```Two boys in one house grew up side by side,
```By the mother loved, and the father's pride
```With raven locks and rosy cheeks they stood,
```As living types of the family blood.
```Don, from the mother did his mettle take,
```Dan, the Prodigal--born to be a rake.=
|In the month of May, 1816, the Enterprise landed at Louisville, having
made the trip from New Orleans in twenty-five days. She was the first
steamboat that ever ascended the Mississippi river. The event was
celebrated with a public dinner, given by the citizens of Louisville to
Captain Henry M. Shreve, her commander.
A new era was inaugurated on the western waters, yet the clouds
of monopoly had to be blown away, and the free navigation of the
Mississippi heralded across the land.
The startling events of the times are necessarily connected with our
story.
For the truth of history was never surpassed by fiction, only in the
imagination of weak minds.
Sixty miles above Louisville, on the southern bank of the Ohio, stood
a round-log cabin, surrounded by heavy timber. In the background a
towering clift reared its green-covered brow to overlook the valley--the
woodland scenery seemed to say: “here is the home of the wolf and the
wild cat,” and it gave the place a lonesome look.
A passing neighbor had informed the inmates of the cabin that a
_saw-mill_ was coming up the river. Two barefooted boys stood in the
front yard, and looked with hopeful eyes upon the wonder of the passing
steamer. The gentle breeze that waved their infant locks, whispered the
coming storms of the future.
It was the Washington, built by Captain Shreve, and was subsequently
seized for navigating the western waters. The case was carried to the
Supreme Court of the United States, where the exclusive pretensions of
the monopolist to navigate the western waters by steam were denied.
Some of the old heroes who battled for the free navigation of the
western waters, left a request to be buried on the bank of the beautiful
Ohio, where the merry song of the boatman would break the stillness
of their resting place, and the music of the steam engine soothe their
departed spirits. Well have their desires been fulfilled.
Some long and tedious summers had passed away--notwithstanding a
congressman had declared in Washington City, “that the Ohio river was
frozen over six months in the year, and the balance of the season would
not float a tad-pole.”
The music of the steam engine or the Ohio and Mississippi rivers, had
given rise to unforseen industries. Don and Dan Carlo, standing in the
half-way house between boyhood and manhood, without inheriting a red
cent in the wide world with which to commence the battle of life, grown
up in poverty, surrounded by family pride, with willing hearts and
strong arms, were ready t-o undertake any enterprise that glimmering
fortune might point out.
A relative on the mother's side held the title papers, signed by the
Governor of Arkansas, to a tract ol land on the Mississippi river, who
gave the privilege to Don and Dan Carlo, to establish a wood yard on
said premises.
For steam navigation was not only a fixed fact, but the boats were much
improved--many of them taking on board twenty-four cords of wood at one
landing.
“Competition is the life of trade,” and several enterprising woodmen
were established in this locality; and when a passing steamboat would
ring for wood after night, all anxious to show the first light,
the woodmen, torch in hand, would run out of their cabins in their
shirt-tails. From this circumstance, that locality was known by the
boatmen from Pittsburgh to New Orleans, by the homely appellation of the
_Shirt-Tail Bend._
That, like many other localities on the Mississippi, was first settled
by wood-choppers. The infantile state of society in those neighborhoods
can be better imagined than described. The nearest seat of justice
was forty miles, and the highest standard of jurisprudence was a
_third-rate_ county court lawyer. Little Rock was, perhaps, the
only point in the State that could boast of being the residence of a
printers' devil, or the author of a dime novel.
The wood-cutters were the representative men of the neighborhood. The
Gospel of peace and good will to men was, perhaps, slightly preserved
in the memories of some who had been raised in a more advanced state
of civilization. The passing days were numbered by making a mark on the
_day-board_ every morning, and a long mark every seventh day, for the
Sabbath.
Quarrels concerning property seldom, if ever, occurred. The criminal
code or personal difficulties were generally settled according to the
law of the early boatmen, which was: if two men had a personal quarrel,
they were required to choose seconds, go ashore and fight it out. The
seconds were chosen to see that no weapons were used and no foul holds
were taken. It was a trial of physical strength, and when the vanquished
party cried “_enough!_” the difficulty was considered settled.
