They had found the ship crowded and Jack and two other boys "pigged together"--in the expressive phrase of that time--on the cabin floor, through the two nights of their journey. Jack minded not the hardness of the floor, but there was much drinking and arguing and expounding of the common law in the forward end of the cabin, which often interrupted his slumbers.

He was overawed by the length and number of the crowded streets of New York and by "the great height" of many of its buildings. The grandeur of Broadway and the fashionable folk who frequented it was the subject of a long letter which he indited to his mother from The City Tavern.

He took the boat to Amboy as Benjamin Franklin had done, but without mishap, and thence traveled by stage to Burlington. There he met Mr.

John Adams of Boston, who was on his way to Philadelphia. He was a full-faced, ruddy, strong-built man of about thirty-five years, with thick, wavy dark hair that fell in well trimmed tufts on either cheek and almost concealed his ears. It was beginning to show gray. He had a prominent forehead, large blue and expressive eyes and a voice clear and resonant. He was handsomely dressed.

Mr. Adams greeted the boy warmly and told him that the testimony which he and Solomon Binkus gave had saved the life of Captain Preston. The great lawyer took much interest in the boy and accompanied him to the top of the stage, the weather being clear and warm. Mr. Adams sat facing Jack, and beside the latter was a slim man with a small sad countenance which wore a permanent look of astonishment. Jack says in a letter that his beard "was not composed of hair, but hairs as straight and numerable as those in a cat's whiskers." They were also gray like his eyes. After the stage had started this man turned to Jack and asked:

"What is your name, boy?"

"John Irons."

The man opened his eyes wider and drew in his breath between parted lips as if he had heard a most astonishing fact.

"My name is Pinhorn, sir--Eliphalet Pinhorn," he reciprocated. "I have been visiting my wife in Newark."

Jack thought it a singular thing that a man should have been visiting his wife.

"May I ask where you are going?" the man inquired of the boy.

"To Philadelphia."

Mr. Pinhorn turned toward him with a look of increased astonishment and demanded:

"Been there before?"

"Never."

The man made a sound that was between a sigh and a groan. Then, almost sternly and in a confidential tone, as if suddenly impressed by the peril of an immortal soul, he said:

"Young man, beware! I say to you, beware!"

Each stiff gray hair on his chin seemed to erect itself into an animated exclamation point. Turning again, he whispered:

"You will soon shake its dust from your feet."

"Why?"

"A sinking place! Every one bankrupt or nearly so. Display! Nothing but display! Feasting, drinking! No thought of to-morrow! UnG.o.dly city!"

In concluding his indictment, Mr. Pinhorn partly covered his mouth and whispered the one word:

"Babylon!"

A moment of silence followed, after which he added; "I would never build a house or risk a penny in business there."

"I am going to work in Doctor Benjamin Franklin's print shop," said Jack proudly.

Mr. Pinhorn turned with a look of consternation clearly indicating that this was the last straw. He warned in a half whisper:

"Again I say beware! That is the word--beware!"

He almost shuddered as he spoke, and leaning close to the boy's ear, added in a confidential tone:

"The King of Babylon! A sinking business! An evil man!" He looked sternly into the eyes of the boy and whispered: "Very! Oh, very!" He sat back in his seat again, while the expression of his whole figure seemed to say, "Thank G.o.d, my conscience is clear, whatever happens to you."

Jack was so taken down by all this that, for a moment, his head swam.

Mr. Pinhorn added:

"Prospered, but how? That is the question. Took the money of a friend and spent it. Many could tell you. Wine! Women! Infidelity! House built on the sands!"

Mr. Adams had heard most of the gloomy talk of the slim man. Suddenly he said to the slanderer:

"My friend, did I hear you say that you have been visiting your wife?"

"You did, sir."

"Well, I do not wonder that she lives in another part of the country,"

said Mr. Adams. "I should think that Philadelphia would feel like moving away from you. I have heard you say that it was a sinking city.

It is nothing of the kind. It is floating in spite of the fact that there are human sinkers in it like yourself. I hate the heart of lead.

This is the land of hope and faith and confidence. If you do not like it here, go back to England. _We_ do not put our money into holes in the wall. We lend it to our neighbors because they are worthy of being trusted. We believe in our neighbors. We put our cash into business and borrow more to increase our profits. It is true that many men in Philadelphia are in debt, but they are mostly good for what they owe.

It is a thriving place. I could not help hearing you speak evil of Doctor Franklin. He is my friend. I am proud to say it and I should be no friend of his if I allowed your words to go unrebuked. Yours, sir, is a leaden soul. It is without hope or trust in the things of this life. You seem not to know that a new world is born. It is a world of three tenses. We who really live in it are chiefly interested in what a man is and is likely _to be_, not in what he _was_. Doctor Franklin would not hesitate to tell you that his youth was not all it should have been. He does not conceal his errors. There is no more honest gentleman in the wide world than Doctor Franklin."

Mr. Adams had spoken with feeling and a look of indignation in his eyes. He was a frank, fearless character. All who sat on the top of the coach had heard him and when he had finished they clapped their hands.

Jack was much relieved. He had been put in mind of what Doctor Franklin had said long ago, one evening in Albany, of his struggle against the faults and follies of his youth. For a moment Mr. Pinhorn was dumb with astonishment.

"Nevertheless, sir, I hold to my convictions," he said.

"Of course you do," Mr. Adams answered. "No man like you ever recovered from his convictions, for the reason that his convictions are stronger than he is."

Mr. Pinhorn partly covered his mouth and turned to the boy and whispered:

"It is a time of violent men. Let us hold our peace."

At the next stop where they halted for dinner Mr. Adams asked the boy to sit down with him at the table. When they were seated the great man said:

"I have to be on guard against catching fire these days. Sometimes I feel the need of a companion with a fire bucket. My headlight is hope and I have little patience with these whispering, croaking Tories and with the barons of the south and the upper Hudson. I used to hold the plow on my father's farm and I am still plowing as your father is."

Jack turned with a look of inquiry.

"We are breaking new land," Mr. Adams went on. "We are treading the ordeal path among the red-hot plowshares of politics."

"It is what I should like to do," said the boy.

"You will be needed, but we must be without fear, remembering that almost every man who has gained real distinction in politics has met a violent death. There are the shining examples of Brutus, Ca.s.sius, Hampden and Sidney, but it is worth while."

"I believe you taught school at Worcester," said Jack.