"Early Life in the Southwest--the Bowies"

The following article on James Bowie was written by his oldest brother, John Jones Bowie, (1785-1859). Titled "Early Life in the Southwest--The Bowies," it was published in De Bow's Review of the Southern and Western States (1852). While it contains numerous errors as far as names, most of which I have corrected in brackets, it remains one of the few authentic sources we have on the Bowie family.

My father and mother were both born in the state of Georgia. They were married in 1782 in the county of Burke of the same state; my mother's maiden name being Elvira Jones; my father's name was Rezin Bowie. During my infancy, or about the year 1787, my parents moved from Georgia to the state of Tennessee, where they remained for six or seven years. During this sojourn my father had frequent skirmishes with the Indians, and was engaged in the conflicts then so common in that devoted country. After this he removed to Logan county, Kentucky, where my brother James was born in the spring of 1796.

My father was passionately fond of the adventures and excitements of a woodsman's life, and as the country improved and opened, population increased, and the refinements of civilization encroached upon the freedom of his hunting-grounds, he retired to wilder regions, where he could enjoy those sports and stirring adventures peculiar to a frontier life. In the year 1800 he removed to the state, or rather province of Missouri, and in 1802 he came and settled on the Bushley Bayou, in what was then the district of Rapides, Louisiana, and under Spanish rule. Here he remained till 1809, when he again, and for the last time, took up the line of march, and finally settled in the district of Opelousas, where he remained until he died, in 1819, in the fall of the year. He sleeps with the common mother Earth, without any stone or inscription to mark the resting-place of him whose bosom was so often bared, and whose hand was so often raised for the defence of his family, and the homes and firesides of his countrymen, against the secret and deadly attacks of savage foes. At his death he left four sons, myself being the eldest, Rezin, James and Stephen, and two daughters. [The Bowies had ten children, but only six were still alive at the time of their father's death.]

James Bowie, with the rest of my father's family, was raised mostly in remote and wild regions, and consequently grew up with but little education, or other advantages besides those inherited by natural endowment, or acquired from parental instruction. We certainly were greatly indebted to our dear mother for much of the information we possessed. She was a sincerely pious woman, and always inculcated the pure principles of the religion of that Saviour whom she so faithfully served.

My brother James spent the most important part of his childhood in Catahoula parish, between the years 1802 and 1809, embracing the period between the ages of six and fifteen years.

About the year 1814 James left my father's house and launched upon life—

"With all the world before him,"

and not only undertook to provide for himself, but actually did it, as has often been done by hundreds of others before and since. He settled on Bayou Boeuf, Rapides Parish, and cleared a small piece of land, but his chief means of support was from sawing plank and other lumber with the common whip-saw, and boating down the Bayou for sale. The proceeds of his lumber procured him his food and clothing, powder and shot, &c.

He was young, proud, poor, and ambitious, without any rich family connections, or influential friends to aid him in the battle of life. After reaching the age of maturity he was a stout, rather rawboned man, of six feet height, weighed 180 pounds, and about as well made as any man I ever saw. His hair was light-colored, not quite red—his eyes were gray, rather deep set in his head, very keen and penetrating in their glance; his complexion was fair, and his cheekbones rather high. Taken altogether, he was a manly, fine-looking person, and by many of the fair ones he was called handsome. He was possessed of an open, frank disposition, with rather a good temper, unless aroused by some insult, when the displays of his anger were terrible, and frequently terminated in some tragical scene. But he was never known to abuse a conquered enemy, or to impose upon the weak and defenceless. A man of very strong social feelings, he loved his friends with all the ardor of youth, and hated his enemies and their friends with all the rancor of the Indian. He was social and plain with all men, fond of music and the amusements of the day, and would take a glass in merry mood to drive dull care away; but seldom allowed it to "steal away his brains, or transform him into a beast."

