 | CHAPTER IX. The western merchant |  |
9. CHAPTER IX.
I have said that I met with Moses, the Jew. One of the
Market Street men, seeing his goods were marked for Hanover,
my place of business, asked me some questions about
him. When I had given him all the information I possessed,
he remarked that he had not inquired with any view to
make Moses a customer. He made it a rule never to
trust western Jews. Moses had paid him for the goods
he bought, which, packed in two boxes, were standing
on the pavement before the door. He said that he had
supposed Moses was a Jew, although his language and
dress were in exact imitation of the thorough-bred western
merchant; and upon putting the question to him directly,
had forced him to make an affirmative reply; and he then
declined selling him anything on credit. But Moses had
insisted on buying his goods, and had paid the money for
them.
All this surprised me. Why had Moses attempted to
conceal the fact of his being a true Israelite? Why had
he bought goods of a house which refused to sell him on
time? I could not then divine his motive, but suspected
there was some design in it—and so did the merchant
alluded to. But neither of us had anything to do with the
attend to our own business.
The next day I started westward, in company with a
number of western men. After being overturned once or
twice in the mountains, without sustaining further injury
than a few contusions, we reached Pittsburgh on the third or
fourth day. When we stopped at the door of the hotel,
who should jump down from the driver's box, whip in hand,
but the ubiquitous Moses! In the character of an itinerant
peddler, he had learned the use of the whip, and had made,
an arrangement to drive the coach through to Pittsburgh,
so that he would have no passage money to pay.
In the afternoon we were descending the beautiful Ohio,
on the new steamer Flora McIvor—the name of the
heroine who pitied and protected Prince Charles Edward,
the fugitive Stuart, and Pretender to the British throne.
The sun beamed brightly on the clear gliding stream, (after
we had emerged from the cloud of dark smoke hanging
like a pall over the city,) and we enjoyed the refreshing
breeze as we sat on the boiler deck. Again I was doomed
to meet my evil genius, Moses, who was now transformed
into a book peddler (he would not hesitate to peddle this
work, and to inform the purchaser that he was the identical
Moses described in it), and seemed to be making expenses.
The most of the time was spent, on our return, in the
examination of invoices. We compared them with each
other, (being mostly from different locations,) and although
the qualities of many of the articles could not be ascertained,
yet from our knowledge of the market we were enabled to
form a very correct idea of the extra per cent. put on by
some of the jobbers. And I noticed that when any one of
our party ascertained he had been charged less for an article
than his neighbors, he boasted of it, as an indication of his
of the seller. It frequently occurred that the old regular
houses had charged a shade higher for leading staple goods,
the value of which we all knew, than their more modern
competitors. But in most instances, when there was a
material difference in price discovered, the comparison was
rather against the latter. Yet we thought the greatest disparity
existed in the New York bills, and always to the
disadvantage of the inexperienced purchaser. And it was
ascertained that where a bill had been made with an irregular
Jew house, the poor silly victim had been skinned
alive. This habit of examination and comparison on the
part of the western merchants, is still kept up, and is a
capital mode of ascertaining the relative merits of eastern
houses.
We were all some two weeks ahead of our goods. Getting
them to Pittsburgh was a tedious process, as they
had to be conveyed most of the way in wagons. The
charges to Pittsburgh were from two and a half to five dollars
per hundred pounds. Now, they can be taken from
Philadelphia, during most seasons, to the utmost bounds of
civilization in the far west, for about two dollars the hundred
pounds. It was not important that I should get home
before my goods arrived. My brother was at Hanover, and
was entirely qualified to manage the establishment, with
its reduced stock of goods, during my absence. So I determined
to spend a short time in Kentucky, at my former
home. When I landed at a village on the river, for the purpose
of going into the interior, I was surprised to find that
so many of the passengers of the Flora McIvor had parents
and sisters and brothers in Kentucky. Their situations were
similar to my own, and they availed themselves of the interval
required to bring up their goods, to visit the homes of
were so many more marriageable males than females in
Missouri, and indeed in all the new states. The young
men set out to seek their fortunes, leaving their sisters behind.
When the new countries become civilized, then the
girls go out. But the scarcity of the commodity at the
early stages of settlement, certainly affords any enterprising
girl a capital opportunity of making an advantageous
speculation in the matrimonial line. They are in better
demand in the new states than elsewhere; and I have frequently
known them to marry immediately after going
thither, even several years after they had arrived at the age
of despair at home. I state a notorious fact, which merits
the attention of the redundant female population in the
east.
