Dear readers, we’re adding some info on one of the most favorite gold rush women in California and western history. It’s ironic how such a simple and unwitting act on her part changed her entire life. Enjoy.  Alton Pryor, the infamous author.

Lily Langtry

By Alton Pryor

It was a simple black dress that catapulted Lily Langtry to fame.

Lillie (the spelling used by the British) was born Emilie Charlotte LeBreton, October 13, 1853 on the island of Jersey, a part of the Channel Islands. Lily, (a spelling which she didn’t like—she preferred Lillie) as she was known in the United States, won her good looks from both her mother and father.

Her mother, Emilie Davis, was petite and auburn haired. Her father was over six feet tall with piercing blue eyes. Her mother suffered ill health, but her father was robust and larger than life. He was also a womanizer.

At 16 years of age, Lillie fell in love with a handsome local boy. She then found out that the boy was the illegitimate son of her father.

One thing her father did believe in was education for his children. She started taking lessons from her brothers’ tutors in Latin, Greek, math, German, French, music and art.

She disclosed in her autobiography that she was named Lillie because of her lily-white complexion.

Lillie and her mother were elated when Lord Suffield suggested that Lillie’s beauty was great enough to have a London season. The attempt was a dismal failure. They discovered that without connections, navigating London Society was difficult if not impossible. The only ball she attended wa hosted by Lord Suffield.

Lillie felt her peasant ways hampered her. She determined to change things. She applied herself to studying and preparing herself so that if she received another chance, she’d be ready.

Her chance at penetrating the society domain came from an unexpected happening.  Lillie met Edward Langtry, a member of a London shipbuilding family. Edward owned an 80-foot yacht called the The Red Gauntlet. Lillie later admitted she fell in love with the yacht but married the owner.

She soon found out that Edward was not as wealthy as he seemed. The Langtry family had gone from rags to riches and then back again. Edward, as a gentleman, did not work for a living. Their only income came from the rents on some Irish properties he owned.

Lillie and Edward moved to Southampton in England, where Lillie became bored and despondent. While Lillie was intelligent and well read, Edward spent most of his time yachting and fishing.

The couple had little in common. Things came to a head when Lillie contracted a serious case of typhoid fever. Lillie convinced her doctor to suggest that she move to London where the climate might help her recuperate.

Edward and Lillie arrived in London in 1876. She soon found that this visit was even worse than her first experience when she failed to break into London Society.

Lillie spent most of her time reading, while Edward took up drinking as a new hobby. About the same time, Lillie’s younger brother, Reggie, was killed in a freak horse accident.

Now in mourning, it was a bleak period for Lillie. She and Edward were visiting the new aquarium in Westminster where they ran into old family friends of the LeBreton. Lord and Lady Sebright invited them to their home.

Edward disdained such society affairs, but Lillie, now fully recovered from her illness, wanted desperately to attend. Still wearing mourning, Lillie wore a plain, figure-hugging black dress.

Amid all the colorful attire of other female guests, Lillie stuck our like a beacon of purity.

Artists Frank Miles and John Everett Millais were among the guests. Miles and Millais sought out Lillie, asking for the chance to paint her portrait. Millais managed to take Lillie into dinner.

Frank Miles, not to be outdone, made a line drawing of Lillie on the spot, immortalizing her moment of discovery.

Lillie proved to be not only well-read but able to converse on a number of topics, proving she was not just another pretty face. She was the hit of the party.

She was then invited to pose for many of the major painters of her day, including Edward Poynter, James McNeill Whistler, George Frederic Watts, and Edward Bourne Jones.

A painting by Millais, in which she wore the simple black dress, was called “A Jersey Lily”.  Crowds thronged to see the portrait when it was exhibited at the Royal Academy in 1878.

It wasn’t the painting that drew attention to the beauty of Lillie Langtry so much as the photographs. Photography was just coming into its own, and some society beauties were having photographs made that were then offered for sale.

This was a heady time for Lillie. She had gone for obscurity in one instant to a feted and coveted celebrity in the next. Her simple black dress brought her from being a plain Jane to a person of gentility.

