Worst Davy Crockett and Jim Bowie Ever

A lot of people considered it sacrilegious to cast Jeff Bridges as True Grit's Rooster Cogburn, a role made famous by John Wayne; how dare the Dude stand in for the Duke? I thought Bridges did a credible job, but here's my beef: casting Billy Bob Thornton as Davy Crockett, a role filled by John Wayne in The Alamo (1960). Thornton made as sorry a Davy Crockett as I could imagine, short of putting Philip Seymour Hoffman in the part. Thornton plays a great loser in films like Bad Santa, but it is impossible to see him as a charismatic leader-of-men like Crockett.

That said, Thornton's Davy Crockett had his equal in Jason Patric's lackluster Jim Bowie. The first few seconds of this clip from The Alamo (2004) shows Crockett examining Bowie's knife. (Excuse the Chinese subtitles.) Neither actor comes off as a fighter. In fact, both look like they'd burst into tears if someone gave them a good shove.



Here's a list of actors who played Bowie over the years, leaving out a few insignificant television portrayals. I haven't seen many of these films, but of the ones I have, actors Scott Forbes, Richard Widmark, and Sterling Hayden struck me as quite adequate for the role.

Alfred Paget, Martyrs of the Alamo (1915)
Hal Taliaferro, The Painted Stallion (1937)
Roger Williams, Heroes of the Alamo (1937)
Robert Armstrong, Man of Conquest (1939)
Macdonald Carey, Comanche Territory (1950)
Alan Ladd, The Iron Mistress (1952)
Stuart Randall, The Man from the Alamo (1953)
Sterling Hayden, The Last Command (1955)
Jeff Morrow, The First Texan (1956)
Scott Forbes, The Adventures of Jim Bowie (1956-1958, TV)
Richard Widmark, The Alamo (1960)
Michael Beck, Houston: The Legend of Texas (1986, TV)
James Arness, The Alamo: Thirteen Days to Glory (1987, TV)
Steve Sandor, Alamo: The Price of Freedom (1988)
David Keith, Texas (1994, TV)
Peter Coyote, Two for Texas (1998, TV)
Jason Patric, The Alamo (2004)

Jim Bowie's Sandbar Fight

The topic of "document dumps" has been much in the news lately, so I thought I'd dump a large document from my own files. This is an article on the famous Sandbar Fight involving James Bowie and others published in the Louisiana Historical Quarterly, v. 16 (1933), written by G.P. Whittington. This highly informative article was described as Whittington's first draft; he died before it was published. The material has not previously been available over the internet and should be of considerable interest to those like myself who are obsessed with the subject, while causing glazed eyes among those who are not. What intrigued me the most is the explanation of the personal histories of the participants in the Sandbar Fight, which helps to explain the alliances and enmities among them.

THE EARLY DAYS of this section, called Rapides [Rapides Parish, Louisiana], were not unlike other parts of the state in so far as duels and fights were concerned. Many have been forgotten, some are scarcely remembered, but the famous fight between the two factions on the sand bar near Natchez, Mississippi, has acquired a national reputation. The duel that preceded this fight was without damage to either of the principals. The fight was between the seconds and friends of the men who had journeyed to that place to settle their differences. It occurred on September 19, 1827.

This fight did not take place within the borders of this parish, but in as much as all of the participants had their domicile within its limits and the differences that had come between them had their origin in Rapides, it seems but proper that we should tell something of this duel, the fight and the men who took part in it.

It is generally known that the site of the fight was on a sand bar formed by the Mississippi river within the limits of the parish of Concordia, only a few miles from Natchez. The men who were parties to the fight spent the previous night in Natchez and crossed the river the morning of the fight, and after the fight the wounded were carried back to Natchez to receive medical attention. The dead were buried in Vidalia, those who had escaped injury travelled back home after seeing to the welfare of their friends and in some cases relatives. Many in after years became close friends and allied in some cases by marriage.

During the early part of the 19th century when this country was being settled by people from all parts, who were seeking good land that could be purchased for a small sum and in many cases upon long terms of credit, speculation reached its height. Not alone the new settlers but those who had spent the better part of their lives within its limits sought to acquire and sell large tracts of land at a great profit. The banks at first were liberal in their advances, but in time the error of former transactions became evident and more conservative methods became the order of the day. The refusal of loans and notes seemed to be considered causes for challenges to be sent to the director who was considered to be responsible for the failure to obtain the advances or loan.

Another cause of differences was politics. There were two factions in Rapides. One was made up of the old residents and their friends and kinsmen, the other of the new comers. The last named party was in the ascendancy in 1826-1830, and they had succeeded in having one of their number named as Sheriff to succeed the late sheriff William Fristoe, a member of the older group.

To understand the sand bar fight it is necessary to know something of the men who participated and the differences that had come between them. The principal characters were James Bowie, General Samuel Cuny, and George C. McWhorters, followers of the Wells faction; Major Norris Wright, Colonel Robert A. Crain, Alfred Blanchard and Carey Blanchard, followers of the Maddox faction. It is not possible to account for the military titles given these different men but that is the way they were known and so the titles under which they paraded during their lives have been adopted.

