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."