Chapter Twenty--I Prove Myself To Be the Grandson of My Grandfather
It was not possible for a boy of my temperament to be a blighted beinglonger than three consecutive weeks.
I was gradually emerging from my self-imposed cloud when events tookplace that greatly assisted in restoring me to a more natural frame ofmind. I awoke from an imaginary trouble to face a real one.
I suppose you don't know what a financial crisis is? I will give you anillustration.
You are deeply in debt--say to the amount of a quarter of a dollar--to thelittle knicknack shop round the corner, where they sell picture-papers,spruce-gum, needles, and Malaga raisins. A boy owes you a quarter of adollar, which he promises to pay at a certain time. You are dependingon this quarter to settle accounts with the small shop-keeper. Thetime arrives--and the quarter doesn't. That's a financial crisis, in onesense--twenty-five senses, if I may say so.
When this same thing happens, on a grander scale, in the mercantileworld, it produces what is called a panic. One man's inability to payhis debts ruins another man, who, in turn, ruins someone else, andso on, until failure after failure makes even the richest capitaliststremble. Public confidence is suspended, and the smaller fry ofmerchants are knocked over like tenpins.
These commercial panics occur periodically, after the fashion of cometsand earthquakes and other disagreeable things.
Such a panic took place in New Orleans in the year 18--, and my father'sbanking-house went to pieces in the crash.
Of a comparatively large fortune nothing remained after paying his debtsexcepting a few thousand dollars, with which he proposed to return Northand embark in some less hazardous enterprise. In the meantime it wasnecessary for him to stay in New Orleans to wind up the business.
My grandfather was in some way involved in this failure, and lost, Ifancy, a considerable sum of money; but he never talked much on thesubject. He was an unflinching believer in the spilt-milk proverb.
"It can't be gathered up," he would say, "and it's no use crying overit. Pitch into the cow and get some more milk, is my motto."
The suspension of the banking-house was bad enough, but there was anattending circumstance that gave us, at Rivermouth, a great deal moreanxiety. The cholera, which someone predicted would visit the countrythat year, and which, indeed, had made its appearance in a mild format several points along the Mississippi River, had broken out with muchviolence at New Orleans.
The report that first reached us through the newspapers was meagre andcontradictory; many people discredited it; but a letter from my motherleft us no room for doubt. The sickness was in the city. The hospitalswere filling up, and hundreds of the citizens were flying from thestricken place by every steamboat. The unsettled state of my father'saffairs made it imperative for him to remain at his post; his desertionat that moment would have been at the sacrifice of all he had saved fromthe general wreck.
As he would be detained in New Orleans at least three months, my motherdeclined to come North without him.
After this we awaited with feverish impatience the weekly news that cameto us from the South. The next letter advised us that my parents werewell, and that the sickness, so far, had not penetrated to the faubourg,or district, where they lived. The following week brought less cheeringtidings. My father's business, in consequence of the flight of the otherpartners, would keep him in the city beyond the period he had mentioned.The family had moved to Pass Christian, a favorite watering-place onLake Pontchartrain, near New Orleans, where he was able to spend part ofeach week. So the return North was postponed indefinitely.
It was now that the old longing to see my parents came back to me withirresistible force. I knew my grandfather would not listen to theidea of my going to New Orleans at such a dangerous time, since he hadopposed the journey so strongly when the same objection did not exist.But I determined to go nevertheless.
I think I have mentioned the fact that all the male members of ourfamily, on my father's side--as far back as the Middle Ages--haveexhibited in early youth a decided talent for running away. It was anhereditary talent. It ran in the blood to run away. I do not pretend toexplain the peculiarity. I simply admit it.
It was not my fate to change the prescribed order of things. I, too, wasto run away, thereby proving, if any proof were needed, that I was thegrandson of my grandfather. I do not hold myself responsible for thestep any more than I do for the shape of my nose, which is said to be afacsimile of Captain Nutter's.
