Return to Parker’s Landing—His three years’ Sojourn in that Town—Adventures and Incidents—Attempt to burn Ben’s House.
As intimated in the preceding chapter, Ben left Pittsburg after the sinking of the Floating Palace, and returned to Parker’s Landing.
There he bought a house from one Johnson, with the intention of fitting it up as a sporting resort.
The town of Parker’s Landing takes its name from one of its residents who is familiarly known as Old Parker. At the time of which I am writing, Old Parker owned a good deal of property, and wielded a large influence in the town. No sooner had he heard of Ben’s purchase, than he informed Hogan that he could not remain in the place. Ben replied that he had bought the property and paid for it; that he intended to keep a thoroughly first-class establishment; that everything would be conducted in a quiet and orderly manner, and that there would be no disorderliness anywhere about the premises.
Old Parker thought that there mas no such thing as a first-class variety hall, and that two women would be two too many for the morality of the neighborhood. The dispute waxed hot and hotter, until Ben finally lost his temper and resolved to go ahead and run any sort of an establishment he pleased.
Accordingly, the next day he opened up with six people, and the day following procured six more. In a month’s time he was doing a business big enough tojustify the enlargement of his house, adding a wing forty feet in length. He also bought a nine hundred dollar piano, and with fifteen stars under his management, the establishment was in full blast.
Ben remained in Parker’s at this time three years. During that period, he met with innumerable incidents and adventures, only a part of which can here be narrated.
The house, it should be remembered, was really conducted on a high-toned scale. Artists were there who could speak all languages which any of the patrons would be apt to understand. The patrons were drawn from the prosperous citizens of Pittsburg, Oil City and elsewhere, and included speculators, bankers, capitalists and merchants. Many a respectable citizen found it frequently necessary to go to Parker’s on pressing business—and the business usually proved so very pressing that it necessitated his remaining over night.
So far as it was possible to conduct such a place honorably, Ben did so. Of course there were ways enough for the visitor to spend his money, but there was no violence used toward anybody, nor was robbery permitted. An idea of the amount of business done may be gained from the announcement that the income of the place during the three years amounted to fully fifty thousand dollars. If some pious people objected to the nature of Ben’s business, it must, nevertheless, be admitted that that business did a great deal toward keeping up Parker’s. It called to the town hundreds of men who otherwise would probably never have gone there; and it kept in circulation a large amount of money, for Ben spent as freely as he received.
Among the earliest incidents which occurred to Ben during his early sojourn in the place, was one in whichParker himself figured conspicuously. While Hogan was first preparing to open his house, he was engaged one day in painting the outside, when Doc Barnes happened to pass along, and Ben, from his perch on the step-ladder, sprinkled some of the paint over Doc’s new clothes. Thereupon a friendly tussle ensued, in the midst of which Parker put in an appearance. He straightway concluded that the two men were fighting, and he regarded it as his Christian duty to interfere. Just as he got under the step-ladder, the pot of paint, in some mysterious manner, tipped over, and the contents struck Parker on the head, and trickled down his clothes, giving him a coat as brightly colored as Joseph’s. Perhaps the paint pot upset itself without any aid from Ben; and then, again, perhaps it didn’t. At any rate, Parker, with the paint dripping off of him, vowed that he would never interfere with a fight again.
In such a house as Ben presided over, it was inevitable that a good many tough characters should at times assemble. To manage these properly called for nerve and pluck. Here is an incident which illustrates how Ben played the champion at the risk of his own life:
A fellow by the name of Stilson came in to Hogan’s place one night and became smitten by the charms of one of the young women. He was bent upon thrusting his society on this girl, who was equally determined not to have anything to do with him. Stilson became angry, and began to use abusive language. Ben, who always kept an eye open as to what was going on in the establishment, stepped up to the fellow and told him that he must stop his noise or clear out. Stilson sullenly withdrew; but in a dark alleyway which led along the side of the building, he ran across the girl whom he had been importuning for favors. Finding her alone, heopenly insulted her, and her cries brought Ben to the spot. Stilson drew a revolver, and holding it toward Ben threatened to shoot. It was so dark that the men could not see each other; but Ben could feel the muzzle of the pistol against his coat.
While Stilson was still threatening to shoot, Ben pushed the barrel of the revolver to one side, so that the ball would pass harmlessly by. Meantime, he drew his own weapon, which Stilson did not know he carried. Ben was particularly anxious to give this fellow a dose of cold lead, but he wanted him to fire the first shot. So he dared him to shoot, calling him all manner of names, and blackguarding him roundly.
Had Stilson pulled the trigger of his pistol, as I have explained, the ball would have passed harmlessly by Ben’s side, while our hero would have done more effectual work. But Stilson was not the sort of a man to shoot, although he talked loudly enough. It was well for him that he finally put up his pistol, for if he had discharged it, it would certainly have cost him his life.
Once, during his three years’ residence in Parker’s, Ben attended church. The newspapers in the country about came out the next day and declared it was a pity the steeple had not fallen and crushed Hogan to death. Finding so little encouragement in his attempt to follow the paths of piety, Ben gave it up as a bad job, and never troubled a church again.
But if he did not sit in a pew on Sundays, our hero did some good deeds which would have honored any Christian. For example, a girl came to him on one occasion in sore distress. She had gone astray; had lived a short, wild life of sin and pleasure, and was now reaping the terrible harvest of her wayward career. Forsaken by friends, with no home to go to, she had come to Benas a last refuge. She was then pregnant and suffering from a loathsome disease. Her cup of wretchedness seemed greater than she could bear, and like many another poor unfortunate, she had resolved to end her misery by taking her own life. She had gone so far, even, as to procure the poison, which she fully intended to take.
Ben talked to this woman in a way in which no stiff-necked puritan could have talked. He told her there was still hope for her in this world; that she must put all thoughts of suicide out of her mind, and that he would help her out of the slough into which she had fallen. A gleam of hope finally dawned upon the black pathway of this miserable girl. She found in Ben a friend who did something more than preach. He gave her sound advice, and backed this up with aid of a more substantial nature. Through his influence she obtained admittance to the Pittsburg Hospital, and there, in the course of a few weeks, she was fully restored to health. Then Hogan took it upon himself to bring about a reconciliation between the girl and her parents. He visited the latter, who lived in Butler, pleaded with them in behalf of the outcast, and showed them how, by receiving her back, they might yet save her from further disgrace. These pleadings were not in vain. The girl returned to her parents’ roof, abandoned her old evil ways, and is to-day the wife of a lawyer, loyal and true.
