University of Virginia Library

14. CHAPTER XIV.

After dinner, when Mrs. Davidson and her mother
had retired, and Mr. Murray had gone to indulge
in a nap, while Ralph and Mr. Davidson were taking
wine together; the latter said, with the frankness of
a true southerner:

“Mr. Beckford, you will excuse me, sir, if with
the impulse of the south, I say to you that, as I adopt
all my lady's partialities, I am anxious to show you
I am your friend. Mrs. Davidson has informed me
of the situation of your aunt, of her son's character,
and of your desire to assist her, as you feel indebted
to her, and your deceased uncle. She has also told
me, that you have certain thoughts that tend westward,”
here Ralph blushed; “you will possess property
I am told, sir, when you arrive at age, which
will be in a few months, and you must suffer me to
make you any advance you wish, until that time.”

Ralph hesitated a moment, was on the eve of politely
rejecting the loan, but he thought of his aunt,
and said, while mingling emotions almost choked
his utterance:

“Mr. Davidson, I thank you, I shall feel deeply
indebted to you for the loan.”

“No indebtedness whatever, Mr. Beckford,” replied
Mr. Davidson, “I have the money idle in the

south-west; I have enough without its use, it is entirely
at your service. It will be some five or six
weeks before I can obtain all of it, however; I must
write home first. You must come to the south-west,
Mr. Beckford; it is the place for young men. Mrs.
Davidson and myself will stop some time at Perryville,
which,” continued Mr. Davidson with a smile,
“I am told has some attractions for you; it is too
early yet for us to go south, we shall spend the time
there with my friend Mr. Bennington, and my lady
is very desirous of being near her friend, Miss Lorman.
In the interval, you can arrange your business
here, and come to Perryville, and we'll all go to
the south-west together. Mrs. Davidson means to
persuade Miss Lorman to spend the winter with us.
So I offer you great inducements.”

“I feel them, sir,” replied Ralph, “and to show
you that I do, I think I may say, that your kind invitation
will be accepted.”

Here a servant entered, and told Mr. Davidson
that there was a gentleman in the next room who
wished to speak with him.

“Who is he?” asked Mr. Davidson.

“I don't know indeed, sir!” was the reply, “he is
a very tall gentleman, and he says he must see you.
He told me to tell you that his name was Blazeaway.”

“Ah! my old friend Staylor—an original, Mr.
Beckford—show the gentleman in, John.”

John retired, and in a few moments ushered in

our former acquaintance at Perryville, but the outer
man was much improved. He had thrown aside
his old suit of Kentucky jeans, and appeared in a
blue broadcloth suit from top to toe, which was
made of the best materials, though certainly not put
on with a strict regard to the fashion, though it was
made fashionably. His vest was buttoned awry,
and though a black silk neckcloth enveloped his
neck, it was adjusted very carelessly. Instead of
the dray-pin, that stuck from his coat pocket at Perryville,
he carried in his hand a stout cane, which
was handsomely ornamented, and for which he must
have paid a goodly price.

“Ah, my friend Staylor,” exclaimed Mr. Davidson,
as Staylor entered the room, “I am rejoiced to
see you.”

“And indeed I am rejoiced to see you, Mr. Davidson,”
replied Staylor, advancing quickly and
grasping the proffered hand of Davidson, “and I
give you joy. They tell me you are a-going to take
a madam down to the south-west.”

“Yes, Staylor, I believe so—take a seat. Mr.
Staylor, let me make you acquainted with Mr. Beckford.”

“Happy of your acquaintance, Mr. Beckford,”
exclaimed Staylor, grasping Ralph firmly by the
hand, “and I could not say that to one of your name
that I met in Perryville.”

“Ah, who was that?” asked Ralph, with the conviction
that his cousin was meant.

“A chap of not much account,” replied Staylor,
“not worth talking about, in fact, Mr. Beckford,
though he is a namesake of yours. Mr. Davidson,
I hope the madam is well.”

“Quite well,” replied Mr. Davidson, “come,
Staylor, I must introduce you to Mrs. Davidson,”
and the speaker led the way to the withdrawing-room,
and made the introduction. Mrs. Davidson
had often heard her husband speak of Staylor, and
she felt pleased to see him. Entertained by the originality
and manliness of his character, she held a
long conversation with him, which not a little delighted
him, during which Ralph rose and took his
leave.

