The Life and Adventures of Ben Hogan, the Wickedest Man in the World
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Title: The Life and Adventures of Ben Hogan, the Wickedest Man in the World
Author: Ben Hogan
Editor: George Francis Trainer
Release date: November 25, 2013 [eBook #44282]
Most recently updated: October 23, 2024
Language: English
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THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF BEN HOGAN
[Illustration: _BEN HOGAN._]
THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF BEN HOGAN, THE WICKEDEST MAN IN THE WORLD.
Containing a Full Account of His Thrilling and Remarkable
Experiences, Together with a Complete Report of His Triumphs in
the Prize Ring, and His Career in the Oil Regions, in The Far West,
and on the Sea.
Illustrated with over Twenty Engravings.
Written, Under Mr. Hogan's Immediate Supervision, by
GEORGE FRANCIS TRAINER.
Copyright, 1878, by Ben Hogan.
PREFACE.
The writer of these pages desires it understood that he has acted simply
in the capacity of an amanuensis for Mr. Ben Hogan. The statements,
opinions, incidents, revelations and views are all the latter gentleman's.
It should be further explained that Mr. Hogan, and no one else, is
responsible alike for the contents and publication of this volume.
This explicit statement is called forth by a sense of justice; for the
writer himself would be very loath to lay claim to any of the brilliancy,
wit, or delicacy in the choice of subjects which may be found in this
book. The honor of all these belongs exclusively to Mr. Hogan.
GEORGE FRANCIS TRAINER.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Early Life--Arrival in America--How he Avenged the Robbery
of his Father--Mysterious Disappearance of the Old Jew--In
the House of Refuge--Seafaring Life--Beginning of his
Boxing Career 17
CHAPTER II.
A Remarkable Game of Poker, and What Came of it--Ben as a
Pirate--Fast Life in New York--How he gave a Combination
Show in Oswego 29
CHAPTER III.
A Southern Trip--Experiences in New Orleans and Mobile--
Three Men Put Under the Sod by Ben's Bullets 39
CHAPTER IV.
Ben as a Spy in both the Union and Confederate Armies--The
Buried Treasure--How he Fooled the Captain--At Port Royal
and Newbern--Bounty-Jumping 45
CHAPTER V.
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 54
CHAPTER VI.
First Appearance in the Oil Country--Dance House in
Pitthole--French Kate--Babylon House--Fight with Bob
Donnelly--His Explanation in Court of the Character of his
House 62
CHAPTER VII.
Attempt to Rob Ben--How he became a Minister and Married a
Couple--A Jolly Wedding--French Kate Jealous 76
CHAPTER VIII.
Attempt to Murder Ben in Babylon--He Shoots a Man and is
Arrested--Frightens the Witnesses and Prevents Perjury--Is
Acquitted 82
CHAPTER IX.
Leaves Oil Country--In Saratoga--Arrested on False
Reports--Goes back to Tidioute--In Rochester--First
Meeting with Cummings 86
CHAPTER X.
The Gymnasium Business--Life in Rochester--First Meeting
of Hogan and Tom Allen--A Disgraceful Affair 94
CHAPTER XI.
How Ben Treated the Deputy Sheriff--Annie Gibbons, the
Pedestrian--Ben goes to Pittsburgh and Meets Mr. Green 102
CHAPTER XII.
Ben in St. Louis--First Entree into Parker's Landing--
Opens a Free-and-Easy--Trouble with the Authorities 113
CHAPTER XIII.
The "Floating Palace"--A Wonderful Institution--The Girls
and the Patrons--Scenes of Revelry--How Nights were
Passed--The Loss of the "Palace" 118
CHAPTER XIV.
Return to Parker's Landing--His Three Years' Sojourn in
that Town--Adventures and Incidents--Attempt to Burn
Ben's House 125
CHAPTER XV.
Ben buys a House in Pittsburgh--Engineering for a New
Railroad--Goes to Petrolia and opens House--The Ladies'
Seminary 133
CHAPTER XVI.
Ben as a Politician--Elected Burgess of Petrolia, but
Cheated out of the Office--Goes to Greece City--Pleasure
trip West--Preparations to Fight Tom Allen in St. Louis 142
CHAPTER XVII.
The famous Fight with Tom Allen 151
CHAPTER XVIII.
What came of the Fight--Allen's Treachery--Attempts to
kill Ben in St. Louis 159
CHAPTER XIX.
Ben in Chicago--Returns to Pittsburgh--More of Allen--
Builds Opera Houses in Petrolia and Millerstown--Figures
once more in Politics 166
CHAPTER XX.
Ben as a Banker (Faro Banker)--Burglars--Counterfeit
Money, and How Hogan Didn't Handle it--Ben as a Doctor--
Allen in New York City--Why the Fight Fell Through 175
CHAPTER XXI.
The Girl Ben Met in Owney Geoghegan's--A Confiding Sea
Captain--Adventure in Little Falls--Pitching a Man Across
the Erie Canal--Return to Syracuse 181
CHAPTER XXII.
Another Challenge to Allen--Brookville and Indiana
Adventures 187
CHAPTER XXIII.
Ben's Generous Act in Indiana--Under Arrest in Pittsburgh
with Kitty--Goes West--Life in Grand Rapids--Mistaken for
a Minister 194
CHAPTER XXIV.
One More Challenge to Allen--Return to the Oil Country--
Ben and McDonald--Opens Dance-House in Elko City--Bullion
House--Kitty Runs Away 202
CHAPTER XXV.
Saratoga Trip--Bullion again--Arrival in Tarport--Opens
Dance-House--A Groundless Scandal--The Truth about the
Girl Carrie 209
CHAPTER XXVI.
Ben Leaves Tarport--What some of the Oil Country Papers
had to say about him--Arrival in New York 217
CHAPTER XXVII.
Ben as a Reformer--His Opinions on the Temperance
Question--Physical Culture--The Social Evil--Prisons and
Penitentiaries--Gambling 221
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Conclusion 237
INTRODUCTORY.
The life of any man is interesting as it reveals human nature and
discloses character. Biography is in itself a combination of all those
elements which go to make up literature. It is humor and pathos; it is
poetry and prose; it is the sternest tragedy and the broadest farce.
Fiction builds its most fantastic structures upon the inventions of the
brain. Biography writes in lasting characters upon the granite front of
truth. The record which it leaves is more wonderful than any flight of
fancy--more startling than any outburst of imagination.
If it were possible to read the history of men's lives written upon their
faces, the world would have little need of romances. This shabbily-dressed
figure, which to-day you jostle against in the street, might furnish
material for a volume of exciting tales. That white-faced woman, who
stares with a half-frightened look at the passers-by, could unfold a tale
of more terrible interest than ever evolved itself from the brain of the
novelist. Around and about us, in all places and at all times, the surging
sea of humanity casts up its broken spars and dismantled hulks. Those who
sail in calm waters, or walk the beach, may pick up these remnants of
wrecks, and find in them clews to voyages full of tragic interest.
Since this duty is often neglected by the more prosperous voyagers, and
since men's faces are not books which they who run may read, it falls to
the lot of the biographer to show to others the mystery of life.
Probably no man's career, if truthfully told, would be wholly barren of
interest. In proportion to the eventfulness of that career it gains in
interest. But it is a very serious mistake to assume that a person's
avocation in life determines the rank to which he ought, properly, to be
assigned. The art does not make the artist. It happens that there are a
good many preachers in this world who can not preach, a good many actors
who can not act, a good many writers who can not write. It happens, too,
that there are a good many people who can not do anything--whose excuse
for existing remains forever a conundrum. The written lives of such
harmless ciphers would be of interest only in so far as they might show
the uselessness of the subjects. But a study of any character which is
strongly marked ought to prove both entertaining and instructive. Nor is
it necessary that such a character should be spotless, in order to teach
some wholesome lessons. It has been the lot of the writer to meet some
eminently respectable persons who were at heart the most consummate
hypocrites. He has known school-teachers who harped upon the necessity of
bookish knowledge, while they fastened singular verbs to plural subjects.
He has met newly-fledged college graduates who talked loud over a "liberal
education," and floundered in the shallow waters of English syntax. He has
talked with crushed poets who cried out against the stupidity of the
world, and read their own verses, more limping than the Count Joannes as
_Romeo_. He has listened to straight-laced Puritans pray to be made more
Christ-like, and seen them, an hour afterward, turn a starving beggar
empty-handed from their door. He has heard pious directors of
savings-banks denounce the stage as an instrument of the devil, and
learned, the next day, that these sleek Pharisees were under indictments
for robbing the poor. He has talked with alleged "statesmen" and found
them roughs; with professed Christians, and found them narrow-minded
bigots; with the representatives of what is called fashionable society,
and found them noodle-heads. One day he met and talked with Ben Hogan, and
he found a gentleman.
Does that surprise you?
Let us not fall into any misunderstanding at the outset of this narrative.
The qualities which go to make up a gentleman are more readily appreciated
than explained. They may be possessed by any man, no matter what his
calling in life. They may be acquired under the most unpropitious
circumstances, or they may never be acquired, in spite of surroundings and
the advantages of education.
Ben Hogan is no saint--but it may be well to add that this volume is not
undertaken with a view to promulgating an immoral lesson. Yet, though the
hero shall not prove a saint, and though the record of his life may
contain some shadows, it is believed that nothing in the pages which
follow will be found to offend good taste. Saints, as a general rule, do
not make first-rate material for the biographer. The man who launches his
craft on life's sea and sails along in quiet waters, never striking out
upon any voyage of discovery, never running against any shoals or rocks,
never breasting any storms--such a man, sailing peacefully on until he
enters the great port of Death, may have a very pleasant time of it; but,
when his voyage is over, the log-book is found to contain precious little
which is of interest to the world. On the other hand, the mariner who
strikes boldly out in search of adventure, who runs his frail craft over
unexplored waters, who finds himself often stranded upon treacherous
coasts, and who laughs at danger and glories in the hardships of an
adventurer's life--such a voyager leaves behind a record which must needs
be racy reading. And even should it happen that this plucky mariner plays
the pirate at intervals, that certainly would not detract any from the
interest which attaches to his exploits.
A knowledge of men and the world comes only from personal acquaintance
with the one and experience in the other. There is a sort of wisdom which
is not contained in books. The man who would possess himself of that must
tread the by-ways as well as the highways of life. This Ben Hogan has
done. He has been a close observer of human nature, and he has made his
observations from many and various points. Profiting by what that great
teacher, Experience, has taught, he has become, in his own way, a
philosopher. He has learned to gauge men at sight. This rare faculty has
stood him in good stead throughout all his checkered career. In many of
the exciting scenes which this work will undertake to describe, the power
of measuring men for what they were worth proved the winning card in
Hogan's hand.
Added to this keen insight into human nature, he possesses a quick
appreciation, not only of the humorous but the pathetic. Nobody ever
appealed to him for aid without meeting with a generous response. It might
appear to those who have met him only in the character of a jolly good
fellow--the companion of an hour, over a bottle of wine--that he is not
the sort of man who concerns himself about the misery and misfortune in
this world. But such a conclusion would be eminently unjust. His
sympathies have never been hardened by the rough knocks which the world
has given him. And it is this very quickness of sympathy--this power to
feel for others--which makes the poet.
Here, then, at the very outset of his task, the biographer has made his
subject a gentleman, a philosopher, and a poet.
What! a pugilist a gentleman? A dance-house proprietor a philosopher? A
prize-fighter a poet?
Calm your ruffled temper, oh, indignant critic! Let your fretful quills
resume their normal, horizontal condition. This little book will not shake
the rock-founded morals of society. Not at all. Is it against the law of
Moses or the prophets that a pugilist should be a gentleman? That title,
remember, can not be conferred by royalty. It can not be inherited along
with houses and lands; but it may rightfully be claimed by the man,
whether preacher or pugilist, who acts honorably toward his fellow men,
who gives respectful attention to the opinion of others, and who endeavors
to conduct himself so that his presence is always welcome. If that be a
fair definition of a much-misunderstood word, then Ben Hogan is a
gentleman. And why may not the proprietor of a dance-house be a
philosopher? Is our barking critic quite sure that he knows what
philosopher stands for, or what philosophy means? Not book-learning--for,
bless your ignorant soul, Socrates himself counted life too precious to
waste in reading. Your dictionary will tell you that the word philosopher
means properly a lover of wisdom. There never lived a more passionate
lover of wisdom than Ben Hogan. And for the poet: Does it follow that
because a man hardens his muscles he likewise hardens his heart? Poetry
loves to spring out of seemingly unseemly places. It grows in rough soil
and flourishes where the sunshine never reaches. Bret Harte found truer
poetry in the life and death of Poker Flat's outcasts, than Martin Tupper
could in the whole range of domestic morality. It is not necessary that a
man should write verses to be a poet. What is demanded of him is a
sympathetic nature. And that Ben Hogan has.