This story, which is in every particular a fact, carries with it, I think, its own moral. Ben’s efforts in behalf of a friendless and outcast woman saved her from a life of shame and made her a respected and happy wife. If the example would be followed more often, there would be less of wretchedness and woe in this world.
When the races were first held at Parker’s, they brought a rich harvest to Ben’s place. He, inconnection with Newell, Leo, and a few other sporting characters, followed up the races to Jamestown, where Newell ran a faro bank. Ben, who carried with him five thousand dollars in cash, loaned five hundred dollars for the game. But when this was lost, he refused to advance any more, having a suspicion that Leo was not dealing a perfectly square game. Although Ben himself had no interest whatever in the bank, he was arrested just as he was boarding the steamer, by a deputy sheriff, who informed him that he must go to the lock-up with him. The deputy’s plan was really to bleed Hogan, whom he knew to be the moneyed man of the party. The bleeding, however, was on the other side of the house, for Ben drew off and dealt the deputy a blow which caused his nose to bleed with unpleasant freedom. He didn’t care to attempt any more bleeding just then.
All this time that Ben remained in Parker’s, Kitty was accustomed to make occasional trips to Cleveland, presumably on business, but really to meet an old flame which she had in that city. Ben was altogether ignorant of this little liaison, and it would no doubt have caused him both anger and chagrin had he known that Kitty’s business trips, which cost from three to four hundred dollars each, were made for the express benefit of some other fellow. This was one of the instances where Ben himself had the wool pulled over his eyes.
The want of space prevents me from dwelling longer upon our hero’s career in Parker’s. Altogether he had a lively time of it, and a volume might be written upon the occurrences of those three years. I must hasten on to describe how Ben finally left Parker’s Landing.
He had gone to Pittsburg one day, and there, while standing in front of George Leavenworth’s saloon, inconversation with Booke, a telegraphic message was put into his hands. Upon opening the envelope Ben read the startling news that his place at Parker’s was in flames.
He handed the message to Booke. The latter, who owned the best hotel in Parker’s, in close proximity to Hogan’s house, turned a little pale at the announcement. Ben, however, received it with his usual coolness, and simply sent back a telegram telling them to save his piano, and let the rest go. He lost no time, of course, in getting back to Parker’s. On reaching the town, he found that his house had been saved by the promptness of the citizens, who had turned outen masseto extinguish the fire.
Although Ben had no positive proof, he was fully convinced in his own mind that his place had been set on fire by some of the men who had long been hostile to him. One of these, Casey by name, he met in the street, and accused him point blank of firing his house. Casey undertook to turn off the matter with a laugh.
“You can laugh,” said Ben, shaking his finger in the man’s face, “but there’s a good deal of strain about that laugh. You and your gang fired the house, and you know about it!”
Again Casey laughed and tried to deny the accusation.
It may be mentioned that some time afterward, when Ben was living in Petrolia, this same Casey became one of his staunchest friends, and just two weeks before he was burned to death on the Allegheny river, he made a clean confession, telling Hogan that it was he indeed who had fired the house.
Shortly after the above occurrence, a new constable was elected in the town of Parker’s—he had been ablacksmith originally—and through the instrumentality of this official, indictments were found against Hogan for selling liquor without a license. Ben immediately called upon his old friend, the Judge, accompanied by Joe Smith, as bail. He told the judge that before the election of the new constable, he had paid the District Attorney one hundred dollars to prevent any suits against him. He further said that he was willing to stand a trial, but that he should insist upon pleading his own case.
“What do you want to do that for?” asked the judge.
“Because,” answered Ben, “I mean to show up some things that will astonish the natives. I mean to prove that there is a corrupt ring in the courts of this county, formed for the purpose of bleeding everybody it can. I shall not have to go outside of the court to get all the witnesses I want. And if the case is ever tried, there will be a good many other fingers burned, besides mine!”
Under the circumstances, the Judge thought it advisable that the suit should not be pressed. He placed Ben under five hundred dollars bonds, Joe Smith becoming the surety. The case was never called, and Ben soon after removed from Parker’s.
SCENE IN THE PITTSBURG HOUSE.
Ben buys a house in Pittsburg—Engineering for a New Railroad—Goes to Petrolia and Opens House—The Ladies Seminary.
In the city of Pittsburg, there stands, on Tenth street, a handsome brick house, which has a history connected with it.
This house was once the property of Ben Hogan. Upon leaving Parker’s Landing, as already narrated, he made his way to Pittsburg, accompanied by Kitty and Lizzie Topley, and carrying with him fifteen thousand dollars in cash. A part of this money he was desirous of investing in real estate, and after looking about the city, he finally hit upon the dwelling on Tenth street, alluded to above.
For this place he paid seven thousand dollars, and expended about three thousand more in furniture and decorations. The interior of the house was magnificent in the extreme. The furniture, carpets, pictures, etc., were of the costliest description. Kitty and Lizzie were the only occupants, Ben’s idea being to fit up a permanent and handsome place for his home. It was what might be called a semi-private resort, where a few high-toned patrons only were admitted. Nothing but choice wines could be obtained in the place, and those who were desirous of maintaining their reputation as gentlemen were expected to order liberally without regard to the rather high price per bottle.
With the outlay involved in fitting out this Pittsburghouse, and the other expenses which he had met with after leaving Parker’s, Ben found his capital exhausted. He therefore set about to discover some means by which he could make another raise.
It so happened at this time that they were building a railroad, or rather discussing the feasibility of building one, between Pittsburg and Butler. This gave Ben a suggestion for a plan of operation. Joining with a couple of gentlemen who were not overburdened with conscientious scruples as to what they did, he provided himself with a surveyor’s glass, a line, poles, and other instruments used by civil engineers. Then the three friends set out for the country between Pittsburg and Butler. Arrived at the spot where stood the house of a rich farmer, the self-constituted surveyors began their work. They set up their sighting glass, and proceeded to make observations, stretch the line and drive in stakes.
It was not long before these operations attracted the attention of the farmer, who came out and wanted to know what the strangers were doing. He was informed that they were civil engineers, and were laying out the line for the new road to Butler.
“But you ain’t going to make that ’ere railroad run through my land, be you?”
“The track will pass straight through your front door,” answered Ben, in a business-like manner.
The farmer looked as though his death sentence had just been pronounced. He invited the surveying party into the house, and insisted upon their becoming his guests while engaged in their work. Meantime he set about seeing what could be done to prevent the proposed road from running through his land.
Waiting until evening, he accosted one of Ben’s associates, saying:
“This ere road is going to do me a powerful lot of harm. I’d give a pile of money rather than have the track cut through my property.”
