NED BURTON LOSES HIS MOTHER, AND IS LEFT PENNILESS--WALKS TO PORTSMOUTH,
AND IS DISHEARTENED--IS CHEERED, DIRECTED, AND HELPED BY OLD MOLL--GETS
ON BOARD THE TRAINING SHIP--AND MAKES A FRIEND--BUT IS REJECTED FOR NOT
BEING ABLE TO READ--COMFORTED BY BILL HUDSON--BILL'S SHIPMATES HELP NED
TO FIELD LANE--BILL TAKES HIM THERE--HE IS KINDLY RECEIVED--IS MADE A
SAILOR OF AT LAST.
On a miserable pallet bedstead, in a small attic of one of the meanest
houses in the lowest portion of a provincial town in the south of
England, a woman lay dying. The curtainless window and window--panes,
stuffed with straw, the scanty patchwork covering to the bed, the single
rickety chair, the unswept floor, the damp, mildewed walls, the door
falling from its hinges, told of pinching poverty. On the opposite
corner to the bedstead there was a heap of straw, to serve as another
bed, and against the wall a much-battered sea-chest and an open basket,
containing even now a few rotting oranges, some damaged tapes, and such
articles as are vended by small hawkers. Standing by the bed-side was a
lad with an intelligent, not ill-favoured, countenance, though sickly,
and expressive of deep grief, as he gazed on the face of one who had
ever been a kind mother to him, and from whom he now knew full well that
he was to be parted for ever.
"Ned, my boy, I have done my best to keep myself and thee from the
workhouse," said the woman, trying to lift herself up on her arm, that
she might the better see the lad. "It has been a hard struggle, but I
have done it for thy father's sake. He was a sailor, and would never
have thought to see me come to this pass. Thou must be one, too, Ned.
It's a rough life, but better far than starving on shore. I've done
little for thee, lad, but feed thee, and try to teach thee to be honest,
as thy father was. Be honest, Ned, whatever ye do, for thy poor
mother's sake. But for thee, lad, I'd have left the weary world many a
long year ago."
"Oh, mother, mother, stay now--oh, do!" cried the lad. "Won't the
doctor help you--won't the parson?"
"No, lad; no doctor, no parson, can keep me here. But I'd like to see
the parson. Maybe he'd tell me about the place I'm going to; for it's
far off, I wot, and little I know of the road."
"Oh, mother, I'll run and fetch him."
Just as Ned was going, the dying woman sunk down, exhausted with
talking. "Don't leave me, boy," she faintly murmured; "it's too late
now. May God hear a widow's prayer, and be merciful to you, and forgive
me."
Her voice sank--the last words were gasped out. Her son bent his head
to hear her: he stood gazing at her face, expecting to hear her speak
again. Gradually he became aware that he was alone in the world. His
grief was too deep for tears. For hours he stood there, watching the
face of the only being who had cared for him in the world; and then Ned
Burton went out and did as she had before bade him, and, with the money
she had hoarded up for the purpose, and that produced by the sale of the
last few articles in the house, save his father's sea-chest, obtained
for her an humble funeral, truly, but not that of a pauper. Then,
leaving the chest with a neighbour till he should return and claim it,
he went forth penniless into the world to seek his fortune.
Ned Burton's ambition was to be a sailor--not that he knew anything of
the sea, except that his father had spent his life on it. His mother
could not read or write, and, unable to instruct him or to pay for his
instruction, being, indeed, too poor to do without the pittance his
labours brought, she had allowed him to grow up in extreme ignorance--
though, according to the faint light that was in her, she had taught
him, to the best of her power, to do right. Still, poor Ned knew
nothing of religion. He had never been taught even to pray. Thus,
helpless and forlorn, he went forth to battle with the world. A
neighbour had told him that big ships sailed from Portsmouth, so towards
Portsmouth he bent his steps, inquiring his way as he went. A few of
those who knew him, and had bought his mother's oranges and bobbins,
gave him a few pence, and filled his wallet with crusts of bread, and
scraps of cheese and bacon, so that he had not to beg for food.
At night he slept under haystacks or hedges, or in empty barns, and thus
in time he reached Portsmouth, sore-footed, weary, and hungry, for
during the last day his wallet had been empty.
