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 anydamned 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 aroom 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.
STEAMER BURNSIDE.
Ben as a Spy in both the Union and Confederate Armies—The Buried Treasure—How he Fooled the Captain—At Port Royal and Newberne—Bounty-Jumping.
As already stated, Ben, on his return from the South, made his way to Albany. The work of enlisting soldiers for the war was at this time under full headway. Hogan was by no means ambitious to win fame on the field of battle, but he saw a good chance to make money by going South, and he accordingly went.
On board the “America” he sailed for Port Royal, S. C. The vessel was wrecked, but by lashing himself to the mast, Ben escaped. Arrived at Port Royal, he informed the commander of the Union troops stationed there that he would act as a private spy, and this offer was promptly accepted. Immediately after he set out for Charleston, held a personal interview with a certain General, and under that leader’s direction he assumed the character of a spy for the Confederate forces. It will thus be seen that Ben was pledged to give each side all the information he could gather concerning the other. But it may be added that he did not perform this duty conscientiously.
All this time he was working on board the steamer, and by laying in a large stock of quinine, tobacco, etc., which he disposed of at an immense profit, he cleared something like $18,000.
A snobbish sort of fellow visited the steamer one day with a plentiful supply of choice wines and cigars, with which he expected to get into the good graces of the officers; but Ben seized the opportunity to confiscate the liquid treasure, and in place of wine, the high-toned visitor found that his bottles were filled with soapy water.
A tragic incident occurred shortly afterward. The mate of the vessel quarreled with Ben, and while the latter was lying in his berth, crept in upon him, dagger in hand, with the avowed purpose of taking his life. Had it not been for the timely warning of a companion, the hero of this narrative would certainly have ended his career then and there. As it was, however, Hogan was prepared for the assault, warded off the blow intended for his heart, and shot the mate on the spot. The bullet did its work so well that the man lay at the point of death for days.
Leaving the steamer, Ben found himself in Charleston, ready for anything which might turn up. His inventive brain conceived the idea of running the steamer “Planter” into Union waters, and securing whatever prize-money he could. To carry out this bold plan he secured the services of three negroes, to whom he told glowing stories of the money and fame they would win if they succeeded in the enterprise.
“Why,” said Ben, “if you steal this steamer and get it up North you’ll be such big boys that they’ll put you into Barnum’s museum as curiosities!”
This was enough to persuade the darkies to undertake anything, and they actually succeeded in running away with the “Planter.” But they never got anyprize-money, nor did Barnum offer them an opening in his museum.
We next find Hogan assigned to spy duty at Blufftown, by Gen. Hunter. Scouting about the country he learned from a negro that a chest containing watches, jewels, and money was hidden under the cellar of a house which had been deserted. This information was enough to put Ben to work in short order, digging for the treasure. While thus engaged he heard the sound of horses’ hoofs approaching. Making his way out of the house, he found that the dreaded Black Cavalry was upon him. He dashed through the swamps and underbrush, closely pursued by the horsemen, who discharged their revolvers at him in quick succession. None of the bullets took effect, however, and the cavalrymen could not follow through the stubble and underbrush. Ben reached the troops who had been sent out with him, gave the alarm, and all got back to the steamer in safety.
Not satisfied with this experience, Ben returned to the deserted house next day, only to find that the treasure had been removed, and to behold the negro who had given him the information hanging dead to a tree.
Ben’s return North from Port Royal was attended by an interesting adventure. His reputation had spread abroad as a dangerous man. Many crimes were laid to his door which he had never committed. The mere mention of his name caused people to shudder. As a result of all this, he found himself shut off from the privilege of sailing on the “Burnside,” as he had anticipated doing. He was on board the steamer just as she was about to sail, when it became known that he was Ben Hogan.
The captain at once told him that he could not make the passage on that boat.
“This man?” the crew shouted. “Sail with him? Why, he’s a pirate, a cut-throat, a murderer! He’ll kill us all! He’s Ben Hogan!”
This last assertion climaxed it all; and in spite of threats and entreaties, Ben was forced to disembark. But he was not discouraged—not at all—and going to Gen. Fuller, he secured a passport.
The “Burnside” had no more than fairly got under way when those on board saw a man swinging his arms wildly and heard him shout:
“Mail! mail! I’ve got the mail!”
As the captain was expecting the mail, he could do nothing but wait until the man on the bank had launched out for the steamer, which he accordingly did. The stranger, who was supposed to bring with him the mail, was drawn up over the side of the “Burnside,” when, to his consternation, the captain discovered that he was none other than Ben Hogan!
“What do you mean?” he cried angrily. “Haven’t I told you that you can’t sail on this vessel?”
“Don’t trouble yourself,” said Ben quietly. “I sail on whatever vessel I want to; just steam ahead, and keep cool.”
When the “Burnside” ran into Newberne, Ben was taken before the Provost Marshal; but, to the amazement of his accusers, that official said:
“This man has more power than I have. You had better make peace with him, for if he says you may go, you may; and if he says you can’t, why you can’t!”
After this startling announcement, Ben’s enemiesconcluded that it would be wise to hold their peace. He made the rest of the voyage to Boston on the “Burnside.”
Some time after this occurrence, Ben happened to run across the old captain in New York. He professed to be overjoyed at the meeting, and invited him to go to the nearest saloon, where they drank to one another’s health with great cordiality. The captain was a little man with an odd, weazen face, and full of eccentricities. He wore, on this particular occasion, an old-fashioned swallow-tail coat which must have seen a good many years of service. Ben made up his mind to have a little sport at his companion’s expense, and so, getting some lampblack in the saloon, he smeared it over his hands, and then stepping up to the captain, exclaimed:
“By Jove, you’ve grown fat since I saw you last!”
