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William Pierce, A Border Tough

Beacon
Aug. 4/1892
A Border Tough
Who Has Something to Show for His Experiences
Among the visitors who drifted into St. Andrews last week was the famous William Pierce. A few years ago, William was one of the toughest of the border toughs. Nothing was too hot or too heavy for him. As strong as a bull, he was known to lift immense weights that no one in the neighborhood could budge. As brave as a lion, he feared nothing. And when a couple of fingers of gin were added to these attributes, “bill” was a holy terror. He would fight anything that stood in shoe leather. Numbers made no difference to him—the more the merrier. It is related of him that on one occasion, a St. Stephen policeman sought to effect his arrest, and knowing the kind of material he had to deal with, the officer struck him a blow on the head with his baton that would have felled an ox. For an instant bill was dazed. Before the policeman could strike another blow, Bill’s strong right arm was getting in its work, and if a posse of citizens armed with weapons of various kinds had not come to the policeman’s rescue, eh would have been the land of dreams in a very short time.
            Another time, Pierce performed the fire act in a very thrilling manner. He had been placed in the lock-up for drunkenness, with two boon companions. Full of rage at being imprisoned, he set fire to the interior of the lock-up, and then, like demon, he danced among the smoke and flames, calling upon his companions to pray as they had never prayed before, and likening them to the three men in the Scripture story, who occupied the fiery furnace. When the smoke was seen from the outside and help arrived, Bill was glued to a hole in the wall, sucking in a little fresh air, apparently as cool as a cucumber, while his half-smothered companions were on their knees, praying for all they were worth. On the door being burst open, Pierce’s first act was to rush at the policeman and knock him down.
            One day, Pierce and a drunken companion occupied the train going into St. Stephen. They began quarrelling, and Conductor Stewart—not Superintendent Stewart—locked them up in an empty box car. When the train reached town, both men were running with blood and scarcely a stitch of clothes covered their bodies. They had fought like wild cats the whole way in, each doing is level best to clean out his antagonist.
            Pierce fought through American Civil War, and can relate many hair breadth escapes.
            Beneath his roughness, bill always had a tender, generous heart. In his seafaring life, he found abundant scope to exercise this good quality. On one of the ships that the was a sailor on, there was a brutal, big mate, who showed a disposition to act very cruelly towards a pale, emaciated young fellow, who was in the same watch with him. Bill stood it as long as he could, and then he sent an ultimatum to the mate, which prevented any further display of cruelty of the voyage.
            The exciting experiences through which this border tough has passed during the past fifty-six years have left their impress on him in several ways. His close cropped head is slashed and furrowed with scars which point in every direction, while a little piece of gold-plate that covers a hole in his cranium marks the spot where a revolver bullet got in its work. His nose is broken several of his teeth have also disappeared. His hands are knocked out of shape, and worse then all, he has but one leg, having lost the other is some trouble aboard ship. To raise money to purchase a cork leg was the ostensible object of his visit to St. Andrews. A mission of this nature very soon brought him into contact with corks that were used for other purposes, and it was not long before he was feeling in a very happy frame of mind. He remained here for a day or two and then deported for Eastport.