A Southern Trip--Experiences in New Orleans and Mobile--Three Men put
under the Sod by Ben's Bullets.
Shortly after the Oswego venture, Ben drifted once more to the West, and
after a series of exciting adventures, which space prevents me from
narrating, he brought up in the city of New Orleans.
There, one day, in a saloon which is somewhat famous as a resort for
sporting characters, he became involved in a discussion with a stranger,
the conversation leading to the subject of boxing. Ben, who felt the
utmost confidence in his own fists, was not disposed to hear challenges
thrown out at random without signifying his willingness to accept the
same. The stranger in question, who may be designated by the title of
Baldy, was disposed to be somewhat personal in his remarks.
"I tell you what it is," he exclaimed, bringing his fist down on the bar
with an emphatic thump, "I can lick any man that ever came from the
North!"
Ben looked upon this as an invitation to respond, which he did promptly.
"I'm from the North," he said, "and I'm willing to fight you whenever you
say so."
"From the North, are you?" returned Baldy. "Well, I reckon you must have
come by the way of Germany, didn't you? You don't suppose any damned
Dutchman can fight with a Southern gentleman, do you?"
Ben quietly signified his belief that, in spite of his being "a damned
Dutchman," he could furnish the Southern "gentleman" with all the
satisfaction he wanted.
This dispute culminated in an agreement to proceed at once to a spot in
the outskirts of the city, where the Southerner and Hogan could settle
matters without delay.
Ben had no friends in the city, but he carried with him a six-shooter, and
was ready enough to accept any risks for the sake of a fight.
The party, consisting of half a dozen spectators besides the principals,
drove to the spot agreed upon. Ben and his antagonist threw off their
coats, and faced each other for business. Hogan supposed the fight was to
be a fair contest with the fists, and had no suspicion of any more serious
encounter. For a time the Southerner parried and dealt the blows in a
scientific manner; but becoming enraged at a blinder in the left eye, he
clinched with Ben, and the match became a rough-and-tumble fight. It was
very hot on both sides while it lasted. Ben fought like a tiger, and Baldy
fumed and swore, as they rolled over the ground. Finally, seeing that Ben
was too much for him, he drew a revolver, and seizing the opportunity,
held the muzzle close to Hogan's temple, and pulled the trigger. The
weapon missed fire, and before he could cock it again, Ben had whipped out
his own shooter, and in another moment the sharp report of a pistol rang
out on the air! The men had struggled to their feet during the encounter,
but now the Southerner fell back, exclaiming:
"My God, I am shot!"
The bullet had nearly done its work with terrible certainty. Ben's
antagonist lay stretched there for dead. He had fired purely in
self-defense, and this fact was so apparent to the entire party that they
made no effort to attack our hero.
With the now unconscious Baldy, the men returned to the city, where Hogan
surrendered himself to the authorities. He felt that he had been perfectly
justified in the course he had pursued, and felt little or no apprehension
as to the result of the adventure.
New Orleans was in a state of too intense excitement at that time to make
a trial in her civil courts a matter of much importance. Ben was
arraigned, but discharged on condition that he should enter the
Confederate service. This, of course, he readily agreed to do.
He was stationed in one of the barracks of the city, and in twenty-four
hours' time succeeded in making his escape.
He drifted from New Orleans to Mobile, still in search of adventure, and
still prepared to profit by any new turn which Fortune's wheel might make.
His sojourn in this latter city, although brief, was by no means
uneventful.
On the second day after his arrival he formed the acquaintance of a party
of professional gamblers, who invited him to engage in a game of
draw-poker. His former experience in this seductive pastime did not
prevent him from accepting the proposition to play. He had grown wiser
now, and knew that five jacks would not pass muster under the laws of
Hoyle or of ex-Minister Moulte. The game was played in a room occupied by
the gamblers, and situated over one of the principal dry goods stores of
the city.
It will be necessary to introduce the reader to two of the three men who
made up the party. One was a life-long Southerner, whose passion for
gaming had reduced him to such extremities that he was ready for any
undertaking, no matter how desperate, if it promised to yield money. He
had been the proprietor of a large plantation, but had squandered his
entire fortune at cards. The other gambler was an Englishman by birth, and
a most desperate character. He had spent the better part of his life in
New Orleans, where he was familiarly known as Reddy. He was a scoundrel of
the deepest dye, without any of the suavity of manner which characterized
his companion.
With these two men as antagonists, and with a third as a looker-on, Ben
sat down to the game. He had with him some two hundred dollars, which he
had won at faro while in Mobile. For an hour or so, the play progressed
without any material advantage to any one, although it was evident that
the two gamblers were playing together to fleece Hogan. At last Ben was
dealt a hand in which was contained the ace of spades. He drew, however,
to a pair of queens, and was lucky enough to get a third. As this made a
stronger hand than had been shown up for some time, he went his pile on
its soundness. Reddy passed out of the hand, but the Southerner covered
Ben's bets, until the pot contained four hundred dollars.
"What have you got?" demanded Ben.
His antagonist laid down three aces--among them the ace of spades.
"That beats me," remarked Hogan quietly.
The Southerner put out his hand to draw in the money.
"One minute," said Ben, throwing down the cards, and rising to his feet;
"this is a skin game, and you can't touch that money!"
"What do you mean?" demanded the Southerner, also rising to his feet, and
at the same time turning pale with rage.
"Just what I say," answered Ben. "This is a skin game. I was dealt the ace
of spades, discarded it, and you show it up in your hand. I demand the
right now to go through the cards, and show that there are two aces of
spades in the pack."
"I'll be damned if you will!" broke in Reddy, jumping to his feet, and at
the same time drawing a revolver. "D'ye mean to insult us?"
Ben wore an English walking jacket, in the pocket of which he carried his
revolver. With one hand resting upon the trusty weapon, he made answer to
his antagonists:
"I am unarmed, gentlemen, and I trust to your honor not to shoot me."
"Oh the devil take your honor," rejoined the Southerner. "You leave that
money alone and get out of here, or we'll put a bullet through you before
you can wink!"
"Yes," chimed in Reddy, "I'm damned if I don't put a bullet through him
whether he clears out or not!"
Seeing the desperate position in which he was placed, Ben resolved upon
desperate measures. Just as Reddy was cocking his pistol, Hogan, by a
sharp, quick blow, struck the weapon out of his hand. Then, whipping
forth his own revolver, he discharged one bullet at Reddy, and a second at
his companion--the latter also having drawn a shooter. The two men dropped
to the floor. The third, who was unarmed, attempted to seize one of his
confederates' pistol, but Ben threatened to shoot him also if he stirred
an inch. Then gathering up the four hundred dollars, our hero passed out
of the room, locked the door behind him, and made his way into the street.
It did not take him long to get out of Mobile. From the reports which
afterward reached him, he learned that none of the gamblers had been
killed by his shots. Under the circumstances, he did not trouble his
conscience. By easy stages he made his way North, and eventually brought
up in Albany.
[Illustration: _STEAMER BURNSIDE._]