1780--During the same year in which the town was established Kentucky
received many valuable additions to its inhabitants; among these several
persons of wealth or of talent came from the Atlantic States to settle
among the "wild countries of the West," and they were accompanied by many
others without either of these requisites, ready at once to seek any and
every means of existence. Col. George Slaughter accompanied by 150 State
troops descended to the falls and took up his quarters there during this
year. This accession placed the inhabitants in comparative security, but
it was only comparative, for, emboldened by the knowledge that their
fortress was impregnable to the attacks of their foes, men became more
careless and unguarded, and the Indians were the very foe to take
advantage of this fancied security; so that, as the historian of the
period says, the very strength of the settlement and the security of its
inhabitants "had the effect of apparently drawing the Indians into that
quarter." The fact, too, that the Ohio formed the natural boundary
separating friend and foe was advantageous to the Indians. "They could
approach its banks upon their own ground; they might cross it when
convenient, reach the settlement, strike a blow and recross the river
before a party could be collected or brought to pursue them. The river
always presented an object of difficulty and very often an insuperable
obstacle to further pursuit. In this state of things it is no matter of
surprise that soldiers were shot near the fort, or that in the settlements
of Beargrass lives were lost, prisoners taken and horses stolen, with
frequent impunity, or but sometimes retaliated."[2] Connected with these
predatory incursions of the Indians, a great many wonderful stories are
told of "hair-breadth 'scapes by field and flood." Histories of incidents
in the Indian wars are, however, so similar in their character and so
often told and widely known that we shall limit ourselves to the relation
of only those that seem in their nature to demand admission here. The
first of these presents one of those rare instances of magnanimity and
true heroism that ever demands the attention of the chronicler. The
station where Shelbyville now stands was a weak and inefficient one, and
becoming alarmed by the presence of Indians in their vicinity, its
inhabitants determined to remove to Beargrass. In this attempted
emigration, however, they were attacked by their foes near Floyd's Fork,
defeated and scattered. Col. John Floyd, hearing of this, immediately
started to their relief. In his party was Capt. Samuel Wells who had been
on very unfriendly and even inimical terms with his superior officer.
Arrived near the point, Col. Floyd separated his men and cautiously
approached the enemy. But despite his skill and caution, he fell into an
ambuscade and was in his turn defeated with great loss. He himself must
have fallen into the hands of the victors but for the magnanimity of
Wells. Floyd had dismounted and was nearly exhausted, being closely
pursued, when Wells, who had not quitted his horse, rode up and
dismounting, helped his old enemy into the saddle and running by his side,
supported and protected him till out of the reach of danger. This noble
and generous action resulted in the fast and lasting friendship of the two
men.
Another incident will show the education, even in boyhood, which the
nature of the times demanded. Four young lads, two of them named Linn,
accompanied by Wells and Brashears, went on a hunting party to a pond
about six miles South-West of Louisville. They succeeded well in their
sport, having killed among other game, a small cub bear. While they were
assisting the elder Linn to strap the bear on his shoulders, and had laid
down their guns, they were surprised by a party of Indians, and hurried
over to the White river towns, where they remained in captivity several
months. One of the party had in the mean time been carried to another
town; and late in the fall the remaining three determined to effect their
escape. When night had come, they rose quietly, and having stunned the old
squaw, in whose hut they were living, by repeated blows with a small axe,
they stole out of the lodge and started for Louisville. After daybreak,
they concealed themselves in a hollow log, where they were frequently
passed by the Indians who were near them everywhere; and at night they
resumed their march, guided only by the stars and their knowledge of
woodcraft. After several days, during which they subsisted on the game
they could procure, they reached the river at Jeffersonville. Arrived
here they halooed for their friends, but did not succeed in making
themselves heard. They had however no time to lose; the Indians were
behind them and if they were retaken, they knew their doom. Accordingly,
as two of them could not swim, they constructed a raft of the drift-logs
about the shore and tied it together with grape vines, and the two
launched upon it, while Brashears plunged into the water, pushing the raft
with one hand and swimming with the other. Before they had arrived at the
other shore, and when their raft was in a sinking condition from having
taken up so much water, they were descried from this side, and boats went
out and returned them safely to their friends.[3]
Only a few months ago, some gentlemen traveling near the south-eastern
boundary of the city, discovered in an old tree the name of _D. Boone_ and
the date 1779, appended. Considering this a great curiosity, one of them
removed it from the tree and attempted to confirm the authenticity of the
date by counting the circles in the wood of the tree. Finding these to
agree with the date marked, he carefully preserved the block containing
this record, which is now to be seen in the library of the Kentucky
Historical Society. This circumstance is mentioned here only still further
to confirm the authenticity of this block by stating a similar case which
occurred in 1811. In the spring of 1779, Squire Boone, the brother of
Daniel, in company with two others, went from the falls to Bullitt's Lick
to shoot buffalo. After finishing their sport, they were returning home,
when night overtook them at Stewart's Spring. The young men proposed to
remain here for the night, but Boone objected, fearing an attack from the
Indians. They accordingly turned off some 300 yards to the West, where
they encamped for the night. There, while Boone and another of the party
were arranging for the encampment, the third, being idle, amused himself
by cutting a name and a few words on the bark of the tree. Afterwards, in
1811, during some legal investigation about lands, Boone testified to the
existence of these marks near Stewart's Spring, and upon examination they
were found just as he had stated, although 32 years had elapsed since the
cut was made. This fact is placed upon record in the Court of Appeals and
does not admit of a doubt. The instance before referred to is of a
precisely similar character, and the marks are probably equally authentic
as those of the last.
