A WILD GOOSE CHASE.
CONSETT FARM was a notable place in its way, and the well-to-do farmer
was highly respected in Boston. That he was a Methodist was something
to laugh over among those who had known him before, but anything in the
way of persecution, such as the followers of Mr. Wesley met with in
England, was unknown in America.
But although persecution would not have been tolerated for one moment
among the liberty-loving colonists, there was another way of making
these people feel that they were unpopular among the giddy and
thoughtless throng, and that was by trying to get the lads he employed
to join in some wild adventure whenever they went into town.
"Consett's lads" were always well-known figures in the streets of
Boston, for they generally led a little crowd of well-groomed,
sleek-coated horses, that had either been out to the farm to recruit,
or were horses recently bought by customers and brought to The Old Bell
tavern for delivery to their various owners.
Now, to get the lad in charge of them, make him half tipsy, and then go
off with one of the horses for an hour or two, or induce him to send
the horses to the wrong owners, was a favourite device of some of the
idle wights of the city, as well as of those who ought to have known
better.
There was no particular ill-will felt against master or man, only Mr.
Consett was known as a Methodist, and very particular, and so fun at
his expense, or that of his servants, was more piquant than that which
could be got out of any one else.
Eric was told of this before he had been at the farm long, and at the
same time was informed that he would have to go to the city with his
master the following week, to take some horses to The Old Bell yard,
and to bring home some packages which Mrs. Consett needed for her
housekeeping.
Eric smiled at the tales he heard about the tricks that had been played
upon his predecessors, but at the same time felt sure no one would
catch him loitering or drinking when he ought to be attending to his
master's business.
They set off on their journey soon after breakfast one bright summer
morning, and Eric was not a little elated to find himself mounted on a
spirited little pony in charge of half a dozen other horses, tethered
one behind the other, and fastened to his own saddle. Mr. Consett had
as many under his charge, and led the way along the road, while Eric as
proud and happy as a king, followed at a short distance, wondering as
he went along whether the Osprey had sailed yet, or whether he might
see his dear friend once more in the streets of Boston.
She had left Consett Farm to stay in the city, that she might be at
hand whenever the Osprey should have made up her cargo and be ready to
sail. She also hoped to see some of those who had come out with her,
that she might have an opportunity of saying a word to them of comfort
and cheer in their new and strange surroundings.
Eric knew about this, and hoped that the Osprey had been detained
longer in the harbour than was expected, that he might have an
opportunity of seeing this dear friend once more before she sailed for
England.
Mr. Consett knew all about this, and when they reached The Bell yard,
and found that only two of the expected customers were waiting, he said
to Eric, "You will have to stay here while I go up to the barracks with
these horses, and look at one or two others belonging to the British
officers. I may be detained some time, so if Treve and Mason come for
their beasts, you can hand them over, and then go and look for Sister
Martin. Go to Chestnut Street first, and then inquire if the Osprey is
still in harbour; for she said she might have to sleep on board the
last night or two of her stay. Now you will be careful not to give up
the horses to any one but the rightful owners," added Mr. Consett, as
he gazed round the yard to see whether there were any loungers about,
likely to lead the lad into mischief.
But for a wonder the place seemed to be deserted this morning, which so
far satisfied Mr. Consett, that as he mounted his own horse once more,
he called out, "Be sure you get back here by four o'clock, if you go to
the Osprey; I will meet you at that time."
And then he cantered down the street, with his horses following.
After he had gone, Eric had time to look round this stable-yard, and
found it much larger and altogether more imposing in appearance than
that of The Magpie, though at present there did not seem to be much
business going on, there were so few people about.
But presently a young fellow came out of one of the stables, and looked
first at the horses, and then at Eric himself.
"Consett's lot, I suppose?" he said, with a nod.
"Yes," replied Eric; "I am waiting here to see Mr. Mason, who has
bought two of these horses."
"You're a Methodist, I suppose, like Consett himself?" said the other.
"No, I am not," replied Eric; and he felt rather proud that he could
say so.
"I wonder you can get on with Consett, then, if you stick to your own
opinions about things; for I know he don't allow anybody to think for
himself outside Methodist lines."
"Oh, he will allow me that liberty," said Eric proudly.
If he had been looking at the young man's face just then, he would have
seen a peculiar smile part his lips as he said, "Oh, well, not being
a Methodist, and under Consett's thumb, you can have a glass of small
ale with me, just for friendship's sake, for we shall often be able
to do each other a good turn, I expect, when you are waiting here for
Consett's customers."
Eric hesitated for a moment about this, but the young man went to fetch
the ale while he made up his mind what he ought to do, and when he
came back with the foaming tankard in his hand, Eric thought he had no
further choice in the matter.
