Diary in America, Series Two

by Frederick Marryat

But as the hunting-grounds of Western Virginia, Kentucky, and the northern banks of the Ohio, were gradually wrested from the Shawnee Indians, the population became more dense, and the Mississippi itself became the means of communication and of barter with the more northern tribes. Then another race of men made their appearance, and flourished for half a century, varying indeed in employment, but in other respects little better than the buccaneers and pirates, in whose ranks they were probably first enlisted. These were the boatmen of the Mississippi, who with incredible fatigue forced their “keels” with poles against the current, working against the stream with the cargoes entrusted to their care by the merchants of New Orleans, labouring for many months before they arrive at their destination, and returning with the rapid current in as many days as it required weeks for them to ascend. This was a service of great danger and difficulty, requiring men of iron frame and undaunted resolution: they had to contend not only with the stream, but, when they ascended the Ohio, with the Indians, who, taking up the most favourable positions, either poured down the contents of their rifles into the boat as she passed; or, taking advantage of the dense fog, boarded them in their canoes, indiscriminate slaughter being the invariable result of the boatmen having allowed themselves to be surprised. In these men was to be found, as there often is in the most unprincipled, one redeeming quality (independent of courage and perseverance), which was, that they were, generally speaking, unscrupulously honest to their employers, although they made little ceremony of appropriating to their own use the property, or, if necessary, of taking the life any other parties. Wild, indeed, are the stories which are still remembered of the deeds of courage, and also of the fearful crimes committed by these men, on a river which never gives up its dead. I say still remembered, for in a new country they readily forget the past, and only look forward to the future, whereas in an old country the case is nearly the reverse—we love to recur to tradition, and luxuriate in the dim records of history.

The following description of the employment of this class of people is from the pen of an anonymous American author:—

“There is something inexplicable in the fact, there could be men found, for ordinary wages, who would abandon the systematic but not laborious pursuits of agriculture to follow a life, of all others except that of the soldier, distinguished by the greatest exposure and privation. The occupation of a boatman was more calculated to destroy the constitution and to shorten life than any other business. In ascending the river it was a continued series of toil, rendered more irksome by the snail-like rate at which they moved. The boat was propelled by poles, against which the shoulder was placed, and the whole strength and skill of the individual were applied in this manner. As the boatmen moved along the running board, with their heads nearly touching the plank on which they walked, the effect produced on the mind of an observer was similar to that on beholding the ox rocking before an overloaded cart. Their bodies, naked to their waist for the purpose of moving with greater ease and of enjoying the breeze of the river, were exposed to the burning suns of summer and to the rains of autumn. After a hard day’s push they would take their ‘fillee,’ or ration of whisky, and, having swallowed a miserable supper of meat half burnt, and of bread half baked, stretched themselves, without covering, on the deck, and slumber till the steersman’s call invited them to the morning ‘fillee.’ Notwithstanding this, the boatman’s life had charms as irresistible as those presented by the splendid illusions of the stage. Sons abandoned the comfortable farms of their fathers, and apprentices fled from the service of their masters. There was a captivation in the idea of ‘going down the river,’ and the ‘youthful boatman who had pushed a keel’ from New Orleans felt all the pride of a young merchant after his first voyage to an English sea-port. From an exclusive association together they had formed a kind of slang peculiar to themselves; and from the constant exercise of wit with the squatters on shore, and crews of other boats, they acquired a quickness and smartness of vulgar retort that was quite amusing. The frequent battles they were engaged in with the boatmen of different parts of the river, and with the less civilised inhabitants of the lower Ohio and Mississippi, invested them with that furious reputation which has made them spoken of throughout Europe.

“On board of the boats thus navigated our merchants entrusted valuable cargoes, without insurance, and with no other guarantee than the receipt of the steersman, who possessed no property but his boat; and the confidence so reposed was seldom abused.”

