IN WHICH PHIL VISITS THE BARK MICHIGAN, AND LOOKS AFTER HIS FINANCES.
"I believe you said you came from the west," said Captain Farraday; and
we walked down to the North River, where his vessel lay.
"Yes, sir; I was born in St. Louis, but have lived a great portion of
my life on the Upper Missouri."
"I don't know that I have heard your name yet."
"Philip Farringford, sir."
"Do you ever take anything, Mr. Farringford?"
"Take anything?" I replied, puzzled by the question.
"Anything to drink."
"No, sir; I never drink anything stronger than tea and coffee."
"That's the safest plan; but we old sailors can't get along without a
little whiskey. Won't you have a drop?"
"No, I thank you. I never drank a drop in my life, and I don't think I
shall begin now."
"Will you excuse me a moment, then?" he added, halting before a
drinking-shop.
"Certainly, Captain Farraday," I answered; but I confess that I excused
him against my own will and wish.
I stood on the sidewalk while he entered the shop and imbibed his dram.
"I feel better," said he, when he returned. "My digestive rigging don't
work well without a little slush."
"I have heard that much grease is bad for the digestion."
"Well, whiskey isn't. If you should go to sea for two or three years,
you would find it necessary to splice the main brace, especially in
heavy weather, when you are wet and cold."
"I should try to keep the main brace in such condition that it would
not need splicing," I replied, laughing, for I considered it necessary
to be true to my temperance principles.
"Cold water is a good thing; but when you have so much of it lying
loose around you on board ship, you need a little of something warm.
That's my experience, young man; but I don't advise any one to drink
liquor. It's a good servant, but a bad master."
"It is certainly a bad master," I replied, willing to accept only a
part of the proposition.
"Yes; and a good servant to those who know how to manage it. Are you
much acquainted out west, Mr. Farringford?" he asked, changing the
subject, to my great satisfaction.
"I am pretty well acquainted in Chicago and St. Louis."
"Not in Michigan?"
"Not much, sir."
"Do you happen to know the Ashborns, of Detroit?"
"No, sir; never even heard of them."
"There are two of them out there now; but the third of them came back
to New York, and owns two thirds of the bark I sail in. I own the other
third. John Ashborn calls himself a Michigan man because the family is
out there, and named the bark after the state."
"The Michigan?"
"Yes; and she's a good vessel."
"Where do you go?"
"We are bound to Palermo."
"Palermo!" I exclaimed. "I wish I was going there with you."
"I wish you were. We are to have three or four passengers," added the
captain. "I rather like you, from what I have seen of you."
"But I should like to go as a sailor."
"A sailor! You, with your good clothes?"
"I could change them. I know all about a boat, and I should like to
learn all about a ship."
"Well, if you want to go, I will ship you. I want two or three more
hands."
"I am sorry I can't go. I must be in Nice by the twentieth of next
month."
"There are steamers every few days from Palermo and Messina to
Marseilles, and that's only a short run from Nice."
"I want to be a sailor; but I shall not be able to ship at present."
"My mate is a western man, too," added the captain, as we stepped on
board his vessel--the bark Michigan. "He is a nephew, a cousin, or
something of that sort, of Mr. Ashborn. They say he is a good sailor,
and has made two voyages as second mate, and one as chief mate. He's
smart, and went into business out west; but he failed, and now wants to
go to sea again," continued Captain Farraday, as he led the way into
the cabin.
I looked through the main cabin, examined the state-rooms, and then
went on deck. The master answered all my questions with abundant
good-nature. Indeed, he had taken another dram in the cabin, and
he appeared to be growing more cheerful every moment. I had seen a
square-rigged vessel before, and was tolerably familiar with the names
of the spars, sails, and rigging, and I astonished the old salt by
calling things by their right names. I told him I could sail a boat,
and I thought a few weeks would make a salt sailor of me.
"Well, Mr. Farringford, if you want to ship, you can't find a better
vessel than the Michigan," said Captain Farraday. "I have had
college-larnt men before the mast with me, and though I expect every
man to do his duty, we make the hands as comfortable as possible."
"I have no doubt of it, sir. You don't seem at all like the hard and
cruel shipmasters we read of in the newspapers."
"Not a bit like 'em. I'm human myself, and I know that sailors are
human, too. They can't help it; and I always try to use 'em well, when
they will let me. I haven't seen my new mate yet; but they say he is a
gentleman and a scholar, besides knowing a buntline from a broomstick."
I had no doubt that the new mate was a very wonderful man, and I was
only sorry that the circumstances would not permit me to enjoy his kind
and gentlemanly treatment on the passage to Palermo.