It would be easy to relate numerous instances, similar to those already
given, both as to the wonderful skill of the pioneers in woodcraft, and
their daring, danger and miraculous escapes in the Indian fights, but, as
has already been said, these anecdotes, often incorrect, and always
difficult to narrate without embellishment, are so familiar to the
majority of readers, and possess such similarity of outline that they
would be interesting here only to those who have some personal knowledge
of the actors in those scenes. There will be occasion hereafter, in
speaking of some of the distinguished men of another period of this
history, to refer again to subjects kindred to those above narrated.
In May of this year, still 1780, the Legislature of Virginia, on account
of the difficulties attending the proper administration of justice, and
for other similar causes occasioned by the sparseness of the settlements
in so large an extent of territory, passed an act dividing the county of
Kentucky into three counties. Of these, the first was thus defined: "All
that part of the South side of the Kentucky river which lies West and
North of a line beginning at the mouth of Benson's Big Creek and running
up the same and its main fork to the head, thence South to the nearest
waters of Hammond's Creek, and down the same to its junction with the town
fork of Salt river, thence South to Green river and down the same to its
junction with the Ohio;" and was ordered to be known by the name of
Jefferson. The other two counties were called Fayette and Lincoln.
Beside this there were few occurrences worthy of note during the year,
which bear directly upon the subject of this history. Col. Clark had not
only made his successful expedition against Pickway, but had built Fort
Jefferson, five miles below the junction of the Ohio and Mississippi
rivers and in the territory of the Chickasaws, thus adding that tribe to
the already numerous foes of his adopted State. It was however soon
evacuated and this evacuation accepted and acted upon by both parties as a
tacit treaty of peace.
Early in the next year--1781--Col. Clark received his commission as
Brigadier General. He now began to feel the necessity for some new display
of activity in defending the frontier and accordingly he built a sort of
row-galley upon which he placed some four-pound cannon. This galley was
kept plying between the Falls and the mouth of Licking, and is by some
believed to have been of very great service in keeping off the attacks of
the Indians; while others are of opinion that it was entirely valueless.
Be that as it may; the galley was abandoned by the General before the
close of the year. The Indians are said never to have attacked it and but
seldom to have crossed that part of the river in which it moved. Various
as are the opinions in regard to the utility of Clark's barge, the fact of
its having been so soon abandoned by the very projectors of the enterprise
certainly does not speak much in its favor.
Another of the most important features of this year, perhaps indeed the
very most important, was one which will now produce a smile. At that time,
however, it was a subject of serious congratulation to the inhabitants of
the new country. This was no less than the large immigration of young
unmarried women into this region, abounding in young unmarried men. One of
the historians of the time, in chronicling this event, remarks, with all
the soberness and propriety due to the most solemn subject, that "the
necessary consequence of this large influx of girls was the rapid and
wonderful increase of population." Whether this increase was produced by
purely natural means or by foreign immigration is left by him in the
profoundest doubt. Perhaps that worthy individual known as "The Oldest
Inhabitant" could elucidate this point.
The only other circumstance worthy of notice during the year, was the
building at the falls of a new fort. History gives us no information
either as to the name or location of this position of defense. Its very
name and history is swallowed up in that of Fort Nelson which must have
been built very soon after, if it was not commenced at the same time as
this nameless fort.
Fort Nelson was built in 1782 by the regular troops, assisted by all the
militia of the State. It was situated between Sixth and Eighth Streets on
the North side of Main, immediately upon the "second bank" of the river.
Its name was derived, as some say from Capt. Nelson, an influential
citizen of Louisville in that day, but more probably was named in honor of
the third republican governor of Virginia. It contained about an acre of
ground and was surrounded by a ditch eight feet wide and ten feet deep,
intersected in the middle by a sharp row of pickets. This ditch was
surmounted by a breast work of log pens filled with the earth obtained
from the ditch, with pickets ten feet high planted on the top of the
breast work. Next to the river, pickets were deemed sufficient, aided by
the long slope of the bank. There was artillery likewise in the fort. Col.
