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[Illustration: pp. 29]
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THE RUNAWAY;
OR, THE
ADVENTURES OF RODNEY ROVERTON.
"He cast his bundle on his back, and went,
He knew not whither, nor for what intent;
So stole our vagrant from his warm retreat,
To rove a prowler, and be deemed a cheat."
CRABBE.
APPROVED BY THE COMMITTEE OF PUBLICATION.
BOSTON:
NEW ENGLAND SABBATH SCHOOL UNION.
W. HEATH, 79 CORNHILL.
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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, by
WILLIAM HEATH,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the
District of Massachusetts.
Stereotyped by
HOBART & ROBBINS,
Boston.
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INTRODUCTION.
A truthful narrative, not a tale of fiction, is presented in
the following chapters to our readers. All that the imagination
has contributed to it has been the names of the actors,--true
names having been withheld, lest, perhaps, friends might be
grieved,--the filling up of the dialogues, in which, while
thoughts and sentiments have been remembered, the verbiage that
clothed them has been forgotten, and, in a few instances, the
grouping together of incidents that actually occurred at wider
intervals than here represented, for the sake of the unity of
the story.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
RODNEY UNHAPPY IN A GOOD HOME 7
CHAPTER II.
REVOLVING AND RESOLVING 18
CHAPTER III.
RODNEY IN NEW YORK 26
CHAPTER IV.
RODNEY FINDS A PATRON 33
CHAPTER V.
RODNEY IN PHILADELPHIA 44
CHAPTER VI.
THE PUNISHMENT BEGINS 53
CHAPTER VII.
THE WATCH-HOUSE 60
CHAPTER VIII.
RODNEY IN JAIL 73
CHAPTER IX.
THE DUNGEON 88
CHAPTER X.
THE HOSPITAL 99
CHAPTER XI.
THE TRIAL 118
CHAPTER XII.
CONCLUSION 128
THE RUNAWAY.
CHAPTER I.
RODNEY UNHAPPY IN A GOOD HOME.
It was a lovely Sabbath morning in May, 1828, when two lads, the
elder of whom was about sixteen years old, and the younger about
fourteen, were wandering along the banks of a beautiful brook,
called the Buttermilk Creek, in the immediate vicinity of the city
of Albany, N. Y. Though there is no poetry in the name of this
little stream, there is sweet music made by its rippling waters, as
they rush rapidly along the shallow channel, fretting at the rocks
that obstruct its course, and racing toward a precipice, down which
it plunges, some thirty or forty feet, forming a light, feathery
cascade; and then, as if exhausted by the leap, creeping sluggishly
its little distance toward the broad Hudson. The white spray,
churned out by the friction against the air, and flung perpetually
upwards, suggested to our sires a name for this miniature Niagara;
and, without any regard for romance or euphony, they called it
Buttermilk Falls. It was a charming spot, notwithstanding its
homely name, before the speculative spirit of progress--stern foe
of Nature's beauties--had pushed the borders of the city close upon
the tiny cataract, hewed down the pines upon its banks, and opened
quarries among its rocks.
It was before this change had passed over the original
wilderness, that the lads whom we have mentioned were strolling,
in holy time, upon the banks of the little stream, above the
falls.
"Rodney," said the elder of the boys, "suppose your mother finds
out that you have run away from Sunday-school, this morning;
what will she say to you?"
"Why, she will be very likely to punish me," said Rodney; "but
you know I am used to it; and, though decidedly unpleasant, it
does not grate on my nerves as it did a year or two ago. Van
Dyke, my teacher, says I am hardened. But I would rather have a
stroll here, and a flogging after it, than be shut up in school
and church all day to escape it. I wish, Will, that mother was
like your grandfather, and would let me do as I please on
Sunday."
"Now that I am an apprentice," replied Will Manton, "and shut up
in the shop all the week, it would be rather hard to prevent my
having a little sport on Sunday. I think it is necessary to
swallow a little fresh air on Sunday, to blow the sawdust out of
my throat; and to have a game of ball occasionally, to keep my
joints limber, for they get stiff leaning over the work-bench,
shoving the jack-plane, and chiseling out mortices all the
week."
