THE PORT ROCK FERRY
Lawrence Wilford was a full-fledged water-fowl. From his earliest
childhood he had paddled in Lake Champlain. His father had a small
place, consisting of ten acres of land with a small cottage; but it
was still encumbered with a mortgage, as it had been for twenty
years, though the note had passed through several hands, and had been
three times renewed. John Wilford was not a very sagacious nor a very
energetic man, and had not distinguished himself in the race for
wealth or for fame. He wanted to be rich, but he was not willing to
pay the price of riches.
His place was a short distance from the village of Port Rock, and
John Wilford, at the time he had purchased the land and built his
house, had established a ferry, which had been, and was still, his
principal means of support; for there was considerable travel between
Port Rock and Pointville, on the Vermont side of the lake.
The ferryman was a poor man, and was likely to remain a poor man to
the end of his life. Hardly a day passed in which he did not sigh to
be rich, and complain of the unequal and unjust distribution of
property. He could point to a score of men who had not worked half so
hard as he had, in his own opinion, that had made fortunes, or at
least won a competence, while he was as poor as ever, and in danger
of having his place taken away from him. People said that John
Wilford was lazy; that he did not make the most of his land, and that
his ferry, with closer attention to the wants of passengers, might be
made to pay double the amount he made from it. He permitted the weeds
to grow in his garden, and compelled people to wait by the hour for a
passage across the lake.
John Wilford wondered that he could not grow rich, that he could not
pay off the mortgage on his place. He seldom sat down to dinner
without grumbling at his hard lot. His wife was a sensible woman. She
did not wonder that he did not grow rich; only that he contrived to
keep out of the poorhouse. She was the mother of eight children, and
if he had been half as smart as she was, prosperity would have smiled
upon the family. As it was, her life was filled up with struggles to
make the ends meet; but, though she had the worst of it, she did not
complain, and did all she could to comfort and encourage her
thriftless husband.
The oldest son was as near like his father as one person could be
like another. He was eighteen years old, and was an idle and
dissolute fellow. Lawrence, the second son, inherited his mother's
tack and energy. He was observing and enterprising, and had already
made a good reputation as a boatman and pilot. He had worked in
various capacities on board of steamers, canal-boats, sloops, and
schooners, and in five years had visited every part of the lake from
Whitehall to St. Johns.
Speaking technically, his bump of locality was large, and he was as
familiar with the navigation of the lake as any pilot on its waters.
Indeed, he had occasionally served as a pilot on board steamers and
other vessels, which had earned for him the name of the Young Pilot,
by which he was often called. But his business was not piloting, for
there was but little of this work to be done. Unlike his father, he
was willing to do anything which would afford him a fair
compensation, and in his five years of active life on the lake he had
been a pilot, a deck-hand, a waiter, and a kitchen assistant on board
steamers, and a sailor, helmsman, and cook on board other craft. He
picked up considerable money, for a boy, by his enterprise, which,
like a good son with a clear apprehension of domestic circumstances,
he gave to his mother. At the time of his introduction to the reader,
Lawry had just piloted a canal-boat, with movable masts, from
Whitehall to Plattsburg, and was working his passage home on the
"_Missisque_.
"Captain John feels bad about the loss of his sail," said Mr.
Randall, as the sloop's boat pulled off from the shore.
"Yes, he does; but it was his own fault," replied Lawry. "He paid
too much attention to his dinner at the time."
"That's true; he was very fond of the green-apple pies."
"Well, they were good," added the young pilot.
"I'm sorry he lost his sail."
"It wasn't worth much, though it was a bad time to lose it."
"He lost his temper, too. I wanted to land on the other side, but
the captain was so cross I didn't like to ask him when we were so
close to this shore. Your father is the ferryman, I believe."
"Yes, sir."
"Will you ask him to take me over?"
"He's going right over in the large boat, for there's a team waiting
for him," replied Lawry, pointing to a horse and wagon, the owner of
which had sounded the horn just as the passengers from the boat landed.
"Ask him to be as quick as possible, for I'm in a hurry," added the
bank director.
"Won't you come into the house, sir?"
"No, I will sit down under this tree."
Lawry went into the house, where the family were at dinner, the meal
having been delayed by the absence of the ferryman on the other side
of the lake. The youth was greeted coldly by his father, and very
warmly by his mother.
"I'm glad you've got home, Lawry, for Mr. Sherwood has been after
you three times," said Mrs. Wilford, when the young pilot had been
duly welcomed by all the family.
"What does he want?" asked Lawry.
"His little steamboat is at Port Henry, and he wants you to go up
and pilot her down."
"The _Woodville?_"
"Yes, that's her name, I believe."
"Well, I'm all ready to go."
"Sit down and eat your dinner.
"I've been to dinner."
"Mr. Sherwood wanted you to go up in the _Sherman_; but it is
too late for her, and he may go in the night boat."
"I'm ready when he is. Father, there is a gentleman outside who
wants to go over the lake; and there is a team waiting in the road,"
continued Lawry.
"They must wait till I've done my dinner," replied the ferryman.
"Who is the gentleman?"
"Mr. Randall; he is a director in a bank, and has six thousand
dollars with him."
