In the Days of Poor Richard Part 12

"You mean you've got it."

"Which means that Jack Irons owns it hide, horns an' taller."

Tears came to the boy's eyes. He looked down for a moment without speaking. "Thank you, Solomon," he said presently. "I can't use your money. It wouldn't be right."

Solomon shut one eye an' squinted with the other as if he were taking aim along the top of a gun barrel. Then he shook his head and drawled:

"Cat's blood an' gunpowder! That 'ere slaps me in the face an' kicks me on the s.h.i.+n," Solomon answered. "I've walked an' paddled eighty mile in a day an' been stabbed an' shot at an' had to run fer my life, which it ain't no fun--you hear to me. Who do ye s'pose I done it fer but you an' my kentry? There ain't n.o.body o' my name an' blood on this side o' the ocean--not n.o.body at all. An' if I kin't work fer you, Jack, I'd just erbout as soon quit. This 'ere money ain't no good to me 'cept fer body cover an' powder an' b.a.l.l.s. I'd as leave drop it in the river. It bothers me. I don't need it. When I git hum I go an'

hide it in the bush somewhars--jest to git it out o' my way. I been thinkin' all up the road from Virginny o' this 'ere gol demnable money an' what I were a-goin' to do with it an' what it could do to me. An', sez I, I'm ergoin' to ask Jack to take it an' use it fer a wall 'twixt him an' trouble, an' the idee hurried me erlong--honest! Kind o' made me happy. Course, if I had a wife an' childern, 'twould be different, but I ain't got no one. An' now ye tell me ye don't want it, which it makes me feel lonesomer 'n a tarred Tory an' kind o' sorrowful--ayes, sir, it does."

Solomon's voice sank to a whisper.

"Forgive me," said Jack. "I didn't know you felt that way. But I'm glad you do. I'll take it on the understanding that as long as I live what I have shall also be yours."

"I've two hundred poun' an' six s.h.i.+llin' in my pocket an' a lot more hid in the bush. It's all yourn to the last round penny. I reckon it'll purty nigh bridge the slough. I want ye to be married respectable like a gentleman--slick duds, plenty o' cakes an' pies an'

no slightin' the minister er the rum bar'l.

"Major Was.h.i.+ngton give me a letter to take to Ben Franklin on t'other side o' the ocean. Ye see ev'ry letter that's sent ercrost is opened an' read afore it gits to him lessen it's guarded keerful. This 'ere one, I guess, has suthin' powerful secret in it. He pays all the bills. So I'll be goin' erlong with ye on the nex' s.h.i.+p an' when we git thar I want to shake hands with the gal and tell her how to make ye behave."

That evening Jack went to the manager of _The Gazette_ and asked for a six months' leave of absence.

"And why would ye be leaving?" asked the manager, a braw Scot.

"I expect to be married."

"In England?"

"Yes."

"I'll agree if the winsome, wee thing will give ye time to send us news letters from London. Doctor Franklin could give ye help. He has been boiling over with praise o' you and has asked me to broach the matter.

Ye'll be sailing on the next s.h.i.+p."

Before there was any sailing Jack and Solomon had time to go to Albany for a visit. They found the family well and prosperous, the town growing. John Irons said that land near the city was increasing rapidly in value. Solomon went away into the woods the morning of their arrival and returned in the afternoon with his money, which he gave to John Irons to be invested in land. Jack, having had a delightful stay at home, took a schooner for New York that evening with Solomon.

The night before they sailed for England his friends in the craft gave Jack a dinner at The Gray Goose Tavern. He describes the event in a long letter. To his astonishment the mayor and other well-known men were present and expressed their admiration for his talents.

The table was spread with broiled fish and roasted fowls and mutton and towering spiced hams and sweet potatoes and mince pies and cakes and jellies.

"The spirit of hospitality expresses itself here in ham--often, also, in fowls, fish and mutton, but always and chiefly in ham--cooked and decorated with the greatest care and surrounded by forms, flavors and colors calculated to please the eye and fill the human system with a deep, enduring and memorable satisfaction," he writes.

In the midst of the festivities it was announced that Jack was to be married and as was the custom of the time, every man at the table proposed a toast and drank to it. One addressed himself to the eyes of the fortunate young lady. Then her lips, her eyebrows, her neck, her hands, her feet, her disposition and her future husband were each in turn enthusiastically toasted by other guests in b.u.mpers of French wine. He adds that these compliments were "so moist and numerous that they became more and more indistinct, noisy and irrational" and that before they ended "Nearly every one stood up singing his own favorite song. There is a stage of emotion which can only be expressed in noises. That stage had been reached. They put me in mind of David Culver's bird shop where many song birds--all of a different feather--engage in a kind of tournament, each pouring out his soul with a desperate determination to be heard. It was all very friendly and good natured but it was, also, very wild."

