Had it been up to Big Jim Currie, the fallen matinee idol would have died face down in a puddle by the back door of Harvey’s eating and drinking establishment that night. But miraculously, Currie’s unarmed victim had survived three shots fired point-blank and was expected to make a full recovery in time to testify to the events of March 19, 1879, near Marshall, Texas, that had left a fellow actor dead and an actress bereaved.

A troupe of prominent New York actors had left that city in January and had braved the dust and alkali of a 1,200-mile train trip to present Diplomacy, Victorien Sardou’s drama of political intrigue and diplomatic treachery, in a series of exclusive engagements across the Lone Star State. Heading the cast in the role of a high-minded French bureaucrat–and co-producing the play–was one of Broadway’s most sought-after leading men. The real-life drama that unfolded in March near Marshall, an east Texas town near the Louisiana border, was unlike any show Maurice Barrymore had ever been in before. It was a genuine frontier show–a Western showdown.

Herbert Arthur Chamberlayne Hunter Blyth, born in India of a respectable English family on September 21, 1849, had taken the name Maurice Barrymore from a playbill soon after disgracing the Blyths by becoming an actor in 1872. The public response to Barrymore had been one of unanimous pleasure. Amid the usual array of dandified Victorian heroes, he cut a figure of unforgettable grace, dash and masculinity. During what was to have been a brief stint in the United States in 1875, Barrymore became a hit in New York City. A year later, Broadway impresario Augustin Daly offered the actor a permanent place in his renowned stock company.

At Daly’s, Maurice Barrymore found a home. There he met and married Georgiana Drew, who was of a prominent theatrical lineage. By the summer of 1877, each had prospered under their employer’s meticulous grooming. Georgiana was on her way to becoming one of the era’s best-loved comediennes, while Maurice had fluttered innumerable hearts as ‘the handsome and treacherous lover’ Raymond Lessing in the long-running Pique.

Then, in September, Daly suddenly proclaimed himself on the verge of bankruptcy. With Georgiana pregnant (Lionel would be born on April 12, 1878), Maurice began to look for alternate ways to make a living. A recent inheritance enabled him to purchase the touring rights to Diplomacy, which had enjoyed moderate success in America after debuting to rave notices in London a few years before.

The fledgling actor-manager believed that the tour could be a financial success. He took on a partner, Frederick Warde, and, calling themselves the Warde-Barrymore Combination, they booked Diplomacy on an extensive run. Warde would take one company on a series of engagements in the Northeast and upper Midwest, while Barrymore would head to the Southwest and perform in myriad Texas towns recently made accessible by the railroads. In January 1879, the partners set off with their respective companies.

By the middle of March, the Combination had good reason to be optimistic. Audiences were appreciative, if not abundant, critics were warm, and the production had held its own financially. In that relaxed and congenial atmosphere, Maurice’s brother-in-law, John Drew, got up the courage to propose to the love of his life, actress Josephine Baker. She readily accepted.

Another member of Barrymore’s company, Ben Porter, fell in love through the intervention of a portable coffeepot. The device, which Porter had procured while a Union volunteer in the Civil War, made him the center of off-duty attention. Late night chats over coffee with another cast member, Ellen Cummins, grew amorous. One evening after a caffeine boost, Porter nervously proposed. If the portly 39-year-old was somewhat hesitant, it was only because he was already married. Since the war, he had dutifully supported a wife from whom he had long been estranged, while also caring for his mother, as well as his widowed sister and her son.

The beleaguered Porter’s luck now seemed about to change. As the train headed out of Galveston, he announced to the troupe that Ellen Cummins had consented to marry him as soon as he could obtain a divorce.

Not surprisingly, the Diplomacy performers were in high spirits when they entered Marshall in the early evening of March 19. The little town, known as the ‘Gateway to Texas’ because of its proximity to both Louisiana and Arkansas, prided itself on its reputation as a cultural oasis, and deservedly so. It boasted several theaters, the most distinguished being Mahone’s Opera House, where the Combination would play a single performance that night. As had been the case in the cast’s last few appearances, there wasn’t an empty seat to be had in the Mahone. The production was flawless, with Barrymore and John Drew exceptional as the leads, Henry and Julien Beauclerc. No audience on the entire tour had showed its enthusiasm for the play so thoroughly. Under the circumstances, Barrymore had good reason to feel confident about the future of his troupe.