I proceeded without delay to the home of my childhood,
and entered my mother's humble house unannounced and
unexpected, for I had not informed her of my purpose of
going thither. But nevertheless I was not the less welcome.
I had the parent's kiss, and saw the tear of joyful affection
glitter on her aged cheek. My father had several years
before been consigned to the tomb. He had collected
around his couch those of his family who were in the
vicinity, whom he blessed, and leaving his blessing for
those who were absent, he departed in peace—a happy,
confiding Christian. But before his eyes were closed, he
had spoken most impressively of the just ways of Providence,
while a smile of triumph beamed upon his face.
My mother remembered his words, and repeated them to
me, as follows: “My dear children, you all know that I was
once rich in this world's goods, and now am poor. You
all know that I have endeavored to discharge the duties of
a faithful and consistent Christian; and yet misfortune fell
loved and cherished. More than half of them are now
absent, while I am upon my dying bed. What see you in
all this? Do you think I have been hardly dealt with by
my Heavenly Father, whom I have tried faithfully to serve?
Do not think so. I die happy. I behold his goodness
with a grateful heart. Had I died possessed of the fortune
I once held, I doubt not every member of my family would
have been still under my roof, wholly dependent upon my
little wealth for their future subsistence, and disqualified to
take care of themselves after my removal. Were it so,
the consciousness of that fact would trouble my last moments
with pangs of anxiety, and misgivings for their
future welfare. But now, since you have been taught to
rely upon yourselves, under the guidance of the Eternal
Disposer of events, for the means of future enjoyment, I
have no cares on that head. I have letters from those who
are absent, stating the amount of wealth they have each
realized, and I have made an estimate of the means of
those present. These amounts, added together, make a
much larger sum than I ever possessed. Thus you see the
kindness of God, and his superior wisdom in providing for
those who put their trust in him. What we were disposed
to regard as a very great evil, proves to be a very great
blessing. The loss of my wealth has resulted in a most
fortunate event, instead of being a permanent misfortune,
as you were too apt to regard it. Let this circumstance,
or rather the lesson it inculcates, have an abiding-place in
your minds. Be faithful, confiding Christians, and leave
the rest to Him who knows all your wants and necessities
better than you know them yourselves. And when misfortunes
shall come—and come they will—still, oh, still
trust in God, and murmur not! If you be true and faithful,
of happiness in this life. And remember that the darkest
hours, in our worldly affairs, are often but the precursors
of brighter days. So I counsel you never to despair when
disasters seem to encompass you. We do not abide here
long, and we can take nothing with us. When we go
hence, we can have no use for any of the objects or enjoyments
of this world. We go to mansions provided for our
eternal abode, prepared by the great Creator for those who
obey him.” And so he passed away, without a struggle,
without a sigh, like an infant falling asleep.
For several days I wandered about the village and its
vicinity, visiting the haunts of my early days. But this visit
was one of sadness rather than of pleasure. The scenes
of my boyhood, it is true, had not changed; the same
trees, and brooks, and houses, were there—but the associations
were gone—my old playmates were scattered to
the winds, and new faces met me at every turn. I, too,
had changed. I was now a man, and found that the
things which had beguiled my youthful fancy (all except
one) could no longer interest my more mature mind. The
lawns, and groves, and fields—the village streets and
houses—seemed strangely diminutive and contracted when
contrasted with the expanded and illimitable views in the
far west, or the immense avenues and structures of the
far east. I had been roving in the great world, and could
no longer confine my attention to the old schoolboy limits.
Thus I sighed to find one of my cherished anticipations
forever dispelled. I had habitually indulged the fond day-dream
of being enabled, at some future time, to return to
this once lovely spot, in ample competence, and there to
spend in peace the remnant of my days. But the vision
was now gone. I felt that this place could never again
when far away, upon the happy days I had passed there,
would be the only enjoyment I should be able in the
future to derive from it.
Near the old school-house was the graveyard. I entered
it, and stood by the head-stone of my father. The
grave was sodded over, with here and there a modest
flower lifting its petals. And I thought of the inevitable
time when I, too, must repose in the bosom of the earth.
The time seemed near at hand when compared with eternity.
There was no exemption for any one. I ran over
in my mind the long list of nations whose history I had
read, and the catalogue of illustrious names, distinguished
for their wisdom and their acts, whether for good or evil;
and not one of them, however great or powerful he had
been on earth, had been able to avoid the narrow tomb.
