railway station of the Erie road, to begin the long, swinging, crooked
journey, over what a writer of a former day called a causeway of cracked
rails and cows, to the West.
CHAPTER XIII.
What ever to say be toke in his entente,
his langage was so fayer & pertynante,
yt semeth unto manys herying not only the worde,
but veryly the thyng.
Caxton’s Book of Curtesye.
In the party of which our travelers found themselves members, was Duff
Brown, the great railroad contractor, and subsequently a well-known
member of Congress; a bluff, jovial Bost’n man, thick-set, close shaven,
with a heavy jaw and a low forehead–a very pleasant man if you were not
in his way. He had government contracts also, custom houses and dry
docks, from Portland to New Orleans, and managed to get out of congress,
in appropriations, about weight for weight of gold for the stone
furnished.
Associated with him, and also of this party, was Rodney Schaick, a sleek
New York broker, a man as prominent in the church as in the stock
exchange, dainty in his dress, smooth of speech, the necessary complement
of Duff Brown in any enterprise that needed assurance and adroitness.
It would be difficult to find a pleasanter traveling party one that shook
off more readily the artificial restraints of Puritanic strictness, and
took the world with good-natured allowance. Money was plenty for every
attainable luxury, and there seemed to be no doubt that its supply would
continue, and that fortunes were about to be made without a great deal of
toil. Even Philip soon caught the prevailing spirit; Barry did not need
any inoculation, he always talked in six figures. It was as natural for
the dear boy to be rich as it is for most people to be poor.
The elders of the party were not long in discovering the fact, which
almost all travelers to the west soon find out; that the water was poor.
It must have been by a lucky premonition of this that they all had brandy
flasks with which to qualify the water of the country; and it was no
doubt from an uneasy feeling of the danger of being poisoned that they
kept experimenting, mixing a little of the dangerous and changing fluid,
as they passed along, with the contents of the flasks, thus saving their
lives hour by hour. Philip learned afterwards that temperance and the
strict observance of Sunday and a certain gravity of deportment are
geographical habits, which people do not usually carry with them away
from home.
Our travelers stopped in Chicago long enough to see that they could make
their fortunes there in two week’s tine, but it did not seem worth while;
the west was more attractive; the further one went the wider the
opportunities opened.
They took railroad to Alton and the steamboat from there to St. Louis,
for the change and to have a glimpse of the river.
“Isn’t this jolly?” cried Henry, dancing out of the barber’s room, and
coming down the deck with a one, two, three step, shaven, curled and
perfumed after his usual exquisite fashion.
“What’s jolly?” asked Philip, looking out upon the dreary and monotonous
waste through which the shaking steamboat was coughing its way.
“Why, the whole thing; it’s immense I can tell you. I wouldn’t give that
to be guaranteed a hundred thousand cold cash in a year’s time.”
“Where’s Mr. Brown?”
“He is in the saloon, playing poker with Schaick and that long haired
party with the striped trousers, who scrambled aboard when the stage
plank was half hauled in, and the big Delegate to Congress from out
west.”
“That’s a fine looking fellow, that delegate, with his glossy, black
whiskers; looks like a Washington man; I shouldn’t think he’d be at
poker.”
“Oh, its only five cent ante, just to make it interesting, the Delegate
said.”
“But I shouldn’t think a representative in Congress would play poker any
way in a public steamboat.”
“Nonsense, you’ve got to pass the time. I tried a hand myself, but those
old fellows are too many for me. The Delegate knows all the points.
I’d bet a hundred dollars he will ante his way right into the United