He lived and labored several years on Bayou Boeuf, where no doubt many yet live who can recount his deeds of wild sport and recklessness which he there performed, prompted by his innate love of excitement. He was fond of fishing and hunting, and often afforded rare sport to his neighbors by his daring exploits in roping and capturing wild deer in the woods, or catching and riding wild unmanageable horses. He has been even known to rope and ride alligators. He had a way of catching bears which was entirely original. In the summer season, when the bears were constantly ravaging the little patches of green corn of the early settlers, he adopted the following novel plan to entrap them. After finding the place where they usually entered the field, he procured a hollow cypress knee of suitable size, which was properly cleaned out, and then sharp iron spikes were driven through it with the points inward and inclined downward, similar to the fingers of a fish-trap. Being thus prepared, some honey (of which the bear is passionately fond) was put in the bottom of the inverted knee, and this put at the place where the bear crossed the fence. In his eagerness to get the honey, Bruin would thrust his muzzle and head down amongst the spikes; and when he would attempt to draw out his head, the spikes would pierce the skin and flesh in such a manner at to prevent him from throwing off the mask, and in this blindfolded condition he became an easy prey to his gleeful captors.

During his sojourn here Bowie mixed a little with society, and was very successful in securing a fair portion of the friendship of the better class of the people. As the country improved and landed property became enhanced in value, he sold his land on the Bayou and used the means, thus obtained, in speculating in the purchase of Africans from the notorious Lafitte, who brought them to Galveston, Texas, for sale. James, Rezin and myself fitted out some small boats at the mouth of the Calcasieu, and went into the trade on shares. Our plan of operations was as follows:—We first purchased forty negroes from Lafitte at the rate of one dollar per pound, or an average of $140 for each negro; we brought them into the limits of the United States, delivered them to a custom-house officer, and became the informers ourselves; the law gave the informer half of the value of the negroes, which were put up and sold by the United States marshal, and we became the purchasers of the negroes, took the half as our reward for informing, and obtained the marshal's sale for the forty negroes, which entitled us to sell them within the United States. We continued to follow this business until we made $65,000, when we quit and soon spent all our earnings.

James then went into the land speculation and soon made $15,000. This business necessarily caused him to spend much of his time in the woods, where natural inclination also gave the employment a charm peculiarly pleasant to him. He had a hunting-knife made, which suited his fancy, by a common blacksmith named Snowden. In after years this knife became famous, owing to some very tragical occurrences which originated as follows:—About the year 1826, James became involved in the political and party squabbles of the day, and his fiery, impulsive nature caused him to enlist all his energies in the strife. At this time he resided in Alexandria, on Red River, and in some of the momentary excitements of the day an altercation took place between him and the sheriff of Rapides Parish, a Mr. Norris Wright, during which Wright shot Bowie in his left breast, while he was unarmed; but had Wright not been rescued by his friends James would have killed him with his fists. This attack so enraged him that he had a neat leather scabbard made for his hunting-knife, and affirmed that he would wear it as long as he lived, which he did. About twelve months after this difficulty, or in September, 1827, the great duel took place at Natchez.

After my brother recovered from his wounds, he felt as though he had not been well used, or properly treated by some of his political friends, so he determined to leave the United States and go to Texas. For several years he had spent his winters in New Orleans, but during the time was engaged in no business besides what was connected with his land speculations. He continued to spend these seasons there until he finally disposed of his lands and negroes, which was about the year 1829, or 1830, when he left for Texas with only about a thousand dollars, which he invested there in lands.

He fearlessly launched forth into all the then existing war and strife of that country. His valor and courage recommended him to the chivalrous Mexicans, and in a short time he won a name and distinction in that country. Here he married the daughter of Ex-Governor Berrymenda [Veramendi]. She lived to have one child, but both mother and child were followed to the grave before he was killed at the Alamo.

During the few years he spent in Texas he had many strange and hazardous adventures, probably the most notable of which was the following. He and Rezin Bowie, with nine others, went in search of a silver mine about 200 miles northwest of San Antonio. While on this expedition they were attacked by about one hundred and fifty Camanche Indians. James being well acquainted with the habits and manners of these savages, soon perceived that they were on trail of him and his little party for the purpose of murdering or robbing them, so he availed himself of the first suitable place for defence. He selected a point of woodland jutting out to a point in the prairie where there were great quantities of loose stones, out of which he and his men soon constructed a temporary fort for immediate defence; but before they had completed their work, the savages

“--Came down like the wolf on the fold.
Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green,
That host with their banners at noon day were seen;
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown,
That host in the evening lay withered and strewn."

