CHAPTER I.
IN WHICH PHIL MAKES THE ACQUAINTANCE OF MR. LEONIDAS LYNCHPINNE.
"What do you think you shall do for a living, Phil Farringford, whenyou arrive at St. Louis?" asked Mr. Gracewood, as we sat on thehurricane deck of a Missouri River steamer.
"I don't care much what I do, if I can only get into some mechanicalbusiness," I replied. "I want to learn a trade. I don't think I'm veryvain when I say that I have about half learned one now."
"Perhaps you have half learned several," added my excellent friend,with a smile. "I have no doubt you will make a good mechanic, for youare handy in the use of tools; and you have been thrown so much uponyour own resources that you are full of expedients."
"I am always delighted when I have a difficult job to do. Nothingpleases me so much as to study up the means of overcoming an obstacle,"I added.
"The first qualification for any pursuit is to have a taste for it. Youwill make a good mechanic."
"I am only afraid that after I have learned a trade, I shall not careto work at it."
"That won't do," protested Mr. Gracewood. "You mustn't keep jumpingfrom one thing to another. Frequent change is the enemy of progress.You must not be fickle."
"But, after I have learned my trade, or rather finished learning it,there will be no more difficulties to overcome."
"Yes, there will. What trade do you mean to learn?"
"The carpenter's, I think."
"There may be an infinite variety in the trade."
"I know there may be, but there is not. One house must be very muchlike every other one, I don't think I could be contented to keep doingthe same thing over and over again."
"If you wish to succeed, you must stick to your trade, PhilFarringford."
"Should I stick to it if I can do better at something else?"
"You must, at least, be very sure that you can do better at somethingelse."
"Of course I shall; but, if I learn my trade, I shall always have it tofall back upon."
"That is very true; but I wish to impress it upon your mind thatfickleness of purpose is fatal to any real success in morals, inscience, and in business."
Our conversation was interrupted by the stopping of the steamer at awood-yard; for I never lost an opportunity, on those occasions, to takea walk on shore. I was nervously anxious to see everything there was tobe seen. All was new and strange; and every day, as the settlements onthe banks of the great river increased in number and extent, affordedme a new sensation. As I had been brought up far away from the hauntsof civilization, even a house was a curiosity to me; and I gazed withastonishment at the busy scenes which were presented to me in some ofthe larger towns. At St. Joseph we had taken on board quite a number ofpassengers, and the scene in the cabin had become much livelier thanbefore.
The addition was not wholly an improvement, for among the new arrivalswere not a few gamblers. From this time the tables were occupied bythese blacklegs, and such of the passengers as they could induce tojoin them in the hazardous sport, from early in the morning untillate at night. The parties thus engaged were surrounded by a crowdof curious observers, watching the turnings of the game, and perhapscalculating their own chances if they engaged in the wretched business.I had looked on myself with interest, and when I saw a man put fivedollars into his pocket on the turn of a card, I thought it was an easyway to make money; but then I had an opportunity to see that it wasjust as easy a way to lose it.
Mr. Gracewood had called me away from my position near the table, afterthe gamblers had commenced their operations, and cautioned me neverto play for money at any game. He explained to me the nature of thebusiness, and assured me that the gamblers who had come on board atSt. Joseph were of the vilest class of men. After his lecture I wasnot tempted to try my hand with the party at the table. The talk aboutmaking and losing money at games of chance introduced the subject ofmy own finances. I had paid my passage to St. Louis, and had besidesnearly one hundred dollars in gold in a shot-bag in my pocket.
While we were talking, I took out the bag, and counted the pieces, as Ihad done several times on the passage, to assure myself that my fundswere all right. My excellent friend told me I must learn prudence, andthat I ought not to exhibit my money, especially while we had so manysuspicious characters on board. I was alarmed, and looked around todiscover who had observed me. One of the passengers, who had come onboard at "St. Joe," was promenading the deck, and I had noticed thathe passed quite near me several times. He was a young man flashilydressed, but he did not look like a bad man. I put my shot-bag into mypocket, resolved not to show it again, and we continued to discuss thefinancial question till it led us to the consideration of my futureoccupation.
The wood-yard where the boat stopped was in a lonely region, and itwas just sunset when she touched the shore. Its location was at themouth of a stream down which the wood was brought in flatboats, thougha young forest was growing in the region around the landing. As it wastoo damp for his wife and daughter to walk, Mr. Gracewood would not goon shore, and I went alone. It was a great luxury to stretch one's legsfor an hour on the hard ground after living for weeks on the steamer.