Bitterly Ralph regretted that he could not accompany
Helen and her husband to the west, but he experienced
a gratification in knowing Helen and Ruth
would be together, that somewhat softened the pang,
for he felt assured he would be not the less remembered.

Helen was much impressed with the society of the
west, as she saw it in Cincinnati and Louisville, in
each of which cities she staid several days. A high
and haughty beauty, and the belle of one of our
largest and wealthiest Atlantic cities, she was not
prepared to meet her equals, if not superiors in attraction,
in the west; of which, like many others of
the east, she had received, she knew not why, impressions
of its inferiority.

Showed every attention by the intelligence, fashion

and beauty of the rival cities of the west, she left
them on her way to Perryville, where she arrived
safe, making the frank confession that she had never
beheld lovelier or more accomplished women, or
nobler or more courteous men.

We will not stop to dwell upon the meeting between
Ruth and Helen, but return to Ralph. After
several weeks spent in almost constant attendance
on his aunt, who had been compelled immediately
on the death of her husband to quit her splendid
mansion, discharge her servants, and take private
and humble lodgings, Ralph received the promised
loan from Mr. Davidson, in a letter postmarked
Perryville, and he instantly contributed all his means
would allow to render Mrs. Beckford comfortable.
She talked to her nephew perpetually of Henry, and
informed him that she had heard but once from her
son since the death of her husband, when he sent her
a small remittance, and said he would return home
by the way of New Orleans.

Mr. Davidson, in his letter to Ralph, painted in
glowing terms the happiness of the friends at Perryville,
and pressed Ralph warmly to join them, and
visit the south-west, whither he informed him Ruth
would accompany his lady. He told Ralph that as
there was now no obstacle in his way, his lady-love
would consider him a recreant from his faith if he
came not. Helen added a postscript, enjoining him
to come, and asserting that Ruth fully expected him.
The post after the reception of Mr. Davidson's letter,

Ralph received one from Ruth, expressing her happiness
at meeting with Helen, and delicately hinting
that they wanted but the presence of another to
make their happiness complete. Ralph was left to
guess who that other was, but he was not slow in
coming to the conclusion. Ralph determined instantly
to follow them—what lover would not?—and
every moment seemed an age to him, until he put
the determination into execution.

Fearful that if he informed his father of his resolution,
he would throw some obstacle in his way,
Ralph thought it best to write to him on the subject
on the eve of his departure, without having an interview
with him. He accordingly did so, and four
days therefrom he was on the Ohio River, not content
even with the swiftness with which the genius
of Fulton has contrived to bear the traveller on his
way. There was some reason for this, with which
the genius of Fulton had nothing to do. The captain
of the steamer had advertised to depart from
Wheeling at five o'clock on the afternoon of Ralph's
arrival in that place. Ralph, therefore, hurried on
board, expecting to be off at the hour, but he was
kept there until ten o'clock the following morning.
Punctuality Ralph soon discovered to be a virtue
not much practised by western steamboat-men. He
roamed about the boat, in vain endeavouring to dispel
a tendency to low spirits, by listening to the
slang of the crew below, and in conversing with
those around him.

“I have no particular reason for having the blues,”
thought Ralph to himself; “and, if I had, perhaps I
could call up the energies of my spirit to dispel
them. These sombre, weird spirits that throng upon
us from the vasty deep of feeling and memory are,
it seems to me, of that wayward nature, that, as we
never call them, they, with malice aforethought,
come upon us when we have no particular reason
to expect them—seeming content to leave us, when
we have real troubles, to those troubles' torments—
being satisfied if we are dissatisfied, and never satisfied
when we are not. How we try to be amused
on such occasions, and to be pleased; `but pleasure,'
says Ninon De Enclos, `must come extempore.' In
trying to dispel a sombre image from the mind we
make it, as it were, a reality—an image of stone—
and this accounts for the phrase `heaviness of heart.”'

Ralph was struck with the difference in the construction
of the eastern and western boats. The
eastern boats have their cabins below the deck,
while the western ones have theirs above deck, and
look somewhat like a house afloat upon the water
with a kind of piazza, called the guards, around it.
On the guards, which are protected by a railing, it
is the custom of the travellers to walk or smoke,
instead of on the top of the boat, as is the eastern
custom. The top of the western boats covers in the
cabin, like the roof of a house, and is called the hurricane
deck. It has no railing round it, but nevertheless
passengers frequently promenade there.

