Читать книгу Wrecked on Spider Island; Or, How Ned Rogers Found the Treasure - Otis James - Страница 3

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Ned Rogers had but few acquaintances in the city of Portland, Maine; but those few were positive the boy had run away from home.

It was quite natural such should be the general idea among those who saw him trying from day to day to earn the small amount of money necessary to provide him with food.

As a matter of course it was essential he should also have clothes and a bed at night; but Ned had found it such hard work to get sufficient to satisfy his hunger that it would have seemed a willful waste of money to expend it on anything save provisions.

He very often found shelter in the store-houses on the wharves where he sought employment. Sometimes the crew of a fishing vessel would allow him to remain on board during the night, and more than once did he walk around the streets because of his inability to go elsewhere.

As for clothing, the badly patched suit he wore, which had originally been made for a full-sized man, was quite as much as he aspired to until “luck came his way,” and to have new garments was a dream he never allowed himself to indulge in, because of the apparent impossibility.

Now, while Ned presented every indication of a boy who has run away from home in order to better his fortunes, and wishes heartily that he could run back, he had never been so foolish, for the simple reason that so long as he could remember there was no home for him in all this wide world.

His first remembrance of anything even approaching an abiding-place was when he had reached his fifth birthday, and then understood he was supported by an uncle, who seldom lost an opportunity of telling him what a useless article he was, more especially on a farm.

After that he remembered a funeral, with his uncle in the coffin, and from the moment the hard-hearted farmer was carried to his last resting-place Ned’s journeyings began.

First one neighbor and then another had some work by which he could earn enough to pay for the small amount he ate, and finally, as he grew older, even these opportunities ceased.

He did not know that he had a single relative in the world to whom he could go, and while perfectly willing and even anxious to work, the townspeople called him a “lazy good-for-nothing, whose only desire was to eat the bread of idleness.”

“It’s mighty little of any kind of bread I get,” Ned once said to Deacon Grout, when the latter had made use of this remark because the boy applied to him for work. “I allers have done whatever I could find that would give me a square meal or a place to sleep; but it looks as if you folks wasn’t willin’ to spare that much. I s’pose you think a feller like me oughter pay for the privilege of stayin’ in this blamed old town.”

There is no question but that Ned’s provocation was great, yet it was an ill-advised remark, for from that day he not only had the reputation of being lazy, but impudent as well.

The deacon predicted he would “come to some bad end,” and the deacon’s friends fully expected each morning to hear that “the Rogers boy” had been sent to jail, because of having committed some terrible crime.

Despite this very unpleasant and unsatisfactory method of gaining less than half a livelihood, Ned remained in the town until he was fourteen years old; not for love of the place, but owing to his inability to leave.

The city was so far away that he did not think it possible to walk, and as for paying his fare on the stage-coach, he might just as well have cried for the moon.

The cost of riding from Jonesboro to Portland, in both stage and cars, was $7, and Ned had never been the possessor of a tenth part of that amount, although he was really as industrious as the townspeople would allow him to be.

From the day he was ten years old the unhappy boy had said to himself that he would go to the city at the first opportunity; but as the weeks went by and he could see no possibility of carrying out such a plan, he grew discouraged.

“I expect what the deacon said will come true,” he thought, “an’ it won’t be my fault. The people ain’t willin’ to give me a job, an’ if I do get a chance now an’ then, nobody wants to pay cash.”

It was when the future looked darkest, and he had begun to ask himself whether it would not be possible for him to walk to Portland, even though the distance was more than two hundred miles, that the longed-for opportunity arrived.

A drover passed through the town, or was about to do so, with a hundred head of cattle, when one of his drivers was taken sick, and he inquired for some one to fill the man’s place.

The stock was to be driven to the nearest shipping point on the railroad, and from there taken by cars to Portland.

Ned heard of the drover’s necessities and applied for the situation, agreeing to do the work, provided he was taken as far as the city and supplied with food during the journey.

On such terms there was but little difficulty in making a trade, and the boy left his native town, determined never to return until he could show Deacon Grout and his friends that it was possible for him to rise in the world when he was among those who would allow him an opportunity.

The journey, slow and fatiguing though it was, delighted Ned.

