From Boyhood to Manhood: Life of Benjamin Franklin Part 27

"Seize him! seize him!" cried the captain; and that was what Benjamin was waiting to do when the miserable fellow should rise to the surface. As soon as he came up from the depths into which he had sunk, Benjamin seized him by the hair of his head and pulled him on board.

"There, you fool," exclaimed Benjamin. "I hope that ducking will sober you. You came within sight of eternity that time."

"He may thank you for saving his life," remarked one of the boatmen.

"He is too drunk for that," replied Benjamin. "He will never know how near he came to his own place. Strange that any man will be so foolish as to drink stuff that will steal away his brains."

"Don't you ever drink it?" asked the captain in reply.

"Not one drop," his young pa.s.senger replied with emphasis, as he rolled over the Dutchman to get the water out of him. "There, are you all right now?"

The Dutchman mumbled over something, no one could tell what. It was probably about a book in his jacket; for he took one therefrom, and signified to Benjamin that he wanted it dried; and then he dropped into a sound sleep.

"I declare, if it is not my old friend, The Pilgrim's Progress,"

exclaimed Benjamin; "in Dutch, too! A queer companion for a drunken man to have, though a good one."

"Knows more about the bottle than he does about that, I bet," said the captain. "I don't suppose that it makes much difference to him whether he is under the water or on top."

"Not just now," replied Benjamin; "but what chance is there for landing on such a rocky sh.o.r.e?"

"Not much; we'll drop anchor, and swing out the cable towards the sh.o.r.e," said the captain.

"I see men on the sh.o.r.e, and there are boats there; perhaps they can come to our rescue, though the wind is blowing a little too hard for them."

The captain hallooed to them, and they returned an answer, but the wind howled so that they could not be understood.

"A boat! A boat!" shouted the captain. Others of the crew joined in the call for aid, and made various signs indicating their need of a.s.sistance. But neither party could understand the other.

"What now?" inquired Benjamin, when he saw the men on sh.o.r.e turning their steps homeward. "A pretty dark night before us."

"Yes, dark and perilous, though I have seen a worse one," answered the captain. "When we find ourselves in such a predicament, there is only one thing to be done."

"What is that?" asked Benjamin, who was quite nervous and anxious.

"Do nothing but wait patiently for the wind to abate." The captain was cool and self-reliant when he spoke.

"Then let us turn in with the Dutchman," said one of the boatmen. "I don't want he should have all the sleep there is. He is not in condition to appreciate it as I am."

"As you please," said the captain; "might as well improve the time by getting a little rest. We shall be all right in the morning."

So all crowded into the hatches, including Benjamin. But the spray broke over the head of the boat so much that the water leaked through upon them.

"A wet berth for you, friend," said one of the boatmen to Benjamin.

"You are not accustomed to sleeping in such wet blankets. You may get as wet as the Dutchman before morning."

"There is only one thing to do in these circ.u.mstances," said Benjamin in reply, "take things as they come, and make the best of it."

"If you can," added the boatman in a suggestive way. "If _you_ can, I oughter. I've been in this business longer than you have lived."

The crew slept soundly; but Benjamin found no rest in such an unusual plight. Sleep was out of the question, and he had all the more time to _think_, and his active mind improved the opportunity, so that Boston, home, the printing office, and his parents were dwelt upon until he began to think he was _paying too dear for the whistle_ again. It is not strange that runaways feel thus, sooner or later, since few of them ever realize their antic.i.p.ations.

The cold, dreary night wore away slowly, and the wind continued to howl, and the breakers to dash and rear, until after the dawn of morning. Benjamin was never more rejoiced to see daylight than he was after that dismal and perilous night. It was the more pleasant to him, because the wind began to abate, and there was a fairer prospect of reaching their destination. As soon as the tumult of the winds and waves had subsided, they weighed anchor, and steered for Amboy, where they arrived just before night, "having been thirty hours on the water without victuals, or any drink but a bottle of filthy rum."

