Among the most colorful and formidable figures of America’s early Western frontier, Mike Fink stands as an enduring legend. Known as the “King of the Keelboatmen,” Mike Fink was a character whose extraordinary, often violent, exploits on the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers blurred the lines between fact and folklore. His life, filled with unparalleled marksmanship, fierce independence, and a penchant for rough justice, perfectly embodies the untamed spirit of the American wilderness and the hardy men who navigated its waterways.
The Roaring Life of a Riverman
Born in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, Mike Fink possessed little formal education and famously mocked what he had, often spelling his name “Micke Phinck” to affect the “barbarous jargon” common among unlettered Western river boatmen. From a young age, the allure of the boatman’s life captivated him. The melancholic sound of the boat horn was his favorite music, a tune he learned to imitate so perfectly that he could serve as a trumpeter on a keelboat without needing an actual instrument. This riverine existence perfectly suited his adventurous spirit, fueling his desire to explore the remotest ports, even New Orleans, where he heard people spoke French and wore their finest clothes all week.
“Bangall”: The Peerless Marksman
When river navigation was hampered by low water, Mike spent his time around Pittsburgh, honing his already legendary shooting skills. He was a frequent participant in Saturday shooting matches and militia musters, where he would hunt squirrels and shoot at targets for beef prizes. His exceptional accuracy quickly earned him the moniker “Bangall,” a testament to his unrivaled skill. So proficient was he that he was eventually excluded from participating in these contests. As compensation for this exclusion, he was granted the “fifth quarter” of the beef – the hide and tallow – which he invariably exchanged for whiskey at a local dram shop. He would then generously, though perhaps self-servingly, treat everyone, primarily himself. Despite his prodigious capacity for strong drink, consuming a gallon in 24 hours was not uncommon, he was never observed to be intoxicated, a further testament to his robust constitution.
A Personality as Untamed as the Frontier
Mike Fink’s character was as formidable as his physical presence. He spoke in the distinctive “half-horse, half-alligator” dialect of early boatmen, laced with a sharp wit that both charmed and intimidated. He famously declared, “I am a Salt River roarer, and I love winning, and I am chock full of fight.” His jokes, however, often came with a dangerous edge; woe betide anyone who failed to laugh or “made light” of them, as Mike was known to enforce his humor with a sound beating. Consequently, he was always surrounded by a coterie of laughing sycophants, terrified of incurring his displeasure. He was also known to have “a lady in every port,” each fiercely loyal and ready to “fight their deaths” in his defense.
Physically, Mike was a powerfully built man, standing five feet nine inches tall and weighing around 180 pounds. His broad, round face, tanned by sun and rain, featured expressive blue-gray eyes and strong white teeth. His body was square and brawny, with every muscle fully developed, giving him immense strength and agility – a perfect model for Hercules, save for his height.
Friends, Feats, and Fatalities
Among his closest confederates were two men equally renowned for their prowess: William Carpenter and Levi Talbot. These three men were said to be a match for each other in fighting and marksmanship, and they shared a deep understanding of the riverman’s virtues and mysteries.
Notorious Demonstrations of Skill (and Cruelty)
Mike Fink’s marksmanship was legendary, often bordering on the audacious and cruel. One recounted feat occurred on the Mississippi River, above the Ohio’s mouth. Spotting a sow with piglets on the bank, Mike declared his desire for a pig. Despite requests not to, he proceeded to shoot the tails off eight or nine piglets from a distance of 40-50 yards as the boat sailed by, harming them no further. This act showcased his precision and irreverent disregard for norms.
A more disturbing incident unfolded in St. Louis, Missouri, around 1821. Mike observed a young black boy whose foot had a prominent heel, a shape he deemed offensive to his sense of symmetry. With shocking audacity, Mike lifted his rifle from 30 paces and shot the boy’s heel away, inflicting a severe wound. The boy screamed “murder,” and Mike was subsequently indicted, tried, and found guilty in the county’s circuit court. His peculiar defense was that he merely wanted to “fix the boy’s foot so he could wear a genteel boot.” The punishment, though not explicitly stated, was evidently not severe, as Mike was at liberty by the spring of 1822.