I did a Google Image search on "Sand Bar Fight" in hopes of finding some old print that might illustrate this post. This photo was among the first to turn up. As I couldn't find anything that depicted the fight itself, I figured it was better than nothing.

As James Bowie is nationally known, something of his life must be told first and then that of his antagonist Norris Wright, for their stories touch each other in several places and one cannot be narrated without referring to the other.

James Bowie who is best known to the people of this generation for the story that is told of his death in the battle of the Alamo, and for his supposed making of the first "bowie knife," was born in Kentucky in 1796. His father was a native of Georgia and was temporarily living in Kentucky at the time of the birth of this man. Resin [sic] Bowie was somewhat of a wanderer, and in the next few years lived in Missouri, Catahoula parish and St. Landry. About 1814, when James Bowie was yet a minor he left his father's home and came to the parish of Rapides, acquired a tract of land on Bayou Boeuf and proceeded to cut the timber away and make a farm out of his homestead. Of this period of his life many stories are told of his way of making a living and the sports [he] indulged in. While living on Bayou Boeuf he came into contact with the younger generation of the Wells family (large planters) and formed a friendship that lasted during the remaining years of his life. The story is also told that he disposed of his property and entered into the business of smuggling slaves into Louisiana from Galveston, Texas, then the base of operation of Jean Lafitte and his men. The slaves were taken by Lafitte in his piratic raids on the high sea and brought to Galveston. There he offered them for sale and would let the purchaser use his own means of getting them within the United States. It has long been a tradition of this section that when Lafitte was making his headquarters at Barataria that he often brought slaves into central Louisiana and disposed of them to the prosperous planters who were ever-ready to buy a slave cheap. Bowie and his brother are said to have gone to Galveston, purchased the negroes from Lafitte at a price of one dollar per pound, loaded them on a schooner and sailed for the Louisiana coast. There the boat would be beached and abandoned. The nearest customs official was advised of the abandoned cargo of slaves, which would then be seized and sold by the official. The informer (Bowie) claimed the one-half usually received by such an agent. This part of the sales, price of the slaves would be applied upon the bid made, and the cargo was then good merchandise to be carried throughout the state for sale. One of these caravans escaped and reached the neighboring Indians and was never recovered. From this class of business some $65,000.00 was made and with this money Bowie entered upon a career of land speculation. Overflows and resulting failures of crops put Bowie into hard straits and as the banks had adopted a policy of restrictions on loans, he lost heavily. Norris Wright was one of the directors of one of the local banks, and to him was attributed the refusal of the bank to make large loans to Bowie and thus caused an enmity that finally resulted fatally to Wright.

Bowie was making his home in Alexandria. He was the follower of a faction lead by Wells. Norris Wright had been named as the Sheriff of Rapides to succeed William Fristoe who died in 1823. Fristoe had been a member of the same faction as Bowie. In the election of 1826, lines were closely drawn and a bitter campaign carried on. Much hard feeling grew out of the campaign. Wright and his faction were successful.

Norris Wright was from Baltimore. He came south to clerk in the store of Martin and Bryant, along with Robert C. Hynson, and when the old firm went out of business with the death of one of the members of the firm, Hynson and Wright took over the business which they conducted until 1825. Hynson became the cashier of the bank, Wright was the sheriff and one of the board of directors holding both positions at the time of his death.

Bowie was described as a powerful individual accustomed to out-door life, while Wright was slender of build and somewhat frail in appearance. Wright was cool and fearless, as was Bowie. He was noted as one of the best pistol shots in Rapides and had been one of the principals in several duels, in at least two of which he had killed the other party.

For some reason, whether it was money matters or politics does not matter, these men had a difficulty in Alexandria, in which Bowie was shot by Wright, the bullet glanced and though wounded Bowie was able to take Wright's gun away from him and severely handle his opponent. It is even said that had not the fight been stopped Wright would have been killed by Bowie with bare hands. Bowie never forgot a friend nor forgave an enemy. The difficulties of his friends were his troubles. His friends, the Wells, were parties to a duel and he was present on the sand-bar as a friend.

In the Natchez fight Bowie was desperately wounded and was carried to town with the expectation that he would die by morning. He recovered and returned to this section, but the fight and its results were not looked upon with favor here and as soon as possible he disposed of his property both lands and slaves and sought a new home across the Sabine in Texas. In his new home he married the daughter of a former Governor of the province, children were born and apparently he was contented. Then the wife and children died, the war between Texas and Mexico began and Bowie took up the fight of his adopted state. The story of his death at the Alamo is too well known to be re-told.

Contrary to the general belief the knife that was known as the "bowie knife" was not designed by him but by a brother, Resin Bowie. The actual work of making the knife was done by a plantation blacksmith named Snowden. The Bowies claimed that the first time this knife was used in any fight was in the duel about to be described.