In the evening Benjamin found himself feverish, having taken a severe cold by the exposure of the previous night. With a hot head and a heavy heart he retired to rest, first, however, drinking largely of cold water, because he had somewhere read that cold water was good for fever. This was one of the advantages he derived from his early habit of reading. But for his taste for reading, which led him to spend his leisure moments in poring over books, he might never have known this important fact, that, perhaps, saved him a fit of sickness. Availing himself of this knowledge, he drank freely of water before he retired, and the result was a thorough sweating; and he arose in the morning fully restored, so as to continue his journey.

A few years ago, a young man was traveling in the state of Maine, soliciting subscribers for a newspaper. On pa.s.sing a certain farm, he observed some bricks of a peculiar color, and he traced them to their clay-bed, and satisfied himself that the material could be applied to a more valuable purpose than that of making bricks. He at once purchased the farm for fifteen hundred dollars, and, on his return to Boston, sold one-half of it for four thousand dollars. The secret of his success lay in a bit of knowledge he acquired at school. He had given some attention to geology and chemistry, and the little knowledge he had gained therefrom enabled him to discover the nature of the clay on the said farm. Thus even a little knowledge that may be gleaned from a book in a simple leisure half-hour, will sometimes prove the way to a valuable treasure; much more valuable than the farm which the young man purchased. This pecuniary benefit is, after all, the least important advantage derived from reading. The discipline of the mind and heart, and the refined and elevated pleasure which it secures, are far more desirable than any pecuniary advantage gained. A little reading, also, as we have seen, sometimes gives an impulse to the mind in the direction of learning and renown. It was the reading of Echard's Roman History, which Gibbon met with while on a visit to Milts.h.i.+re, that opened before him the historic path to distinction.

Sir Walter Scott warned the young against under valuing the knowledge to be acquired at odd moments by reading and study. He wrote:

"If it should ever fall to the lot of youth to peruse these pages, let such readers remember that it is with the deepest regret that I recollect, in my manhood, the opportunities of learning which I neglected in my youth; that through every part of my literary career I have felt pinched and hampered by my own ignorance; and I would this moment give half the reputation I have had the good fortune to acquire, if by so doing I could rest the remaining part upon a sound foundation of learning and science."

But we have lost sight of Benjamin. We left him at the "tavern" in Amboy, after having spent the night in a cold-water sweat, about ready to start on his journey. Burlington was fifty miles from Amboy, and there was no public conveyance, so that he was obliged to go on foot, expecting to find a boat there bound for Philadelphia.

"Rather a tough day for walking," remarked the landlord, as Benjamin was leaving his house. "Better stay unless your business is driving."

"Rain or s.h.i.+ne, I must push on," responded Benjamin cheerfully. "I want to be in Philadelphia as soon as possible. Can't melt, as I am neither sugar nor salt."

"Well, that is a very encouraging view to take of the situation, and it is a sensible one, too," said the landlord. "There's nothing like taking things as they come."

"I have lived long enough to find that out, young as I am," replied Benjamin; "and I expect to find constant use of that spirit in future.

Good-bye, sir."

"Good luck to you, wherever you go," added the landlord in a friendly tone.

Benjamin was wet through before he had traveled a mile, and he began to wish that he had never left Boston; still he hastened on until he reached a "poor inn" about noon. His own description of that day is as follows:

"It rained very hard all the day; I was thoroughly soaked, and by noon a good deal tired; so I stopped at a poor inn, where I staid all night, _beginning now to wish I had never left home_. I made so miserable a figure, too, that I found, by the questions asked me, I was suspected to be some runaway indentured servant, and in danger of being taken up on that suspicion."

"Where are you from, young man?"

"From Boston, sir."

"Ah! you are a long way from home for such a youngster. What is your name?"

"My name is Benjamin Franklin, and I am going to Philadelphia after work."

"No work in Boston, I s'pose, hey? How long since you left?"

"About a week. I did not expect to come further this way than New York, but I could find no work there."

"No work in New York, hey? What sort of work do you do, that you find it so scarce?"

"I am a printer by trade, and I hope to get into a printing office in Philadelphia."

"Wall, you are a pretty young one to take such a trip; I should hardly be willing my son should go so far from home, printer or no printer."

"I can afford to make such a trip, and even a longer one, if I can find steady work," suggested Benjamin.