The boat had been under way for several hours.
It was in the afternoon, verging towards night, and
Ralph sat upon the guards, unconsciously watching
the rippling waters, when his attention was attracted
by a person on shore waving a handkerchief at the
end of a stick. In a moment more the speed of the
boat was slackened, and the person who waved the
handkerchief leaped into a canoe, accompanied by
a negro, who seized the paddles and made towards
the steamboat. The negro did not appear well
skilled in the art of propelling the canoe; for he
had scarcely made half a dozen strokes with the
paddle, when the white man beside him took it
from his hands and commenced paddling it himself,
which he did with astonishing speed. In a
few moments he stood on the deck of the steamer.
Throwing a dollar in the canoe to the negro, the
white man gave its bow a shove with his foot with
such violence as to overthrow the negro, who tumbled
into the water.

“Can you swim, Pomp?” exclaimed the stranger.
“Not a stroke!” he continued, as he observed the
negro sink. “Stop steamer!” he cried, throwing
his stick on the deck. He was in the act of leaping
in, when the negro rose to the top of the water, and
adroitly seizing the side of the canoe, succeeded in
getting into it.

“Ha! ha! ha!” roared the stranger, “why, you
black fool, can't you keep balance?”—throwing more
silver to him—“there's something more for a dram.”

“Good by, Master Staylor!” shouted the negro,
catching a paddle from the bottom of the canoe, as
the one he had floated off.

“Good by, Pomp!” returned Staylor, for it was
that individual, “take care of yourself, old boy, and
thank God you're a nigger, for the devil can't burn
you any blacker than you are.”

As soon as Ralph caught the eye of Staylor he
knew him, notwithstanding his change of dress, for
he appeared in the suit of Kentucky jeans, in which
we first introduced him to our readers, and, instead
of the cane which Ralph had seen in his possession
at Mr. Davidson's, he stooped to the deck of the
steamboat and picked up the identical dray-pin which
he carried in his pocket at Perryville. Ascending
the steps from the lower to the boiler deck,
Staylor caught Ralph, who stood there, by the hand,
with the gripe of a Hercules, exclaiming—

“Mr. Beckford, I am glad to see you; you are
welcome to the west. Hurra for the Ohio! I love her
like a mother. I suppose you didn't know me at first
sight. The fact is, Mr. Beckford, give me, in spite of
your dandies, old clothes and old friends—they set
easy—we are used to them. That suit you saw me
wear, as I never will have but one with me I gave
my brother. He is pretty much my size, but not so
active a man as I am. So I made him a present of
it for taking care of this one, with my dray-pin,
while I was away. I wore it, because”—Staylor was
interrupted by the cabin boy, a little black fellow,

who seemed a greenhorn, for he pulled Staylor by
the coat, and told him he must go below, meaning
among the deck passengers, evidently supposing that
Staylor, from his dress, had not taken a cabin passage.

“There,” exclaimed Staylor, laughing, “You can
see why I wore a better dress when you saw me. I
had got among a race who judge people, like this
nigger, by appearances. That little rascal,” pointing
towards the boy, “would be worth five hundred
dollars where I came from. I be d—d if I haven't a
scheme in my head, that is as good as any that Clay,
Calhoun, or Webster ever originated.”

“What is that,” asked Ralph.

“Why, to get Pennsylvany to sell all her free
niggers to the south, and to put the proceeds to internal
improvements. Well, as that little black imp
thinks I ought to be among the deck passengers, I
will just go below and look at them.”

So saying, Staylor left Ralph, and descending the
steps proceeded aft. Ralph entered the cabin, and
found the boat had a great number of passengers of
as motley character as could well be described. There
were several dandies among them, lawyers, doctors,
merchants, and merchants' clerks going west, some of
the latter as collectors of debts for their employers.
There sat a solemn looking man reading a Bible, presented
to the steamboat, by the Young Men's Bible
Society—there an individual looking over his accounts—before
the glass stood a fop, cultivating the

growth of his whiskers, and around the table a group
were seated playing cards. Others were laying listlessly
in their berths, or trying to amuse themselves
by looking through the windows at the scene, which,
from the progress of the boat, was changing continually.