Perhaps the reader who happens to enjoy a personal acquaintance with the
subject of this biography, may consider the foregoing as pretty steep
flattery, not to say amazing nonsense. Let him remember, however, that the
luxury of getting up a book about oneself is expensive; and certainly a
man has a right to order that written which pleases him best. Mr. Hogan
has availed himself of this privilege. He desires the world to know how
great a man he is. He wants all his illustrious deeds embalmed in print.
If, after reading this volume it shall occur to the world that Mr. Hogan
is deceived with respect to himself; that he is not a great man at all,
and that his illustrious deeds ought long ago to have landed him in
prison--if the world, I repeat, shall come to any such conclusion as this,
why, then it must settle accounts with Mr. Hogan himself. Greatness has
been unappreciated before now, and it is possible that some will fail to
understand why a man should voluntarily proclaim himself to be "The
Wickedest Man in the World."
[Illustration: _THE "SAILOR BOY" PUNISHES HIS ADVERSARY._]
THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF BEN HOGAN: THE WICKEDEST MAN IN THE WORLD.
CHAPTER I.
Early Life--Arrival in America--How he Avenged the Robbery of his
Father--Mysterious Disappearance of the Old Jew--In the House of
Refuge--Seafaring Life--Beginning of his Boxing Career.
Benedict Hagan, whose name has become familiar in the altered form of
Hogan, is a native of W├╝rtemberg, Germany. With his parents, he immigrated
to this country at the age of eleven years.
His father was a cabinet-maker by trade, who had saved up something like a
thousand dollars, with which he set forth to better his condition in the
New World. Along with his family, he arrived in New York in the summer of
1852. His reception was not of the most encouraging nature, and an
incident which occurred almost immediately after the landing of the family
will serve to show the character of Hogan at that time.
As was customary with all emigrants who had any money to carry, the elder
Hogan had secured his fortune, amounting to eight hundred dollars in gold,
in a belt fastened about his shoulders. When he walked out of Castle
Garden he was forthwith set upon by a Hebrew of the South street order,
whose nose resembled his nature, because it was sharp. This enterprising
Jew, who spoke German fluently, induced the emigrant to go into a small
shop where everything was given away--for four times its value. The
unsuspecting Hogan made a small purchase, and when he came to pay for it,
disclosed the bag containing his gold. The sight was enough to rouse the
Hebrew. Precisely how it happened he did not know; but in an amazingly
short time Hogan senior found himself relieved of his eight hundred
dollars.
Had it not been for the presence of young Ben, it may be safely assumed
that the emigrant would never have gone forth from the Jew's place alive.
The boy, however, presented an obstacle to the commission of murder, which
was undoubtedly intended by the robbers. They determined, therefore, to
get rid of their victims by strategy instead of force. One of their
"cappers" offered to lead the way to the police station where they might
get assistance in recovering the money. He did lead the way, but it is
unnecessary to add that there were not a great many police stations in the
neighborhood to which he conducted them. The Hebrew perhaps thought that
he had made one of the fattest "hauls" in his life; but it turned out to
be a very dear job.
Young Ben, although a mere child, marked the man who had robbed his
father, and resolved to be avenged. Three or four years afterward, he
returned to New York, and after days of diligent search he discovered the
Hebrew.
"That is the man!" he muttered to himself.
With two or three trusty companions, he resolved upon a plan of action
which he proceeded to carry out.
The next day Ben called upon the Jew in his shop. He represented himself
to be an employee of the Emigrant Department. He said that a great many
chances came to him of making money, but he wanted a confederate. Would
the Jew like to have him (Hogan) bring emigrants to the shop with plenty
of money in their pockets? It wouldn't be of much consequence how they got
out of the shop!
"Dat vas a fine idea--a very fine idea!" answered the old vulture, rubbing
his bony hands together. "You brings 'em in, and I'll take care of how
they goes out. And together ve'll take care of all their gold!"
That night Ben called again at the shop and told the Jew that a very green
young emigrant was waiting to take a walk along the docks.
"He's got piles of money on him!" added Hogan.
The old Jew accordingly set forth with the green young emigrant. As a
matter of fact, this verdant youth was one of Hogan's companions; and the
"piles of money" which Ben had described consisted of lumps of lead put
into a bag, after the emigrant fashion.
Fate is a curious thing in this world. That old Hebrew, for instance,
started forth from his shop on the night in question, intent upon robbing
the green young emigrant and throwing his body into the river. But he
didn't carry out his plans. Perhaps he retired from his South street den.
Perhaps he concluded to take a tour to Jerusalem; or perhaps he went to
Canada; or perhaps his foot tripped, and he fell into the East river.
Whatever his fate, he didn't rob any more emigrants of their hard-earned
savings.
Relieved of his gold, the senior Hogan, with his family, removed to
Syracuse, N. Y., which city he made his permanent home. The family was not
by any means rich in this world's goods, and it became necessary for Ben
to do something toward his own support. His first venture at money-making
was in the line of a peddler. His father bought him an outfit--the horse
could not trot under thirty, but he did very well to draw a peddler's
cart--costing, in all, twenty-five dollars. The young peddler's first day
was not altogether successful. He made a number of sales and exchanges,
but when he came to balance his accounts he found that he was four dollars
out of pocket. The next day, however, he did better, and at the end of six
months he had cleared seventy-five dollars.
It may be well to remark here, that, from his earliest boyhood, Ben Hogan
has possessed the faculty of making money. He never saved any, because he
is too open handed to take any thought of the morrow. But, if he has not
saved, he has rarely wanted. His ingenuity and quick wit have invariably
"made a raise," and prevented him from remaining "broke" any length of
time.
Among the experiences of this epoch in his career was one which resulted
somewhat seriously for our hero. It was found out by a companion that
there was a big house near the city occupied by a minister, who had a
large collection of books; in these books were many fine engravings, and
it occurred to this youngster that if he could get hold of these pictures
he might make his fortune by exhibiting them. It was plain that the books
would not come to him, and he accordingly concluded to go to the books.
For obvious reasons he did not ring the front-door bell, nor leave his
card behind him. He found it more convenient to go through the window. In
a wagon which he had brought with him for the purpose, he carted off a
large number of valuable volumes, tore out the pictures, and threw the
books away, telling Ben he had bought the pictures.
Ben Hogan's career as a showman may be said to have begun when he first
exhibited these engravings which had embellished the library of the
clergyman. They were steel engravings, which perhaps was why they were
stolen. The adventure proved a success while it lasted, but it didn't last
very long. At one and two cents admission the gallery was crowded; but at
the very opening of a prosperous season the youthful manager was arrested.
This naturally interfered with the show. Although the boy had not really
committed anything like a crime here, he was sent to the penitentiary,
where he remained thirty days.
Upon his release he went to work in his father's cabinet shop, but was not
wholly contented there. The roving spirit within him began thus early to
develop itself. Among Ben's acquaintances at this time were a couple of
choice young spirits known in Syracuse as Joe Heizler and "Red Jacket."
Probably the owner of this latter distinctive appellation had been
christened by some other name, but he was known always and only as Red
Jacket. The three boys determined upon setting forth from home and finding
out what the world was beyond the salt limits of Onondaga county.
Accordingly they got together their limited capital, and without troubling
themselves to check their trunks, started for Oswego.
They reached that flour-y and flourishing town with fifty cents in their
pockets, failed to get a very cordial reception from Landlord Hartmann,
and proceeded to look about for work. Ben was the only one of the trio who
had pluck and energy enough to succeed. He found employment on board of a
schooner lying in port, and by working like a beaver, earned enough to
support his companions. Finding that board bills would be inconvenient to
settle, it occurred to Ben that housekeeping would be more economical.
Neither a house nor furniture bothered him so much as a stove with which
to prepare the meals. He finally mustered up courage to go into a hardware
store and tell the proprietor that he would rather have a stove than any
amount of stock in an insurance company.
"What do you want a stove for?" asked the astonished merchant.
"To keep house with!" was the prompt reply. "If you will trust me for that
stove, I'll pay you as sure as I live!"
The earnest manner of the boy had its effect upon the merchant, who not
only let Ben have the stove, but provided him with a small house on the
outskirts of the town, where the three companions took up their residence.
Ben not only earned all the money, but he was housekeeper and cook as
well. How long they might thus have lived must remain a conundrum, for
the household was abruptly broken up one day by the appearance of a
policeman, who took the runaways back to Syracuse.
Ben was again put to work in his father's shop, but the restraint of the
place led to frequent eruptions, and finally, with a view to breaking his
refractory spirit, he was sent to the House of Refuge in Rochester. He
remained there three months.
The reader will pardon a brief interruption in the narrative while the
writer gives expression to some opinions concerning Houses of Refuge and
other similar institutions. Mr. Hogan believes--and his belief, I think,
will be shared by all who give the subject careful attention--that, as at
present conducted, these places are more productive of evil than of good.
Boys are thrust into a House of Refuge where they find many associates
more hardened than themselves, and where they learn a good deal of
wickedness which they did not know before. The more advanced in crime
become the teachers of those who are just entering the broad path. Impure
habits are terribly common among the boys confined in these Houses of
Refuge. Even worse is the condition of many of the asylums and
reformatories for women. If a woman has once fallen, she will not be apt
to be reclaimed by entering one of these places. Better far if the mother
or father of a girl who has gone astray should say to her, "You have done
wrong, but I will not cast you off; try to redeem the past by making your
life pure hereafter." Such words as those would do more to restore
Magdalene to true womanhood than all the philanthropic institutions which
were ever erected. Ben Hogan bears testimony to the fact that he learned
nothing good during his three months' sojourn in the Rochester
institution; and unless he had been a pretty clear-headed boy he would
have come out a good deal worse than he did.
Upon returning home, Ben tried his hand at cabinet-making again; but he
was no more contented than before. Opposite his father's shop was a
building with a chain running over a pulley, and this chain was a constant
temptation to our hero. Whenever he could get the opportunity, he would
slip out and climb up the chain to the top of the building, letting
himself down head foremost with his feet. This performance excited
considerable admiration from those who witnessed it, and the young athlete
was called upon to repeat it frequently.
One day a dispute arose between Ben and the foreman of the shop, in which
the latter undertook to tell the boy what he should, and what he should
not do. Thinking that one "boss" was enough, and that his father
rightfully held that position, the young cabinet-maker gave an exhibition
of his skill in the manly art by planting a backhander square on the
foreman's nose. When he picked himself up, he was more of a hind man than
a foreman. And he didn't have any more to say to Ben.
Shortly after this episode, the desire to see the world again took
possession of our hero, and with very little preparation he left Syracuse.
He took with him Red Jacket, Joe Heizler, Nick Shearer, and as big a stock
of crackers and cheese as could be purchased for a dollar and a half. It
may be remarked incidentally that the crackers and cheese stood by Ben
better than any of his companions. They traveled by the Erie canal as far
as Schenectady, and there got a job at cutting broom-corn. Red Jacket and
the others soon became homesick, and at the end of a couple of weeks
disappeared; but Ben kept pluckily to his work, and at the end of five
weeks he set out for Albany with a new suit of clothes and fifteen dollars
in his pocket. I say "pocket," although he really carried his money in his
stocking. The conductor on the train was induced to let the boy ride free,
Ben telling him that he hadn't a cent of money, and that he would pay him
some other time.
[Illustration: _THE WAMBOLD._]
Once in Albany, our hero lost no time in securing work, which he found on
the tow-boat "Belle." His idea was to get to New York, and then to strike
out at whatever presented itself. The captain of the "Belle" evinced a
good deal of interest in the boy, and proposed to take him to his home in
the country when the boating season should end. Ben listened demurely to
this proposition, and said he "would see." After making a couple of trips
or so, the captain wasn't able to see his protege as much as formerly. In
fact, Ben had no relish for the idea of a home in the country and so
remained in New York.
It was at this period that he shipped as cabin-boy on the "Humboldt,"
where he continued for two years. His readiness to do whatever was
demanded of him, added to his indomitable pluck, enabled him to make a
considerable sum in the way of extra wages; so that at the end of the two
years he had saved up two hundred and seventy-five dollars in gold. This
entire amount he sent to his father in Syracuse. The fact that he did not
even let his parents know from whom the money came, furnishes an
excellent illustration of his character. Throughout his life Ben Hogan has
done a good many generous acts, but he has not troubled himself about
advertising them to the world.
