CHAPTER XXVI.

_Ben getting into trouble--finds out his old friend governor Keith to be a black sheep--and learns that a good trade and virtuous habits are the best wealth that a father can give his son._

"Who dares think one thing and another tell, My soul abhors him like the gates of hell."

On the arrival of the ship in the Thames (or London river) the captain, like an honest fellow of his word, ordered the letter-bag on deck, and told Ben he was welcome now to overhaul it and pick out the governor's letters to him. After eagerly turning them all over and over again, not a single letter could he find that had his name on it, either directed to himself, or to his care. He picked out however a few that seemed to have some little squinting that way, one especially, that was directed to a PRINTER, and another to a BOOKSELLER. These he immediately carried to their respective owners. But in place of those smiles and prompt offers of money and merchandize, which his illustrious patron, governor Keith, had promised him, scarcely were his letters opened before they were nearly thrown back into his face, as coming from a couple of scoundrel debtors, who, instead of paying off their old scores, were now impudently asking for new credits.

Here were strong symptoms of treachery on the part of the governor. And in spite of all his credulity, Ben was brought to his doubtings. In this dilemma he went back to a worthy Quaker of the name of Denham, with whom he had contracted a great friendship on ship-board, and told him the whole story from beginning to end. With all his professional gravity, Denham could not help smiling, as Ben related the history of his credulity: but when he came to tell of governor Keith's LETTERS of _Credit_, and the vast supplies of TYPES, and PAPER, and PRESSES, which they were instantly to procure him, he broke into a horse laugh. "He give thee letters of credit, friend Benjamin! Governor Keith give thee letters of credit! Why, man, he has not credit for himself, no not for a brass farthing, from any one who ever heard of him."

Poor Ben was struck "all in a heap"--dumb as a codfish. He stood for all the world like a shipwrecked sailor boy, who, after dreaming of gold and diamond coasts, and black-eyed Polls, and whole seas of grog, and mountains of segars, wakes up all at once, and finds himself, like poor Robinson Crusoe, on a desolate island, with not even a scape-goat of hope before him. In silence he rolled his eyes in woeful cogitation--for three months he had been feasting on the smiles and promises of his illustrious friend, governor Keith--for three months had been anticipating his grand Printing Establishment, in Philadelphia, and his complete triumph over old Keimer and Bradford--for three months he had been drinking in streams of rapture from the love-beaming eyes of the beauteous Miss Read, shortly as his wife to rustle in silks and roll in her carriage--but dearer still than all, for three months he had been looking forward to the time, close at hand, when his infirm parents should come to enjoy with him, in Philadelphia, the welcome repose of their age, in an elegant retreat, purchased for them, by his own virtues. But lo! in a moment the whole goodly structure is dissipated in smoke, leaving him pennyless and friendless, in a strange country, three thousand miles from home, and at a long, long distance from all these dear objects!

Denham saw in Ben's looks what was passing in his heart; but knowing that it is good for virtuous and heroic minds to bear the cross in their youth, he suffered him to go on, undisturbed, with his dismal cogitations.

But a young man early trained in the school of wisdom is not long to be depressed. After relieving his bosom with a deep sigh; he turned to Denham and said, in a plaintive tone, "_but was it not cruel in governor Keith to deceive me so?_"

"Yes, Benjamin," replied Denham, "'twas, to our view, very cruel in the governor of Pennsylvania thus to deceive an inexperienced lad as thou art."

Here Ben turning on him his fine blue eyes, softened by misfortune, said again to Denham, "_well, and what would you advise me?_"

"Advise thee, Benjamin," replied Denham, in a cheerful tone, "why, I would advise thee not to give thyself one moment's uneasiness about this affair. Thee remembers the story of Joseph, does thee not? how he was betrayed by his brethren into Egypt, not only a poor lad like thee, but indeed a slave too? And yet this event, though at the time highly disheartening, proved to him in the end, one of the happiest incidents of his life. So, by good management, Benjamin, this may prove to thee. Thou art young, very young yet, with a plenty of time before thee; and this is a great city for thy business. Now if thou wilt but seek employment with some printer of distinction, thou mayest make thyself more completely master of thy trade, and also gain friends, that may enable thee to settle so much more advantageously in Philadelphia, as to make it good for thee that governor Keith ever betrayed thee here. And this will be a triumph much to thine own honour, as also to the benefit of other youth, who shall ever hear of thy story."

As when a sweet breeze of the ocean suddenly strikes a becalmed ship, that with flapping sails lay tossing on the sluggish flood, instantly the joy-wakened billows roll a brighter foam, and the hearts of the sailors spring forward with transport to their native shores. Thus exhilarating to Ben's soul was the counsel of his friend Denham. Without a moment's loss of time he went, as his friend Denham had advised, and sought business at the offices of two of the most eminent book-printers in London, Palmer and Watts. With the latter he spent most of his time during his stay in England.

