My mind was made up; and, stepping into a shop, I expended two of my four dollars in the purchase of a "revolver,"--second-hand, but an excellent weapon, and true as gold. A few cents supplied me with some balls and powder; and, thus provided, I took my way towards the wharf where the steamer lay, already making some indicative signs of readiness.
I took a steerage passage; and, not knowing where or how to dispose of myself in the interval before starting, I clambered into a boat on deck, and, with my bundle for a pillow, fell into a pleasant doze. It was not so much sleep as a semi-waking state that merely dulled and dimmed impressions,--a frame of mind I have often found very favorable to thought. One is often enabled to examine a question in this wise, as they look at the sun through a smoked glass, and observe the glittering object without being blinded by its brilliancy. I suppose the time I passed in this manner was as near an approach to low spirits as I am capable of feeling; for of regular downright depression, I know as little as did Nelson of fear.
I bethought me seriously of the "scrape" in which I found myself, and reflected with considerable misgivings upon the summary principles of justice in vogue around me; and yet the knavery was not of my own seeking. Like Falstaff's honor, it was "thrust upon me." I was innocent of all plot or device. "Le diable qui se mêle en tout "--never was there a truer saying--would have it that I should exchange coats with another, and that this confounded ticket should be the compensation for worn seams and absent buttons.
I have no doubt, thought I, but that "Honesty is the best policy," pretty much upon the same principle that even a dead calm is better than a hurricane. But to him who desires "progress," on whose heart the word "onward" is written, the calm is lethargy, while the storm may prove propitious. I then tried to persuade myself that even this adventure could not turn out ill,--not that I could by any ingenuity devise how it should prove otherwise; but I knew that Fortune is as skilful as she is kind, and so I left the whole charge to her.
Is it my fault, I exclaimed, that I am not rich, and wellborn, and great? Show me any one who would have enjoyed such privileges more. Is it my fault that, being poor, ignoble, and lowly in condition, I have tastes and aspirations at war with my situation? These ought rather to be stimulants to exertion than caprices of Fortune. I like the theory better, too; and is it not hard to be condemned for the devices I am reduced to employ to combat such natural evils? If the prisoner severs his fetters with an old nail, it is because he does not possess the luxury of a file or a "cold chisel." As for me, the employment of small and insignificant means is highly distasteful; instead of following the lone mountain-path on foot, I'd drive "life's high road" four-in-hand, if I could.