witnessing the Honourable Elijah Pogram engaged in a philosophical disputation with three of Columbia's fairest daughters. By Doctor Ginery Dunkle. Of Troy.”
If Pogram was as glad to get to bed as Martin was, he must have been well rewarded for his labours. They started off again next day (Martin and Mark previously disposing of their goods to the storekeepers of whom they had purchased them, for anything they would bring), and were fellow travellers to within a short distance of New York. When Pogram was about to leave them he grew thoughtful, and after pondering for some time, took Martin aside.
“We air going to part, sir,” said Pogram.
“Pray don't distress yourself,” said Martin; “we must bear it.”
“It ain't that, sir,” returned Pogram, “not at all. But I should wish you to accept a copy of My oration.”
“Thank you,” said Martin, “you are very good. I shall be most happy.”
“It ain't quite that, sir, neither,” resumed Pogram; “air you bold enough to introduce a copy into your country?”
“Certainly,” said Martin. “Why not?”
“Its sentiments air strong, sir,” hinted Pogram, darkly.
“That makes no difference,” said Martin. “I'll take a dozen if you like.”
“No, sir,” retorted Pogram. “Not A dozen. That is more than I require. If you are content to run the hazard, sir, here is one for your Lord Chancellor,” producing it, “and one for Your principal Secretary of State. I should wish them to see it, sir, as expressing what my opinions air. That they may not plead ignorance at a future time. But don't get into danger, sir, on my account!”
“There is not the least danger, I assure you,” said Martin. So he put the pamphlets in his pocket, and they parted.
Mr Bevan had written in his letter that, at a certain time, which fell out happily just then, he would be at a certain hotel in the city, anxiously expecting to see them. To this place they repaired without a moment's delay. They had the satisfaction of finding him within; and of being received by their good friend, with his own warmth and heartiness.
“I am truly sorry and ashamed,” said Martin, “to have begged of you. But look at us. See what we are, and judge to what we are reduced!”
“So far from claiming to have done you any service,” returned the other, “I reproach myself with having been, unwittingly, the original cause of your misfortunes. I no more supposed you would go to Eden on such representations as you received; or, indeed, that you would do anything but be dispossessed, by the readiest means, of your idea that fortunes were so easily made here; than I thought of going to Eden myself.”
“The fact is, I closed with the thing in a mad and sanguine manner,” said Martin, “and the less said about it the better for me. Mark, here, hadn't a voice in the matter.”
“Well! but he hadn't a voice in any other matter, had he?” returned Mr Bevan; laughing with an air that showed his understanding of Mark and Martin too.
“Not a very powerful one, I am afraid,” said Martin with a blush. “But live and learn, Mr Bevan! Nearly die and learn; we learn the quicker.”
“Now,” said their friend, “about your plans. You mean to return home at once?”
“Oh, I think so,” returned Martin hastily, for he turned pale at the thought of any other suggestion. “That is your opinion too, I hope?”
“Unquestionably. For I don't know why you ever came here; though it's not such an unusual case, I am sorry to say, that we need go any farther into that. You don't know that the ship in which you came over with our friend General Fladdock, is in port, of course?”
“Indeed!” said Martin.
“Yes. And is advertised to sail to-morrow.”
This was tempting news, but tantalising too; for Martin knew that his getting any employment on board a ship of that class was hopeless. The money in his pocket would not pay one-fourth of the sum he had already borrowed, and if it had been enough for their passage-money, he could hardly have resolved to spend it. He explained this to Mr Bevan, and stated what their project was.
“Why, that's as wild as Eden every bit,” returned his friend. “You must take your passage like a Christian; at least, as like a Christian as a fore-cabin passenger can; and owe me a few more dollars than you intend. If Mark will go down to the ship and see what passengers there are, and finds that you can go in her without being actually suffocated, my advice is, go! You and I will look about us in the meantime (we won't call at the Norris's unless you like), and we will all three dine together in the afternoon.”
Martin had nothing to express but gratitude, and so it was arranged. But he went out of the room after Mark, and advised him to take their passage in the Screw, though they lay upon the bare deck; which Mr Tapley, who needed no entreaty on the subject readily promised to do.
When he and Martin met again, and were alone, he was in high spirits, and evidently had something to communicate, in which he gloried very much.
“I've done Mr Bevan, sir,” said Mark.
“Done Mr Bevan!” repeated Martin.
“The cook of the Screw went and got married yesterday, sir,” said Mr Tapley.
Martin looked at him for farther explanation.
“And when I got on board, and the word was passed that it was me,” said Mark, “the mate he comes and asks me whether I'd engage to take this said cook's place upon the passage home. “For you're used to it,” he says; “you were always a-cooking for everybody on your passage out.” And so I was,” said Mark, “although I never cooked before, I'll take my oath.”
“What did you say?” demanded Martin.
“Say!” cried Mark. “That I'd take anything I could get. “If that's so,” says the mate, “why, bring a glass of rum;” which they brought according. And my wages, sir,” said Mark in high glee, “pays your passage; and I've put the rolling-pin in your berth to take it (it's the easy one up in the corner); and there we are, Rule Britannia, and Britons strike home!”
“There never was such a good fellow as you are!” cried Martin seizing him by the hand. “But what do you mean by “doing” Mr Bevan, Mark?”
“Why, don't you see?” said Mark. “We don't tell him, you know. We take his money, but we don't spend it, and we don't keep it. What we do is, write him a little note, explaining this engagement, and roll it up, and leave it at the bar, to be given to him after we are gone. Don't you see?”
Martin's delight in this idea was not inferior to Mark's. It was all done as he proposed. They passed a cheerful evening; slept at the hotel; left the letter as arranged; and went off to the ship betimes next morning, with such light hearts as the weight of their past miseries engendered.
“Good-bye! a hundred thousand times good-bye!” said Martin to their friend. “How shall I remember all your kindness! How shall I ever thank you!”
“If you ever become a rich man, or a powerful one,” returned his friend, “you shall try to make your Government more careful of its subjects when they roam abroad to live. Tell it what you know of emigration in your own case, and impress upon it how much suffering may be prevented with a little pains!”
Cheerily, lads, cheerily! Anchor weighed. Ship in full sail. Her sturdy bowsprit pointing true to England. America a cloud upon the sea behind them!
“Why, Cook! what are you thinking of so steadily?” said Martin.
“Why, I was a-thinking, sir,” returned Mark, “that if I was a painter and was called upon to paint the American Eagle, how should I do it?”
“Paint it as like an Eagle as you could, I suppose.”
“No,” said Mark. “That wouldn't do for me, sir. I should want to draw it like a Bat, for its short-sightedness; like a Bantam, for its bragging; like a Magpie, for its honesty; like a Peacock, for its vanity; like a ostrich, for its putting its head in the mud, and thinking nobody sees it—”
“And like a Phoenix, for its power of springing from the ashes of its faults and vices, and soaring up anew into the sky!” said Martin. “Well, Mark. Let us hope so.”
