Mr. Wilson then took him into a Jew’s shop, pulled off his rags, furnished him with breeches and upper garments, and put him on board the brig.
Mr. Wilson was an old practitioner at the business of soul-driving. His custom was to stop a week in Philadelphia in order to let his men recover from the effects of the voyage, which at that day, in an emigrant ship, was a terrible ordeal, for there were no laws to restrain the cupidity of captains and owners. This delay answered a double purpose, as his redemptioners made a better appearance, and were more easily disposed of and at better prices. He also improved the opportunity to send forward notices to his friends, the tavernkeepers, stating the day on which he should be at their houses; and they in turn notified the farmers in their vicinity, some of whom came out to receive the men they had engaged, and others came to look at and trade with Wilson for the men he might have brought on his own account, of whom he sometimes had a number, and not infrequently his whole gang were brought on speculation.
It was about nine o’clock on the morning of the second day after his arrival in Philadelphia, and Mr. Wilson, having partaken of a bountiful meal, was enjoying his brief rest in a most comfortable frame of mind. He had good reason to congratulate himself, having safely passed through the perils of the voyage, and, on the first day of his arrival disposed to great advantage of the man he had brought at his own risk; the other eleven were engaged, and the boy alone remained to be disposed of.
His cheerful reflections were disturbed by a cry of pain from the door-yard, and James was brought in, the blood streaming from a long and deep gash in his right leg.
The tavern-keeper asked him to cut some firewood, and the awkward creature, who had never in his life handled any wood tool but an English billhook, had struck the whole bit of the axe in his leg. The blood was staunched, and a surgeon called to take some stitches, at which the boy neither flinched nor manifested any concern.
The doctor and the crowd of idle onlookers, whom the mishap of James drew together, had departed, the landlord had left the bar to attend to his domestic concerns. Mr. Wilson, his serenity of mind effectually broken, paced the floor with flushed face and rapid step, and talking to himself.
“Had it been his neck, I wad nae hae cared,” he muttered (getting to his Scotch as his passion rose) “here’s a doctor’s bill at the outset; and I maun stay here on expense wi’ twelve men, or take him along in a wagon.
“I dinna ken, Rob Wilson, what ailed ye to meddle with the gauk for an auld fool as ye are, but when I heard that cankered dame wi’ the tear in her een tell how his mother felt on her deathbed, and a’ about the minister taking sic pains wi’ him, it gaed me to think o’ my ain mither and the pains she took tae sae little purpose wi’ me. I thocht it my duty to befriend him and gi’ him a chance in some gude family, and aiblins it might be considered above, and make up for some o’ thae hard things I am whiles compelled in my business to do. I did wrang altogether; a soul-driver has nae concern wi’ feelings, nor conscience either. He canna’ afford it, Rob, he suld be made o’ whin-stone, or he canna thrive by soul-driving.”
Mr. Wilson arrived in Lancaster county, within a few miles of the residence of the Whitmans and their neighbors, the Nevins, Woods, and Conlys, with only three redemptioners, who were already engaged to farmers in the vicinity, and the boy Jim, who was so lame that he had been obliged to take him along in a wagon.