Slaughter had brought with him several very small cannon, and Gen. Clark
had placed here a double fortified six-pounder, which he had captured at
Vincennes. This last piece played no inconsiderable part both in the
previous and subsequent expeditions of this General. The present site of
Seventh Street passed directly through the gate of the fort opposite the
head quarters of Gen. Clark. The pickets and various other parts of this
fort have been from time to time, since 1830, dug up in excavating cellars
at the place formerly occupied by the post. Many of the pickets thus
excavated have been made into walking canes and are valued as memorials of
the past.
This year was perhaps one of the most disastrous and dreadful in the
annals of Kentucky. Although the settlements at the Falls were
comparatively free from danger of attack, yet the older stations were
suffering all the horrors of a bloody war. Several white men, impelled
either by a love of the licentiousness and freedom from restraint of the
savage life or by fear of punishment for their crimes, had united
themselves with the Indians and constantly urged them against the Whites.
The most celebrated of these were Girty and McKee, who had risen to a
commanding rank among the red men, and their knowledge of the settlements
enabled them to direct their new friends in all their expeditions.
Previous to the great battle in which these renegadoes figured so largely,
was the defeat and death of Captain Estill on Hinckston's Fork of Licking
and also a bloody fight at or near Hoy's station. The great battle of the
year however was at Blue Licks, and it was here that these renegadoes,
whose names deserve and will receive perpetual execration, were
successful. The result of this battle is well known to all readers of
western history. Its effect upon the inhabitants of the new State was
disheartening in the extreme. Gen. Clark, who was still at the Falls,
seeing the necessity for rousing the people from their despondence and
desirous of punishing the foe, proposed to a council of officers an
expedition against the Indian towns on Miami and Scioto. And accordingly
nearly one thousand men made rendezvous at the mouth of Licking and
started for the towns. The Indians discovered their approach too soon for
anything like a decisive battle, and they found only deserted towns and
straggling Indians on their march. The result of this invasion however
convinced both sides of the superiority of the Whites, and restored the
drooping spirits in the settlements. After this expedition the country
remained quiet during the year, nor did any considerable party of Indians
ever again invade the State.
In the winter of this year commenced the first of anything like
intercourse between this part of the Ohio and New Orleans. Messrs.
Tardiveau and Honore, the latter of whom resided in this city until within
a few years, made the earliest trip from Brownsville to that port, and
subsequently continued to make regular trips from Louisville to the French
and Spanish ports on the Mississippi. Even previous to this, Col. Richard
Taylor and his brother Hancock Taylor, had descended from Pittsburg to the
mouth of the Yazoo; and Messrs. Gibson and Linn, in 1776, had made a trip
from Pittsburg to New Orleans with a view to procuring military stores for
the troops stationed at the former place. These gentlemen succeeded in
their expedition, having obtained 156 kegs of powder, which arrived at the
Falls in 1777, was carried around them by hand, and finally delivered at
Pittsburg.
These early attempts at navigation were soon succeeded by the constant and
regular trips of the Barges. Perhaps the most stirring and exciting scenes
of western adventure were connected with the voyages of these peculiar
craft. The bargemen were a distinct class of people whose fearlessness of
character, recklessness of habits and laxity of morals rendered them a
marked people. Their history will hereafter form the groundwork of many a
heroic romance or epic poem. In the earlier stages of this sort of
navigation, their trips were dangerous, not only on account of the Indians
whose hunting-grounds bounded their track on either side, but also because
the shores of both rivers were infested with organized banditti, who
sought every occasion to rob and murder the owners of these boats. Beside
all this the Spanish Government had forbidden the navigation of the lower
Mississippi by the Americans, and thus, hedged in every way by danger, it
became these boatmen to cultivate all the hardihood and wiliness of the
Pioneer, while it led them also into the possession of that recklessness
and independent freedom of manner, which even after the causes that
produced it had ceased, still clung to and formed an integral part of the
character of the Western Bargeman. It is a matter of no little surprise
that something like an authentic history of these wonderful men has never
been written. Certainly it is desirable to preserve such a history, and no
book could have been undertaken which would be likely to produce more both
of pleasure and profit to the writer and none which would meet with a
larger circle of delighted readers. The traditions on the subject are,
even at this recent period, so vague and contradictory that it would be
difficult to procure anything like reliable or authentic data in regard to
them. No story in which the bargemen figure is too improbable to be
narrated, nor can one determine what particular person is the hero of an
incident which is in turn laid at the door of each distinguished member of
the whole fraternity. Some of these incidents however will serve so well
to give an idea of the peculiar characteristics of the bargemen, and
possess so much merit in themselves, that they cannot be omitted here.
Previous to referring to any of these anecdotes, however, it may be
interesting to introduce the following excellent description of the manner
of navigating the Ohio and Mississippi prior to the introduction of
steamboats. It is from the pen of Audubon, the celebrated ornithologist,
whose death has been recently announced and has caused a feeling of deep
regret in all who know how to admire that union of simple goodness of
character with greatness of mind and untiring energy of study, which he,
perhaps more than any other American, possessed.