The confidence man stroked his moustache thoughtfully, and rejoined:
“Well, you might speak to Mr. Hogan about the matter. Perhaps you could induce him to change the route. I’d offer him five hundred dollars at the least, if I were you. He wouldn’t consider anything less than that.”
The next day the farmer approached Ben on the subject, and after beating around the bush for some time, finally offered him five hundred dollars if he would change the line of the road.
Ben pretended to hesitate, said that it ought to be a thousand, at least; and finally accepted the money.
The next day the party returned to Pittsburg, for the purpose, as Ben explained, of explaining to the directors that the route of the road would have to be changed. The farmer, of course, discovered that he had been swindled, and threatened several times to bring a suit against Hogan for damages; but none of these were ever carried through.
Soon after this adventure, Ben left for Pittsburg, and struck out for Petrolia. This was his first advent into Petrolia. Kitty remained in the Pittsburg house.
Ben’s first venture in Petrolia was the purchase of a small wooden house from one Lauterbach, for which he was to pay three hundred and fifty dollars. The house stood on Fairview street. Ben at once laid in a large stock of liquors, having fitted up an ice chest capable of holding two tons of ice. While he was making his preparations to open this house, the good citizens ofPetrolia took alarm at the idea of having Ben Hogan for a fellow townsman, and at once called a meeting at which it was voted to arrest all whiskey dealers in the place. Messrs. Campbell, Jamison and others were among the leaders in this crusade. The liquor dealers were arrested, according to the programme, and Ben appeared in the justice’s court as their counsel. Bail was fixed in the sum of five hundred dollars each. Ben at once offered to become surety for the indicted dealers. The Squire, as the police justice was called, eyed Hogan a little suspiciously.
“What is your name?” he inquired.
“Ben Hogan,” was the prompt reply.
This caused an immediate sensation in the court-room.
The Squire was paralyzed, so to speak, at the announcement. He was afraid to accept the offered bail, and still more afraid to refuse it.
“Where is your real estate?” he asked.
“In Pittsburg,” answered Ben. “It is first-class unincumbered property, and you’re bound to accept me as bail!”
Here followed an argument on the part of the prosecuting lawyers, as to whether the prisoners should be admitted to bail at all. They referred the Squire to statutes which they claimed showed that the men must be held. Meantime Ben took one of the lawyers aside, and offered him thirty-six dollars if he would settle the case without further trouble. This offer had a curious effect upon the legal gentleman’s opinion. He straightway stood up and argued that what he had before said was all a mistake; that the statutes plainly showed that the case could be settled there and then; and that any man who said it couldn’t was a liar.
The Squire, who was a good deal muddled, at lastmade up his mind that the lawyer was right, and so declared that the matter should be dropped.
No sooner had he rendered this decision, than Ben arose and said, addressing the Squire:
“Now, sir, I mean to have you arrested for blackmail!”
“Wh-wh-what do you mean?” stammered the Squire, frightened half out of his wits.
“I mean,” returned Hogan, “that there has been bribery here, and that the law does not permit such a case to be settled. I shall let the matter rest, however, providing I am not molested in my own business. I’ve opened a house here in Petrolia, myself, and to-morrow being Sunday, I invite you all to come around and get a drink. For I want it understood that I am going to sell liquor when and where I please!”
It can readily be imagined that this speech created a good deal of a sensation among the hearers. Nevertheless, the invitation was accepted, the lawyers visited Ben’s house the next day, got gloriously drunk before they left, and that ended all further disputes in the court. This decisive action on Ben’s part secured to the Petrolia liquor dealers the right of carrying on their business—which otherwise they probably would never have obtained.
After a short time, Ben found that he needed a bigger house than the one which he had bought. He endeavored to get a lease of some suitable premises, but the feeling against him was so strong that he found it impossible to do this. He therefore resolved to build a house for himself.
Going out into the suburbs of the town, he selected an open field in which oats were growing. This field was the property of Mr. Jamison, already alluded to.Without consulting that gentleman, Ben went to work on a certain Monday, and in just one week’s time erected a structure, one hundred by twenty feet, containing fifteen bedrooms, a ball room, bar, and other requisites. He had this house open and in full blast before the worthy Mr. Jamison had so much as discovered that a building had been erected on his property. When he did discover it he was naturally excited and enraged. He went out to the spot, and, meeting Ben, asked him if he knew who had put up that house.
Ben said he hadn’t the remotest idea who did it.
“Don’t you know I own this ground?” demanded Mr. Jamison, angrily.
“Well, what if you do?” answered Ben. “You know I couldn’t get a lease anywhere in the town, so I have come out here where I don’t molest anybody.”
“But you molest me,” was the rejoinder. “You molest my oats!”
“Oh, well,” said Ben, “I’ll buy your oats, for that matter. And as I only want to stay here for three months, you’d better let me remain. The fact of it is, Mr. Jamison, you live here in Petrolia, own property, and do business. I have come here to live here also, and I am going to carry on my business as I see fit. This is an oil region, and it’s all nonsense to talk about stopping the sale of liquor. It will be sold, of course. And I am going to sell it!”
Mr. Jamison began to weaken under these arguments. Perhaps he did not consider it safe for his own welfare to arouse Ben’s anger. He therefore adopted a pacifying tone.
“Well, if you will agree not to keep your place open Sundays, you can stay,” he said.
Ben assured him that he would never sell any liquoron Sundays, as six days in the week were all he cared for.
But it so happened on the first Sunday that a party of thirty men drove out for a day’s sport, and out of sheer tender-heartedness Ben was obliged to open up the ballroom and furnish them with music. Of course they could not dance without liquor, and so he gave them that also. It was his tender-heartedness, you will observe, that was to blame for this.
Among the amusing incidents which occurred at this time, I will relate one of an exceeding spicy nature:
On a certain cold and drizzly day, a farmer’s wagon drove up to the door, and the farmer, with his wife and daughter, entered Ben’s place. He was entirely ignorant of its character, and about as verdant as they make them. While the wife and daughter made their way into the kitchen to dry their clothes by the fire, the farmer accosted Ben, saying:
“Whose place is this, anyhow?”
“Professor Hogan’s,” was the reply.
“Well, now, I want to know!” ejaculated the farmer. “And you have some other kind of business, maybe?”
“Oh, yes,” answered Ben. “I am also engaged in the oil business. I’ve got fifteen pumping wells.”
“You don’t say so!” returned the visitor.
Meantime the mother and daughter, in the kitchen, were propounding conundrums to Lizzie Topley. Noticing the numerous young ladies sitting about the room, the old lady inquired what sort of a place it was.
