FIGHT WITH A LONG-SHOREMAN.
A big fellow tackled me by the name of Barlow. He was a long- shoreman, and a tough one, but I did him up in seventeen minutes. He came into a saloon where I was in company with Bill Leonard and Bob Johnson. Leonard is well known, having kept stables in New Orleans and Cincinnati for many years. I had given races that day, and it appears that this man Barlow had lost some money. Five or six toughs entered the saloon with Barlow. He approached Johnson and said to him, "You throwed that race, you s— of a b——, and I am going to lick you for it." He cut loose and hit Johnson, and he must have hit him pretty hard, for he knocked him clear into the street. As Johnson was getting up, an officer ran up to him, when Johnson cut loose and knocked him down, thinking it was Barlow. They arrested Johnson and took him off. Then Barlow turned to me and said, "You keep the race track, and you are as big a thief as that other fellow. You whipped a good man when you whipped Fitzgerald, but you can't whip Barlow." I looked around to see how many friends he had with him, and I saw there were six or seven, and only Leonard on my side, who turned the key in the door, jumped on the counter, pulled his pistol, and said: "Gentlemen, if these men fight, they shall have it on the square, and the first one that interferes I will fill him full of lead." So at it we went. He was a good, scienced man, and had his hands up very quick. He made a feint to strike me with his left, and let go with his right. I gave him my head for a mark, which he hit clearly, and his fist looked like a boxing glove two minutes afterward. I ran under his guard, caught him under the arms, and downed him. In the squabble I got one solid crack at him between the eyes with my head, which ended the fight. He just was able to cry "Enough." I did not see him for several weeks after that. The next time I saw him was on St. Charles Street. He was drunk, and looking for me with a big knife up in his sleeve. I saw him coming, then I grabbed my gun and stood pat. I said, "Don't come one step more towards me, or I will cook your goose." He came to the conclusion that I meant business, and walked off. About that time there was a man done for every day in the Crescent City, but now New Orleans is a moral place, and some of the best people in the world live there.