"The keelboats and barges were employed," says this extract, "in conveying
produce of different kinds, such as lead, flour, pork and other articles.
These returned laden with sugar, coffee and dry goods, suited for the
markets of Genevieve and St. Louis on the upper Mississippi or branched
off and ascended the Ohio to the foot of the falls at Louisville. A
keelboat was generally manned by ten hands, principally Canadian French,
and a patroon or master. These boats seldom carried more than from twenty
to thirty tons. The barges had frequently forty or fifty men, with a
patroon, and carried fifty or sixty tons. Both these kind of vessels were
provided with a mast, a square sail, and coils of cordage known by the
name of cordelles. Each boat or barge carried its own provisions. We shall
suppose one of these boats under way, and, having passed Natchez, entering
upon what were called the difficulties of their ascent. Wherever a point
projected so as to render the course or bend below it of some magnitude,
there was an eddy, the returning current of which was sometimes as strong
as that of the middle of the great stream. The bargemen, therefore, rowed
up pretty close under the bank, and had merely to keep watch in the bow
lest the boat should run against a planter or sawyer. But the boat has
reached the point, and there the current is to all appearance of double
strength and right against it. The men, who have rested a few minutes, are
ordered to take their stations and lay hold of their oars, for the river
must be crossed, it being seldom possible to double such a point and
proceed along the same shore. The boat is crossing, its head slanting to
the current, which is, however, too strong for the rowers, and when the
other side of the river has been reached, it has drifted perhaps a quarter
of a mile. The men are by this time exhausted, and, as we shall suppose it
to be 12 o'clock, fasten the boat to a tree on the shore. A small glass of
whiskey is given to each, when they cook and eat their dinner, and after
resting from their fatigue for an hour, re-commence their labors. The boat
is again seen slowly advancing against the stream. It has reached the
lower end of a sandbar, along the edge of which it is propelled by means
of long poles, if the bottom be hard. Two men, called bowsmen, remain at
the prow to assist, in concert with the steersman, in managing the boat
and keeping its head right against the current. The rest place themselves
on the land side of the footway of the vessel, put one end of their poles
on the ground and the other against their shoulders and push with all
their might. As each of the men reaches the stern, he crosses to the other
side, runs along it and comes again to the landward side of the bow, when
he re-commences operations. The barge in the mean time is ascending at a
rate not exceeding one mile in the hour.
"The bar is at length passed, and as the shore in sight is straight on
both sides and the current uniformly strong, the poles are laid aside, and
the men being equally divided, those on the river side take to their oars,
while those on the land-side lay hold of the branches of willows or other
trees, and thus slowly propel the boat. Here and there, however, the trunk
of a fallen tree, partly lying on the bank and partly projecting beyond
it, impedes their progress and requires to be doubled. This is performed
by striking into it the iron points of the poles and gaff-hooks, and so
pulling around it. The sun is now quite low, and the barge is again
secured in the best harbor within reach for the night, after having
accomplished a distance of perhaps fifteen miles. The next day the wind
proves favorable, the sail is set, the boat takes all advantages, and,
meeting with no accident, has ascended thirty miles--perhaps double that
distance. The next day comes with a very different aspect. The wind is
right ahead, the shores are without trees of any kind, and the canes on
the bank are so thick and stout that not even the cordelles can be used.
This occasions a halt. The time is not altogether lost, as most of the
men, being provided with rifles, betake themselves to the woods and search
for the deer, the bears or the turkeys that are generally abundant there.
Three days may pass before the wind changes, and the advantages gained on
the previous five days are forgotten. Again the boat proceeds, but in
passing over a shallow place, runs on a log, swings with the current, but
hangs fast with her lea-side almost under water. Now for the poles! all
hands are on deck, bustling and pushing. At length, towards sunset, the
boat is once more afloat, and is again taken to the shore where the
wearied crew pass another night.
"I could tell you of the crew abandoning the boat and cargo and of
numberless accidents and perils, but be it enough to say, that advancing
in this tardy manner, the boat that left New Orleans on the 1st of March,
often did not reach the Falls of Ohio until the month of July, sometimes
not until October; and after all this immense trouble, it brought only a
few bags of coffee and at most one hundred hogsheads of sugar. Such was
the state of things as late as 1808. The number of barges at that period
did not amount to more than 25 or 30, and the largest probably did not
exceed one hundred tons burden. To make the best of this fatiguing
navigation, I may conclude by saying that a barge which came up in three
months, had done wonders, for I believe few voyages were performed in that
time."