I have frequently noticed how circumstances conspire to help a man, ora boy, when he has thoroughly resolved on doing a thing. That very weekthe Rivermouth Barnacle printed an advertisement that seemed to havebeen written on purpose for me. It read as follows:
WANTED. A Few Able-bodied Seamen and a Cabin-Boy, for the ship Rawlings,now loading for New Orleans at Johnson's Wharf, Boston. Apply in person,within four days, at the office of Messrs.--& Co., or on board the Ship.
How I was to get to New Orleans with only $4.62 was a question that hadbeen bothering me. This advertisement made it as clear as day. I wouldgo as cabin-boy.
I had taken Pepper into my confidence again; I had told him the storyof my love for Miss Glentworth, with all its harrowing details; and nowconceived it judicious to confide in him the change about to take placein my life, so that, if the Rawlings went down in a gale, my friendsmight have the limited satisfaction of knowing what had become of me.
Pepper shook his head discouragingly, and sought in every way todissuade me from the step. He drew a disenchanting picture of theexistence of a cabin-boy, whose constant duty (according to Pepper) wasto have dishes broken over his head whenever the captain or the matechanced to be out of humor, which was mostly all the time. But nothingPepper said could turn me a hair's-breadth from my purpose.
I had little time to spare, for the advertisement stated explicitly thatapplications were to be made in person within four days. I trembledto think of the bare possibility of some other boy snapping up thatdesirable situation.
It was on Monday that I stumbled upon the advertisement. On Tuesday mypreparations were completed. My baggage--consisting of four shirts, halfa dozen collars, a piece of shoemaker's wax, (Heaven knows what for!)and seven stockings, wrapped in a silk handkerchief--lay hidden under aloose plank of the stable floor. This was my point of departure.
My plan was to take the last train for Boston, in order to prevent thepossibility of immediate pursuit, if any should be attempted. The trainleft at 4 P.M.
I ate no breakfast and little dinner that day. I avoided the Captain'seye, and wouldn't have looked Miss Abigail or Kitty in the face for thewealth of the Indies.
When it was time to start for the station I retired quietly to thestable and uncovered my bundle. I lingered a moment to kiss the whitestar on Gypsy's forehead, and was nearly unmanned when the little animalreturned the caress by lapping my cheek. Twice I went back and pattedher.
On reaching the station I purchased my ticket with a bravado air thatought to have aroused the suspicion of the ticket-master, and hurried tothe car, where I sat fidgeting until the train shot out into the broaddaylight.
Then I drew a long breath and looked about me. The first object thatsaluted my sight was Sailor Ben, four or five seats behind me, readingthe Rivermouth Barnacle!
Reading was not an easy art to Sailor Ben; he grappled with the sense ofa paragraph as if it were a polar-bear, and generally got the worst ofit. On the present occasion he was having a hard struggle, judging bythe way he worked his mouth and rolled his eyes. He had evidently notseen me. But what was he doing on the Boston train?
Without lingering to solve the question, I stole gently from my seat andpassed into the forward car.
This was very awkward, having the Admiral on board. I couldn'tunderstand it at all. Could it be possible that the old boy had gottired of land and was running away to sea himself? That was too absurd.I glanced nervously towards the car door now and then, half expecting tosee him come after me.
We had passed one or two way-stations, and I had quieted down a gooddeal, when I began to feel as if somebody was looking steadily at theback of my head. I turned round involuntarily, and there was SailorBen again, at the farther end of the car, wrestling with the RivermouthBarnacle as before.
I began to grow very uncomfortable indeed. Was it by design or chancethat he thus dogged my steps? If he was aware of my presence, why didn'the speak to me at once? 'Why did he steal round, making no sign, like aparticularly unpleasant phantom? Maybe it wasn't Sailor Ben. I peeped athim slyly. There was no mistaking that tanned, genial phiz of his. Veryodd he didn't see me!
