Journal Notes

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How the West Was Worn: Bustles and Buckskins on the Wild Frontier

On August 24, 1863, San Francisco’s elite flocked to Maguire’s Opera House. Ladies wearing diamonds and fur coats rode up in handsome carriages: gentlemen in opera capes and silk hats were also in attendance. It was an opening night such as the city had never seen before. All 1,000 seats in the theatre were filled with curious spectators, anxious to see the celebrated melodramatic actress Adah Menken perform.

Adah was starring in the role that made her famous – that of Prince Ivan in Mazzepa. It was rumored that she preferred to play the part in the nude. Newspapers in the East reported that the audience found the scantily clad thespian’s act “shocking, scandalous, horrifying and even delightful.”

The storyline of the play was taken from a Byron poem, in which a Tartar prince is condemned to ride forever in the desert, stripped naked and lashed to a fiery, untamed steed. Adah insisted on playing the part as true to life as possible. The audience waited with bated breath for Adah to walk out on stage, and when she did, a hush fell over the crowd. She was beautiful, with dark hair and large, dark eyes. Adorned in a flesh-colored body nylon and tight-fitting underwear, she left the audience speechless.

During the play’s climatic scene, supporting characters strapped the star to the back of a black stallion. The horse raced up a narrow runway between cardboard representatives of mountain crags. The audience responded with thunderous applause. Adah Menken and her revealing undergarments left the ticket holders in a state of shock – and scandalized the West.

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How the West Was Worn: Bustles and Buckskins on the Wild Frontier

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Amelia Jenks Bloomer was a newspaper editor, public speaker, and proponent of women’s rights and other social reform. She did not design the then-daring outfit that carries her name – a short dress that reaches below the knees with frilled Turkish-style trousers gathered in ruffles at the ankles. She did promote the costume, wore it herself, and watched it become a symbol of the fledgling women’s movement

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Wild Bill Hickok was an American frontier army scout, peace officer, stagecoach driver, and gambler. He was a big man and his 6-foot frame was accentuated by the long wool jackets he frequently wore. The red sash he generally sported around his waist stood out over the dark pants and vest of his everyday wardrobe.

The sash held two pistols, always pointed butt-forward beneath his coat. His giant brimmed hat was cocked on his head and his long wavy hair, parted in the middle, cascaded down his back. Many dime novel readers tried in vain to duplicate his style, but only one could do the look justice.

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How the West Was Worn: Bustles and Buckskins on the Wild Frontier

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Colorado socialite Elizabeth Tabor had golden hair, blue eyes, porcelain skin, and a sense of style that rivaled that of any woman in Leadville. She arrived married to a struggling miner but dressed like she was the bell of the ball. She paraded down the main street of town wearing a sapphire-blue costume with dyed-to-match shoes. Her stunning style caught the attention not only of neighbors and storekeepers but also of millionaire Horace Tabor. Horace and Elizabeth scandalized the community by falling in love, divorcing their spouses, and marrying one another. Horace showered his new bride with jewels and the finest outfits from Boston and Paris. She wore one-of-a-kind outfits to opening nights at the opera house he had built for her.

All eyes were on the young Mrs. Tabor as Horace escorted his young bride into the theater. Her dresses were made of Damasse silk, complete with flowing train made of brocade satin. The material around the arms was fringed with amber beads. The look was topped off with an ermine opera cloak muff. Pictures of the Tabors appeared in the most-read newspapers, and soon, women from San Francisco to New York copied the outfit. The only part of the costume admirers were unable to reproduce to their satisfaction was Mrs. Tabor’s $90,000 diamond necklace.

To learn more about Old West fashion trendsetters like Baby Doe Tabor read

How the West Was Worn: Bustles and Buckskins on the Wild Frontier

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Men and women have always distinguished themselves through fashion. The outfits they chose to wear reflected their performance of different jobs, as well as their roles in society. Due to a lack of availability, however, the average western pioneer did not have the luxury of choosing from a wide assortment of clothing to wear. The one or two outfits he did possess were selected to fit the harsh living and working conditions of the frontier.

Soon after the discovery of gold ushered a flood of newcomers into the western United States, conventional fashion changed dramatically. Men traded dress pants and ties for Levi’s jeans and bandanas. Ladies stowed away their expensive, hooped costumes and donned cheap calico and work boots. Because of such changes, an individual’s role in society could no longer be determined by the garments he or she wore.

The pioneer look was mostly born out of necessity and, at first, was more functional than ornamental. A lady’s billowing skirt and long flowing train were not practical for buckboard travel or frontier living. It was difficult for women to fulfill trail duties while bound in stiff whalebone waist cinchers and stubborn crinolines. Men needed to wear clothing that could withstand the ruffed terrain and harsh frontier weather. Children, too, adopted less restrictive attire, allowing them the freedom to work and play alongside their immigrant parents.

Fashion-wise, westward expansion equalized the masses, and within that period of changing styles, a new look emerged – a look that would enable the rest of the world to recognize a westerner no sight.