Lillie and Edward were soon invited everywhere, and not just by artists but by society. Edward was out of his depth, but Lillie was truly in her element. She continued wearing the black dress to all events.

Her black dress period came to an end when she was invited to a party by Lady Dudley. Lady Dudley’s husband detested the color black. Lillie wore a stunning white velvet creation that hugged her figure.

Wherever she went, Lillie was now mobbed. She became a fashion icon.

— Alton Pryor

We’re back after our brief absence (It felt like an extended absence for me), both with our website and our blog. We hope you’ll tune us in frequently. We’ll try to have something new and informational.

Seven Little Indians

They drew straws to see who would kill the babies.

It was a fall day at an Indian encampment in the Tonto Basin of Arizona. Lined up on their cradleboards against a rock wall were seven little Apache babies. The weather was so nice, some babies slept while others gazed out upon the strange world around them.
The late Roscoe G. Willson, in his Arizona Tales run regularly by The Arizona Republic newspaper, told this story. The story illustrated how otherwise hard-bitten men could not overcome the power that emanates from a baby.
All about the camp, in 1871, there was a scene of great activity. The men in the Apache camp came dashing in at early morn, driving a large herd of horses, stolen that very morning from the Bowers Ranch east of Prescott, Arizona.
The Apache men and women of the camp were excited as they talked about their great success. The women busied themselves cooking the meat of a horse they had slaughtered. They laid strips of raw horseflesh on the oak bushes to dry while they cooked the larger portion of horsemeat over an open fire.
When the meat was cooked, the men gorged themselves on the sweet horseflesh, which they favored above all other. When the men finished, the women too, then ate with gusto.
After tending and nursing their babies, the cherubs were returned to their papoose baskets along the wall. The women joined the group of men sleeping off their heavy meal beneath the deep shade of oak trees.
Soon, a clattering of blue jays signaled to the Indians that something was amiss. Before the Indians could rise to their feet, rifle shots rang out from the hillsides and oak thickets. Several Apache men and women were killed before they could rise.
The attackers were settlers from Prescott, on the hunt for the horses stolen that morning from the Bowers Ranch. John B. Townsend, an Indian fighter, headed the group. The Indians knew him to be brave and fearless and held him in great respect.
It wasn’t until after the last Apache had either escaped, disappeared, or been killed that the seven little Indian babies were discovered resting against the wall.
This presented a problem for the rugged white men. In their attacks on settlers, the Apache Indians didn’t hesitate to kill white women and children.
Captain Townsend looked at the babies snuggled in their papoose baskets. He scratched his head, knowing that usually the babies should be killed. But Townsend shuddered at the thought. “Good God,” he asked himself, who could kill a baby in cold blood?”
Others in the party felt the babies should be killed, but the only question was, who would do the job.
Townsend decided the issue by saying they would draw straws to see who would commit the horrendous deed. Grass stems of different lengths were drawn. Townsend held the short straw.
When he pulled his pistol and stepped toward the nearest infant, the baby gurgled, wrinkled its face and smiled back at him. John’s only vision at that point was a picture of his own baby girl back at his Agua Fria Ranch.
His pistol hand dropped to his side. He turned to his companions and murmured, “I just can’t do it boys. Some one else will have go through with this.”
Ed Wright, John’s neighbor on the Agua Fria, stepped forward. “Boys, we can’t any of us kill those babies I don’t care if the Apaches have killed some of our children. We weren’t raised like these Indians, and we’d all feel like murderers if we cold-bloodedly killed the little varmints. Let’s leave ‘em where they are and go make camp.”
A sigh of relief sounded through the crowd. After making camp that evening, Ed Wright and some of the others used rawhide rope to lash the seven baby baskets high enough off the ground to be safe from coyotes or other varmints.
The next morning, the babies and their cradles were gone.
Check back later for something new.

This delightful story is from our print book “Odd and Unusual Tales from the Old West) (also available as an ebook on both Amazon kindle and Smashwords. To order, simply go to stagecoachpublishing.com.

— Alton Pryor