runs on a log, swings with the current, but hangs fast with her lea-side almost under water. Now for the poles! all hands are on deck, bustling and pushing. At length, towards sunset, the boat is once more afloat, and is again taken to the shore where the wearied crew pass another night.

"I could tell you of the crew abandoning the boat and cargo and of numberless accidents and perils, but be it enough to say, that advancing in this tardy manner, the boat that left New Orleans on the 1st of March, often did not reach the Falls of Ohio until the month of July, sometimes not until October; and after all this immense trouble, it brought only a few bags of coffee and at most one hundred hogsheads of sugar. Such was the state of things as late as 1808. The number of barges at that period did not amount to more than 25 or 30, and the largest probably did not exceed one hundred tons burden. To make the best of this fatiguing navigation, I may conclude by saying that a barge which came up in three months, had done wonders, for I believe few voyages were performed in that time."

In this little history, Mr. Audubon has said nothing of what was by far the most "dangerous danger" to which the crews of these craft were exposed. This was the attack, open and fearless as well as sneaking and treacherous, of the Boatwreckers. The country on both sides of the river from Louisville to the mouth of the Ohio was an almost unpeopled wilderness. On the north side of the river from Fort Massac to the Mississippi, there lived a gang of these desperadoes, whose exploits need only the genius of a Schiller to render them

the wonder of the world and the admiration of those who love to gloat over tales of blood. There was an impudence and recklessness of life and of danger connected with these fellows, coupled with a dash of spirit and humor, that would render them excellent materiel in the hands of a skillful novelist; but they lacked that high sense of honor and that gentlemanly bearing which made heroes of the robbers of the Rhine, of Venice or of Mexico.

Their plan of action was to induce the crew of the passing "broad-horn" to land, to play a game of cards, (the favorite passion of the boatmen) and to cheat them unmercifully. If this scheme failed, they would pilot the boats into a difficult place, or, in pretended friendship, give them from the shores such directions as would not fail to run them on a snag or dash them to pieces against some hidden obstruction. If they were outwitted in all this, they would creep into the boats as they were tied up at night, and bore holes in the bottom or dig out the caulking. When the boat was sinking, they would get out their skiffs and craft of all kinds, and in the most philanthropic manner come to save the goods from the wreck. And save them they did, for they would row them up the little creeks that led from swamps in the interior and no trace of them could afterwards be seen. Or if some hardy fellow dared to go in pursuit of his saved cargo, he was sure to find an unknown grave in the morasses.

One of the most famous of these boatwreckers was Col. Fluger of New Hampshire, who is better known in the West as Col. Plug. This worthy gentleman long

held undisputed sway over the quiet boatwreckers about the mouth of Cash Creek. He was supposed to possess keys to every warehouse between that place and Louisville, and to have used them for his own private purposes on many occasions. He was a married man and became the father of a family. His wife's soubriquet was Pluggy and like many others of her sex, her charms were a sore affliction to the Colonel's peace of mind. Plug's lieutenant was by him suspected of undue familiarity with Mrs. Col. Plug. The Colonel's nice sense of honor was outraged, his family pride aroused-he called Lieutenant Nine-Eyes to the field.

"Dern your soul," said he, "do you think this sort of candlestick ammer (clandestine amour he meant,) will pass? If you do, by gosh, I will put it to you or you shall put it to me."

They used rifles, the ground was measured, the affair settled in the most proper and approved style. And they did put it to each other. Each received a ball in some fleshy part, and each admitted that "he was satisfied."

"You are all grit!" said Col. Plug.

"And you waded in like a raal Kaintuck," rejoined Nine-Eyes.

Col. Plug's son and heir, who very possibly was the real subject-matter of dispute, and who was upon the ground, was ordered to place a bottle of whisky midway between the disputants. Up to this they limped and over it they embraced, swearing that "they were too well used to these things to be phazed by a little cold lead;" and Pluggy's virtue having been thus proved immacu

late, the duel as well as the animosity of the parties ceased. Col. Plug, man of honor as he was, sometimes met with very rough treatment from the boatmen, whose half savage natures could ill appreciate a gentleman of his birth and breeding. An instance of this is recorded by the same historian upon whom we have drawn for the greater part of the above account of the duel.* A broad-horn from Louisville had received rough usage from Plug's men the year before, and accordingly, on their next descent, they laid their scheme of revenge. Several of their crew left the boat before arriving at Plug's domain, and quietly stole down the river bank to its place of landing. The boat with its small crew was quietly harbored, the men hospitably received and invited to sit down to a game of cards. They were scarcely seated and had placed their money before them, when Plug's signal whistle for an onset sounded in their ears. The reserve corps of boatmen also heard it, knew its import and rushed to the rescue. The battle was quickly over. Three of Plug's men were thrown into the river and the rest fled, leaving their brave commander on the field. Resistance did not avail him. Those ruthless boatmen stripped him to the skin, and forcing him to embrace a sapling about the size of his dear Pluggy's waist, they bound him immovably in this loving squeeze. Then seizing the cowhide each applied it till he was tired, and so they left him alone with his troublesome thoughts and with a yet more troublesome and sanguinary host of musquitoes, which, lured by the ease with which they could now get a full meal of that blood which *Western Review for January, 1830,

had before been effectually preserved from their attacks by a thick epidermis, sallied forth to the feast by myriads. Pluggy, finding her bower lonely without its lord, came forth to seek him. Closely embracing the tree and covered from any immodest exposure of his person by a gauzy cloud of musquito wings, she found him. Clasping her hands, with a Siddons-like start and air, she cried, in her peculiarly elegant but somewhat unEnglish dialect: "Yasu Cree! O carissimo sposo, what for, like von dem fool, you hug zat tree and let ze marengoes eat up all your sweet brud?"

The historian is pained to record that all the answer she obtained to this tender solicitude was a curse. Plug cursed her, but Plug's evil spirit was aroused. Let the reader suppose himself in Plug's position and he will not blame that gentleman for the ungenerous reply that forced itself to his lips.

Not very long after this, Col. Plug came to his untimely end. Just as a squall was coming up, Col. Plug was in a boat whose crew had left it for an hour or so, engaged in the exercise of his profession; that is, he was digging the caulking out of the bottom, when the squall came on rather prematurely and broke the fastenings of the boat. It began to sink, and Col. Plug after vain endeavors to reach the shore, sank with it and was seen no more. Whether Pluggy still bewails her lost lord or has followed him in sorrow to the other shore, history does not tell us.

This sketch of the character of the boatwreckers will prepare the reader for forming some idea of the boatmen who were their prey. Among the most celebrated of