Richmond Press, Inc.                          Richmond, VA                          1938

The Gamble's Hill Cats

Now, this is the oldest gang of all, as far as Charlie's memory is concerned, or he was born in the old Gamble mansion, erected at the close of the Revolutionary War by Colonel Robert Gamble, a veteran of that memorable struggle and father-in-law of the celebrated William Wirt.  The view to the southwest, across James River and Belle Isle to the hills of Chesterfield was one of his earliest memories; and sometimes, even now after all these years, that vista will bring back a fleeting touch of the deep, Ossianic melancholy that it inspired in his childish breast.  At night he would fall asleep to the sound of the boatman's horn, faint, plaintive notes that floated in at window, as the boat followed the winding canal at the foot of the hill.

The region of Arch and Byrd Streets, Third and Fourth Streets, with the contiguous territory, was the residence of the boys of this gang, and the brow of the hill was their stamping ground.

Gamble's Hill was then a bare hillside (where now is a park), with boys sailing kites, with young swains driving their sweethearts out in buggies and with military parades, now and then.  One of those parades Charlie saw from the top of the tower of Pratt's castle, having been carried thither by a bevy of handsome young ladies, who petted him, mayhap because of his chubby legs and wee sma' face.   (That was one of two times he was ever in Pratt's castle.  Then it was occupied by Johnnie and Willie Rison, as Charlie used to call them, though they were grown young gentlemen and in business.  The second time was many years later, at the sale of Mr. Cornick's effects, which he attended in company with John Regnault Ellyson, the writer.)

The first time Charlie ever stole away from his mother and went out to play with the "bad boys" - other boys are always bad to the dear mammas - he was quite a tiny and tender babe.  He strayed out to the plain that stretched to the crest of Gamble's Hill.  There was a gang of attractive devils playing a most charming game called hopping over hats.  They put each his hat on the ground in a straight line, whose precision struck with appealing force the little greenhorn's sense of the artistic.  Then they would hop, first one and then another, over the hats, with "woven paces and with waving hands," just like a scene from Tennyson's fairyland of old.

Of course the little greenhorn was enchanted to play the game; but not knowing how it went, he stepped on a hat.  At once the game ceased, the boys ranged themselves in Indian file with legs spread apart, with Dick Dollard the foremost boy, and said:

"Crawl through here."

Getting down on his hands and knees, he crawled through.  The succession of spanks that saluted him was most surprising and amusing.  So that he came out at the other end, laughing in pure delight.  That was his introduction to the world through Boy-gangland.

Here are some of the boys of the Gamble's Hill gang of old:

Jim Caskie, Bob Caskie, Beauregard and Lee Lorraine, Dick and Monte Waler (his name was Mountjoy), Tom Walsh, Harry Williams, Charlie Tanner, Billie Price, John Price (Sparrow, they called him), Tom Starke, Charlie and Billie Campbell, Taylor Goddin, George Roberts, Jim Dowden, Bob Blankenship, Andrew Glover, Seely Clarke, Maben Clark, Ranny Gilliam, Page Dunnavant, John Regnault Ellyson, the Bargamin boys, Victor and Vincent, the Valentine boys, Mann and Granville, James Allston Cabell, John Dollard, Tom Messler, Charlie Mosby, Louis Paul, Tom and Charlie Jones.

There were two colored members of the gang, also, who must be remembered, Billie Boy and Charlie Boy.  The latter, some five years later, attached himself to the Clyde Row Gang.

Little cats were:

Bierne and John Blair, Jeff and Charlie Wallace, Billie Ritter, Eddie Kellogg, Bob White, Albert Tanner, Jim Walsh, Harrison and Geddes Blair, Frank Steele, Morgan Robertson, Sam Glover, John Clark - we called him Joke, affectionately - Billie Gibson, Billie Miller, the younger Valentine boys, Beenie, Eddie, Fred, Henry and Jimmie, Horace Hawes and Dick Dollard.

Such rock battles they had!

And then to get a big cent - they used to be the size of a quarter - or a copper two-cent piece, or a nickel three-cent piece, or a silver three-cent piece about the size of a fish scale - why, what joy!  They'd go down on Fifth Street to Mr. Finnessy's and buy a stick of candy, either peppermint or lemon, or maybe down on Second Street to John Stout's; or sometimes to a little one-storied shop, that had a flat roof covered with tar and gravel, a-sitting there all by itself on the eastern slope of Gamble's Hill, kept by an old lady, Mrs. Annie Richardson.  Sometimes if a fond father, or some visting gentleman would give one a ten-cent bill, or shin-laster, about the size of a modern cigar coupon, they might go along Third Street all the way to Main Street to Rison's Drugstore, for a glass of soda water, refreshing, delicious, divine!  (That drugstore was then kept by Johnnie and Willie Rison, who lived in the castle.  It was kept after their time by Dove and Day, then by Jesse Child, and later by Chelf.)  Fond memories!  Sweet childhood!

Diagonally across from the drugstore, near the corner, was a town pump, one of the many that of old were provided by the city fathers to serve the public necessity.  It was made of a squared log, with the corners beveled, and had a long iron handle with a sweeping, graceful curve and a large iron ball at the end as a balance.  A few years ago, when the city force was digging at that corner, they found the well that had been arched over, covered up and forgotten.  This was in front of St. Alban's Hall, in which a Masonic lodge held forth and where, at times, political meetings were held by the Monroe Ward citizens.  Later on, there was for a time the first skating rink in Richmond.

There was an innocent game of youth, which I was reminded of by Sam Glover.  On Byrd Street between Second and Third, there was (and still is) the western entrance to the tunnel through which trains used to ply from the Byrd Street station to Elba.  Some of us little villains would wait there for the northbound train, gathering large pebbles while we waited.  The streets in those days were mostly paved with gravel, rolled, every now and then, with an immense roller drawn by twenty horses.  The pebbles being gathered, we would place them on the granite coping of the parapet above the arch of the tunnel.

Then, when the train issued from the dark mouth of the tunnel, we would shove the pebbles over, so that they would fall on the tin tops of the coaches with a terrible sound (to the passengers, who would think the tunnel was falling in on them).

Ladies would faint - ladies actually fainted in those days - gentlemen would feel the cold sweat oozing from their scalps and complaints would be filed with the railroad.  Then the police would come and guard the tunnel for a while, until they concluded that all danger of a repetition was over.  But alas!  They little reckoned with the pertinacity of the ingenious little devils; for, as soon as the police guard was relaxed, they would return to their delightful occupation.