It was during the time that his ship was lying in port that Ben happened
to be passing through Crosby street one night, when he saw, in blazing
letters, the word "Gymnasium." That was a staggerer for the young tar. He
had heard of a good many curious things in this world, but he had never
before heard of a gymnasium. Crossing the street, he stood looking eagerly
at the entrance of the building, when the door opened, and he caught sight
of ropes and chains and flying-rings. That proved too much for him to
withstand, and so he made his way into the place. The apparatus filled him
with wonder, but he took to it as naturally as a duck takes to water, or a
Fourth Ward politician takes to whisky. Seeing others lifting the
dumb-bells and swinging the clubs, he forthwith began to do the same
himself. His fun was suddenly interrupted by the proprietor of the place,
who came up and demanded what he was doing.
"Don't you see?" answered Ben, raising first one hand and then the other.
"But you don't belong here," continued the proprietor.
"Oh, that don't make any difference," answered the young salt, vigorously
working with the bells; "I'll do this for nothing--you needn't mind about
paying me!"
The gymnasium proprietor stared in amazement, but Ben was too much in
earnest to admit of the suspicion that he was "guying." Finally he
explained to the boy that a course of lessons would cost twenty-five
dollars. Ben offered twenty-five cents for a part of a course, but the
offer was not accepted. Then the teacher induced him to put on the gloves,
and pitted him against a boy of about his own size. The other boy
understood boxing and Ben didn't. The result was that our hero, although
he showed plenty of pluck and was game all through, came out second best.
He resolved, then and there, that he would get somebody to show him how to
use his hands, and take satisfaction out of that "other boy."
This resolve he carried out. Upon the recommendation of the gymnasium
keeper, he called upon Wood, and showed such aptness in the manly art,
that in two weeks' time he went back and polished off his former
antagonist in the most approved style.
The fascination of the gloves proved so strong that Ben made up his mind
to leave the "Humboldt," which he accordingly did. Devoting pretty much
all his time to the practice of boxing, he soon became wonderfully expert
for one of his age, and was known in sporting circles as "The Sailor Boy."
Under the patronage of Billy Clark, he attended a sparring exhibition one
night, and was matched against a boy considerably bigger than himself, but
whom he disposed of in short order. Then the crowd found a second youth,
who also put on the mittens, but finding that "The Sailor Boy" was too
much for him, resorted to his feet, and dealt Ben a kick.
This was a style of boxing which our young hero had not been taught;
nevertheless, he was prepared to pay back in the same coin. He had on, at
that time, a pair of heavy brogans, such as are often seen upon German
emigrants. Dropping at once to the little game of his antagonist, Ben
raised his foot and gave him a kick which doubled him up in a sort of
pretzel-shaped bow-knot. He rolled about on the stage like a kangaroo
suffering from the colic, while his backers shouted and swore, and the
crowd yelled itself hoarse. In the midst of this general hubbub, "The
Sailor Boy" quietly slipped out of the hall.
Thus ended Ben Hogan's first public sparring match. It came precious near
ending the fellow who fought against him, and it is safe to assume that he
never kicked a man after that without first looking to see whether he wore
brogans.
[Illustration: _THE PIRATE "SPHINX" CAPTURING A RICH TREASURE._]
CHAPTER II.
A Remarkable Game of Poker and What Came of it--Ben as a Pirate--Fast
Life in New York--How he gave a Combination Show in Oswego.
After remaining in New York for a short time, Hogan returned to Syracuse,
where he opened a boxing-room. His rates for instruction were certainly
low enough, the price for a lesson being fixed at three cents. He became a
member of Hose Company No. 4, and was well known throughout the city as a
boy who could use his fists to good advantage.
Syracuse, however, did not ofter attractions enough to keep our hero long
within its borders. He struck out again for himself, and drifted to the
West, where occurred an incident of tragic interest.
By a stroke of remarkable luck, Ben had invested five dollars in a St.
Louis lottery--which city he had reached in the course of his
wanderings--and the number which he bought drew a prize of seven hundred
and fifty dollars. With this money in his pocket, Ben determined to visit
New Orleans. On the trip down the Mississippi he fell in with a party of
professional gamblers, who used to infest the boats in those days.
Although Ben, as we know, had already knocked about the world a good deal,
he was comparatively ignorant of cards. Draw-poker, which was the great
game on Mississippi steamers, he knew little about. He had played it once
or twice, and learned to hold a pair or flush when he got them; but the
intricate points of the science he had not mastered. This explanation is
necessary that the reader may understand what follows. The gamblers in
question succeeded in persuading Ben to sit down to a quiet little game.
He alternately won and lost for some time, when one of the players dealt
him four aces. Of course Ben went his last dollar on this hand. The money
was promptly covered by one of the sharpers, and at last the call was
made.
"I've got four aces!" exclaimed Ben, showing his hand, and making a move
as if to take in the money.
"One minute!" said the gambler. "I beat your four aces. _I have got five
jacks!_"
Ben looked a little dazed.
"The money is certainly his," said one of the cappers, who had led Ben
into the game.
"But I thought," stammered Ben, "I thought four aces beat anything in the
pack."
"So they do," replied the oily-tongued sharper; "anything except five of a
kind. Of course five jacks are better than four aces. There's no question
about that. And of course the money is mine!"
Saying this, he raked in Ben's seven hundred dollars, leaving the young
fellow without a cent.
Hogan couldn't exactly get it through his head how he could have lost the
money with four aces; but, as explained above, he was too ignorant of the
game to detect the swindle.
He went to the captain, hoping to get some explanation, but that
functionary declined to listen to his story. He said he must settle his
gambling disputes as best he could.
Then he went back to the sharpers, and begged them to let him have
twenty-five or thirty dollars, as he had lost every penny; but they
refused to give up a dollar.
Ben was dazed and half-maddened by his loss. Finally he told the gamblers
that he would find somebody else on the boat to be fleeced, providing they
would give him a percentage of the spoils. This they readily agreed to do,
and so Ben went up on to the hurricane deck in search of a victim.
There he fell in with rather of a green merchant, who soon revealed to him
the fact that he had between fifteen and sixteen hundred dollars about his
person. Ben invited him down to play. As they were passing through the
gangway, a sudden impulse seized Hogan to possess himself of this
stranger's money at any hazard. The gangway was open at either end, and as
they were passing close to the unguarded space, Ben pretended to trip,
falling against the stranger and knocking him overboard; but he
immediately shouted and jumped into the water, with a view to save the
unfortunate fellow.
It may not be wise to enter into these details too fully; but it may be
said that the merchant struggled to the surface alive. Furthermore, when
Ben was dragged on board the boat, he had not about him the fifteen
hundred and odd dollars which had previously belonged to the stranger. It
is a wonder that the latter was not swallowed by an alligator. But how the
money was allowed to rest in his pocket must remain a mystery.
Hogan continued his trip to New Orleans, but did not engage in any more
draw-poker with the gentlemen who were accustomed to hold five jacks. If
the money had come to him in a doubtful manner, it went in the same way.
He drifted about for a few weeks, and finally brought up in Charleston
without a dollar.
Now comes a period in his career which for wild adventure and hairbreadth
escapes surpasses any romance. Finding himself in Charleston with no money
and nothing to do, he determined to "make a raise" in some manner,
whatever it might be. Money was his god, and he was prepared to lay burnt
offerings or any other kind of offerings upon the altar. The opportunity
came to him in a remarkable way.
Late one night Ben was sitting in a saloon near the docks when a
black-haired, savage-faced man entered the place, and, taking three
fingers of brandy straight, sat down near our hero. After eyeing him
intently for a few minutes, he said:
"Would you like a job?"
"I should like nothing better," answered Ben.
The man dropped his voice to a whisper.
"Are you particular about the kind of work?"
"I am ready for anything," answered our hero.
The stranger cast a look about the room to see that nobody was watching
them, and then bending down, said. "I am a pirate!"
The announcement did not in the least disconcert Ben. On the contrary, he
expressed his perfect willingness to join the black craft, and on the day
following he sailed out of Charleston on board the "Sphinx." It is,
perhaps, unnecessary to explain that the real name of this ship is not
given. In this narrative, however, "Sphinx" will serve as well as any
other word to designate the craft.
During the six months that Ben Hogan sailed under the flag of the skull
and cross-bones he encountered adventures enough to fill a larger volume
than this. As he has since described it, he lost all semblance to
humanity, and became more like a wild beast than a man. Among the rich
booty which the "Sphinx" succeeded in capturing was a ship returning from
the Bahama Islands with a chest of gold and jewels valued at two hundred
thousand dollars. After this prize had been securely stored away in the
"Sphinx" a quarrel arose as to the distribution of the treasure. The
pirate captain refused to share with the men on equal terms. Ben, although
the youngest of the crew, was made spokesman, and threatened that unless
the chief came to terms, he would put him where he would care very little
what became of the booty. At this, the captain dealt him a blow with his
fist, but he found that he had tackled a bad customer. The Sailor Boy
sailed into his black-whiskered antagonist, and gave him such a thrashing
as he had never had before. This at once made a hero of Ben, and the crew
placed their former chief in irons, and kept him there until the end of
the cruise.
From that time forward Ben was the real commander of the ship; space
prevents a fuller description of his exploits; nor, indeed would it be
wise to give in detail all that happened during his voyage. Suffice it to
say that at the end of six months the young pirate abandoned his wild
life, and drifted back to New York with fifty thousand dollars in his
pockets.
Other men of his class would have spent this money, if they had spent it
at all, in the low groggeries on Water street. Not so Ben Hogan. The
pirate of yesterday was changed into an elaborately dressed gentleman
to-day. His quiet manner and respectful bearing carried him into circles
which his former companions could never have entered. In the costliest of
broadcloth, with a magnificent diamond upon his immaculate shirt-front,
Ben moved among the "bloods" of New York, a brilliant but unknown star.
And a jolly life he led of it while his "boodle" lasted. A good deal has
been written about the extravagance of Jim Fisk during his palmy days; but
Fisk never spent money half as recklessly as did Ben Hogan when he struck
New York at that time. In a single day he went through with seven hundred
dollars, simply for wine and cigars. In company with a very beautiful, but
not over-virtuous woman, he drove through Fifth avenue in an open coach
drawn by four white horses, drinking champagne as he went. He stepped into
a small saloon on Cortlandt street one day and asked the proprietor what
he considered the establishment worth.
"Five hundred dollars," was the answer.
Ben pulled out an immense roll of bank-notes, laid a five-hundred-dollar
bill upon the bar, and told the man to "clear out." The astonished bar
keeper took the money, and did as directed. Then Hogan invited the
"setters" about the place to help themselves to whatever they wanted, and
wound up by presenting the establishment, with all its fixtures, to an old
man whom he had never seen before.
It goes without saying that this sort of career soon made a serious hole
in his pile. Living in elegant up-town apartments; supporting half a dozen
women in princely style; drinking nothing but the choicest wines, and
scattering his money on every side, it did not take very long to go
through the entire fifty thousand dollars. It should be remembered that he
was still a mere boy, but he showed himself quite a man in recklessness
and extravagance.
When his last dollar had been parted with, Ben again became a vagabond in
search of work. He was glad to take up with anything that offered itself,
and that anything was a job on a tow-boat. He made two trips, during which
he found time to thrash the mate--for which little service the captain of
the boat thanked him sincerely. His reputation as a boxer began to spread,
and under the belief that he had learned all there was to learn of the
manly art, he once more returned to Syracuse, intending to remain there
permanently.
In the building known as Malcolm Hall, at the corner of Railroad and
Salina streets, he opened a gymnasium, in company with a teacher of
elocution. He made all his own apparatus, spring-boards, bars, etc., and
even turned his own Indian clubs. It was his ambition, at this time, to
become the strongest man in the world. He put himself upon a diet of raw
beef, rye or Graham bread, and drank nothing but milk, with an occasional
glass of ale. With the beef he ate large quantities of onions, which
probably helped to prevent any bad effects which the meat might have
produced.
It was during his sojourn in Syracuse at this time that he engaged in a
glove contest with Anthony Kelly, a boxer of considerable local
reputation. Kelly was a most expert representative of the manly art, and
the contest excited a good deal of attention. It was won by Hogan, after a
very spirited and lively set-to.