Colonel Robert A. Crain, another of the sand-bar combatants was a native of Virginia and had moved to Louisiana making his home on Bayou Rapides near the present Boyce. He seems to have been the type always ready to fight. A question whether he would pay a bill that he had contracted was sufficient cause to take part in a combat. He had killed Dr. John Rippy because Rippy would not accept his note in payment of the rent due on a plantation. It seems that he was never tried for this killing. He was indicted for carrying out of the state negroes belonging to Levin Luckett. Luckett became his son-in-law and the case was dropped, but it was necessary for the legislature to pass a bill authorizing the abandonment of this case before the District Attorney would discontinue it. Crain prevailed upon Richmond E. Cuny to endorse his note for a considerable sum of money. The note was not paid when due and the maker and endorser were sued. It seems that Crain was execution proof and Cuny was compelled to sell some of his slaves to meet this obligation. This was the cause of some trouble between Crain and General Samuel Cuny, a son of Richmond E. Cuny. Crain refused to pay the note, a fight resulted and Crain was wounded by Cuny. Cuny shot him with a shot gun, inflicting a very dangerous wound in the right arm. The Cunys were close friends of the Wells family. Both families had resided in St. Landry and moved from that section to Rapides. Levi Wells was the guardian of the Cuny children. Nothing further is known of Cuny. Crain returned after the Natchez episode to Rapides and seems to have become a peaceful citizen, and died surrounded by his family. In later years Crain and Bowie met and made up as far as their differences were concerned and parted as good friends, Bowie going to Texas where he was killed, Crain to the home of his family.

Alfred Blanchard and his brother Carey Blanchard were also from Virginia and had settled on the upper end of Rapides Bayou or Bayou Jean de Jean. In time the Crain and Blanchard families intermarried. Alfred Blanchard while under the influence of liquor wounded Thomas Jefferson Wells, but not seriously. The cause cannot be learned at this time. Wells was a brother of General Montfort Wells, Samuel L. Wells and James Madison Wells. He was a large planter on Boeuf. In after years he was elected to the legislature on the Whig Ticket and was the candidate for governor against Thomas Overton Moore in 1859. McWhorters was from Catahoula parish. He was Wells' second. In after years he was state treasurer.

These men with Doctors Cuny and Denny had met on the sand bar as seconds, surgeons and friends of Dr. Thomas H. Maddox and Samuel L. Wells who were to be engaged in a duel. Dr. Maddox was a native of Maryland, educated in Edinburgh, and after practicing his profession for a short time in his native state came to Rapides where he entered upon the practice of medicine with Dr. Robert H. Sibley. He was very successful and in a short time had built up a very large clientele among the better class of people. The doctor was given to gossiping with his patients and this was the foundation of his difficulty with Wells. It would seem that the good doctor repeated the conversation of a lady patient, who having discovered that the gossip she had passed on would likely cause trouble got in touch with Maddox and bound him to secrecy as to his authority. He stood fast and declined to tell General Montfort Wells the name of the lady. A few days later Wells meeting Maddox on the public road attempted to get what he considered satisfaction by the use of a shot gun. Wells was a bad shot, missed Maddox and hit another man. Wells in due time was challenged to fight a duel, but for some reason declined the challenge. Crain offered to take the place of Maddox, with like results. When the two challenges had been declined, Crain informed Wells that since they would not fight a duel that his party would make it a street fight the first time Wells came to town. Samuel Levi Wells, a brother of the General and a bachelor, agreed to take the place of his brother and accepted the challenge. The first place named for the duel was Burr's Ferry on the Sabine river in what was long known as the neutral strip. General Walter H. Overton, a friend to both parties, objected to the location, stating that if they insisted upon fighting at the Ferry none of the parties would ever return home. After much ado about where the fight would take place, the sand bar opposite Natchez was selected and both parties journeyed to Natchez to spend the night before the duel. In the Wells party were Thomas Jefferson Wells, James Bowie, General Samuel Cuny, McWhorters, and the surgeon Dr. Cuny. In the other party was Norris Wright, Robert A. Crain, the Blanchard brothers, and Dr. Denny the surgeon. Both parties were ferried across the river. It was agreed that the principals were to be accompanied on the field by the seconds and the physicians, and that the friends were to remain a half mile away from the scene of action. The principals took their places and exchanged shots, both missing.

