“WELL, there’s nothin’ to do, but to hev faith, an’ keep a-tryin’.”
The speaker was old Mrs. Simmons, boarding-house keeper, and resident of
a certain town on the Ohio River. The prime cause of her remark was
Captain Sam Toppie, of the steamboat Queen Ann.
Captain Sam had stopped with Mrs. Simmons every time the Queen Ann laid
up for repairs, and he was so genial, frank and manly, that he had found
a warm spot in the good old lady’s heart.
But one thing marred the otherwise perfect happiness of Mrs. Simmons
when in Captain Sam’s society, and that was what she styled his “lost
condition.” For Mrs. Simmons was a consistent, conscientious Methodist,
while Captain Sam was—well, he was a Western steamboat captain.
This useful class of gentlemen are in high repute among shippers and
barkeepers, and receive many handsome compliments from the daily papers
along the line of the Western rivers; but, somehow, the religious Press
is entirely silent about them, nor have we ever seen of any special
mission having been sent to them.
Captain Sam was a good specimen of the fraternity—good-looking,
good-natured, quick-witted, prompt, and faithful, as well as
quick-tempered, profane, and perpetually thirsty. To carry a full load,
put his boat through in time, and always drink up to his peg, were his
cardinal principles, and he faithfully lived up to them.
Of the fair sex he was a most devoted admirer, and if he had not
possessed a great deal of modesty, for a steamboat captain, he could
have named two or three score of young women who thought almost as much
of him as the worthy boarding-house keeper did.
Good Mrs. Simmons had, to use her own language, “kerried him before the
Lord, and wrastled for him;” but it was very evident, from Sam’s walk
and conversation, that his case had not yet been adjudicated according
to Mrs. Simmons’s liking.
He still had occasional difficulties with the hat-stand and stairway
after coming home late at night; his breath, though generally odorous,
seemed to grieve Mrs. Simmons’s olfactories, and his conversation, as
heard through his open door in Summer, was thickly seasoned with
expressions far more Scriptural than reverential.
One Christmas, the old lady presented to the captain a handsome Bible,
with his name stamped in large gilt letters on the cover. He was so
delighted and so proud of his present, that he straightway wrapped it in
many folds of paper to prevent its being soiled, and then stowed it
neatly away in the Queen Ann’s safe, for secure keeping.
When he told Mrs. Simmons what he had done, she sighed deeply; but fully
alive to the importance of the case, promised him a common one, not too
good to read daily.
“Daily! Bless you, Mrs. Simmons! Why, I hardly have time to look in the
paper, and see who’s gone up, and who’s gone down, and who’s been beat.”
“But your better part, cap’en?” pleaded the old lady.
“I—I don’t know, my good woman—hard to find it, I guess—the hull lot
averages purty low.”
“But, cap’en,” she continued, “don’t you feel your need of a change?”
“Not from the Queen Ann, ma’am—she only needs bigger engines——”
“Change of heart, I mean, cap’en,” interrupted Mrs. Simmons. “Don’t you
feel your need of religion?”
“Ha! ha!” roared Captain Sam; “the idea of a steamboat captain with
religion! Why, bless your dear, innocent, old soul, the fust time he
wanted to wood up in a hurry, his religion would git, quicker’n
lightnin’. The only steamboatman I ever knowed in the meetin’-house line
went up for seven year for settin’ fire to his own boat to git the
insurance.”
Mrs. Simmons could not recall at the moment the remembrance of any pious
captain, so she ceased laboring with Captain Sam. But when he went out,
she placed on his table a tract, entitled “The Furnace Seven Times
Heated,” which tract the captain considerately handed to his engineer,
supposing it to be a circular on intensified caloric.
Year after year the captain laid up for repairs, and put up with Mrs.
Simmons. Year after year he was jolly, genial, chivalrous, generous,
but—not what good Mrs. Simmons earnestly wanted him to be.
He would buy tickets to all the church fairs, give free passages to all
preachers recommended by Mrs. Simmons, and on Sunday morning he would
respectfully escort the old lady as far as the church-door.
On one occasion, when Mrs. Simmons’s church building was struck by
lightning, a deacon dropped in with a subscription-paper, while the
captain was in. The generous steamboatman immediately put himself down
for fifty dollars; and although he improved the occasion to condemn
severely the meanness of certain holy people, and though his language
seemed to create an atmosphere which must certainly melt the money—for
those were specie days—Mrs. Simmons declared to herself that “he
couldn’t be fur from the kingdom when his heart was so little set on
Mammon as that.”
“He’s too good for Satan—the Lord _must_ hev him,” thought the good old
lady.
Once again the Queen Ann needed repairing, and again the captain found
himself at his old boarding-place.
Good Mrs. Simmons surveyed him tenderly through her glasses, and
instantly saw there had something unusual happened. Could it be—oh! if
it only _could_ be—that he had put off the old man, which is sin! She
longed to ask him, yet, with a woman’s natural delicacy, she determined
to find out without direct questioning.
