CHAPTER III.
By the time I was ready to open my trunk, the steamer had settled upon the bottom of the river, which was not very deep at this point. Finding the boat was going down no farther, I dragged my trunk up into the cabin. I do not believe in making a fuss when there is no occasion for a fuss. My property was safe, and so far as I was able to judge, my fellow-passengers were equally fortunate. A few of the ladies insisted upon screaming, even after the danger was past; but it is their prerogative to scream, and no one had a right to object.
I did not object, and I believe everybody else was equally reasonable. I heard a burly gentleman swearing at the pilot for the collision in broad daylight, without a fog or even a mist to excuse him. I do not know whose fault it was, and not being an accident commissioner, I did not investigate the circumstances attending the collision. I only know that no lives were lost, though a great deal of heavy freight on the main deck and in the hold was badly damaged. The crew, and a few of the passengers who happened to be below, were subjected to a cold bath; but I have not heard that any one took cold on account of it.
After a few minutes, some of the gentlemen seemed to consider the calamity a rather pleasant variation of the monotony of the trip, and not a few of the ladies to regard themselves as the heroines of a disaster. The floor of the saloon was still dry and comfortable, though it had an inclination of about thirty degrees from its proper horizontal position, and therefore was not comfortable for ladies to walk upon.
The steamer which had caused the mischief had not been disabled. She had run her solid bow into the quarter of the other, and stove in the side of the hull. She ran alongside the wreck, and the passengers were able to step on board of her without wetting a foot, or even crossing a plank. I took my trunk on my shoulder, and effected a safe retreat, inspired by the same wisdom which induces all rats to desert a sinking ship, and especially one already sunk. Myself, my trunk, and my treasure were safe. I was happy in the result, and doubly so because all my fellow-passengers were equally fortunate. I am sure, if a single life had been sacrificed, I should not have been happy. As it was, I was disposed to be jolly.
I put my trunk in a safe place in the cabin of the steamer which had made the mischief, and turned my attention to the people and the events around me. I found a lone woman, who insisted upon being very much distressed, when there was not the least occasion for any such display of feminine weakness. She had saved herself, but had not saved her baggage, which the deck hands were transferring from the sunken boat with all possible expedition. The lady was sure her trunk would go to the bottom; but when she had told me the number of her room, I conveyed it to the cabin, and placed it above my own. The lady was happy then, and twenty-five per cent. was added to my own felicity by her present peace of mind. She sat down upon her trunk, and did not seem disposed to abandon it. As in watching her own she could not well help watching mine, which was beneath it, and finding it so well guarded, I left the place, and went on the hurricane-deck to take a survey of the lost craft.
In this elevated locality a violent discussion between the two captains and the two pilots of the steamers was in progress. The representatives of each boat blamed those of the other. I listened with interest, but not with edification, for I could not ascertain from anything that was said which of the two was the more to blame. Each pilot had mistaken the intention of the other, and probably both had become rather reckless from long experience. I had often noticed on the Mississippi and the Ohio, as well as in other places, that pilots are disposed to run their boats as close as possible to other boats, when there is not the least necessity for doing so. There is a kind of excitement in going as near as possible without hitting. Men and boys, in driving horses, are apt to be governed by the same principle, and laugh at the timid reinsman who gives a wide berth to the vehicle he encounters.
I have had considerable experience now, and I have come to the conclusion that it is always best to keep on the safe side. It is folly to incur useless risks; and as a venerable young man of twenty-eight, I would rather be laughed at for going a good way to avoid even a possible peril than be applauded for making "a close shave." It is criminal vanity to run into danger for the sake of the excitement of such a situation, and people who do it are not really courageous. On the contrary, it is cowardly in the moral sense, for the person is not brave enough to face a smile or a word of ridicule.
One or both of these pilots had been trying to make "a close shave," where the river was broad enough for them to keep their boats a quarter of a mile apart. If the loss of the boat and the damage to the freight had fallen upon them alone, it would have served them right; but I doubt whether either of them even lost his situation. One boat was smashed and sunk, the other was not much injured. It was a pity that the loss could not have been equally divided between the two; but as it could not be so, of course the captain who had lost his boat was much the more uncomfortable of the two.