Everything around him was strange and wonderful, and those with whom he came in contact treated him like a human being, which was a pleasing contrast to his experience in Jonesboro.

The other drivers told him of what could be seen in the great world to which he was going, and related more than one story of poor boys who had started out to seek their fortunes under even more distressing circumstances than those from which he suffered, coming back some day rich and respected, until he began to think it was only necessary to gain the city in order to be wealthy.

With such dreams as these was his time occupied, and when the journey was finally finished he began to look around for one of those very charitable men whom he fancied were waiting in large cities to welcome, with outstretched arms and plenty of money, all poor boys.

As a matter of course he found nothing of the kind, and before forty-eight hours had passed began to realize that the people in one place were very much like those in all others.

No one seemed to have any especial interest in him, and it was quite as difficult to find an opportunity to work in the city as in the country.

After the first day he understood that there would be but little chance for him to get an engagement in a store while his clothing was in such a condition, and he relinquished that portion of his plans to seek work around the docks.

Here he succeeded in earning about as much as while in Jonesboro; but his life was more pleasant because he was treated more like a human being and less as a criminal.

During the summer season it made but little difference where he slept; but winter was near at hand, and it became absolutely necessary he should make such arrangements as would provide himself with a shelter.

Until this time he had resolutely set his mind against going to sea, for he was quite certain it would not be an agreeable life, and there would be but little chance for him, without influence, to rise above the level of a sailor.

“It’s no use, I’ve got to try it,” he said to himself one morning when, after sleeping under a pile of lumber on a pier, he awakened to find everything covered with hoar-frost. “I’m pretty nigh frozen now, an’ what’ll be the position of affairs in another month?”

Having once determined his course, Ned lost no time in acting upon it.

He was very well acquainted with the waterfront of the city and knew where to find vessels bound for a foreign port.

Since it seemed necessary for him to go to sea he did not intend to ship on board a fishing vessel or one engaged in the coast-wise trade, for the very good reason that in such craft he would not receive sufficient advance to purchase the much-needed outfit.

The brig Evening Star was loading for Manila, and this seemed to him the proper kind of a voyage to take. When the trip was ended he would have wages enough due him, provided he spent no money except for clothing, to admit of making himself presentable for a situation in a store.

Captain Bragg was on the quarter-deck talking with one of his officers when Ned clambered over the side and stood by the port rail amidships waiting until the master of the brig should be at leisure to speak with him.

“What do you want?” the captain asked five minutes later when, the interview having come to an end, he condescended to notice the boy.

“I’d like to ship on this brig if you need a boy.”

“What can you do?”

“Almost anything in the cabin; but I don’t believe I’d make much of a fist goin’ aloft.”

“So you’re no sailor, but want to go to sea?”

“I had rather stay on shore, sir; but I can’t get a job, so made up my mind to try it aboard ship if any one is willin’ to take a green hand.”

“What about wages?”

“I’ll leave that to you, sir, providin’ I can have advance enough to give me a decent fittin’ out. These clothes I’ve got on are all I own, an’ I reckon more’n them will be needed before the brig gets back.”

“Would you like to ship as cabin-boy?”

“At what wages, sir?”

“Ten dollars a month and an advance of two months’ wages out of the slop-chest.”

Ned did not understand that by taking his outfit from the vessel’s stores he might be forced to pay a great deal more than the same articles would cost ashore, and readily engaged on those terms.

“Here, Mr. Stout, see that this boy gets what he needs from the chest, and then set him to work cleaning up the cabin,” the captain said to the first officer, and the latter motioned for Ned to follow him.

Leading the way below he brought out a pair of woolen trousers, two shirts and a reefing jacket, which he gave to Ned as he said:

“So you’re goin’ to sea, eh?”

“Yes, sir.”

“First voyage?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Run away from home, I reckon.”

“No, sir; I’ve never had any since I can remember, an’ if I knew of one you wouldn’t see me here. I’ve only shipped because I can’t help myself. This livin’ on wind ain’t what it’s cracked up to be, an’ I want to get under cover for the winter.”

Mr. Stout looked at the boy almost pityingly, and said half to himself:

“It’s kinder tough to strike this pertic’lar craft on the first cruise.”

“Isn’t she a sound vessel, sir?” Ned asked, fearful lest there might be good reason for him to remain ashore.

