Читать книгу The Runaway - Unknown - Страница 5

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.

The sailor looked at him a moment, turned his huge tobacco quid over in his mouth, hitched up his trowsers, and said:

"Why, you young runaway, do you want to go to sea? What can such a chap as you do on a ship? Go home, and stick by your mammy for five years more, and then you'll have no trouble in shipping."

Rodney was a good deal frightened at such a reply, and walked on for some time, not venturing to ask again. Toward noon he went on board a large vessel, and seeing a man, whom he took for the captain of the ship, asked him if he could give him a place.

"No, my boy," he replied; "we don't sail for three weeks, and we never ship a crew before the time."

All day he wandered about the wharves, and to all his questions received repelling replies, mingled oftentimes with oaths, jeers, and insults. No one seemed to feel the least interest for him.