To learn more about fashion in the Old West read

How the West Was Worn: Bustles and Buckskins on the Wild Frontier

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Soldier, Sister, Spy, Scout Women Soldiers and Patriots on the Western Frontier

“Lozen is my right hand . . . strong as a man, braver than most, and cunning in strategy. Lozen is a shield to her people.” —Apache war chief Victorio, June 1880

The Apache leader known as Geronimo stood near an overhanging cliff in the Chiricahua Mountains of Arizona studying the terrain before him. His keen eye traveled across the rocks and valley below. It was unlikely the US cavalry would track the fugitive into the rocky stronghold, but Geronimo didn’t like to underestimate the army’s tenacity. A band of thirty-six loyal warriors surrounded the courageous renegade, ready to defend their lives and land should the military be in the immediate area and dare attack the party. Geronimo fixed his gaze on a distant plateau and lifted his voice to the sky. “We have suffered much from the unjust orders of US generals,” he said. “Such acts have caused much distress to my people. We will defend what is ours to the last man.”

A cold stillness hung in the air—a sense of impending calamity marking the beginning of the end of a race of people. Suddenly all eyes turned to an unassuming medicine woman stepping out of a cave in a massive pile of lava rocks. She walked over to an outcropping of stone and bowed her head. Geronimo watched with great interest as Lozen stretched her arms out and turned her palms to the heavens. She was petite and plain, her skin as supple as leather and her manner of dress in keeping with the other warriors. She scanned the horizon as the braves waited. They dared not make a move without Lozen’s wise council. It was her divine power that had kept Geronimo and his followers out of harm’s way for so long. Without her ability to detect the enemy’s nearing presence, the Apaches would have perished.

For close to a year, Geronimo’s desperate band of braves eluded US Army scouts. These few Natives were the last of the free Apache—stubborn holdouts who refused to surrender, be forced from their land, and be placed on a reservation. Many believed it was better to die like warriors than live off the scraps like dogs from the emigrants they referred to as “white eyes.” Lozen honored the beliefs of her people and used her gift to keep the “white eyes” at bay. Geronimo watched Lozen tightly close her eyes.

A gust of wind swept over her small frame, tossing about her straight, dark hair. “Can you tell me if the soldiers are near?” he asked quietly. “I can,” she replied. She stood in silence for a moment, her arms further extended, her hands slightly cupped. “The god Ussen has given me this power . . . it is good, as he is good,” she exclaimed.

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To learn more about Lozen read

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“In the house of terror and death, there came to the front a willing volunteer, the mule-skinning, bull whacking and rough, roving woman from the depths—Calamity Jane.” Anonymous

Cold rain lashed the huddle of tents staked just outside the rough encampment at Rapid City. Wind howled across the Dakota Territory as though driven by the devil himself, rattling the dripping canvas and blowing crude shakes from the leaky roofs of the buildings. Struggling through the mud, a young woman leaned into the gale and cursed. The stupidity of setting up a camp for sick soldiers on the lowest ground near General Crook’s encampment was enough to make a deacon swear, thought Martha Jane Canary.

The wind tore the tent flap from her grasp. Cursing again, she grabbed the wet canvas and yanked it into place. A lantern swaying from a hook on the tent pole cast meager light on the three men huddled in damp bedrolls. Martha Jane bent down to examine their scruffy faces, looking for the flush of fever, the outbreak of pustules, or the gray stillness of death.

Martha Jane knew the risk of close contact with these particular sick men. Settlers and soldiers moving onto the northern plains in 1876 still talked about the terrible smallpox epidemic of 1837. At the first sign of fevers or red lesions, victims were isolated because the contagion spread so quickly—and so fatally. It had literally wiped-out whole tribes of Native Americans and killed thousands of fur traders, prospectors, and settlers. The Indians called it “Rotting Face” because that’s exactly what it looked like.

Fevers as high as 106 degrees, terrible back pain, a vicious headache that hammered with each heartbeat, chills, nausea, and convulsions marked the onset of the disease. Four days into the illness, the flat, red lesions appeared; then they puffed up and became clear blisters filled with pus that sometimes merged into one gigantic, painful mass. Smallpox victims were unable to care for themselves and were often dumped into “pest houses” to prevent the spread of the sickness.

Twenty-four-year-old Martha Jane Canary knew the symptoms and the fate of those who came into contact with the disease. Yet, she’d volunteered to nurse those in the leaky tents set up outside the town. She breathed a sigh of relief after studying her patients. None of the men she examined in the cold, damp tent showed those terrifying symptoms.

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Always armed with a revolver or two in her belt and a long sheath-knife in her bootleg, she seemed perfectly able to protect herself in any emergency. —George West, publisher of the Colorado Transcript, January 14, 1885

Music from an out-of-tune piano spilled out of Schell’s Saloon in St. Louis and bounced off the buildings up and down Vine Street. A hot breeze pushed past Charley Hatfield, an overgrown cowboy with a cherub’s face, as he sauntered up to the swinging doors of the weather-beaten bar and gazed inside.