In this little history, Mr. Audubon has said nothing of what was by far
the most "dangerous danger" to which the crews of these craft were
exposed. This was the attack, open and fearless as well as sneaking and
treacherous, of the Boatwreckers. The country on both sides of the river
from Louisville to the mouth of the Ohio was an almost unpeopled
wilderness. On the north side of the river from Fort Massac to the
Mississippi, there lived a gang of these desperadoes, whose exploits need
only the genius of a Schiller to render them the wonder of the world and
the admiration of those who love to gloat over tales of blood. There was
an impudence and recklessness of life and of danger connected with these
fellows, coupled with a dash of spirit and humor, that would render them
excellent _materiel_ in the hands of a skillful novelist; but they lacked
that high sense of honor and that gentlemanly bearing which made heroes of
the robbers of the Rhine, of Venice or of Mexico.
Their plan of action was to induce the crew of the passing "broad-horn" to
land, to play a game of cards, (the favorite passion of the boatmen) and
to cheat them unmercifully. If this scheme failed, they would pilot the
boats into a difficult place, or, in pretended friendship, give them from
the shores such directions as would not fail to run them on a snag or dash
them to pieces against some hidden obstruction. If they were outwitted in
all this, they would creep into the boats as they were tied up at night,
and bore holes in the bottom or dig out the caulking. When the boat was
sinking, they would get out their skiffs and craft of all kinds, and in
the most philanthropic manner come to save the goods from the wreck. And
save them they did, for they would row them up the little creeks that led
from swamps in the interior and no trace of them could afterwards be seen.
Or if some hardy fellow dared to go in pursuit of his _saved_ cargo, he
was sure to find an unknown grave in the morasses.
One of the most famous of these boatwreckers was Col. Fluger of New
Hampshire, who is better known in the West as Col. Plug. This worthy
gentleman long held undisputed sway over the quiet boatwreckers about the
mouth of Cash Creek. He was supposed to possess keys to every warehouse
between that place and Louisville, and to have used them for his own
private purposes on many occasions. He was a married man and became the
father of a family. His wife's soubriquet was Pluggy and like many others
of her sex, her charms were a sore affliction to the Colonel's peace of
mind. Plug's lieutenant was by him suspected of undue familiarity with
Mrs. Col. Plug. The Colonel's nice sense of honor was outraged, his family
pride aroused--he called Lieutenant Nine-Eyes to the field.
"Dern your soul," said he, "do you think this sort of candlestick ammer
(clandestine amour he meant,) will pass? If you do, by gosh, I will put it
to you or you shall put it to me."
They used rifles, the ground was measured, the affair settled in the most
proper and approved style. And they did put it to each other. Each
received a ball in some fleshy part, and each admitted that "he was
satisfied."
"You are all grit!" said Col. Plug.
"And you waded in like a raal Kaintuck," rejoined Nine-Eyes.
Col. Plug's son and heir, who very possibly was the real subject-matter of
dispute, and who was upon the ground, was ordered to place a bottle of
whisky midway between the disputants. Up to this they limped and over it
they embraced, swearing that "they were too well used to these things to
be phazed by a little cold lead;" and Pluggy's virtue having been thus
proved immaculate, the duel as well as the animosity of the parties
ceased. Col. Plug, man of honor as he was, sometimes met with very rough
treatment from the boatmen, whose half savage natures could ill appreciate
a gentleman of his birth and breeding. An instance of this is recorded by
the same historian upon whom we have drawn for the greater part of the
above account of the duel.[4] A broad-horn from Louisville had received
rough usage from Plug's men the year before, and accordingly, on their
next descent, they laid their scheme of revenge. Several of their crew
left the boat before arriving at Plug's domain, and quietly stole down the
river bank to its place of landing. The boat with its small crew was
quietly harbored, the men hospitably received and invited to sit down to a
game of cards. They were scarcely seated and had placed their money before
them, when Plug's signal whistle for an onset sounded in their ears. The
reserve corps of boatmen also heard it, knew its import and rushed to the
rescue. The battle was quickly over. Three of Plug's men were thrown into
the river and the rest fled, leaving their brave commander on the field.
Resistance did not avail him. Those ruthless boatmen stripped him to the
skin, and forcing him to embrace a sapling about the size of his dear
Pluggy's waist, they bound him immovably in this loving squeeze. Then
seizing the cowhide each applied it till he was tired, and so they left
him alone with his troublesome thoughts and with a yet more troublesome
and sanguinary host of musquitoes, which, lured by the ease with which
they could now get a full meal of that blood which had before been
effectually preserved from their attacks by a thick epidermis, sallied
forth to the feast by myriads. Pluggy, finding her bower lonely without
its lord, came forth to seek him. Closely embracing the tree and covered
from any immodest exposure of his person by a gauzy cloud of musquito
wings, she found him. Clasping her hands, with a Siddons-like start and
air, she cried, in her peculiarly elegant but somewhat un-English dialect:
"Yasu Cree! O carissimo sposo, what for, like von dem fool, you hug zat
tree and let ze marengoes eat up all your sweet brud?"