These modern Parthians, who fight only on horseback, and almost live on horseback, are perhaps the most formidable warriors in the country. They came boldly up within sixty yards of the little rocky fort, and opened a murderous fire upon the inmates. On the first fire they killed a Mr. Castleman [McCaslin], broke the leg of a Mr. Pool [sic; this is Buchanan], and shot a Mr. Doyal [Doyle] through the body, who, however, recovered afterwards. This left the two Bowies, five other white men and one negro, who had to defend themselves against these merciless wretches, and at the same time nurse and attend their wounded comrades. The Indians continued their attack, riding rapidly round and round the fort, and keeping up an incessant fire. But in the mean time the inmates of the fort were not idle, but they kept up a deadly and effective fire upon their assailants. James on one side and Resin on the other, encouraged and cheered their comrades, and showed them how to dodge the shots of the enemy. The fight continued for three or four hours; the savages then retreated a short distance, leaving some fifty or sixty of their dead on the prairie grass, together with a number of dead horses;—

"For there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,
But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride;
And the foam of his gasping lay red on the turf.
And cold as the spray of the rock-beaten surf.
And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
With the gore on bis brow and the gore on his mail;
And the tents are all silent, the banners alone,
The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown."

During the night they carried away the dead bodies of their comrades, and early next morning renewed the attack, and continued to do so for several days, every day forming their line of attack, yet farther and farther off, until they got beyond the reach of gun-shot. Finally, after having killed fully a hundred of the Indians, and their wounded comrades were in such a situation as to be moved, they determined to leave Rocky Fort, which they did in the night, bringing Pool and Doyal safe back to the settlements.

James had many other fights with the Indians and Mexicans, the particulars of which I am unable to furnish you.

He closed his career in the bloody battle of the Alamo, where he was not so fortunate as he was at Rocky Fort, though equally as brave and dauntless, and his rifle was fully as deadly as before.

After the final destruction of all the brave inmates of the Alamo, and when they came to attend to the burial of the dead, tradition says that the Mexican chief officer ordered the remains of James Bowie to be honorably buried by themselves, as he said "he was too great a man to be buried with the common soldiers." He sleeps alone, without any stone or inscription to mark the spot, or say to the passer-by, "here lie the mortal remains of the brave." J. J. B.

Bowie Knife Against Burglar

The following account of an armed confrontation with a burglar was published in the Bucks County Gazette in 1889. As a young man, the writer, Mat Hawthorn, had worked for a hardware store in New York City and had two encounters with burglars. The second incident involved a bowie knife and is quoted below:

Two years later I was sent to Savannah, Ga., by my employers to open and manage a branch store in that city.

I was yet unmarried. The store had a bedroom in the rear, adjoining the office, and there I lodged. In it was one large window, which opened upon an alley, as did also the rear door of the store in the adjoining entry At night all the doors were locked and barred.

The bedroom window had a tight, heavy outside shutter, made of boards and battened, which I could close and fasten inside. The window sill, with its broad ledge, was fully four feet above the floor.

One moonlight night, when I had been established in the business for several months, the weather being very warm, I left the shutter unclosed and lowered the top sash a few inches to admit fresh air. I had not been disturbed by nocturnal intruders since my arrival, and had, owing to the heat, become quite careless. Besides, I kept within reach from my bed a formidable bowie knife.

About midnight I awoke. The room was dark, although the moon was shining brightly. A slight noise attracted my attention to the window, and there I saw a stalwart fellow endeavoring to pry open the lower sash with a chisel, and know that in a very few minutes he would effect an entrance. With a gun or pistol I could have killed him without rising, but as I had no weapon except the bowie knife, I had to decide instantly upon some method of thwarting his purpose, for I felt that if he once gained admittance he would kill me if he could.

Getting out of bed into a dim corner as quietly as possible, and armed with the bowie knife, I crept along the wall on my hands and knees until I was fairly under the ledge of the window sill. Then I carefully rested on one knee and prepared for an attack. I had no sooner done so than the lower sash yielded and was carefully raised and wedged with the chisel. Then I heard the fellow clambering in. As he gained the sill, bare-footed, he paused an instant to reconnoiter, and lightly leaped into the room.