Under the training and diet already described, Ben gained rapidly in
strength, and became a model of muscular development. He lifted, at that
time, fifteen hundred pounds, and he could hold out ninety-five pounds
with any one of his fingers. He continued the diet of raw beef for four
years, and would probably have gone on eating it indefinitely had he not
been warned by physicians that it was injurious for him.
An amusing incident occured in his life at this period. He happened to
visit Oswego (the scene of his early housekeeping) and while there
attended the "Naiad Queen," brought out under Capt. Smith's management.
The show was one that would hardly have passed muster in a New York
theatre, but it drew a big house in Oswego, and it gave Ben an idea.
Returning to Syracuse he got a lot of posters printed, setting forth, in
glowing terms, the attractions of "a monster combination," in which would
appear Ben Hogan, "the strongest man in the world," and a host of other
stars. With these bills and some other traps he made his way again to
Oswego. Not having any agent and not being flush enough to call upon a
regular bill-poster, he donned an old suit of clothes, smeared his face
with dirt, and set out to post himself.
Wherever he put up one of the bills, a crowd would naturally gather around
and pass comments upon the "monster combination."
"Who is this Ben Hogan, anyway?" was the general inquiry.
"Why, didn't you ever hear of him?" Ben would reply. "He's a bad man, I
tell you--the strongest man in the world. I know him myself, and if you
don't want to miss the biggest show ever seen, you won't stay away!"
In this way, the talkative bill-poster set the town on the _qui vive_ to
see the "monster combination." Meantime, laying aside the old clothes, Ben
appeared in a striking costume, which he had prepared expressly for the
occasion. It consisted of a low-crowned, broad-brimmed silk hat, a short
cut-away coat, a pair of very tight trowsers, and a flaming neckerchief.
Thus arrayed, he made his appearance at the hotel and in the streets.
Wherever he went somebody was sure to turn around and ask:
"Who is that?"
A friend of Ben's, who professed not to know him, was on hand every time
to answer.
"That," he would say, "that is Ben Hogan. Greatest boxer in the
country--strongest man in the world. If you want a big thing you'll go to
his show to-night!"
The result of all this was that when evening came the house was packed. It
is perhaps unnecessary to say that the "monster combination" was composed
entirely of Hogan. The bills announced first a "daring act upon the
trapeze," which Ben, dressed in tights, and with enough chalk and paint
upon his face to disguise him, undertook to perform. The undertaking was
not altogether a success. In the midst of one of his most thrilling feats,
he lost his balance and fell to the stage. If there had been any walnuts
or things under him, he would have certainly cracked them into fine
pieces, for he came down with force enough to shake the building. The
audience was stricken with horror, but the trapeze performer managed to
get off of the stage and the show went on. The next feature, according to
the programme, was a tumbling act by one of the "Whitney Brothers." Ben
again appeared, with more chalk and paint on his face, and did the act to
the entire satisfaction of the spectators. Then the other Whitney brother,
in the person of Ben, was seen upon the horizontal bar. And finally, Hogan
himself came bowing on to the stage, and was greeted with tremendous
applause, nobody in the house suspecting that he had been seen before. Ben
did several feats, including the breaking of a stone upon his breast, and
the entertainment wound up with a boxing contest between Hogan and one of
the local celebrities. Altogether the show was a big success, and the
audience went home perfectly satisfied.
Ben made some excuse for the non-appearance of the "Whitney Brothers" at
the hotel, and as the show yielded three hundred dollars, it is safe to
assume that the "brothers" got their salaries in full.
CHAPTER III.
A Southern Trip--Experiences in New Orleans and Mobile--Three Men put
under the Sod by Ben's Bullets.
Shortly after the Oswego venture, Ben drifted once more to the West, and
after a series of exciting adventures, which space prevents me from
narrating, he brought up in the city of New Orleans.
There, one day, in a saloon which is somewhat famous as a resort for
sporting characters, he became involved in a discussion with a stranger,
the conversation leading to the subject of boxing. Ben, who felt the
utmost confidence in his own fists, was not disposed to hear challenges
thrown out at random without signifying his willingness to accept the
same. The stranger in question, who may be designated by the title of
Baldy, was disposed to be somewhat personal in his remarks.
"I tell you what it is," he exclaimed, bringing his fist down on the bar
with an emphatic thump, "I can lick any man that ever came from the
North!"
Ben looked upon this as an invitation to respond, which he did promptly.
"I'm from the North," he said, "and I'm willing to fight you whenever you
say so."
"From the North, are you?" returned Baldy. "Well, I reckon you must have
come by the way of Germany, didn't you? You don't suppose any damned
Dutchman can fight with a Southern gentleman, do you?"
Ben quietly signified his belief that, in spite of his being "a damned
Dutchman," he could furnish the Southern "gentleman" with all the
satisfaction he wanted.
This dispute culminated in an agreement to proceed at once to a spot in
the outskirts of the city, where the Southerner and Hogan could settle
matters without delay.
Ben had no friends in the city, but he carried with him a six-shooter, and
was ready enough to accept any risks for the sake of a fight.
The party, consisting of half a dozen spectators besides the principals,
drove to the spot agreed upon. Ben and his antagonist threw off their
coats, and faced each other for business. Hogan supposed the fight was to
be a fair contest with the fists, and had no suspicion of any more serious
encounter. For a time the Southerner parried and dealt the blows in a
scientific manner; but becoming enraged at a blinder in the left eye, he
clinched with Ben, and the match became a rough-and-tumble fight. It was
very hot on both sides while it lasted. Ben fought like a tiger, and Baldy
fumed and swore, as they rolled over the ground. Finally, seeing that Ben
was too much for him, he drew a revolver, and seizing the opportunity,
held the muzzle close to Hogan's temple, and pulled the trigger. The
weapon missed fire, and before he could cock it again, Ben had whipped out
his own shooter, and in another moment the sharp report of a pistol rang
out on the air! The men had struggled to their feet during the encounter,
but now the Southerner fell back, exclaiming:
"My God, I am shot!"
The bullet had nearly done its work with terrible certainty. Ben's
antagonist lay stretched there for dead. He had fired purely in
self-defense, and this fact was so apparent to the entire party that they
made no effort to attack our hero.
With the now unconscious Baldy, the men returned to the city, where Hogan
surrendered himself to the authorities. He felt that he had been perfectly
justified in the course he had pursued, and felt little or no apprehension
as to the result of the adventure.
New Orleans was in a state of too intense excitement at that time to make
a trial in her civil courts a matter of much importance. Ben was
arraigned, but discharged on condition that he should enter the
Confederate service. This, of course, he readily agreed to do.
He was stationed in one of the barracks of the city, and in twenty-four
hours' time succeeded in making his escape.
He drifted from New Orleans to Mobile, still in search of adventure, and
still prepared to profit by any new turn which Fortune's wheel might make.
His sojourn in this latter city, although brief, was by no means
uneventful.
On the second day after his arrival he formed the acquaintance of a party
of professional gamblers, who invited him to engage in a game of
draw-poker. His former experience in this seductive pastime did not
prevent him from accepting the proposition to play. He had grown wiser
now, and knew that five jacks would not pass muster under the laws of
Hoyle or of ex-Minister Moulte. The game was played in a room occupied by
the gamblers, and situated over one of the principal dry goods stores of
the city.
It will be necessary to introduce the reader to two of the three men who
made up the party. One was a life-long Southerner, whose passion for
gaming had reduced him to such extremities that he was ready for any
undertaking, no matter how desperate, if it promised to yield money. He
had been the proprietor of a large plantation, but had squandered his
entire fortune at cards. The other gambler was an Englishman by birth, and
a most desperate character. He had spent the better part of his life in
New Orleans, where he was familiarly known as Reddy. He was a scoundrel of
the deepest dye, without any of the suavity of manner which characterized
his companion.
With these two men as antagonists, and with a third as a looker-on, Ben
sat down to the game. He had with him some two hundred dollars, which he
had won at faro while in Mobile. For an hour or so, the play progressed
without any material advantage to any one, although it was evident that
the two gamblers were playing together to fleece Hogan. At last Ben was
dealt a hand in which was contained the ace of spades. He drew, however,
to a pair of queens, and was lucky enough to get a third. As this made a
stronger hand than had been shown up for some time, he went his pile on
its soundness. Reddy passed out of the hand, but the Southerner covered
Ben's bets, until the pot contained four hundred dollars.
"What have you got?" demanded Ben.
His antagonist laid down three aces--among them the ace of spades.
"That beats me," remarked Hogan quietly.
The Southerner put out his hand to draw in the money.
"One minute," said Ben, throwing down the cards, and rising to his feet;
"this is a skin game, and you can't touch that money!"
"What do you mean?" demanded the Southerner, also rising to his feet, and
at the same time turning pale with rage.
"Just what I say," answered Ben. "This is a skin game. I was dealt the ace
of spades, discarded it, and you show it up in your hand. I demand the
right now to go through the cards, and show that there are two aces of
spades in the pack."
"I'll be damned if you will!" broke in Reddy, jumping to his feet, and at
the same time drawing a revolver. "D'ye mean to insult us?"
Ben wore an English walking jacket, in the pocket of which he carried his
revolver. With one hand resting upon the trusty weapon, he made answer to
his antagonists:
"I am unarmed, gentlemen, and I trust to your honor not to shoot me."
"Oh the devil take your honor," rejoined the Southerner. "You leave that
money alone and get out of here, or we'll put a bullet through you before
you can wink!"
"Yes," chimed in Reddy, "I'm damned if I don't put a bullet through him
whether he clears out or not!"
Seeing the desperate position in which he was placed, Ben resolved upon
desperate measures. Just as Reddy was cocking his pistol, Hogan, by a
sharp, quick blow, struck the weapon out of his hand. Then, whipping
forth his own revolver, he discharged one bullet at Reddy, and a second at
his companion--the latter also having drawn a shooter. The two men dropped
to the floor. The third, who was unarmed, attempted to seize one of his
confederates' pistol, but Ben threatened to shoot him also if he stirred
an inch. Then gathering up the four hundred dollars, our hero passed out
of the room, locked the door behind him, and made his way into the street.
It did not take him long to get out of Mobile. From the reports which
afterward reached him, he learned that none of the gamblers had been
killed by his shots. Under the circumstances, he did not trouble his
conscience. By easy stages he made his way North, and eventually brought
up in Albany.
[Illustration: _STEAMER BURNSIDE._]
CHAPTER IV.
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
any prize-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 enemies concluded 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 the
captain 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 boat square 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 whoever succeeded 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 a
general 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.
CHAPTER V.
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 some way, 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 fulfilled an 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,
professedly for 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. It may 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.
CHAPTER VI.
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 a dozen 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.
[Illustration: _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 six dollars. 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 a man 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 in shooting 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 getting away 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 a matter 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 to call "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; I _know_ I
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 the back, and the only wonder
was that Johnson hadn't discovered it. Probably he would if he hadn't made
the mark himself.
[Illustration: _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 a visit 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 deal pleasanter 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 in such 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.
CHAPTER VII.
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 known to the desperate classes who infested the region,
and tended to make Hogan an especially tempting subject for their
villainies.
[Illustration: _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 thousand dollars 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 a young 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 ordained clergyman 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 the _pro tempore_ minister 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, who failed 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.
So it will be seen that although Ben made a jolly thing out of the
wedding, he was himself a good deal taken in before the adventure was
over.
CHAPTER VIII.
Attempt to Murder Ben in Babylon--He Shoots a Man and is
Arrested--Frightens the Witnesses and Prevents Perjury--Is Acquitted.
In the woods about Babylon were bands of thieves, who lived by plundering
the strangers that came within their power. Wild, desperate men were
these, who held human life of no greater account than so much earth. Ben's
place was frequented by these desperadoes, who were bent upon murder, or
anything else, for the sake of plunder. They found in Hogan, however, a
man who didn't know the meaning of fear, and who was determined to hold
his own against any odds. He gave them to understand that the first
outrage committed upon any patron of his house would be avenged with
interest.
"Understand, gentlemen," he said, "I will shoot down the first man who
undertakes to murder anybody coming out of this place!"
Finding the sort of man they had to deal with, the ruffians banded
together for the purpose of killing Hogan. Lots were drawn to see who
should perform this work, and the choice fell upon a fellow known as
"Scotty," and one Burke.
Waiting until midnight, the assassins entered the bar-room of Hogan's
place. There was nobody present but Ben himself and the barkeeper. The
moment his eye fell upon the men, Ben suspected mischief, and drawing out
two seven-shooters, he said quickly:
[Illustration: _HOGAN PLEADING HIS OWN CASE IN TIDIOUTE._]
"Gentlemen, you will oblige me by retiring at once. Go out, if you please,
as you came in; and the first one who attempts to turn about or to draw a
weapon will drop!"