“This is a female college,” said Lizzie, gravely.
“A female college. Well, I do declare!” exclaimed the farmer’s wife. “What an excellent idee to be sure. Here we’ve lived in the oil country all these years and never had a college before. Who is the professor?”
“Hogan, his name is;” answered Lizzie—“Professor Hogan.”
“And what are the terms?” continued the old lady.
“Fifty dollars a quarter!”
“Well, now, we’ve got a farm that we’re a trying to sell, and if we do sell it, I’ll have my daughter come down here, and enter the college. If we don’t sell the farm, we’ve got a brindle cow that’ll fetch fifty dollars anyway, and that’ll pay for one quarter!”
The farmer and his wife finally took their departure, thoroughly convinced that they had seen the only private college in the oil country. The old lady afterward learned what sort of a college it was, and she concluded that she would not send her sixteen-year-old daughter to be educated by “Professor Hogan.”
Ben’s absence from Kitty led him at times to fits of jealousy, and in one of these he drove one night to Pittsburg, a distance of forty miles. Reaching the city at six o’clock in the morning, he proceeded at once to his house, entered through a back window, and stole quietly into his mistress’s room. There his suspicions found abundant confirmation! In the bed with Kitty was a girl, both wrapped in sleep. Ben drew his revolver, with the intention of committing a double murder; but the weapon missed fire, and in another moment Kitty had sprung from the bed.
She soon pacified her infuriated lover. The girl, she explained, was her country cousin, Julia by name, who had come to the house and spent the evening in opening champagne. Both she and the “cousin” had partaken so freely of the wine that they became drowsy, and had so fallen asleep on the same bed.
Cousins, and especially country cousins, are, as we know, a privileged class; and so Ben concluded that hewould permit Kitty’s friend to remain where she was. It may be mentioned that this little trip cost our hero the comfortable sum of one thousand dollars, for he remained in Pittsburg long enough to visit a number of faro banks, and to open several baskets of wine. He concluded, upon his return to Petrolia, that country cousins were too expensive luxuries to be indulged in often, and jealousy didn’t pay.
Ben as a Politician—Elected Burgess of Petrolia, but Cheated out of the Office—Goes to Queen City—Pleasure Trip West—Preparations to fight Tom Allen in St. Louis.
Not long after Ben’s return to Petrolia from the country cousin trip, a couple of fellows came into his place—they were residents of the town of Brookville—and claimed that on a previous visit, they had been cheated out of four hundred dollars in the house. This was a lie, cut out of the whole cloth.
Perceiving it to be nothing more than an attempt at blackmail, Ben showed the fellows the door in short order. They set out in search of a justice, swearing to procure warrants for Hogan’s arrest. The latter followed close at their heels, and reached the justice’s office just as the warrants were to be signed.
Ben denounced his accusers, and endeavored to show the Squire that what they asserted was a falsehood. The argument which ensued led to hot words on both sides, and these in turn resulted in blows. Ben whipped both of the men and turned them out of the office, along with the Squire for company.
During the fracas, the man who entered the complaint, drew out the money which he claimed had been stolen from him, thus proving that his accusations were wholly false. Of course the case was never pressed in view of such developments.
Petrolia by this time had become a borough, and the election of a burgess, as the office is called in Pennsylvania,was close at hand. A very strong and popular man, Dimmick by name, had been nominated for the position, and as his election was regarded a certainty, no opposition candidate was named.
MOCK RAID ON THE GAMBLING HOUSE IN LITTLE ROCK.
This gave Ben an opportunity to make his first entree into politics. He determined that Dimmick should not have a walk-over in the race, and so set himself up as an independent candidate. With very little experience in the wiles and ways of political life, his personal popularity was such that he was fairly elected to the office, receiving a majority of seven votes.
So close a result prompted Dimmick’s friends to resort to fraudulent measures for the sake of their candidate. Hogan was counted out of the office to which he was justly entitled, as other men in higher walks of life have been counted out of higher offices. The upright Mr. Campbell declared that, whatever the ballots might show, Ben Hogan must not be burgess.
“Why,” said he, “this man would have a drinking saloon or a gambling hell on every corner. And he would arrest all of us who didn’t go into these places!”
Ben really cared very little for the office. He had run simply to test his strength, and his success made him abundantly satisfied with the result. He permitted his opponent to assume the position without contention.
Just after the election, and while on his way to Pittsburg, Ben picked up a copy of theOil City Derrick, in which he read an announcement of his election. The train happened to be delayed by the breaking of a bridge, and our hero went into a neighboring farm house to obtain something to eat. This being furnished him, he fell into conversation with the farmer, and pointed out to him the paragraph in theDerrick.
“Think of it!” said Ben, with assumed indignation. “Such a man as Hogan elected burgess of Petrolia! Why, it’s a disgrace to the town—a libel upon the elective system!”
“That’s so,” returned the farmer. “I’ve heered a good deal about this Ben Hogan, and I should calculate he ought to be in jail instead of in office.”
“Of course he ought,” rejoined Ben. “Lynching would be too good for him!”
This sort of talk was continued for some time, Ben joining with the farmer in the opinion that Hogan ought to be hung up to the nearest tree.
A rosy-cheeked, but excessively verdant young girl, a daughter of the farmer, was very much taken with a diamond cross which our hero wore upon his shirt-front. She did not know what it was, but Ben told her, adding that it cost nineteen thousand dollars—it was worth perhaps seven hundred—and that it had been presented to him in Austria.
Altogether he made a deep impression upon the occupants of the farm house, and their surprise may be more readily imagined than described when, upon taking his departure, he presented them with his card, in the shape of a silver half dollar, upon which was engraved his name. The farmer was paralyzed with astonishment. Nor would he believe his senses until he had run after the train and been assured by the conductor that his visitor was really none other than the notorious Ben Hogan.
After his return to Petrolia, from this visit to Pittsburg, came the memorable thirty days “shut down” in the oil regions. The effect of this move, which was in fact a demand for an increase on the price of petroleum, was most disastrous to the oil interest. It resembled, on asmaller scale, the Black Friday, never to be forgotten in Wall street.
Seizing upon the excitement of the hour to promote his own interest, Ben issued a circular which was exceedingly rich and racy. He proceeded to declare that he was the owner of fifteen pumping wells, and that he fully agreed with other operators in the pressing necessity of an advance in prices. It was impossible, the circular said, for Mr. Hogan to produce his oil for less than five dollars a barrel. Indeed, considering the character of the oil obtained from his wells, even this was too small a sum.