The pistols were reloaded and discharged and both principals again were unharmed. Then Wells offered his apology which was readily accepted by Maddox and the party started for a grove of willows where refreshment had been provided to pledge new-made peace. About this time Cuny and Bowie had come on to the field in violation of the agreement and as the principals were walking out, Cuny called to Crain that then and there was a good time to settle their little difference, at the same time drawing a pistol. Crain turned and fired at Bowie who was with Cuny. Bowie was struck in the hip, Crain in the fleshy part of the arm. Dr. Cuny tried to prevent his brother from going into the fight and for a time forceably held him, but finally freeing himself he started back at Crain who now fired his remaining pistol, mortally wounding General Cuny. Bowie had not been disabled and drawing his knife advanced upon Crain. When Bowie was within reach of Crain, Crain struck Bowie over the head with his pistol used as a club. As Crain retreated, his friend Norris Wright came upon the scene and attacked Bowie with a sword cane. Bowie was already wounded and bleeding. He attempted to ward off the sword cane, but failed. It struck him in the breast striking the bone and breaking off. Wright was near enough for Bowie to reach him with one of his hands, and gripping him like a vice he stabbed him to death with his knife. In some way Alfred Blanchard was wounded by a pistol ball. This ended the duel and the fight. A friend on either side was dead, two of the other friends of Maddox were wounded. Neither of the principals to the duel had been touched. Wright and Cuny were buried in Vidalia. Bowie was taken to Natchez where he recovered. The others returned home.

After returning home Samuel L. Wells contracted some of the fevers that prevailed in this section at that time and died shortly thereafter. Dr. Maddox lived to be near ninety years of age.

It is not necessary to recount the other duels that took place in Rapides. They were nothing to be proud of.

Jim Bowie's Legendary Knife Duels

Click on image to enlarge.

The cover of the July 1958 Sir! magazine depicts Jim Bowie's fabled knife duel with a Mexican in which their left hands were tied together and their pant legs nailed to a log. The blades look disappointingly small, Bowie looks like an actor in a 1950s TV western, and the Mexican has a bandolier of metallic cartridges that would not be invented for another 40 years, but what the painting lacks in accuracy it makes up for in dramatic action.

The interior story is reprinted below, in its entirety. It describes several of the legendary fights of Bowie. The accounts include numerous factual errors and exaggerate the details to a degree unmatched by anything published previously.

JIM BOWIE'S WRIST-TO-WRIST KNIFE DUEL

His Left Wrist Lashed to His Opponent's with a Piece of Buckskin, Bowie Slashed Away with the Glinting Razor-Sharp Edge of the Murderous Knife He Had Invented. In a Moment the Man’s Guts Were Spilled Out in a Gray-Green Pool

By PHILIP MICHAELS

They called him The Young Lion. He was tall, with blond hair and broad shoulders that hunched when he walked. The great American Southwest saw many giants, but none to compare with the incredible legend of Jim Bowie.

Slave runner, land baron, soldier, fortune hunter--Jim Bowie was all of these. But the pages of history accord him special recognition for his feats with the terrible weapon that was named after him--the sharp, glinting, murderous Bowie knife.

According to eyewitnesses, Jim became a cold-blooded, cat-like man when the angry blade was in his hand. It was short and broad, with a razor-sharp edge, and weighed over a pound. One quick slice was enough to spill a man's guts out in a gray-green pool on the ground.

It was in 1831 that Jim Bowie first used this weapon. He returned to his boyhood home of Washington, Arkansas, and went directly to the blacksmith shop of Joseph Black, a thin, quiet man with a reputation for leading well-developed young ladies out behind the shop to show them the moon through the branches of a great hickory tree.

In a letter to his brother Harlon, Joseph Black recalled: "Jim, he come in the shop and took up a piece of brown paper with a shape drawn out on it. 'Joe,' he says, 'I want you to make me a knife out of this here pattern. Make it good and make it sharp and don't spare the fire.' So I took it and figgered that as long as I was making him a knife, I might just do it up brown and besides, I been wanting to make one myself for some time, you remember.

"I fired up two pieces of the best metal I could get and hammered out two knives. I tempered them just right. I never before used that temper, but you know that since then I have been the only one around who could make a real Bowie knife and I ain't figgering on telling nobody how, not even you (ha ha, I am just joking, you know that, Harlon).

"Jim, he come back to Washington in about the middle of June and I had it all finished, and I showed him his knife. He let on like he was real happy and said how much did he owe, and then I just couldn't hold it in no more and I bust out laughing and showed him the one I had made too and first thing you know, he slapped me on the shoulder and called me an old so and so (you know that I or no-one I know has ever heard that man use a cuss word?) and said that he would take the one I had made and that he was mighty obliged to me.

"Then he said something real funny. He took out the pistol he had stuck in his britches and took a pot shot at that big old hickory tree, and then he said: 'The good thing about this here knife is that it don't take no time to reload it.' And he threw it just as pretty as you ever did see and stuck it all the way through the bark. I tell you, Harlon, that was one real mean fighting knife I made him and that boy sure knew how to use it."

Jim Bowie had good reason to know how to use a knife. From the time he was 15 he was in and out of scrapes. He was not what you might call a good man, but he was honest in that he would never cheat or lie or steal from you.

A card sharp named Bloody Sturdivant learned this the hard way one day in Natchez-under-the-Hill just a few weeks after Jim picked up his knife from Joseph Black.

Jim was having a quiet drink when he saw a young man named John Lattimore gambling with the packet-boat gambler who had a reputation for fast dealing. Lattimore was losing and suddenly Jim got up and went over.

