CHAPTER III.
Life at the "Black-Salter's".—James wants to go to Sea.—His mother will not give her Consent.—Hires out as a Woodchopper.—His Powerful Physique.—His Strength of Character.
About ten miles from the little settlement at Orange, and not far from Cleveland, was a large potash factory, owned by a certain Mr. Barton. The neighboring farmers, when they cleared their lands, would draw the refuse logs and branches into a great pile and burn them. The ashes thus collected, they sold to this Mr. Barton, who went by the name of "black-salter," because the potash he manufactured was called in its crude state, "black salts." At one time he needed a new shed where the ashes were leached, and James assisted the carpenter who put it up.
The bright, industrious lad pleased the old black-salter, and he offered him fourteen dollars a month, if he would come and work in his ashery.
This was two dollars more than Thomas was earning "away off in Michigan," and James was greatly delighted at the prospect of earning one hundred and sixty-eight dollars a year!
It was not, however, just the sort of work he would have chosen; and the mother dreaded for her son the rough companionship of the black-salters.
But James did not associate with the rude, coarse men out of working-hours. Their profanity shocked him; and he gladly turned to the books he found on an upper shelf at Barton's house.
As might have been expected, however, these books were very different from any he had read before. "Marryatt's Novels," "Jack Halyard," "Lives of Eminent Criminals," and "The Pirate's Own Book," were in fact more dangerous companions for him than the coarse, brutal men would have been. The printed page carried with it an authority that the excited boy did not stop to question. He would sit up all night to follow in imagination some reckless buccaneer in his wild exploits, till at last an insatiable longing to be a sailor fired his brain.
"A life on the ocean wave" seemed to him, at that time, the "ultima thule" of all his dreams. He longed to see some more of the world, and to the inexperienced lad this seemed the quickest and surest way.
One day, he happened to hear Mr. Barton's daughter speak of him in a sneering tone as her father's "hired servant." This was more than the high spirit of James could bear. Years after, he said to a friend,—