The Runaway. Unknown
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held between the two lads, during the next month. Will Manton's determination was fixed, and he was making secret preparations to start upon his wild journey. Rodney, though equally desirous to escape the restraints of home, could not yet make up his mind to risk the adventure. He regarded his comrade as a sort of young hero; and he wished he had the courage to be like him.
One Monday morning, in June, as he was returning from his work, he saw Will Manton's old grandfather standing before the door, looking up and down the street; and he noticed that he seemed very uneasy, and much distressed. When he came opposite the house, on the other side of the street, the old gentleman called him over, and asked him, "Rodney, do you know where Will is?"
The boy's heart beat wildly, and his cheek turned pale; for he at once surmised that his comrade had carried out his purpose. He stammered out, in reply,
"I have not seen him since last Friday night."
"It is very strange," said the old man. "He has not been at home since last Sunday, at dinner-time. What has become of him?"
Will Manton was gone!
To the anxious inquiries that were made, his friends discovered that he had left Albany in the evening boat, on Tuesday, for New York. Though a messenger was immediately sent after him, no trace of him could be discovered. A few months after, they received a letter from him, written from Liverpool, where he had gone in a merchant-ship, as a cabin-boy. His friends were very much grieved and distressed, but hoped that he would soon grow weary of a hard and roving life, and return to his home.
There was a romantic interest in all this for young Rodney. In his imagination, Will Manton was a hero. He was scarcely ever out of his thoughts. He would follow him in fancy, bounding over the broad sea, with all the sails of the majestic ship swelling in the favoring breeze, now touching at some island, and looking at the strange dresses and customs of a barbarous people; now meeting a homeward-bound vessel, and exchanging joyful greetings; and now lying to in a calm, and spearing dolphins and harpooning whales. When the storm raged, he almost trembled lest he might be wrecked; but, when it was over, he fancied the noble ship, having weathered the storm, stemming safely the high waves, and careering gracefully on her course. Or, if he was wrecked, he imagined that he must be cast upon some shore where the hospitable inhabitants hurried down to the beach to the relief of the crew, bore them safely through the breakers, and pressed upon them the comforts of their homes. His wild imagination followed him to other lands, and roved with him along the streets of European cities, among the ruins of Grecian temples, over the gardens of Spain and the vineyards of Italy, through the pagodas of India, and the narrow streets of Calcutta and Canton.
"O," thought he, "how delightful must be such a life! How pleasant to be roaming amid scenes that are always new! And how wretched to be tied to such a life as I lead, following the same weary round of miserable drudgery every day!"
But it was Rodney's own fancy that painted this enjoyment of a sailor-boy's life. Will Manton did not find it so pleasant in reality. There was more menial drudgery to the poor cabin-boy on ship-board, than he had ever known in the carpenter's shop. He was sworn at, and thumped, and kicked, and driven from one thing to another, by the captain, and mates, and steward, and crew, all day long. And many a night, when, weary and sore, he crept to his hard, narrow bunk, he lay and cried himself to sleep, thinking of his kind and pleasant home.
When Fancy pictures before the restless mind distant and unknown scenes, she divests them of all the rough realities which a nearer view and a tried experience find in them. The mountain-side looks smooth and pleasant from a distance, but we find it rugged and wearisome when we attempt to climb it.
One idea had now gained almost sole possession of poor Rodney's mind. He must go to sea! He thought of it all day, and dreamed of it at night. He did not dare to speak about it to his mother, for he knew that she would refuse her consent. He must run away! He formed a hundred different plans, and was forced to abandon them. Now Will Manton was gone, there was no one with whom he could consult. He was afraid to speak of it, lest it should reach the ears of his mother. Alone he nursed his resolution, and formed his plans.
He was very unhappy, because he knew that he was purposing wrong. He could not be contented with his employment, and he knew how it would grieve the hearts of those who loved him, if he should persist in his design. Yet, when he pictured to himself the freedom from restraint, the pleasure of roaming from place to place over the world, and the thousand exciting scenes and adventures which he should meet by becoming a sailor, he determined, at all hazards, to make the attempt.
Unhappy boy! He was sowing, for his own reaping, the seeds of a bitter harvest of wretchedness and remorse.
CHAPTER III
RODNEY IN NEW YORK
ON a beautiful Sabbath morning in July, Rodney stood in the hall of the old Dutch house in which successive generations of the family had been born, and paused to look the last farewell, he dare not speak, upon those who loved him, and whom, notwithstanding his waywardness, he also loved.
There sat his pious and venerable grandmother, with the little round stand before her, upon which lay the old family Bible, over which she was intently bending, reading and commenting to herself, as was her custom, in half-audible tones. He had often stood behind her, and listened, unobserved, as she read verse after verse, and paused after each, to testify of its truth, or piously apply it to herself and others. And now he thought that, in all probability, he would never see her again, and he half repented his determination. But his preparations were all made, and he could not now hesitate, lest his purpose should be discovered.
He looked at his mother, as she was arranging the dress of a younger and only brother, for the Sabbath-school. As she leaned over him, and smoothed down the collar she had just fastened round his neck, Rodney, with heart and eye, bade farewell to both.
He stood and gazed for a moment upon his only sister, who sat with her baby in her arms, answering the little laughing prattler in a language that sounded like its own, and which certainly none but the two could understand. Some might doubt whether they understood it themselves; but they both seemed highly interested and delighted by the conversation.
That dear sister, amiable and loving, is long since dead. She greeted death with a cheerful welcome, for the messenger released her from a life of domestic unhappiness, and introduced her into that blessed heaven "where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest."
And that prattling infant has become, in his turn, a runaway sailor-boy, flying from an unhappy home to a more wretched destiny, of whose wanderings or existence nothing has been heard for many years.
It was one hasty, intense glance which Rodney cast over these groups, and each beloved figure, as it then appeared, was fixed in his memory forever. He has never forgotten—he never can forget—that moment, or the emotions that thrilled his heart as he turned away from them.
He had hidden a little trunk, containing his clothing, in the stable, and thither he hastened; and, throwing his trunk upon his shoulder, he stole out of the back gate, and took his course through bye streets to the dock, where he went on board a steamboat, and in half an hour was sailing down the Hudson towards New York.
He had no money with which to pay his passage. He had left home without a single sixpence. When the captain came to collect the passengers' fare, he told him a wicked, premeditated lie. He said that, in taking his handkerchief from his pocket, he had accidentally drawn out his pocket-book with it, and that it had fallen overboard. Thus one sin prepares the way to the commission of another.
He offered to leave his trunk in pledge for the payment of the passage; and the captain, after finding it full of clothing, ordered it to be locked up until the money was paid. Rodney expected to be able to get a situation in some ship immediately, and to receive a part of his wages in advance, with which he could redeem his clothing.
He slept on board the steamboat, and on Monday morning started in search of a ship that would take him. He wandered along the wharves, and at first was afraid to speak to any one, lest he should be questioned and sent home. At last he made up his mind to ask a sailor, whom he saw sauntering on the dock, if he knew where he could get a place on board a ship.
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