It was the summer of 1854, and every saloon in town was filled with thirsty, ambitious people en route to the gold fields in California. It wasn’t Charley’s love of gold that was driving him west, however; it was something more primal. He had been driven to this place by revenge. Charley surveyed the scene before him. His eyes fixed on a swarthy, careworn man sitting at a poker table in the back of the room. There was no doubt in his mind that he had found the man he’d been looking for—a character named Jamieson. Charley had memorized his enemy’s face; the features had been burned indelibly into his mind. Wandering over to the bar, Charley ordered a beer from a scraggly bartender. In the mirror behind the dusty counter, he watched Jamieson deal a hand.

Ever so slowly Charley’s hand sought the butt of his revolver cradled in the holster on his hip. He toyed with the notion of putting a bullet into Jamieson’s head right then. “It would be too cowardly,” Charley mumbled to himself as the bartender slid his drink in front of him. “Before I send him to the unknown, I want him to know why,” he added as he swallowed a big gulp. Charley picked up his beer and walked closer to the table where Jamieson was sitting. He wanted to study the face of the man who had tormented his soul for more than five years.

While he watched Jamieson win hand after hand, his mind mulled over the reason he was here. He remembered how Jamieson had shot the one person he loved more than anything. He remembered how happy his life had been, right up to the hour Jamieson had crossed his path. Charley pulled his hat low over his eyes in an attempt to hide the strong emotions etched into his face. Jamieson, completely unaware of what lay ahead of him, laughed a hearty laugh while raking his winnings into a pile.

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Susan Shelby Magoffin gazed around the small, white-plastered room in Santa Fe and wondered if she might die there. No one seemed sure where the Mexican army was, or how soon a battle might commence.  But there was no doubt about the danger to herself and her husband now that her brother-in-law had been taken by the Mexicans as a spy.  As she had since the start of her honeymoon journey, Susan recorded the day’s events in her journal:

December 1846, Tuesday 1^st:  News comes in very ugly today.  An Englishman from Chihuahua direct, says that the three traders, Dr. Conely, Mr. McMannus, and brother James, who went on ahead to the Chihuahua have been taken prisoners, the two former lodged in the calaboza [jail] while Brother James is on trial for his life.

The messenger who brought the ominous news had gone, but the impact of the latest information from Chihuahua still reverberated like an alarm bell. The fate of everyone associated with James Magoffin was hanging in the balance.  What if her own dear husband, Samuel, left her behind to ride to her brother’s aide?  They had been married less than a year, and despite their strange honeymoon, she could not bear to be parted from the man she called “mi alma,” my soul.

She would insist on going, too, she thought. After traveling thousands of miles across wild and dangerous terrain and through the lands of unfriendly Native Americans on her prairie honeymoon, she had proved her courage to herself and her husband.  She had survived the hazardous two thousand mile journey despite raging storms, wild beasts, hostile tribes, outlaws, and the awful waterless desert they had traversed a few week before.

To learn more about Susan Shelby Magoffin and other women patriots of the Old West read

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Among the exhibits on display at P. T. Barnum’s American Theatre in New York City during the summer of 1864 was an actress and patriot of the Union army named Pauline Cushman. Billed as the “Spy of Cumberland,” the celebrated thespian was dressed in the complete uniform of an infantry man, including a saber, a crimson, silk sash, and a forage cap. Her hair under the cap was disheveled, shoulder-length, and curly. She sported a mustache, thin, but unmistakable above her upper lip, and below the lip was a dark tuft of hair. The makeup and overall look was so convincing that unless otherwise notified ticket buyers had no idea the man was really a woman.

Pauline Cushman appeared on stage in the lecture room at P. T. Barnum’s American Theatre from June 6, 1864, to July 9, 1864. She offered a patriotic presentation to more than twenty thousand people in a single month. According to the advertisement issued by P. T. Barnam about Pauline’s engagement, “she was the modern American model of the renowned ‘Joan of Arc.’”

“Miss Pauline Cushman, the Union scout and spy, who under orders from General Rosecrans, passed through enemy lines and accomplished such wonders for the Army of the Cumberland while she was engaged in the secret service of the United States,” the July 6, 1864, edition of the Charleston Mercury read. “Every father and mother who have a son in the Union Army; every child who has learned to love its country and call on heaven to bless its present struggle and preserve its nationality, will rejoice at this opportunity of listening to ‘thoughts that breath and words that burn,’ as they fall from the lips of this high-souled, gallant girl, who, in her deter[1]mination to serve her country, risked her inestimable precious life, and was rescued from a Rebel prison, where by order of the notori[1]ous General Bragg, she lay wounded and languishing with sickness, UNDER SENTENCE OF DEATH!

To learn more about Pauline Cushman and other such patriots read

Soldier, Sister, Scout, Spy: Women Patriots and Soldiers on the Western Frontier