"I suppose so; every man but me has six thousand dollars in his
pocket. Where's he going to?"
"To Shoreham, and he wants to get there by five o'clock, if he can."
"What's he traveling with so much money for?"
"I don't know. It is in his coat pocket, and it would have gone
overboard if it hadn't been for me."
The ferryman finished his dinner in moody silence. He seemed to be
thinking of the subject always uppermost in his mind, his thoughts
stimulated, no doubt, by the fact that his expected passenger carried
a large sum of money on his person.
"Mr. Randall is in a hurry, father," interposed Lawry, when the
ferryman had sat a good half-hour after his son's arrival.
"He must wait till I get ready. He's got money, and I haven't; but
I'm just as good as he is. I don't know why I'm poor when so many men
are rich. But I'm going to be rich, somehow or other," said he, with
more earnestness than he usually exhibited. "I'm too honest for my
own good. I'm going to do as other men do; and I shall wake up rich
some morning, as they do. Then I sha'n't have to go when folks blow
the horn. They'll be willing to wait for me then."
"Don't keep the gentleman waiting, father," added Mrs. Wilford.
"I'm going to be rich, somehow or other," continued the ferryman,
still pursuing the exciting line of thought he had before taken up.
"I'm going to be rich, by hook or by crook."
"This making haste to get rich ruins men sometimes, husband; and
haste makes waste then."
"If I can only get rich, I'll risk being ruined," said John Wilford,
as he rose from the table and put on his hat.
He looked more moody and discontented than usual. Instead of
hastening to do the work which was waiting for him, he stood before
the window, looking out into the garden. Mrs. Wilford told him the
gentleman would be impatient, and he finally left the house and
walked down to the ferry-boat.
"I wonder what your father is thinking about," said Mrs. Wilford, as
the door closed behind him.
"I don't know," replied Lawry; "he don't seem to be thinking that
people won't wait forever for him. I guess I'll go up to Mr.
Sherwood's, and see when he wants me."
"You must fix up a little before you go," replied the prudent
mother. "They are very grand people up at Mr. Sherwood's, and you
must look as well as you can."
"I'll put on my best clothes," added Lawry.
In half an hour he had changed his dress, and looked like another
boy. Mrs. Wilford adjusted a few stray locks of his hair, and as he
put on his new straw hat, and left the house, her eye followed him
with a feeling of motherly pride. He was a good boy, and had the
reputation of being a very smart boy, and she may be pardoned for the
parental vanity with which she regarded him. While he visits the
house of Mr. Sherwood, we will follow his father down to the ferry,
where the bank director was impatiently waiting his appearance.
After the shower the sun had come out brightly, and the wind had
abated so that there was hardly breeze enough to ruffle the waters of
the lake. It was intensely warm, and Mr. Randall had taken off his
coat again, but he was careful to keep it on his arm. At the approach
of the ferryman he went into the boat, where he was followed by the
vehicle that had been waiting so long for a passage across the lake.
John Wilford pushed off the boat with a pole, and trimmed the sail,
which was the motive power of the craft when there was any wind. The
ferry-boat was a large bateau, or flatboat, the slope at the ends
being so gradual that a wagon could pass down over it to the bottom
of the boat. This inclined plane was extended by a movable platform
about six feet wide, which swung horizontally up and down, like a
great trap-door. When the ferry-boat touched the shore, this platform
was let down upon the ground, forming a slope on which carriages were
driven into and out of the bateau.
The wind was very light, and the clumsy craft moved very slowly--so
slowly that the passage promised to be a severe trial to the patience
of Mr. Randall, who hoped to reach Shoreham by five o'clock. He was
not in a very amiable frame of mind; he was angry at the delay in
starting, and he was vexed because the wind would not blow. He walked
nervously from the forward platform to the after one, with his coat
still on his arm.
"We shall not get over to-night," said he impatiently, as he stopped
by the side of the ferryman, and threw his coat down upon the
platform, while he wiped the perspiration from his brow.
"Yes, I guess we shall," replied John Wilford.
"I'll give you a dollar if you will land me at Pointville by three
o'clock."
"I can't make the wind blow, if you would give me a hundred dollars."
"Can't you use the pole or the oars?" said the bank director
petulantly; "you kept me waiting half an hour before you started."
"I couldn't help that," replied John Wilford.
Mr. Randall walked to the forward platform, fretting with impatience
at the indifference of the ferryman. He stood for a few moments
gazing at the Vermont shore, and appeared to be engaged in estimating
the distance yet to be accomplished. The calculation was not
satisfactory, and the bank director's wrath was on the increase. With
hasty step he walked aft again.
"I think we shall have more wind in a minute," said John Wilford, as
he stepped down from the platform and adjusted the sheet.
"If we don't, I shall go crazy," replied Mr. Randall.
When he had placed one foot on the platform, by some means the drop,
true to its name, went down and splashed in the water. The bank
director stepped back in season to save himself from a cold bath or a
watery grave, as the case might be.
"My coat! save my coat!" shouted Mr. Randall, as the garment rolled
off the platform into the water.
"Why didn't you hold on to it?" said John Wilford.
"Save my coat! There is six thousand dollars in the pocket," groaned
the unhappy bank director.