Thousands of these circulars were distributed through the oil regions, and copies of them found their way all over the country. So neatly was it worded, that a great many swallowed the joke as gospel truth; and one man in addressing a public meeting astonished some of his hearers by saying:
“Why, gentlemen, here is a circular from Mr. Hogan, one of the heaviest operators in this region. He says that he owns fifteen wells, and yet even he is not able to produce his oil for less than five dollars a barrel!”
If the orator had known that it was fifteen barrels of whiskey he was talking about, he probably would not have brought forward this circular by way of an argument.
It was at this period that Bill Casey made his confession of firing Ben’s house, to which reference has already been made. Two weeks afterwards he was burned to death on the Allegheny river.
With a view to enlarge his field of operations, Ben rented his place in Petrolia for fifty dollars a week, to a woman named Nell Robinson. He, himself, went to Greece city, and there established one of the handsomest wine rooms ever seen in the oilregions. It was fitted up on a scale of magnificence which would have done credit to a first-class New York establishment. The bar-room cost nineteen hundred dollars, and was decorated and frescoed in a most elaborate manner. Nothing but the choicest brands of imported wines and liquors, with the best of cigars, were sold. The place was purely a wine room, Ben having become temporarily tired of sporting women.
During the three months which this place remained open, it did a thriving business, and in spite of the heavy outlay, paid a handsome profit.
Having money enough to meet all present wants, and wishing to enjoy himself for a time, Ben closed up his business, and proceeded to Pittsburg. There, after spending a short time in a general round of pleasures, and dropping more money than he could keep track of, Ben one night went into George Leavenworth’s place, and flipped up a twenty-dollar gold piece to decide whether he should go West or to Europe. The coin came down three times in succession in favor of the West, and so Ben set out in that direction in search of pleasure and adventure. He found plenty of both.
In order to break the monotony of his journey, he stopped off at a number of country towns, where he represented himself to be the canvasser for a New York story paper. His plan of proceeding was this: He would enter a farmer’s house and solicit his subscription for the paper. This amounted to five dollars, and included a magnificent chromo, which, of course, was worth double the money. The chromo, however, was only a secondary inducement to subscribe.
“You see,” Ben would say, “we give away every year a piano, which you couldn’t buy for less than seven hundred dollars. This is done for an advertisement, and thelucky person is decided upon by drawing numbers from a wheel in the same manner as a lottery. Now, I can so arrange it that you will draw the piano, but, of course, I shall expect something in return. If you will pay me twenty-five dollars, and speak a good word to all your friends about the paper, I will see that the piano is shipped to you as soon as I get back to New York.”
This generous proposition was, in the majority of cases, readily agreed to. The farmer would accompany Ben to his nearest neighbor, and there use his influence toward obtaining a subscription. Dismissing farmer number one, Ben would proceed to make the same offer to number two, assuring him that he would get the piano by the payment of twenty-five dollars.
This proved a pretty profitable kind of recreation for our hero; but when the farmers assembled in town on the appointed day, and found that the promised piano didn’t arrive, it was, perhaps, well for Ben’s health that he was a good many miles distant from the spot.
Another little incident showed how the biter may sometimes get bitten himself. Stopping off at Little Rock, Ben fell in with a crowd of sharpers who introduced him to a faro bank where the worst kind of a skin game was dealt. It made no difference what the result over the board might be, the policy of the crowd being to freeze to the money when they had once got it into their possession. The bank was located in the upper room of a hotel, where, presumably, no gambling was allowed. While Ben was engaged in the game, and after he had invested four hundred dollars in chips, one of the sharpers slipped out of the room unperceived, and disguised himself in the uniform of a policeman. Then a mock raid was made upon the bank. The lights were put out, and a general hubbub ensued.The first that Ben knew he was in the hands, as he supposed, of an officer, with the prospect of spending the night in jail. Then he did precisely what the sharpers had counted on his doing—offered two hundred dollars to be set at liberty. The bogus policeman hesitated, said he couldn’t do it; that he would have to lock Ben up; but in the end, of course, took the money. When Ben discovered, as he afterward did, that the whole thing was a put-up job, he probably felt like butting his head against a stone wall just for fun.
After these and other adventures, which space prevents me from recounting, Ben at last reached St. Louis. His intention was to proceed to Hot Springs, but before doing so, he spent some days in St. Louis, stopping at the Planters’ Hotel. He visited a number of his acquaintances in the city, among others Jack Looney and Tom Allen. The latter asked him if he had given up boxing, to which Ben answered that he had. Allen and Hogan drove out together to Mollie M‘Cool’s, opened a number of bottles of champagne, and drank to one another’s health—or rather Allen did most of the drinking, and Ben settled the bill.
Notwithstanding Hogan’s assertion that he had given up boxing, he was as anxious as ever to arrange a match with Allen. He offered Jack Looney fifty dollars if he would bring about such a contest. Here the matter rested for the time being, and after having a high time in St. Louis, Ben pushed on to Hot Springs.
At this famous resort, he remained five weeks, making the money fly in a lively manner. The pleasures of the watering place, however, grew a little monotonous in time, and so Ben determined to visit the Choctaw country, where he would be certain to find novel and exciting adventures. He chose Dublin for hiscompanion on this bold expedition, and the two provided themselves with a peculiar outfit. It consisted of nine gallons of whiskey, twenty pounds of lead, a quantity of powder and guns. These articles were designed as presents for the Indians, and were taken with a view to insuring a friendly reception.
Ben and Dublin traveled over three hundred miles of rough and unfrequented territory, meeting in that distance with only three inhabited houses.
Whatever may be the virtues of the temperance theory, if a man is going to visit the Choctaw nation, he cannot do a wiser thing than take with him a liberal supply of whiskey. Nothing touches the heart of the red man so surely or quickly as fire-water. This our adventurers found. For with their stock of liquor and presents, they were hospitably received, and found themselves quite at home among the red men.
What with fishing and hunting and studying the traits of the Indians, Ben and his companion passed a month quite pleasantly. To a timid man the surroundings would have been a little too uncivilized for comfort; but Hogan took things as easily as though they were in his own home. To give variety to the sort of life which was led there, a couple of rather comely Indian girls honored the visitors with their constant presence.
Some jealous feelings arising between the two tribes, which were encamped together, Hogan and his friend finally deemed it wise to depart. They were accompanied on their return journey for a considerable distance by a number of the braves, and reached Hot Springs in good health and spirits. Ben then made his way back to St. Louis.
