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.