“Good season, cap’en?” she inquired.
“A No. 1, ma’am—positively first-class,” replied the captain.
“Hed good health—no ager?” she continued.
“Never was better, my dear woman—healthy right to the top notch,” he
answered.
“It must be,” said good Mrs. Simmons, to herself—“it can’t be nothin’
else. Bless the Lord!”
This pious sentiment she followed up by a hymn, whose irregularities of
time and tune were fully atoned for by the spirit with which she sung. A
knock at the door interrupted her.
“Come in!” she cried.
Captain Sam entered, and laid a good-sized, flat flask on the table,
saying:
“I’ve just been unpackin’, an’ I found this; p’r’aps you ken use it fur
cookin’. It’s no use to me; I’ve sworn off drinkin’.”
And before the astonished lady could say a word, he was gone.
But the good soul could endure the suspense no longer. She hurried to
the door, and cried:
“Cap’en!”
“That’s me,” answered Captain Sam, returning.
“Cap’en,” said Mrs. Simmons, in a voice in which solemnity and
excitement struggled for the mastery, “hez the Lord sent His angel unto
you?”
“He hez,” replied the captain, in a very decided tone, and abruptly
turned, and hurried to his own room.
“Bless the Lord, O my soul!” almost shouted Mrs. Simmons, in her
ecstasy. “We musn’t worry them that’s weak in the faith, but I shan’t be
satisfied till I hear him tell his experience. Oh, _what_ a blessed
thing to relate at prayer-meetin’ to-night!”
There was, indeed, a rattling of dry bones at the prayer-meeting that
night, for it was the first time in the history of the church that the
conversion of a steamboat captain had been reported.
On returning home from the meeting, additional proof awaited the happy
old saint. The captain was in his room—in his room at nine o’clock in
the evening! She had known the captain for years, but he had never
before got in so early. There could be no doubt about it, though—there
he was, softly whistling.
“I’d rather hear him whistlin’ Windham or Boylston,” thought Mrs.
Simmons; “that tune don’t fit any hymn _I_ know. P’r’aps, though, they
sing it in some of them churches up to Cincinnaty,” she charitably
continued.
“Cap’en,” said she, at breakfast, next morning, when the other guests
had departed, “is your mind at peace?”
“Peace?” echoed the captain—“peaceful as the Ohio at low water.”
The captain’s simile was not so Scriptural as the old lady could have
desired, but she remembered that he was but a young convert, and that
holy conversation was a matter of gradual attainment. So, simply and
piously making the best of it, she fervently exclaimed:
“That it may ever be thus is my earnest prayer, cap’en.”
“Amen to that,” said Captain Sam, very heartily, upsetting the chair in
his haste to get out of the room.
For several days Mrs. Simmons lived in a state of bliss unknown to
boarding-house keepers, whose joys come only from a sense of provisions
purchased cheaply and paying boarders secured.
From the kitchen, the dining-room, or wherever she was, issued sounds of
praise and devotion, intoned to some familiar church melody. Scrubbing
the kitchen-floor dampened not her ardor, and even the fateful
washing-day produced no visible effects on her spirits. From over the
bread-pan she sent exultant strains to echo through the house, and her
fists vigorously marked time in the yielding dough. From the third-story
window, as she hung out the bed-linen to air, her holy notes fell on the
ears of passing teamsters, and caused them to cast wondering glances
upward. What was the heat of the kitchen-stove to her, now that Captain
Sam was insured against flames eternal? What, now, was even money, since
Captain Sam had laid up his treasures above?
And the captain’s presence, which had always comforted her, was now a
perpetual blessing. Always pleasant, kind, and courteous, as of old, but
oh, so different!
All the coal-scuttles and water-pails in the house might occupy the
stairway at night, but the captain could safely thread his way among
them.
No longer did she hurry past his door, with her fingers ready, at the
slightest alarm, to act as compressers to her ears; no, the captain’s
language, though not exactly religious, was eminently proper.
He was at home so much evenings, that his lamp consumed more oil in a
week than it used to in months; but the old lady cheerfully refilled it,
and complained not that the captain’s goodness was costly.
The captain brought home a book or two daily, and left them in his room,
seeing which, his self-denying hostess carried up the two flights of
stairs her own copies of “Clarke’s Commentaries,” “The Saints’ Rest,”
“Joy’s Exercises,” and “Morning and Night Watches,” and arranged them
neatly on his table.
Finally, after a few days, Captain Sam seemed to have something to
say—something which his usual power of speech was scarcely equal to.
Mrs. Simmons gave him every opportunity.
At last, when he ejaculated, “Mrs. Simmons,” just as she was carrying
her beloved glass preserve-dish to its place in the parlor-closet, she
was so excited that she dropped the brittle treasure, and uttered not a
moan over the fragments.