Having drunk to their future good fellowship, Eric thought he had done
enough, but the young man pressed him to drink again and again, and he,
not liking to seem churlish or afraid, followed his example, drank more
than he had ever done before, and of stronger ale than was brewed at
the farmhouse.
Presently another young man came in, and without seeming to notice
Eric, asked the other if he knew whether Consett or his lad were coming
to town. "There's a sailor from some ship in the harbour been asking
about them; she sails to-morrow, and there's somebody aboard that wants
to see Consett's lad," he went on.
"Where is the sailor?" asked Eric quickly, and running to the gateway
to look down the street.
"Oh, he's gone; he was in a hurry, he said, for if they could get all
the cargo aboard before the next tide, the captain said he wouldn't
wait till the next day."
"That's just like Captain Simpson, and I shall never see her again!"
exclaimed Eric, in a little fever of dismay. He was excited by the ale
he had drunk, and the thought of being so near the Osprey, and yet not
able to see Sister Martin once more, well-nigh drove him wild; and
the questions and exclamations of the two young men were by no means
calculated to calm him and give him a right judgment in the matter.
To go down to the harbour, take a boat, and get on board the Osprey for
a parting word with his friend, and let Captain Simpson see how well he
was looking, became the one thought and desire of which he was capable,
and to gratify which he was ready to do almost anything.
He did not know that this was the work of the two pretended friends,
who had coaxed and flattered him for this very purpose, so that now he
was like an instrument in their hands, which they could easily use for
the purpose they had in view when they first began the talk with him.
As soon as it suited them to do so, one of them proposed that the
horses should be left in charge of his friend while he went down to the
harbour with Eric.
The one who had first spoken proposed to take them under his care,
while he went on this jaunt, or to deliver them to the men who were to
come for them.
"It's a chance you may never get again, and it's a pity to lose it.
The horses are safe enough here; Mr. Consett always puts up at The Old
Bell, so you may as well go off and enjoy yourself," said this new
friend.
"I'll go with you to the harbour," said the last comer; "you're a
stranger, and may easily lose your way."
And as he spoke he gave the other a look which, if Eric had seen, he
must have known that some mischief was intended.
But with the ale and under the urging and artful insinuations of these
two, Eric thought of nothing but the getting away for a few hours, and
so he soon agreed to the proposal, and the two started out.
"How far is it to the harbour?" he asked, as his guide led him down a
narrow street, which he said was a short cut to the other end of the
town.
"Not more than a mile. We shan't be long getting there," he added.
But they were a long time, or it seemed so to Eric, as they turned
first one way and then another. But at last they did come in sight of
the quay, and then his companion said,—
"There you are, my hearty! Now you can find your way, or shall I speak
to one of the boatmen for you?"
"Oh, see the boatman, and ask him if he knows where the Osprey is lying
now. She was over there when I left her."
"Oh, she may have been in half a dozen places since then; but one of
those fellows over there is sure to know where she is to be found." And
as he spoke, he pointed to a group of boatmen, and then ran across to
where they were standing, slowly followed by Eric.
The bargain had been made when he joined them, and his friend said;
"You're all right now; she lies a little way out, ready for sailing,
but this man can take you to her." And with that, he nodded and left
Eric to get into the boat by himself, while he returned to The Bell by
a much shorter route than that by which he had come.
The tide was running into the harbour, and it was hard work and took a
long time to go to the outer side of it, but a vessel was reached at
last, and the man said, "Here we are; this is your ship."
"But I don't think this is the Osprey," said Eric, looking up at the
vessel that was near them.
"The Osprey!" repeated the boatman. "You said you wanted the Dolphin,
and here she is."
"Oh, but this is not the ship I want; my friend must have made a
mistake," said Eric, looking all round, in the hope of seeing the
vessel he thought he should know so well.
The man looked at him very hard. "Do you know what ship you do want?"
he said crossly.
"Yes, the Osprey; I am quite sure of the name, and I thought my friend
had told you."
"You're a fool, or your friend is, to come on a wild goose chase like
this. You'll have to pay me for the time, I can tell you. Do you know
where the Osprey lies?" called the boatman to one of the sailors who
looked over the side of the Dolphin at this moment. There was no
mistake about her name, there it was painted as plainly as paint could
make the letters.
"The Osprey?" repeated the sailor. "She lay over there a few days ago."
And he pointed over to where a crowd of masts stood out clear against
the sky.
So the boat was turned in the direction indicated, and the boatman
rowed away, grumbling, with his passenger feeling very uncomfortable.
After a time these other vessels were reached, and again the Osprey was
asked for, but no one knew anything about her at all here.
