So it happened that our young hero, as his mother had said, like a prince in some marvellous fairy tale, “went out to seek his fortune.” He had no “shoes of swiftness,” or “invisible cap,” nor yet the “purse of Fortunatus,” that he expected to find. But he carried a light heart, willing hands, and a determination to do right, whatever happened, “three gifts” that perhaps could bring him as much in the end.
CHAPTER IV.
GOING TO CALIFORNIA!
It is strange how soon the most startling things that happen to us, settle into a matter of course. Before another Saturday night the whole Gilman family thought and talked of “going to California,” as if they had looked forward to it for a year. Sam contrived to gather more information about Cape Horn and the Pacific coast than he could have learned from a study of Olney’s Geography all his life. As Mrs. Gilman expected, her husband’s adviser made a determined opposition against taking a boy, and one as sharp-sighted as Sam Gilman particularly. But she was equally determined, and as Colcord knew she had it in her power to stop the sale of the farm, and cut off their means of going, he thought it best to give up. He concluded he should be able to manage both father and son after a while, and it might not be such a bad plan in the end.
Squire Merrill tried his best to dissuade Mr. Gilman, when he saw what was on foot. He even offered to lend him money to stock his farm, and get started again, but he could have had about as much influence on the wind. He proved himself to be a true friend, even though his advice was not taken.
He bought the remnant of the once valuable farm, paying ready money for it, though he was afterwards sorry he had not kept the sum intended for Mrs. Gilman’s use in his own hands. It would have been much better if he had. His old neighbor could not bear to have money and not be generous. With his hundred dollars clear, in his pocket, after paying Colcord enough to secure his passage in the same ship,—it was called a loan,—he felt quite as good as any one in the county, and would not listen to the suggestion that they should take passage in the steerage. He even debated going in the Crescent City, but found that quite beyond his means.
There was one comfort in this self-importance. He renewed a promise made and broken, many, many times, not to drink any more, and in spite of the past sad experience, his wife almost believed he would keep it. It was this hope, and seeing him more like his old self, kind and affectionate, that helped her through those two weeks of preparation. Her busy thoughts flew fast into the future, as her needle kept time to them. She said to herself she would forget the unhappy years that were gone, and work on cheerfully. How many bright pictures of the future were wrought into her daily tasks! She could even see them measuring the land, and sign the deed that gave up all right to it, thinking how soon the old homestead might be theirs again, and once more have fields crowned with plenty.
Sam seemed to think a long face was expected from him, and tried to put on one every time the matter was talked over. He found this harder and harder, as the time came near. A journey to Boston was an event in the life of Ben Chase he had never quite recovered from. Ben Chase had seen the Bunker Hill Monument and the State House, with Washington’s Statue, and, dear to a boy’s heart, the Common, with its renowned Frog Pond, which he never would own, even to himself, had disappointed him. Ben Chase talked of Boston Harbor, and like all boys brought up out of sight of salt water, thought of all things in the world he should like to be a sailor. He had even contemplated running away and persuading Sam Gilman to go with him. But Ben was a deacon’s son, and heard “honor thy father and mother” read out of the big family Bible very often. He had compunctious visitings the next day after concocting this notable scheme, at family prayers, and quite repented of it when he saw his father go round with the collection plate, the Sunday after. Now all his enthusiasm revived. He looked up to Sam quite as much as Sam expected or desired, when he found they were going “round the Horn.” He favored him with many decidedly original suggestions, always prefaced with—“I’ll tell you what, Sam,” and read over in the retirement of the barn chamber his limited collection of voyages and travels, burning with a renewed desire to
“Walk the waters like a thing of life,”
as he poetically termed staggering across a ship’s deck. Sam sometimes felt a little uncertainty about his positive happiness in leaving home, when he saw how sorry Julia Chase looked; but Ben’s conversation had quite an opposite effect on his spirits. Julia presented him with a heart-shaped pincushion, made out of the pieces of her new hood, as a keepsake. Ben deliberated among his accumulated stores a long time, and finally decided on the big hickory bow and arrow he was making with a great deal of care and skill. “It would be so useful if you was cast away on a desert island, you know,” he said.