The Hartford Herald

Hartford Weekly Herald.

Wednesday, May 11

RIVER ROWDIES SURPRISED.

The Quiet Man Took the Bully Into the Cellar and Did Him Up in Style.

[Chicago Herald.]

Near the Dells of the Wisconsin river stands an old house, once famous among the river men as a place of revelry, a harbor for fugitives from the pioneer justice of the time, and a place where physical prowess was the one safeguard of purse and person. A good many stories cling to the spot, and any good guide can tell of battles that chill the blood of the summer tourist. For in the days when the Dell House was at its best, great rafts of logs went down the river in charge of gangs of men who drank and swore and fought like all the pirates in Algiers.

Once upon a time, so the guide will tell you, Bill Endsen came down with a raft of pine from the upper woods, and before pushing through the narrow gorge now called 'The Dells,' he tied up at the Dell House and told his men they might stay over night. Among the crew was one Flinsore, a bully who had beaten half the men in the party, and only waited a proper opportunity before tackling old Bill Endsen himself, and although old Bill had for years been called the best man on the river, he was afraid of the savage raftsman who fought so like a tiger and whose passion was never sated until his victim was unconscious. Bill had decided that if trouble did arise between them he would kill Flinsore with an axe rather than meet him hand to hand.

Sitting in one corner of the Dell House when the noisy crew came laughing and swearing in at the door, sat a short, square man, with a rather large bundle on the floor beside him. He paid no attention to the men, and at first they allowed him to pass unnoticed. But as liquor stirred their blood they grew more boisterous and invited him to join them. He declined, and again they gave him some moments of peace.

After awhile the wildest rafter in the party came over to the corner and asked the quiet man what he had in his bundle. He declined to answer, simply saying it was his own and that he was taking it down to Madison. The rafter was angry and he amused himself by standing across the room and tossing empty whisky bottles at the motionless bundle.

'You stop that!' yelled old Bill Endsen. 'The man is not bothering us, and we won't bother him.'

'But we will,' said Flinsore, who had not yet seen so good an opportunity to quarrel with his rival. Words could but lead to blows with these men. They were unarmed, and there was no chance for postponement. They stepped outside on the level, grassy plat of ground and engaged in a battle which is still remembered by the pioneers.

They rolled over on the ground; they sent in heavy blows; they kicked, wrestled, bit and gouged, till old Bill was utterly beaten and lay defenseless against the brutal blows that fell upon him. Flinsore desisted at last and the other rivermen took the victim to the river and washed his wounds.

Then Flinsore went into the house and approached the quiet man, who alone had not followed the fighters outside and watched them.

'Now, what you got in that bundle?' he demanded.

'No matter what I've got,' returned the short man, 'It's none of your business.'

'Then you get up and fight.'

'Well, you take an hour to rest up and I will fight you,' responded the quiet man; and there was that in his eye which promised he would keep his word. 'You take an hour to rest up. Then we will go in the cellar together, lock the door inside and throw the key out through the bars. After that, God have mercy on the weaker man.'

Flinsore was wild with delight. Here was a chance for two good fights in one day. He took a drink to his own good luck, and then stretched out on the floor and waited.

When the hour was up the quiet man cast one long look at his still motionless bundle, stripped to his shirt and led the way to the cellar. The basement was walled with rock. The door was heavy and strong. The windows were barred with iron. The floor was earth.

They locked the door, tossed the key out through the grating, and a moment later the crowding river men outside knew the fight had begun. They could see little through the bars. They pressed their faces against the window, climbing upon each other for a vantage point, till the only air passage was choked, and the men inside fought in poisoned atmosphere.

They were there scarcely twenty minutes. Then the man who had been so quiet came to the window and calmly asked for the key. Besides from him there was not a sound in the cellar. He unlocked the door and they crowded in. There, in the middle of the floor, lay Flinsore, bound hand and foot, gagged almost beyond the point of breathing, and stripped naked. The tough clothing which had covered him now held him a disgraced prisoner.

When he had been freed the men asked him if he wanted to try it again.

'No,' said he, humbly. 'That man held me with one hand. He knocked me down whenever he wanted to. I couldn't touch him. And if I tried to clinch he downed me and fell on me. My ribs are broken. My heart hurts.'

The quiet man still sat in his corner.

'Do you mind telling us who you are?' asked one of the raftsmen, politely.

'It don't make any difference who I am,' said the man, 'but, if it will interest you any, I will tell you I make a pretty good living as a fighting man. This little bundle you have asked me about is my baby. My wife died up at Listop, and I am going to Madison to leave the baby with my mother. If any of you men want lessons in boxing when I come back I will accommodate you.'

Bill Endsen and Flinsore are historical characters up and down the Wisconsin. But the man who was better than either of them is unknown to this day.