This was the most critical moment I had ever experienced. As he sprang from the ledge I suddenly rose and plunged the bowie knife into his breast, and he fell dead, prostrating me with the force of his fall. In s second I was up again and looking out of the window to discover his confederate, if he had one, but all was quiet in the alley, and no one was visible.

As I turned to light a lamp and get a better idea of the position, I felt the warm blood of the burglar laving my feet. There he lay, as dead as Julius Caesar, a big, burly negro, holding in his stiffened grasp a bowie knife much larger than mine, and I was very, very thankful that he had found no opportunity to use it upon me.

I dressed myself hurriedly, with a nervous tremor that I had not noticed until then, and hastened to open the front door of the store. The street was bathed in moonlight and mid- night silence was over all. Again and again I shouted the name of the patrolman on that beat, with whom 1 had an intimate acquaintance, and in a few minutes he came, running and quite excited by the novelty of being wanted.

After a brief relation of my adventure and a closer examination of the dead burglar, the guardian of the night identified him as an old offender, a desperate villain well known to the police.

More officers wore speedily called in, and the body, with the negro's bowie knife and chisel, was removed.

I spent an unquiet hour, trembling with nervous excitement in washing the floor and closing the shutter and window. Then I walked the floor another hour to soothe my rebellious nerves, and then I went to bed and slept the sleep of the just until daylight.

This was my last encounter with a burglar. The sport is too exciting for frequent indulgence or for enjoyment.

I may say, in conclusion, that this adventure paved the way for my entrance into the firm as a partner. My "pluck," and possibly a serviceable supply of assurance, besides my constant fidelity to the interests of the business, served me in lieu of capital.

Six Reasons to Wear a Dagger

Daggers of the World. 1. A short Japanese dagger or knife; 2. A Gurkha kukri; 3. A West African dagger; 4. A Burmese poniard with a 'langue de boeuf' blade, resembling that of the anelace [a medieval long dagger] of the Fifteenth Century; 5. A Mandingo dagger, Africa; 6. An Arab poniard; 7. An Indian poniard; 8. Sharp-pointed, broad-bladed, two-edged dagger, East Africa; 9. A small Turkish khandjar with chalcedony handle. (The illustration and descriptions are from Weapons: A Brief Discourse on Hand-Weapons Other Than Fire-arms, by Bertram Edward Sargeaunt.)

The Military Art of Training, published in 1622, recommends that soldiers wear a dagger, describing it as "the necessariest weapon that belongs to a souldier." Six reasons for doing so are listed:

(1) The handsome appearance of the weapon;
(2) Its advantage over the sword at close quarters;
(3) Its superiority in a private combat;
(4) Its utility for the speedy despatch of the vanquished;
(5) Its advantage as a means for tethering a horse in the open;
(6) Its awe-inspiring effect if drawn by an officer when sedition is imminent.   

It's easy to think of additonal reasons that could be added to that list, but it's a good start. Reason (4) reminds us that the type of dagger called a misericorde ("mercy stroke") was intended specifically to finish off mortally wounded combatants. Reason (5) was a popular reason for wearing a bowie knife--plunged into the ground, it provided a handy stake with which to tether a horse on the prairie.

NOTE: The six reasons quoted above were from a secondary source; I haven't been able to access the original text. However, I later found it quoted elsewhere in language that sounds like an exact quote and more authentic to the period. These, then, are the six reasons that a soldier must wear his dagger:

1st, for ornament; 2ndly, for use in the melee, that when he cannot use his sword, he may doe good with his dagger; 3rdly, if it should come to a private combat, and a sword should break; 4thly, for despatch of the vanquished; 5thly, for tying a horse in an open field, where there is neither bush nor hedge; and 6thly, for the punishment of offenders, for a captain or inferior officer that only draws a dagger, may appease a sedition.

Bowie Knife Maker: James L. Rodebaugh

Double click on image to see larger.

