Crimson and golden leaves bring thoughts of seasons past and the grim certainty that winter will soon be upon us. The passing of the seasons mirrors life itself, and so Spring (birth) leads to Summer (the prime of life), to Fall (the golden years), until the season fades and the stark reality of the grave echoes from winter’s cold, colorless landscape.

All cemeteries have their stories to tell and so it is with the old Ellsworth Cemetery south of the Smoky Hill River. Stories of wonderful and tragic lives lie beneath its sod; however, there is more to the old cemetery than meets the eye. Large, unmarked spaces in the oldest lots hold hidden tales of a past nearly forgotten.

Nothing is certain but death and taxes. However death’s arrival at our doorstep remains the last great mystery. Ellsworth, Kan. was established as an end-of-track “Hell on wheels” town in 1867 when the first railroad was being built into the central plains.

Death could be found at any moment.

And so it was that a few months after the townsite was selected, the narrow strip of river bottom was suddenly inundated by flood waters that were “over a man’s head.” A tent saloon filled with sporting women was quickly removed to high ground above the flooded town, where the celebration continued.

Ellsworth’s first death was recorded within day when two stage drivers were shot in a disagreement with a gang of toughs who felt they had prior claim to the girls. Tom Larkin died from his wounds, and so, a cemetery was begun.

The location later became the county poor farm. Dozens of unfortunate souls soon took up permanent residence in the burying ground as a result of an outbreak of cholera. Everyone who could get away from the disease fled as quickly as possible. Ellsworth fell into silence. The population of 1,000 or more quickly dropped to a mere 40 citizens by the middle of July.

The hardy souls that persisted and survived moved the townsite to high ground. Those were the days of Wild Bill, Captain Jack, California Joe, and Rake Jake. The motto was “A short life and a merry one!”

In that atmosphere Civil War hero Edward W. Kingsbury served as sheriff with undersheriff Chauncey Whitney and nothing but a tent for a jail. Face-off gunfights, saloon shootouts, and vigilante hangings brought death almost daily. Ellsworth was not only the end-of -track, it was the end of at least 100 lives. The old burying ground was more popular than a church on Sunday morning, especially in Ellsworth where there were no churches and no jails. The macabre morning salutation repeated in Ellsworth was “shall we have a man for breakfast?”

With each year the old burying ground grew larger until a strong police force tempered the violence.

On July 3, 1873, the Ellsworth Reporter declared, “Nobody killed yet.”

Throughout the summer the gambling halls of Ellsworth witnessed a literal tempest of activity. The doors never closed. Yet, culture was developing amid the chaos.

The cornerstone of a new school was dedicated. Formal dances were held in hotel ballrooms. Picnics brought the community together to play and socialize.

Sheriff Chauncey Whitney woke the morning of Friday morning Aug. 15, 1873, looking forward to a pleasant day of relaxation at the Howard’s Grove picnic southeast of Fort Harker. From the back of his home on the southwest corner of First Street and Lincoln Avenue he could see the Episcopal Church built three years before. Headstones were already scattered over the churchyard just beyond his back fence. Within a few short days his own body would be laid to rest in that very churchyard.

Before leaving for the picnic Whitney was caught up in a chaotic melee between the maniacal Assistant Marshal “Happy Jack” Morco and Texas gamblers. A sudden shotgun blast staggered him as he called for his wife. Friends carried him to his home next to the churchyard where his battle for life finally came to an end on the third day. His brothers in Masonry rendered an impressive service at his graveside. “Safe from the storms, free from cares,” the body of C. B. Whitney was laid to rest “in the bosom of mother earth.” Happy Jack, whose actions caused Whitney’s death, met his own death a few weeks later, though his body was consigned to the old burying ground on the hill.

Two years later a new graveyard was established south of town on the opposite side of the Smoky Hill River. The graves from the original burying ground and the Episcopal churchyard were moved to the new cemetery. Chauncey Whitney was among those moved from the churchyard. Today the Citizen’s State Bank occupies the location and the churchyard lies beneath concrete.

The old “original” burying was turned into farmland, with a small portion reserved for the poor farm cemetery. Headstones, if there ever were any, were discarded leaving the burials of Ellsworth’s oldest, and wildest citizens unmarked in the present cemetery on the river. Just who lies in those lots we can only speculate.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, whether under concrete, fertile farmland, in unmarked lots, or grand sepulchers, none will escape their fate, for the stark reality of the grave awaits each of us as we pass through life on The Way West.

“The Cowboy,” Jim Gray is author of the book Desperate Seed: Ellsworth Kansas on the Violent Frontier, Ellsworth, KS. Contact Kansas Cowboy, 220 21st Road, Geneseo, Kan. Phone: (785) 531-2058 or kansascowboy@kans.com.