_Ben getting into trouble--finds out his old friend governor Keith to
be a black sheep--and learns that a good trade and virtuous habits are
the best wealth that a father can give his son._
"Who dares think one thing and another tell,
My soul abhors him like the gates of hell."
On the arrival of the ship in the Thames (or London river) the captain,
like an honest fellow of his word, ordered the letter-bag on deck, and
told Ben he was welcome now to overhaul it and pick out the governor's
letters to him. After eagerly turning them all over and over again, not
a single letter could he find that had his name on it, either directed
to himself, or to his care. He picked out however a few that seemed to
have some little squinting that way, one especially, that was directed
to a PRINTER, and another to a BOOKSELLER. These he immediately carried
to their respective owners. But in place of those smiles and prompt
offers of money and merchandize, which his illustrious patron, governor
Keith, had promised him, scarcely were his letters opened before they
were nearly thrown back into his face, as coming from a couple of
scoundrel debtors, who, instead of paying off their old scores, were
now impudently asking for new credits.
Here were strong symptoms of treachery on the part of the governor. And
in spite of all his credulity, Ben was brought to his doubtings. In
this dilemma he went back to a worthy Quaker of the name of Denham,
with whom he had contracted a great friendship on ship-board, and told
him the whole story from beginning to end. With all his professional
gravity, Denham could not help smiling, as Ben related the history of
his credulity: but when he came to tell of governor Keith's LETTERS of
_Credit_, and the vast supplies of TYPES, and PAPER, and PRESSES, which
they were instantly to procure him, he broke into a horse laugh. "He
give thee letters of credit, friend Benjamin! Governor Keith give thee
letters of credit! Why, man, he has not credit for himself, no not for
a brass farthing, from any one who ever heard of him."
Poor Ben was struck "all in a heap"--dumb as a codfish. He stood for
all the world like a shipwrecked sailor boy, who, after dreaming of
gold and diamond coasts, and black-eyed Polls, and whole seas of
grog, and mountains of segars, wakes up all at once, and finds
himself, like poor Robinson Crusoe, on a desolate island, with not
even a scape-goat of hope before him. In silence he rolled his eyes
in woeful cogitation--for three months he had been feasting on the
smiles and promises of his illustrious friend, governor Keith--for
three months had been anticipating his grand Printing Establishment,
in Philadelphia, and his complete triumph over old Keimer and
Bradford--for three months he had been drinking in streams of rapture
from the love-beaming eyes of the beauteous Miss Read, shortly as his
wife to rustle in silks and roll in her carriage--but dearer still
than all, for three months he had been looking forward to the time,
close at hand, when his infirm parents should come to enjoy with him,
in Philadelphia, the welcome repose of their age, in an elegant
retreat, purchased for them, by his own virtues. But lo! in a moment
the whole goodly structure is dissipated in smoke, leaving him
pennyless and friendless, in a strange country, three thousand miles
from home, and at a long, long distance from all these dear objects!
Denham saw in Ben's looks what was passing in his heart; but knowing
that it is good for virtuous and heroic minds to bear the cross in
their youth, he suffered him to go on, undisturbed, with his dismal
cogitations.
But a young man early trained in the school of wisdom is not long to
be depressed. After relieving his bosom with a deep sigh; he turned to
Denham and said, in a plaintive tone, "_but was it not cruel in
governor Keith to deceive me so?_"
"Yes, Benjamin," replied Denham, "'twas, to our view, very cruel in
the governor of Pennsylvania thus to deceive an inexperienced lad as
thou art."
Here Ben turning on him his fine blue eyes, softened by misfortune,
said again to Denham, "_well, and what would you advise me?_"
"Advise thee, Benjamin," replied Denham, in a cheerful tone, "why, I
would advise thee not to give thyself one moment's uneasiness about
this affair. Thee remembers the story of Joseph, does thee not? how he
was betrayed by his brethren into Egypt, not only a poor lad like thee,
but indeed a slave too? And yet this event, though at the time highly
disheartening, proved to him in the end, one of the happiest incidents
of his life. So, by good management, Benjamin, this may prove to thee.