Every class of men has its hero, as those always will be, who, from energy of character and natural endowment, are superior to their fellows. The most remarkable person among these people was one Mike Fink, who was their acknowledged leader for many years. His fame was established from New Orleans to Pittsburg. He was endowed with gigantic strength, courage, and presence of mind—his rifle was unerring, and his conscience never troubled his repose. Every one was afraid of him; every one was anxious to be on good terms with him, for he was a regular freebooter; and although he spared his friends, he gave no quarter to the lives or properties of others. Mike Fink was not originally a boatmen: at an early age he had enlisted in the company of scouts, another variety of employment produced by circumstances—a species of solitary rangers employed by the American government, and acting as spies, to watch the motions of the Indians on the frontiers. This peculiar service is thus described by the author I have before quoted:—

“At that time, Pittsburg was on the extreme verge of white population, and the spies, who were constantly employed, generally extended their reconnaissance forty or fifty miles to the west of this post. They went out singly, lived as did the Indian, and in every respect became perfectly assimilated in habits, taste, and feeling, with the red men of the desert. A kind of border warfare was kept up, and the scout thought it as praiseworthy to bring in the scalp of a Shawnee, as the skin of a panther. He would remain in the woods for weeks together, using parched corn for bread, and depending on his rifle for his meat—and slept at night in perfect comfort, rolled in his blanket.”

In this service Mike Fink acquired a great reputation for coolness and courage, and many are the stories told of his adventures with the Indians. It has been incontestably proved, that the white man, when accustomed to the woods, is much more acute than the Indian himself in that woodcraft of every species, in which the Indian is supposed to be such an adept; such as discovering a trail by the print of a mocassin, by the breaking of twigs, laying of the grass, etcetera, and in the practice of the rifle he is very superior. As a proof of Fink’s dexterity with his rifle, he is said one day, as they were descending the Ohio in their boat, to have laid a wager, and won it, that he would from mid-stream with his rifle balls cut off at the stumps the tails of five pigs which were feeding on the banks. One story relative to Mike Fink, when he was employed as a scout, will be interesting to the reader.

“As he was creeping along one morning, with the stealthy tread of a cat, his eye fell upon a beautiful buck browsing on the edge of a barren spot, three hundred yards distant. The temptation was too strong for the woodsman, and he resolved to have a shot at every hazard. Repriming his gun, and picking his flint, he made his approaches in the usual noiseless manner. But the moment he reached the spot from which he meant to take his aim, he observed a large savage, intent upon the same object, advancing from a direction a little different from his own. Mike shrunk behind a tree with the quickness of thought, and keeping his eye fixed on the hunter, waited the result with patience. In a few moments the Indian halted within fifty paces, and levelled his piece at the deer. In the meanwhile Mike presented his rifle at the body of the savage, and at the moment the smoke issued from the gun of the latter, the bullet of Fink passed through the red man’s breast. He uttered a yell, and fell dead at the same instant with the deer. Mike re-loaded his rifle, and remained in his covert for some minutes to ascertain whether there were more enemies at hand. He then stepped up to the prostrate savage, and having satisfied himself that life was extinguished, turned his attention to the buck, and took from the carcase those pieces suited to the process of jerking.”

As the country filled up the Indians retreated, and the corps of scouts was abolished: but after a life of excitement in the woods, they were unfitted for a settled occupation. Some of them joined the Indians, others, and among them Mike Finn, enrolled themselves among the fraternity of boatmen on the Mississippi.

The death of Mike Fink was befitting his life. One of his very common exploits with his rifle was hitting for a wager, at thirty yards distance, a small tin pot, used by the boatmen, which was put on the head of another man. Such was his reputation, that no one hardly objected to being placed in this precarious situation. It is even said that his wife, that is, his Mississippi wife, was accustomed to stand the fire; this feat was always performed for a wager of a quart of spirits, made by some stranger, and was a source of obtaining the necessary supplies. One day the wager was made as usual, and a man with whom Mike had at one time been at variance (although the feud was now supposed to have been forgotten) was the party who consented that the pot should be placed on his head. Whether it was that Mike was not quite sober, or that he retained his ill-will towards the man, certain it is, that in this instance, instead of his hitting the mark, his bullet went below it and through the brain of the man, who instantly fell dead; but his brother, who was standing by, and probably suspecting treachery, had his loaded rifle in his hand, levelled, fired, and in a second the soul of Mike was despatched after that of his victim.