Literature, even in the mild form of a country newspaper, always had theeffect of poppies on the Admiral. 'When I stole another glance in hisdirection his hat was tilted over his right eye in the most dissolutestyle, and the Rivermouth Barnacle lay in a confused heap beside him. Hehad succumbed. He was fast asleep. If he would only keep asleep until wereached our destination!
By and by I discovered that the rear car had been detached from thetrain at the last stopping-place. This accounted satisfactorily forSailor Ben's singular movements, and considerably calmed my fears.Nevertheless, I did not like the aspect of things.
The Admiral continued to snooze like a good fellow, and was snoringmelodiously as we glided at a slackened pace over a bridge and intoBoston.
I grasped my pilgrim's bundle, and, hurrying out of the car, dashed upthe first street that presented itself.
It was a narrow, noisy, zigzag street, crowded with trucks andobstructed with bales and boxes of merchandise. I didn't pause tobreathe until I had placed a respectable distance between me and therailway station. By this time it was nearly twilight.
I had got into the region of dwelling-houses, and was about to seatmyself on a doorstep to rest, when, lo! there was the Admiral trundlingalong on the opposite sidewalk, under a full spread of canvas, as hewould have expressed it.
I was off again in an instant at a rapid pace; but in spite of all Icould do he held his own without any perceptible exertion. He had a veryugly gait to get away from, the Admiral. I didn't dare to run, forfear of being mistaken for a thief, a suspicion which my bundle wouldnaturally lend color to.
I pushed ahead, however, at a brisk trot, and must have got over one ortwo miles--my pursuer neither gaining nor losing ground--when I concludedto surrender at discretion. I saw that Sailor Ben was determined to haveme, and, knowing my man, I knew that escape was highly improbable.
So I turned round and waited for him to catch up with me, which he didin a few seconds, looking rather sheepish at first.
"Sailor Ben," said I, severely, "do I understand that you are dogging mysteps?"
"'Well, little mess-mate," replied the Admiral, rubbing his nose, whichhe always did when he was disconcerted, "I am kind o' followin' in yourwake."
"Under orders?"
"Under orders."
"Under the Captain's orders?"
"Surely."
"In other words, my grandfather has sent you to fetch me back toRivermouth?"
"That's about it," said the Admiral, with a burst of frankness.
"And I must go with you whether I want to or not?"
"The Capen's very identical words!"
There was nothing to be done. I bit my lips with suppressed anger, andsignified that I was at his disposal, since I couldn't help it. Theimpression was very strong in my mind that the Admiral wouldn't hesitateto put me in irons if I showed signs of mutiny.
It was too late to return to Rivermouth that night--a fact which Icommunicated to the old boy sullenly, inquiring at the same time what heproposed to do about it.
He said we would cruise about for some rations, and then make a nightof it. I didn't condescend to reply, though I hailed the suggestion ofsomething to eat with inward enthusiasm, for I had not taken enough foodthat day to keep life in a canary.
'We wandered back to the railway station, in the waiting room of whichwas a kind of restaurant presided over by a severe-looking young lady.Here we had a cup of coffee apiece, several tough doughnuts, and someblocks of venerable spongecake. The young lady who attended on us,whatever her age was then, must have been a mere child when thatsponge-cake was made.
The Admiral's acquaintance with Boston hotels was slight; but he knewof a quiet lodging-house near by, much patronized by sea-captains, andkept by a former friend of his.
In this house, which had seen its best days, we were accommodated witha mouldy chamber containing two cot-beds, two chairs, and a crackedpitcher on a washstand. The mantel-shelf was ornamented with three bigpink conch-shells, resembling pieces of petrified liver; and over thesehung a cheap lurid print, in which a United States sloop-of-war wasgiving a British frigate particular fits. It is very strange how our ownships never seem to suffer any in these terrible engagements. It showswhat a nation we are.