On reaching the city, he once more renewed his efforts to bring about a match with Tom Allen. Ignorant ofthe fact that Looney was hand-in-glove with Allen, he sought the services of the former to aid him in consummating the match. In company with a newspaper man, Looney visited Allen with the professed purpose of negotiating matters. So long as Allen did not suspect that his second visitor was a reporter, he talked with a good deal of freedom. Among other things he said that if the fight with M‘Cool for which he was then in training, should go against him, he would not care to enter into another contest. It would be difficult, he hinted, for him then to obtain backers.
Of course this conversation, falling upon a reporter’s ears, gained more or less publicity, and Allen was particularly anxious to have the matter hushed up.
A few days later, Looney succeeded in arranging the match, which was for one thousand dollars a side, half of the money being put up at once in the hands of Eagan. Ben did not know the fact at the time, but this Eagan was a particular friend of Looney and Allen, and he showed his friendship, as we shall see, in a peculiar and characteristic manner.
FIGHT WITH TOM ALLEN—FIRST KNOCK-DOWN FOR HOGAN.
The Famous Fight with Tom Allen.
We come now to an incident in the career of our hero which gained wide publicity at the time of its occurrence, and which is still remembered among all sporting men.
Numerous misrepresentations have been made with regard to the Hogan-Allen fight, and it will be my object to correct these, as well as to give a plain and simple statement of the facts, leaving the reader to form his own opinion of the relative merits of the case.
As soon as the arrangements described in the preceding chapter had been perfected, Ben at once went into training for the forthcoming fight. He took up his headquarters at Wash Home, and there devoted himself diligently to the work in hand.
Under the assumed name of Benedict, he joined the gymnasium in St. Louis, and while professing to receive instructions, he really became the teacher of those who patronized the place. Nobody suspected that it was the notorious Ben Hogan with whom they practiced daily in the gymnasium.
Ben’s system of training was thorough and severe. He cut off from his diet every thing except the most nourishing articles, abstained entirely from all intoxicating liquors, and exercised regularly and constantly.
In the interim between the making of the match and the time appointed for its fulfillment, occurred the fightbetween Allen and McCool. In that contest, as the reader probably knows, Allen was an easy winner, knocking McCool completely out of time before his backers knew what ailed him.
Ben was present at this fight, and, as may readily be imagined, watched its result with keen interest. After the sponge had been thrown up by McCool, Hogan stepped up to Allen and said:
“If you whip me as easily as you have this man, I will stand a champagne supper for you and all your friends.”
“You’re getting high-toned,” retorted Allen, with a derisive laugh.
“I beg your pardon,” said Ben; “I forgot who I was talking to. I will stand the lager, as that will probably be more to your taste.”
Three days after the Allen-McCool fight, the remaining five hundred dollars a side was put up by Allen and Hogan. Ben then went into training with even more earnestness than he had before done. Dublin Trix acted as his trainer, and things were looking most hopeful, until a sudden stroke of bad luck changed the aspect of affairs.
Fully fifteen hundred cases of dumb ague were raging in and about St. Louis, and Ben fell a victim to the disease. This, it will be remembered, was on the eve of the battle, so to speak, and a most discouraging circumstance it was. A less plucky man than Hogan would have thrown up the game then and there. But he determined to meet his antagonist, whatever might come. Of course the ague interfered seriously with his training; indeed, it may be said to have put a stop to it altogether. All that Ben could do was to fight against the disease and attend strictly to the laws of health.
He tried any number of remedies, and offered fourhundred dollars to any doctor who would cure him, but all to no purpose. The ague held on with an iron grip.
Two weeks before the day appointed for the fight, Dublin Trix left Ben, and his position as trainer was filled by Jerry Donovan. There was still little training to do, as Ben was in no condition to bear it. However, he did not grow disheartened. During this time he made many friends among the better class of people in St. Louis, all of whom were surprised to find so gentlemanly an appearing man in the pugilistic profession.
The long-expected day, on which the fight was appointed to take place, came at last. During the night, Ben had succeeded in getting six hours’ sleep, and he awoke feeling better than he had for many days.
At an early hour in the morning, Tom Kelley put in an appearance with a horse and buggy to drive our hero to the river, where they were to take the boat.
It had been arranged, in order to avoid any interruption from the authorities, that the two principals should meet the boat at points below the city on the Missouri side of the river. The boat itself was packed to overflowing with admirers of the manly art. The matter had not been kept as quiet as caution would have dictated, and the result, as will be seen, was of an unpleasant nature.
Ben and Kelley drove to the point agreed upon, while Allen struck the river a mile or two lower down. So confident was Hogan that morning of winning the fight, that he told Kelley he would go another five hundred dollars on the result.
While the two principals waited on the shore, the steamer made its way down the river. When some distance below the city, the wind which had been blowing a small hurricane, drove the boat toward the Illinoisbank, and such was the force of the wind and current combined, that it was impossible to change her course.
A deputy sheriff and a posse of men, who had got scent of the party, were waiting near the point where the steamer struck the shore, and they immediately made a descent upon the craft. Those on board were arrested, and some of the leaders were kept in Illinois and taken back to St. Louis. The real game for which the officers were searching, that is, the pugilists themselves, was not captured. This mishap to the boat of course put an end to the fight for that day. It was asserted by those who ought to know that the excursion money amounted to four thousand dollars. If it did, Hogan never received a dollar of the sum, and to the best of his knowledge, neither did Allen.
TheNew York Clipperand other sporting papers charged that this running ashore of the boat was all a put-up job on the part of Hogan and Allen. The statement which I have here given will, it is believed, show that such charges were wholly without foundation. Hogan had not the remotest idea that any such thing was about to happen, and it is only fair to assume that Allen was equally blameless. Neither of the men profited financially by the occurrence, and they certainly did not expect to gain in reputation by any such proceeding. It is more reasonable to conclude that the boat was driven ashore purely by accident, and that the arrest of the party was simply a piece of bad luck—not bad intention.
After the first postponement of the match, Ben was anxious to go to Detroit, but Allen and his backers would not agree to this. They insisted upon making Omaha the place; and Ben, who was ready to yield anything rather than give up the match, consented to the latter place.
The second match was made for five hundred dollars additional a side, and the championship of the world. Each man was to select one umpire, and these together were to choose a referee. Allen named Looney as his man, and Ben selected Tom Kelley.
At the time when these selections were made, Allen offered to bet three hundred dollars to two hundred that he would win the fightby the referee’s decision. This, as will be seen, was a singular sort of proposition, and hinted pretty strongly of fraud somewhere.
“I don’t know anything about the referee’s decision,” said Ben. “But I’m willing to fight you in this saloon here now, for all the stakes that have been put up. We can decide the matter without any more nonsense. There has been too much talk already. It’s time that we began to fight!”