As he spoke, he rubbed his hands over the Captain’s face, leaving enough of the lampblack to make him look ridiculous. Then, as they stood taking a final drink at the bar, Ben dextrously slipped his hand behind him and cut off one of the tails of that wonderful coat.
“Let’s take a walk up Broadway,” suggested Hogan.
The captain at once agreed, and arm-in-arm the two started through the streets.
Wholly unconscious of the absurdity of his appearance the captain couldn’t make out what all the people were laughing at. But, remembering that his face was smeared with daubs of lampblack and that his coat was minus one of its tails, the reader will perhaps appreciate the cause of the merriment. Ben gave the wink to all the policemen they met, assured thecaptain that the people were not laughing at him, and thus the two traveled Broadway from Cortlandt street to Union Square. It was a richer spectacle than one is apt to see every day.
After his return from Port Royal, Ben remained around New York for about a month, and then sailed for Newberne, N. C., on the “Cosmopolitan.” He first made himself conspicuous in that town by giving a trapeze performance at the top of the ship’s mast, which attracted a big crowd, and which set the inhabitants at once to talking about Ben Hogan. Soon afterward he was introduced to Gen. Foster, who gave him the position of steward on the “Cosmopolitan.” Here Ben had the handling of all the wines and cigars, together with a chance to make a fat stake—which he did not miss. As it was against the rules to sell any liquor to the men on board, Ben hit upon the following plan for dispensing cordials: Into a barrel he poured a pail of water, with some lemons, and then filled it up with whiskey. This appetizing concoction he sold at the rate of ten dollars a canteen—which afforded a pretty comfortable profit. Before very long, however, it was discovered that the men on board had procured liquor in some way, and inquiries were set on foot to discover how. It came out, of course; but while Ben was pouring out the contents of the canteens, an assistant was filling them up again, so that the crew did not suffer for drink.
As the “Cosmopolitan” was passing Little Washington her pilot-house was blown off by the enemy’s shots. Ben was called up to take the wheel, and finding that the captain was not willing to stand by him in that perilous position, he turned the boatsquare around and headed her the other way. During this time he had saved about eleven thousand dollars in greenbacks and Confederate money. With this sum in his possession he was taken sick at Newberne, and there placed under the care of a physician who proved himself a villain. In one of his doses which he administered to Ben he placed poison, expecting to get rid of his patient in short order. An old negro woman, however, told Ben what he had taken, and by the prompt administration of powerful antidotes his life was saved. As soon as he had sufficiently recovered to leave his bed, Ben swore that he would have this doctor’s life. Meeting him shortly after on the street, he stopped him and said:
“You gave me poison, and do you know what I am going to do to you?”
“No,” faltered the man of pills, turning deathly pale.
“I am going to kill you!” was the laconic reply.
So saying, Ben drew his revolver and fired. But not wishing to take his life, the ball missed its mark, and entered the doctor’s leg instead of heart. The wound, however, was serious enough to necessitate the amputation of the limb—and so it cost him a leg to administer that dose of poison.
Not long after this adventure, Ben returned to New York. He was again ready to make a raise in whatever manner might present itself. He fell in with a choice gang of spirits, who had concocted to go into the bounty-jumping business, in the following way: Forty men pooled in ten dollars apiece at a certain smart saloon, then on the corner of Houston and Crosby streets, with the understanding that whoeversucceeded first in jumping his bounty and reaching New York, should have the entire pile. The enlisting was to be done in Massachusetts. The crowd set forth, Ben agreeing to follow, and it is safe to say that a harder lot never struck the soil of the Old Bay State.
Nearly all enlisted, according to agreement, received their bounties, and then set to work to get away as best they might. Ben first endeavored to get on good terms with the officers by showing them his skill with the gloves, and even sent on for dumb-bells and clubs; but this game he very soon found wouldn’t work. The party, which came to be known as “The Forty Thieves,” were taken on to Boston under a guard equaling their own numbers—that is, one regular to each of the volunteers. No opportunity for escape offered itself on the journey, and it was not until the troops reached New York that Ben saw his way clear for leaving the service. Some of the men had jumped from the boat and taken their chances of being hit by the bullets. Hogan succeeded in eluding the guard upon their arrival in New York, and set out for a friend’s, to learn whether he had won the pool. He wore a red shirt, no coat nor vest, and nothing but the blue trowsers to stamp him as a volunteer.
As he was passing through the streets a policeman stopped him and took him into custody. Ben walked along quietly for several blocks, and after offering the “cop” three hundred dollars for his freedom, which offer was refused, he suddenly “gave him the foot” as they were passing a basement and sent him spinning through the door. He then took to his heels, but ageneral outcry was raised, and he was captured. The policemen took him to headquarters, where he told the justice that he was a fireman and had never seen the inside of an enlisting-office. The justice rebuked the officer for arresting a man without cause, but committed him to the keeping of the provost-marshal until it should be ascertained whether he was a volunteer or not.
The provost-marshal’s office was at the corner of Elm and Broome streets, and Ben, on the third night, succeeded in cutting his way through the bars. A too-officious policeman undertook to arrest him after he had reached the street, but Ben knocked him down at a blow, and passed on without further molestation.
That, for the time, ended our hero’s war experience. He had not figured conspicuously in any of the famous battles, but he had had a pretty lively time of it, and it occurred to him that New York was not, all things considered, the safest place for him to remain in longer. Like a good many other enterprising gentlemen in those days, Canada seemed to him the most inviting spot on the globe; and to Canada accordingly Ben made his way.
Of his experiences in the Dominion, which, though brief, were certainly racy, another chapter will treat.
Ben in Canada—He goes West again—Adventures in Cincinnati, Nashville, and Louisville—How he Sold the Colored Troops—Sets out for the Oil Regions.