I am speaking of times prior to the inauguration of the Arkansas Bowie
knife and pistol Many of the early woodcutters on the Mississippi were
men of sterling integrity. Don Carlo never wrote a line for the future
antiquarian to ponder over, or dreamed that he was transmitting anything
to posterity; yet, by his bold and noble conduct, he stamped the impress
of his character upon the memories of all who witnessed the blossom of
society in the woods on the Mississippi river.
Brindle Bill was a wood-chopper, but he never worked much at his
profession. He was one of the class of woodcutters that were generally
termed the floating part of the population. This class were employed
by the proprietors of the wood yards, to cut wood by the cord--for one
hundred cords they received fifty dollars.
Brindle Bill was five feet and eight inches high, with square shoulders
and as strong as a buffalo--and although he was classed with the
floating population, he had been in that locality for more than a year
and was a shining light at _headquarters._
This was the resort of all who claimed to be fond of fun. It was an old
cabin that was built by some early backwoodsmen, who had deserted it and
moved on. It was some distance from the river, and left unoccupied
by the woodmen. Situated in the edge of a small cane-brake, a large
quantity of cane had been cut to clear the way, and piled against the
west end of the cabin.
Here the jug was kept. These men had no brilliantly lighted saloon for
a resort, but human nature is the same under all circumstances. In this
locality, like all others, there were two parties, or two spirits--one
was to improve the other to degrade society. As we have said, Brindle
Bill was the leading spirit of his party. He was always ready to fill
the jug and play a social game at cards--he only bet, _as he said_, to
keep up a little interest in the game. Brindle Bill always had a pocket
full of money. He loved to tell long stories, and frequently related
previous combats, in which he came off the victor. As the test of
manhood was physical strength, Brindle Bill was the bully of the
settlement--no one desired a personal quarrel with him.
Some said that S. S. Simon, the proprietor of a wood yard, sided with
Brindle Bill--whether this was true or not--Simon's wife, was one of the
leading spirits of the other party. She was a woman of few words, but
the force of her character was felt by the whole neighborhood.
Cord, or steam wood, was the principal source of revenue, and large
quantities were annually sold, thousands of dollars come into Shirt-tail
Bend, but there was no improvement, they had no school house, and a
church and post-office were not thought of.
Don and Dan Carlo, proprietors of one of the principal wood yards, _dear
brothers_, were animated by different spirits. Dan was a fast friend
of Brindle Bill. Don was a silent spirit of the other party. They were
equal partners in the wood business, and when a sale was made, Dan
received half of the money, but it so happened that all expenses were
paid by Don. This had been the situation for a long time. In vain Don
appealed to Dan--tried to arouse family pride. The two kept bachelors
hall, and many times, through the long vigils of the night, Don
laid before Dan, their situation, _scoffed at_ by a large family
relationship, because they were poor, and then representing that they
must fail in their business, because half the money received would not
pay expenses, to all of this, Dan would promise to reform--and promise,
and promise, _and promise_, but would always fail.
In the dusk of the evening, after a large sale of wood had been made,
at the Carlo wood yard, S. S. Simon, Dan Carlo, Sundown Hill and Brindle
Bill were seen making their way slowly to _headquarters_. Simon's wife
remarked to a person near her, “_Dan's money will go to-night_.”
Don Carlo was seen sitting alone in his cabin, his hand upon his
forehead, his eyes gazing intently upon the floor. The burning coal upon
the hearthstone glimmered in the glory of its element; the voice of the
wild ducks upon the river shore, told the deep, dead hour of the night,
and aroused Don Carlo from his reverie--the sun had crossed the meridian
on the other side of the globe, and no sound of the foot-fall of his
absent brother disturbed the stillness of the hour.
Don Carlo picked up a pamphlet that lay upon the table and turned over
the leaves, it was the confession of _Alonzo Phelps_.
He said mentally, Phelps was a very bad, but a very brave man. He defied
the city of Vicksburg, defied the law, and the State of Mississippi.
He thought of the generations before him, and family pride filled his
veins with warm blood. Don Carlo was ready to face Brindle Bill, or
the Brindle Devil, in defence of his rights, and he started for
_headquarters_.
Cool, calculating woman--Simon's wife, the patient watcher for her
absent husband, saw Don Carlo wending his way through the stillness of
the night, to _headquarters_. Her keen, woman's wit, told her there was
trouble ahead.
