I recall another incident of my early life, which occurred during the war, and which is worthy of mention only so far as it may serve to illustrate[illustrate] to what a degree of intensity my passion for gambling had developed. The battle of Silver Creek, which was a short but spirited engagement, was fought at night. In the morning I was sent with needed supplies for the wounded to the Union camp, which was located only three miles from my father’s store. After distributing the supplies, I opened a game of poker with a party of soldiers in a store kept by one Jas. T. Wallace. The appalling sights witnessed in the midst of the dead and dying were powerless to restrain or curb a passion which was even then stronger than death.
At the close of the war I felt myself a man and qualified to engage in business. So at the age of twenty, I went to Keytsville, in Chariton Co., Mo., and started a hardware store. I found myself unable, however, to forego the amusement of gaming, nor could I reconcile myself to the abandonment of my hopes of winning a fortune at the card table; I therefore combined gambling with business (sadly to the detriment of the latter), I divided my time between my own store and Dan Kellogg’s saloon and gambling resort. Among my associates there were such well-known gamblers as Bill and Tom Binford, Rives Williams, Jube Hurt, French Blakey, besides many others. I remained at Keytsville for a year, but failing to make any money by either legitimate or illegitimate methods, I closed out my business and returned to Roanoke.
Here, in my native village, my next venture was to start a tonsorial and bathing establishment. I had one bath-tub and one assistant. As I knew nothing about shaving (except at cards), and one of the rules of the shop was that when a customer was cut he need pay nothing, I was glad to confine my operations to transient callers, relegating regular patrons to the tender mercies of my assistant. As might have been expected, no profits materialized, and after the business had dragged its miserable length along for some twelve months, I spontaneously and cheerfully abandoned it.
My next business move was the formation of a partnership with one James Bird, familiarly known as “Slim Jim.” The firm was to manufacture and sell piano dulcimers, for which, at that time, there was a great and constantly increasing demand throughout that entire section. I was the senior partner, and furnished the capital; Jim was the practical man and had the experience; we united the two and the result may be very briefly told. To facilitate delivery of the goods, I purchased a carriage, horses and harness. I then went to St. Louis to buy materials to be used in the manufacture of the instruments. Upon my return, I found that “Slim” (it should have been “Slick”) Jim had been to Sedalia, Mo., where he had sold out the horses, carriage, etc., pocketed the proceeds, and had secured a tolerably fair start on his way to California. I trust that I may not be regarded as unduly revengeful if I frankly admit that when, thirteen years later, my quondam partner was arrested by Detective Henry Hutling while playing three card monte along the line of the Chicago and Alton Railroad, I hastened to the scene of his misfortune, and relentlessly made him disgorge by way of settlement, seventy-five dollars in money, a gold watch and chain and a diamond pin.
In the year 1868, in company with my uncle Tom, my brothers Sidney and Robert and a man by the name of Keen Viley, I went as far west as the southern portion of Dakota. For several months we located ourselves at Benton City, on the North Platte River. Here the mayor of the “city,” one A. B. Miller, in conjunction with a man named Charles Storms, conducted what is known in gamblers’ parlance as a “brace” faro game; that is to say, players could win nothing except at the option of the proprietor, and the latter lost only such trifling sums as might serve as an allurement to continued and heavier play. In this establishment I held the position of “case-keeper;” in other words, I kept the record of the game. This was my first regular employment in a gambling house. Life in the territory at that period was primitive in its comforts, but decidedly exciting in its uncertainty. Our party slept in a canvas tent, lined with slabs to about the height of three feet as a protection against the stray bullets, which came, with unpleasant frequency, from whence no one knew and went none could tell whither. During the progress of the fusilade, no sleeper in any tent ever thought of raising his head from his pillow, and the wisdom of lying perfectly still was abundantly demonstrated by the many bullet holes in the upper part of the canvas.
From Dakota I again gravitated to Roanoke, where I once more embarked in business, this time in the custom shoe trade. Being utterly ignorant of that, or any other business, I employed a shoe-maker who, after the manner of his kind, made it a point of honor to fill himself with whiskey every time he lasted a pair of boots. Naturally the business languished, and I soon sought a more congenial pursuit.
Going to Columbia, Mo., I opened a saloon; not from any desire to indulge my appetite in this direction, inasmuch as I can truthfully say that I never drank any intoxicating liquor in my life. My chief aim was to conduct a gaming establishment, for which the sale of liquor might serve as a blind. While at Columbia I used to gamble—chiefly at faro or poker—with the Hume’s boys, of whom there were six or seven with Dr. Ed. Compton, Sam Reader, James I. Brewitt, the Jacobs boys, Arthur Charleston, Jesse Forshay, Alex Bradford, Billy Booth, and many others who have since attained local prominence.
Like other young men, I was not unsusceptible to feminine charms, nor, wicked as I was, was I incapable of appreciating true womanly worth. I first felt the afflatus of the “divine passion” when I met Miss Fannie White, a fair maiden of Roanoke. For a time it seemed to me as though the sun shone only through her eyes. I prosecuted my suit with all the ardor of a first attachment, but the young lady’s parents promptly and forcibly interposed. My reputation was notoriously bad and a marriage between their daughter and myself was, they said, not to be thought of. Thus the affair was nipped in the bud. For a time I felt the blow keenly, and bitterly realized the disgraceful position which I occupied as a suitor rejected for such a cause. Time, however, and a sort of sullen resentment came to my aid. I succeeded in tearing from my heart the hopes which I had formed, as an idol is wrenched from its pedestal, and entered upon the vice of gaming with redoubled vigor.
But a few years later I formed an attachment for a beautiful and captivating lady, the accomplished daughter of Dr. Wm. C. and Mrs. L. A. Harvey, who enjoyed a position of social pre-eminence in the community.
Little May Harvey was a girl suited to fill the ideal conception of a far better man than I. Of attractive form and feature, she was modest, truthful, and a universal favorite with her acquaintances. That I should presume to lift my eyes to such a girl was enough to excite the apprehension of her parents, who at once became most bitter and unyielding opponents. But, fortunately or unfortunately, I had a powerful advocate in May’s own heart. In affairs of the heart young people are not always disposed to brook parental interference. They are apt to regard themselves as best qualified to judge of what will be for their own happiness, and to constitute themselves the sole arbiters of their own destiny. My affection for May was deep and true, and, which is a no less vital point, it was thoroughly reciprocated. An engagement to May followed as a matter of course; and, also as a matter of course, there followed an insistent demand on the part of Dr. and Mrs. Harvey that the engagement be suddenly and finally broken off. A most plausible excuse was found in my arrest on an utterly false charge for highway robbery.