Allen would not agree to any such proposition. He was ready enough to abide by the referee’s decision, but not by the decision of Hogan’s fists.
Ben, from this time forward until the fight, made his headquarters at the Southern Hotel. During his sojourn there, he was one day informed by the chief detective, whom he happened to meet on Fifth street, that unless he left the town at once, he would be locked up. Ben replied that as long as he attended to his own business, the authorities would better attend to theirs, and leave him alone. The vagabond law, then in force in St. Louis, made it possible for any stranger to be arrested on the simple grounds that he had no home. However, the police did not deem it their duty to take Hogan into custody, although they knew perfectly well that he was preparing to fight Allen.
It was at this time, also, that Cal Wagner visited St. Louis, and suggested a remedy for the ague, from whichBen was still suffering, and which afforded our hero some relief.
At the appointed time, Ben set out for Omaha, stopping en route in Kansas City. Allen had reached this place in advance, and was doing some pretty lively talk about the forthcoming fight.
Ben gave a sparring exhibition in Kansas City on the Sunday night preceding his departure, which was largely attended, and which proved quite a successful affair. He also met with a physician whose course of treatment proved so beneficial that he followed it out from that time forward. It should be mentioned that when he arrived in Kansas City, he was scarcely able to stand upon his feet—rather an awkward predicament for a man to be in who was on his way to the prize ring.
From Kansas City Ben proceeded direct to Omaha. He took with him John Sweeney, to act as one of his seconds in the fight. Upon reaching Omaha, he put up at the Grand Central Hotel, and began to make his final arrangements for the battle. For the purpose of furthering his training, he subsequently removed to a private boarding-house, where he had all facilities for his work.
When Ben first struck Omaha, he was really a sick man. The dumb ague had not left him. His flesh was wasted, and what was the most serious thing of all, he was not able to sleep more than six hours out of seventy-two. By a careful and systematic course of treatment, he gained, during one week, seven pounds in weight. He submitted daily to a severe rubbing, in order to get up circulation, and he took short walks, as his strength would permit. His diet consisted of oatmeal, mutton chops and bread. Had it not been for this intelligent and conscientious care of himself, Ben would never havebeen able to have faced Allen at all. As it was, he was not in a condition which enables a man to use his fists to the best advantage.
During his brief sojourn in Omaha, Ben was one day called into the office of theDaily Heraldby the genial and gifted editor of that paper, Dr. Miller. The doctor had already listened to a good deal of Allen’s talk, and, with true journalistic instinct, was anxious to hear what Ben had to say for himself.
“Well, really,” said our hero, “I’ve nothing to say. Fists and not talk must decide this matter. You have already seen Allen; have you not?”
“Yes,” replied Dr. Miller, “I have.”
“Well,” said Ben, rising to go, “he has done talk enough for six men!”
It was a notorious fact that Allen had offered to bet money that Hogan would never enter the ring with him. The secret of this may be very briefly explained. The hackman who was to drive Ben and Sweeney to the place of meeting had been bribed to carry them so much out of the way that they would lose the train, and thus prevent the fight from taking place.
This little game might have worked to a charm, had it not been for the fact that the occupants of the coach discovered that they were on the wrong road, whereupon Sweeney jumped out, pistol in hand, and threatened to shoot the driver on the spot if he did not carry them to the train.
The man, frightened at this emphatic way of making a request, whipped up his horses and got over the ground at a lively rate. The coach reached the station just in time to intercept the train. Allen and his friends looked somewhat astonished when they discovered, in spite of their well-laid plans, Ben had been able to reach the train.
It was a cold, drizzly day in the fall of the year. The excursion train stopped at a point some twenty miles beyond Council Bluffs, and there the party disembarked.
It should not be forgotten that Hogan was by no means a well man on that day. The damp, piercing air was the very worst there could have been for his disease, and the ague held him still by a pretty firm grasp. Nevertheless, he was dead in earnest that the fight should take place then and there.
“Take anybody,” he said to Sweeney, “for a referee, but don’t let the affair fall through.”
Allen, who knew very well what his antagonist’s condition was, kept him waiting a quarter of an hour in the mist and cold, while he was professedly preparing himself in a neighboring house.
The referee chosen was one Ryan, of whose future conduct in the case the reader will be able to form his own opinion. Sweeney and Thurston acted as Ben’s seconds, while Arthur Chambers and a friend did similar duty for Allen.
The spot selected for the fight was in a retired section of the country, with only a single house anywhere in the neighborhood. In a field near this solitary dwelling, the ring was staked out, and the three hundred spectators, more or less, gathered about to witness the fight.
It was a memorable affair to all who beheld it. The long-existing feud between these two famous pugilists seemed at last to be upon the point of a decisive settlement. The backers of each were confident that their respective men would win, and were ready to back this confidence to their last dollar. So in the leaden light of the autumn day, the two men stepped forward to batter each other’s faces until one or the other should throw up the sponge.
TRAINING SHOES.
RUNNING SHOES.
What Came of the Fight—Allen’s Treachery—Attempts to Kill Ben in St. Louis.
The fight itself, whatever may be the view taken of it, was unsatisfactory. It was marked from the beginning by a desire on the part of Allen and his friends to resort to foul means in order to win the stake. I make this assertion in the full confidence that any unprejudiced person who was present on the occasion will bear me out in its accuracy.
The men stepped into the ring, and, in accordance with time-honored custom, shook hands with each other. The crowd pressed close to the ropes, the seconds took up their positions in opposite corners, and the event concerning which so much had been said became at last a reality.
The first round lasted eight minutes. After some little sparring and cautious feelers on both sides, Ben got in a square right-hander, which drew the claret, and counted first blood for our hero. This he followed up by a knock-down, and succeeded in getting his antagonist into a corner, where he attempted to throw him over the ropes. This, it will be remembered, was the strategy resorted to by Heenan in his world-famous fight with Sayres. But Ben was not heavy enough to handle Allen in this manner, and so, instead of throwing him over the ropes, he knocked him underneath. This ended the round.
The men responded promptly to the call of time, on the second round. This opened warily on either side, the pugilists standing off, and exchanging a series of scientific passes without any material advantage to either. Then Ben began to work Allen over towards the latter’s corner, doing some splendid work in the way of dealing and warding off blows. It was at this point that Allen began the tactics to which allusion has already been made. After a feint with his left, he let drive with his right, striking Ben not only below the belt, but in a part of the body which is, perhaps, the most sensitive of any. Ben dropped at once. The physician who was in attendance, and who made a hurried examination of the wound, declared that he had been ruptured, and that it was impossible for him to go into the ring again. Before any explanation could be made, however, and even before Ben could enter his protest against the foul, which Allen had plainly been guilty of, Looney called time, and there was nothing to do but to respond to this call.
