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Mike Fink Hears His Death Predicted By A Cincinnati Fortune Teller
Readers of a certain age will remember Mike Fink from the old Davy Crockett series on television. As with most Walt Disney productions, the scriptwriters took egregious liberties with history and authenticity. Actor Jeff York portrayed Fink as a big lummox, more foil for Fess Parker’s Crockett than equal. Not many viewers knew that Mike Fink was a real person. In some ways, the real Mike Fink was much more of a frontiersman than Davy Crockett. Most importantly for us, Fink was a regular visitor to Cincinnati.
Mike Fink (c. 1770-1823) was born around Fort Pitt (later Pittsburgh) and, for a good part of his youth, served as a scout in the wilderness around the Ohio River. “Scout” was a euphemism. It is true that scouts “scouted.” That is, they did discover information and report it. Most of the time, though, scouts were free-lance exterminators, wandering the wilderness killing Indians. Just as Fink gained a reputation as a fearsome Indian-killer, the Battle of Fallen Timbers ended much of the conflict between settlers and natives in the East. Many scouts, Fink among them, were not suited for the settled life of the farm and took to the river trade.
Davy Crockett knew Mike Fink and famously described him as “half horse and half alligator.” Stories about Fink’s prowess with a rifle abound. But our story today describes how Mike Fink learned about his own death, from a Cincinnati fortune teller. This story is pulled from Emerson Bennett’s novel “Mike Fink: A Legend of the Ohio,” published in 1858 by U.P. James in Cincinnati.
As Bennett tells the tale, Fink and his crew are ready to float their keelboat down river from Cincinnati’s Public Landing. They awaited a paying traveler, who was late. The crew suggested killing time by having their fortunes read, "to see whether we’re going to be hanged or drowned.“ Fink declares he wants to hear his fortune.
"Saying which, and without more ado, he sprang ashore, and followed by his two companions, at once set off for the residence of Deborah Mowrin, better known among the river men as old Mother Deb, the fortune-teller. Turning to the left, the trio pursued their course along what is now called Front Street, which could then boast but a few scattering houses, till they had passed Main street some two hundred yards, when, taking a narrow path that led into the open field, they continued to advance toward a small, miserable looking hovel, which, standing solitary and alone, formed the extreme boundary of the village in that direction.”
Mother Deb, a shriveled crone supported by a staff upon which a horseshoe had been nailed, holds out a pack of cards and asks Fink to take one, and then several more. She pondered the cards and asked Fink if he had family. If he did, she said, he should ask them to pray for him. Fink asks when and how he will die.
“As to when, I’ll give ye no answer; as to how, why, bloody,” returned the old woman, impressively, “you needn’t fear hanging nor drowning.”
The fortune teller cautions Fink that a woman will be the agent of his undoing.
“Thar’ll somebody cross your path afore long, that’ll be mixed up with your fate, and for whom you’ll run your life in danger, even ef you don’t lose it. That somebody’s a female.”
Mother Deb describes a dangerous man who will be connected to this woman, a man closely tied to Fink’s ultimate end. Fink accepts the news of his impending death with good grace:
“Well, it’s o’ no use a whining for what’s got to be,” rejoined Mike. “As well might a stuck wild-cat think o’ hollering for mercy. One thing’s sartin, though; ef any one feller gits the better o’ me, in a rough and tumble, or any way he pleases, I’ll forgive him, though his roll o’ sins be as long as Dick Weatherhead’s ugly carcass.”
Mike and his crew strolled back to the boat and pushed off.
Now this (admittedly fictional) anecdote would have taken place around 1800, when Mike Fink was about 30 years old. Fink did die a bloody death - as novelist Bennett would have known - and it did apparently involve a woman.
At the age of 50-something, Fink found himself on the western border of what is now North Dakota, hunting and trapping and roaring along the rivers. There was an Indian woman and he fought over her with another frontiersman named Carpenter. One day, after a lot of drinking with a man named Talbot, Fink and Carpenter settled their dispute and agreed to memorialize the treaty by shooting cups of whiskey off each other’s head.
Fink and his companions played a deadly game in which they shot tin cups full of whiskey from one another’s heads. If the shooter missed, the “target” drank the booze. If the shooter hit the cup, the “target” poured the shooter a fresh cup to drink.
But who would shoot first? Fink or Carpenter. Talbot tossed a coin and gave the first shot to Fink. According to chronicler Morgan Neville:
“Carpenter seemed to be fully aware of Mike’s unforgiving temper and treacherous intent, for he declared that he was sure Mike would kill him. But Carpenter scorned life too much to purchase it by a breach of his solemn compact in refusing to stand the test. Accordingly, he prepared to die.”
Carpenter was wise to prepare. Fink shot low and killed Carpenter instantly with a musket ball through the forehead. Talbot picked up one of Carpenter’s pistols and shot Fink though the heart. Thus ended the life of the legendary boatman, just as Mother Deb said: “bloody.”
See Part 2 here.
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I am alive in 2015, and that feels great. I am proud that I have survived. Damn proud. Proud that I have weathered not just one storm, but a lifetime of storms. Proud that I have stuck with my music and musical convictions. And proud — really proud — to have proven stronger than many imagined me to be. -Brian Wilson
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