169

AN UNFORTUNATE AFFAIR.

The Shooting of a Boy in the Gallery
by Buffalo Bill.

The boy (Micheal Gardner), who was shot in Ford's
Opera House on Monday night by Mr. William F.
Cody, more generally known as "Buffalo Bill," remained
in the same critical condition yesterday, and
the chances of his recovery are yet very slight. He is
at his parents' dwelling. No. 136 West Street,
and by direction of Mr. Cody, has been
given every attention that money can provide.
His father, Benard Gardy is a cooper by
raise and is a very industrious man. Micheal,
like all the rest of the grown children, worked for his
living. He was very fond of [word] dime novels and
Indian stories in boys' periodicals, and worshipped
Buffalo Bill as a great hero. From his front seat in
the gallery, secured by going early and waiting until
the doors opened, as Gere was a great rush of boys
on the opening night, he watched the performance of
the exciting drama with the deepest interest and
when the accident occurred was leaning far over the
railing. Near the close of the last act, there was a
trial of skill between Buffalo Bill and other scouts in
the troupe at exciting glass balls sprung from a trap.
The rifles need in shooting at the glass balls were
loaded with bullets, but the charge of powder was
supposed to be so small as not to give
the bullets any penetrating power, except at
such a short distance as the width of the stage.
For some reason, Buffalo Bill was not fortunate in
his aim on the opening night. Owing to want of
practice, short-range, or the way in which the rifles
were loaded, he did not strike the balls as often as
was expected, and this circumstance seemed to disturb
him. During the shooting, he missed six balls in
succession, and misses appeared to be the rule and
hits the exception. The contest was then stopped,
and Buffalo Bill, mounting his pony, waved adieu to
the gathered Indians and scouts, and rode up an
accent representing a mountain, taking his victorious
leave, as it were, accompanied by the plaudits of
the encampment. As he rode up the mountain
he fired two shots from the rifle with
which he had been shooting at the glass
balls. The two shots were fired upward. One of them
did no damage, the bullet probably going into the flies
above the scenery, but the second one struck the boy
in the gallery, entering near the should and passing
backward, going through the left lung and lodging
somewhere in the back. The ball is so far inward
that the doctors have no hope of finding it. Whenever
the wound exposes the air from the lungs can
be seen passing through it. The boy is kept under
the influence of opiates, and during yesterday weakened
very much.

Mr. Cody, in an interview last night, said that the
shooting was an accident that gave him genuine regret.
He had been shooting at the glass balls with
his Springfield rifle, and the cartridges he used had
small charges of powder, just enough to make the
bullet break the glass. He had no idea that the charge
of powder was sufficient to carry the bullets from one
side of the theatre to the other. He had tried them
yesterday just to satisfy himself and found that the
bullets did not even penetrate a piece of wood as thin
as the side of a cigar box.

In firing at the glass balls he always stood rear the
footlights and shot backward the bullets lodging in a
large target of some wood suspended in the rear of
the stage. The firing at glass balls had ceased, and
mounting his pony, he proceeded to make his final
exit, going up a "run" at the back of the stage representing
a mountain. The Indians of his troupe had
not been doing as well as usual, as it was the first
night, and they had not been properly stirred up.
They are very excitable people and the least little
thing starts their enthusiasm. For the purpose of
stirring them to such a show of wildness as would
make the close of the performance exciting to the audience,
he shouted as he urged his pony forward and
fired two shots in the air.

He had two kinds of cartridge in his belt to use in
the rifle. One kind was blank cartridges, and the
others, which he had used in shooting at the glass
balls had bullets in them. By mistake, he says, he
must have got hold of one of the wrong cartridges.
Still, if the boy had worn a coat, the bullet
probably would not have scratched him. But as he
was in his shirt-sleeves it penetrated the flesh. It
was one of those accidents that happen once in a life-