"Lattimore," he said, "you've never laid eyes on me but I know your father well. As an old friend, let me take your place for a while."

Within half an hour Jim had won back all the money the boy had lost, and a few hundred to boot. He got up from the table and handed Lattimore the money. "There it is," he said. "Next time stay out of card games with sharpers who deal from the bottom of the deck."

Bloody Sturdivant flushed angrily and leaped up. "You can't talk like that about me!" he yelled. "Apologize or give me satisfaction!"

"My pleasure," Jim said, narrowing his eyes.

"Name your weapon!"

"Knives," said Bowie.

"Knives it is. You made a mistake this time, you pretty boy planter."

"My name is Bowie," Jim said quietly. "And if your knife is as fast as your tongue I'll worry."

Sturdivant went white. If he had been alone with Bowie he might have tried to find some way out of the duel. But a crowd was watching with interest. So the burly gambler put on a sneer and laughed. "Talk about fast tongues!" he growled. "It'd take a strong rope tied around your foot to keep you from running all the way to New Orleans the minute you get your first cut."

"Why, then," said Jim, "we'd better do something about that. What say we have it out in the morning, with our arms tied to each other with rawhide?" Then he turned and walked through the silent crowd. Behind him Sturdivant sank into his chair and gulped a drink.

The next morning the two men met in a small circle traced out in the sand beneath the bluffs of the Natchez waterfront. Their left wrists were lashed together with a strand of buckskin.

At the signal Jim jerked his opponent to him and slashed out with the heavy blade. A jagged tear appeared in Sturdivant's sleeve, and as the gambler shrieked in agony Jim kneed him in the groin. Sturdivant's knife sparkled in the early morning sun as it flew to the bank of the Mississippi and rolled into the brown water.

The gambler cowered and prepared himself for the death thrust but Jim Bowie merely laughed coldly and slashed the buckskin that bound them together. "Call this quits, Sturdivant," he said. "But be careful in the future who you cheat."

Almost gibbering in gratitude the gambler staggered up the hill. He was through in this town, but at least he was alive.

Others were not so lucky. Once a neighboring Spanish planter challenged Jim over a girl named Lucy Harding. The two men met in the early morning chill and once again Jim fought with his left wrist lashed to his opponent's.

"Ready?" Jim asked.

"For you, always!" replied the planter.

The signal came and with it the Spaniard spat full in Jim Bowie's face. Jim drew his head back, surprised. Then, as the planter raised his arm to thrust with his narrow razor-sharp dagger, Jim countered with a solid thrust of the Bowie knife that ripped through the Spaniard's jacket and lace-trimmed shirt. The planter stiffened and blood gushed from his mouth and nose. He stood, transfixed, as Jim's blade searched his bowels.

Coolly Jim slid his blood-smeared knife from the planter's belly and sliced the buckskin thong that bound them. The Spaniard fell backward, his legs straining once as a ragged gasp ripped from his bloody lips.

No one knows for sure how many men Jim Bowie faced with the heavy knife that came to be so widely copied throughout the Southwest. Later, after his heroic death at the Alamo in 1836, the Bowie family tried to hush up Jim's many battles. But to his contemporaries he was rightly a man to be feared. He didn't look for trouble, but when it came to him he met it with cold steel.

Before leaving Natchez he was involved in a bloody duel in which, oddly enough, the principals were completely unharmed, while the seconds slaughtered each other.

Dr. T. H. Maddox and Col. Samuel Wells, a prominent Rapids Parish planter, met on the field of honor. They fired simultaneously and both missed. Both agreed that their disagreement had been settled and they prepared to retire for a much-needed drink.

Jim and his friend Richard Cuney were seconds for Dr. Maddox. Col. Robert A. Crain and Major Norris Wright, who had no great love for Jim, were standing up for Col. Wells. Cuney and Col. Crain began arguing over the fiasco of the duel. Crain claimed nothing had been settled and the two men should fire again.

"You're just a blood-thirsty professional killer!" Cuney shouted, and suddenly gunfire erupted. No one could be sure who had drawn first but within seconds Crain's slug had caught Cuney full in the chest and Jim had fired at Crain, missing.

Cuney was slammed back against a tree, gasping for breath as he went down. Before Dr. Maddox could reach him he was dead. Now both Crain and Jim drew second pistols and fired. Jim missed again but Crain's ball struck Bowie in the thigh, ripping out a painful gash. Jim staggered and went down on one knee. As he fell he drew his knife and leaped toward Crain, who hurled his pistol at Bowie. Jim fell again, his forehead torn by the heavy weapon. At that moment, without warning, Major Wright leaped past Crain, drawing his own sword. "You've been looking for this!" he yelled as he thrust the wicked blade at the prostrate man.

Jim caught the blade in his left hand and turned it into the ground. With an inarticulate grunt he pulled Wright down onto him and the wide razor-sharp blade of the Bowie knife sliced into the major's abdomen, opening it to the backbone. Wright stiffened as he felt the deadly thrust. "Damn you, Bowie," he groaned, "you've killed me."

