THE HUNGRY RUNAWAY.
I went to the barn, but not to obey the order of Captain Fishley. I was
as ugly as Ham himself, and anything more than that was needless. I went
there because the barn was a sort of sanctuary to me, whither I fled
when the house was too warm to hold me. I went there to nurse my wrath;
to think what I should do after the new indignities which had been
heaped upon me. I had not been the aggressor in the quarrel. I had been
meanly insulted and assaulted.
After the blows of Captain Fishley, I felt that Torrentville was no
place for me and for my poor sister. The six months which were to
intervene before the coming of Clarence, and the end of my misery,
looked like so many years to me. If it had not been for Flora, I would
not have remained another hour in the house of my tyrants. I would have
fled that moment.
I could not stay long in the barn without another row, for the captain
had ordered me to harness the horse; and I concluded that he and the
squire were going to ride. I was just ugly enough then to disobey; in
fact, to cast off all allegiance to my tyrants. I felt as though I could
not lift my finger to do anything more for them till some atonement for
the past had been made. I gave Darky some hay, and then left my
sanctuary, without knowing where I was going.
Back of the house, and half a mile from it, was a narrow but deep
stream, which flowed into the creek. This branch ran through a dense
swamp--the only one I knew of in that part of the state. In the early
spring its surface was overflowed with water. It was covered with a
thick growth of trees, and the place was as dismal, dark, and
disagreeable as anything that can be imagined.
Hardly any one ever visited the swamp except myself. At this season of
the year it was not possible to pass through it, except in a boat. I was
rather fond of exploring out-of-the-way places, and this deep and dark
morass had early attracted my attention. The year before I had made a
small raft, and threaded its gloomy recesses with Sim Gwynn, a stupid
crony of mine, and, like myself, an orphan, living out and working for
his daily bread.
When I left the barn, I wandered towards the swamp. I was thinking only
of the indignities which had been heaped upon me. I meant to keep out of
the way till dinner-time. At the foot of the slope, as I descended to
the low land, I came across the raft on which Sim and I had voyaged
through the avenues of the dismal swamp the preceding year. It was in a
dilapidated condition; and, after adjusting the boards upon the logs, I
pushed off, and poled the clumsy craft into the depths of the thicket.
The place was in harmony with my thoughts.
I continued on my purposeless voyage till I reached the swollen branch
of the creek. Piled up at a bend of the stream was a heap of logs,
planks, boards, and other fugitive lumber which had come down from the
saw-mills, miles up in the country. I seated myself on this heap of
lumber, to think of the present and the future. I noticed that one end
of a log had been driven ashore by the current, and had caught between
two trees. All the rest of the boards, planks, and timbers had rested
upon this one, and being driven in by the current at the bend, had been
entrapped and held by it.
This fact made me think of myself. My refusal to black Ham's boots the
day before had been the first log, and all my troubles seemed to be
piling themselves up upon it. I thought then, and I think now, that I
had been abused. I was treated like a dog, ordered about like a servant,
and made to do three times as much work as had been agreed with my
guardian. I felt that it was right to resist. There was no one to fight
my battle, and that of my poor sister, but myself. I am well aware that
I took upon myself a great responsibility in deciding this question.
Perhaps, without the counsel of my brother, I should not have dared to
proceed as I did. Bad as the consequences threatened to be, I did not
regret that I had permitted the log to drift ashore.
Again that pine stick seemed like some great vice, sin, or error,
which, having thrown itself up from the current of life, soon gathers
many other vices, sins, and errors around or upon it. As this log had
caught a score of others, so one false step leads to more. The first
glass of liquor, the first step in crime, the first unclean word, were
typified in this stick.
I was not much of a philosopher or moralist then, but it seemed to me
that the entire heap ought to be cleared away; that the whole course of
the river might be choked by it in time, if the obstruction was not
removed. By detaching that first log, all the rest would be cast loose,
and carried away by the stream--just as I had known old Cameron to
become an honest, Christian man by cutting away the log of intemperance.
I was about to use my setting-pole for the purpose of detaching the
obstacle, when I happened to think that the lumber might be saved--just
as the zeal of Paul, in persecuting the Christians, was the same zeal
that did so much to build up the true church.
Why should I trouble myself to save the lumber? It would cost a deal of
hard labor, and Captain Fishley would be the only gainer. I decided at
once not to waste my time for his benefit, and was on the point of
detaching the mischievous stick which had seduced all the others, when I
heard a voice calling my name. I was rather startled at first, thinking
it might be one of my tyrants in search of me.