An oil-lamp on a deal-table cast a dismal glare over the apartment,which was cheerless in the extreme. I thought of our sitting-room athome, with its flowery wall-paper and gay curtains and soft lounges; Isaw Major Elkanah Nutter (my grandfather's father) in powdered wig andFederal uniform, looking down benevolently from his gilt frame betweenthe bookcases; I pictured the Captain and Miss Abigail sitting at thecosey round table in the moon-like glow of the astral lamp; and then Ifell to wondering how they would receive me when I came back. I wonderedif the Prodigal Son had any idea that his father was going to kill thefatted calf for him, and how he felt about it, on the whole.
Though I was very low in spirits, I put on a bold front to SailorBen, you will understand. To be caught and caged in this manner was afrightful shock to my vanity. He tried to draw me into conversation;but I answered in icy monosyllables. He again suggested we should makea night of it, and hinted broadly that he was game for any amount ofriotous dissipation, even to the extent of going to see a play if Iwanted to. I declined haughtily. I was dying to go.
He then threw out a feeler on the subject of dominos and checkers, andobserved in a general way that "seven up" was a capital game; but Irepulsed him at every point.
I saw that the Admiral was beginning to feel hurt by my systematiccoldness. 'We had always been such hearty friends until now. It wastoo bad of me to fret that tender, honest old heart even for an hour.I really did love the ancient boy, and when, in a disconsolate way, heordered up a pitcher of beer, I unbent so far as to partake of some in ateacup. He recovered his spirits instantly, and took out his cuddy claypipe for a smoke.
Between the beer and the soothing fragrance of the navy-plug, I fellinto a pleasanter mood myself, and, it being too late now to go to thetheatre, I condescended to say--addressing the northwest corner of theceiling--that "seven up" was a capital game. Upon this hint the Admiraldisappeared, and returned shortly with a very dirty pack of cards.
As we played, with varying fortunes, by the flickering flame of thelamp, he sipped his beer and became communicative. He seemed immenselytickled by the fact that I had come to Boston. It leaked out presentlythat he and the Captain had had a wager on the subject.
The discovery of my plans and who had discovered them were points onwhich the Admiral refused to throw any light. They had been discovered,however, and the Captain had laughed at the idea of my running away.Sailor Ben, on the contrary, had stoutly contended that I meant to slipcable and be off. Whereupon the Captain offered to bet him a dollar thatI wouldn't go. And it was partly on account of this wager that SailorBen refrained from capturing me when he might have done so at the start.
Now, as the fare to and from Boston, with the lodging expenses, wouldcost him at least five dollars, I didn't see what he gained by winningthe wager. The Admiral rubbed his nose violently when this view of thecase presented itself.
I asked him why he didn't take me from the train at the firststopping-place and return to Rivermouth by the down train at 4.30. Heexplained having purchased a ticket for Boston, he considered himselfbound to the owners (the stockholders of the road) to fulfil his part ofthe
contract! To use his own words, he had "shipped for the viage."
This struck me as being so deliciously funny, that after I was in bedand the light was out, I couldn't help laughing aloud once or twice. Isuppose the Admiral must have thought I was meditating another escape,for he made periodical visits to my bed throughout the night, satisfyinghimself by kneading me all over that I hadn't evaporated.
I was all there the next morning, when Sailor Ben half awakened me byshouting merrily, "All hands on deck!" The words rang in my ears like apart of my own dream, for I was at that instant climbing up the side ofthe Rawlings to offer myself as cabin-boy.
The Admiral was obliged to shake me roughly two or three times before hecould detach me from the dream. I opened my eyes with effort, and staredstupidly round the room. Bit by bit my real situation dawned on me.'What a sickening sensation that is, when one is in trouble, to wake upfeeling free for a moment, and then to find yesterday's sorrow all readyto go on again!
"'Well, little messmate, how fares it?"