Without another sound he collapsed and died, his blood and guts spilling over Jim's jacket and trousers.

But the bloodiest battle in history was yet to come. It was related to a Memphis newspaper by Judge William F. Pope of Arkansas. "Jim Bowie was a difficult man to anger," said the judge. "I have seen him smile at insults that would send other men reaching for their pistols. But once angered I have never seen a man so determined to take the fullest vengeance from his enemy."

The judge then went on to describe one of the goriest knife fights he--or anyone--had ever seen.

It seems Jim had been drinking in an Amarillo saloon when a Mexican strode in and, slapping his hand on the bar, demanded service. The bartender refused, claiming the man was already drunk. Jim Bowie intervened. "Serve him," he said. "He's no more drunk than I am."

The Mexican turned on him and swore in Spanish. Jim just smiled tightly and sipped his drink. Finally the man came right up to him and, breathing alcoholic-tainted breath into his face, said: "Gringo with water for blood, your white face disturbs me. Go before I make you eat dung!"

Jim rose and slapped the man across the face with a beer-soaked rag. "When I eat offal," he said tightly, "you had better hide."

This was no duel between gentlemen. This was a brutal, violent battle between beasts. Without another word Jim and the Mexican went out into the field behind the saloon and took off their jackets. Each was insulting the other in the vilest and most descriptive terms possible.

No simple fight was enough to satisfy these two. The onlookers, most of them natives of Amarillo, were horrified when Jim asked for a hammer and nails. They had all heard of the bronze giant's strange manner of fighting with wrists bound together, but the spectacle they were about to witness seemed beyond belief.

Watching each other keenly Jim and the Mexican-sat down astride a log and had their left wrists bound together. Then, as the onlookers gasped, Bowie ordered the surprised bartender take the hammer and, piercing the leather britches both men wore, nail them to the log!

"Shall we make it quick?" Jim asked, struggling to keep control.

"Quick as a whole summer day!" hissed the other man. "You will swallow your own cojones today!"

Jim set his jaw and settled back on the log, digging his feet into the parched earth.

The signal came. Both men tensed but neither moved. The crowd watched, breathless. The fighters studied each other tensely, the only movement being the flare and constriction of air-sucking nostrils.

Suddenly the Mexican struck. His blade whispered through the air and drew a red line along Jim Bowie's jaw. Jim struck back as the man twisted and the Bowie knife searched only empty air. "Gringo!" hissed the man. "You are slow! "

Jim Bowie licked at the blood that ran into the corner of his mouth. The gash was slight but bled profusely.

Then Bowie slashed out. This time he didn't miss. The heavy blade crunched into the Mexican's jaw with a bone-tearing noise that made the watchers wince. The face that had been smooth and brown was suddenly a grotesque, torn mask, with the white roots of teeth exposed through the quivering wound.

Blood frothing from his lips, the Mexican lunged at Bowie. His knife pierced Jim's side but struck no bone, and the impetus of his thrust carried him forward until he was bent almost double, the belt of his trousers digging into his belly as the nails ripped out of the seat of the leather pants.

"Not so quick," Jim said quietly. He slashed at the man's arm and as the tendons separated and ripped back from the wound the Mexican dropped the knife and shrieked in agony.

Jim lifted the great Bowie knife and touched it to the Mexican's throat. The man shuddered and his tongue lolled from his mouth. Smiling coldly, Jim reached down and picked up the other knife. He put it on the log between them and placing his own beside it, raised his hands into the air.

The Mexican made a quick grab. Catching up his knife he thrust it toward Jim, who parried the thrust with one hand, while lifting his own weapon with the other.

"Pardon," he whispered as the cruel weapon plunged into the Mexican's solar plexus.

The man strained and once again his knife fell to the ground. An evil glint in his eye, Jim released his grip on the Bowie knife. It protruded from the man's belly, plunging up and down as the Mexican gasped from pain.

"Once more?" Jim asked softly, pressing the knife into his opponent's hand.

The Mexican had guts. He tried again and this time his blade sliced a hole in Jim's thigh. Jim had no need to thrust again. He merely caught the handle of the Bowie knife and twisted it in a full circle.

The Mexican's mouth was a grotesque cavern, filled with blood and exposed teeth. He wailed once more, then fell forward against Jim, vomiting blood and guts.

Jim had to be carried from the log to his hotel, where he lay in bed for almost a week. The Bowie knife lay with him, but to the best of anyone's knowledge that day in Amarillo was the last time it ever tasted blood.

The next February Jim Bowie was at the gallant, futile battle of the Alamo in San Antonio. He lay ill with pneumonia as Santa Anna's soldiers battered at the walls of the undermanned fortification. The Mexicans breeched the wall, gained the chapel and moved on into the barracks.

Jim Bowie saw the face of a grenadier and, taking up a pistol, fired. The face sank out of sight but was replaced by another. Raising his other pistol, Jim fired again. Then the room was full of soldiers and as he made a grab for the faithful Bowie knife, he saw the flash of a descending bayonet, felt a brief moment of pain.