Wandering down the High Street, he passed through a large gateway, and
out on a common, from whence he caught sight of the blue sea, and
several huge ships floating on it, but they were too far out to reach,
and he had no money to pay for a boat; and he would have gained nothing
had he reached them, for a poor ragged boy like him would not have been
received on board. So he went back the way he had come. He asked
several people if they could tell him how he could get on board ship,
but they must have thought that he was silly, for they smiled and passed
on.
He had begun to think that he should never obtain his wishes, when close
to the Southsea Gate he saw an old apple-woman sitting at her stall.
She brought his mother to mind. She looked kind, too, so he asked her.
Something in his manner touched Old Moll's heart. She asked him several
questions, and then said, "Sure, yes; there's what they call a
training-ship for boys--the old ---, off the Dockyard, at Portsea.
They, maybe, will take you. Here's sixpence to get aboard; and here--
you look hungry, lad--is some gingerbread and apples--they'll do you
good; and now God speed you! Go straight on--you can't miss the way,
and come and tell me some day how you've fared."
Ned went on through narrow lanes and dirty streets, till he came near
the shore of the harbour, which was crowded with vessels of all sizes.
"If one won't have me, surely another will," he said to himself, as he
gazed with wonder at some of the line-of-battle ships. "They must want
a precious number of people to fill those great things."
He now began to inquire which was the old ---, where boys were received.
He was told that he couldn't see her from there--that she was higher up
the harbour; but none of the boatmen he spoke to seemed disposed to take
him on board. In vain he promised his sixpence. He had gone out to the
end of one of the slips from the Common Hard, when two seamen and a
sailor lad came down, carrying baskets, evidently full of provisions,
and directed one of the boatmen who had just refused him to take them on
board the old ---. As they were stepping into the wherry, the boatman
beckoned to Ned, and told him that he could now go. He took his seat
next to the lad, who, in spite of his own clean white trousers, and blue
shirt with worked collar, and fresh straw hat, seemed in no way to
despise his ragged dress. In a kind tone he asked Ned why he was going
on board. Ned told him.
"Hope you'll succeed, mate," he observed. "A year ago, I was like you--
only paler and thinner, and maybe fewer clothes to my back--and trembled
when I went aloft; and now there are not many aboard can reach the
main-truck from the deck before me, or lay out smarter on a yard."
The tide was against them, so that Ned had time to tell his new
acquaintances a good deal of his history before they reached the ship.
They all seemed to take an interest in him, especially the lad--a fine,
strong ruddy-faced young fellow of sixteen.
"Well, just do you ask for Bill Hudson--that's me--after you've seen the
first lieutenant and the doctor; and then I'll tell you what to do,"
said the latter. "You might lose yourself, do ye see, otherwise, about
there."
When they arrived alongside the huge ship, and Ned proffered his
sixpence, the men wouldn't let him pay it, but helped him up the side
through the entrance port, when he found himself, for the first time, on
the main-deck of a man-of-war. While Bill Hudson went to find the
proper person to take him to the officers for examination, he was lost
in wonder, looking at the huge guns, with their polished gear, the
countless number, it seemed, of boys and men moving about--all so
cleanly and neatly dressed--and the spotless decks, white as a wooden
platter.
At length he was summoned. He trembled with agitation, for he felt so
dirty, and poor, and miserable, that he thought the officers, when they
saw him, would quickly turn him out of the ship again. The first
lieutenant, however, important as he looked, seemed pleased with his
appearance and manner; the surgeon pronounced him a healthy, able-bodied
lad, fit for the service; but he had brought no certificates of
parentage or age. Had he his parents' permission to come to sea? he was
asked. They were both dead: he had no friends; but he produced a tin
case which had been his father's. The contents showed that the owner
had been a petty officer in the navy, and had borne an excellent
character. But another question was put; could he read and write? (No
boys could be received at that time unless they possessed those
accomplishments.) Poor Ned had to confess that he was ignorant of both
arts.
He was finally rejected. There was no help for it; though, as his
father's certificate-case was returned to him, the officers expressed a
hope that he might be some day accepted, if he could learn.