“Oh, yes,” the mate replied quickly, looking like one who fancies he has been so indiscreet as to say too much. “There’s nothin’ wrong with the Evenin’ Star. I was thinkin’ of somethin’ else when I spoke. Get inter them clothes so I can show you where to go to work. I reckon the duds you’ve taken off will be about fit to throw overboard; they wouldn’t hang together many days longer.”

Ned would have insisted on knowing what the mate meant by his words in reference to the vessel; but that gentleman did not appear inclined to continue the conversation, and the boy was forced to follow him into the cabin without the desired information.

Ten minutes later Ned had forgotten that anything odd or unusual had been said, so interested was he in his work.

The cabin was in a shockingly dirty condition, and he resolved to put it so thoroughly to rights that the captain could not fail to be pleased at having hired such an industrious boy.

He had had no breakfast; but the loss of a meal was something to which he was accustomed, having missed more than he got while on shore, therefore this trifling matter did not disturb him.

When noon came he had not finished, and the cook insisted that he stop until dinner should be served.

As a matter of course he obeyed, and was assisting in laying the table when the captain entered.

“Is this what you call cleaning the cabin?” he cried in a rage, pointing to a pile of dirt which Ned had left in one corner until he finished sweeping.

“I only stopped to help set the table, sir,” Ned replied promptly, little thinking there could be any cause for complaint. “I shall be all through before supper-time.”

“How many hours do you want on a job like this?” the captain asked angrily.

“I’m getting along right well, sir; but it was so dirty that a feller couldn’t make his work show till he was almost through.”

“You’ve got too much chin to suit me,” the captain cried, and at that instant Ned was forced to pass very near the man, who appeared as if trying to make himself angry when no reason for a display of temper existed.

Conscious that he had not offended in any way, Ned hardly expected to receive punishment, therefore was wholly unprepared for what followed.

The captain struck him a vicious blow which sent him headlong toward the companion-way at the very instant the cook was descending with a basin of hot soup.

As a matter of course Ned had no control over his own movements, neither had the cook, and the result was that the two came together with a force and suddenness which sent both to the floor, the scalding liquid flowing over their faces and limbs.

“What do you mean by that?” the captain cried, as running swiftly toward the injured boy, he seized him by the coat collar, struck him on the face several times with full force, and then hurled him to the deck above. “I’ll teach you to spoil my dinner!”

Ned did not hear this last remark. His head had struck against one of the rail stanchions, and he lay unconscious, while the captain turned the vials of his wrath on the unoffending steward.

When the new cabin-boy recovered his senses he was in the galley and the cook was applying oil and flour to the blisters on his own face and hands.

“What was you doin’ when the captain came in?” the master of the galley asked.

“Nothin’ more’n you saw. I’d been to work all the forenoon, an’ only stopped when you wanted me to help set the table. I can’t tell what made him fly at me so.”

“It’s a way he has when he gets two or three drinks aboard,” the cook replied with a smothered threat. “One of these days he’ll try that trick too often.”

“Did he do anything to you?”

“Not so very much,” and the man pulled up his trousers to show two ugly bruises on his leg. “That’s where he caught me before I could get on to my feet.”

“Did you say anything?”

“It don’t pay to do very much chinnin’ when the captain is around,” was the sage reply; “but he’s got to carry sail different from this, or the Evening Star won’t have a cook on board when she leaves port.”

“He can hunt for another cabin-boy mighty quick,” Ned said angrily. “I’m willin’ to do my work or stand a flogging, but he shan’t knock me down when I’m trying my best.”

“I don’t see how you can help yourself now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothin’ except that you’ve shipped, an’ it won’t be so easy to get away, for the police would arrest you on his complaint.”

“But I haven’t reg’larly shipped.”

“Oh, yes, you have. The minute you received what they handed out from the slop-chest you was one of the crew. It’s a case now of makin’ the best of it, and if you take my advice you’ll show up bright and smilin’ when he sends for you.”

It was only natural Ned should be very angry because of the cruel and undeserved treatment; but before the cook finished giving him good advice he realized that there was nothing left but to make the best of a bad job, since without money or friends it would be very difficult to avoid going to sea in the Evening Star, in case the captain insisted on his remaining aboard.