CHAPTER IV

THE CROSSING

There were curious events in the voyage of Jack and Solomon. The date of the letter above referred to would indicate that they sailed on or about the eleventh of October, 1773. Their s.h.i.+p was _The Snow_ which had arrived the week before with some fifty Irish servants, indentured for their pa.s.sage. These latter were, in a sense, slaves placed in bondage to sundry employers by the captain of the s.h.i.+p for a term of years until the sum due to the owners for their transportation had been paid--a sum far too large, it would seem.

Jack was sick for a number of days after the voyage began but Solomon, who was up and about and cheerful in the roughest weather, having spent a part of his youth at sea, took care of his young friend. Jack tells in a letter that he was often awakened in the night by vermin and every morning by the crowing of c.o.c.ks. Those days a part of every s.h.i.+p was known as "the hen coops" where ducks, geese and chickens were confined.

They came in due time through the butcher shop and the galley to the cabin table. The cook was an able, swearing man whose culinary experience had been acquired on a Nantucket whaler. Cooks who could stand up for service every day in a small s.h.i.+p on an angry sea when the galley rattled like a dice box in the hands of a nervous player, were hard to get. Their const.i.tutions were apt to be better than their art.

The food was of poor quality, the cooking a tax upon jaw, palate and digestion, the service unclean. When good weather came, by and by, and those who had not tasted food for days began to feel the pangs of hunger the s.h.i.+p was filled with a most pa.s.sionate lot of pilgrims. It was then that Solomon presented the pet.i.tion of the pa.s.sengers to the captain.

"Cap'n, we're 'bout wore out with whale meat an' slobgollion. We're all down by the head."

"So'm I," said the Captain. "This 'ere man had a good recommend an'

said he could cook perfect."

"A man like that kin cook the pa.s.sengers with their own heat," said Solomon. "I feel like my belly was full o' hot rocks. If you'll let me into the galley, I'll right ye up an' s.h.i.+ft the way o' the wind an'

the course o' the s.h.i.+p. I'll swing the bow toward Heaven 'stead o'

h.e.l.l an' keep her p'inted straight an' it won't cost ye a penny.

They's too much swearin' on this 'ere s.h.i.+p. Can't n.o.body be a Christian with his guts a-b'ilin'. His tongue'll break loose an' make his soul look like a waggin with a smashed wheel an' a bu'sted ex. A cook could do more good here than a minister."

"Can you cook?"

"You try me an' I'll agree to happy ye up so ye won't know yerself.

Yer meat won't be raw ner petrified an' there won't be no insecks in the biscuit."

"He'll make a row."

"I hope so. Leave him to me. I'm a leetle bit in need o' exercise, but ye needn't worry. I know how to manage him--perfect. You come with me to the galley an' tell him to git out of it. I'll do the rest."

Solomon's advice was complied with. The cook--Thomas Crowpot by name--was ordered out of the galley. The sea cook is said to be the father of profanity. His reputation has come down through the ages untarnished, it would seem, by any example of philosophical moderation.

Perhaps it is because, in the old days, his calling was a hard one and only those of a singular recklessness were willing to engage in it.

_The Snow's_ cook was no exception. He was a big, brawny, black Yankee with a claw foot look in his eyes. Profanity whizzed through the open door like buckshot from a musket. He had been engaged for the voyage and would not give up his job to any man.

"Don't be so snappish," said Solomon. Turning to the Captain he added: "Don't ye see here's the big spring. This 'ere man could blister a bull's heel by talkin' to it. He's hidin' his candle. This ain't no job fer him. I say he orto be promoted."

With an outburst still profane but distinctly milder the cook wished to know what they meant.

Solomon squinted with his rifle eye as if he were taking careful aim at a small mark.

"Why, ye see we pa.s.sengers have been swearin' stiddy fer a week," he drawled. "We're wore out. We need a rest. You're a trained swearer.

Ye do it perfect. Ye ortn't to have nothin' else to do. We want you to go for'ard an' find a comf'table place an' set down an' do all the swearin' fer the hull s.h.i.+p from now on. You'll git yer pay jest the same as if ye done the cookin'. It's a big job but I guess ye're ekal to it. I'll agree that they won't n.o.body try to grab it. Ye may have a little help afore the mast but none abaft."

This unexpected proposition calmed the cook. The prospect of full pay and nothing to do pleased him. He surrendered.

An excellent dinner was cooked and served that day. The lobscouse made of pork, fowl and sliced potatoes was a dish to remember. But the former cook got a line of food calculated to a.s.sist him in the performance of his singular duty. Happiness returned to the s.h.i.+p and Solomon was cheered when at length he came out of the galley. Officers and pa.s.sengers rendered him more homage after that than they paid to the rich and famous Mr. Girard who was among their number. That day this notice was written on the blackboard:

"Thomas Crowpot has been engaged to do all the swearing that's necessary on this voyage. Any one who needs his services will find him on the forward deck. Small and large jobs will be attended to while you wait."

2

Often in calm weather Jack and Solomon amused themselves and the other pa.s.sengers with pistol practise by tossing small objects into the air and shooting at them over the s.h.i.+p's side. They rarely missed even the smallest object thrown. Jack was voted the best marksman of the two when he crushed with his bullet four black walnuts out of five thrown by Mr. Girard.