On his way to the Canadian border, Ben met with an interesting little adventure. He was accosted on the boat which took him to Albany by a gentlemanly appearing fellow, who showed him “a peculiar kind of a tobacco-box” which he had just invented. He showed how it worked—how very simple it was to open it—and to prove its simpleness, offered to bet Ben twenty-five dollars that he couldn’t open it in a given time.
It is almost needless to explain that this was the skin game which has since become familiar to everybody. It was fresher in those days, however, and as Ben had never seen the “racket,” he bet with the stranger. Of course he lost his money. But instead of getting mad about it, he resolved to get even by bleeding somebody else. He offered the man ten dollars more for the box, and having been shown how it operated, he put it in his pocket for future use.
On the train from Albany, Ben ran across a verdant merchant with plenty of money, took out the box, and in about ten minutes’ time had relieved him of a hundred dollars in cash. Then the merchant suggested that he would like to get his money back in someway, and proposed to act as “capper” while they fleeced somebody else. Hogan agreed to share with him, and before very long the first victim brought up a second one to be fleeced. From this individual the peculiar little tobacco-box won a hundred and fifty dollars. The capper pretended to sympathize with the loser, and Ben, meantime, strolled into the smoking-car, with all the money in his pocket. At the first station it became absolutely necessary for him to get off the train; and somehow he forgot all about dividing the hundred and fifty dollars with the capper.
Resuming his journey on the next train, our hero reached Kingston, Canada West, in good spirits. Almost upon the day of his arrival he stood on the street paring his finger-nails, when a mutton-chop whiskered Canadian, who was standing near by, drawled out with a very strong English accent:
“Ah—you Yankees are always picking your—ah—nails, and looking about for a chance—ah—to swindle somebody out of his—ah—money!”
“Vat vas dot you vas say?” demanded Ben, looking up from his nails, and assuming the German dialect; “I vas no Yankee—I vas a Deutcherman, yost comes ober!”
The Canadian looked in surprise, but Ben gave him undoubted proofs of his acquaintance with the German language, so that in the end he apologized for having mistaken the “Deutcherman” for a “blawsted Yankee.”
“Yaw,” continued Ben, “I vas a Deutcher lad, und I comes here to open a shimernasium!”
“A what?” asked the Canadian, looking puzzled.
“A shimernasium—mit clubs and dumber-bells und all dot!”
“O, a gymnasium, you mean,” said the Canadian, smiling. “Well, perhaps, I can be of some service to you.”
He was as good as his word, and introduced Ben to a number of citizens interested in physical culture, Lawyer Snooks among others. Through the influence of these gentlemen, Hogan opened a gymnasium in the skating rink. He found the Canadians, however, not over-generous in their patronage. An arrangement was finally made by which he was to instruct the students and others who came to him for five weeks without pay. At the end of that time he was to receive a benefit, and the proceeds, it was agreed, should be devoted to the improvement of the gymnasium. In good time this benefit came off, and a big success it was. Ben delivered a speech, and one of the priests spoke in warm praise of “Mr. Hogan, who had done so much for physical education.” The affair yielded five hundred dollars in gold.
After duly meditating upon the subject, it occurred to Ben that, instead of applying this money he had himself earned to a gymnasium, it would be a good deal wiser to apply it to the improvement of himself, and he accordingly left Kingston, intending, one day, to return. Up to the present writing, however, he has not thought proper to do so.
Passing through Rochester, Ben set his face toward the West. He spent a short time in Chicago and from there made his way to Cincinnati. In that city he soon became known. He was a teacher of boxing in the gymnasium at Fourth and Ray streets, and fulfilledan engagement at the Palace Varieties, doing the stone-breaking feat and heavy lifting.
A performance was got up for his benefit by Messrs. Ashure & Peterson, the agreement being that Ben was to receive the money for all tickets sold outside, while the box-office receipts were to go to the managers. Ben hired a dozen men, well known about town, giving them a hundred tickets each; and the result was that, although the house was packed, the box-office didn’t see any of the money. Hogan pocketed seven hundred and fifty dollars, and Messrs. Ashure & Peterson were thankful to get one hundred and fifty. It was at this performance that a stone weighing eight hundred pounds was broken on Hogan’s breast—a feat which has never been equaled.
Falling in with Bill Sparks, Ben went to Nashville at this time, and opened a show under canvas next to the St. Cloud Hotel. The attractions offered were the cannon-ball throwing of Sparks, and the feats of strength and sparring by Hogan. So successful did this show prove that the receipts averaged between fifty and sixty dollars a day. Ben, however, was not satisfied with this comfortable income, and he looked about for other sources of money-making. A fat thing turned up in the Provost-Marshal’s office—he got the handling of all the Government goods that passed through that official’s hands—and it was by no means an uncommon occurrence for Ben to pocket an odd thousand dollars fairly made.
Meantime, he had gained an extensive reputation as a boxer, and this he turned to good account by joining with Dan Striker in a glove-fight, professedlyfor five hundred dollars. Striker appeared as the champion of the Emerald Isle, and was announced as the “Irish Giant;” while Hogan became the champion of his native country, appearing on the bills as “Benedict, the German Hercules.” Intense excitement prevailed over the proposed contest. The city divided itself into two elements, the Irish population backing Striker, and the Germans swearing by “Benedict.” Allen’s New Theatre was secured for the exhibition, and when the night came the house was packed from pit to dome.
As the reader may readily imagine, the “fight” was pre-arranged, it being agreed that each man should score an equal number of knock-downs. Accordingly, the “Irish Giant” and the “German Hercules” each went down six times, and the excitement among the spectators became so great that words led to blows and a general fight ensued. Meantime, Ben and Striker cleared out of the theatre, carrying with them fourteen hundred dollars as the result of the venture.
While at Nashville, Ben also made a handsome sum by introducing certain famous gamblers to army officers, who were willing to pay liberally for the sake of opening wine with such sports. Whatever else they might have done while in the company of these agreeable persons is their business, not ours. Were the names to be given of these officers it would create a scandal which might injure their fair reputations, and so they are withheld.