This Palmer was an amiable man, and in Ben's countenance, now mellowed more than ordinary, by his late disappointment, he saw a something that interested him greatly in his favour. He asked Ben in what part of London he had learned the art of printing. Ben told him he had never set a type in London. "Aye! where then," said Palmer; "in Paris?" Ben replied, that he was just from Pennsylvania, in North America; and that what little he knew of printing he had picked up there. Palmer, though, in other respects, amiable, was one of those thorough-gone COCKNEYS, who can't believe that any thing can be learned out of the sound of "_Bow-bell_." He stared at Ben on saying he had learned to print in North America, as would a French petit maitre at one who said he had learned to _dance among the Hottentots_. "I am afraid, sir," said he to Ben, "that I cannot employ you, as I really felt a wish to do; for though I now command fifty workmen, I want a _Gabber_, _i.e._ a man uncommonly quick, and of a satirical turn. And in neither of these characters, sir, will you, probably, suit me, sir--however, sir, as it is late now, and I have business out, if you will call in the morning, we will see about it." Next morning, before sunrise, Ben waited at Palmer's office, where numbers of his journeymen, having heard of the young North American printer, were assembled to see him work. Palmer was not yet up. An apprentice went to inform him that the young printer from North America, was come. Presently Mr. Palmer made his appearance, looking somewhat confused.

"And so you are a buckskin, sir," said he, rather cavalierly.

"Yes sir," replied Ben, "I am a buckskin."

"Well sir, I am afraid you'll not make your fortune by that here in London," said Palmer.

"No sir," answered Ben, "I find it is thought a misfortune here, to have been born in America. But I hope it was the will of heaven, and therefore must be right."

"Aye!" replied Palmer, a little tauntingly; "and so you have _preaching_ there too!! But do the buckskins generally stir so early as this?"

Ben replied, that the Pennsylvanians were getting to find out that it was _cheap burning sun-light_. Here Palmer and his cockneys stared at him, as country buckskins are wont to do at a monkey, or parrot, or any such creature that pretends to mimic man.

"You talk of _sun-light_, sir," said the foreman to Ben: "can you tell the cause of that wide difference between the light of the sun in England and America?"

Ben replied that he had never discovered that difference.

"What! not that the sun shines brighter in London than in America--the sky clearer--the air purer--and the light a thousand times more vivid--and luminous--and cheering--and all that?"

Ben said that he could not understand how that could be, seeing it was the same sun that gave light to both.

"The same sun, sir! the same sun!" replied the cockney, rather nettled, "I am not positive of that sir. But admitting that it is the same sun, it does not follow that it gives the same light in America as in England. Every thing, you know, suffers by going to the _West_, as the great French philosophers have proved; then why not the sun?"

Ben said he wondered the gentleman should talk of the sun going to the west.

"What, the sun not go to the west!" retorted the cockney, quite angry, "a pretty story, indeed. You have eyes, sir; and don't these show you that the sun rises in the east and travels to the west?"

"I thought, sir," replied Ben, modestly, "that your own great countryman, sir Isaac Newton, had satisfied every body that it is the earth that is thus continually travelling, and not the sun, which is stationary, and gives the same light to England and America."

Palmer, who had much of the honest Englishman about him, equally surprised and pleased to see Ben thus chastise the pride and ignorance of his foreman, put a stop to the conversation by placing a composing stick in the hands of Ben, while the journeymen gathering around, marvelled hugely to see the young North American take _a composing stick in his hand_!

Having spent a moment or two in running his eyes over the letter cases, to see if they were fixed as in the printing-offices in America, and glancing at his watch, Ben fell to work, and in less than four minutes finished the following--

"And Nathaniel said, can there any thing good come out of Nazareth?--Philip said, come and see."

Palmer and his workmen were petrified. Near eighty letters set up in less than four minutes, and without a blunder? And then such a delicate stroke at their prejudice and nonsense! Ben was immediately employed.

This was a fine introduction of Ben to the printing office, every person in which seemed to give him a hearty welcome; he wore his rare talents so modestly.

It gave him also a noble opportunity to be useful, which he failed not to improve.

Passing by one of the presses at which a small man, meagre and hollow-eyed, was labouring with unequal force, as appeared by his paleness and big-dropping sweat, Ben touched with pity, offered to give him "_a spell_." As the pressman and compositor, like the parson and the clerk, or the coffin-maker and the grave-digger are of entirely distinct trades in London, the little pressman was surprised that Ben, who was a compositor, should talk of giving him "_a spell_." However, Ben insisting, the little pressman gave way, when Ben seized the press, and possessing both a skill and spirit extraordinary, he handled it in such a workman-like style, that the men all declared they should have concluded he had done nothing but _press-work_ all his life. Palmer also, coming by at the time, mingled his applauses with the rest, saying that he had never seen a fairer impression; and, on Ben's requesting it, for _exercise_ and _health sake_, he permitted him to work some hours every day at press.

