We got aboard of Captain Charles Blunt's boat at Omaha, Neb., bound
for St. Louis, Mo. We played our games during the trip, without
anything of notice occurring until we made a landing at a wood
station, about twenty miles above St. Joseph, Mo. It was a lonely
place in the woods, with nothing but long wood-piles to make it a
desirable place to stop over night at. There had been some trouble
between the deck-hands, who were mostly Irishmen, and some of the
officers of the boat. So the former chose this lonely spot to
settle the matter. After loading the wood they all armed themselves
with clubs and bowlders, and took possession of the stairway,
swearing that no man should come down on deck or let go the line
until their wrongs were righted. Captain Blunt was a brave man,
and did not like to be forced to do anything against his own free
will; but he did not know just how to manage those fellows, for
they were a bad crowd, and had the advantage of him in numbers;
besides he had no arms on board except a few pistols, and he knew
that an Irishman did not fear gunpowder. Finally I said to the
Captain:
"If you will take my advice, we can soon run those fellows ashore,
and then we can cut the line and leave them."
He asked me what I would do, so I told him to get all the butcher
knives in the kitchen, and everything else on board that would cut,
or looked like it would, and arm the officers and passengers, and
we would charge down the steps on to the fellows.
He thought it a good plan, so we were soon ready. I wanted the
largest knife, telling the Captain I would lead if he would let me
have it. He wanted the glory of leading the attack himself, so I
had hard work to get the largest one; but I did get one about
fifteen inches long. We all rushed out of the cabin and down the
steps with a war-whoop, and before the deck-hands had time to rally,
we were onto them, cutting right and left. We did not want to
kill; we only wanted to scare them. I got a lick on the head; it
did not hurt, but it made me mad, and I cut two or three fellows
across the part that they sit down on, and they began to yell cold
steel, and made a rush for the plank. The others followed, and
were in such a hurry they did not take time to find the plank, but
jumped overboard and waded out. Some one cut the line, and we were
soon away from shore. The Captain told the pilot to hold the boat,
and then he told the deck-hands if they would come on board and
behave themselves he would take them to St. Joseph. They promised
they would not raise any more disturbance, so he took them on board
and we started on our way.
Soon after starting some one told the Captain that the deck-hands
were talking about having me arrested when we got to St. Joseph,
so he put me ashore on the opposite side of the river, and when he
was through with his business at St. Joseph he came over after me
and took me to St. Louis. We landed alongside of the steamer
_Emigrant_ a short distance below St. Joseph. Captain Blunt went
over on board and told the officers all about our gallant charge.
My old friend, Henry Mange, who keeps a boat store in New Orleans,
was running the bar on the _Emigrant_ at the time, and he often
asks me about the war on the Missouri River.
"RATTLESNAKE JACK."
"Rattlesnake Jack" was about the last man I worked with as a partner
playing three-card monte. His right name was Jackson McGee. He
was born and raised in the mountains of Virginia, and spent much
of his early life catching snakes, which he would sell to showmen,
who gave him the name of "Rattlesnake Jack." He was over fifty
years of age, and weighed about 160 pounds, at the time he and I
worked together. He was a good talker, and had but few equals at
throwing the three cards. He looked like the greenest sort of a
backwoodsman when he had his "make-up" on. He was not the bravest
man in the world, but he was not afraid of snakes, and could make
some good big bluffs with his long six-shooter. He is now living
in West Virginia with his family, and no one would think, to see
him, that he used to catch rattlesnakes for a living, or played
three-card monte with old Devol. He has a beautiful daughter, who
is highly accomplished, and Jack is proud of her.
Old Jack and I were on board of the steamer _Natchez_ one Saturday
night, coming out of New Orleans, and she had a large number of
passengers on board. We did not see any good monte suckers, so I
opened up a game of rouge-et-noir and did a fair business until 11
o'clock; then I closed up and went to the bar, where I met a
gentleman I had often seen on the packets. He knew me and my
business, for he had seen me play monte several times. He invited
me to join him in a drink, and then laughingly said:
"Devol, how is the old business, anyway?"
I laughed back, saying: "Oh, it's just so-so; but let's take
another drink."
He accepted, and while we were drinking, old "Rattlesnake Jack"
walked up and said to the barkeeper:
"Mister, how much you ax fur a dram o' liquor?"
The barkeeper told him 15 cents.
"Fifteen cents?" says Jack. "Wall, now! Up whar I live you can
get a dram for 5 cents; but let's have her, even if she does cost
15 cents. I reckon as how it must be perty good."
The barkeeper set him out a small glass and a bottle. Jack looked
at the glass, picked it up, and stuck his finger in it, then set
it down and said:
"Say, mister, do you call a little thing like that a 15 cent dram
o' liquor?"
The barkeeper told him he did. Jack filled the glass full, saying:
"Up whar I live they give you a tin cup when you take a dram."
He pulled out a roll about the size of a "boarding house pillow"
to pay for the drink, and the smallest bill he had was $100. That
made my friend open his eyes, and he whispered to me:
"Devol, he would be a good subject for you."
I replied, "Yes; and I am going to have some of that money before
I go to bed."
My friend then turned to Jack and said: "Old boy, where do you
come from?"
"I used to live in Greenups," replied Jack.
"Where in the world is Greenups?"
"Wall, Greenups is up nigh the Big Sandy."
As I was born in the part of the country, and knew something about
the people, I asked Jack if he was one of those fellows who made
the counterfeit half-dollars on the Big Sandy. He laughed and said:
"No; but I'd spent more'n a half-bushel of 'em for dames afore they
got on to 'em."