We next find Hogan in Louisville. This was in the year 1865, just after the close of the war, and the city was filled with troops waiting to be mustered out.Among others was a negro brigade, which appeared to offer excellent material for our hero to work upon.
It happened that Ben ran across an agent from New York who had a large stock of advertising bills, made to look very much like a greenback. These were something new in those days, and had suggested a plan of operation to the agent. Ten dollars would have bought up the entire stock, which filled a good-sized satchel. With it he went to the quarters of the negro brigade, and offered to “stand in” with the officers if they would give him permission to exchange his “small bills” for the ones of larger denomination paid to the soldiers.
This offer being accepted, the agent stationed himself at the point where the negroes were paid off, and as they passed along in line, shouted out to them:
“Here you are, now. Anybody who wants small bills, step right up and get ’em changed!”
As the negroes had received their money in tens, twenties, &c., and as most of them wanted to use smaller amounts at once, they pressed about the accommodating stranger, crying:
“Yah you are, Massa, suah nuff! Done gwine me some o’ dat small change, mighty quick?”
He did give it to ’em “mighty quick.” The “greenbacks” were done up into packages of ten, twenty, fifty and a hundred dollars, and in an amazingly short time he had exchanged the entire lot of advertising notes for good money.
This little episode made it convenient for him to get out of the city. Doubtless the newspapers of Louisville will remember the affair, inasmuch as they devoted a good deal of space to it at the time. Itmay interest them to learn that the hero of the adventure set out at once for home, after having lost all his money to Ben before he had time to divide the spoils with the colored officers.
The job netted about twenty thousand dollars, and with this amount of money in his pocket Ben struck Chicago. Everybody was spending money freely in those days, but Hogan discounted the world. He “dropped” every dollar of his “boodle” in sixty days. How did he do it? That is more than I can tell. A hundred dollars for wine here, and five hundred for suppers there. Champagne suppers, faro—anything and everything which enters into the career of a high-toned sport when he is flush. That explains in part how the money went. Certain it is that it did go, in some manner, and at the end of the sixty days there was not a bank note left of the twenty thousand dollars.
It will be observed, therefore, that Ben added to the prosperity of Chicago by putting this money into rapid circulation. There would never have been any panic, you know, if everybody had spent money as freely. And so always goes ill-gotten gain.
His jolly spree in Chicago over, our hero set out for his old home, Syracuse. On the cars he ran across an acquaintance named Jim O’Neil, who hailed from Liverpool, a suburb of Syracuse.
“Where you bound for?” asked Ben.
“For the oil regions,” was the answer.
“The oil regions—where’s that?”
“Why, in Pennsylvania, of course. More life there than anywhere else in the world. Just the place for a fellow like you. Mints of money!”
This brief conversation set Ben to thinking. He made up his mind that the oil country was, in truth, just the place for a fellow like him, and he further resolved that he would go there as soon as he could.
He continued his journey to Syracuse, and a day or two after his arrival in that city fell in with a friend whom we will call Burke. This friend had just finished a term in the penitentiary, and like our hero, he was anxiously looking about for something to do. Burke wasn’t exactly a saint, as may be surmised from the fact that he had just got out of prison. He was, in fact, a tough nut, and a fellow who took any kind of risks for the sake of putting through a job.
Ben proposed to Burke that they should get out for the oil regions together.
“But I’m broke!” said Burke.
“Well, raise what you can,” answered Ben, “and I’ll do the same.”
Accordingly, that night the two adventurers put their wits to work, and the next day took the train for Buffalo. It need only be said that Burke improved the time so well that he carried with him a gold watch and chain. Whether some Christian gentleman made him a present of this, or whether he found it on the sidewalk, is not recorded. He had it, at all events, and with the money thus raised, the two friends reached Pit Hole, Pa., after encountering numerous adventures, and traveling the last forty miles on horse and foot.
First Appearance in the Oil Country—Dance-house in Pit Hole—French Kate—Babylon House—Fight with Bob Donnelly—His Explanation in Court of the Character of his House.
It was in this manner that Ben Hogan first entered the Oil Country—a region where he was destined to become more notorious, perhaps, than any other man who ever entered it.
His first adventure in Pit Hole was the meeting with Jim Linton, who carried with him a pair of boxing-gloves. Ben pretended not to know what they were; but having been taken around to “Heenan’s Cottage”—a famous resort for the sporting fraternity—he very soon showed that he could use his hands in a thoroughly scientific manner. This, of course, made him “solid” with the crowd, and he very soon became known.
Nothing better turning up, Ben joined Diefenbach’s show, to do general gymnastic business, while young Burke did a lively business in watches. The latter was so industrious that he came in often at the end of a night’s work with half a dozen “tickers” in his pockets.
Probably Pit Hole, at that time, was the wickedest place on the globe. The roughest and most desperate classes had centred there. Pistols and bowie-knives were the ordinary adornments worn by pretty nearly everybody. It was no unusual occurrence for half adozen men to be killed in a day, and if twenty-four hours did happen to pass without somebody’s being shot, it set the inhabitants of the town to wondering what was the matter.
FIGHT BETWEEN HOGAN AND HOLLIDAY AT PITTHOLE, PA.
At the time of which I am writing, Fred Hill and Dean Wilson came to the town to give a sparring exhibition, and Hogan was trotted out as a “green Dutchman,” who would put on the gloves “just for fun.” Hill naturally supposed that he had a soft thing, but that idea left him by the time four rounds had been fought. He was so used up that he did not want any more of the “green Dutchman.”
From Pit Hole, Ben went to Oil City, where he worked in a variety show, and afterward in O’Hara and Hill’s Theatre, keeping order where nobody else could.
