CHAPTER II.
"Do you know that gentleman, Phil?" asked Mr. Lamar, when Waterford had gone.
"Yes, sir; I know him, and he knows me as well as I know him," I replied, cheerfully.
"He has some land to sell in the vicinity of Chicago."
"He! He don't own a foot of land on the face of the earth."
"Perhaps he don't own it himself, but is authorized to sell it."
"That may be. Where is the land, sir?"
"In Bloomvale, I think. By the way, he is connected with the former partner of your uncle, Mr. Richard Collingsby."
"So much the worse for him."
"I am thinking of buying this land."
"Don't think of it any more, Mr. Lamar."
"But he offers to sell it to me for half its value, for he is going to leave the country—"
"For his country's good," I suggested.
"That may be; but he wants the money."
I inquired into the matter a little more closely, and found the land was that which had ruined Mr. Charles Whippleton, and which he had deeded to Mr. Collingsby in settlement for the deficiencies in his accounts. It was a fraud on the face of it, and I explained the matter to Mr. Lamar so far as I understood it; but I could not see myself in what manner Waterford expected to convey the property, since he had already deeded it to Whippleton. The two speculators had owned the land together, but Waterford had conveyed his share to Whippleton, who was to pay ten thousand dollars from his ill-gotten gains for the deed, when they ran away together. I had prevented them from running away together, and Mr. Whippleton from running away at all; consequently, the ten thousand dollars had never been paid, though the deed had been duly signed and recorded. The property had since been mortgaged to Mr. Collingsby, who held it at the present time.
It appeared that Waterford had given the deed, but had not received the payment. He was sore on the point, and claimed that the deed for his share of the land was null and void, and that he had a right to sell it again. He had borrowed the money to enable him to purchase it, and the debts thus contracted had caused his failure. But I do not propose to follow Waterford in his land speculations, and I need only say that he was engaged in an attempt to swindle my friend. My statement opened the eyes of Mr. Lamar, and he investigated the matter. Once more I was a stumbling-block in the path of Ben Waterford.
On the day the steamer in which I had engaged my passage to Pittsburg was to sail, I called upon Mr. Lamar again; for I was curious to know the result of the business. Waterford had been to see him again, and the negotiation had been summarily closed. I was thankful for the opportunity of saving one of my friends from loss; for Waterford was a very plausible man, and had grown reckless by misfortune. I had no doubt Mr. Whippleton, who was now in business in Cincinnati, was concerned in the affair.
I bade adieu to all my friends in St. Louis. Mrs. Greenough cried heartily when I took leave of her, and declared that she never expected to see me again, I was going away so many thousand miles. My father went with me to the steamer, and gave me much good advice, which I gratefully treasured up. I found my state-room, and having placed my trunk in it, I spent my last hour in St. Louis in talking with my father. I hoped to bring my mother there in a few months. With a hearty shake of the hand we parted, when the steamer backed out from the levee.
I went to my room then, for I wanted to be alone. I was going away on a long journey, and upon my mission seemed to hang all the joys of life. I prayed to God for strength to be true to the principles in which I had been so faithfully instructed, and that our little family might soon be reunited, after a separation of about sixteen years. I thought of the past, and recalled all the friends who had been kind to me. The Gracewoods were uppermost in my thoughts; for they were among the first who had loved me. To Mr. Gracewood I owed my education, and he had taken pains to give me high principles, upon which to found my life-structure. Ella Gracewood, whom I had saved from the Indians, was an angel in my thoughts. She was beautiful to look upon, though it was four years since I had seen her. She was seventeen now, and my imagination was active in picturing her as she had become during this long absence.
Ella Gracewood was something more than a dream to me; she was a reality. I had the pleasant satisfaction of knowing that she had not forgotten me; for I had received an occasional letter from her, in which she reviewed the stirring scenes of the past, and spoke hopefully of meeting me again at no distant period in the future. I took from my pocket a letter which had come to me from her father only a few days before, and which had given direction, in part, to my thoughts at the present time. The family had passed the winter in Rome, and intended to sail for home about the last of April. Mr. Gracewood had a friend who was in command of a ship which was to sail for New York at this time from Messina, and he had decided to come with him. The ship was the Bayard, Captain Allyn.
I expected to reach Nice by the middle of April, and after I had found my mother, I intended to go to Rome, where I should arrive before the Gracewoods departed for home. The prospect was very pleasant and very satisfactory. I pictured to myself the joy of meeting Ella in that far-off land, and of wandering with her among the glorious relics of the past, and the grand creations of the present. I was sorry to leave my father, but I was very happy in what the future seemed to have in store for me.
