Old Times on the Upper Mississippi
the deck traffic. If a rouster wanted a drink he must apply to one
of the mates, who issued a brass check, good for a glass of whiskey,
which the deck hand presented at the bar, and got his drink. When pay
day came, the barkeeper in his turn presented his bundle of checks
and took in the cash. How many checks were issued to each man on the
trip from St. Louis to St. Paul and return, I do not know; but it
is safe to say that the sum total was not permitted to exceed the
amount of wages due the rouster. Some of the "niggers" probably had
coming to them more checks than cash, at the close of the voyage. The
regulation was effective in preventing excess, which would demoralize
the men and render them less valuable in "humping" freight.
The bartender always poured out the whiskey for the "coons", and for
the latter it was not a big drink. It was, likewise, not a good drink
for a white man, being a pretty tough article of made-up stuff, that
would burn a hole in a sheet-iron stove. If it had been less fiery
the rousters would have thought they were being cheated.
While on this trip, I never saw an officer of the boat take a
drink at the bar, or anywhere else, and but few of the passengers
patronized it. It accentuated as much as any other one thing the fact
that the "good old times" on the river were gone, and that a higher
civilization had arisen. But peddling cheap whiskey to "niggers"!
What would an old-time bartender have thought of that? The bare
insinuation would have thrown him into a fit. But we are all on an
equality now, black and white--before the bar.
Chapter XVIII
_Gamblers and Gambling_
Volumes have been written, first and last, on the subject of gambling
on the Mississippi. In them a small fraction of truth is diluted with
a deal of fiction. The scene is invariably laid upon a steamboat on
the lower Mississippi. The infatuated planter, who always does duty
as the plucked goose, invariably stakes his faithful body servant, or
a beautiful quadroon girl, against the gambler's pile of gold, and
as invariably loses his stake. Possibly that may occasionally have
happened on the lower river in ante-bellum days. I never travelled
the lower river, and cannot therefore speak from actual observation.
On the upper river, in early times, there were no nabobs travelling
with body servants and pretty quadroons. Most of the travellers
had broad belts around their waists, filled with good honest
twenty-dollar gold pieces. It was these belts which the professional
gamblers sought to lighten. Occasionally they did strike a fool who
thought he knew more about cards than the man who made the game, and
who would, after a generous baiting with mixed drinks, "set in" and
try his fortune. There was, of course, but one result--the belt was
lightened, more or less, according to the temper and judgment of the
victim.
So far as I know, gambling was permitted on all boats. On some,
there was a cautionary sign displayed, stating that gentlemen who
played cards for money did so at their own risk. The professionals
who travelled the river for the purpose of "skinning suckers" were
usually the "gentlemen" who displayed the greatest concern in regard
to the meaning of this caution, and who freely expressed themselves
in the hearing of all to the effect that they seldom played cards at
all, still less for money; but if they did feel inclined to have a
little social game it was not the business of the boat to question
their right to do so, and if they lost their money they certainly
would not call on the boat to restore it.
After the expression of such manly sentiments, it was surprising
if they did not soon find others who shared with them this
independence. In order to convey a merited reproof to "the boat",
for its unwarranted interference with the pleasure or habits of
its patrons, they bought a pack of cards at the bar and "set in"
to a "friendly game". In the posting of this inconspicuous little
placard, "the boat" no doubt absolved itself from all responsibility
in what might, and surely did follow in the "friendly games" sooner
or later started in the forward cabin. Whether the placard likewise
absolved the officers of the boat from all responsibility in the
matter, is a question for the logicians. I cannot recollect that I
had a conscience in those days; and if a "sucker" chose to invest his
money in draw poker rather than in corner lots, it was none of my
business. In that respect, indeed, there was little choice between
"Bill" Mallen on the boat with his marked cards, and Ingenuous Doemly
at Nininger, with his city lots on paper selling at a thousand
dollars each, which to-day, after half a century, are possibly worth
twenty-five dollars an acre as farming land.
Ordinarily, the play was not high on the upper river. The passengers
were not great planters, with sacks of money, and "niggers" on the
side to fall back upon in case of a bluff. The operators, also, were
not so greedy as their real or fictitious fellows of the lower river.
If they could pick up two or three hundred dollars a week by honest
endeavor they were satisfied, and gave thanks accordingly.
Probably by some understanding among themselves, the fraternity
divided themselves among the different boats running regularly in the
passenger trade, and only upon agreement did they change their boats;
nor did they intrude upon the particular hunting ground of others.
The "Fanny Harris" was favored with the presence, more or less
intermittently, of "Bill" Mallen, "Bill" and "Sam" Dove, and "Boney"
Trader. "Boney" was short for Napoleon Bonaparte. These worthies
usually travelled in pairs, the two Dove brothers faithfully and
fraternally standing by each other, while Mallen and "Boney"
campaigned in partnership.
