The man I hoped to meet was, when I saw him last, a little man with red
hair; but the individual who answered the summons of the shop boy, was a
man about six feet in his stockings, with dark hair and a long black
beard.
I saw at a glance, that the grocer who had emigrated from Dublin and the
man before me were not identical, but entirely different individuals.
"Well, my lad, what do you want?" asked the tall proprietor of the shop,
looking down on me with a glance of curious inquiry.
"Nothing," I stammered out, perhaps more confused than I had ever been
before.
"Then what have you had me called for?" he asked, in a tone that did
little to aid me in overcoming my embarrassment.
After much hesitation and stammering, I explained to him that from
seeing his name over the door, I had hoped to find a man of the same
name, with whom I had been acquainted in Ireland, and who had emigrated
to America.
"Ah!" said he, smiling ironically. "My father's great-grandfather came
over to America about two hundred and fifty years ago. His name was
John Sullivan. Perhaps you mean him?"
I had nothing to say in answer to this last interrogation, and was
turning to leave the shop.
"Stop my lad!" cried the grocer. "I don't want to be at the trouble of
having come downstairs for nothing. Supposing I was the John Sullivan
you knew--what then?"
"Then you would tell me what I should do," I answered, "for I have
neither home, friends, nor money."
In reply to this, the tall shopkeeper commenced submitting me to a sharp
examination--putting his queries in a tone that seemed to infer the
right to know all I had to communicate.
After obtaining from me the particulars relative to my arrival in the
country, he gave me his advice in exchange. It was, to return instanter
to the ship from which I had deserted.
I told him that this advice could not be favourably received, until I
had been about three days without food.
My rejoinder appeared to cause a change in his disposition towards me.
"William!" said he, calling out to his shop-assistant, "can't you find
something for this lad to do for a few days?"
William "reckoned" that he could.
Mr Sullivan then returned upstairs; and I, taking it for granted that
the thing was settled, hung up my hat.
The grocer had a family, living in rooms adjoining the shop. It
consisted of his wife and two children--the eldest a girl about four
years of age.
I was allowed to eat at the same table with themselves; and soon became
well acquainted with, and I believe well liked by, them all. The little
girl was an eccentric being, even for a child; and seldom said a word to
anyone. Whenever she did speak, she was sure to make use of the phrase,
"God help us!"
This expression she had learnt from an Irish servant wench, who was in
the habit of making frequent use of it; and it was so often echoed by
the little girl, in a parrot-like manner, that Mr Sullivan and his
wife--at the time I joined the family were striving to break her from
the habit of using it.
The servant girl, when forbidden by her mistress ever to use the
expression in the child's presence, would cry out: "God help us, Mem! I
can't help it."
Whenever the words were spoken by little Sarah--this was the child's
name--Mrs Sullivan would say, "Sarah, don't you ever say that again.
If you do, you shall be locked up in the cellar."
"God help us!" little Sarah would exclaim, in real alarm at the threat.
"There you go again. Take that, and that," Mrs Sullivan would cry,
giving the child two or three slaps on the side of the head.
"Oh mother! mother! God help us!" little Sarah would cry out,
altogether unconscious of the crime she was committing.
Every effort made, for inducing the child to refrain from the use of
this expression, only caused its more frequent repetition; and often in
a manner so ludicrous, as to conquer the anger of her parents, and turn
it into laughter.
When I had been about five weeks with Mr Sullivan, I was engaged one
morning in washing the shop windows, and accidentally broke a large and
costly pane of plate glass. A sudden shock came over my spirits--one
more painful than I had ever experienced. Mr Sullivan had been so kind
to me, that to do him an injury, accidentally or otherwise, seemed the
greatest misfortune that could happen to me.
He was upstairs at the time; and I had not the moral courage to face
him. Had I waited for him to come down, and see what had been done, he
might have said something that would have pained me to hear; but
certainly nothing more serious would have happened, and all would have
been well again.
I must have a disposition constitutionally inclined to absconding. To
run away, as my mother had often told me, must be my _nature_. I would
rather believe this than otherwise, since I do not wish to be charged
with the voluntary indiscretion of deserting a good home. It was only
an overwhelming sense of the kindness with which I had been treated, and
the injury I had inflicted on my benefactor, that caused me to dread an
encounter with Mr Sullivan.
Perhaps a boy with a smaller sense of gratitude and less sensitiveness
of soul, would have acted differently; and yet would have acted right:
for it is always better to meet a difficulty boldly, than to flee in a
cowardly manner from the responsibilities attending it.
Little Sarah Sullivan happened to be in the shop at the time I broke the
window. I heard her exclaim, "God help us!"
I did not stay to hear any more: for in six seconds after, I had turned
the nearest corner; and was once more homeless in the streets of New
Orleans.
Volume One, Chapter VI.