Thou art young, very young yet, with a plenty of time before thee; and
this is a great city for thy business. Now if thou wilt but seek
employment with some printer of distinction, thou mayest make thyself
more completely master of thy trade, and also gain friends, that may
enable thee to settle so much more advantageously in Philadelphia, as
to make it good for thee that governor Keith ever betrayed thee here.
And this will be a triumph much to thine own honour, as also to the
benefit of other youth, who shall ever hear of thy story."
As when a sweet breeze of the ocean suddenly strikes a becalmed ship,
that with flapping sails lay tossing on the sluggish flood, instantly
the joy-wakened billows roll a brighter foam, and the hearts of the
sailors spring forward with transport to their native shores. Thus
exhilarating to Ben's soul was the counsel of his friend Denham.
Without a moment's loss of time he went, as his friend Denham had
advised, and sought business at the offices of two of the most eminent
book-printers in London, Palmer and Watts. With the latter he spent
most of his time during his stay in England.
This Palmer was an amiable man, and in Ben's countenance, now mellowed
more than ordinary, by his late disappointment, he saw a something that
interested him greatly in his favour. He asked Ben in what part of
London he had learned the art of printing. Ben told him he had never
set a type in London. "Aye! where then," said Palmer; "in Paris?" Ben
replied, that he was just from Pennsylvania, in North America; and that
what little he knew of printing he had picked up there. Palmer, though,
in other respects, amiable, was one of those thorough-gone COCKNEYS,
who can't believe that any thing can be learned out of the sound of
"_Bow-bell_." He stared at Ben on saying he had learned to print in
North America, as would a French petit maitre at one who said he had
learned to _dance among the Hottentots_. "I am afraid, sir," said he to
Ben, "that I cannot employ you, as I really felt a wish to do; for
though I now command fifty workmen, I want a _Gabber_, _i.e._ a man
uncommonly quick, and of a satirical turn. And in neither of these
characters, sir, will you, probably, suit me, sir--however, sir, as it
is late now, and I have business out, if you will call in the morning,
we will see about it." Next morning, before sunrise, Ben waited at
Palmer's office, where numbers of his journeymen, having heard of the
young North American printer, were assembled to see him work. Palmer
was not yet up. An apprentice went to inform him that the young printer
from North America, was come. Presently Mr. Palmer made his appearance,
looking somewhat confused.
"And so you are a buckskin, sir," said he, rather cavalierly.
"Yes sir," replied Ben, "I am a buckskin."
"Well sir, I am afraid you'll not make your fortune by that here in
London," said Palmer.
"No sir," answered Ben, "I find it is thought a misfortune here, to
have been born in America. But I hope it was the will of heaven, and
therefore must be right."
"Aye!" replied Palmer, a little tauntingly; "and so you have
_preaching_ there too!! But do the buckskins generally stir so early as
this?"
Ben replied, that the Pennsylvanians were getting to find out that it
was _cheap burning sun-light_. Here Palmer and his cockneys stared at
him, as country buckskins are wont to do at a monkey, or parrot, or any
such creature that pretends to mimic man.
"You talk of _sun-light_, sir," said the foreman to Ben: "can you tell
the cause of that wide difference between the light of the sun in
England and America?"
Ben replied that he had never discovered that difference.
"What! not that the sun shines brighter in London than in America--the
sky clearer--the air purer--and the light a thousand times more
vivid--and luminous--and cheering--and all that?"
Ben said that he could not understand how that could be, seeing it was
the same sun that gave light to both.
"The same sun, sir! the same sun!" replied the cockney, rather nettled,
"I am not positive of that sir. But admitting that it is the same sun,
it does not follow that it gives the same light in America as in
England. Every thing, you know, suffers by going to the _West_, as the
great French philosophers have proved; then why not the sun?"
Ben said he wondered the gentleman should talk of the sun going to the
west.