The Mexican officer in charge ordered that the fallen Mexicans be buried with honors while the Texans were thrown onto a huge fire and burned. As the down-heartened people of San Antonio started to obey the order General Santa Anna moved along the scene of blood and carnage. At last he went into the barracks and saw the torn body of Jim Bowie and the two fallen Mexicans. "He was much too brave to be burned like a dog," Santa Anna said. "See that he is given decent burial."

The sky was bright and clear and full of sun. The Mexican general looked down again and shrugged. "But, then," he said softly, "what does it matter? Throw him on the fire." 

THE END.

Granted, this article is shameless balderdash throughout, but I have to take particular exception to the statement, "Jim Bowie was at the gallant, futile battle of the Alamo in San Antonio." How was it futile? The inspirational last stand was key to the success of the Texas Revolution.

Description of the Bowie Knife from 1847

 

Description of the bowie knife by Charles Hooton, an Englishman who visited Texas in the 1840s, from his book St. Louis’ Isle, or Texiana (1847):

Having already mentioned the bowie-knife, as not only so common but so formidable a weapon, both in Texas and the whole South, the reader will perhaps not be displeased to hear a little more of it,—the various tragical hand-to-hand exploits which have been from time to time performed, even amongst the "highest circles" of that quarter of the world, through its agency, having conferred upon it a degree of bloody and horrible distinction never yet acquired by many of its elder brethren of the same craft. Let it not, however, be regarded altogether in the light of an engine of human slaughter; since, in many other respects, it is one of the most useful of articles to the settler and frontierman. The same blade which this morning, perhaps, was buried to the hilt in the body of an enemy—or it may be of a friend, with whom its owner had a "difficulty"—will also serve to-night to carve the venison for supper; to skin and cut up the hunter's game; to extract hooks from the gullets of ponderous red-fish, when its master goes a-fishing; or to supply any other need, no matter how small (if not too small for its own size), for which a knife can possibly be required. In short, Butler has accurately predescribed its various uses—aided, no doubt, by a wonderful spirit of poetical prophecy—in the following charming portrait of the dagger of his "Sir Knight":—

It was a serviceable dudgeon,
Either for fighting or for drudging;
When it had stabb'd, or broke a head,
It would scrape trenchers, or chip bread;
Toast cheese or bacon, though it were
To bait a mouse-trap, 'twould not care.

To the best of my knowledge, this instrument was devised by Col. James Bowie, an American, and a man of desperate valour. He considered, and apparently with justice too, that in close fighting, a much shorter weapon than the sword ordinarily in use, but still heavy enough to give it sufficient force, and, at the same time, contrived to cut and thrust, would be far preferable, and more advantageous to the wearer. He accordingly invented the short sword, or knife, which has since gone under his name. It is made of various sizes; but the best, I may say, is about the length of a carving-knife,—cast perfectly straight in the first instance, but greatly rounded at the end on the edge side: the upper edge at the end, for the length of about two inches, is ground into the small segment of a circle and rendered sharp; thus leaving an apparent curve of the knife, although in reality the upturned point is not higher than the line of the back. The back itself gradually increases in weight of metal as it approaches the hilt, on which a small guard is placed. The bowie-knife, therefore, has a curved, keen point; is double-edged for the space of about a couple of inches of its length; and, when in use, falls with the weight of a bill-hook. I have heard it stated, that a blow from one well wielded is sufficient to break a man's arm. . . . Bowie went to Texas during the troubles which preceded the independence of that country, and was lying sick in bed at the Fortress of the Alamo, when, on the 6th of March, 1836, it was stormed by Santa Anna and taken. Bowie was murdered there upon his pillow. The hand that formed the dreadful knife could no longer wield it.

"The Iron Mistress" Bowie Knife

A brief, well-done video showing the creation of the distinctively styled bowie knife used in "The Iron Mistress" (1952) and its use in several subsequent films about the Alamo as well as the pilot episode of "The Adventures of Jim Bowie" television program.

 John Wayne, as Davy Crockett, gives Jim Bowie's knife his nod of approval in this scene from "The Alamo" (1960). Richard Widmark played Bowie in the film.

Bowie Knife Fight from "The Last Command"

Bowie knife duel from "The Last Command," 1955, set at the Alamo and starring Sterling Hayden as Jim Bowie and Ernest Borgnine as the fictional Mike Radin. The portly Borgnine, wielding what appears to be an oversized butter knife, is clearly at a disadvantage against the powerfully built, 6-foot 5-inch Hayden.

Borgnine is the most famous person ever to hail (McHale?) from my hometown of Hamden, Connecticut. (His closest rival would be Thornton Wilder, the writer.) In 2010, 55 years after he filmed this scene, Borgnine starred in "RED" at age 93. He revealed the secret of his longevity to Fox News.