From these reflections I passed to more practical ones. I opened my trunk, and looked over its contents, in order to satisfy myself that I had forgotten nothing. I had with me all the letters which Ella had ever written to me, and I had read each of them at least a score of times, weighing and measuring every sentence, the better to assure myself that she had a sincere and true regard for me. I wondered whether she read my letters with the same degree of interest. I could hardly persuade myself that she did. I found myself troubled with a kind of vague suspicion that her regard was nothing more than simple gratitude because I had rescued her from the hands of the Indians. However, I could only hope that this sentiment had begotten a more satisfactory one in her heart.
From these lofty thoughts and aspirations my mind descended to those as material as earth itself—to the yellow dross for which men sell soul and body, of which I had an abundant supply in my trunk. I had fifteen hundred dollars in gold, with which I intended to purchase a letter of credit in New York, to defray my expenses in Europe. Being a young man of eighteen, I was not willing to rest my hopes upon drafts and inland bills of exchange, or anything which was a mere valueless piece of paper. I left nothing to contingencies, and determined to give no one an opportunity to dispute a signature, or to wonder how a boy of my age came by a draft for so large a sum. Gold is substantial, and does not entail any doubts. If the coin was genuine, there was no room for a peradventure or a dispute. In spite of the risk of its transportation, I felt safer with the yellow dross in my trunk than I should with a draft in my pocket.
I had fifteen hundred dollars in gold in a bag, deposited beneath my clothing. I counted it over, to see that it was all right. I had also the relics of my childhood in my trunk, for I expected to see my mother, and I wanted the evidence to convince her that I was what I claimed to be, if the sight of my face did not convince her. Besides my gold, I had about a hundred dollars in cash in my pocket, to pay my expenses before I sailed from New York. I felt that I was provided with everything which could be required to accomplish my great mission in Europe.
Fortunately I had a state-room all to myself, so that I had no concern about the treasure in my trunk. I remained in my room the greater part of the time; for from the open door I could see the scenery on the banks of the river. I assured myself every day that my valuables were safe, and I believe I read Ella's letters every time I opened the trunk. The steamer went along very pleasantly, and in due time arrived at Cincinnati. As she was to remain here several hours, I took a walk through some of the principal streets, and saw the notables of the city. When I went on board again, I bought a newspaper. The first thing that attracted my attention in the news columns was the announcement of a heavy forgery in the name of Lamar & Co. Two banks where the firm did their business had each paid a check, one of six and the other of four thousand dollars. No clew to the forger had been obtained. This was all the information the paper contained in regard to the matter; but as the banks, and not my friend Mr. Lamar, would be the losers, I did not think any more of the subject.
Before the boat started, I assured myself that my trunk had not been robbed in my absence. The bag was safe. At Cincinnati many of the passengers from St. Louis had left the boat, and many new faces appeared. I looked around to see if I knew any one on board. I did not find any one, though, as I walked along the gallery near my room, I saw a gentleman who had a familiar look; but I did not obtain a fair glance at his face. I thought it was Mr. Ben Waterford; but he had no beard, while my Chicago friend had worn a pair of heavy whiskers. I kept a sharp lookout for this individual during the rest of the day, but, strange as it may seem, I did not see him again.
Mr. Ben Waterford had no reason for avoiding me, and if he had he was too brazen to do anything of the kind. I concluded that I had been mistaken; for I could not find him at the table, in the cabin, or on the boiler deck. When I had seen the gentleman whom I supposed to be Mr. Ben Waterford, he was on the point of entering a state-room adjoining my own. I went to the clerk, and found against the number of the room the name of "A. McGregor;" and he was the only person in the room. I heard the creak of his berth when he got into it that night, and I heard his footsteps in the morning. In the course of the next day I inquired about Mr. A. McGregor, but no one knew him.
I watched the door of the room, but no one came out or went in. I only wanted to know whether Mr. A. McGregor was Mr. Ben Waterford with his whiskers shaved off; but that gentleman failed to gratify my reasonable curiosity, though I worked myself up to a very high pitch of excitement over the subject. I was determined to see his face again, if possible, and very likely I might have succeeded under ordinary circumstances; but a startling catastrophe intervened to disappoint me.
On the day after we left Cincinnati, towards evening, I was sitting on the gallery, when, without any warning whatever, I heard a tremendous crash, and felt the steamer breaking in pieces beneath me. I had seen a boat coming down the river a moment before, and I quickly concluded that the two steamers had run into each other.
I realized that the steamer was settling under me. Ladies were shrieking, and even some gentlemen were doing the same thing. I rushed into my state-room, intent upon saving my gold and my relics. I had taken out the key of my trunk, when I heard the door of the adjoining room open. I glanced towards the gallery, and saw Mr. A. McGregor flash past the door. He looked like Mr. Ben Waterford; but I was not confident it was he. Before I could use my key, the disabled steamer rolled over on one side, and the water rose into the gallery, and even entered my state-room.