He was my boy. I raised him, and trained him. I took him out of a steamboat barber shop. I instructed him in the mysteries of card- playing, and he was an apt pupil. Never shall I forget the night we left New Orleans on the steamer _Doubloon_. There was a strong team of us--Tom Brown, Holly Chappell, and the boy Pinch. We sent Pinch and staked him to open a game of chuck-a-luck with the n.i.g.g.e.rs on deck, while we opened up monte in the cabin. The run of luck that evening was something grand to behold. I do not think there was a solitary man on the boat that did not drop around in the course of the evening and lose his bundle. When about thirty miles from New Orleans a heavy fog overtook us, and it was our purpose to get off and walk about six miles to Kennersville, where we could take the cars to the city.

Pinchback got our valises together, and a start was made. A drizzling rain was falling, and the darkness was so great that one could not see his hand before his face. Each of us grabbed a valise except Pinch, who carried along the faro tools. The walking was so slippery that we were in the mud about every ten steps, and poor Pinch he groaned under the load that he carried. At last he broke out:

"Tell you what it is, Master Devol, I'll be dumbed if this aint rough on Pinch. Ise going to do better than this toting along old faro tools."

"What's that, Pinch? What you going to do?"

"Ise going to get into that good old Legislature; and I'll make Rome howl if I get there."

Of course I thought at the time that this was all bravado and brag; but the boy was in earnest, and sure enough he got into the Legislature, became Lieutenant-Governor, and by the death of the Governor he slipped into the gubernatorial chair, and at last crawled into the United States Senate.

He did me a good turn when he got up in the world, and true and high honor did not dim the kindly feeling he had for me. I had been playing on the Jackson Railroad, and my luck had been good; but I was satisfied, from certain ominous signs, that a big kick was brewing. To avoid trouble I got off the train a few miles before reaching the city, and had been in town a day or two when the Chief of Police sent for me.

Of course I responded, when he told me, "Devol, you have beat one of the Police Commissioners out of $800, and he says you shan't live in the city."

"I have lived in the city too many years to be run out by any one man."

Thinking it best to have this matter settled, I went to my old friend Bush, and we took a hack and drove to the executive mansion.

Pinchback, my old boy, was Governor then; and though it was late at night, he insisted on calling us in, woke up all the servants, and set out a royal lunch, with all sorts of liquors, and we had a high old time. "Go to bed, George," he said, "and don't give yourself any uneasiness. I'll settle that fellow in the morning."

That was the end of the $800 Police Commissioner.

A GOOD STAKEHOLDER.

Sherman Thurston, my old friend, is dead. He has pa.s.sed in his checks, shuffled his last cards, dealt his final lay-out, and been gathered to the G.o.ds. He was an honorable, great-hearted man, and I can recall the time when no living man could do him up in a rough- and-tumble fight. Cow-boy Tripp was once doing the playing for me on the Missouri Pacific Railroad; and as I saw Sherman, I said to him:

"See that conductor? I've got a little game going on here, and a first-cla.s.s sucker in tow. Now the conductor is watching us very closely, and as soon as he sees him put up his money, he will walk up and stop the game. What I want you to do is to go and sit alongside of him, and entertain him until the lawful proceedings are over."

Tripp opened up the game, and the sucker put up his stuff; and sure enough the conductor made a rush to stop the game. But Sherman grabbed him by the waist and held him as you would a baby, and kept on talking all the time, telling him not to have any fuss, that he didn't want to see any trouble, etc.

Sherman Thurston was the best stakeholder in America. He was death to coat-tail pullers. He had a way of acting as if he was in a terrible pa.s.sion, and coming down on their feet with a stamp that made them lie quiet.

Sherman was a man of hard sense and native resources that rendered him ready for any emergency. Once when we had won some money from a man, he began to raise a fuss and carry on like one bereft of reason. Sherman humored him. He locked him up in the car, and told everybody that he was a lunatic that he was removing to the asylum--to keep away from him, as he was dangerous and entirely irresponsible. Then when the fellow got too noisy, Sherman went and said, "See here, old fellow, you had better keep still, for gambling is a penitentiary offense in this State, and you are just as much implicated as the man who won your money."

That settled it, and the man quieted down as mild as a pet lamb.

SHE KISSED ME.

A woman's heart-rending shriek rang through the cabin of the steamer _Huntsville_ one afternoon, as she lay taking in wood. I was standing on the guards watching the jolly, happy negroes as they seized the huge sticks and ran to the music of their camp-meeting hymns and piled it near the engine. Rushing back, I saw that a little girl had fallen overboard into the water. Losing no time, I jumped overboard and got ash.o.r.e with the little one. When I carried her, dripping and wet, to her parents, who stood on the gang- plank, the mother caught the baby in her arms and nearly smothered her with kisses; and my turn came next, for she began to hug and kiss me, pouring forth her grat.i.tude; but I pushed her away, as I did not want her husband to see her kiss me. The little one was taken into the ladies' cabin and dry clothes put on her, and the father came down and wanted to recompense me, but I would not have it, for I said, "I have only done what I would for any child that was drowning." Years afterwards I met the young lady and her father traveling on one of the New Orleans packets. She had grown to be a beautiful young lady, but her mother had been dead many years.

THE TRICK KNIFE.

There are a great many devices, some of which are very old, some a little more modern, and some new ones are being manufactured every day, to catch the uninitiated, all of which are more or less successful--for there are just as many suckers to-day as there were forty years ago.