The historian is pained to record that all the answer she obtained to this
tender solicitude was a curse. Plug cursed her, but Plug's evil spirit was
aroused. Let the reader suppose himself in Plug's position and he will not
blame that gentleman for the ungenerous reply that forced itself to his
lips.
Not very long after this, Col. Plug came to his untimely end. Just as a
squall was coming up, Col. Plug was in a boat whose crew had left it for
an hour or so, engaged in the exercise of his profession; that is, he was
digging the caulking out of the bottom, when the squall came on rather
prematurely and broke the fastenings of the boat. It began to sink, and
Col. Plug after vain endeavors to reach the shore, sank with it and was
seen no more. Whether Pluggy still bewails her lost lord or has followed
him in sorrow to the other shore, history does not tell us.
This sketch of the character of the boat wreckers will prepare the reader
for forming some idea of the boatmen who were their prey. Among the most
celebrated of these, every reader of western history will at once
remember MIKE FINK, the hero of his class. So many and so marvellous are
the stories told of this man that numbers of persons are inclined
altogether to disbelieve his existence. That he did live however does not
admit of a doubt. Many are yet living who knew him personally. As it is to
him that all the more remarkable stories of western river adventure are
attributed, his history will form the only example here given to
illustrate the character of the western bargemen. It is however necessary
to observe, that while Mike possessed all the characteristics of his
class, a history of the various adventures attributed to him would present
these characteristics in an exaggerated degree. Even the slight sketch
here drawn cannot pretend to authenticity; for, aside from the fact, that,
like other heroes, Mike has suffered from the exuberant fancy of his
historians, he has also had in his own person to atone to posterity for
many acts which never came from under his hand and seal. As the
representative, however, of an extinct class of men, his ashes will not
rise in indignation even if he is again made the "hero of fields his valor
never won."
Mike Fink was born in or near Pittsburg, where certain of his relatives
still reside. In his earlier life he acted in the capacity of an Indian
spy, and won great renown for himself by the wonderful facility with
which, while yet a boy, he gained a knowledge of every act and movement of
the foe. But while in the exercise of this calling, the free, wild and
adventurous life of the boatmen attracted his youthful fancy, and the
enchanting music of the boat-horn soon lured him away from Pittsburg to
try his fortunes on the broad Ohio. He had learned to mimic all the tones
of the boatman's horn, and he longed to go to New Orleans where he heard
that the people spoke French and wore their Sunday clothes every day. He
went, and from an humble pupil in his profession soon became a glorious
master. When the river was too low to be navigable, Mike spent his time in
the practice of rifle-shooting, then so eminently useful and desirable an
accomplishment; and in this, as in all his serious undertakings, he soon
surpassed his compeers. His skill with the rifle was so universally
acknowledged, that whenever Mike was present at a Shooting-Match for Beef,
such as were then of common occurrence all over the country, he was always
allowed the fifth quarter, i. e. the hide and the tallow, without a shot.
This was a perquisite of Mike's skill, and one which he always claimed,
always obtained and always sold for whisky with which to "treat the
crowd." His capacity as a drinker was enormous; he could drink a gallon in
twenty-four hours without its effect being perceptible in his language or
demeanor. Mike was a bit of a wag, too, and had a singular way of
enforcing his jests. He used to say that he told his jokes on purpose to
be laughed at, and no man should "make light" of them. The consequence
was, that whoever had the temerity to refuse a laugh where Mike intended
to raise one, received a sound drubbing and an admonition for the future,
which was seldom neglected. His practical jokes, for so he and his
associates called their predations on the inhabitants of the shores along
which they passed, were always characterized by a boldness of design and a
sagacity of execution that showed no mean talent on Mike's part. One of
the most ingenious of these tricks, and one which affords a fair idea of
the spirit of them all, is told as follows: Passing slowly down the river,
Mike observed a very large and beautiful flock of sheep grazing on the
shore, and being in want of fresh provisions, but scorning to buy them,
Mike hit upon the following expedient. He noticed that there was an eddy
near to the shore, and, as it was about dusk, he landed his boat in the
eddy and tied her fast. In his cargo there were some bladders of
scotch-snuff. Mike opened one of these and taking out a handful of the
contents, he went ashore and catching five or six of the sheep, rubbed
their faces very thoroughly with the snuff. He then returned to his boat
and sent one of his men in a great hurry to the sheep-owner's house to
tell him that he "had better come down and see what was the matter with
his sheep." Upon coming down hastily in answer to Mike's summons, the
gentleman saw a portion of his flock very singularly affected; leaping,
bleating, rubbing their noses against the ground and against each other,
and performing all manner of undignified and unsheeplike antics. The
gentleman was sorely puzzled and demanded of Mike "if he knew what was the
matter with the sheep."