“Mrs. Simmons, I’ve made up my mind to lead an entirely new life,” said
the captain, gravely.
“It’s what I’ve been hopin’ fur years an’ years, cap’en,” responded the
happy old lady.
“Hev you, though? God bless your motherly old soul,” said the captain,
warmly. “Well, I’ve turned over a new leaf, and it don’t git turned back
again.”
“That’s right,” said Mrs. Simmons, with a happy tear under each
spectacle-glass. “Fight the good fight, cap’en.”
“Just my little game,” continued the captain. “’Tain’t ev’ry day that a
man ken find an angel willin’ to look out fur him, Mrs. Simmons.”
“An angel! Oh, cap’en, how richly blessed you hev been!” sobbed Mrs.
Simmons. “Many’s the one that hez prayed all their lives long for the
comin’ of a good sperrit to guide ’em.”
“Well, _I’ve_ got one, sure pop,” continued Captain Sam; “and happy
ain’t any kind of a name fur what I be all the time now.”
“Bless you!” said the good woman, wringing the captain’s hand fervidly.
“But you’ll hev times of trouble an’ doubt, off an’ on.”
“Is that so?” asked the captain, thoughtfully.
“Yes,” continued Mrs. Simmons; “but don’t be afeard; ev’ry thing’ll come
right in the end. I know—I’ve been through it all.”
“That’s so,” said the captain, “you hev that. Well, now, would you mind
interdoosin’ me to your minister?”
“Mind!” said the good old lady. “I’ve been a-dyin’ to do it ever since
you come. I’ve told him about it, and he’s ez glad fur you ez I am.”
“Oh!” said the captain, looking a little confused, “you suspected it,
did you?”
“From the very minute you fust kem,” replied Mrs. Simmons; “I know the
signs.”
“Well,” said the captain, “might ez well see him fust as last then, I
reckon.”
“I’ll get ready right away,” said Mrs. Simmons. And away she hurried,
leaving the captain greatly puzzled.
The old lady put on her newest bombazine dress—all this happened ten
years ago, ladies—and a hat to match.
Never before had these articles of dress been seen by the irreligious
light of a weekday; the day seemed fully as holy as an ordinary Sabbath.
They attracted considerable attention, in their good clothes and solemn
faces, and finally, as they stood on the parson’s doorstep, two of the
captain’s own deckhands saw him, and straightway drank themselves into a
state of beastly intoxication in trying to decide what the captain could
want of a preacher.
The minister entered, cordially greeted Mrs. Simmons, and expressed his
pleasure at forming the captain’s acquaintance.
“Parson,” said the captain, in trembling accents—“don’t go away, Mrs.
Simmons—parson, my good friend here tells me you know all about my case;
now the question is, how soon can you do the business?”
The reverend gentleman shivered a little at hearing the word “business”
applied to holy things, but replied, in excellent temper:
“The next opportunity will occur on the first Sabbath of the coming
month, and I shall be truly delighted to gather into our fold one whose
many worthy qualities have been made known to us by our dearly beloved
sister Simmons. And let me further remind you that there is joy in
heaven over one sinner that repenteth, and that therefore——”
“Just so, parson,” interrupted the captain, wincing a little, and
looking exceedingly puzzled—“just so; but ain’t thar no day but Sunday
for a man to be married——”
“Married!” ejaculated the minister, looking inquiringly at Mrs. Simmons.
“Married!” screamed the old lady, staring wildly at the
captain—“married! Oh, what shall I do? I thought you’d experienced a
change! And I’ve told everybody about it!”
The captain burst into a laugh, which made the minister’s chandeliers
rattle, and the holy man himself, seeing through the mistake, heartily
joined the captain.
But poor Mrs. Simmons burst into an agony of tears.
“My dear, good old friend,” said the captain, tenderly putting his arm
about her, “I’m very sorry you have been disappointed; but one thing at
a time, you know. When you see my angel, you’ll think I’m in a fair way
to be an angel myself some day, I guess. Annie’s her name—Annie May—an’
I’ve named the boat after her. Don’t take on so, an’ I’ll show you the
old boat, new painted, an’ the name Annie May stuck on wherever there’s
a chance.”
But the good old woman only wrung her hands, and exclaimed:
“Thar’s a lovely experience completely spiled—completely spiled!”
At length she was quieted and escorted home, and a few days afterward
appeared, in smiles and the new bombazine, at the captain’s wedding.
The bride, a motherless girl, speedily adopted Mrs. Simmons as mother,
and made many happy hours for the old lady; but that venerable and pious
person is frequently heard to say to herself, in periods of
thoughtfulness:
“A lovely experience completely spiled!”
[Illustration:
THE CAPTAIN BURST INTO A LAUGH, WHICH MADE THE MINISTER’S
CHANDELIERS RATTLE.
]
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