This unexpected greeting knocked the plans of the conspirators into a
cocked hat. There was nothing to do but to obey, and so they backed out of
the room, looking very much crestfallen.
The next night Ben heard a loud knocking at the door, and as he went down
to answer the summons, he heard low voices outside.
"Who's to shoot first?" said one.
"You kill him," said a second.
This sort of conversation was not very cheerful to listen to, as the
midnight visitors had evidently called with the intention of committing
murder. Ben, however, quietly opened the door and discharged a couple of
shots, which put the fellows to flight.
These incidents are given to show that Hogan was constantly hounded by
desperadoes while in Babylon. They will explain, in part, the
circumstances which led up to a serious matter, in which Ben figured very
conspicuously. I shall proceed to narrate the facts in the case precisely
as they occurred.
A gang of twenty-five men entered into a compact to kill Ben Hogan at all
hazards. Under the direction of this gang, a man named Dwyer called at
Ben's place at midnight and wanted to engage in a fight. Hogan told him
that he did not want to fight, and tried to persuade him to leave the
house. Suddenly Dwyer seized hold of a tumbler and struck Ben upon the
head. In self-defense, Hogan then grappled with the man and threw him
down. He did not want to hurt him, but simply to prevent him from doing
any more injury.
At this point, the crowd outside rushed in. One man was knocked down with
a pitcher, and while a number of his assailants held Ben, Dwyer kicked him
repeatedly. Frightened at the noise, French Kate rushed into the bar-room.
She took in the situation at a glance. Ben, her lover, was being
assaulted--one man against a score. Kate dashed into the crowd, and with
the butt-end of a revolver, knocked two or three of the ruffians down.
Meantime, Ben reached around and succeeded in drawing his own revolver,
with which he began to shoot. He aimed wholly at random, having no other
idea than that of preserving his own life. Who fell he did not know.
The shots soon drove the crowd from the room. That same night, at a later
hour, an attempt was made to set fire to the house; but a single shot was
enough to end this game.
A drunken officer was sent to arrest Ben on the charge of murder. One of
the shots fired in the encounter had proved fatal. Hogan refused to
surrender himself to this fellow, who stood outside the house threatening
to shoot; but later, he gave himself up to other officers who came in
search of him.
The justice, after a hearing, was about to commit Ben for trial, but the
prisoner declared that he would not be locked up.
"For if I am," he added, "I shall be lynched. Let me take my chances
against these men, but don't take away from me all means of self-defense!"
This appeal had its effect, and a Mr. Shaw becoming security for the
prisoner, he was released.
The trial took place on the Monday following--the shooting occured on a
Saturday. Ben appeared in the dock, and before a single witness had been
called he arose and said:
"I want simply a fair trial, and nothing more. Let every man tell what he
knows about the shooting, but let him be careful not to perjure himself.
For I announce here that the first witness who goes upon that stand and
swears to what is false I will kill in just three seconds. That is all I
have to say, gentlemen!"
When Ben resumed his seat, the court room was as silent as a tomb. The
conspirators who were on hand to convict Hogan glanced at each other with
pale faces. They had agreed to swear to whatever should be necessary to
secure a verdict of guilty; but Ben's words had taken the backbone
completely out of them. They knew it was no vain threat which he uttered.
They knew that if they swore to what was false they would drop where they
stood.
So the first man who was called as a witness fainted from sheer fright.
None of the others had courage enough to go upon the stand. And the result
was, that there being no evidence of any kind against the prisoner, he was
acquitted.
Thus ended the trial, which, had it resulted differently, might have sent
a man to the gallows who simply defended himself against the brutal
attacks of a mob.
CHAPTER IX.
Leaves Oil County--In Saratoga--Arrested on False Reports--Goes Back
to Tidioute--In Rochester--First Meeting with Cummings.
It can be easily imagined, after the events narrated in the preceding
chapter, that Hogan began to believe the oil regions were not the safest
spot for him to tarry in. He, therefore, struck out for a new field of
labor.
Accompanied by French Kate, he made his way to Albany, and thence to
Saratoga. There he opened a cottage for the season.
He was flush as a lord during that summer. When he first arrived at the
Springs he had twenty-seven thousand dollars in cash. It need hardly be
said that he spent this money in princely style. Nobody drove a more
stunning turn-out, nor drank choicer wines, nor dropped heavier sums on
the green board than did Ben Hogan. A single incident may serve to
illustrate the recklessness with which he parted with his money.
Entering John Morrissey's famous club-house one night, he sauntered up to
the faro table, and after watching the cards for a moment, said:
"A hundred that the ace loses!"
The dealer glanced up, and at once recognized Hogan, placed a counter on
the ace for the sum specified. At the very next turn the ace came up on
the winning pile.
"Two hundred that it loses this time!" said Ben, quietly.
Another marker was placed on the cloth, and again the ace showed up,
winning.
"Four hundred that she loses now!" said Ben, while the other players began
to stand back and watch him with curious eyes.
Again the cards were dealt out by the dealer, and again the ace turned to
win.
"That is seven hundred dollars in all that I have lost, is it?" asked Ben,
knocking the ashes from his cigar.
"Seven hundred!" repeated the dealer.
Ben drew an immense roll of bank notes from his pocket, counted out the
amount he had lost and fourteen hundred dollars more, and remarked:
"Take up the counters and put this on the ace. I repeat my bet."
The excitement of those who were watching the game had by this time become
intense. Even the dealer stroked his moustache a little nervously before
he began to deal out the cards. In fact, the only man in the group who
appeared to be perfectly unconcerned was Ben himself. He puffed his
fragrant cigar as composedly as though he had no interest whatever in the
result of the deal. And yet, upon the single turn of a card hung the fate
of fourteen hundred dollars--more money than many a man is able to earn by
a year's hard labor.
But one ace remained in the box. Slowly, and with clock-like precision the
dealer slipped out the cards, Every eye was strained, every breath bated.
At last it came--and for the fourth time it lost!
Ben drew forth a fresh cigar, lighted it, and strolled away from the
table, having dropped fourteen hundred dollars in just ten minutes.
At this rate, it can readily be seen that the comfortable fortune dwindled
away in surprisingly short time. Wine, women and cards can eat up a
Vanderbilt estate before a man knows what he is doing. And although Ben
was pretty flush, he was not exactly a Vanderbilt.
One incident which occurred that summer, during his sojourn in Saratoga,
was of a less pleasant nature than the usual round of pleasures at a
watering place. It was nothing more nor less than Ben's arrest on a charge
of murder. The affair happened in this wise:
One Sam Hoick, who had an old grudge against Hogan, circulated a report to
the effect that Ben had been indicted for murder in Pennsylvania, and that
there was then a reward offered for his capture. Hoick got his brother to
add his testimony to the story, which was, throughout, a deliberate
falsehood. Ben had never been indicted for murder, either in Pennsylvania
or anywhere else; and as the reader already knows, he had been acquitted
in the Babylon court because there was no evidence against him. The Hoick
brothers, however, did not stand upon falsifying to what they knew was
untrue, so long as they were enabled to get Ben into trouble.
Upon these reports a detective arrested Hogan, and he was locked up in the
Balston jail. Subsequently he was taken out on a writ of _habeas corpus_,
and a telegram was sent to the oil regions to ascertain whether the Hoick
brothers' story was true. The reply to this message, sent by the justice
before whom Ben had appeared, was to the effect that there was no
indictment for murder against Hogan, and added that if he had killed those
who had figured in the affair, he would have done the community a service.
Of course, upon the receipt of this message, he was discharged from
custody.
His fast career in Saratoga was now drawing to a close. He had spent his
money with reckless extravagance, and, as already explained, the steady
drain had reduced the pile until little or nothing remained. During this
time, French Kate had become so jealous that it was next to impossible for
Ben to live with her. They had had one or two open quarrels, and shortly
before leaving her, Ben excited her anger to such a pitch that she shot at
him, with the intention of killing him.
When, at last, his money was entirely gone, Ben borrowed fifteen dollars
and left the Springs, leaving also French Kate behind him.
He made his way back to the oil regions for the purpose of securing the
furniture, clothing, and other personal property which he had left in
Tidioute. This property was in the hands of the landlord from whom Ben had
rented his house. He claimed that the house had been damaged by Hogan's
occupancy of it, and openly boasted that he should hold on to the
furniture and other things to indemnify himself.
Ben, upon reaching the town, made his way at once to the landlord's house.
He went with the determination of getting what rightfully belonged to
him--and he got it. He did not trouble any lawyer about the matter, and
the only friends that he took with him were a couple of good revolvers.
These he knew he could rely upon, and when they spoke, their remarks
would be sure to have weight.
Entering the house with a pistol in each hand, he said:
"I have come to get what honestly belongs to me. You have seized upon my
furniture, bedding and other articles, and now I want you to fork over the
price of the same. If you make any disturbance I may be obliged to call
upon these friends for assistance!"
Here Ben swung the revolvers around in an exceedingly free-and-easy
manner. There was a good deal of bluster and blow on the part of the
landlord, but he finally concluded that the best thing he could do would
be to compromise the matter. So he paid Ben four hundred dollars, which
was all the money there was in the establishment, and our hero thereupon
withdrew.
That same day he went over to Tryern, where were gathered many of the old
patrons of the Babylon House. These men, however they might abuse Ben when
he was absent, were ready enough to praise him to his face. In fact, they
were all too much afraid of him to relish the idea of having him for an
enemy. They therefore told him that he had done right in defending his
house against the mob, and that if they had been in his place they would
have shot a dozen instead of one.
With the four hundred dollars in his pocket, Ben was feeling in such good
humor that he bought ten gallons of whiskey and ten boxes of cigars, all
of which he distributed among the crowd. Of course they swore that he was
the best fellow alive, after that. Any man would be the best fellow alive
who would furnish the gang ten gallons of whiskey and ten boxes of
cigars.
There was one chap, John Dillon by name, who had frequently asserted that
he would kill Hogan as soon as he saw him. Wishing to settle up all little
matters of this kind before leaving the neighborhood, Ben, happening to
run across Dillon that day, told him that he was ready to receive him
whenever he wanted to put up his fists. Dillon was at first disposed to
"get on his ear," but one blow on the head brought him to terms. He made
up his mind that it was all a mistake; he didn't want to kill Ben at all;
he didn't even want to fight with him. And so the two took a drink
together, and pledged each other's very good health.
Having settled up his business, Ben again left the oil country and bent
his course toward Syracuse. Upon his arrival in that city he learned that
Cummings, of Rochester, was anxious for a fight, and so he lost no time in
giving him a chance.
His first meeting with Cummings was somewhat amusing. The latter had never
seen Ben, although he had heard a great deal about him. Our hero sought
out the Rochester pugilist, and without making known who he was, began a
conversation.
"I hear," said Ben, "that you want to fight Hogan. Is that so?"
"You're right it is," answered Cummings. "I have been trying to get up a
fight for a long time now, but I never could bring him to time."
"Well, that's odd," returned Ben. "I've been told that this man Hogan is a
plucky fellow, who is willing to accept a challenge from anybody. Did you
ever see him?"
"Well, I went down to Syracuse," answered Cummings, "and tried to see him,
but he kept himself out of my way. The fact of it is, the fellow's afraid
of me!"
"Oh, he is, is he?" said Ben, with a curious sort of a smile. "Well, we'll
see what can be done toward bringing you together!"
That ended the conversation for the time being, Ben agreeing to meet
Cummings the next day. What troubled our hero was not the fear of fighting
Cummings, but the want of money to put up for the match. By good luck, he
happened to fall in that same day with Perkins, California Jack, and one
or two other sporting men, and to them he made known his wants. Perkins
was desirous of seeing what Ben could do, and the party accordingly
adjourned to a gymnasium, where Hogan gave a specimen of his pugilistic
skill.
"I'll go my pile on that man!" said Perkins, when Ben had finished.
In this way he secured good backers, and was ready to fight for any
reasonable sum.
According to agreement, he met Cummings next day.
"Look here," said Ben, who wanted to get at once down to business, "you
say that you are ready and anxious to fight Hogan?"
"That's what I say," answered Cummings.
"Well, now, suppose Hogan was to come in here now," (they were in the
Arcade saloon at the time) "would you go out and fight him?"
"I would," was the answer.
