The Dakota Experience Creating Communities: The Frontier (1860-1880)
arrow Items from the Collection


Back

Captain Jack Crawford poems

THE POET SCOUT

THE BURIAL OF WILD BILL.
(To Charley Utter—Colorado Charley)

Under the sod in the prairie-land
   We have laid him down to rest,
With many a tear from the sad, rough
      throng,
   And the friends he loved the best;
And many a heartfelt sigh was heard
   As over the earth we trod,
And many an eye was filled with tears
   As we covered him with the sod.

Under the sod in the prairie-land
   We've laid the good and the true—
An honest heart and a noble scout
   Has bade us a last adieu.
No more his silvery laugh will ring,
   His spirit has gone to God;
Around his faults let Charity cling
   While you cover him with the sod.

Under the sod in the land of gold
   We have laid the fearless Bill;
We called him Wild, yet a little child
   Could bend his iron will.

With generous heart he freely gave
   To the poorly clad, unshod—
Think of it, pards—of his noble traits—
   While you cover him with the sod.

Under the sod in Deadwood Gulch
   You have laid his last remains;
No more his manly form will hail
   The red man on the plains.
And, Charley, may Heaven bless you!
   You gave him a "bully good send:"
Bill was a friend to you, pard,
   And you were his last, best friend.

You buried him 'neath the old pine tree,
   In that little world of ours,
His trusty rifle by his side—
   His grave all strewn with flowers:
His manly form in sweet repose,
   That lovely silken hair—
I tell you, pard, it was a sight,
   That face so white and fair!

And while he sleeps beneath the sod
   His murderer goes free,*
Released by a perjured, gaming set,
   Who'd murder you and me—
Whose coward hearts dare never meet
   A brave man on the square;
Well, pard, they'll find a warmer clime
   Than they ever found out here.

Hell is full of just such men;
   And if Bill is above to-day,
The Almighty will have enough to do
   To keep him from going away—
That is, from making a little scout
   To the murderers' home below;
And if old Peter will let him out,
   He can clean the ranch, I know

*Tried and released by a lot of petty gamblers, but afterwards arrested at Laramie City, and taken to Yankton, Dakota, tried and hanged.

AN EPITAPH ON WILD BILL

The following epitaph on J. B. Hitchcock
(Wild Bill) was written while sitting on his grave
near Deadwood, on the tenth of September, 1876.

Sleep on, brave heart, in peaceful slumber,
Bravest Scout in all the West;
Lightning eyes and voice of thunder,
Closed and hushed in quiet rest.
Peace and rest at last is given;
May we meet again in Heaven,
Rest in Peace.

Back