He went forward, much dejected, to find Bill Hudson; for this was but
small consolation to him. How could he learn to read and write, when
all his strength would be required to obtain food for his subsistence?
So he thought.
Bill heard his account of what had happened.
"If you had said that you couldn't read and write, I could have told you
what would happen. But, don't be cast down, Ned. Little more than
three years ago, I couldn't read nor write, and hadn't shoes to my feet,
and scarce a rag on my back. I was a poor outcast boy, without father
or mother--no shelter for my head, and often no food to eat. I picked
up a living as I could, holding horses, running errands, when anybody
would trust me. I didn't steal, but I was often and often very near
doing so, as I passed the butchers', and fruiterers', and bakers'
shops--just to fill my empty stomach. It wasn't so much because I
wouldn't do it, as because I knew that they kept a sharp look-out, and I
should have been caught. At last I thought I would try it on; and I
didn't care if I was sent to prison, for I should have been fed, at all
events: but that very day a gentleman passing, saw me watching a stall,
the owner of which had just left it, as if I was going to take whatever
I could grab; and so I was. And he asked me if I was hungry; and he
gave me a roll from his pocket, and then he asked me where I lived, and
I said `Nowhere;' and then he told me that if I would follow him he
would show me where I could get food and shelter, and, might be,
clothing and instruction, and means, too, of gaining my livelihood.
Though I didn't much credit him, I went; and he took me to the Field
Lane Ragged School, as it is called; and there I found all he told me,
and more. I soon showed them that I didn't want to eat the bread of
idleness, and they got me employment in the day, and in the evening I
used to go regularly to the school, and sleep in the Refuge, till I
earned enough, by working four days, to go to the day-school for two
days; and I soon learned to read and write; and more than that, Ned, I
learned what made me a Christian, which I wasn't before I went there.
For, I tell you, Ned, I was a heathen; I knew no more about God and his
love for man than a block of stone; and I thought that he hated poor
people, and sent them all to hell, and that there was no use being good.
I did not know that it was sin brought the misery I saw around me into
the world, and that God hates sin, but loves sinners; for if he doesn't,
he'd never have sent his only Son into the world to save them. At last
I was asked what trade I would be, and I said, `A sailor;' for I had
been reading about the sea, and thought I should like to live on it. So
they sent me down here, and I do like it, Ned, right well. And now I've
told you all this, because I want to ask you if you'd like to go to
Field Lane. I tell you it is a blessed place; and a blessed moment it
was to me when I entered it. You'd learn to read and write, and be
looked after, and learn to gain your daily bread, and be told about God
and Jesus Christ, and how to be happy; and if you don't know about them,
you can't be happy, that I tell you."
Ned had been much surprised with all he had seen on board ship, but he
was more surprised at what Bill told him, though in a different way. He
said, certainly that he should like to go there, but how could he? Bill
replied that "where there's a will there's a way." Many of his
shipmates had heard Ned's history, and were interested in him; and he
would speak to the first lieutenant and to some of the officers, who
were kind, Christian men, and see what could be done.
Bill Hudson did do his best, and very effectual that was. He had acted
as officer's servant, and saved up some money; and he went round the
ship and told Ned's story; and all who heard it subscribed--some more
and some less; and the officers, when they heard his proposal,
subscribed very liberally. Ned was invited down to Bill's mess, and
never had he eaten so hearty a dinner.
"No wonder the sailors on board here grow stout and strong, if they have
so good a dinner as this every day," he observed.
"It's the same every day. No banyan days with us, now, in the navy,"
was the answer.
At last Bill Hudson's plan was matured, and the power granted him for
carrying it into execution. Ned was told he must stop on board for tea.
In the evening Bill came to him triumphant.
"It's all settled," he exclaimed. "You see, Ned, it would never do for
you to go up to big London all by yourself, and to wander about, not
knowing your way; so I've got leave from the first lieutenant to go with
you."
"You--you go up to London with me; that will be good!" exclaimed Ned,
delighted.
Ned slept on board, and, from the kind way he was treated, wished more
than ever to go to sea. He was not aware--happily for himself--that he
could have gone to sea, in the merchant service, without being able to
read, and that only at that time, when it was resolved to raise the
character of the men in the navy, that the rule with regard to reading
and writing was enforced.