"All right," said Ben. "I am the gentleman in question, and I will fight
you for five hundred dollars, or one hundred dollars, or a chew of
tobacco, if you like! We'll drive out of town now with a few friends and
settle the whole business. What do you say?"
Cummings, upon finding himself face to face with the man whom he had been
boasting he could whip, began to grow a little white about the gills. He
professed, however, to be willing to accept Ben's proposal, but instead of
doing this he started off and got out a warrant for Hogan's arrest on a
charge of engaging in a prize fight.
Ben had very little trouble in getting released from custody, but he left
Rochester thoroughly disgusted with Cummings.
CHAPTER X.
The Gymnasium Business--Life in Rochester--First Meeting of Hogan and
Tom Allen--A Disgraceful Affair.
Our hero's next exploit was in Geneva, which town he visited for the
purpose of meeting Dempsey, a local pugilist of some reputation.
It was arranged that a sparring match between the two should take place,
so that Dempsey's friends might decide whether they were willing to back
their man against Hogan.
The exhibition was very largely attended, and excited a good deal of
interest. When the men made their appearance they were greeted with
applause, and their movements were closely watched. Ben had made up his
mind that he would let Dempsey get the best of the match, in order that a
fight might be brought about. This little game would probably have worked
but for the fact that there were some among the spectators who knew Ben,
and knew also what he could do. When these friends saw Hogan playing off,
and permitting himself to be knocked down by Dempsey, they began to cry
out:
"Hold on, Hogan. That won't do!"
Of course Ben, finding himself discovered, was obliged to handle his fists
with his usual skill, and this not only knocked Dempsey, but likewise the
match, into a cocked hat. Nobody was willing to back the Geneva boy, and
the fight accordingly fell through. However, the sparring exhibition
yielded about four hundred dollars, so that the trip was not a failure.
Soon after this, Ben, in company with Snatch Murray, went to Buffalo and
gave an exhibition in that city. Mackey was in the town then, training a
man to fight Cummings, and having failed, as we know, to get the Rochester
champion in the ring, Hogan contented himself by fighting Mackey. The
battle lasted through only four rounds, at the end of which time Mackey
had got enough. Indeed, he had got too much.
Hogan's reputation throughout the central and western portions of New York
had become so well established by this time, that the rumor was common
that he could whip any man in Rochester, Buffalo or Syracuse. Certain it
is that there appeared to be nobody in those cities who seemed anxious to
meet Ben in the P. R.
Cast-Iron Collins, as he was called, came to the front for a short time,
and a fight was arranged between him and Hogan. But while Ben was in
training, Collins backed out, thus showing that the sort of cast-iron of
which he was made was not of a very reliable nature.
After a sojourn of some time in Buffalo, Ben returned to Rochester. He
struck the latter city with the idea of opening a place--and he had no way
of doing it except with a crowbar. He did not resort to this method,
however, preferring to use his wits instead.
Hiring a vacant store, he went to work to fix it up as a gymnasium. It may
be remarked, incidentally, that whenever Ben has been hopelessly "broke,"
he has invariably resorted to the gymnasium as a means of raising the
needful. This Rochester venture did not cost him very much at the outset.
He got everything on credit; stocked the bar by credit and paid people--on
credit. Nobody can say that this was not a perfectly credit-able
proceeding on Ben's part.
The project proved a big success, and business increased so rapidly that
Ben finally concluded to take in a partner. Some laughable incidents
occurred during this period in Rochester.
Ben drove a handsome team of horses, which he hired for the season, and
which gave him the appearance of a man of wealth. While out driving he
frequently met the farmers coming into the city with loads of wood. Purely
for the deviltry of the thing, Ben stopped one of these rustics one day,
told him that he would buy his wood, and directed him to leave it at a
given address. The farmer, thinking that he had made a good bargain, did
as Ben told him, taking the latter's word that he would "settle with him
in a day or two."
As soon as the wood had been delivered, Ben had it immediately sawed and
split, so that by the time the farmer called around for his money, it was
all piled away. The man was naturally mad, but he was informed that he
might take his wood back if he wanted it, only he must first pay for the
sawing and splitting. The price charged for this work was fixed at the
modest sum of twenty dollars--which was twice as much as the wood had
originally cost.
Believing that he had been swindled, the farmer had Ben arrested, but, as
our hero was able to show that he was not worth a dollar, and that he owed
more people than he could remember, there was little satisfaction to be
got out of the law. Hogan sent the wood to a needy family, and enjoyed the
little joke immensely.
If he did this thing once, he did it a dozen times, always sending what he
got from the prosperous farmers to the poor of the city. When he happened
to meet one of his victims on the road, he would draw up most politely,
and say:
"Ah, that little bill of yours! I had forgotten all about it. Call around
at my place when I am in!"
And with that he would touch up his horses, and go whirling away.
The trouble was that whenever the farmers did call around at his place,
Ben was sure to be out. That was one of his fixed rules.
On another occasion, the man whom Ben had "stood up" for his cigars, came
to him and wanted some money the worst way. Ben learned that this man was
owing a number of his employees, and that the workmen could not get their
pay. He entered into an agreement with some of the hands, whereby they
might get a part of what was due them. When the cigar manufacturer came
in, Ben laid down thirty dollars on the bar, saying:
"There you are, sir!"
But before the dealer could pick up the money, it had been snatched by the
workmen, as Ben knew it would be, and the manufacturer never saw a dollar
of it again.
By way of comforting the fellow for his loss, Hogan proposed a little
game of faro, and bled him out of what money he had. But the chap made
himself more than solid by afterward bucking against a square game.
On still another occasion a pork dealer came into Ben's place, who had
heard a good deal about the notorious Hogan, and who was anxious to see
him. Ben was present at the time and at once met his rural visitor with
the utmost politeness.
"Be you Hogan?" asked the dealer in hogs.
"No, sir," answered Ben, promptly. "Mr. Hogan is not in just at present;
but I am a pupil of his."
"Waal, neow!" said the countryman. "I thought I'd jest drop in here to see
what was going on, you know. I used to box a little myself."
"Well, I'm not much in that line," remarked Ben, modestly, "but suppose we
have a little set-to, just for fun."
This was agreed to, and the pork dealer put on the gloves. For a time Ben
let him get the best of it, merely warding off the blows, without trying
to get in any himself. Then he proposed that they should bet the drinks on
the first blood. The countryman thought he would have to try it once,
whereupon Ben braced up and planted one on his opponent's smeller, which
caused the claret to flow copiously.
"Waal, neow; you got me that time!" exclaimed the countryman. "Suppose we
try it once for the first knock-down?"
As may be easily guessed, it didn't take Ben but a precious short time to
lay out his antagonist, and after the two rounds of drinks had been
ordered and paid for, Hogan told the pork dealer who he really was. Of
course it surprised him, but not quite as much as did another discovery
which he afterward made, and which will be described hereafter.
During Ben's stay in Rochester he had his first public association with
Tom Allen. Allen turned up in the town and gave a sparring exhibition
along with Shedder and Bill Riley, the entertainment closing with a set-to
between Hogan and Allen.
This was the first meeting of the men, and it is well to note that Ben
gave his opponent more than he wanted.
Charley Perkins, who is known among sporting men, from his connection at
one time with Heenan, offered to back Ben for one thousand dollars against
Allen. A challenge to this effect was sent to _The New York Clipper_,
accompanied by the requisite deposit.
It chanced that after the challenge had been sent, Cummings fell in with
Perkins, and told him that he (Cummings) could lick Hogan or Perkins
either.
Perkins reminded the windy Cummings that he had seen Hogan offer to fight
him in Rochester for anything from five hundred dollars to a chew of
tobacco, and instead of accepting the offer, Cummings had slunk away, and
had had Hogan arrested. As for whipping him (Perkins) he did not believe
that Cummings or any of his tribe could successfully undertake that job.
The hot words very soon led to arguments of a more forcible nature--in
other words, the men resorted to their fists. Perkins knocked Cummings
down twice in quick succession. Then Cummings, who entertained some
curious ideas of the pugilistic art, finding that he could not fairly
whip his opponent, bit off a part of Perkins' nose.
This disgraceful proceeding naturally aroused much indignation in
Rochester. It was, indeed, the excitement growing out of the affray which
put an end to the proposed fight between Hogan and Allen. Other
explanations than this have been offered, and it has been openly asserted
that Hogan weakened. The simple statement of facts here given should serve
to quiet all such stories in the future.
As soon as Hogan had heard of the cowardly attack made upon his friend, he
resolved to seek revenge. He hurried to the house in which Cummings was
living, but unfortunately was followed by two officers who had been
detailed to watch his movements. As soon as he entered the house he was
ordered to leave it. Seeing how useless it would be to oppose the power of
the law, he left Cummings unpunished.
Space prevents the further description of Ben's adventures at this time,
save to recount the manner in which he left the city.
The pork dealer, to whom reference has already been made, happened to drop
in a second time, having with him a load of dressed hogs. Ben greeted him
with great cordiality, asked him how he was getting along, and expressed
deep interest in the subject of hogs. After one or two sociable drinks,
our hero surprised his visitor by offering to buy his entire load of pork.
"I will give you," said Ben, "six and a fourth cents a pound," (this was
about the market price) "and you may come in to-morrow for your money."
This proposition was joyfully accepted by our rural friend, who
considered the promise of so high-toned a gentleman as Ben quite as good
as the money in hand. The value of the pork at the proposed price was two
hundred and thirty dollars. Congratulating himself upon having made a
first-class bargain, the countryman withdrew--not however until he had
drunk Ben's good health in a bottle of champagne.
The gymnasium business had begun to wane in Rochester. For that reason
Hogan had determined to give it up. And this resolve perhaps was hastened
by his large investment in pork. He disposed of the stuff for two hundred
and fifty dollars, and having got the money, shook the dust of Rochester
off his feet.
That farmer is looking for him to this day, but, as he was worth forty
thousand dollars, he could abundantly afford to help so worthy an object
as Ben Hogan.
CHAPTER XI.
How Ben Treated the Deputy Sheriff--Annie Gibbons, the Pedestrian--Ben
Goes to Pittsburg and Meets Mr. Green.
After his somewhat sudden departure from Rochester, Ben made his way to
New York.
There, at the invitation which had been extended to him while in Rochester
by Kehoe, the well-known Indian club manufacturer, Ben consented to appear
at a sparring exhibition given at No. 600 Broadway. It was intended that
Hogan should have a set-to with Johnny Dwyer, the now famous heavy-weight
champion of America, but the latter had arranged to meet Rourke, and
therefore begged to be excused from a second encounter. In place of Dwyer,
Ben, at the request of old Uncle Bill Tovee, consented to a bout with
Billy Edwards.
It should be remembered that at this time Dwyer and Edwards were
comparatively unknown, the latter having but recently entered upon his
fistic career. He came to Ben, and requested him to use him gently in the
bout, inasmuch as he was then matched to fight Sam Collyer--his first
professional match.
The set-to was an interesting one, although Ben did not attempt to punish
his antagonist as he might have done had he so chosen. Unfortunately,
however, Edwards made a slip and struck Ben on the forehead with his head,
inflicting a wound which caused the blood to flow freely. This gave rise
to such intense excitement that the set-to was brought to an end.
It is worth while to note that many of the men assembled on that occasion
have since attained to distinction. There was Uncle Bill Tovee, born
before the flood, and known further back than the memory of man stretches.
There was Kehoe, whose fame was as broad as the country, but who, alas! is
now dragging out his days in the Flatbush Insane Asylum. There was George
Rourke, now the middle-weight champion, and a capital boxer. There was
Billy Edwards, a mere boy then, but still giving promise of the greatness
to which he has since attained. A more expert light-weight pugilist will
not be seen for years to come than Edwards. And there, also, was Johnny
Dwyer, who is now at the top of his profession, the champion heavy-weight
of America, and as thorough a gentleman as he is a pugilist. Dwyer is
to-day traveling with Joe Goss, England's pride, and a man whose
achievements in the ring are too familiar to need dwelling upon here.
There, too, was Ben Hogan--but modesty prevents us from saying more.
Coburn, at this time, was matched to fight with McCool, and was in
training in Harlem. He sent for Hogan, upon hearing of the latter's
arrival in the city, and made him his assistant trainer. Ben remained in
this position for about sixty days. It was during this time that he met
the deputy sheriff who had taken him to Warren, Pa., at the time of his
arrest. As was intimated some pages back, Ben was determined to get even
with this fellow, and the opportunity offered itself in the most timely
manner. Ben learned that the deputy was to arrive in the city by the
Albany boat, and moreover, that he intended to stop at the Astor House.
