The Golden Shoemaker / or 'Cobbler' Horn

by J. W. Keyworth

It will, therefore, be readily believed that “the Golden Shoemaker” keenly enjoyed the whole of the voyage. He breathed the fresh, briny air with much relish; the wonders of the sea furnished him with many instructive and pious thoughts; and the ship itself supplied him with an inexhaustible fund of interest. In particular, he paid frequent visits to the steerage, where large numbers of emigrants were bestowed. He spent many hours amongst these poor people; and, by entering into conversation with such of them as were disposed to talk, he became acquainted with many cases of necessity, which he was not slow to relieve. Nor did the gifts of money, which he bestowed with his usual large generosity, constitute the only form of help he gave. In a thousand nameless ways he ministered to the wants and relieved the difficulties of his humble fellow-passengers, who quickly came to look upon him as the good genius of the ship. As a matter of course, the whisper soon went round, “Who is he?” And when, in some inscrutable way, the truth leaked out, the poor people regarded him with a kind of awe. Some, indeed, criticised, and said he did not look much like a millionaire; but there were many in that motley crowd in whose hearts, during those few brief days on the ocean, “Cobbler” Horn made for himself a very sacred place.

In the course of a day or two, the decks and saloons began to assume a more animated appearance. Hitherto “Cobbler” Horn had not greatly attracted the attention of the passengers with whom he was more immediately associated; but now that they were in a condition to think of something other than their own concerns, their interest in him began to awake. Who had not heard of “the Golden Shoemaker”—“The Millionaire Cordwainer”—“The Lucky Son of Crispin”—as he had been variously designated in the newspapers of the day? When it became known that so great a celebrity was on board, there was a general desire to make his acquaintance. Some vainly asked the captain to give them an introduction; some boldly introduced themselves.

“Cobbler” Horn was courteous to all, in his homely way; but he showed no anxiety to become further acquainted with these obtrusive persons. The simplicity of his manners and the plainness of his dress caused much surprise; and the public interest concerning him sensibly quickened when whispers floated forth of the giving up of his berth to the invalid passenger, and of his charitable doings amongst the poor emigrants.

During the voyage, “the Golden Shoemaker” spent much time in close and prayerful study of his Bible, which had ever been, and still was, his dearest, and well nigh his only, book. He was induced to do this not only by his love of the Book itself, but also by a definite desire to absorb, and transfuse into his own experience, all those teachings of the Word of God which bore upon the new position in which he had been so strangely placed.

First of all, he turned to certain notable passages of Scripture which shot up before his memory like well-known beacon-lights along a rocky coast. There glared upon him, first of all, the lurid denunciation which opens the fifth chapter of the Epistle of James, commencing, “Go to now, ye rich men, weep and howl for your miseries that shall come upon you!” “God forbid,” he cried, “that my ‘gold and silver’ should ever become ‘cankered!’ It would be a terrible thing for their ‘rust’ to ‘witness against me,’ and eat my ‘flesh as it were fire’; and it would be yet more dreadful for the money which has such power for good to be itself given up to canker and rust!” Then he would meditate on the uncompromising declarations of Christ—“How hardly shall they that have riches enter into the Kingdom of God!” “It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the Kingdom of God.” He trembled as he read; but, pondering, he took heart again. Though hard, it was not impossible, for a man of wealth to enter into the Kingdom of God. “Camel!” “Eye of a Needle!” He did not know exactly what this strange saying meant; but he thought he had heard the minister say that it was intended to show the great difficulty involved in the salvation of a rich man. Then he read further, “How hard is it for them that trust in riches to enter into the Kingdom of God,” and that seemed to make the matter plain. “Ah,” he thought, “may I be saved from ever trusting in my riches!”

He plucked an ear of wholesome admonition from the parable of the Sower. “The deceitfulness of riches!” he murmured. “How true!” And he subjected himself to the most vigilant scrutiny, lest he should be beguiled by the unlimited possibilities of self-indulgence which his wealth supplied. He turned frequently to the emphatic declaration of Paul to Timothy. “They that will be rich,” it runs, “fall into temptation and a snare, and into many foolish and hurtful lusts, which drown men in destruction and perdition. For the love of money is the root of all evil: which while some coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows.” “Ah!” he would exclaim, “I didn’t want to be rich. At the very most Agur’s prayer would have been mine: ‘Give me neither poverty nor riches.’ But it’s quite true that riches bring ‘temptations’ and are a ‘snare,’ whether people ‘will’ be rich or become rich against their will; and I must be on the watch. And then there’s that about ‘the love of money’ being ‘the root of all evil!’” As he spoke, he drew a handful of coins from his pocket, and eyed them askance. “Queer things to love!” he mused. And then, as he thought of his balance at the bank, his large rent-roll, and his many profitable investments, his face grew very grave. “Ah,” he sighed, letting copper, silver, and gold, slide jingling back into his pocket, “I think I have an idea how some people get to love their money. Lord save me.”

He was very fond of the book of Proverbs. Its short, sententious sentences were altogether to his mind. “There is that scattereth,” he read, “and yet increaseth; and there is that withholdeth more than is meet, but it tendeth to poverty.” “I scatter,” he said; “but I don’t want to increase. Lord, spare me the consequences of my scattering! ‘Withholdeth more than is meet’! Lord, by Thy grace, that will not I! I have no objection to poverty; but I would not have it come in that way!”

“There is that maketh himself rich,” he read again, “Yet hath nothing; there is that maketh himself poor, yet hath great riches.” “Ah,” he sighed, “to possess such riches, I would gladly make myself poor!” But there was one text in the book of Proverbs which “Cobbler” Horn could never read without a smile. “The poor,” it ran “is hated even of his own neighbour; but the rich hath many friends.” He thought of his daily shoals of letters, of the numerous visiting cards which had been left at the door of his new abode, and of the obsequious attentions he had begun to receive from the office-bearers and leading members of his church; and he called to mind the eagerness of his fellow-voyagers to make his acquaintance. “Ah” he mused shrewdly, “friends, like most good things, are chiefly to be had when you don’t need them!”

In these sacred studies, the days passed swiftly for “the Golden Shoemaker.” Very different were the methods by which the majority of his fellow-passengers endeavoured to beguile the time. Amongst the least objectionable of these were concerts, theatricals, billiards, and all kinds of games. Much time was spent by the ladies in idle chat, to which the gentlemen added the seductions of cigar and pipe. There were not a few of the passengers, moreover, who resorted to the vicious excitement of betting; and “Cobbler” Horn marked with amazement and horror the eagerness with which they staked their money on a variety of unutterably trivial questions. The disposition of really large sums of money was made to depend, on whether a certain cloud would obscure the sun or not; whether a large bird, seen as they neared the land, would sweep by on one side of the ship or the other; whether the pilot would prove to be tall or short; and upon a multitude of other matters so utterly unimportant, that “the Golden Shoemaker” began to think he was voyaging with a company of escaped lunatics.

To one gentleman, who proposed to take a bet with him as to the nationality of the next vessel they might happen to meet, he gave a characteristic reply.