After leaving the theater, the company repaired to the Depot Hotel just outside of town to await a train, still some three hours away. Maurice Barrymore, Ben Porter and Ellen Cummins strolled over to Nat Harvey’s Lunchroom for a cup of coffee. The establishment stood on the station platform some 30 feet away from the Depot Hotel.

As they entered through the front door, they noticed a saloon that had been set up behind a screen in the back of the large room, the front being occupied by an eating bar. There were no other customers. At the eating bar, Ben and Ellen ordered coffee and Maurice asked for a light ale. Barrymore drank the beverage and then excused himself to see to the luggage while the couple stayed on to have dinner.

While Nat Harvey took their order, a customer came in through a side door and sat down in the saloon portion of the restaurant. He was tall and heavy, with a large black mustache. He wore a white sombrero and a dark frock coat. Unmistakably drunk, he called out to the owner for a glass of ice water. Harvey strode over at once–Big Jim Currie, he knew, was not a man to be kept waiting. Even when sober, Big Jim was known for having a violent temper, and he had managed to stay out of jail only through the influence of his brother, Andy Currie, the mayor of nearby Shreveport, La. Big Jim had recently shot and killed three men under mysterious circumstances while serving as a detective for the Texas & Pacific Railroad. Over 6 feet tall and weighing 220 pounds, Currie’s size was intimidating enough. But the bulky fellow also wore a pair of identical Smith & Wesson revolvers under his coat.

‘I guess I better take a little budge with it,’ said the big man after Harvey brought him the ice water.

‘You better go slow, Jim,’ Harvey suggested. ‘You look like you’ve had enough.’

‘No, I must have some,’ Currie insisted. ‘It’s much too good a thing around here.’

Harvey complied. As Currie gulped down his liquor, he noticed Ellen Cummins’ reflection in a long mirror beside the bar. ‘There’s a high tossed whore if I ever saw one,’ he commented.

‘Come on, Jim,’ said the proprietor. ‘You don’t know if she’s a lady or not. She’s behaved herself, and I’d rather you didn’t make no such remarks.’

‘That’s all right, partner,’ Currie muttered, getting up to leave the bar. Big Jim walked across the room, his gaze now fixed on Ben Porter, who sat leaning back with his hands clasped behind his neck. ‘You threw your hands up when I passed you,’ accused Currie, repeating the gesture. ‘You can’t give me any guff like that.’

‘My friend if you allude to me,’ Porter answered calmly, ‘I hadn’t thought of you; I was talking to this lady here.’

‘If you say that you’re a damned liar.’

‘I’m in company with a lady and prefer you didn’t make remarks of that kind in her presence,’ said the actor, ‘but if you want a difficulty you can see me anywhere you like outside the house.’

‘Hell of a lady she is!’

‘Jim, Jim stop that!’ yelled Harvey from across the room.

At that moment, Maurice Barrymore re-entered. ‘Go away,’ he said quietly to the seething Currie. ‘There’s a lady here.’

‘Maybe you want to take it up, you damned whoremonger,’ Currie spat.

Barrymore turned quickly to Porter. ‘Get Miss Cummins out of here,’ he begged. Reluctantly, Porter and his fiancé left the room by the front door.

‘So you want to take it up?’ repeated the bully.

‘Well, I’m not particular, but I am unarmed.’

‘So am I,’ said Currie.

‘Haven’t you a pistol?’

‘No.’

‘Will you swear you haven’t?’

‘Yes.’

Barrymore removed his coat. He hadn’t mentioned that as London’s most talented young pugilist, he had won England’s Amateur Middleweight Boxing Championship at the age of 22. Confidently, he assumed his stance. Not to be outdone, Currie drew both Smith & Wessons from beneath his coat and leveled them at his unarmed opponent. A moment later, he opened fire. The first bullet tore through Barrymore’s left arm before embedding itself in his chest. Hurtling backward, the victim looked frantically for something to hurl at his assailant. The barstools were bolted down. Another shot struck Barrymore’s boot, causing the actor to make a run for it the best he could. Currie gave chase. Crashing through a side door, Barrymore fell heavily into the yard as a third bullet struck a nearby wooden barrel. From the hole in the barrel, a stream of water puddled beneath the now motionless actor.

Currie turned and strode back into the room, about the same time that Ben Porter came running through the front door. ‘For God’s sake,’ Porter shouted, ‘Don’t murder an unarmed man!’

‘God damn you, I can kill the whole lot of you!’ Currie yelled, pulling the trigger. A ball tore through Porter’s stomach, coming to rest just at the point of exiting his back. Ben staggered a few feet toward the door and collapsed near the threshold.

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