“On the first day of May, 1870, his seventieth birthday, he said to me that he was getting old and could not in the ordinary course of nature expect to live a great while longer; and that, if I would get pen, ink and paper, he would communicate it to me and I could write it down.
“I brought the writing material and told him I was ready. He said, ‘In the first place’—and then stopped suddenly and commenced rubbing his brow with the fingers of his right hand. He continued this for some minutes, and then said, ‘Go away and come back again in an hour.’
“I went out of the room, but remained where I could see him, and not for one moment did he take his fingers from his brow or change his position. At the expiration of the hour I went into the room and spoke to him. Without changing his position or movement, he said, ‘Go out again and come back in another hour.’
“Upon my speaking to him at the expiration of the second hour he again said, ‘Go out once more and come back in another hour.’ Again I went out and watched. The old man sat there, his frame sunken, immobile, his only movement the constant rubbing of his brow with the fingers of his right hand.
“When I came in and spoke to him at the expiration of the third hour he burst into a flood of tears and said:
“‘My God, my God, it has all gone from me! All these years I have accepted the kindness of these good people in the belief that I could repay it all with this legacy, and now when I attempt to do it I cannot. Daniel, there were ten or twelve processes. When I told you to get pen, ink and paper they were all fresh in my mind, but they are all gone now. My God, my God, I have put it off too long!’
“I looked at him in awe and wonder. The skin from his forehead had been completely rubbed away by his fingers. His sightless eyes were filled with tears and his white face was the very picture of grief and despair.
“For a little more than two years longer he lived on, but he was ever after an imbecile. He lies buried in the old graveyard at Washington, and with him lies buried the wonderful secret of the genuine Bowie knife steel.�
Texas, too, has asserted her claim to being the place where Bowie originated the knife. There are other stories—many of them. However they may contradict each other, the preponderance of evidence goes to show that the knife used by Jim Bowie in the “Sandbar Duel� of 1827 set the fashion for Bowie knives. It was duplicated in many places—by solitary smiths over a vast pioneer country, by a factory in Sheffield, England. It was improved upon and elaborated upon, and until the six-shooter supplanted it, it was the chief weapon employed to settle personal difficulties over a vast territory of the South and West where pioneer conditions prevailed.
The exact proportions of the original Bowie knife probably never will be known, though the blade was undoubtedly about ten inches long. The ideal Bowie knife was forged from the best steel procurable. It was differentiated from other knives by having more curve to the blade near the point, by having a heavier handle—often of horn—and by having handle, blade, and guards all so well balanced that the knife could be cast a maximum distance with the most deadly effect.