All had perished. All must perish. But all must rise
again, to die no more, to dwell in bliss or misery. I
trembled while I gazed and meditated. I dwelt upon the
dying words of my father, whose crumbling remains reposed
beneath my feet, and made a solemn vow to remember
his counsels, and uttered a secret prayer that my end
might be as peaceful and calm as his. I turned away,
impressed with the conviction that those who are doomed
to wander through the world, would derive a benefit by an
occasional pilgrimage to the graves of their parents and
kindred. It would serve to demonstrate what is so often
lightly heard from the pulpit—the solemn fact that all our
schemes of ambition, all our labors for the attainment of
earthly enjoyments, must have a termination—and that we
should be more vitally interested in the affairs of the life
beyond the grave, where our condition is destined to be
unchangeable.
My sadness was measurably dispelled in the enjoyment
of the society of my mother, and brothers and sisters who
still lived in the vicinity. All of the family that were married
were doing well. My sisters' children were quite
numerous, while their parents by successful enterprise
and industry, were amply providing for their education
and support. None of the family were reprobates; if there
was to be a “black sheep” among us, he was not yet
developed. All were either religious, or strictly moral. My
brother Jacob, who had failed in business at Claysville, and
had been “sold out” by the sheriff about the time he brought
home his bride, had gone off with his wife, still cheerful in
misfortune, to one of the western cities, where he met with
business, and soon amassed sufficient capital to buy a good
stock of goods without going in debt. He had done this,
and returned to the village before time and distance had
destroyed his ideas of its beauty. He was now in the “full
tide of successful experiment,” rendered careful by his
reverses, and secure against a repetition of them. It was
not long before he too purchased his goods in Philadelphia,
where his credit, when he desired to use it, was well established.
At the end of a fortnight, I took my leave of my mother
and the family, and was soon again descending the bright
waters of the Ohio, on my way to St. Louis. I arrived at
that busy mart without accident, or incident worthy of relation,
just in time to see my goods brought thither by
another steamer. Again I saw Moses on the quay. He
was full of business, with a bill of lading in his hand. I
witnessed the disembarkation of his goods, which made
an enormous pile on the wharf. He had some fifty boxes
of dry-goods! I was truly alarmed to think that he should
take such a quantity of goods to Hanover, where I supposed
be disposed of at a profit. I also wondered how he became
possessed of money enough to pay for such a vast quantity
of merchandize.
“You seem to stare at my goots,” said he; “but never
mint, I von't pe in your vay. I have written to my bartner
in Jefferson city to hire me a pig house. I am going
to stob dere vith my goots. Hanover von't do for me yet
a vile, unless you go off. You von't let me undersell you,
and if I go dere I can't get all de gash. At Jefferson, de
old merchants, ven I undersell dem, still ask der old brices,
and vait for me to sell out. Dey sell on credit—I for gash.
Ven I get all te money, I go some blace else, and let dem
collect der debts if dey can. When money gets blenty I
vill go back again.”
This was the last of my personal acquaintance with
Moses. But I heard of him again; for he made quite a
noise in Missouri. He did get all the money in his neighborhood,
and truly he did undersell everybody. He sold
for cash, and for less than the cost of the goods in his invoices,
and yet he made more money than any other merchant
in that whole section of country. It turned out that the
goods he had paid for at one or two of the leading houses
in the east, enabled him to buy on credit from the others;
and, to use a very expressive western phrase, he had
“gone the whole figure,” and “picked them up” to the
tune of some thirty thousand dollars. Before the expiration
of six months Moses was “in bankruptcy,” and pretended
to be the most unfortunate and the most miserable
man alive. He said he had been defrauded by his clerks,
and cheated by the people, who paid him in bad money.
He had, besides, been robbed of several thousand dollars,
to say nothing of the immense amount of goods that had
how his door had been broken open, and exhibited to the
people his rifled and empty strong box. His creditors
seized what was left. His assets amounted to five thousand
dollars—his debts to thirty thousand. But the injury
he had wrought did not end here. He had completely
destroyed the business of the other merchants, who designed
to pay for their goods, but were rendered unable to
do so punctually.