"Buck!" shouted the voice again; and I was satisfied it was not that of
either of my oppressors. I could not see through the dense thicket of
the swamp; but another repetition of the call assured me it came from
Sim Gwynn, my fellow-navigator in the swamp.
"Come here, Buck--will you?" said he, when I had answered his summons.
"I'm coming, Sim!" I shouted.
I plied the pole vigorously, and soon propelled the raft to the place
where he stood.
"I saw you come down here, Buck; and I waited for you a while," said he,
stepping upon the raft at my invitation.
"Why didn't you sing out before, then?"
"I thought you'd be coming back," he replied, with more embarrassment
in his manner than the circumstances seemed to warrant.
"Where do you want to go, Sim?" I asked, as I pushed off again.
"Anywhere; it don't make any difference to me now where I go," he
answered, shaking his head.
"Why, what is the matter? Are you not at work now?"
"Not to-day. I've been waiting to see you, Buck."
"What for?"
"I left off work yesterday."
"What's up?"
"I wanted to see you, Buck."
He talked and acted very strangely, and I was sure something unusual had
happened. He lived with a farmer by the name of Barkspear, who had the
reputation of being the stingiest man in Torrentville, if not in the
county. Sim was a great, stout, bow-legged fellow, as good-natured as
the day was long. He always looked as though he had recently escaped
from the rag-bag, with its odds and ends sticking to him. Though he
always looked fat and hearty, he frequently complained that he could
not get enough to eat at Barkspear's.
"What's the matter, Sim? Why don't you tell me what has happened?" I
continued.
"I wanted to see you, Buck," he repeated, for the fourth time.
"What do you want to see me for?"
"Well, I thought I wanted to see you," said he, fumbling his fingers
together, and looking into the water, instead of in my face.
"You do see me," I added, impatiently, beginning to have a suspicion
that he had lost his senses, what little he had.
"I wanted to ask you something," he added, after a long pause.
"Well, ask it."
"I thought I would tell you about it, and that's the reason I wanted to
see you," said Sim, poking about his trousers pockets, just as some boys
do when they are going to make a speech in school.
"About what?" I asked, more mildly, when I saw that Sim was sort of
choking, and exhibited some signs of an intention to break out in a fit
of blubbering.
"I'm a poor boy. I haven't got many friends, and--and I wanted to see
you."
This was too much for him, and, turning away his head, he cried like a
great baby. I pushed the raft up to a fallen tree, whose trunk was above
the water, and stuck the pole down into the mud, so as to keep it in
place.
"What is the matter, Sim?" I asked again, seating myself on the log. "If
I can help you any way, I will."
"I knew you would; and that's the reason I wanted to see you," blubbered
Sim, seating himself by my side.
"You said you stopped work yesterday," I continued, in the kindest tones
I could command, for I was much moved by his apparent distress.
"Yes; I stopped work yesterday, and--and--and that's the reason I wanted
to see you," sobbed he, wiping his face with his dirty hands.
I thought he wanted to see me for a good many reasons; but I concluded
to wait until he had recovered his self-possession before I asked any
more questions. When the silence had continued for full five minutes,
it became embarrassing to him, and he remarked that he had wanted to see
me.
"I believe you have lost your senses, Sim," I replied.
"No; I haven't lost my senses--only my stomach," said he, with a piteous
look, which alone prevented me from laughing at his ludicrous speech,
and the more ludicrous expression upon his face.
"What is the matter with your stomach?" I inquired.
"Nothing in it," whined he.
"What do you mean?" I asked, sharply, rather to quicken his wits than to
express anger.
"I quit work yesterday."
"So you said before."
"I can't stay to Barkspear's no longer; and that's the reason I wanted
to see you," said he, blubbering, and absolutely howling in his deep
grief.
"Why not?" I asked, gently.
"I didn't get hardly any breakfast yesterday morning," sobbed he; "only
a crust of brown bread. But I wouldn't minded that, if there'd only been
enough on't. I was working in the garden, and when I saw Mis' Barkspear
go out to the barn to look for eggs, I went into the house. In the
buttery I found a piece of cold b'iled pork, about as big as one of my
fists--it was a pretty large piece!--and four cold taters. I eat the
pork and taters all up, and felt better. That's what I wanted to see you
for."
"Why did you quit work?"
"Mis' Barkspear saw me coming out of the house, and when she missed the
pork and taters, she knowed I did it. She told the old man I'd eat up
the dinner for that day. Barkspear licked me, and I quit. I hain't had
nothin' to eat since," said he, bursting into tears.
I pushed the raft back to the landing-place again.
"You won't tell on me, Buck--will you?" pleaded he.
"No. I'm going to get you something to eat."
He was willing.