I recently received an unexpected package in the mail. Inside I found the Damascus bowie knife shown above. The blade is 10 3/8-inches and the knife is 15 3/8-inches overall. The handle and sheath are wood, inlaid with silver wire. The knife is beautifully balanced and reminds me of something an elf warrior would have in the Lord of the Rings movies.

The mystery deepened, as there was no note included, but from the Tulsa, Oklahoma return address I figured out that it had been sent by my friend Mike Fletcher, with whom I have corresponded over the years but have yet to meet. I contacted him to express my surprise and delight, and Mike responded:

Enjoy! That was James L. Rodebaugh's first Damascus Bowie. James was a Journeyman Smith at the time and was practicing for his Master Smith test. The blade is maker forged Damascus in the "Southwest" style which typically has a longer point to the blade. . . . The blade is differentially tempered in accordance with American Bladesmith Society standards and is "good to go.” I was introduced to James by the late Al Barton who was one of the founders of the California or West Coast ABS clan.

A recent Rodebaugh Damascus bowie with mastodon ivory scales.

Rodebaugh’s contact information is here.

Bowie Knife Fighter: Liver-Eating Johnson

Liver-Eating Johnson, c. 1876

To readers of this site, Raymond Thorp is probably best known as the author of Bowie Knife (1948), the first book that attempted to assemble the historical record of the iconic American blade. Thorp later wrote another book that achieved some success: Crow Killer: The Saga of Liver Eating Johnson (1958).

John "Liver-Eating" Johnson (1824-1900) was a mountain man of some renown. According to Thorp, after a band of Crow warriors killed his Indian wife, Johnson spent years hunting them down and killing them one by one. After each time killing, he indulged in a grisly ritual of cutting out his enemy's liver with his bowie knife and eating it.

Johnson did, in fact, have a bowie knife, made in Sheffield by Wade & Butcher, with an 11 1/2-inch blade, which is now on display at the Buffalo Bill Historical Center. However, Johnson, a well-known raconteur, never claimed to have methodically consumed livers in the manner that Thorp describes. According to him, after one fight in which he killed an Indian with his knife, he jokingly invited a fellow combatant to share the man's liver with him just to see his reaction, licking his knife as if he'd already taken a bite.

The following satirical account of the origin of Johnson's nickname was published in the Butte Weekly Miner. I have lost my record of the date this article appeared, but it was probably in the mid-1880s, after Johnson was appointed deputy sheriff in Coulson, Montana.

“Liver Eating” Johnson is a famous character and a sturdy relic of the early days. Many stories of how he came by his aristocratic title have been told, some of which are more or less contradictory. Probably the true version has never before been told, though all of them come back to the original source that he gained some fame from eating an Indian's liver. Some authorities say he did not eat the Redskin's internal organ, but after cutting it out placed the bloody knife in his mouth, so that his face got covered with gore, and led those who were near him when the Redskin died, to believe he had actually eaten raw Indian.

This story has unquestionably done Mr. Johnson and the red gentleman an injustice. An Eastern paper, with the usual correctness with which Eastern journals give the world the truth about affairs Out West, gave a few months ago the only really artistic account of how Mr. Johnson secured his Christian name, if “Liver Eating” can be designated under that head. From the Eastern paper in question it is learned that Mr. Johnson from early youth had a fondness for liver. That this appetite stayed with him, when in early life he moved out to Montana, and that he always declared the liver was the best part of any animal.

Once upon a time, as they say in fairy stories, Mr. Johnson was out hunting Indians, buffalo, jackrabbits, and fool hens on the plains of Montana. The party had run out of provisions and were on the verge of starvation, when Mr. Johnson happened to discover a Sioux Indian on foot at a considerable distance. Mr. Johnson, as soon as he caught sight of the Indian, exclaimed, “There's my meat,” and started for the noble red man.

Mr. Johnson, who was somewhat fleeter than a deer, gained rapidly on the Indian, and as he came nearly up with his prey, he gave several war whoops, which, in the language of the poet, curdled the Indian's blood in his veins, and as a result the action of the Redskin's heart was seriously affected. Mr. Johnson finally reached the Indian's back with his knife and proceeded to relieve the native American of his liver. The Indian up to that moment had never lost faith in human nature and never believed that a man would do such a mean trick behind his back. Mr. Johnson apologized for being obliged to thus unceremoniously help himself to the redskin's private property, and explained that only the exigencies of the occasion justified him in the taking of private property for public use without due form of law, but the Indian never got over it and it is said, according to the Eastern paper, to have died soon after of a broken heart. He was deeply cut up over what he considered an example of man's inhumanity to man.. . .