I remember seeing a knife that was so constructed that the blade could not be opened without pressing upon springs. It had one spring that if pressed would allow the blade to open; and there was another spring that would lock the first one so that it would not work, and when the second spring was used, no one could open the blade with the first spring alone. Like most tricks, this knife racket took two persons to work it successfully. The one with the knife would be dressed up like a countryman, and he would go up to a person who he thought could be played for a sucker, and enter into conversation with him. Finally he would show the knife, and explain how to open the blade when locked with but one spring.

About this time the capper (a well dressed man) would come up, and the country looking fellow that owned the knife would say to the sucker, "There comes a fellow; say nothing to him about the spring, and we will win some money."

The capper would take the knife and try to open it, then he would say, "That is a dummy; it was not made to open."

The owner of the knife would then say, "Yes, it can be opened."

Then the nice man would try it again, and finally he would offer to bet that no man could open the knife in ten or fifteen minutes.

The sucker would take him up; and as he did not know anything about the second spring, of course he lost his money.

I did not have any use for such contrivances, as old monte was good enough for me; but I always tried to keep posted on all the tricks and schemes, so as to be able to down the schemers at their own games.

Bill and I went on board the steamer _Bart Able_, bound for New Orleans, late one night. I was tired and sleepy, so I told Bill I would go to bed. He said he would take a smoke, and then join me. I had not been in bed but a few moments, when a black boy called me and said that my partner was in trouble in the barber shop. I was up and into my pants in a moment. I grabbed old Betsy Jane and started. When I arrived at the shop door, I saw two fellows standing over Bill; one had a big pocket-knife, the other had a poker. I did not stop to inquire what the trouble was about, but rushed in, struck the fellow with the knife, and as the fellow with the poker started to run I let him have one, and they both measured their lengths on the floor. I turned to ask Bill what the d---l the fellows were after him for, when they both jumped up and lit out. Bill said:

"Well, George, I'll tell you. Them fellows took me for a sucker, and bet me $10 that I couldn't open a big knife they had; but, George, I knew how to open her just as well as they did, and I won their money. They wanted me to give it up; but when I saw the black boy start after you, I thought I would hold on until you came, then I knew they would get left--didn't I, George?"

"Yes, Bill; you bet you won't have to give up when I'm around."

"George, them fellows took me for a sucker. Do I look like a sucker?"

"No, Bill; you look like a nice, smart counter-hopper," I replied.

Bill laughed and said, "George, I'm $10 better off than I would have been if you had not got here just in time; let's take something and then go to bed."

The fellow dropped his big knife, which we found on the floor; so that he was out $10 and his knife by tackling--not a sucker, but one of the oldest and best sucker-catchers in the country.

TWO-FORTY ON THE Sh.e.l.l ROAD.

During the war, after Ben Butler took possession of New Orleans, the city was always full of Union officers and soldiers. Money was very plentiful, and of course everything was lively. I was running the race-course and gambling games out at the lake, and was making big money. I had nineteen good horses. Some were trotters, some pacers, and some runners. I would drive out and in over the sh.e.l.l road, which at that time was one of the finest drives in this country. I did not allow any one to have a faster horse than myself, and generally drove a pacer, as the road was very hard, and would stove up a trotter in a short time. I had a very pretty bay mare that could pace in 2:30 every day in the week, and she had beaten fourteen other horses at the State Fair in 2:26.

I drove "Emma Devol" (the bay mare) most of the time. I had a big black horse called the "Duke of Orleans," which was faster than "Emma Devol," but I hardly ever drove him on the sh.e.l.l road, as I kept him for the race-track.

I was driving the "Duke" out on the road one evening, when I overtook a big fellow by the name of Jim Dueane, who was a lieutenant of police at that time. He was a good, clever fellow when sober, but very quarrelsome when drunk. He was driving a good horse, and I could see he was under the influence of liquor. He asked me where I got the plug I was driving, for he did not recognize the "Duke."

I told him it was an old fellow I had bought for $50 to drive on the road, as I did not want to stove up my race-horses. We were about two miles from the lake, when he offered to bet me a bottle of wine he could beat me to the lake. I took him up, and we started.

I let him get a little ahead, so I could see how his horse moved.

We were going along in this way for the first mile, when he looked back and said, "Come on, Devol, or you will have to pay for the wine."

I replied, "All right, I will do it, as I do not want to lose the bet."

I gave "Duke" the word, and he got right down to business and pa.s.sed Dueane so quick that he did not know what to make of the old plug.

After I got about 100 feet ahead of him, I looked back and told him to come on or he would have to pay for the wine. He tried very hard to catch me, but it was no use, as "Duke" was not that kind of a horse.

I was at the lake, out of my wagon, and had the blanket on the "Duke of Orleans," when Dueane drove up. I could see that he was not in good humor. He got and hitched his horse, and then we walked over to the hotel to get the bottle of wine. I began laughing at him, and wanted to know what he thought of the "Duke" as a $50 plug, when he let drive at me. I ducked my head, and he hit it a pretty hard lick. I started for him, but some of the officers jumped in between us and put a stop to the fight, and in a little while he apologized and we were drinking together. I could have whipped him, for I was in my prime at that time; but I was glad they separated us, as I did not want to have any trouble with the police.

While we were drinking and talking about the race, a great big colonel of a New York regiment, who was pretty drunk, spoke up and said, "I can whip any man that will do anything to Dueane."

I knew he had reference to me; but the room was full of shoulder- strapped fellows, and I did not want any of his chicken pie just then, so I paid no attention to his remarks. He kept on with his abuse, and I was just itching to get at him, but knew I would not stand a fair show unless some of my friends should drop in, which I expected they would do before long, as it was a little early for the town boys.

In a short time a friend of mine, by the name of Joe Summers, and a crowd of New Orleans boys came in. Then I knew I would have a fair show, so I walked up to the big colonel and said, "You are a big lubber, and can't fight just a little bit."