He next joined Capt. Smith, and played in Rouseville, Petroleum Centre, and Pit Hole, at which latter place Ben, who carried the “boodle,” lost nineteen hundred dollars at faro. That bursted the show, as the captain couldn’t make out where the profits were under such management.
Remaining in Pit Hole, Ben’s next venture was in the dance-hall and restaurant line, he becoming the business manager for a woman known as Em Fenton. She had conducted the place on a one-horse scale, but Ben ran the trade up to a hundred dollars a day.
No doubt Cal Wagner will remember his visit to the oil regions at this time, and the benefit which Hogan, in connection with Baldy Sauers, got up for him after his hard luck in Pit Hole.
Although Ben had made Em Fenton’s house his stopping place, he left there owing the woman sixdollars. He next joined “French Kate,” a notorious character, with whom Ben was associated for a considerable time. This woman had served as a spy in the Confederate army and had been a companion of J. Wilkes Booth, Surrat and others. In connection with Kate and Fanny White he opened a first-class house, where liquors were served by pretty waiter girls, and where the patrons very soon became quite numerous.
At about this time occurred his fight with Holliday, formerly of Rochester. Although the stakes were only two hundred dollars, it is doubtful whether a more exciting contest was ever seen in the ring. Fully seven hundred persons were in attendance, women as well as men. Pistols and bowie-knives were as plentiful as cigars, and it took a good deal of courage to face such a crowd in a prize ring. Just before the fight, French Kate called Ben to her side—he was then her acknowledged champion, and said:
“Ben, if you lose this fight you shall cease to be a friend of mine!”
Our hero went into the ring, therefore, with a double incentive for winning. After a pretty woman had said what French Kate did to a fellow, it would have been enough to make a parson fight for all he was worth. Marsh Elliott and John Sweeney acted as seconds for Ben. Seven rounds were fought, at the end of which Holliday threw up the sponge, and Hogan was declared the winner. He thus got the purse, and also preserved his friendship with Kate.
After the fight was over, Marsh Elliott began to do some heavy blowing, asserting that he could furnish aman who “could knock the daylights out of Ben Hogan.” This sort of talk really had reference to himself, and as Ben was perfectly willing to try conclusions with the man, he invited him to step up whenever he pleased. But Elliott had no idea of meeting Hogan in a fair fight. He shot at him through a window in the hopes of killing our hero, and failing in this attempt, was forced into a fight the next day. Ben disposed of him in four rounds, breaking his nose and giving him a terrible using up. He then secured Ben’s arrest, but the tables were turned in court, and he was himself fined twenty-five dollars while Hogan was released.
On the very next day, as Ben was sitting in his parlor, four men entered the room, with the avowed intention of killing him. Hogan arose and said:
“I am unarmed, and only one against four. Give a man some sort of a show for his life. Let me have one revolver, and I’ll take my chances against you all!”
Just as these words were uttered, and most fortunately for Ben, a number of friends dropped in to see him, and the would-be murderers cleared out.
The attempt to make way with Hogan did not end here. A job was put up by which he was to be induced to engage in a fight with one “Stonehouse Jack,” with the understanding that the latter was to kill him in the fracas. This little plan fell through, however, as Ben met the crowd, and at the muzzle of a revolver made them lay down their arms. Believing his life to be in constant peril, Ben appealed to the authorities, who, knowing the character of the men he had to deal with, told him that he would be justified inshooting any one of them who might attack him. Acting upon this assurance, he fired at Stonehouse Jack, as that worthy was coming out of a dance hall. Unfortunately for society, the ball missed its mark and Jack escaped.
Striking out for fresh fields, Ben went to Babylon, where, in conjunction with French Kate, he opened a first-class sporting house. Babylon was a peculiar place, and fully as wicked as the ancient city of that name. There were only eight houses in the town, and six of these were gambling houses. The inhabitants were not over-pious, as may be imagined; and a more desperate set it would be difficult to find.
Ben went on in advance, and fitted up the house in two day’s time, doing pretty much all of the work himself. He then telegraphed for some friends, and they set out in a hay-wagon. That was a memorable night in Babylon when these sports arrived and Ben’s place was opened. The whole were pretty well primed with wine, and they made the town ring with their songs and laughter. Crowds of people from the neighboring country gathered about the wagon. The boys shouted and the men shouted back. When the whole had entered the house, a grand rush was made for admission. Ben sold them tickets till the place was jammed, and than stood at the door, with revolver in hand, to prevent any more from attempting to enter.
During the nine months which Ben spent in Babylon, adventures crowded one another in such rapid succession, that I can only touch upon some of the more important ones.
Among Ben’s rivals in business were the Shay Brothers, who succeeded, on one occasion, in gettingaway his musicians. It was a Saturday night, the place was crowded, but it was impossible for the crowd to be jolly without music.
Ben went around to the rival house, entered the bar-room, and saw his band playing away at their posts. He took one square look at them, and then, suddenly seizing a champagne bottle in each hand, he let them fly at the heads of the musicians.
Lightning is supposed to travel a greased pole at a pretty lively rate, but the way those musical chaps vanished before Ben’s bottles beat any lightning all out of time. The leader wasted a couple of shots in firing at Hogan, and that was all the resistance that was offered. Naturally enough, the sight of champagne bottles traveling through the air without any fixed destination, threw the whole place into an uproar. Ben had entered with the intention of clearing out the house—and he proceeded to do it without any waste of time. A stray blow with a bottle broke Tommy Shay’s arm. Then Ben knocked over boxes, and kegs, and barrels, sent the glasses spinning around in every direction, broke everything that there was to break, and closed up the place in amazingly short order.
The Shays got out an indictment against Ben for this little proceeding, but when he met them with a counter charge of selling liquor without a license, of keeping a disorderly house, and various other offenses, they concluded to let the matter drop.