Upon securing the liver, Mr. Johnson returned to his starving friends, brandishing aloft his trophy. The other members of the party, though starving, were somewhat aristocratic by nature and early training, and declined to eat the liver. They were indignant that Mr. Johnson should offer it to them, knowing, as he did, that it could not be prepared properly owing to the lack of onions and mustard. . . .

The moral of the story is that a dangerous appetite for anything, if indulged to excess, is liable to give a man a peculiar, if not a bad name.

The best article I've seen that separates the truth from fiction about Liver-Eating Johnson is "The Abandoned Scout's Revenge: Origins on the Crow Killer," published in the Annals of Wyoming, Summer 2006, p. 2-17. Unfortunately, it is not available on the Web.

Knife Throwing Scene in "The Magnificent Seven"

James Coburn's knife throw from The Magnificent Seven.

There's a famous scene in The Magnificent Seven in which the James Coburn character, Britt, proves his claim that in a showdown in which his opponent is armed with a pistol and he is armed with a knife, he can kill his opponent by throwing his knife into him faster than his opponent can draw and fire his gun. The scene can be watched here.

On the special features track of the DVD, Coburn says that he received knife throwing lessons from a stuntman, Richard Farnsworth, who went on to have a successful acting career of his own. Coburn regularly practiced his throw in his bedroom, making his wife nervous.

But how plausible is this scene? Plausible enough for a Hollywood movie, in which through the magic of editing the knife has barely left Coburn's hand when it is shown sticking out of the gunman's chest. However, if you watch the video below, in which a Japanese knife thrower, Houzan Suzuki, attempts to duplicate Coburn's throw, you will get some idea of the amount of time it takes the knife to reach its target after it leaves his hand. Granted, the underhand style is probably the slowest way to throw a knife, but that was the technique used in the movie.



In that time a skilled pistolero could get easily get off an accurate shot, and a slug from a .45-caliber revolver is going to shut a man down a lot faster than a knife wound to the chest. Bob Munden shows how fast it is possible to shoot a single-action revolver. (Granted he has evolved to the superhuman level.)

Pistol vs. Bowie Knife on the Mississippi River

From the Brooklyn Eagle, 1885, a story probably not meant to be taken too seriously.

LIFE ON THE MISSISSIPPI
Soon after the boat left Vicksburg a young man in a swell suit brought out a pearl handled revolver and began shooting at floating objects on the bosom of the mighty Mississippi. His object seemed to be to show off, and as a knot of passengers began to applaud his shots he grew what might be called triumphantly reckless. The steamer presently overtook a flat boat loaded with hoop poles, bound for the New Orleans market. The steersman, wearing a broad brimmed hat and a red shirt, was a very prominent figure.

“I've seen the day,” remarked a passenger, “that I could put a bullet through that chap's hat and not harm a hair of his head.”

“I can do it myself,” replied the shooter.

“I doubt it, sir; doubt it very much. If you make that shot you can call yourself the champion of the world.”

What did that idiot do but haul off and pop away! We saw the man's hand go up to his ear, and it wasn't half a minute before his place was taken by a second man and he was pulling off for us in his small boat. He was soon alongside, and not a man of us moved as he rushed up the stairs with a bowie knife as long as the leg of a chair in his mad right hand. The shooter was whiter than chalk, but his sang froid was the genuine article. Before the man with the bleeding ear had come within ten feet of him he had a $50 bill out of his wallet and, taking a step forward, he held it out and said: “Sorry to have troubled you, my dear sir. Intended to leave it for you at the next landing. I shot to break the pipe in your mouth, but hit your ear. This is my regular price when I make such blunders.”

Red shirt hesitated--took the bill--scanned the figures on the corners--slowly put up his knife and then turned and left the steamer without having said one single word to any of us. The nerve and money of the dude had prevented that wicked knife from tasting life blood.