"What, the sun not go to the west!" retorted the cockney, quite angry,
"a pretty story, indeed. You have eyes, sir; and don't these show you
that the sun rises in the east and travels to the west?"
"I thought, sir," replied Ben, modestly, "that your own great
countryman, sir Isaac Newton, had satisfied every body that it is the
earth that is thus continually travelling, and not the sun, which is
stationary, and gives the same light to England and America."
Palmer, who had much of the honest Englishman about him, equally
surprised and pleased to see Ben thus chastise the pride and ignorance
of his foreman, put a stop to the conversation by placing a composing
stick in the hands of Ben, while the journeymen gathering around,
marvelled hugely to see the young North American take _a composing
stick in his hand_!
Having spent a moment or two in running his eyes over the letter cases,
to see if they were fixed as in the printing-offices in America, and
glancing at his watch, Ben fell to work, and in less than four minutes
finished the following--
"And Nathaniel said, can there any thing good come out of
Nazareth?--Philip said, come and see."
Palmer and his workmen were petrified. Near eighty letters set up in
less than four minutes, and without a blunder? And then such a delicate
stroke at their prejudice and nonsense! Ben was immediately employed.
This was a fine introduction of Ben to the printing office, every
person in which seemed to give him a hearty welcome; he wore his rare
talents so modestly.
It gave him also a noble opportunity to be useful, which he failed not
to improve.
Passing by one of the presses at which a small man, meagre and
hollow-eyed, was labouring with unequal force, as appeared by his
paleness and big-dropping sweat, Ben touched with pity, offered to give
him "_a spell_." As the pressman and compositor, like the parson and
the clerk, or the coffin-maker and the grave-digger are of entirely
distinct trades in London, the little pressman was surprised that Ben,
who was a compositor, should talk of giving him "_a spell_." However,
Ben insisting, the little pressman gave way, when Ben seized the press,
and possessing both a skill and spirit extraordinary, he handled it in
such a workman-like style, that the men all declared they should have
concluded he had done nothing but _press-work_ all his life. Palmer
also, coming by at the time, mingled his applauses with the rest,
saying that he had never seen a fairer impression; and, on Ben's
requesting it, for _exercise_ and _health sake_, he permitted him to
work some hours every day at press.
On his entrance into Palmer's printing-office, Ben paid the customary
_garnish_ or treat-money, for the journeymen to drink. This was on the
first floor, among the pressmen. Presently Palmer wanted him up stairs,
among the compositors. There also the journeymen called on him for
_garnish_. Ben refused, looking upon it as altogether an unfair demand,
and so Palmer himself, to whom it was referred, decided; insisting that
Ben should _not pay_ it. But neither justice nor patronage could bear
Ben out against the spite of the journeymen. For the moment his back
was turned they would play him an endless variety of mischievous
tricks, such as mixing his letters, transposing his pages, breaking
down his matter, &c. &c. It was in vain he remonstrated against such
injustice. They all with one accord excused themselves, laying all the
blame on RALPH, for so they called a certain evil spirit who, they
pretended, haunted the office and always tormented such as were not
_regularly admitted_. Upon this Ben paid his garnish--_being fully
convinced of the folly of not keeping up a good understanding with
those among whom we are destined to live_.
Ben had been at Palmer's office but a short time before he discovered
that all his workmen, to the number of fifty, were terrible drinkers of
porter, insomuch that they kept a stout boy all day long on the trot to
serve them alone. Every man among them must have, viz.