"How long before you leave?" I asked of the captain, as I went over theplank.
"Perhaps not till morning," he replied.
"Do you stay here all night?"
"It's going to be foggy, and I don't think we can run down toLeavenworth, which is not more than seven miles from here. We shouldhave to lie there till morning if we went on."
I was sorry for this, because Mrs. Gracewood had a friend in the place,where we intended to spend the evening, and I was anxious to see theinside of a civilized house. However, we could make the visit the nextday, for the boat was to stay several hours at the town. I went onshore, and several of the passengers did the same.
"It's quite smoky on the river," said a young man, coming up to me aswe landed.
"Yes; the captain says he shall probably have to lie here tillmorning," I replied.
"That's too bad," added my companion, the St. Joe passenger whom I hadobserved on the hurricane deck when I was counting my money. "I meantto go to a prayer-meeting in Leavenworth this evening."
"A prayer-meeting!" I repeated, my interest awakened; for I had heardMr. Gracewood speak of such gatherings, though I had never attended one.
"When I came up the river three days ago, they were holding them everyevening in the chapel; and I am anxious to attend."
"I should like to go very much."
"I think I shall go as it is," continued the young man, looking at hiswatch.
"How can you go if the boat remains here?"
"I can walk. It is not more than three or four miles across the bend ofthe river."
"I should like to go with you very much," I answered.
"I should be very glad of your company."
"If you will wait a few moments, I will speak to Mr. Gracewood."
He consented to wait, and I hastened to the saloon. When I had statedmy desire, Mr. Gracewood rather objected.
"You don't know the person with whom you are going," said he.
"I think I can take care of myself, sir. But I don't think there can beany danger in going with a young man who is willing to walk four milesto attend a prayer-meeting."
"Perhaps not. I should really like to go to one myself."
"I don't think there can be any danger," interposed Mrs. Gracewood. "Ifwe could get a vehicle here, we would all go."
"There is the captain. I will ask him if one cannot be obtained," saidMr. Gracewood.
The captain said there was no vehicle suitable to convey a lady, buthe would send a party of three in the steamer's boat, if they would paythe expenses of the two oarsmen in Leavenworth for the night.
"But can't you send five as well as three?" asked Mr. Gracewood, whodid not object to the expense.
"The boat is hardly large enough to carry them besides the two oarsmen.I lost my boat going up the river, and I had to take such a one a
s Icould find," replied the captain.
"But I would rather walk," I added. "I will meet you in the town."
"Very well, Phil Farringford. Go to the landing when you arrive, andwait for us."
I promised to do so, and joined the young man on the shore. We startedimmediately for our destination, and passing through the grove of youngtrees, we reached the open prairie, over which there was a wagon track.
"I don't happen to know your name," said my companion.
"Philip Farringford; but my friends call me Phil."
"Farringford; I know a man of that name in St. Louis," replied he. "Heused to be a large steamboat owner, but he has gone to ruin now."
"Gone to ruin?"
"Yes, drank hard, and lost all his property. He is a poor, miserablefellow now."
"Had he a family?"
"He had a wife, but she left him years ago. She was a very prettywoman, they say, though I never saw her."
"Did you ever hear that he and his wife were on board a steamer whichwas burned on the upper Missouri?"
"Never did."
Very likely this man was the owner of the steamer after which I hadbeen named; but it was not probable that he was in any manner relatedto me. My curiosity was satisfied, or rather my new friend could giveme no further information in regard to him.
"There was a steamer of that name burned on the Missouri about elevenyears ago," I added.
"Well, I was a boy then, and did not come to St. Louis till yearsafter."
"I should like to ascertain something about that boat, Mr.--You didn'ttell me your name."
"Just so; I did not. My name is--my name is Lynchpinne," he replied,with some hesitation, so that I wondered whether he had not forgottenhis name--"Leonidas Lynchpinne."
I thought it was a queer name, but an instinct of politeness preventedme from saying so.
"What do you wish to know in regard to that steamer, Phil?" he asked.
"Some of my relations were on board of her, and I should like toascertain whether they were saved or not."
"Farringford will know all about it, if you can catch him when he issober, which is not very often. I will help you out with it when we getto St. Louis."
"Thank you, Mr. Lynchpinne. I shall be under very great obligations toyou if you can help me."
I thought my new friend was a very obliging young man, and I wasglad to know him, especially as he was in the habit of attendingprayer-meetings.