My business at Hanover, like Joseph's at Pike Bluff,
went on flourishingly. Our profits this season were equal
to our hopes. The country around us was rapidly filling
up with German emigrants—industrious farmers, artisans
and manufacturers. Although their outward appearance
indicated extreme poverty, it was soon ascertained
that their old oaken chests contained an astonishing
amount of gold; and the coins of Europe soon began
to circulate more abundantly in Missouri than, perhaps, in
any other part of the Union. The trade with New Mexico
likewise brought us a large amount of dollars and doubloons;
and so there was no occasion for the use of shin-plasters.
This was the result of circumstances, none of
which had the politicians any hand in bringing about—
although they enjoyed the credit of giving us such a good
circulating medium. Subsequent experience has proved
that the depreciated shinplasters of other states could not
be kept out of circulation by all the wisdom of our rulers;
and since the banishment of the U. S. Bank notes, every
Missouri merchant has at times been under the necessity
of submitting to the extortionate discounts of brokers,
when converting the currency taken in his neighborhood
into paper that would be received in the east.
When the spring business was over, I took an account
I had hardly completed this business, and was congratulating
myself on my success, when a gentleman arrived from
Tennessee, and announced his purpose to embark in business
at Hanover. During a conversation with him, I remarked
that, as there was not more business transacted in Hanover
than one establishment could do, I would sell out to
him, provided he paid me cost and carriage for the goods on
hand, and would also purchase my house (which had been
enlarged and improved), and all the debts due me. To my
surprise he consented to do so, and proposed paying the
cash down. I consulted with Joseph, who advised me to
close with him. I did so, and, at the end of June, found
myself out of business. But all my debts were paid, and
I had a handsome sum left.
I did not for some time know exactly what course to
pursue next. I had remitted to the east sufficient money
to pay every debt there, and had resolved to go thither
myself with the remainder. This much was determined
upon. But still I hesitated, for some time, to fix upon another
location, and was in doubt whether Blanche would go
with me to Missouri, for I had positively concluded that
I would demand the hand of Blanche. That idea had
become fully developed at last. But I had some misgivings
about her uncle, who would probably still insist on
my fighting him, before consenting to the match. That I
would not fight a duel, was another matter determined in
my mind. I could see no necessity for it—not to think of
the personal risk attending such amusements. Blanche
was of age, and did not require the permission of any one
to get married; and so I resolved, she being willing, to
marry her without her uncle's consent, if that could only
be obtained through an exchange of bullets.
Finally, Joseph persuaded me to select a location for
where the country was filling up rapidly with emigrants,
and whither he intended removing himself at no
distant day. The places in which we had been operating
were now becoming too old for us. Competitors were
springing up thickly, and we had not sufficient “elbow-room.”
We wanted a whole region to ourselves, so that
we might control the trade for a vast extent around us.
I made out a memorandum for an entire stock of new
goods, and agreed to be the pioneer for Joseph in the
south-western portion of the state, provided Blanche threw
no obstacles in the way. Nevertheless, other considerations
sometimes induced me to think that it might not be at all
necessary for me to bury myself, and particularly Blanche,
in the wilds of the west, where there was but little society
like that to which she had been accustomed. Although
fate seemed to destine me to hopeless obscurity, yet I
could not help regarding a residence in the east, in one
of the cities of the old states, as the only means of obtaining
a realization of the comforts and pleasures of life,
the charming descriptions of which I had so often read
in romances. I had often heard that it would be a good
exchange to barter a whole lifetime in the west for a few
delicious years in the east. Such is the effect of the exaggerations
of fashionable novel writers, and the extravagant
tales of foolish travelers, who do not view a city
long enough for its novelty to wear off. I had accumulated
a considerable sum of money, by my own honest industry;
and then, if Blanche should consent to link her fortune
with mine, my capital would be considerably increased. I
did not know the extent of her fortune—but I knew that the
income which it yielded was sufficiently large to maintain
her. Her uncles were rich by inheritance, and she was the
management of her estate, while she was a minor, and as
they never embarked in speculation, a thing rather degrading
in their estimation, and were certainly honorable in all
their transactions, it might be inferred that Blanche had no
mean possessions for the one on whom she might confer
her hand. Then I was young enough to supply the omissions
in my early education, and might study a profession,
or simply live at ease on the proceeds of judicious investments
in real estate. These subjects filled my thoughts
often both by day and night. But still there was a charm
in the half-roving life of the western merchant, which I
could not think of abandoning without regret. Had I not
fallen in love with Blanche, or had I chosen a wife in the
far west, I felt that I could have spent all my days, as I
had been spending them, in perfect contentment. But it
was vain to speculate on what I might have done. So
far I had done very well, and it seemed that I was destined
to do better still, if I would only follow up my good
fortune.