Sterling Hayden (1916-1986) was a real-life adventurer who disdained his career as a movie star. A few snippets from his IMDb bio: Ran away to sea at 17; sailed around the world a number of times; became a ship's captain; met producer Edward H. Griffith who signed him to a Paramount contract; abandoned Hollywood prior to Pearl Harbor to become a commando with the COI (later the OSS); joined the Marines; ran guns to Yugoslav partisans; was awarded Silver Star; joined the Communist Party due to his friendship with Yugoslav Communists, but later testified before the House Un-American Activities Committee; returned to film work in order to pay for a succession of sailing vessels; and ended up with 70 film and TV credits, working for such directors as Kubrick, Coppola, and Bertolucci. "Incredible, really - how I got away with it; parlaying nine years at sea into two decades of posturing," he said of his acting; also: "If I had the dough I'd buy up the negative of every film I ever made . . . and start one hell of a fire."

Alan Ladd as Jim Bowie

Alan Ladd as Jim Bowie in "The Iron Mistress" (1952). There's something to be said for the edge-upward blade position, but the hand-barely-closed-around-the-hilt grip is not recommended.

Alan Ladd is credited as author of a newspaper article about his experience playing Bowie, which I reprint below. I would guess it's not Ladd's work but that of some press flack, but it does provide some background to the movie.

I like to make action pictures and I like them to have plenty of action. As a result, I guess I've got as many scars as any man in Hollywood, because it's up to the star of an action film to do as many of his own stunts as he can. This doesn't mean I'd look forward to parachuting out of a plane for the cameras or taking on any really hazardous stunt that might leave me in a plaster cast for a long time. But when it comes to fist fights, sword fights, leaps and plunges and all the various types of muscular activity that go into a good bang-up picture, I like to do the job myself.

This does not stem from vanity. There are a lot of stunts that either I can't do or the studio won't let me do. They won't let me take a fall from a fast-moving horse because the chances are that I'd break my neck, which would do neither the picture, the studio nor me any good. But I'm an actor and if the script calls for me to fight, duel, jump or climb, then I want to do it if I possibly can. The primary reason is that when you do your own stunts you're going to give a better performance. You can change, you can improvise, you can improve during the course of the action itself, both in rehearsal and before the camera. When I do a stunt myself it has a real value to me. If someone else should do it, it would seem a synthetic thing as far as my own ability and desire to act are concerned. In other words, I'm more of an actor when I do the acting myself, even though my back's to the camera.

Of course you pay a price for this sort of artistic integrity--and I hope that doesn't sound pompous because I don't mean it to be. Every once in a while you'll take a sock in the jaw or a bump on the head or some sort of injury from a sprained ankle to a concussion. I got more than my usual share of cuts, scratches, bumps, bruises and contusions on "The Iron Mistress" at Warner Bros.

In this picture I play Jim Bowie, the famous knife fighter, pioneer, adventurer and all-around tough cookie who invented the Bowie knife. I was involved in more than a dozen fights of one kind or another in this picture and I was right in the middle of all of them. "The Iron Mistress" is chock-full of action and we might use it as an example of what an actor in an action picture goes through. About the second day of the picture I dueled with Ned Young. It took place in a dark room, illuminated only by a skylight, and I fought with a knife while Ned used a sword. The hazards of this kind of jousting with cold steel are bad enough on a well-lighted set. In a pretty dark room, it is wise to be mighty careful. Well, I was, but not careful enough. I got nicked on the ear and the right arm. I progressed through a few fist fights and then came a brawl with Richard Carlyle and Dick Paxton. They play my brothers in the picture but the scene had us playing a little rough back on the old farm. Before we go through, I banged my knee on a tree and had to be taken to a doctor's office for X-rays. It wasn't broken but I limped for a few days, during which time they shot around me. Out on location at the Warner ranch, we had to do a scene which involved my leaping from a river bank onto the backs of two heavies who are looking for me with murderous intent. Now I could have scrambled down the bank, but Jim Bowie wouldn't have done it that way. I flew out into the air and down on the villains. I guess I was about the last of the three to get my breath back, but I was proud of that stunt. By the time the last day of the picture arrived, I was in pretty bad shape. I was cut and bruised, my knee hurt, my back hurt and so did my side. That last injury was received during what I thought would be a pretty simple stunt, which just goes to show. I fell down when someone shot me. Somehow, in trying to break my fall, I put my hand under me. Only I had it doubled up into a fist and my ribs were the first to make contact with it. Off to the doctor's again for another X-ray, but again, fortunately, nothing broken. Anyway, the last day of the picture arrived and I thought I'd get by without any further damage. It was a scene in which I stick a knife into a tree. The knife caromed off the tree and I whacked it with my fist. Back to the doctor's again and more X-rays. This time I wasn't so lucky. My hand was really broken and required a cast for several weeks. So I can truthfully say "The Iron Mistress" was a three X-ray picture for me.    

Naturally, I don't like to banged around and hurt any more than the next fellow. But it's all part of the business. It probably isn't any more dangerous than taking a jaunt by car through Los Angeles traffic.