I listened to the profitless discussion till I was tired of it, and examined the position of the sunken boat. I should have been very glad to take the job of raising her, if I had not had a mission before me. Leaving the excited little group on the hurricane-deck, I went down into the saloon again. The old lady was still seated on her trunk and mine, and I continued my walk around the steamer. I wanted to see Mr. A. McGregor again; indeed, I was in search of him, for I had made up my mind that he was Mr. Ben Waterford, though I could not see why he was so particular to keep out of my way. Of course I was not sure that the gentleman was my Chicago acquaintance. The lack of a beard on the face of Mr. A. McGregor was an argument against the truth of the supposition; but the form, and as near as I could judge from a single glance, the features, were those of Mr. Waterford.
I could not find him. The passengers were continually moving about the galleries and saloons, and if he was trying to avoid me, he could easily do so. But why should Mr. Ben Waterford wish to avoid me? He did not love me, I knew. I could even understand why he should hate me. If he had met me face to face, abused me and worried me, kicked me, tripped me up in the dark, or pushed me into the river, I might have explained his conduct. I had seen him in St. Louis, and he had greeted me very pleasantly. Now he shunned me, if I was not mistaken in the person. My best efforts failed to afford me a fair view of his face. I had become quite interested, not to say excited, about the matter, and I was determined, if possible, to solve the mystery of Mr. A. McGregor.
As soon as the steamer alongside had taken on board all the passengers, and all the baggage that was above water, she started for Marietta. Those who wished to land at this town, and wait for another steamer, did so; but most of them continued in the boat to Parkersburg, where they took the train immediately on their arrival for Baltimore. As this latter arrangement would enable me to see Baltimore, I concluded to go with the majority, for I was afraid I might be detained three or four days on the river. We arrived just in time to take a night train, and I received a check for my trunk. As soon as the cars were in motion, I passed through all of them in search of Mr. A. McGregor. If he was on the train, I should have a chance to see him where he could not dodge me, and if he proved to be my old yachting friend, I was determined to speak to him, and ascertain where he was going.
Mr. A. McGregor was not on the train. I had missed him somewhere, for in my anxiety for my baggage I had not thought of him till I took my place in the car. He had either stopped at Marietta, or remained in Parkersburg. But after all, I was actuated only by curiosity. I had no special interest either in Mr. A. McGregor or Mr. Ben Waterford. Whoever he was, if I had not imagined that he wished to avoid me, I should not have bothered my head about him. However, we had parted company now, and I was willing to drop the matter, though I was no wiser than at first.
I arrived at Baltimore the next day, astonished and delighted at the beautiful scenery of the Potomac, along whose banks the train passed. My trunk was delivered to me, and I went to a small hotel, where the expense for a day would not ruin me. I was in a strange city, but one of which I had heard a great deal, and I was anxious to see the lions at once. I opened my trunk, and having satisfied myself that my bag of gold was safe, I did not stop to open it, but hastened up Baltimore Street, intent upon using my limited time in the city to the best advantage.
The next day I went to Philadelphia, remaining there a day, and left for New York, only sorry that my great mission would not allow me to remain longer. I was excited all the time by the wonders that were continually presented to me. I was not "green" now, but I was interested in new objects and new scenes, both in the cities and on the routes between them.
On the ferry-boat from Amboy I met a plain-looking man, and a question which I asked him, in regard to a vessel in the bay, opened the way to a longer conversation. He was dressed in blue clothes, and by the manner in which he spoke of the vessel, I concluded that he was a sailor. He criticised rigging and hull with so many technicalities that I was bewildered by his speech. He answered my questions with much good-nature; and when I found he was going to the Western Hotel, I decided to go there with him. Rooms adjoining each other were assigned to us, and we went down to dinner together. I saw by the register that his name was Farraday, and the hotel clerk called him captain. When he ascertained that I was a stranger in the city, he seemed to take an interest in me, and very kindly told me some things worth knowing.
"Do you remain long in New York, Captain Farraday?" I asked, pleased with my new acquaintance, though his breath smelled rather strong of whiskey, which was the only thing I disliked about him.
"No; I mean to be off to-morrow. I expect my mate to-day, and we are all ready to sail," he replied. "I am going on board this afternoon. Perhaps you would like to see my vessel."
"Very much indeed, sir."
"We will go down after dinner."
I wanted to go on board of a sea-going vessel, and I was delighted with the opportunity.