A Black gun-totin’ female in the American wild west. She was
six feet tall; heavy; tough; short-tempered; two-fisted; powerful; and packed a
pair of six-shooters and an eight or ten-gauge shotgun. A legend in her own
time, she was also known as STAGECOACH MARY.
Born a slave in Tennessee during the administration of
Andrew Jackson — a feisty sort with whom she shared driving ambition, audacity,
and a penchant for physical altercation on a regular basis. She smoked rather
bad homemade cigars.
After the Civil War loosened things up, as a free woman in
1884, having made her way to Cascade County (west central Montana) in search of
improved sustenance and adventure, she took a job with the Ursuline nuns at St.
Peter Mission. Mary was hired to do ‘heavy work’ and haul freight and supplies
to keep the nuns’ operation functional and well fed. She chopped wood, did
stone work and rough carpentry, dug certain necessary holes, and when reserves
were low she did one of her customary supply runs to the train stop, or even to
Great Falls, or the city of Helena when special needs arose.
On such a night run (it wasn’t all that far, but it was
cooler at night), Mary’s wagon was attacked by wolves. The terrified horses
bolted uncontrollably and overturned the wagon, thereby unceremoniously dumping
Mary and all her supplies onto the dark prairie.
The more doubtful part of the story says that Mary kept the
wolves at bay for the entire night with her revolvers and rifle. How she could
see them in pitch black is not explained, however, she did survive and
eventually, when dawn broke, got the freight delivered. Mary’s pay was docked
for the molasses that leaked from a keg that was cracked on a rock in the
overturn.
Being heavily armed at all times, and ready for a fist-fight
at the drop of a hat, Mary was prepared for such inconveniences.
"Pugnacious" is not really an adequate word to describe her demeanor.
Since she did not pay particular attention to fashion, and
otherwise failed to look and act the part of a woman in the Victorian age
(albeit on the frontier), certain ruffian men would occasionally attempt to
trample on her rights and hard won privileges. Woe to all of them.
She broke more noses than any other person in central
Montana; so claims the Great Falls Examiner, the only newspaper available in
Cascade at the time.
Once a ‘hired hand’ at the mission confronted Mary with the
complaint that she earned $2 a month more than he was ($9 vs. $7), and wondered
why she was worth so much money being only an ‘uppity colored woman.’ (His
name, phonetically, was Yu Lum Duck.) To make matters worse, he made the same
complaint and general description in public at one of the local saloons (where
Mary was a regular customer), and followed that up with a (more polite) version
directly to Bishop Filbus N.E. Berwanger.
This was more than enough to boil Mary’s blood, and at the
very next opportunity the two engaged in a shoot-out behind the nunnery, next
to the sheep shed. (Actually, it turned into a shoot-out, because Mary went to
simply shoot the man as he cleaned out the latrine — figuring to dump his body
in there — she missed. He shot back and the fracas was on.)
Bullets flew in every direction until the six-guns were
empty, and blood was spilt. Neither actually hit the other by direct fire, but
one bullet shot by Mary bounced off the stone wall of the nunnery and hit the
forlorn man in the left buttock, completely ruining his new $1.85 trousers.
Another bullet passed through the bishop’s laundry drying on the clothes line, drawers
and two white shirts he had shipped from Boston only the week before.
That was enough for
the bishop; he fired Mary, and gave the injured man a raise.
Out of work, Mary took a stab at the restaurant business in
Cascade. Unfortunately, Mary’s cooking was rather basic, and the restaurant
closed in short order. She was looking for work yet again.
In 1895, Mary landed a job as the first African-American
woman employed as a mail carrier in the United States. Because she had always
been so independent and determined, this work was perfect for her, and she
quickly developed a reputation for delivering letters and parcels no matter
what the weather, nor how rugged the terrain. She and her mule, Moses, plunged
through anything, from bitterly raw blizzards to wilting heat, reaching remote
miner’s cabins and other outposts with important mail which helped to
accommodate the land claim process, as well as other matters needing
expeditious communication. These efforts on her part helped to advance the
development of a considerable portion of central Montana, a contribution for
which she is given little credit.
Known by then as Stagecoach Mary (for her ability to deliver
on a regular schedule), she continued in this capacity until she reached well
into her sixties, but it wore her down. She retired from the mail delivery
business, though she still needed a source of income. So, at the age of
seventy, she opened a laundry service in Cascade.
Figuring by now she deserved a chance to relax, she didn’t
do a lot of laundry, and spent a considerable portion of her time in the local
saloon drinking whiskey and smoking her foul cigars with the sundry assortment
of sweating and dusty men who were attracted to the place. While she claimed to
be a crack shot, her aim toward the cuspidor was rather general, to the
occasional chagrin of any nearby fellow patrons — never mind, she did laundry.
One lout failed to pay his bill to her (he ordered extra
starch in the cuffs and collar). Hearing him out in the street, she left the
saloon and knocked him flat with one blow - at the age of 72. She told her
wobbly drinking companions that the satisfaction she got from that act was
worth more than the bill owed, so the score was settled. As luck would have it,
the tooth she knocked out was giving him trouble anyway, so there was no
reprisal. Actually, he was grateful.
In 1914 she died of a failure of her liver. Neighbors buried
her in the Hillside Cemetery in Cascade, marking the spot with a simple wooden
cross which may still exist today.
In spite of her drinking, and cigar smoking, and occasional
fisticuffs, townsfolk were hard pressed to believe that this mellow old woman
of 80 was the hard shooting and short-tempered female character of earlier
years they had heard so much about. But they were wrong, she was.
Mary Fields died of liver failure in 1914 at age 90
(Source: blackcowboys.com)
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