Capt. Simp McGhee was a fiery character whose nautical exploits were many, and about which legends abounded. He was a large man and sported an impressive belly. Just before reaching Chattanooga, there was a treacherous three-mile area of the Tennessee River called "The Chute," known nowadays as Hale Town. It was dangerously rocky, swift, and narrow. This was long before the TVA widened and deepened the river so as to aid in flood control and navigation.
Most boat captains dreaded "The Chute," but Simp McGhee saw it as a challenge. An adventure, so to speak. Unlike many boats, not once had his snagged a boulder, bumped the banks in the fog, or run aground in a storm. And he piloted the James Trigg with the grace and skill that only a veteran boatman could muster. "Grab your shovels, hold onto to your britches, and kiss your girlfriend g'bye," he would yell. "We're gonna race the devil up the Chute!
On one such occasion he was navigating "the Chute" while the passengers watched anxiously. The deckhands quickly manned their stations. Four of the men grabbed heavy shovels and began shoveling coal furiously into the vessel's furnace. Others took up positions along the flanks of the ship, ready to call out if the treacherous rocks appeared too close.
The Chute had, between the time of the Civil War and the turn of the Twentieth century, become a veritable junk-yard of wrecked ships as one captain after another misjudged the dangerous rapids
and deep-sixed their ships, or at least sent them to dry-dock for major repairs. It was almost impossible for a steamboat to navigate upstream through the chute. The current was almost as swift as the fastest ship, and any captain foolhardy enough to try it would find his ship standing still in the current, bouncing from one rock to the next.
In the 1800s, the government installed a winch at the head of the rapids which was used to pull steamboats safely through the dangerous waters. Unfortunately, there was usually a long line of boats waiting to be pulled through and Capt. McGhee was not a patient man.
McGhee, however, could navigate the Chute in 30 minutes. "Hold on, men!" he bellowed as the gushing water began to pummel the front of the vessel. "We're going in!"
While other boats waited in line, McGhee opened the throttle full-blast and barreled his way through the churning waters. The boat trembled. Every timber in its frame groaned in protest as it furiously battled the oncoming rapids.
When the boat was almost at a standstill, McGhee gave the order to "Lay the fat on!" Instantly, the deckhands began stoking the furnace with four sides of fat that had been reserved especially for this occasion.
With its boilers red hot and sweat pouring from the begrimed deck hands, the ship once again started making headway. The steamboat was quivering from the strain it was under, but not McGhee. He simply gritted his teeth, and ordered more coal thrown in the furnace. Then, with one final shudder, the Trigg shot through the last of the treacherous waters to safety.
And Simp McGhee swaggered up and down the deck, with his head thrown back, laughing at the cowardly riverboat captains still waiting in line. Once again, he had proved that he was king of the Tennessee riverboat captains!
No one knew much about Simp McGhee's early days. Some said he was born into a wealthy family who had lost everything during the Civil War, while others claimed that his family had kicked him out at a young age. Years later, when anyone questioned him about his youth, he would throw his head back and loudly proclaim, "My Daddy was a gambling man, my Mama was the Tennessee River. I'm too mean for dry land, too gentle for the river, but when I die, there's gonna be hell to pay... cause hell ain't big enough for both the Devil and Simp McGhee!"
As a youth, Simp was a rambunctious devil-may-care lad who got his first job as a riverboat deckhand at the age of 13. He supplemented his income by playing poker or by selling a few pigs that he just happened to find "running loose."
After he became a captain, his boat became known for serving the finest meals on the Tennessee River. Passengers never questioned why the pigs and chickens were always delivered late at night by suspicious looking characters. With such shrewd business practices, it was little wonder that Simp became a prosperous businessman. He spent much of his time, between river trips, in saloons around Huntsville and Decatur.
He opened his own tavern, which quickly became a success, where he served such culinary delights as S.I.T. beef (stolen in Tennessee beef). He even opened a bordello in Decatur, rather than see Decatur's dollars spent in places like Huntsville and Athens. "It's my duty as a citizen to keep those dollars in Decatur," he reasoned when accosted by church people.
By this time, Simp's reputation had grown and there were few people who had not heard of him or his legendary exploits. One of his most famous escapades concerned a duel in the middle of the Tennessee River.
Simp's riverboat was running a few minutes behind schedule. Heading into Decatur, he saw another riverboat in front of him headed for the same dock. Rather than wait his turn, Simp called for more steam. With black smoke billowing from the smokestacks, he quickly gained on the boat and cut in front of it, reaching the dock first and almost swamping the other boat. The captain of the other boat was furious. Later that night both of the captains ran into one another at Simp's favorite watering hole. Seeing Simp sitting there nonchalantly drinking his beer enraged the captain even more. He marched up to Simp and demanded satisfaction.
"Wait a minute. You're challenging me to a duel?" Simp asked.
"Call it what you like!" snarled the enraged captain.
"Well, if you're challenging me, I reckon I have the right to pick the time and place," said McGhee. "We're both river men, so get your boat and I'll get mine and we'll meet in the middle of the river and shoot it out at 25 paces."
The bar emptied as news of the impending duel spread. Simp's boat left first, journeyed a few hundred yards and dropped anchor.
The other boat left shortly, with the enraged and slightly inebriated captain standing on the foredeck, a dueling pistol in his hand. As the two boats approached each other, the fog began to clear, and what the captain saw then was enough to cause him to change his mind about dueling and to leave Decatur forever.
Standing unruffled on the fore-deck of his boat was Simp McGhee, a mug of beer in one hand and a cigar in the other, casually aiming an old Civil War cannon.
Like so many other legendary figures, it was only a matter of time until Simp McGhee would meet his match. In his case, it would be the Federal Government.
After the Civil War, the government passed several navigation laws to ensure safety on the waterways. For years these laws were ignored, with the government having no way to enforce them. Finally, around the turn of this century, after hearing numerous complaints, the government decided to take action against Simp.McGhee had been warned that government men were after him so he was not surprised when a well-dressed "Yankee-sounding" gent boarded the boat and asked to be led to the captain. Simp, chewing on a cigar, told the agent he was sorry, but that the captain wasn't on board.
"Simp's at his summer home. But don't worry, we're going right by there and I will be glad to give you a lift."
The Federal man sat back to enjoy his trip and in about an hour the boat pulled up to an island.
"Right over there," Simp said. "Just go through that brush and you'll be almost on his front porch. And he'll be glad to give you a lift back to town."
Witnesses said the Federal man stumbled around Hobbs Island for two days before he realized he had already met the legendary captain. He also became the first Federal agent to swim from Hobbs Island.
McGhee died at age 58 on June 16, 1917, just a few weeks after his riverboat piloting license was pulled by the government, citing "passenger endangerment" while running "the Chute."
He was buried in a grave a few feet from the Tennessee River's northern shore near Guntersville. Black deck hands were his pallbearers.