These men were consummate actors. They never came aboard the
boat together, and they never recognized each other until
introduced--generally through the good offices of their intended
victims. In the preliminary stages of the game, they cheerfully lost
large sums of money to each other; and after the hunt was up, one
usually went ashore at Prescott, Hastings, or Stillwater, while the
other continued on to St. Paul. At different times they represented
all sorts and conditions of men--settlers, prospectors, Indian
agents, merchants, lumbermen, and even lumber-jacks; and they always
dressed their part, and talked it, too. To do this required some
education, keen powers of observation, and an all-around knowledge of
men and things. They were gentlemanly at all times--courteous to men
and chivalrous to women. While pretending to drink large quantities
of very strong liquors, they did in fact make away with many pint
measures of quite innocent river water, tinted with the mildest
liquid distillation of burned peaches. A clear head and steady nerves
were prerequisites to success; and when engaged in business, these
men knew that neither one nor the other came by way of "Patsey"
Donnelly's "Choice wines and liquors". They kept their private
bottles of colored water on tap in the bar, and with the uninitiated
passed for heavy drinkers.
The play was generally for light stakes, but it sometimes ran high.
Five dollars ante, and no limit, afforded ample scope for big
play, provided the players had the money and the nerve. The tables
were always surrounded by a crowd of lookers-on, most of whom knew
enough of the game to follow it understandingly. It is possible that
some of the bystanders may have had a good understanding with the
professionals, and have materially assisted them by signs and signals.
The chief reliance of the gamblers, however, lay in the marked
cards with which they played. No pack of cards left the bar until
it had passed through the hands of the gambler who patronized the
particular boat that he "worked". The marking was called "stripping".
This was done by placing the high cards--ace, king, queen, jack,
and ten-spot--between two thin sheets of metal, the edges of which
were very slightly concaved. Both edges of the cards were trimmed to
these edges with a razor; the cards so "stripped" were thus a shade
narrower in the middle than those not operated upon; they were left
full width at each end. The acutely sensitive fingers of the gamblers
could distinguish between the marked and the unmarked cards, while
the other players could detect nothing out of the way in them. "Bill"
Mallen would take a gross of cards from the bar to his stateroom and
spend hours in thus trimming them, after which they were returned
to the original wrappers, which were carefully folded and sealed,
and replaced in the bar for sale. A "new pack" was often called for
by the victim when "luck" ran against him; and Mallen himself would
ostentatiously demand a fresh pack if he lost a hand or two, as he
always did at the beginning of the play.
I never saw any shooting over a game, and but once saw pistols drawn.
That was when the two Doves were holding up a "tenderfoot". There
was a big pile of gold on the table--several hundred dollars in ten
and twenty dollar pieces. The losers raised a row and would have
smashed the two operators but for the soothing influence of a cocked
Derringer in the hands of one of them. The table was upset and the
money rolled in all directions. The outsiders decided where the money
justly belonged, in their opinion, by promptly pocketing all they
could reach while the principals were fighting. I found a twenty
myself the next morning.
I saw "Bill" Mallen for the last time under rather peculiar and
unlooked-for circumstances. It was down in Virginia, in the early
spring of 1865. There was a review of troops near Petersburg,
preparatory to the advance on Lee's lines. General O. B. Wilcox and
General Sam. Harriman had sent for their wives to come down to the
front and witness the display. I was an orderly at headquarters of
the First Brigade, First Division, Ninth Army Corps, and was detailed
to accompany the ladies, who had an ambulance placed at their
disposal. I was mounted, and coming alongside the vehicle began to
instruct the driver where to go to get the best view of the parade.
The fellow, who was quite under the influence of liquor, identified
himself as Mallen, and sought to renew acquaintance with me.
It went against the grain to go back on an old messmate, but the
situation demanded prompt action. "Bill" was ordered to attend
closely to his driving or he would get into the guardhouse, with
the displeasure of the division commander hanging over him, which
would not be a pleasant experience. He knew enough about usages at
the front, at that time, to understand this, and finished his drive
in moody silence. After the review was over he went back to the
corral with his team, and I to headquarters. I never saw or heard
of him again, the stirring incidents of the latter days of March,
1865, eclipsing everything else. I presume he was following the army,
nominally as a mule driver, while he "skinned" the boys at poker as
a matter of business. The whiskey had him down for the time being,
however, otherwise I would have been glad to talk over former times
on the river.
Chapter XIX
_Steamboat Racing_
It is popularly supposed that there was a great deal of racing on
Western rivers in the olden time--in fact, that it was the main
business of steamboat captains and owners, and that the more prosaic
object, that of earning dividends, was secondary. There is a deal
of error in such a supposition. At the risk of detracting somewhat
from the picturesqueness of life on the upper Mississippi as it is
sometimes delineated, it must in truth be said that little real
racing was indulged in, as compared with the lower river, or even