"Well, Will, I, too, get very sick of work," replied the
younger boy. "I do not think I ever shall like it. When I am
roused up early in the morning, and go into the shop, and look
at the tools, and think that, all day long, I must stand and
pull leather strands, while other boys can go free, and take
their sport, and swim, or fish, or hunt, or play, just as they
please, it makes me feel like running away. Now, here am I, a
little more than fourteen years old; and must I spend seven
years in a dirty shop, with the prospect of hard work all my
life? It makes my heart sick to think of it."
The boys threw themselves upon the ground, under the shade of a
large pine, and, reclining against its trunk, remained some
minutes without uttering a word. At length, William Manton,
whose thoughts had evidently been running in the channel opened
by the last remarks of Rodney, said,
"I have often thought of it."
"Thought of what, Will?"
"Of running away."
"Where could you go? What could you do? How could you live?"
were the quick, eager inquiries of Rodney.
"Three questions at once is worse than the catechism," was the
laughing response; "but, though I never learned the answers out
of a book, yet I have them by heart. I will tell you what I have
thought about the matter. You know Captain Ryan?--he was in our
shop last week, and was telling how he came to be a sailor. He
said that his uncle, with whom he lived when he was a boy,
promised him a beating, one day, for some mischief he had done;
and, as he had often felt before that his lashes were not light,
he ran off, went on board a ship as a cabin-boy, learned to
handle sails and ropes, and, after five or six voyages, was made
mate of a ship; and now he is a captain. I have been thinking
about it ever since. Now, if I could get a place in a ship, I
would go in a minute. I am sure travelling over the world must
be pleasanter than spending a life in one place; and pulling a
rope is easier work than pushing a plane."
Rodney sprang up from his reclining posture, looked straight in
his companion's face for a moment, and exclaimed, "That would be
glorious! How I should like to go to London, to Canton, to
Holland, where the old folks came from,--to travel all over the
world! But,"--and he leaned back against the tree again as he
spoke,--"but it is of no use to think about it; mother would not
consent, and nobody would help me; no ship would take me. I
suppose I must pull away at the leather all my life." He spoke
bitterly, and leaned his face upon his hands; and, between his
fingers, the tears were seen slowly trickling. In truth, he had
no taste or inclination for the trade to which he was forced. If
the bias of his own mind had been consulted, he might have been
contented in some employment adapted to his nature.
"Bah, Rodney, don't be a baby!" was the jeering expostulation
of Will Manton, when he saw the tears; "crying never got a
fellow out of a scrape. I believe it is easy enough done. If we
could only get off to New York, they say that boys are so much
wanted on ships, that the captains take them without asking many
questions."
"Do you think so?"
"Don't you think it is worth a trial?"
"But I should have to leave my mother, and grandmother, and
sister, and all."
"Of course; you would not want to take them with you, would
you?"
"But I could not tell them I was going. I should have to steal
away without their knowledge."
"You could write to them when you started."
"I might never see them again."
"You are as likely to live and come back as Captain Ryan was."
"But they would feel so much hurt, if I should run away."
Will Manton curled his lip into a sneer, and said, scornfully,
"Why, Rodney, I didn't think you was so much of a baby. You are
a more faint-hearted chicken than I thought you."
"Well, Will, the thought of it frightens me. I have a good
mother and a good grandmother; and, though they make me learn a
trade I hate, yet I do not think I should dare to run away."
"Well, you poor mouse-heart, stay at home, then, and tie
yourself to your mamma's apron-strings!" was the reply. "Do as
you please; but, I tell you,--and I trust the secret to you, and
hope you won't _blow_ it,--I have made up my mind to go to sea."
"Will you run away?"
"Indeed I will."
"When?"
"Why should I tell you, if you will not go with me?"
"Well, I want to be off with you, but how can I?"
"Easy enough. But I will see you to-morrow night, and we will
talk it over. It is time to go home."
"I must see Dick Vanderpool, and find out where the text was,
so that I can tell the old folks."