1 A pint of porter before breakfast,--cost _d._1-1/2
1 A pint, with his bread and cheese, for breakfast, 1-1/2
1 A pint betwixt his breakfast and dinner, 1-1/2
1 A pint at his dinner, 1-1/2
1 A pint betwixt his dinner and night, 1-1/2
1 A pint after his day's work was done, 1-1/2
-- -----
6 Total, three quarts!--equal to _nine pence
sterling per day_! 9
A practice so fatal to the health and subsistence of those poor people
and their families, pained Ben to the soul, and he instantly set
himself to break it up. But they laughed him to scorn, boasting of
their beloved porter, that it was "_meat and drink too_," and the only
thing to give them _strength_ to work. Ben was not to be put out of
heart by such an argument as this. He offered to prove to them that
the strength they derived from the beer could only be in proportion to
the barley dissolved in the water of which the beer was made--that
there was a larger portion of flour in a penny loaf; and that if they
ate this loaf and drank a pint of water with it, they would get more
strength than from a pint of beer. But still they would not hearken to
any thing said against their darling beer. Beer, they said, was "_the
liquor of life_," and beer they must have, or _farewell strength_.
"Why, gentlemen," replied Ben, "don't you see me with great ease carry
up and down stairs, a large form of letters in each hand; while you,
with _both_ hands, have much ado to carry one? And don't you perceive
that these heavy weights which I bear produce no manner of change in
my breathing, while you, with only half the weight, cannot mount the
stairs without puffing and blowing most distressingly? Now is not this
sufficient to prove that water, though apparently the weakest, is yet
in reality the strongest liquor in nature, especially for the young
and healthy?"
But alas! on most of them, this excellent logic was all thrown away.
"The ruling passion, be it what it will--
The ruling passion governs reason still."
Though they could not deny a syllable of Ben's reasoning, being often
heard to say that, "THE AMERICAN AQUATIC (or _water drinker_) as they
called him, was much stronger than any of the beer drinkers," still
they would drink.
"But suppose," asked some of them, "we were to quit our beer with
bread and cheese for breakfast, what substitute should we have?"
"Why, use," said Ben, "the substitute that I do; which is a pint of
nice oat-meal gruel brought to me from your beer-house, with a little
butter, sugar and nutmeg, and a slice of dry toast. This, which is
more palatable and still less costly than a pint of beer, makes a much
better breakfast, and keeps the head clearer to boot. At dinner I take
a cup of cold water, which is the wholesomest of all beverages, and
requires nothing but a little use, to render it as pleasant. In this
way, gentlemen, I save _nine_ pence sterling every day, making in the
year nearly _three thousand pence_! an enormous sum, let me tell you,
my friends, to a small family; and which would not only save parents
the disgrace of being dunned for trifling debts, but also procure a
thousand comforts for the children."
Ben did not entirely lose his reward, several of his hearers affording
him the unspeakable satisfaction of following his counsel. But the
major part, "_poor devils_," as he emphatically styled them, "_went on
to drink--thus continuing all their lives in a state of voluntary
poverty and wretchedness!!_"
Many of them, for lack of punctuality to pay the publican, would often
have their porter stopped.--They would then apply to Ben to become
security for them, _their light_, as they called it, _being out_. I
never heard that he upbraided them with their folly; but readily gave
his word to the publican, though it cost him the trouble of attending
at the pay-table, every _Saturday night_, to take up the sums he had
made himself accountable for.
Thus, by virtue of the right education, _i.e._ a good trade, and early
fondness for labour and books, did Ben rise, like a young swan of
heaven, above the dark billows of adversity; and cover himself with
glory in the eyes of these young Englishmen, who had at first been so
prejudiced against him. And, better still, when night came, instead
of sauntering with them to the filthy yet costly ale-houses and
porter cellars, he hastened to his little chamber at his _frugal_
boarding-house, (only 1s. 6d. per week) there to enjoy the divine
society of his books, which he obtained on _hire_ from a neighbouring
book-store. And commanding, as he always did, through his steadiness
and rapidity at work, all the _quick off-hand jobs_, generally the
best paid, he might have made money and enjoyed great peace; but
alas! there was a moth in his purse which kept him constantly poor; a
canker in his peace which filled his life with vexation. That canker
and that moth was his young friend Ralph, whom, as we have seen, he
had made an infidel of in Philadelphia; and for which good office,
Ralph, as we shall presently see, requited him as might have been
expected.