"You don't know?" answered Mike very gravely.
"I do not," replied the gentleman.
"Did you ever hear of the black murrain?" asked Mike in a confidential
whisper.
"Yes," said the sheep owner in a terrified reply.
"Well, that's it!" said Mike. "All the sheep up river's got it dreadful.
Dyin' like rotten dogs--hundreds a day."
"You don't say so," answered the victim, "and is there no cure for it?"
"Only one as I knows on," was the reply. "You see the murrain's dreadful
catchin', and ef you don't git them away as is got it, they'll kill the
whole flock. Better shoot 'em right-off; they've got to die any way."
"But no man could single out the infected sheep and shoot them from among
the flock," said the gentleman.
"My name's Mike Fink!" was the curt reply.
And it was answer enough. The gentleman begged Mike to shoot the infected
sheep and throw them into the river. This was exactly what Mike wanted,
but he pretended to resist. "It mought be a mistake," he said; "they'll
may be git well. He didn't like to shoot Manny's sheep on his own say so.
He'd better go an' ask some of the neighbors ef it was the murrain sure
'nuf." The gentleman insisted, and Mike modestly resisted, until finally
he was promised a couple of gallons of old Peach Brandy if he would
comply. His scruples thus finally overcome, Mike shot the sheep, threw
them into the eddy and got the brandy. After dark, the men jumped into the
water, hauled the sheep aboard, and by daylight had them neatly packed
away and were gliding merrily down the stream.[5]
Another story, of a rather different character, is told to illustrate the
recklessness of the man. It occurred on the Mississippi river. A negro had
come down to the bank to gaze at the passing boat, who had the singularly
projecting heel peculiar to some races of Africans. This peculiarity
caught Mike's eye, and so far outraged his ideas of symmetry that he
determined to correct it. Accordingly he raised his rifle to his shoulder
and fired, carrying away the offensive projection. The negro fell crying
murder, believing himself mortally wounded. Mike was apprehended for this
trick, at St. Louis, and found guilty, but we do not hear of the
infliction of any punishment. A writer in the Western Monthly Review for
July, 1829, in a letter to the editor of that magazine, asserts that he
has himself seen the records of this case in the books of the court, and
that Mike's only defense was that "the fellow couldn't wear a genteel boot
and he wanted to fix it so that he could."
One of his feats with the rifle which Mike most loved to boast of occurred
somewhere in Indiana. Mike's boat was lying to, from some cause, and he
had gone ashore in pursuit of game. "As he was creeping along with the
stealthy tread of a cat, his eye fell upon a beautiful buck, browsing on
the edge of a barren spot a little distance off. Repriming his gun and
picking his flint, Mike made his approach in his usual noiseless manner.
At the moment he reached the spot from which he meant to take aim, he
observed a large Indian intent upon the same object, advancing from a
direction little different from his own. Mike shrank behind a tree with
the quickness of thought, and keeping his eye fixed upon the hunter,
waited the result with patience. In a few moments the Indian halted within
fifty paces and leveled his piece at the deer. Instantly Mike presented
his rifle at the body of the savage, and at the moment smoke issued from
the gun of the latter, the bullet of Fink passed through the red man's
breast. He uttered a yell and fell dead at the same instant with the deer.
Mike re-loaded his rifle and remained in covert some minutes to ascertain
whether any more enemies were at hand. He then stepped up to the prostrate
savage, and having satisfied himself that life was extinct, turned his
attention to the buck, took from the carcass the pieces suited to jerking
and retraced his steps in high glee to the boat."[6] He used to say that
was what he called "killing two birds with one stone."
In all his little tricks, as Mike called them, he never displayed any very
accurate respect to the laws either of propriety or property, but he was
so ingenious in his predations that it is impossible not to laugh at his
crimes. The stern rigor of Justice, however, did not feel disposed to
laugh at Mike, but on the contrary offered a reward for his capture. For a
long time Mike fought shy and could not be taken, until an old friend of
his, who happened to be a constable, came to his boat when she was moored
at Louisville and represented to Mike the poverty of his family; and,
presuming on Mike's known kindness of disposition, urged him to allow
himself to be taken, and so procure for his friend the promised reward. He
showed Mike the many chances of escape from conviction, and withal plead
so strongly that Mike's kind heart at last overcame him and he
consented--_but upon one condition_! He felt at home nowhere but in his
boat and among his men: let them take him and his men in the yawl and
they would go. It was the only hope of procuring his appearance at court
and the constable consented. Accordingly a long-coupled wagon was
procured, and with oxen attached it went down the hill, at Third Street
for Mike's yawl. The road, for it was not then a street, was very steep
and very muddy at this point. Regardless of this, however, the boat was
set upon the wagon, and Mike and his men, with their long poles ready, as
if for an aquatic excursion, were put aboard, Mike in the stern. By dint
of laborious dragging the wagon had attained half the height of the hill,
when out shouted the stentorian voice of Mike calling to his men--SET
POLES!--and the end of every long pole was set firmly in the thick
mud--BACK HER!--roared Mike, and down the hill again went wagon, yawl, men
and oxen. Mike had been revolving the matter in his mind and had concluded
that it was best not to go; and well knowing that each of his men was
equal to a moderately strong ox, he had at once conceived and executed
this retrograde movement. Once at the bottom, another parley was held and
Mike was again overpowered. This time they had almost reached the top of
the hill, when _Set poles!--Back her!_ was again ordered and again
executed. A third attempt, however, was successful, and Mike reached the
court house in safety; and, as his friend, the constable, had endeavored
to induce him to believe, he was acquitted for lack of sufficient
evidence. Other indictments, however, were found against him, but Mike
preferred not to wait to hear them tried; so, at a given signal he and his
men boarded their craft again and stood ready to weigh anchor. The dread
of the long poles in the hands of Mike's men prevented the _posse_ from
urging any serious remonstrance against his departure. And off they
started with poles "tossed." As they left the court house yard Mike waved
his red bandanna, which he had fixed on one of the poles, and promising to
"_call again_" was borne back to his element and launched once more upon
the waters.