It was in the balmy month of June, when they say maids
are fondest, and youths most attractive, that I took passage
on the steamer Ioway for St. Louis. The Ioway was commanded
by Captain Shalcross, one of the kindest, most
gentlemanly, and most accomplished masters on the river.
Capt. S. gave me bank notes for my gold. With this paper
I designed buying a draft from the bank, on the east, as it
was said to be drawing. The gold I could not conveniently
carry about my person, and did not like to leave it in my
trunk. Silver would have been better, being too unwieldy
for robbers to carry away. During the passage down,
I made an exact estimate of what I was worth, and found
the sum to be upwards of seven thousand dollars, besides
allowed me on the payments I had made before the bills
were due.
When we arrived at St. Louis, I immediately went to the
bank to purchase a draft; but so high a premium on eastern
exchange was demanded, that I resolved not to pay it.
So I demanded the specie for their notes which I held.
They paid me the money, all in half dollars, which I placed
in my large strong trunk, and had it taken down in a dray
to the boat on which I was to go to Pittsburgh.
The steamer in which I took passage was the Earthquake,
a famous craft for speed, but now somewhat old. Lying beside
her at the landing, was the Ark, a new and superb
vessel, which insisted on having the old price for passage,
while the former abated the terms to the extent of five dollars.
Travelers had not learned wisdom then—experience
had to teach it. The Earthquake, when new, had been
a “crack boat,” both for beauty and speed; and now its
fame survived its powers and its charms. Every two or
three years improvements were introduced in boat-building,
and every new brood of boats surpassed the last, both for
speed and accommodations. These facts did not occur to
me at the time, and so I followed the crowd that preferred
the Earthquake.
Both boats had up steam, and were advertised to start at
the same hour; and from the hurried movements of the
officers and crew about their bows, it seemed that they
really intended to verify the assertions of their masters.
The master of the Ark told us all that he intended to beat
the Earthquake to Pittsburgh—he thought he would get
there two days first. Some of our passengers who were
pressed for time, left us and went on board the Ark, being
willing to pay the extra five dollars for the sake of the
done, our master became very indignant. He said it was
a deliberate falsehood asserted by his rival—and that no
boat running from St. Louis to Pittsburgh had ever beaten
the Earthquake. The Ark should not do it; and he intended
to mortify the passengers who had left him, by convincing
them that they had been imposed on.
When the hour of ten o'clock A. M. arrived, true to his
pledge, the captain of the Earthquake shouted out to his
man standing by the huge iron ring on shore, to which the
cable was fastened, “Let go there!” He was obeyed, and
the next moment we were “backing out” from the thick
cluster of boats that surrounded us. Instead of going up
the river to make a display, as the Princess Victoria had
done, the Earthquake turned its nose down stream as soon
as it got clear of the other vessels, and “put out” on its
voyage under a full head of steam. The Ark, on the contrary,
as if it had been playing a game of artifice, instead
of following in our wake, suffered its pent up steam to escape,
which enveloped its chimneys in a huge white cloud,
and caused our captain to remark, “the Ark is wasting its
steam, which it will need before it gets to Pittsburgh. I
wonder what the — they got up steam for? If it was to
make the people believe he told the truth, and would go at
the time appointed, its escape now, which every one must
notice, for there is a — sight of it, will give the lie to
his pretensions. I wonder how the passengers who left us,
feel about this time?” This was spoken to a few of us
who stood beside him on the hurricane deck, near the
pilot's house. The pilot shook his head, with a meaning
that was not at first comprehended by us.
“You think he will come after us, then?” asked the
captain.
“I don't think anything else,” replied the pilot.
“But what makes you think so?” continued the captain,
still looking back, as we descended the current rapidly on
the Illinois side, and seeing no indication that the Ark intended
to pursue us.
“The captain of the Ark said he intended to beat us to
Pittsburgh. I know him. I have sailed with him. He
never lies.”
“But he has lied, not ten minutes ago, as you and everybody
knows. He said he would push out at ten o'clock,
and he hasn't moved yet,” said the captain, with an air of
triumph.
“He'll wipe it out before we get to Pittsburgh,” said the
pilot, giving the wheel a vigorous whirl, while the vessel,
answering to the helm, followed a turn of the current, and
sped along where the waters of the muddy Missouri and
the transparent Mississippi met, still seeming reluctant to
mingle, although they had coursed side by side upwards of
twenty miles. On our right, the water was of the color of
rich coffee, about one-third cream; on the left it was a sea
of crystal.