It was at about this time, also, that Ben had his fight with Bob Donnelly. Some of the sporting papers talked of this as a “snide” affair, and refused to give either of the men credit for the battle. As amatter of fact it was an exceedingly hot fight, occupying thirty-six rounds, and being won by Hogan only after a tough struggle. The contest took place near Fort Erie, and was witnessed by only twelve men on a side—a fact which led the papers to doubt its genuineness.
Keeping as many sports as Ben did in his place it became necessary, at times, to devise some means of entertaining them—for Babylon was not a very big town, and the sights were limited. On one occasion Ben enlivened Sunday by getting up a hurdle-race, which was contested by girls in short skirts. Of course a big crowd turned out; the girls never troubled themselves about the purse of one hundred dollars which had been offered (on paper), and Ben did a flourishing business over the bar.
At another time he dressed up fifteen of the boys in girl’s clothing, mounted them upon horses, and, acting himself as the general of this feminine army, made a week’s tour of the oil regions. Every town that was then of any importance was visited, and it need hardly be said that the company picked up a good deal of stray money.
Perhaps one of the most amusing dodges which Hogan originated, was his pulley-weight trick. He had a set of ordinary weights, such as are found in every gymnasium, but he made them pay more than such apparatus ever did before. This is how he worked it: Taking the occasion when the place was full of loungers, he would walk up to the pulley-weights himself, and placing his back to the board draw them out, at the same time pretending to use a great deal of strength. Then he would step back, remarking:
“I don’t believe there’s anybody in the house that can do that!”
Somebody would immediately try it, and, of course, pull the weights up with perfect ease—they weighed only thirty-six pounds. Then somebody else would want to try it, and after a dozen or so had shown off their strength, Ben would say:
“Well, by thunder, you’re a muscular crowd! But I tell you—it’s one thing to lift up the weights, and another to keep ’em up. Now I’ll bet the drinks for the house that you can’t hold the weights up, say for two minutes!”
There would always be enough ready to accept this bet. Having got somebody holding on to the weights, Ben would have a negro, who was trained for the purpose, go around outside of the building, where the ropes came through, and just as the fellow inside had braced himself for the pull, the darkey would give such a jerk as to hurl him back with a good deal more suddenness than was pleasant. Of course the victim had to stand the drinks for the party, and the money went over the bar.
Even a more fruitful source of income than the pulley-weights was the interesting little game known as three-card monte. In this Ben was assisted by Hank Johnson, who could manipulate the pasteboards with surprising skill. Ben acted as a sort of general patron of the game, always sympathizing with the fellows who lost, and frequently putting in money himself to help make up a stake. He felt very sorry to see his rural friends lose their money—very sorry indeed. But for all that, he didn’t object to sharing the profits with Johnson. Three-card monte is what Hogan used tocall “catching suckers by wholesale,” and that was an excellent name for it.
One case, in particular, was most amusing. A highly respectable old chap from Titusville came in one day with a load of fish. After he sold his stock he was introduced to Hank Johnson, who was illustrating the way they used to draft men in the South.
“You see,” said Hank, “they would throw down three cards in this manner. Well, if a man could pick out the queen, he wouldn’t be drafted; but if he didn’t hit the queen, he was a goner!”
“Waal, now, I want teu know if that’s the way they did it!” exclaimed the first dealer. “I’ll bet if I’d a been down there they wouldn’t a drafted me!”
“You think you could have picked out the right card, do you?” asked Johnson, carelessly.
“Think? Why, Lord bless you, I don’t think nothin’ about it; IknowI could!”
“Well, suppose you try it once, just for fun.”
Johnson threw down the cards, and, sure enough, the Titusville man picked out the queen.
“You wouldn’t want to bet five dollars that you could do it again, would you?” observed Hank, playing with the pasteboards in an unconcerned manner.
“Wouldn’t I, now?” said the fish-dealer. “You jest believe I would!”
So saying, he pulled out five dollars, planked it down, and for the second time turned the queen.
All this time Ben had been watching the game, and now the Titusviller turned to him and whispered:
“Why, Lord bless you, I can pick out that kerd every time. Don’t you see it’s got a mark on it?”
Sure enough, the queen did have a mark on theback, and the only wonder was that Johnson hadn’t discovered it. Probably he would if he hadn’t made the mark himself.
FRENCH KATE.
“Go him fifty this time,” suggested Ben. “Here, make it a hundred, and I’ll stand in with you.”
Hogan slipped some bank notes in the countryman’s hand, and the latter bet his pile on the throw.
“There she is!” he exclaimed, laying his finger on the card with the spot on it.
Johnson turned it over, when, to the Titusviller’s amazement, it proved to be the ten-spot of clubs, instead of the queen.
He didn’t have much more to say, except that he hoped they would keep the matter quiet, as it would injure his reputation if it got out. He was a church member, he said, and never did take much stock in cards, anyhow. As he had lost Ben’s money as well as his own, he was allowed to go, only upon promising to bring another load of fish by way of payment.
Another of the incidents which I shall proceed to relate was, perhaps, the spiciest of all Ben’s adventures in Babylon.
The woman Em Fenton, for whom our hero had at one time acted as manager, had drifted into Babylon and established a sporting house there. She had been, and for that matter still was, desperately in love with Hogan. Of course, French Kate became an object of intense hatred to this former favorite, who saw her place taken by another. Jealousy led her to commit an assault upon Kate, and it therefore became the duty of Ben to show his gallantry by resenting the insult.
Providing himself with a keen-edged ax, he paid avisit to the Fenton woman’s place, and informed the astonished inmates that he had come for the purpose of chopping down the house. With this remarkable introduction, he began to hack away at the door-posts, frightening the women half out of their wits. He didn’t go quite so far as to chop down the whole house, but he smashed things generally and raised a big row.