Silently, and unseen, with fire brand in hand, (this was before friction
matches were thought of,) she left the Simon cabin.
When Don Carlo arrived at _headquarters_, the door and window was
fastened on the inside, a faint light from a tallow candle, that
glimmered through the cracks of the cabin, whispered the deep laid
scheme of the inmates--S. S. Simon, Sundown Hill and Brindle Bill were
banded together to swindle Dan Carlo. Don Carlo went there to enter that
cabin. Quick as thought he clambered up the corner of the jutting logs,
and passed down the chimney. In front of him, around a square table,
sat four men. On the center of the table a large pile of shining silver
dollars, enlivened the light of the tallow candle.
The players looked up in amazement; had an angel from heaven dropped
among them, they would not have been more astonished. While the men sat,
between doubt and fear, Don Carlo raked the money from the table, and
put it in his pocket.
Brindle Bill was the first to rise from the table, he held up four
cards, claimed the money, said he was personally insulted by Don Carlo,
and by G--d he should fight it out. He chose S. S. Simon for his second,
and boastingly prepared for the contest.
Don Carlo used no words, nor did he choose any second; Sundown Hill and
Dan Carlo looked at each other, and at S. S. Simon, with a look that
said, we stand by Don Carlo.
S. S. Simon hallooed _fair play_, and Brindle Bill _pitched in_. Brindle
Bill was the stoutest man, Don Carlo the most active, the contest was
sharp, and very doubtful, notwithstanding the boasting character
of Brindle Bill, true pluck was upon the side of Don Carlo. At this
critical moment, Simon's wife appeared upon the scene of action, the
door of the cabin was fast, Simon was on the inside. She could hear the
blows and smell the blood, for a lucky lick from Don had started
the blood from Brindle Bill's nose, but could not see or know the
combatants. Quick as thought, she applied the fire-brand to the cane
pile, on the west end of the cabin. A strong breeze from the west soon
enveloped the roof of the cabin in flames. The men rushed out into the
open air much frightened. Simon's wife grabbed her husband and dragged
him toward their home, with loud and eloquent cries of _shame_. The
contest was ended, and Don Carlo had the money. Brindle Bill appealed to
the men of his party to see that he should have_ fair play_. His appeals
were all in vain, the fear of him was broken, and he had no great desire
to renew the contest. Seeing no hope in the future, Brindle Bill left
the new settlement. And Don Carlo was justly entitled to the appellation
of the _Hero of Shirt-Tail Bend_.
Society was started upon the up-grade. Some planters commenced to settle
in the Bend, little towns were now springing up on the Mississippi, and
Dan Carlo out of his element, made it convenient to visit the towns. A
new era had dawned upon the criminal code in Arkansas--the pistol and
the bowie knife, of which writers of fiction have portrayed in startling
colors. Shortly after these events, Dan Carlo was found _dead in a
saloon_.
It was in April, late one Saturday evening, the steamboat “Red Stone”
blew up sixty-five miles above Louisville, while landing on the Kentucky
shore; the boat burned to the water edge, and many lives were lost. Men
returning from the South, to the homes of their nativity, were consigned
to the placid waters of the Ohio for a resting place, others were
mangled and torn, left to eke out a weary life, without some of their
limbs. The scene upon the shore was heart-rendering above description.
The body of one poor man was picked up one-quarter of a mile from the
boat, in a corn field, every bone in his body was broken, and its fall
to the earth made a hole in the ground, eighteen inches deep. How high
he went in the air can only be conjectured, but we may safely say it was
out of sight. Several were seen to fall in the middle of the river, who
never reached the shore. The dead and dying were gathered up and carried
to the houses nearest at hand. The inhabitants of the shore had gathered
for three miles up and down the river--all classes and ages were seen
pulling pieces of the wreck and struggling persons to the shore= Two
girls or half-grown women passed by me walking slowly upon the pebbled
shore, gazing into the water, when some distance from me, I saw one of
them rush into the water up to her arm-pits and drag something to the
shore. I hastened to the spot, and the girls passed on toward the wreck.
Several men were carrying the apparently lifeless body of a man upon a
board in the direction of the half-way castle, a place of deposit for
the dead and dying. His identity was ascertained by some papers taken
from his pocket, it was--Don Carlo--the “Hero of Shirt-Tail Bend.”