Onward we sped, and still no boat could be seen pushing
out behind us. At length, when we entered the turn below
the great bar, and were about to lose sight of the city, a
white cloud of steam could be perceived far up the river.
“There he comes!” said the pilot.
“No,” replied the captain; “that is the Sultana, going
to New Orleans. I know her by the length of her stroke,
and the intervals between the escape of her steam.”
“The Ark has a long stroke, and a big engine,” said
the pilot, smiling.
“That's the War Eagle,” said the barkeeper, who had
come up with a telescope. “She is from the upper Mississippi,
and was expected in this morning.”
“You know more about adulterated liquors and marked
cards, than the names of steamboats, at this distance,” retorted
the pilot; that functionary being indignant that any
one, even the master himself, should pretend to know more
about such matters than he did.
Just then, and before it could be ascertained whether
the boat in question was approaching or leaving the landing,
the bend in the river hid it from our view, and put an
end to the conjectures. The captain seemed in doubt, and
ill at ease. He was also vexed to find his principal officer
disposed to substantiate the predictions of his rival commander.
“Do you really think the Ark will beat us, Mr. Lucas?”
said he, in an under tone, which I could hear, as I happened
to be standing quite near the open window of the
pilot-house.
“I am sure of it,” replied the pilot. “The Ark is of the
same tonnage as the Earthquake, and has one more boiler,
and a more powerful engine. If they choose to push her
with a full head of steam, she must beat us; and hence I
don't see the use of trying to keep ahead of her.”
“But she is new, this being her second trip, and her
machinery is not smooth yet,” said the captain. “Besides,
they never like to push a new boat at first. They
must ascertain her full capacity by degrees—try her gradually
and safely—for there are sometimes flaws in new machinery
and new boilers, that won't stand rushing as well
as those of an old boat.”
“Sometimes that is the case, and sometimes it is not,”
continued the imperturbable Mr. Lucas, who did not now
for an instant remove his eyes from some guiding object
in the distance before him. “It is not the case with the
Ark. The pilot of her told me that they put her up to tip
Louisville, and for three hours they ran side by side, hip
and thigh, and she performed well, without a screw getting
loose. Still, I admit, her captain is a timid man; and
being part owner, he will not like to run any risk. But
from what her pilot told me, and from the time she made
coming from the mouth of the Ohio up to St. Louis, her
ordinary speed, under a moderate head of steam, is about
equal to ours when we `rush the kettles' to the utmost.
So if she were merely to keep up her usual fires, we would
have to be on a desperate strain all the time to keep pace
with her. But if they throw in a little rosin, they must
shoot ahead of us in spite of the d—l.”
“We can beat her one way,” persisted the captain;
“we can make fewer stops at the towns, and refuse to take
any way-freight. We can be more active at the wood
yards, and thus make up for her superiority in speed. I
want to beat her, Mr. Lucas. I desire that you will take
all near cuts. We are lighter than she is, and can go
where she durst not follow.”
After hearing this very edifying colloquy, I went down
below, and took a seat among the passengers on the boiler
deck. They, too, were discussing the chances of victory
and defeat. But the majority, presuming upon the fame
of the Earthquake, achieved in other days, seemed confident
that we should see nothing more of the Ark during
the voyage. I said nothing to check their flow of spirits,
but felt impressed with the conviction that they were destined
to be disappointed.
The bell rang for dinner, and we all went in. For
the first time I saw all the passengers collected at the
long well-furnished table. There were about sixty, one
half of whom were ladies. During the first five minutes
all strangers to each other, excepting a few parties of two
or three, being of the same families; and the first five
minutes were spent in gazing at one another. By the
expiration of the next five minutes, however, the scene
had changed, and a constant hum of voices had succeeded
to the silence. Each one had made the acquaintance of
his neighbor, (such being the interesting custom on the
western waters,) and inquiries and replies were heard
freely on all sides. This was succeeded by anecdotes
and laughter, and so the time passed off very agreeably,
as did the sumptuous repast.
After dinner, those of us who had none of the other
sex in charge, and those who had not been so particularly
interested in the conversation of any lady as to desire
to prolong it, resumed our seats on the boiler deck, and
regaling ourselves with cigars, chatted upon the miscellaneous
topics that occurred at the moment.