The next morning--Ned having been supplied, by the contributions of the
sailors, with a suit of clothes, a pair of shoes, and a hat, and some
shirts and other things in a bundle--the two lads left the ship, and
took the first train to London. Bill would have gladly gone on foot,
for the sake of economising his funds, so as to leave more with his new
friend; but his leave extended only over three days, and he had many
things to do.
The boys arrived in due time at London, and Bill employed as much time
as he could in showing Ned about town. As evening drew on they repaired
to Field Lane, and knocked for admission at the Refuge.
"What? William Hudson come back! What has happened to you, lad?"
exclaimed the porter.
"Yes; it's myself, sure enough. I've come back to ask for a night's
lodging, if there's room, and to bring this boy, who wants one badly.
Can I see the superintendent?"
"Yes, sure. You know the way, Bill; go on," said the porter, in a kind
tone.
The superintendent was very much pleased to see Bill Hudson, and more so
to hear the story with which he introduced Ned Burton. He promised,
gladly, to look after Ned, and, if he behaved well, to obtain regular
employment for him in the neighbourhood.
Bill found, on calculating the amount of his funds, that he might leave
some with the superintendent for Ned's use.
"I don't distrust you, Ned; but London is an awful wicked place; and if
you kept the money, it might be stolen, and you almost murdered for the
sake of it," he observed.
The next day the lads went out together, that Bill might introduce Ned
to some of the people who used to employ him. Some had forgotten him;
some had gone away; but a few remembered him kindly, and promised to
help Ned.
Ned could not help shedding tears when Bill wrung his hand, as he was
about to start back for Portsmouth. Then, if it had not been for the
Refuge, and the superintendent, and the good missionary, and the porter,
he would indeed have felt very miserable and forlorn, in the big city;
but Field Lane was now to him his home, indeed--his refuge from
adversity.
He remembered, however, that he had to work; so he set about finding
employment in good earnest. His decent dress and manner were in his
favour; and he gained a few pence, though, being a stranger, not so much
as he might have gained had he known the ways of London. At night he
went back to the Refuge with a thankful heart, and commenced his
schooling. He gave his mind to his task, though he found it very hard
work, at first, even learning the letters. The next night it was
easier, and he was soon able, when waiting for a job, to employ himself
by spelling out the names over the shop doors and the words on the
advertising papers. Sometimes he could get nothing to do, especially in
very bad weather; and then he went to the industrial school at the
Refuge, if it was open, or to the day-school; and here he began to
understand the great truths about religion, of which he had before been
entirely ignorant. To one of the missionaries, who was especially kind
to him, he took a great fancy; and to this good man he used to go,
whenever he had an opportunity, and ask him questions, and to listen to
his addresses. He first here heard the glorious tidings that "God is
love;" and as he saw that beautiful principle carried out in every
department of the undertaking, he could not help saying, "Ay, truly,
this is God's work."
In little more than a year he had learned, by diligent attention, not
only to read well, but to write a fair hand, while he had added greatly
to his religious and secular knowledge; and, above all, he had become a
new creature in Christ Jesus.
One day he received a letter at the Refuge from Bill Hudson. Bill wrote
that he had just arrived at Portsmouth in the frigate to which he now
belonged, and that if Ned would come down at once, he would see him on
board the old ---, where he was sure that he would be received. Bill,
moreover, enclosed a sovereign to pay for his journey.
Ned was sorry to leave the Refuge, and yet he rejoiced at the thought of
being now able, as he had so long wished, to go to sea. His parting
from his friends and journey to Portsmouth need not be described. Bill
was at the station to meet him, and at once went with him on board the
old ---.
He was, without difficulty, accepted. Bill had advised him to show his
father's certificates. The first lieutenant spoke to him very kindly,
when he saw them, and told him that he had known his father, who was a
very good man, and he hoped that Ned would follow his example.
Ned Burton was no longer only a good-natured, well-meaning lad; he had
now right principles to help him behave well; nor has he in any way
disappointed the hopes of those who have taken an interest in his
welfare.