After the introduction of steamboats on the Western rivers, Mike's
occupation was gone. He could not consent, however, altogether to quit his
free, wild life of adventure; and accordingly in 1822, he, together with
Carpenter and Talbot, who were his firmest friends, joined Henry and
Ashley's company of Missouri trappers, and with this company they
proceeded in the same year up to the mouth of the Yellow Stone river. Here
a fort was built and from this point parties of hunters were sent out in
all directions. Mike with his two friends and nine others formed one of
these parties, and preferring to live to themselves, they dug a hole in
the river bluff and here spent the winter. While here, Mike Fink and
Carpenter had a fierce quarrel, caused probably by rivalry in the favors
of a certain squaw. Previous to this time the friendship of these two men
had been unbounded. Carpenter was equally as good a shot as Mike and it
had been their custom to place a tin cup of whisky on each other's head by
turns and shoot it off at the distance of seventy yards with their rifles.
This feat they had often performed and always successfully.
After the quarrel, and when spring had returned, they re-visited the fort
and over a cup of whisky they talked over their difficulty and rendered
their vows of amity, which were to be ratified by the usual trial of
shooting at the cup. They "skyed a copper" for the first shot and Mike won
it. Carpenter, who knew Mike thoroughly, declared he was going to be
killed, but scorned to refuse the test. He prepared himself for the worst.
He bequeathed his gun, pistols, wages, &c., to Talbot, in case he should
be killed. They went to the field, and while Mike loaded his gun and
prepared for the shot, Carpenter filled a tin cup to the brim, and,
without moving a feature, placed it on his devoted head. At this target
Mike levelled his piece. After fixing his aim, however, he took down his
gun, and laughingly cried, "Hold your noddle steady, Carpenter, and don't
spill the whisky, for I shall want some presently." Then raising his rifle
again, he pulled the trigger, and in an instant Carpenter fell and expired
without a groan. The ball had penetrated the center of his forehead about
an inch and a half above the eyes. Mike coolly set down his rifle and blew
the smoke out of it, keeping his eye fixed on the prostrate body of his
quondam friend. "Carpenter," said he, "have you spilt the whisky?" He was
told that he had killed Carpenter. "It is all an accident," said he, "I
took as fair a bead on the black spot on the cup as ever I took on a
squirrel's eye. How could it happen?" And he fell to cursing powder, gun,
bullet and himself.
In the wild country where they then were, the hand of justice could not
reach Mike and he went unmolested. But Talbot had determined to avenge
Carpenter, and one day, after several months had elapsed, when Mike, in a
drunken fit of boasting, swore in Talbot's presence that he had killed
Carpenter intentionally and that he was glad of it, Talbot drew out one of
the pistols which had been left him by the murdered man and shot Mike
through the heart. In less than four months after this Talbot was himself
drowned in attempting to swim the Titan river, and with him perished "the
last of the boatmen."
Mike Fink's person is thus described by the writer in the Western Monthly
before referred to. "His weight was about 180 pounds; height about five
feet, nine inches; broad, round face, pleasant features, brown skin,
tanned by sun and rain; blue, but very expressive eyes, inclining to grey;
broad, white teeth, and square brawny form, well proportioned; and every
muscle of the arms, thighs and legs, was fully developed, indicating the
greatest strength and activity. His person, taken altogether, was a model
for a Hercules, except as to size." Of his character, Mike has himself
given the best epitome. He used to say, "I can out-run, out-hop, out-jump,
throw down, drag out and lick any man in the country. I'm a Salt-river
roarer; I love the wimming and I'm chock full of fight."
The early history of steamboat navigation will appear in its proper
place.