I was too much depressed to reply. The thought of returning toRivermouth chilled me. How could I face Captain Nutter, to say nothingof Miss Abigail and Kitty? How the Temple Grammar School boys would lookat me! How Conway and Seth Rodgers would exult over my mortification!And what if the Rev. Wibird Hawkins should allude to me in his nextSunday's sermon?
Sailor Ben was wise in keeping an eye on me, for after these thoughtstook possession of my mind, I wanted only the opportunity to give himthe slip.
The keeper of the lodgings did not supply meals to his guests; so webreakfasted at a small chophouse in a crooked street on our way to thecars. The city was not astir yet, and looked glum and careworn in thedamp morning atmosphere.
Here and there as we passed along was a sharp-faced shop-boy taking downshutters; and now and then we met a seedy man who had evidently spentthe night in a doorway. Such early birds and a few laborers with theirtin kettles were the only signs of life to be seen until we came to thestation, where I insisted on paying for my own ticket. I didn't relishbeing conveyed from place to place, like a felon changing prisons, atsomebody else's expense.
On entering the car I sunk into a seat next the window, and Sailor Bendeposited himself beside me, cutting off all chance of escape.
The car filled up soon after this, and I wondered if there was anythingin my mien that would lead the other passengers to suspect I was a boywho had run away and was being brought back.
A man in front of us--he was near-sighted, as I discovered later by hisreading a guide-book with his nose--brought the blood to my cheeks byturning round and peering at me steadily. I rubbed a clear spot on thecloudy window-glass at my elbow, and looked out to avoid him.
There, in the travellers' room, was the severe-looking young lady pilingup her blocks of sponge-cake in alluring pyramids and industriouslyintrenching herself behind a breastwork of squash-pie. I saw withcynical pleasure numerous victims walk up to the counter and recklesslysow the seeds of death in their constitutions by eating her doughnuts. Ihad got quite interested in her, when the whistle sounded and the trainbegan to move.
The Admiral and I did not talk much on the journey. I stared out of thewindow most of the time, speculating as to the probable nature of thereception in store for me at the terminus of the road.
'What would the Captain say? and Mr. Grimshaw, what would he do aboutit? Then I thought of Pepper Whitcomb. Dire was the vengeance I meant towreak on Pepper, for who but he had betrayed me? Pepper alone had beenthe repository of my secret--perfidious Pepper!
As we left station after station behind us, I felt less and less likeencountering the members of our family. Sailor Ben fathomed what waspassing in my mind, for he leaned over and said:
"I don't think as the Capen will bear down very hard on you."
But it wasn't that. It wasn't the fear of any physical punishment thatmight be inflicted; it was a sense of my own folly that was creepingover me; for during the long, silent ride I had examined my conduct fromevery stand-point, and there was no view I could take of myself in whichI did not look like a very foolish person indeed.
As we came within sight of the spires of Rivermouth, I wouldn't havecared if the up train, which met us outside the town, had run into usand ended me.
Contrary to my expectation and dread, the Captain was not visible whenwe stepped from the cars. Sailor Ben glanced among the crowd of faces,apparently looking for him too. Conway was there--he was always hangingabout the station--and if he had intimated in any way that he knew of mydisgrace and enjoyed it, I should have walked into him, I am certain.
But this defiant feeling entirely deserted me by the time we reached theNutter House. The Captain himself opened the door.
"Come on board, sir," said Sailor Ben, scraping his left foot andtouching his hat sea-fashion.
My grandfather nodded to Sailor Ben, somewhat coldly I thought, and muchto my astonishment kindly took me by the hand.
I was unprepared for this, and the tears, which no amount of severitywould have wrung from me, welled up to my eyes.
The expression of my grandfather's face, as I glanced at it hastily,was grave and gentle; there was nothing in it of anger or reproof. Ifollowed him into the sitting-room, and, obeying a motion of his hand,seated myself on the sofa. He remained standing by the round table for amoment, lost in thought, then leaned over and picked up a letter.
It was a letter with a great black seal.