Out in California, in eighteen-seventy-five,
An outlaw robbed a stagecoach and a story came alive.
Wearing an old duster, and a flour sack on his head
With holes cut out for eyes, he soon caused fear and dread.
There on the mountain road, a shotgun in his hands,
He barred the driver's path, and called out his demands:
"Throw down to me the strongbox, and the mail sacks too!
Now do just as I say and no harm will come to you!"
The driver, filled with terror, did as he was told.
He did not care to die — for money or for gold!
The passengers kept silent and the outlaw let them be.
He never even robbed them of their cash or jewelry.
He let the stagecoach go, and never fired his gun,
Then took off with his haul — an outlaw on the run.
A posse soon was formed, but all to no avail:
They found the empty strongbox but could not find a trail.
Some said he'd simply vanished; that ghosts don't need to run.
No man on earth could track him. The legend had begun!
Then soon another stagecoach was robbed just like before.
The outlaw grabbed the loot, and disappeared once more.
He left a rhyming note, which would become a trait,
And signed it at the bottom, Black Bart, the P-0-8.
Several hold-ups later, his luck ran out like sand;
A gunman on the stagecoach shot Black Bart in the hand.
Bart managed to escape, and left no easy trail,
But could not hide his wound from lawmen on his tail.
The judge sent Bart to prison, the outlaw took it well;
Sentenced to six years in a cold San Quentin cell.
But due to good behaviour, Black Bart served only four.
He then regained his freedom to walk the streets once more.
Wells Fargo, it was rumoured, decided there and then
To pay the man a pension so he would not rob again!
What e'er the truth may be, the stagecoach safely ran,
And no-one else was robbed by Black Bart, highwayman.
They say that he moved east, to live a life of ease;
That crime, for once, did pay — he'd proved it, if you please!
-RH-
___________________________________
Author's note:
This ballad is based on the true story of the English-born
Wild West "gentleman outlaw" Charles E. Boles. He really
did sign the rhyming verse he left "Black Bart the P08."
He never shot anyone and he disappeared from the scene
after being released from prison.
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