"Mr. Ashborn says his nephew is really a brilliant man, and I suppose,
if I was only out of the way, he would have the command of the bark,"
the captain proceeded. "Well, I'm fifty now, and I don't mean to go to
sea all the days of my life. I've been knocked about in all sorts of
vessels ever since I was a boy. I didn't crawl in at the cabin window;
I went through the hawse-hole; and I can show any man how to knot, and
splice, and set up rigging. But I've had about enough of it. I've got a
little farm down in Jersey, and when I've paid off the mortgage on it,
I shall quit going to sea. It's all well enough for a young man; but
when one gets to be fifty, he wants to take it a little easier."
Captain Farraday showed me the quarters of the crew, in a house on
deck, instead of the forecastle, where the hands are generally lodged.
It was rather dirty, greasy, and tarry; but I was satisfied that I
could be comfortable there. It was even better than the log cabin where
I had spent my earlier years; and neither the smell nor the looks would
have deterred me from going to sea in the Michigan, if I had not felt
obliged to follow the instructions of my father.
I liked the bark very much. Her captain pleased me, and I had no doubt
I should be captivated by the graces and accomplishments of the new
mate. I was sorry I could not go in her. Captain Farraday took another
drink before I left the vessel, and I was glad then that his duties
required his presence on board, for he told me that, in the absence of
the mate, he was obliged to attend to the details of the bark himself.
I walked up to Broadway, and examined the wonders of the city on my
way. I wanted to find the office of the steamers for Europe, and a
handbill gave me the necessary information. It was now Saturday, and
one of them would sail on the following Wednesday. I spoke for a berth
in the second cabin, which I thought would be good enough for me, after
having seen the forecastle of the Michigan.
I then visited a banker's, and ascertained on what terms I could obtain
a letter of credit. I did not care to keep my gold any longer than was
necessary, and I hastened back to the hotel to obtain it, rather than
leave it in my trunk till Monday. When a man's conscience is all right,
money is a great blessing to him, and may make him very happy, if he
knows how to use it; but when a man's conscience is not all right,
neither money nor anything else can make him happy. My bag of half
eagles was a great luxury to me. I could even spend a year in Europe
without troubling myself about my finances. There is something in this
consciousness that future wants are provided for, which affords a very
great satisfaction; and as I walked back to the hotel, I was in the
full enjoyment of this happy state of mind. I could look into the shop
windows without wanting anything I saw, unless I needed it; but the
lack of means suggests a thousand things which one never wants when he
has the ability to buy them.
I reached the hotel, and went up stairs to my room. My trunk was on the
chair where the porter had placed it; and every time I saw it safe,
it afforded me a new sensation of enjoyment. I experienced it more
fully on this occasion, for in half an hour more I should be relieved
of all responsibility in regard to it. I could have all the benefit
of it, without being burdened with the care of it. I could cross the
ocean, and in whatever city I happened to be, I could step into the
banker's and provide myself with funds as long as the fountain now in
my possession should hold out.
I opened my trunk. It was a very nice trunk, which my father had
furnished for me, expressly for travelling in foreign lands. It was
made of sole leather, and strong enough to resist all reasonable
assaults of the baggage smashers, though of course I could not
have entire confidence in it, when pitted against the violence of
those worthies. I was rather proud of my trunk, for I have always
thought that a nice-looking, substantial one adds very much to the
respectability of the traveller. I have imagined that the landlord
bows a shade lower to the owner of well-ordered baggage, and that
gentlemanly hotel clerks pause before they insult the proprietor of
such goods. I considered my trunk, therefore, as a good investment for
one about to cross the ocean, and wander in foreign lands. I had heard
a western hotel-keeper speak very contemptuously of those people who
travel with hair trunks, and I was very happy in not being counted
among the number.
I opened my trunk, and found my clothes just as I had left them the
last time I examined my treasure, or rather the last time I had looked
at the bag which contained it, for I had not counted the gold since
I left the steamer on the Ohio. I took out the various articles at
the top of the trunk, and soon reached the bag. It lay in the corner,
distended just enough to hold the fifteen hundred dollars. It was a
pleasant sight to look upon, and I could not help congratulating myself
upon the fact that I had brought so large a sum in safety from St.
Louis to New York. Perhaps it was not a great feat; but I could not
help feeling that it was just a little "smart," for specie is always a
dangerous commodity to transport.
The bag lay in the corner just as it had when I glanced at it in
Baltimore and in Philadelphia. As the sight of the distended bag had
satisfied me then, so it would have satisfied me now, if I had not
intended to dispose of its contents. I took hold of the bag, and lifted
it up. It was very light compared with what it ought to have been, and
with what it had been when I had last raised it.
In a word, my gold was not there.
[Illustration: MY GOLD WAS NOT THERE.]