My thoughts relating chiefly to my own affairs, I was
more of a listener than a talker. But I felt peculiarly
invigorated with the fine dinner, and enlivened by the
flavor of my cigar. I looked at the receding banks with
a feeling of joy and independence, as we glided on our
way to the accomplishment of our various objects, and
especially to mine. I had my fortune in my trunk, and
the key of my state-room in my pocket. My health was
good; I was young; I was on my way to claim the hand
of her I loved; and bright skies, and brighter hopes,
seemed to beam propitiously on my pathway.
“You seem to be in a good humor,” remarked an old
gentleman who sat next to me, and who had, no doubt,
marked the expression of my features, and listened to the
cheerful tune I had been humming.
“Oh, yes,” said I, “I am in a good humor with myself,
and with all around me. But you don't seem to be
as gay as the rest of us,” I replied, observing his sharp
sneering cast of face.
“And what is more,” said he, “I am sure I never
would seem to be so, out here in the west, for I could
never feel contented among such a population—and I am
glad to be going homeward. Perhaps that's the cause
of your cheerfulness.”
“You are an eastern man, then?”
“Certainly I am,” said he; “I am certain you could
not take me to be any other. To tell you my mind freely,
I have not a high opinion of the western folks. I suppose,
from your appearance, that you do not live in any of the
new states—I mean, by the new states, Missouri and Illinois;
not Kentucky, Ohio, Indiana, or Tennessee.”
“You are mistaken,” said I, somewhat warmly; “I am
a western man, and live in Missouri; and I beg to differ
from you in the estimation you place upon the western
people. May I ask where you reside? I have told you the
place of my abode.”
“I live in New York,” said he.
By this time the subject of our conversation had attracted
the attention of the company; and I determined to
make an effort to vindicate the western character.
“Why, may I ask,” I continued, “do you hold the
western people in such low estimation?”
“Because of one thing,” said he; “they have not
schools enough; and, as a consequence, they must be deficient
in intelligence and all the comforts of good society.”
“But, sir,” said I, “that is a deficiency which will be
supplied, as the country grows older. Besides, the people
who now inhabit the new states were already educated before
which seem to monopolize your affections.”
“What kind of education had they?” he continued,
sneeringly, (he seemed to be a crabbed, ill-natured old
man;) “and what kind of people do you find going to
such a wilderness? Do you behold any of the polished
portion of the population of the eastern states coming out
here?”
“Yes,” said I, “I see you here. The object which
brought you here may bring others.” This produced a
laugh at the expense of the old gentleman, which irritated
him considerably.
“No doubt a good many do come out on the same
errand that brought me. But, like me, they go back again,
disgusted with the profanity, dissipation, rudeness, and
ignorance they behold.”
This was a pretty rough rejoinder; but instead of being
laughed at, it was heard with manifest displeasure by a
majority of the listeners.
“Every one does not see with your eyes, neighbor
Snapup,” interposed a gentleman at his side. “I am
from the east, too, and my business has called me to the
far west more than once. I must confess that the people appear
to me to be as shrewd, upright, and kind, as the mixed
population of the cities; and generally they are far more
contented. Gentlemen, Mr. Snapup, as you may have
heard, is the head of one of our largest importing houses,
and sometimes sustains heavy losses in the west. He
thinks he is privileged to enjoy his revenge in abusing the
country, because some of the people have been too keen
for him in business transactions.”
“Business transactions!” replied Mr. S., contemptuously.
merchants, as they call themselves.”
“Pardon me for one moment,” said I; “I do not desire
to deprecate your wrath against the merchants; I merely
wish to show these good people, none of whom are merchants—for
this is not the season, as you are aware, when
they go east—that I am not ashamed to acknowledge my
occupation or my abode. I am a western merchant—a
Missouri merchant.”
“There may be exceptions in every class,” continued
Mr. Snapup; “and I do not assert that you are not such
an exception, not knowing you one way or the other; but
I mean to say, that not one in a hundred of the so-called
western merchants know anything of the first principles of
business. They do not know the value of anything they
deal in; but merely regulate the price to be demanded for
an article by its cost.”
“Admitting that they are not regularly educated in the
business,” said I, “like the city merchants, still I cannot
perceive a better or safer guide by which to be governed
than the one you have named. If they give one dollar for
an article and sell it for two, I do not see the indispensable
necessity of their being acquainted with the intrinsic value
of the goods sold.”