The third round was a hot mill, lasting from seven to eight minutes. Some twenty blows were exchanged on each side, and then Allen again began his attempt at fouls. The crowd was quick to detect this, and equally quick to discountenance it.
“Foul! foul!” was the cry on all sides. In another moment the ropes were cut, and the spectators pressed into the ring. Addressing Allen, some of them said:
“If you can’t lick this man by fair means, you can’t lick him at all!”
Talk became loud and furious, and some pistols were drawn, but without any serious results.
Meantime, in the midst of the intense excitement which prevailed, Ben was eager to go on with the fight. The referee, however, decided that it should stop, and asthere was no appealing from this decision, the party made its way back to the train. On the way back Hogan fell into conversation with the referee, and asked him point blank what his final decision on the fight was to be. Ryan answered that he thought he should call it a draw. Ben insisted that the stakes ought to be given to him, inasmuch as he had won the first round, while in both the others Allen had been clearly guilty of a foul.
Eagan, the stake-holder, made his brags on the train that whatever the referee’s decision might be, whether for or against Hogan, he, Eagan, had got the money in his possession, and should keep it.
Some of the party who were disposed to be friendly to Ben, suggested that he might secure Eagan’s arrest for embezzlement, and accordingly upon their arrival in Omaha, the stake-holder found himself in the clutches of the law.
Three days after his arrest, Eagan gave up the money. He said before trustworthy witnesses that if he had had his own way about the matter, he should have paid over the entire stakes to Hogan, because, in Eagan’s opinion, he was justly entitled to them. It may be added that, when Eagan got back to St. Louis, he stoutly denied ever having made any such assertion as this. But perhaps there were some strong influences brought to bear to induce the stake-holder to forget what he had previously said.
Ben remained in Omaha for some days after the fight. During that time he received a telegram from St. Louis informing him that, as soon as he made his appearance in that city, he would be shot on sight. In answer to this threatening communication, Ben simply telegraphed back to secure a hall for the purpose of a benefit. Fromwhich it would appear that he was not very much frightened at the threatening message.
Having secured the Comique, for the sum of two hundred and fifty dollars, he left Omaha, and in company with Sweeney proceeded to St. Louis. The two put up at the Southern Hotel, and Ben began to make preparations for his proposed exhibition.
Although he had not hesitated a moment to return to the city, he still did not under-estimate the danger to which he was exposed. He knew that he had aroused the hatred of a desperate gang of men, who would not hesitate to take his life at the first convenient opportunity. He knew, moreover, that he must rely largely upon his own coolness and courage to carry him through the danger. For these reasons he kept in his room the greater part of his time, and was on the constant lookout for unpleasant surprises.
On the Sunday afternoon following his arrival in the city, he accepted an invitation from two high-toned residents to take a carriage drive. Behind as fast a team of horses as there were in St. Louis, Hogan and his friends set out for their trip, which was destined to be one of exciting adventure.
At Ben’s own suggestion, the party drove toward Wash Home, our hero little suspecting that his enemies were lying in wait there to kill him. As they neared the hotel, the gentleman who owned the team exclaimed suddenly,
“We are gone, as sure as fate!”
“What do you mean?” demanded Ben.
“I mean,” answered his friend, “that there are Tom Allen, Jack Looney, Schmidt, and the rest of the gang. If they see you here, you’ll be shot without mercy.”
“Oh, well,” answered Ben, “I guess they will give mesome sort of show for my life. I’m willing to meet them all in a bunch, if I have a pistol.”
The driveway leading to the hotel steps was in the shape of a semicircle, thus affording approach from either direction. Allen and the others were waiting on the steps at the point where they expected Ben to dismount. The carriage drove up as though intending to stop, but instead of doing so, the gentleman who was driving whipped up his spirited horses, dashed by the steps, and around the curve to the road again.
Perceiving that they had been foiled, Allen and the others started in hot pursuit. Some were in carriages, some on horseback, and some on foot. Eagan, the stake-holder, succeeded in closing up the gap between him and the carriage in which Ben was seated, and drawing his revolver, cried out:
“If you don’t stop, I’ll shoot!”
Just at that moment, Ben had neither the inclination nor the time to stop. Fortunately for him, the horses behind which he was driving were fleeter than any of those in pursuit, and so gained steadily upon Allen and his friends.
Ben was driven back to his hotel, where he parted with his friends. He went at once to the landlord and told him that it might be better for him to leave, as he did not care to disgrace the house by being killed there. The landlord only laughed and told him that he would take the chances on that.
Some of Allen’s followers did call at the hotel, but confined their operations to blackguardism and windy talk.
Ben meantime remained quietly in his room until the day of the exhibition. All things considered, he thought it would be safer not to take any more carriage rides to Wash Home.
Frustrated in their designs of shooting Ben, his enemies resorted to a different course of tactics. They took advantage of the so-called vagrant law—one of the most disgraceful statutes that ever appeared in the law books of any city—and managed to procure the arrest of both Ben and Sweeney, while the two were at dinner in the hotel. The men were locked up, really guilty of no offense, unless it be a crime for a man to live in some other place than in St. Louis. The intention, of course, on the part of those who had entered the complaints, was to break up the exhibition. In this, however, their plans failed.
The Comique, that night, was open as advertised. A bigger house was never seen within the walls of a theatre. It was literally packed from pit to dome. When the hour for opening the entertainment had arrived, the manager stepped upon the stage and announced that the gentleman in whose benefit the performance was to be given had been arrested, and was at that time locked up in jail. He further said that if there were any present who desired to withdraw, their money would be refunded to them. Nobody cared to accept this proposition, and so the show proceeded.
After the performance it was discovered that a barrel of rocks and bolts had been carried in to the galleries with the intention of giving Hogan and Sweeney an unpleasantly warm reception. So, after all, it was a lucky thing for our hero that he was arrested.
At half-past eleven, that same night, Ben and his companion were released. In spite of their imprisonment, the benefit yielded nine hundred dollars in cash. When Ben was arraigned the next morning, the detective explained that the arrest had really been made to save Ben’s life, inasmuch as he would certainly have beenstoned and perhaps mobbed had he appeared on the stage of the Comique.
There was something singularly ridiculous in the idea of calling upon a man to answer to a charge of vagrancy, when he was stopping at a first-class hotel and had plenty of money, together with valuable jewelry locked up in the safe. However, it was in accord with the laws of St. Louis, and as has already been stated, it was a most lucky circumstance that the arrest had been made.