Thirsting for revenge and maddened by jealousy, Em Fenton made a complaint against Hogan. This led to the arrest of the latter by the sheriff. The occurrence was particularly tantalizing just at that time to Ben. He was expecting to leave Babylon shortly, and the idea of being detained by a law-suit, to say nothing of the chances of his conviction, was anything but pleasant.
He offered the deputy sheriff four hundred dollars to release him, but this offer was rejected. I may add that at a future day Ben got even with this official, which exploit will be recounted hereafter. Not only did the deputy refuse the money, but he insisted on taking Ben to Warren, Pa., a distance of thirty-six miles, in a sleigh, claiming that it was not safe to travel by the cars.
Through the snow and slush, Ben was accordingly taken to Warren as a prisoner. He had with him a plentiful supply of money, and upon reaching the town deposited a thousand dollars with the sheriff as security for his appearance in court the next day. Instead, therefore, of passing the night in jail, he sat down to a quiet game of draw-poker, in which he roasted his friend the sheriff to the tune of two or three hundred dollars. This was a good dealpleasanter way of passing the time than being shut up in a cell.
When the morning came the whole town of Warren was in a state of intense excitement. It had become noised about that Ben Hogan—the terrible, the wicked, the notorious Ben Hogan—was stopping at the hotel, and was about to be brought to trial. The court room was packed to its utmost capacity. Everybody was straining his eyes to get a glimpse of the wickedest man in the world. Ben took his seat in the prisoner’s dock and quietly awaited the proceedings.
At last the judge addressed our hero, saying:
“Hogan, I find that there are five indictments against you, all growing out of the charge of keeping a disorderly house. I need not specify the charges, as you know well enough what they are. Do you plead guilty or not guilty?”
“Not guilty!” answered Ben. Then rising to his feet, he continued: “If your honor please, I shall be glad to explain this whole matter to you, so that you may judge for yourself the nature of my offences. I will cheerfully answer any question which your honor sees fit to ask.”
“Very well,” said the judge. “I will ask you first, what sort of a place is it which you are keeping in Babylon?”
“A restaurant and gymnasium,” was Ben’s prompt reply. “Open to both ladies and gentleman!”
“What have you got in this gymnasium?” queried the judge, who had himself given a good deal of attention to physical culture.
“Well, the apparatus which is generally found insuch places. Dumb-bells, Indian-clubs, boxing-gloves, pulley-weights, rings, bars, etc.”
“How many ‘ladies’ are there in your class?” continued the judge, with a smile.
“Fifteen!” answered Ben, gravely.
“And about how many gentlemen?”
“Oh, between three and four hundred!”
“The gentlemen find it more attractive than the ladies, do they?”
“Well, they all like it,” was Ben’s reply.
The judge began to think his questions less shrewd than he had supposed, and the spectators relished his disappointment in bringing out evidence of such an innocent nature.
“Now, sir,” he continued, “I want you to tell me what sort of exercises you put these ladies through?”
This caused the crowd to break forth into a roar of laughter; but Ben, not at all disconcerted, proceeded to answer the question with all seriousness.
“Light gymnastic exercise is what I call it,” he said.
“Would you be good enough to explain what that is?” asked the judge.
“Certainly,” answered Ben. “It is a moving of the arms, the body and the limbs in such a manner as to bring all the muscles into play, thus,” (here he began to work the upper part of his body to and fro, while the spectators roared aloud). “Practice of this kind,” continued Ben, “is most beneficial to the whole system. It is better than trying to lift heavy weights, in which there is more or less danger of overstraining oneself. The body exercise can be taken by anybody, no matter how weak. It’s a great thing!”
“I should say so!” interrupted the judge.
“Yes,” resumed Ben, “it does persons a great deal of good, and in order to know how much they are improving, their relations come around frequently to witness their performances, and to judge of what progress they have made, both in health and strength.”
This called forth a fresh outburst of applause; but Ben preserved the utmost gravity.
“I may say to your honor,” he went on, “that this subject is not understood by the great mass of the people in this country. They do not take exercise enough. They shut themselves up in offices and shops, over-tax their energies, eat unwholesome food, and as a consequence become dyspeptic, sallow-faced, and miserable. Now, if they would spend a few hours each week in a gymnasium, it would do them more good than all the doctor’s pills that were ever made.”
“Upon my word,” exclaimed the judge, “you are not the sort of man I had supposed from what I had heard of you. I thought that you must be a monster, but I find that you are very much of a gentleman.”
This compliment was greeted by a round of applause from the spectators, all of whom had been won by Ben’s ready wit and intelligent bearing.
“I think you will find, sir,” rejoined Ben, “that the monsters are those who have pressed these charges against me.”
“Well, perhaps that is so,” said the judge. “However, it is my duty to hold you, and I will therefore put you under two hundred dollars bonds.”
“That is certainly kind,” observed Ben. “I expected that you would make it fifteen hundred!”
“The next time you appear before me I shall.”
“But I shall never appear here again!” rejoined Ben. And he never did.
Attempt to Rob Ben—How he Became a Minister and Married a Couple—A Jolly Wedding—French Kate Jealous.
Continuing to recount our hero’s adventures while in Babylon, we shall find that they partook both of a tragic and comical character. Illustrative of the former, the following may be taken:
Ben was returning to his house on a certain night, after a visit to a neighboring town. He was obliged to make his way through the mountain passes, which at best were dangerous places in those days. The night was densely dark. Black clouds rolled themselves up in the sky, obscuring the light of the moon and stars. The wind blew in angry gusts, making solemn music in the branches of the over-arching trees. It was such a night as best befits deeds of violence and crime.
Alone through the darkness Ben made his way. He had reached a point not far distant from his house, but in one of the most secluded spots in the mountains, when suddenly three men, masked, and with revolvers in their hands, rose up in his path.