On his entrance into Palmer's printing-office, Ben paid the customary _garnish_ or treat-money, for the journeymen to drink. This was on the first floor, among the pressmen. Presently Palmer wanted him up stairs, among the compositors. There also the journeymen called on him for _garnish_. Ben refused, looking upon it as altogether an unfair demand, and so Palmer himself, to whom it was referred, decided; insisting that Ben should _not pay_ it. But neither justice nor patronage could bear Ben out against the spite of the journeymen. For the moment his back was turned they would play him an endless variety of mischievous tricks, such as mixing his letters, transposing his pages, breaking down his matter, &c. &c. It was in vain he remonstrated against such injustice. They all with one accord excused themselves, laying all the blame on RALPH, for so they called a certain evil spirit who, they pretended, haunted the office and always tormented such as were not _regularly admitted_. Upon this Ben paid his garnish--_being fully convinced of the folly of not keeping up a good understanding with those among whom we are destined to live_.

Ben had been at Palmer's office but a short time before he discovered that all his workmen, to the number of fifty, were terrible drinkers of porter, insomuch that they kept a stout boy all day long on the trot to serve them alone. Every man among them must have, viz.

1 A pint of porter before breakfast,--cost _d._1-1/2 1 A pint, with his bread and cheese, for breakfast, 1-1/2 1 A pint betwixt his breakfast and dinner, 1-1/2 1 A pint at his dinner, 1-1/2 1 A pint betwixt his dinner and night, 1-1/2 1 A pint after his day's work was done, 1-1/2 -- ----- 6 Total, three quarts!--equal to _nine pence sterling per day_! 9

A practice so fatal to the health and subsistence of those poor people and their families, pained Ben to the soul, and he instantly set himself to break it up. But they laughed him to scorn, boasting of their beloved porter, that it was "_meat and drink too_," and the only thing to give them _strength_ to work. Ben was not to be put out of heart by such an argument as this. He offered to prove to them that the strength they derived from the beer could only be in proportion to the barley dissolved in the water of which the beer was made--that there was a larger portion of flour in a penny loaf; and that if they ate this loaf and drank a pint of water with it, they would get more strength than from a pint of beer. But still they would not hearken to any thing said against their darling beer. Beer, they said, was "_the liquor of life_," and beer they must have, or _farewell strength_.

"Why, gentlemen," replied Ben, "don't you see me with great ease carry up and down stairs, a large form of letters in each hand; while you, with _both_ hands, have much ado to carry one? And don't you perceive that these heavy weights which I bear produce no manner of change in my breathing, while you, with only half the weight, cannot mount the stairs without puffing and blowing most distressingly? Now is not this sufficient to prove that water, though apparently the weakest, is yet in reality the strongest liquor in nature, especially for the young and healthy?"

But alas! on most of them, this excellent logic was all thrown away.

"The ruling passion, be it what it will-- The ruling passion governs reason still."

Though they could not deny a syllable of Ben's reasoning, being often heard to say that, "THE AMERICAN AQUATIC (or _water drinker_) as they called him, was much stronger than any of the beer drinkers," still they would drink.

"But suppose," asked some of them, "we were to quit our beer with bread and cheese for breakfast, what substitute should we have?"

"Why, use," said Ben, "the substitute that I do; which is a pint of nice oat-meal gruel brought to me from your beer-house, with a little butter, sugar and nutmeg, and a slice of dry toast. This, which is more palatable and still less costly than a pint of beer, makes a much better breakfast, and keeps the head clearer to boot. At dinner I take a cup of cold water, which is the wholesomest of all beverages, and requires nothing but a little use, to render it as pleasant. In this way, gentlemen, I save _nine_ pence sterling every day, making in the year nearly _three thousand pence_! an enormous sum, let me tell you, my friends, to a small family; and which would not only save parents the disgrace of being dunned for trifling debts, but also procure a thousand comforts for the children."

Ben did not entirely lose his reward, several of his hearers affording him the unspeakable satisfaction of following his counsel. But the major part, "_poor devils_," as he emphatically styled them, "_went on to drink--thus continuing all their lives in a state of voluntary poverty and wretchedness!!_"

Many of them, for lack of punctuality to pay the publican, would often have their porter stopped.--They would then apply to Ben to become security for them, _their light_, as they called it, _being out_. I never heard that he upbraided them with their folly; but readily gave his word to the publican, though it cost him the trouble of attending at the pay-table, every _Saturday night_, to take up the sums he had made himself accountable for.

Thus, by virtue of the right education, _i.e._ a good trade, and early fondness for labour and books, did Ben rise, like a young swan of heaven, above the dark billows of adversity; and cover himself with glory in the eyes of these young Englishmen, who had at first been so prejudiced against him. And, better still, when night came, instead of sauntering with them to the filthy yet costly ale-houses and porter cellars, he hastened to his little chamber at his _frugal_ boarding-house, (only 1s. 6d. per week) there to enjoy the divine society of his books, which he obtained on _hire_ from a neighbouring book-store. And commanding, as he always did, through his steadiness and rapidity at work, all the _quick off-hand jobs_, generally the best paid, he might have made money and enjoyed great peace; but alas! there was a moth in his purse which kept him constantly poor; a canker in his peace which filled his life with vexation. That canker and that moth was his young friend Ralph, whom, as we have seen, he had made an infidel of in Philadelphia; and for which good office, Ralph, as we shall presently see, requited him as might have been expected.