With this information, he had the fellow driven to the hotel named by a
cabman whom he (Ben) had paid. In this way he made sure of his game. Then
he ran across the deputy seemingly by accident, shook hands with him
cordially, and professed to be delighted at the meeting.
That same evening Ben contrived matters so that his Pennsylvania friend
should drop in at Harry Hill's. Then he proceeded to put into execution
the plan which he had formed. Getting some burnt cork, he blackened his
face so as to look like a negro, put on a woolly wig, and the roughest
suit of clothes he could find. In this disguise he told the policeman on
the beat that there was a man in Harry Hill's whom he was going to lick
when he came out. He explained that after thrashing his victim all that he
cared to, he should roll him over on top of him (Ben) so that the officer
might arrest the chap on the charge of assault and battery.
Having fixed these preliminaries, Ben took up his station at the door of
Harry's famous house. In good time the deputy made his appearance. No
sooner had he done so than Ben jumped upon, threw him to the ground, and
proceeded to take all the satisfaction out of his hide that he cared to.
The poor deputy made but a sorry show of resistance, and indeed it would
have made but little difference whether he had done so or not. After Ben
had thrashed him to his heart's content, he rolled him to the top of the
heap, and began crying out hastily:
"Police! Police!"
The officer of course made his appearance upon the scene, and finding a
big strapping fellow abusing a poor inoffensive darkey, arrested the
former and let the latter go.
The next morning the deputy sheriff was arraigned in a police justice's
court, and fined twenty-five dollars for assault and battery--which, let
us hope, taught him not to attack innocent and unprotected negroes.
Upon leaving New York, Ben went to Albany, where he opened a place at the
corner of Hudson and Greene streets, on the same principle as that in
Rochester. The resort became well known in Albany and was frequented by
all the sporting men of the capital.
Ben assisted in getting up the walking match at Rennsselaer Park, in which
Weston, Adoc, Payne, Ferguson, and a member of the Troy police force were
entered as competitors. Three purses were offered; the first three
hundred, the second two hundred, and the third fifty dollars. The
pedestrians were to undertake the feat of walking one hundred miles in
twenty-four hours.
Ben trained Adoc and Payne with the understanding that he was to have
one-half of all the prize money they won. The two men took first and
second money, but they cleared out without sharing with their trainer. A
seven-mile walk was held that same day for a purse of four hundred
dollars, which Ben raised by subscription on the ground.
I desire to refer to one incident which occured during Ben's stay in
Albany, and which I think illustrates a trait in his character for which
few persons are cognizant.
A young man of good family and excellent advantages often came into
Hogan's place in a state of intoxication. One day Ben fell to talking with
him about the matter, and told him that unless he stopped short he would
certainly die from the effects of liquor.
"But I have tried to stop," said the young man, "and it's no use. The fact
of it is, Ben, I can't live without my bitters now."
"Well," answered Ben, "you can't live much longer with them, that's
certain. Now I'll tell you what I'll do. If you will follow my directions
for three months--do just what I tell you to--I'll get you a new rig
throughout, give you a gold watch and chain and make as good a man of you
as I am."
The young man at once agreed to this liberal proposition. Ben's course of
treatment was substantially as follows: For the first week he gave his
patient three drinks of strong liquor a day. He made his diet consist of
oatmeal, beef tea, and other equally nourishing articles. He caused him to
exercise as much as his strength would permit, go to bed at regular hours,
and to bathe himself freely. During the second week the dose of liquor was
reduced to two drinks a day; the third week, to one a day; and the fourth
week it was dispensed with altogether. This gradual shutting off of his
accustomed stimulus made it an easy task to go without liquor. Ben
furnished him with beer and light wines, and gave him to understand that
he might use these beverages as freely as he cared to.
The result of all this was that the young man who had sunk to the lowest
depths of degradation, was rescued from rum's power. Ben was as good as
his word, and fitted him out with a complete suit of new clothes. He is
living to-day, an honored and respected citizen.
At the time of which I am writing, an exhibition of sparring was given in
Turner's Hall, by Tom Kelly and Patsy Reardon. The entertainment wound up
with a set-to between Patsy and Ben which was one of the toughest contests
on record. But a single round was fought, yet this occupied three-quarters
of an hour. The men were so evenly matched that it was impossible for
either to score a victory. Both, therefore, were compelled to throw up the
sponge, and both declared it to be the hardest round they had ever fought.
A young woman, by name Annie Gibbons, who had formerly been a clog-dancer,
was discovered by Hogan, while in Albany, and put in training for a
pedestrian.
This Annie Gibbons was a remarkable character in more ways than one. She
knocked about the city, visiting all sorts of haunts, in men's attire, and
passing herself off everywhere as a boy. It was no uncommon occurrence for
her to enter a faro bank with Ben and engage in the game with as much
interest as anybody. At such times she would frequently hear herself
talked about with the utmost freedom.
"That's a soft thing you've got, Ben," some one would remark.
"What are you going to do with the girl, anyway?" from a second speaker.
"She must be a plucky one," a third would add.
All of which was listened to in silence by Annie herself, whose presence,
of course, was never suspected by the speakers.
Her powers as a pedestrian were something really extraordinary. She could
walk fifty miles in ten hours--a feat which she actually performed in
Troy. Ben saw of course that there was money to be made out of this woman,
and he put her through a thorough course of training. Then he took her to
Syracuse, where she gave an exhibition of her powers, and also to Elmira.
At this latter place, Ben parted company with her. She made her way to
Rochester, Hogan meantime going to Oneida with McLaughlin.
While in Oneida, Ben saw by the newspapers that the girl had got into
trouble in Rochester, and had been committed to the penitentiary. He
accordingly followed her to that city, and after some little effort,
obtained her release. The two then proceeded in company to Buffalo.
It so happened that Adoc and Payne were also in the city at this time. Ben
had not forgotten how these two worthies skipped from Albany without
sharing the prize money as they had agreed to do. He therefore put Miss
Annie to good account in getting even with the two pedestrians. It did not
take her very long to relieve them of all the money they had, thus
settling up with interest Hogan's old scores.
Ben meantime had returned to Oneida, where he was giving lessons in
boxing. The town, as the reader probably knows, is still frequented by
many Indians, relics of the once famous Oneida tribe. Ben conceived the
idea of training seven of these noble red men, and taking them to Europe
to exhibit. But the project fell through, and proved a losing speculation.
Returning to Syracuse Ben met with Bob Bridley, then the champion
middle-weight of England. The two formed a partnership, and gave sparring
exhibitions in Syracuse, Geneva, Lockport, Waterloo, Erie, Buffalo, and
finally in Cleveland.
During this trip, they cleared an even seventeen hundred dollars. At this
time Allen and Gallagher were matched for a fight, and upon reaching
Cleveland, Ben and Bridley, on information which seemed to them
trustworthy, put up their entire pile on Allen. They had been informed
that Gallagher was sick, and would be in no condition to fight. As it was,
however, he showed up well enough to knock the wind out of Allen, and the
money out of our friends who had backed the latter.
Finding himself again strapped, Ben proceeded to Pittsburgh, where he made
his first appearance in a sparring exhibition held in Lafayette Hall.
Gearing, Reise, and others figured on that occasion.
Ben next went to Petroleum Centre, hoping to raise money enough to enable
him to fight Allen. A funny incident which occurred at this time deserves
to be briefly related.
In Nell Robinson's house--where Tom Snowden was then tending bar--our hero
met with an exceedingly verdant chap whom we will designate by the
appropriate name of Green. Ben who still carried with him that
peculiar-looking tobacco-box, already described, showed it to Mr. Green.
Mr. Green at once became interested. Ben explained to him how simple it
was to open, and then offered to bet him ten dollars that he couldn't open
it. One Gasper, who acted as a capper, suggested that Mr. Green make his
bet twenty-five dollars. It was immaterial to Mr. Green, and so the wager
was made, and Ben pocketed the money. Instead, however, of becoming
enraged, this seemed only to heighten the good opinion which Mr. Green
entertained toward his new friend. Ben had grown somewhat shabby at this
time, and the generous Mr. Green magnanimously proposed to buy him a suit
of clothes. This offer was very readily accepted, and proceeding at once
to a clothing store, Ben blossomed out in a complete new suit, which was
afterward crowned by a shining silk hat.
These little incidental expenses were nothing to Mr. Green so long as they
purchased for him the privilege of being in Ben Hogan's company. He had a
profound admiration for pugilists. So to pamper this innocent weakness,
Ben introduced the fellow as Mike McCool. That suited him to a T. At Ben's
suggestion, they obtained a violin and bagpipe, and visited various
bar-rooms, in all of which Mr. Green flaunted himself as the genuine
McCool.
"You see," said Ben, "with these musical instruments we can travel around
together, call at all the saloons, get a crowd, and then give sparring
exhibitions, and make piles of money."
Mr. Green thought this a capital idea. The fun continued until Ben finally
climaxed it all by persuading Green to hire a band and get aboard the
train for Oil City. While the band was playing and the crowd staring, and
Mr. Green showing what a great man he was, Ben quietly got off the cars,
and the train went on without him. So did Mr. Green and his band. The
former sent a telegram back to Petroleum City, and Hogan replied that he
would be on in the next train; but having got his clothes and hat, and a
fair sum of money, he permitted Mr. Green to depart in his glory.
It was a pity that there were not more Greens, for, had there been, our
hero might have lived like a prince, without troubling himself to work. As
it was, however, Ben began to look about for some means of raising the
wherewithal to bring Allen to a fight.
Gus Rigl promised him half his place, but this promise turned out of no
account. Then Ben joined with John Sweeney and started out, giving
sparring exhibitions. They visited Oil City, Petroleum Centre, Titusville,
Cora, Rouseville, and met everywhere with encouraging success.
This gave Ben enough of a lift to warrant the opening of a place in
Titusville, with Jerry O'Brien--which he did.
Having by this time raised a sufficient sum of money, Ben determined to
carry out his original project, and challenge Tom Allen to a fight. Such a
challenge was written out and sent to the _New York Clipper_, accompanied
by one hundred dollars' forfeit. Allen's reply, which appeared in the same
journal, stated that he had already matches arranged with McCool and
Gallagher; that he was in training for these, and that he did not care to
enter into any third match. He therefore refused to accept Ben's
challenge.
It may be well to add in this connection, since there has been so much
said and written about the meetings between Allen and Hogan, that Ben had
no knowledge of Allen's intention to fight either Gallagher or McCool at
this time, and that he was perfectly sincere in his desire to bring about
a fight. The challenge was not made for the sake of bluster, but simply
to decide which was the better man. As we shall see further on, a meeting
was finally arranged between the two men, and at that time Ben showed that
he was by no means afraid of Allen's fists.
CHAPTER XII.
Ben in St. Louis--First Entree into Parker's Landing--Opens a
Free-and-Easy--Trouble with the Authorities.
Shortly after the incidents narrated in the preceding chapter, Ben made
his way to St. Louis.
On his way to that city, and while in Cincinnati, he met with O'Baldwin.
Ben had intended, on arriving in St. Louis, to give a sparring exhibition,
but O'Baldwin got in ahead on this project, and took the cream of the
town.
Gallagher was at this time in St. Louis, getting ready for his fight with
Allen. When Ben reached the city, he called on Gallagher, and was
surprised at the remarkable powers which he possessed. He interested
himself in behalf of his fellow pugilist, and did the latter good service
in the capacity of trainer.
After remaining some time in St. Louis, Ben took a farewell benefit, which
was held in Jack Looney's hall. Gallagher, McCool, and a number of others
volunteered for the occasion, which proved in every way a success.
Leaving St. Louis, Hogan returned East, going to Oneida, N. Y., where he
acted as trainer for McLaughlin, who was preparing for his match with
Homer Lane. After a month spent in this manner, Ben was seized with a
desire to go back to the oil country, and, accordingly, made his way to
Petroleum Centre. He reached that town dead broke; borrowed five dollars
of Tyler, and struck out for Parker's Landing.
When he reached that small but by no means unimportant settlement, our
hero had just thirty-five cents in his pocket. His first entree,
therefore, in Parker's--for by that name it is familiarly known--cannot be
said to have been altogether encouraging. But if his capital in money was
limited, Ben had any amount of pluck and energy, and these soon gave him a
fair start.