“You don't, eh? Then I do. They have to cope with
us, when they come to buy their goods. They are in our
power, and we can cheat their eyes out of them. Don't
talk to me about the shrewdness of western merchants.
The eastern men can beat them at any kind of a bargain.”
“When we are not familiar with the value of an article,”
said I, “we rely upon the word and honor of the man we
buy of. Surely you don't mean to throw out the inference,
that cheating and making false representations form a part
taken as specimens of your eastern refinement and manners.
If so, the more you condemn us, the better we will
be pleased with ourselves.” Here he was again irritated
by the laughter that ensued.
“No, sir!” cried he, “I do not mean that you shall draw
any such inference. My words do not warrant it. I said
we could take advantage of your ignorance—not that we
would do it, or had done it. But it is different with you.
If you possessed the same advantage, you would use it.
But you do not possess anything of the kind, sir; you never
cheat us, with all your shrewdness. I never knew an instance
of it.”
I strove to check the angry feelings which his very offen
sive and personal remarks were well calculated to produce.
I suspected that his wealth and age had habituated him to
the exercise of such license in his unscrupulous denunciations.
And it struck me that perhaps he had recently sustained
some heavy losses, which might naturally have caused
his ill-humor—but which, if I could elicit the fact, would
contradict the assertion that the western merchant was
never able to make the best bargain. So I asked him
if he had any fault to find with his Missouri customers.
“Fault to find? I can find nothing else, to use one of
their own vulgar expressions,” said he, actually red with
indignation, “when I ought to find some thirty thousand
dollars.”
“How so?” I inquired.
“I'll tell you, sir. One of your men of St. Louis failed
in business two years ago, owing me twenty thousand dollars.
I was the first to be informed of the failure. I hurried
out here, and soon found it was a desperate case. He
had been speculating in lands, and hiring tenants to improve
had ten thousand acres up the Missouri river, divided into
twenty farms of five hundred acres each. On these he had
rude houses erected, and fields enclosed, which cost him a
deal of money. In short, when I arrived, his assets consisted
mostly of theses investments. They had cost him
first and last, full twenty thousand dollars. But he said
lands were increasing in value, and his would bring five
dollars per acre at the end of two years. All the people
told me the same thing; I didn't weigh his word a feather.
That would be fifty thousand dollars at the end of two
years. I demanded the documents. He exhibited the
patents, all right, so that there could be no dispute about
the title. He then proposed to settle with me, and asked
what proportion of the lands would satisfy me. I told him
I wanted them all. I looked at the chart, and saw that
they lay along the river. They were situated well, and I
wanted to have the benefit of the rise. So I compounded
with him by paying him ten thousand dollars in cash, besides
giving up his notes, and took all the farms.
“The next one I had large dealings with, was a peaked
nosed fellow, who, instead of giving his references in the
usual manner, boldly pointed to his boxes before the doors
of several of our leading merchants, and showed invoices
of his purchases in Philadelphia. He was too bold, we
thought, and too indifferent about buying, to be irresponsible.
So we sold him ten thousand dollars' worth of goods on six
months' time, it being understood that he was not to have
any longer indulgence. Well, six months have not elapsed,
and yet I am too late. The rascal swindled me. He sacrificed
the goods to obtain cash for them, which he now
holds in his pocket, and coolly intimates that he hopes I
may get it! Have I no fault to find?”
“Was his name Moses?” asked I.
“You know him, then!” he continued. “Yes, it was
Mr. Moses Tubal, sir, at your service. I find he is an acquaintance
of yours.”
“He is a wandering Jew, sir, and has been my rival
and antagonist in business. But, sir, he never got the advantage
of me, as he did, confessedly, of you. Did you
not say the western men never were known to be shrewd
enough to get the advantage of you?”
“Yes! yes! he did!” exclaimed a half dozen voices,
mingled with laughter. This was more than Mr. Snapup
could endure. He clenched his fists, foamed at the mouth,
and springing up from his chair, walked backwards and
forwards rapidly, for several minutes.
“But you have not told us the sequel of the other transaction;
perhaps you had no fault to find with it?” said I,
when he became a little composed. This threw him into
greater excitement than ever.
“Fault to find! I tell you I found nothing else! When
I left the Jew, I went straight to look after my farms. Sir,
this spring's flood has washed away every acre of them!”
“Then you had the benefit of the rise,” said I. But he
did not hear me. He rushed into the state room and
locked himself up.
| CHAPTER IX. The western merchant | |