"The next time you come out on a fool's errand don't ask Tom Higgins to
go with you," said the surly boatman at last, turning his boat towards
the shore, and giving up further search for the vessel. "I shall want a
crown of you, young man," he went on.
"Then it's no good going back until we do find the Osprey," said Eric
in a fright. "I haven't got so much money as that, but if we find the
ship, I can get it, I daresay."
Under this stimulus, the boatman made a detour round the harbour, which
occupied nearly an hour; but, alas, there was no Osprey to be seen,
and the man was more ill-tempered than ever before the shore was again
reached, for the wild goose chase would expose him to the ridicule of
his rivals, which would be as hard to bear as the loss of the money
itself to a man like Higgins.
"How much money have you got?" he demanded, as Eric was stepping out of
the boat.
The lad put his hand into his pocket and drew out a shilling and a few
coppers. "That is all I have got, but I will bring you the rest the
next time I come to Boston," said Eric, now wishing he had never left
the horses, and feeling a wild desire to get back and see that they
were all right.
"Where do you live?" asked the man.
"At Consett's Farm," replied Eric.
"Never heard of it before. I don't believe a word you say about this;
you've just come out for a spree, and to get an hour or two on the
water without paying for it. It ain't the first trick that's been
played on me by you Britishers, but I don't mean to put up with this, I
can tell you. You pay me a crown before you land, or I shall have you
taken to the lock-up till you do pay."
Eric thought of his master and the horses that had been left in his
charge, and turned hot and cold by turns as he looked at the man's hard
face. "I have no more money than this," he said; "but if you will let
me go, or send up to Consett Farm to-morrow, you shall have your money,
and something over for waiting."
He spoke in a pleading, anxious tone, but he might as well have pleaded
with the stones in the street as to this man, and finding that there
was no more money to be got from him, he gave him in charge of the dock
watchman for robbing him of his rightful fare.
The man was a little more inclined to think that Eric himself was the
subject of a practical joke when he heard the whole story, but what
could he do? The boatman insisted upon Eric being taken before the
justice, as a warning to others against imposing upon poor boatmen, and
so he was obliged to do his duty, as he said, though he might feel sure
that Eric was not the thief the boatman thought him.
The Old Bell was too far from the dock for anybody to send there on the
lad's behalf. The justices could order that to be done the next day if
they thought it necessary. This was all the comfort Eric could get, and
so, about the time that Mr. Consett would be riding back to The Bell to
meet him, he was thrust into the dreary building chiefly used for the
detention of drunken and quarrelsome sailors, or people suspected of
theft, as he was now.
In the semi-gloom and quiet of this place, he had time to go over in
his own mind the events of the day. The fresh air had cleared away from
his brain the fumes of the strong ale he had drunk at The Bell, and
recalling all that had happened, he wondered how he could have been so
foolish as to be persuaded to give up the care of his master's horses
to strangers, while he went off in search of his own pleasure.
He had boasted to his mistress that he knew too much of what went on
at an inn yard to be persuaded by anybody to neglect his duty, and
here he was, the very first time he went into town, accused of being a
thief; and perhaps his master, with far greater reason, would think him
one too, for he felt sure now that he had been sent out to the Dolphin
purposely, and that it was by no means the mistake he had first thought
it, now that he had time calmly to review all the circumstances that
led up to it. But of course these thoughts did but increase his misery,
and as hour after hour passed, his anguish of mind grew more intense.
He was a fool, and worse than a fool, he said to himself, to be deluded
into leaving his duty at the persuasion of a couple of strangers who
had undoubtedly acted from some interested motive in the matter.
Perhaps the men had gone off with the horses now, and there would be no
one to tell his master what had happened, that he might take steps to
recover them.
The thought of his ingratitude and folly drove him almost mad, until at
last the thought that even over this he could pray and seek God's help
and guidance, came to him as healing balm, and he fell on his knees and
poured out his whole soul before his Father in heaven.
He had done wrong, he had gone astray like a lost and foolish sheep;
just when he felt so confident, so sure of himself, he had fallen. But,
oh, the rest and comfort of the thought that though he had sinned,
there was forgiveness for sin—that the Lord Jesus Christ could and
would help him to conquer and overcome it, and He could bring light out
of this darkness, order out of this tangled skein of circumstances.
After this, he decided that his first duty now was to let his master
know where and how he had left the horses, and whatever punishment he
deemed he ought to suffer, to take it meekly. That his Father in heaven
could and would help him to decide aright was a great comfort to him;
and at last, he curled himself up in one corner of the cell and went to
sleep, and, despite his misery and the uncomfortable place he was in,
he slept soundly until the morning.