His first venture in Parker's was in the gymnasium line. Charley Green, to
whom he made known his plans, advanced him forty dollars, with which he
opened a place. He stopped for a time with John Eckert, who now keeps a
popular hotel in Auburn. The gymnasium was opened in a hall, and among the
distinguished pupils were Eph Parker, Doc. Karnes, Charley Green,
Tillinghast, and others. Eph Parker may be said to have been the mainstay
and cornerstone of the concern. Whenever Ben became hard-up--which he did
frequently in those days--Eph would generously advance him fifty or a
hundred dollars, wherewith to bridge over the temporary troubles. Eph was
a good-natured sort of a fellow, who spent his money with more freedom
than wisdom. He had a great weakness for boxing, and believed himself to
be an expert in that line. Ben very quickly discovered this susceptible
point, and turned it to practical account. He would tickle Eph's vanity by
telling him that he was the greatest boxer in the world, and follow up
this stupendous flattery by borrowing a hundred dollars.
This sort of thing might have gone on indefinitely, but for the fact that
Jim Linton opened a free-and-easy in the town, which made sad havoc with
Ben's gymnasium. In fact it broke it up.
Bent upon taking advantage of this misfortune, Hogan proceeded to set up a
free-and-easy himself.
Both of these places were what might properly be termed red-hot, and of
the two, Ben's was a little the hotter. Parker's was a town at that time
unlike any other spot on the face of the globe. The inhabitants grew
accustomed to such exclamations as "I've lost my ear!" "I've lost my
nose!" "I've lost my pocket-book!" This last, perhaps, was the commonest
of all. It was a place where a man found so much life that he was apt to
stumble upon death when he least expected it.
It was the red-hotness of the free-and-easys which finally led to their
being pulled. Ben and his partner, Col. Adams, were not arrested. This,
however, was no fault of the officials. Hogan received a telegram to the
effect that a deputy sheriff was coming down on the train to close up his
establishment, and he therefore found it convenient to get out of town
very suddenly.
Some of his friends fared less fortunately. Ben Savano, Charley Green,
Billy Casey, and Doctor Booke, were all arrested and placed under five
hundred dollars bonds.
Meantime Ben had made his way to Petroleum Centre. There he called upon
some influential political friends--a Senator and Congressman, among
others--and obtained a letter of introduction to Judge Nulton.
He happened to meet the judge at the doorway of the court, where he was
making inquiries with regard to the free-and-easy arrests.
"The only man we want, now," observed the judge, just as our hero made his
appearance, "is Ben Hogan!"
"Yes," said Ben, joining in the conversation, "Hogan ought to be hung."
"Well, I don't know about that," returned the judge. "In fact, all that I
do know about him is what I have heard others say. He seems to be a pretty
desperate character, but it would hardly do to hang a man on hearsay
evidence."
"Well, he's certainly a hard character," said Ben, with emphasis.
"Do you know him?" asked the judge.
"Yes," was the reply. "I know him better than any one else in the world. I
happen to be the gentleman myself!"
The judge stared in blank amazement.
"Will you do me the favor and read these letters?" continued Ben.
Finding that Hogan was not after all so terrible a person to meet with,
the judge proceeded to give him some points as to how he might get out of
his present scrape. Acting upon these hints, Ben furnished straw bail,
which was the best he could do.
The men who had really been responsible for the arrests were Golden, and
one Christy--a lawyer not overburdened with clients. Naturally enough, Ben
and his companions entertained no very friendly feelings toward Golden and
Christy, and at a later day they took occasion to square up accounts.
While the case was progressing, Ben and Charley Green put up at Reynold's
Hotel, where they dealt a quiet little game of faro in their room, and
made three hundred dollars during the night. It was encouraging for the
indicted gentlemen to find that some of the court officials were their
best customers.
The upshot of the trial was that all the parties under arrest signed a
contract not to open a free-and-easy in the town within three months. It
is only justice to add that Booke had in no way been connected with either
of the establishments, and that he had simply been drawn into the matter
with a view to extorting money from him.
All the persons concerned in the case left Parker's, with the exception of
Ben. How he managed to live up to his contract, and at the same time to
run a free-and-easy, will be explained in another chapter.
CHAPTER XIII.
The "Floating Palace"--A Wonderful Institution--The Girls and the
Patrons--Scenes of Revelry--How Nights were Passed--The Loss of the
"Palace."
Of all Hogan's enterprises, none perhaps ever became more widely known
than did the famous "Floating Palace."
It has been explained in the preceding chapter how Ben bound himself not
to engage in any free-and-easy project in the town of Parker's Landing.
It occurred to him, however, that he might keep within the letter of his
agreement, and at the same time carry on his business on an enlarged
scale. This is how he accomplished his purpose:
He bought a boat with money borrowed from Bill and Mr. Snyder. The boat
measured one hundred and twenty-five feet in length by thirty feet in
width. Having secured this craft, Ben set to work to fit it up for a music
and dance hall. He decorated it in an elaborate manner, stocked it
liberally with liquors and cigars, laid out a spacious dancing floor, and
prepared a bar in the most approved style. This done, he secured the
services of a number of musicians, and also, as the chiefest attraction of
all, a company of pretty waiter girls. These latter were arrayed in
costumes that did not hide any of their charms.
The boat was christened the "Floating Palace," and floated in the
Allegheny river, between the counties of Allegheny and Armstrong. Whenever
the officials of either one of these counties undertook to raid the
"Palace," Ben would float it across the river so as to be out of the
province of the officers. Drifting back and forth in this manner, he
managed to avoid legal difficulties. Nor had he broken his contract,
inasmuch as he had simply promised not to engage in such an enterprise in
the town. He had said nothing about the river. I should not omit to
mention that about this time Ben first became associated with Kitty
O'Brien, alias Bowers. She was a woman of far better education and
appearance than might be supposed from her manner of life. Indeed, I may
say, from personal acquaintance with her, that she was very much of a lady
in her bearing, and gave unmistakeable evidence of early advantages and
refining influences. Kitty, as we shall hereafter speak of her, accepted
Ben as her lover, and joined her fate from that time forward with his.
[Illustration: _ON BOARD THE FLOATING PALACE._]
In attempting to describe the "Floating Palace," I shall ask the reader to
imagine a brilliantly-lighted saloon, filled with dashing-looking women,
and melodious with music. Not everybody could gain access to this floating
hall of revelry. Two small boats were kept running from the shore to the
"Palace," and on these came the choice spirits who were admitted to the
charmed circle.
Bankers and brokers, merchants and oil kings were to be met on the boat.
It was not the sort of place which a man without money would care to
visit. It took the mighty dollar to unlock the mysteries and pleasures of
the establishment.
Champagne corks flew freely, and whatever was ordered had to be paid for
at princely rates. A night on the "Floating Palace" might safely be
estimated to cost a man a hundred dollars; and if he happened to spend two
hundred, nobody grumbled.
For the girls it may be said that they were neither better nor worse than
the average of their class. Some of them were exceedingly pretty, and all
of them had an eye to business. While music and dancing were indulged in
freely, visitors were expected to order wine generously.
Among the more characteristic amusements was a bath which the girls took
toward sunset. All the patrons of the "Palace" were at liberty to disport
themselves in the waters of the Allegheny, and to enjoy the company of the
mermaids, in the exhilerating waters.
The "Floating Palace" was most unquestionably a novelty in its way. As a
novelty, it possessed a valuable charm in those days--a charm of exciting
speculation, and it was also the means of rapidly circulating money.
"Music hath charms," and it charmeth even in a greater degree when
floating on the rippling waters, with the bright lights to add brilliancy
to the scene. Where amusements for the people were few and money plenty,
the "Palace" seemed to break up the monotony of the prosaic hunt for
wealth characteristic of the oil regions. The amusements on shore were not
of the highest order, and the "Palace" was certainly less objectionable in
many respects than some of the amusements which flourished ashore.
The "Floating Palace" cost twenty-five hundred dollars, but so great was
the success attending it that in sixty days Ben was able to, and did, pay
back one thousand dollars of the money he had borrowed.
It should be borne in mind that the authorities were constantly making
efforts to suppress the business. Ben's ingenuity, however, enabled him to
avoid arrest, although he was by no means free from meddlesome
interference.
The opportunity presented itself, while on the "Palace," to settle up
accounts with J----, who, it will be remembered, had instituted the suits
against Ben. J----, who visited the boat on a number of occasions, became
desperately smitten with the charms of one of the girls, named Lizzie
Topley.
Becoming aware of this fact, Ben posted Lizzie, who, while she professed
the most ardent love for J----, was still loyal to Hogan. One night, in
attempting to reach the "Floating Palace," J---- was tumbled into the
water, apparently by accident, but really by a preconcerted plan on the
part of Ben. That rather dampened his ardor for the fascinating Lizzie,
although he may never have suspected that she was at the bottom of the
mishap.
I have already intimated that large sums of money were made out of the
"Floating Palace." For the benefit of the reader who may not be posted in
such matters, it is well to explain that the profits were not all of a
strictly legitimate character. For example: A man might order half a dozen
bottles of champagne without once suspecting that the article furnished
him under that name was concocted from Catawba wine and soda water.
Little dodges of this kind were harmless enough in themselves, and perhaps
the fellow who paid five dollars a bottle for Catawba and soda was just
as well off in the end as though he had drunk genuine Piper Heidsick.
The "Floating Palace" visited Catanan, and while there a scheme was
entered into by a brother of J---- to procure the indictment of Ben for
various offenses, and particularly for selling liquor without a license.
Ben happened to meet this man J---- on the street one day, and he chased
him through the town, capturing him finally in the mayor's office. Had it
not been for the interference of that official, Hogan would have taken
satisfaction out of Mr. J----'s hide. As it was, he compelled him to
withdraw the charge, and pay the cost of the proceeding.
Determined upon having his revenge, Ben succeeded in getting a number of
the leading lawyers and some of the jurymen on board the "Floating
Palace," and while these worthies were enjoying themselves in the saloon
with the girls, he ordered the ropes to be cut, and the boat floated down
the stream. Before this was discovered by the jolly company inside, the
"Palace" had drifted sixty miles from Catanan.
The lawyers and jurymen were in a high state of resentment. The court was
to convene the next morning, and it would be very difficult for them to
offer any plausible excuse for their absence.
Ben professed to be equally enraged at what had happened, and threatened
to do all sorts of things with the fellow who had cut the ropes--when he
found out who that fellow was.
The victims pleaded with him to return to the town, but Ben showed them
that it would be utterly impossible to do so that night. There was no
alternative, of course, but to remain on board the "Palace" all night and
take the train back the next day. This the legal gentlemen did, but it is
doubtful whether they revealed to anybody the real cause of their absence
from court.
The "Floating Palace" continued its course until it reached Pittsburgh.
Before entering that city Ben dispensed with all his people except Kitty,
Lizzie Topley, and Steve Kinney--the latter of whom was his bar-tender.
A landing was made above Shapsbury Bridge, and there the "Floating Palace"
was anchored.
Ben's success up to this time had been so encouraging that he had
determined to follow out the idea on a larger scale.
It was his intention, as soon as he could complete the necessary
arrangements, to go down the Mississippi river with two additional boats,
modeled after the "Floating Palace." These were to be stocked with women
and wine, and some new features were also to be added, such as a museum
and dollar store. The project was a big one, and would undoubtedly have
been put into execution, but for an unforeseen accident.
When Ben anchored the "Floating Palace" at Pittsburg, he was well fixed in
the matter of money. This, however, did not prevent him from endeavoring
to add to his pile, which he did by patronizing that game commonly
believed to have been named in honor of one of the kings of Egypt--faro.
Every night, as regularly as the night came, he visited the bank,
conducted by Tony and Johnny N----, and so good was his luck that he
almost invariably went out of the place from thirty to forty dollars
ahead.
Making his way later than usual one night toward Shapsbury Bridge he made
the unpleasant discovery that the "Floating Palace" floated no longer. In
other words, the boat had sunk. This put an end to the project of visiting
the South, and Ben concluded to go back to Parker's Landing.
The loss of the remarkable craft was quite in keeping with its latter
history. It had been the scene of many revels, and had been brightened
with laughter, music, and wild merriment. Its brief career ended as
suddenly as that of some of the revelers themselves. The river became its
resting place, as it has often become the last haven of many a
tempest-tossed soul.
[Illustration: _KITTY BOWERS._]
CHAPTER XIV.
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 to justify 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 which Parker 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, he openly 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 Ben as 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, in connection 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, in conversation 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 out _en masse_ to 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 a blacksmith 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.
[Illustration: _SCENE IN THE PITTSBURG HOUSE._]
CHAPTER XV.
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 Pittsburg house, 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 of Petrolia 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 last made 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 liquor on 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,
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