The Whiskey Cup Challenge: A Test of Trust
A particularly dangerous demonstration of trust and marksmanship was a favorite pastime for Mike and William Carpenter. They would fill a tin cup with whiskey, place it on each other’s heads, and shoot it from a distance of 70 yards. This perilous feat was always performed successfully, the cup pierced without injury to the person holding it, serving as a powerful avowal of their mutual confidence. These were the kind of men who lived on the edge, where bravery, or perhaps recklessness, defined their bonds.
The Fur Trade, Betrayal, and Vengeance
Mike Fink had frequented St. Louis since 1814 or 1815, a hub for westward expansion. In 1822, he, Carpenter, and Talbot enlisted with William Henry Ashley and Andrew Henry’s company, aiming to open trade with mountain tribes. They served as boatmen, trappers, and hunters, ascending the Missouri River to the Yellowstone, where a fort was constructed. Detachments were sent to trap; Mike and his friends, with nine others, wintered on the Musselshell River.
A Quarrel Turned Deadly
During their winter encampment, a “deadly quarrel” erupted between Mike Fink and Carpenter, reportedly over an Indian woman. Though temporarily smoothed over by friends, the resentment simmered. Upon returning to the fort in the spring, and fueled by whiskey, the dispute reignited. A peace treaty was made, sealed by Mike’s proposal to repeat their customary whiskey cup shooting feat – a test of reconciliation and renewed trust.
Mike won the coin toss to take the first shot. Carpenter, aware of Mike’s unforgiving nature and suspecting treachery, expressed his belief that he would be killed. Yet, he scorned life too much to break their pact. He bequeathed his possessions to Talbot, filled the cup, and placed it on his head, standing “erect and serene” at 60 yards. Mike aimed, then lowered his rifle, mockingly saying, “Hold your noddle steady, Carpenter, and don’t spill the whiskey, as I shall want some presently.” He re-aimed. An instant later, Carpenter fell, dying instantly, the ball having penetrated his forehead. Mike coolly blew smoke from his rifle barrel, observing Carpenter’s body, before remarking, “Carpenter, you have spilled the whiskey!” When told he had killed his friend, he feigned disbelief, blaming his rifle and the bullet, never admitting intent.
Talbot’s Retribution and the End of a Legend
In the remote frontier, where law’s reach was weak and Mike’s reputation instilled fear, Carpenter’s killing was dismissed as an accident. However, Levi Talbot, Carpenter’s devoted friend, was convinced of Mike’s deliberate treachery and vowed revenge. Some months later, Mike, in a fit of boastful revelry, openly admitted he had killed Carpenter intentionally and was glad of it. Without hesitation, Talbot drew the pistol Carpenter had willed him and shot Mike Fink through the heart. Mike died instantly, without a word.
Talbot faced no legal repercussions; frontier justice, in this instance, deemed it a just penalty for Carpenter’s murder. Moreover, Talbot was a fearsome adversary, as “ferocious and dangerous as a grizzly.” He later fought with distinction in the Arikara battle under Colonel Henry Leavenworth, exhibiting remarkable coolness. Ironically, about ten days after this battle, he drowned while attempting to swim the Teton River, bringing an end to the fateful trio’s saga.
The Authenticity of the Legend
Remarkable as this tale may seem, its authenticity is well-confirmed. General Clark’s letter book on Indian Affairs, housed at the Kansas Historical Society, explicitly lists deaths among the Ashley, Smith, Jackson, and Sublette parties before 1830. It states that in 1822 (later corrected to 1823), Mike Fink shot William Carpenter, Fink was subsequently shot by Levi Talbot, and Talbot later drowned in the Teton River. Further corroboration appeared in the St. Louis Republican on July 16, 1823, detailing Fink’s death at the hands of another expedition member after he killed his companion during a whiskey cup stunt, acknowledging his earlier “black boy’s heel” incident.
Conclusion: The Enduring Legacy of the Keelboat King
The life and death of Mike Fink serve as a powerful narrative of the raw, often brutal, realities of the American frontier. He was a man of extraordinary skill and audacious spirit, a true “King of the Keelboatmen” whose legend grew with every river mile he traversed. While his marksmanship was unmatched and his physical prowess legendary, his volatile temper and cruel streak ultimately led to his demise. Mike Fink’s story is more than just a series of violent anecdotes; it’s a window into an era when individual might and unwritten codes of honor often superseded formal law, and when legendary figures like him carved out their place in American history, for better or worse. His tale remains a captivating, albeit dark, reminder of the larger-than-life characters who shaped the narrative of the American West.