While Ralph was engaged in observing his fellow
passengers, Staylor re-entered the cabin, and taking
off his hat near the door, said in a loud voice, address-the
company:

“Strangers, I tell you what it is—just listen to me
a moment—there's an old lady down below among
those deck people, who is old enough, and genteel
enough to be the mother of any man in this cabin.
She has a son away down the river, below the mouth,
and word has come to her that he is very sick. The
old lady has raked and scraped all she had in the
world to go to him, and there she is below, not able
to pay her passage in the cabin. The fact is, strangers,
we must raise a collection for her, there's no
mistake in it. If there's any man here that can't afford
to take from his family, why he has a good excuse,
but every other man must give. I go in this
much,” and Staylor took two dollars from his pocket,
held them up to the eye of all, and then dropping them
in his hat, he proceeded to hand it round. “Strangers,”
he continued, “I once heard a preacher, down
the river, preach a charity sermon, and when they
came to take up the collection, as he saw none but
coppers falling into the hat, he told the man that carried
it to hand it to him, and he himself would hand

it round. So he did, and when a generous chap put
in a bank note, the old fellow called out thankfully,
`thank God for bank notes.' This is as good a cause
as that, strangers, remember the widow and the orphan,
the sick and the needy. A good many of you
are from home; suppose you are taken sick, wouldn't
you like your mother, or your wife to come to you?
Do as you would be done by—so shell out.”

Staylor's impressive manner and appearance, together
with his oddity, had the desired effect, and
every one to whom he handed his hat, gave liberally.
When Staylor reached the man with the Bible, who
had a clerical look, he said:

“Ah! now we shall get something! If ten good
men could save a city, one good man can save a
steamboat: so there's no danger from boilers bursting;”
and he held his hat to the person, who hesitated,
and at last said he would not give any thing.

Staylor scrutinized his dress, which was of the
finest stuff, and asked—

“Stranger, can't you spare it?”

“Yes, I can spare it,” replied the person addressed,
“and would, but I don't know that the
woman is a worthy object.”

“Then, stranger, come below with me and see
for yourself.”

“I cannot now,” replied the stranger, casting his
eye on the Bible, as if he did not wish to be interrupted,
“I am engaged.”

“Stranger, do you preach the gospel?” inquired
Staylor.

“Yes, I have preached, and do preach.”

“You do, hey; well, if that's a Bible you have in
your hand, I suppose you haven't come to the place
yet concerning the good Samaritan and the High
Priest. Read on. Come, strangers, shell out. Staylor
went the rounds of the boat, and raised a considerable
sum of money, with which he paid the captain
for a cabin passage for the old lady—making
him take much less than the usual charge: for Staylor
remarked to him that he must give in that way.
After the old lady's passage was paid there were
fifteen dollars over, which Staylor counted out on
the table, and said—

“Strangers, if you say so, we'll give this overplus
to the old lady.”

“Agreed! agreed!” they all called out; and Staylor
went below—assisted the old lady, who was a
very respectable looking woman, through the gentlemen's
cabin into the ladies' apartment, and coming
out he said—

“Come, one of you, in with me, till I give her the
money—that you may know all's right. It might
have hurt her feelings to give it to her here before
every body.”

When supper was placed on the table, Staylor
conducted the old lady from the ladies' cabin, and,
handing her a seat at the table, he took one below
her, among the gentleman, nearly opposite to the

individual who called himself a preacher. As soon
as the bell rang, Staylor, sans cérémonie, thrust his
fork into a cold roast pig and began to carve it.
The preacher looked at him sternly, and, stretching
out his hands over the table, said, “Wait till I ask a
blessing.”

Staylor laid down his knife and fork, folded his
arms deliberately, and eyed the preacher from head
to foot with a look of such withering scorn and contempt
that he arrested the attention of all at table,
while the preacher sank and quailed beneath it.
“Stranger,” at last said Staylor, in a tone correspondent
with his look, “you need give yourself no
trouble, for, by God, your soul's of no account!”

The man could not stand the rebuke: he took a
seat impulsively; called for tea and coffee in the
same breath—glanced round the table, and hastily
rising from his chair, left the cabin.

When the supper was over, Staylor followed Ralph
out on to the guards, and said—

“Mr. Beckford, I know all about that preaching
chap, though he don't know me. I have as much
respect for the cloth, sir, as any other man; it's such
rascals as he that brings disgrace on it. He was once
a lawyer—and couldn't get on at it; he then turned
merchant—failed with pocket full and paid nobody;
got cheated by a keener rogue than himself—and
turned preacher, to live by the Bible, but not according
to it.”