To appreciate Ben’s position, it must be remembered that he was in a country where murder was the common recreation of a large number of the inhabitants. More than this, he carried with him wherever he went large sums of money, amounting often to three or four thousand dollars. This fact was well knownto the desperate classes who infested the region, and tended to make Hogan an especially tempting subject for their villainies.
FIGHT BETWEEN HOGAN AND DONNELLY NEAR FORT ERIE.
“Halt!” came in a threatening voice from one of the bandits.
Ben halted.
“Hand over your money without kicking, and you are all right. Make any show of resistance, and you drop where you stand!”
Ben had no idea of handing over his money, and still less of dropping where he stood. He took in the position in an instant. He was in the hands of desperadoes who were fully prepared to put a bullet through his heart if the occasion demanded it. One man against three made force out of the question. He must save himself, if at all, by strategy. His ready wit and perfect self-possession stood him in good stead at that perilous moment.
“Gentlemen,” said he, quietly, and without the slightest indication of fear, “you have got on to the wrong track this time. I haven’t money enough with me to buy drinks for the crowd. But look here. If you want to make a raise, I can tell you how to do it. Do you hear that sound of carriage wheels?”
Indistinctly in the distance could be distinguished the rumbling of an approaching vehicle.
“Yes,” said one of the robbers, “we hear it, but what’s that to us?”
“I’ll tell you,” answered Ben, speaking in a low, rapid tone. “That carriage contains a woman who has been stopping at my place. She came down from Pittsburgh the other day, with a boodle that would make your mouth water. She’s got five thousanddollars with her, in cash, and diamonds that are worth as much more. She’ll pass here in three minutes. There’s nobody but the driver with her. Don’t kill ’em, but just make them come down with the treasure quietly. Mind, now, I stand in with you on this job. If it’s needed, I’ll help you. If not, you must divy, because I’ve given you the points. Here comes the carriage now!”
The robbers were thrown completely off their guard. The prospect of making a ten-thousand dollar haul, proved too dazzling to be resisted.
“It’s a go!” said the leader, turning toward the approaching vehicle.
No sooner had the highwaymen turned their attention to their expected game, than Ben disappeared in the darkness, and ran along the road at the top of his speed toward his own house. This he reached in safety, leaving the robbers to grapple with the occupants of the carriage.
It is almost unnecessary to explain that the story which Ben had told was purely a fiction. It was his quickness of thought, combined with his nerve, which had saved his life. It might have interested the would-be robbers to have known that their intended victim carried with him that night over three thousand dollars in cash.
To offset this somewhat unpleasant adventure, I will recount one of a very opposite nature.
It so happened that Ben had procured a suit of black broadcloth, which, together with a white cravat and silk hat, gave him very much the appearance of a minister. One day he chanced to be standing in the street, arrayed in this ministerial garb, when ayoung man, a stranger in Babylon, came up to him and said:
“Could you tell me, sir, where I could find a German minister?”
Ben eyed the fellow for a minute, and seeing the chance for a good joke, answered gravely:
“I have the honor to be a clergyman, and I am also a German. What can I do for you?”
“A friend of mine wants to get married to-night. He lives only a few miles from here, and he wanted me to come up and get a minister.”
“I shall be most happy to officiate,” rejoined Ben. “How am I to reach the house?”
“Well, we can come in for you, or you can drive out yourself. I’ll give you the directions.”
He did so accordingly. Hogan promising that he would be there on time.
The prospect of so rich a joke as this promised to be, tempted Ben to harness up his horse at the appointed hour, and drive to the designated house. There he found as jolly a company as had ever assembled at a wedding. He was introduced to them all as the Rev. Mr. Girdler, and created a most favorable impression, especially among the young women.
When the hour fixed for the ceremony at last arrived, the bride and groom stood up, side by side, while the Rev. Mr. Girdler, alias Hogan, proceeded to join them together in the holy bonds of matrimony. He went through the ceremony as straight as a string, and if he didn’t get it exactly as it is laid down in the books, none of the guests were any the wiser. It may be said, with perfect safety, that no regularly ordainedclergyman ever kissed a bride more scientifically than did Ben.
The happy groom slipped a ten-dollar bill into Hogan’s hand, and then the company went in for a jolly good time. Wine flowed in abundance, and it must be confessed that thepro temporeminister drank as freely as any of the guests, and none of them would have been apt to train under the Murphy banner.
There was an exceedingly jolly company that quite captivated the clergyman. I don’t know exactly how it came about, but Ben did not get back to Babylon until the next morning. He found the marriage company so agreeable that it was really impossible to break away sooner.
Ben’s experience had been altogether pleasant. He had made a ten-dollar note, met with a right jolly crowd, drank all the wine he cared for, and enjoyed himself to the utmost.
So deeply was he impressed by the bride, that upon reaching home he began to enlarge upon her beauties to French Kate—who, it will be borne in mind, was at this time his friend. Ben himself had never known what jealousy meant, although, as we shall see later, he afterward made the discovery. On this occasion, however, he was perfectly innocent in his praises of the young woman.
“She was a beauty, and no mistake,” he said, enthusiastically.
“A beauty, was she?” rejoined Kate, her eyes flashing fire.
“She was, as sure as you live,” replied Ben, whofailed to see that he was heaping coals of fire upon her inflammable nature. “She had the prettiest face and the most perfect form I ever saw in any woman.”
“And you admire her, do you?” asked Kate, her hands working convulsively.
“Yes, yes; indeed I do admire her,” answered Ben, honestly.
That was more than the high-spirited woman before him could stand. With eyes glistening like a panther’s, she made a spring toward the astonished Hogan, and seizing him by the hair, pulled and mauled him about in a very frenzy of rage. In vain he tried to find out what he had done to call forth such an outburst. The infuriated woman wasted no time in answering questions, but taught Ben a lesson which he probably will never forget. That lesson was not to praise one woman before another.