold Dollar) at a dance. Little Gertie had been Gold Dollar’s woman until the dark-eyed beauty Margarita persuaded him to spend time with her. Gertie caught up with the temptress and the two argued. She then stabbed Margarita in the stomach with a jagged knife.

  When a new Tombstone Cemetery was established in 1884, the Boot Hill graveyard fell into disrepair. Left neglected for more than fifty years, the land overtook the graves, and souvenir hunters stole what the elements did not destroy. A restoration effort was put into effect in 1940. The plots were cleaned up and new markers put into place.

  Included in the restoration was an area designated for those pioneers of Jewish decent, whose graves were once surrounded by an eight-foot-high wall. During the more than a century it has been standing, the adobe-brick structure has eroded away to a mere four feet.

  Ten states across the United States have at least one cemetery called Boot Hill. Tombstone, Arizona’s Boot Hill, is easily one of the most renowned graveyards in the Wild West.

  Charley Parkhurst d. 1879

  “The most dexterous and celebrated of the California drivers, and it was an honor to occupy the spare end of the driver’s seat when the fearless Charley Parkhurst held the reins.”

  — A TEAMSTER’S COMMENTS TO THE

  SAN FRANCISCO MORNING CALL, 1879

  When Charley Parkhurst, the famed stagecoach driver of the Sierra Nevada foothills, died in December 1879, an interesting discovery was made. The sixty-seven-year-old rough-talking, cigar-smoking whip master was in fact a woman. The fifty-year masquerade began as a way for the desperate Parkhurst to acquire work.

  Parkhurst was born in Lebanon, New Hampshire, in 1812. Her parents were poor and abandoned her shortly after naming her Charlotte. The majority of Charlotte’s early life was spent at an orphanage. The facility was a particularly harsh environment, and the children were treated cruelly. Charlotte ran away as soon as she was old enough to attempt to make it on her own. She was fifteen years old when she left the orphanage, and she disguised herself as a boy to keep from being caught by the authorities.

  On the outside she soon learned that there were many more job opportunities for men than women. With that in mind she decided to keep up the charade of being a male, taking her efforts a bit further and changing her name to Charles.

  Charles Parkhurst’s first job was working at a stable in Worcester, Massachusetts. She performed a variety of duties involving the care and feeding of horses and mules. She fell in love with the animals and learned how to handle a team. In a short time she was an expert driver. Her talent as a coachman did not go unnoticed by competing stage businesses. She quickly became a highly sought-after whip master. In January 1850 she accepted a job from a pair of wealthy entrepreneurs who had started a gold rush transport company in California.

  A flood of humanity had converged on the hills outside of Sacramento, and the need for a carriage business was great. Charley worked for the California line hauling miners from their claims to various points in between. Since she dressed in well-worn trousers, an old waistcoat, and shirt, and sported a large Texas hat, it was easy for passengers to be fooled about her gender. Her scarred facial features added to the illusion. A cantankerous horse had kicked her in the face when she was in her early twenties, and the incident left her disfigured and minus an eye. She wore a black patch over the injury. She was five feet, seven inches tall and had a low and raspy voice. Charley Parkhurst carried herself l
ike a man, as well. The passengers she drove were impressed with the fearless way she handled robbers or hostile natives who tried to stop her coach. She outran or outshot anyone who attempted to hold up the ride.

  Some of the crude paths Charley traveled were treacherous. They consisted of little more than a rocky strip of barren earth through low-hanging trees etched out in the sides of cliffs. She guided her team of horses over the narrow embankments with great confidence. Other whips boasted of her ability and maintained that she could run both wheels of her stage over a quarter lying in the road with her horses going at top speed.

  Her arrival into the mining camps and big towns that dotted the West Coast was an impressive scene. Major A. N. Judd, a soldier who had ridden with Charley, wrote in his memoirs that “when she pulled into a stage stop with a beautifully equipped 20-passenger Concord coach . . . it was an inspiring sight indeed.” Judd also described her skills as a driver and called her the “greatest whip in the west.”

  “Every move (she made) played its part.” He continued, “One would note with what dexterity she plied the brakes just right in order to stop with the door just opposite the main entrance to the hotel.”

  In addition to Charley being a skilled driver, she was also a kind one. She frequently shared her earnings with those in need, assisted the sick, and set broken bones. At the end of her rides, she watered and fed the horses herself and even bunked with them. It was said of Charley Parkhurst that he was “a great friend to all manner of life.”