The people of the frontier are often colorful characters,
and the young town of West Point saw its share in the
1830s. North of town, along the Skunk River, was a camp
of horse thieves and desperadoes that had come from
southern Illinois. Chief among the group was Hamp Ralton,
a “terror to the whole county.” To the south, along
Devil’s Creek, was a settlement of honest, but destitute
Kentuckians. Their leader was Bill Ponts, a burly
individual whose only apparent ambition was to be the best
fighter in the county. West of town was a third group, a
wild band that was fond of horse racing. The head of that
crowd was Bill Eldridge.
Every Saturday, the Eldridge and Ralton bands would meet
and run quarter-mile horse races through the heart of
town. While the noisy participants fully enjoyed
themselves, the townspeople were greatly annoyed.
Eventually, the citizens of West Point, a religious and
orderly bunch, made their feelings known to the rowdies.
The Raltons responded by whipping the crowd and injuring
several. The local justice of the peace issued a writ
(comparable to a subpoena) for the leaders and sent town
constable Barrett into the street to arrest them. The
Raltons threatened to shoot Barrett, a spindly man. They
rode defiantly over to the town square, hollering all the
time. When the Raltons realized the town was forming a
posse to take them, though, they galloped back to the
Skunk.
On the following Monday, Bill Ponts was ordered to come
into town. He was given a writ for Hamp Ralton and some
of the principal men in his band. He was told to take a
posse to Ralton’s settlement and arrest or exterminate
them. Ponts went by himself and returned with all his
prisoners. Ralton was placed in jail and then asked to go
home to raise bail money. He was allowed to leave, but
left the county and never came back.
Another incident involved an old Kentuckian by the name of
Driscoll who lived five miles from West Point. He got
liquored up and swore he was the best man of his age to
ever visit West Point. Driscoll weighed 200 pounds and
was a good fighter, when sober. Another old fellow named
Dodd was in his son’s store, heard Driscoll’s bragging,
and approached him. “You say you are 65,” said Dodd. “I
am 72.” He commenced to fight like a wildcat, knocking
down Driscoll and jumping on him. Driscoll hollered that
Dodd was trying to kill him. Some bystanders removed
Dodd, who was only 125 pounds but the clear winner of the
fight.
One of the few inhabitants of the prairie outside town was
a man named Allen, a shoemaker from Maine. He was
regarded as something of a tramp, and not a good
representative of his trade. Allen claimed to be an
experienced fighter. He said he had fought all over Maine
and had never been whipped. When he heard that John Ponts
was regarded as a skilled fighter, he sent word to Ponts
that on a certain Saturday night he would be in West
Point. If Ponts thought Kentucky was a better state than
Maine, perhaps the issue could be settled by a friendly
fight. This was in spring 1838. Neither man had ever
seen the other, but they met as proposed. Ponts had his
crowd there. Allen was alone. They made a ring and went
at it, rough and tumble. The justice of the peace
attempted to break up the fight, but was roundly ignored.
It became a desperate fight, and both Allen and Ponts were
beaten to a pulp. Finally, Allen gave in and the two were
separated and arrested. Allen argued that they shouldn’t
be fined, as it was a friendly fight. However, they were
later taken to court and fined $5 each. Neither paid the
fine, and the two parted as best of friends.
--John Stuekerjuergen
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