WE RESOLVE TO RUN AWAY—SCRUPLES—BABY CECIL—I PREPARE—I RUN AWAY.
I think it was Fred's telling me tales of the navy captain's boyhood
which put it into our heads that the only way for people at our age,
and in our position, to begin a life of adventure is to run away.
The captain had run away. He ran away from school. But then the school
was one which it made your hair stand on end to hear of. The master
must have been a monster of tyranny, the boys little prodigies of
wickedness and misery, and the food such as would have been rejected
by respectably reared pigs.
It put his grandson and me at a disadvantage that we had no excuses of
the kind for running away from the grammar school. Dr. Jessop was a
little pompous, but he was sometimes positively kind. There was not
even a cruel usher. I was no dunce, nor was Fred—though he was below
me in class—so that we had not even a grievance in connection with
our lessons. This made me feel as if there would be something mean
and almost dishonourable in running away from school. "I think it
would not be fair to the Doctor," said I; "it would look as if he had
driven us to it, and he hasn't. We had better wait till the holidays."
Fred seemed more willing to wait than I had expected; but he planned
what we were to do when we did go as vigorously as ever.
It was not without qualms that I thought of running away from home. My
mother would certainly be greatly alarmed; but then she was greatly
alarmed by so many things to which she afterwards became reconciled!
My conscience reproached me more about Rupert and Henrietta. Not one
of us had longed for "events" and exploits so earnestly as my sister;
and who but Rupert had prepared me for emergencies, not perhaps such
as the captain had had to cope with, but of the kinds recognized by
the yellow leather book? We had been very happy together—Rupert,
Henrietta, Baby Cecil, and I—and we had felt in common the one defect
of our lives that there were no events in them; and now I was going to
begin a life of adventure, to run away and seek my fortune, without
even telling them what I was going to do.
On the other hand, that old mean twinge of jealousy was one of my
strongest impulses to adventure-seeking, and it urged me to perform my
exploits alone. Some people seem to like dangers and adventures whilst
the dangers are going on; Henrietta always seemed to think that the
pleasantest part; but I confess that I think one of the best parts
must be when they are over and you are enjoying the credit of them.
When the captain's adventures stirred me most I looked forward with a
thrill of anticipation to my return home—modest from a justifiable
pride in my achievements, and so covered with renown by my deeds of
daring that I should play second fiddle in the family no more, and
that Rupert and Henrietta would outbid each other for my "particular"
friendship, and Baby Cecil dog my heels to hear the stories of my
adventures.
The thought of Baby Cecil was the heaviest pang I felt when I was
dissatisfied with the idea of running away from home. Baby Cecil was
the pet of the house. He had been born after my father's death, and
from the day he was born everybody conspired to make much of him.
Dandy, the Scotch terrier, would renounce a romping ramble with us to
keep watch over Baby Cecil when he was really a baby, and was only
carried for a dull airing in the nursemaid's arms. I can quite
understand Dandy's feelings; for if when one was just preparing for a
paperchase, or anything of that sort, Baby Cecil trotted up and,
flinging himself head first into one's arms, after his usual fashion,
cried, "Baby Cecil 'ants Charlie to tell him a long, long story—_so
much!_" it always ended in one's giving up the race or the scramble,
and devoting one's self as sedately as Dandy to his service. But I
consoled myself with the thought of how Baby Cecil would delight in
me, and what stories I should be able to tell him on my return.
The worst of running away now-a-days is that railways and telegrams
run faster. I was prepared for any emergency except that of being
found and brought home again.
Thinking of this brought to my mind one of Fred's tales of the
captain, about how he was pursued by bloodhounds and escaped by
getting into water. Water not only retains no scent, it keeps no
track. I think perhaps this is one reason why boys so often go to sea
when they run away, that no one may be able to follow them. It helped
my decision that we would go to sea when we ran away, Fred and I.
Besides, there was no other road to strange countries, and no other
way of seeing the sea people with the sou'-wester heads.
Fred did not seem to have any scruples about leaving his home, which
made me feel how much braver he must be than I. But his head was so
full of the plans he made for us, and the lists he drew up of natural
products of the earth in various places on which we could live without
paying for our living, that he neglected his school-work, and got into
scrapes about it. This distressed me very much, for I was working my
very best that half on purpose that no one might say that we ran away
from our lessons, but that it might be understood that we had gone
solely in search of adventure, like sea-captains or any other grown-up
travellers.
All Fred's tales now began with the word "suppose." They were not
stories of what had happened to his grandfather, but of what might
happen to us. The half-holiday that Mr. Johnson's hay was carted we
sat behind the farthest haycock all the afternoon with an old atlas on
our knees, and Fred "supposed" till my brain whirled to think of all
that was coming on us. "Suppose we get on board a vessel bound for
Singapore, and hide behind some old casks—" he would say, coasting
strange continents with his stumpy little forefinger, as recklessly as
the captain himself; on which of course I asked, "What is Singapore
like?" which enabled Fred to close the atlas and lie back among the
hay and say whatever he could think of and I could believe.
Meanwhile we saved up our pocket-money and put it in a canvas bag, as
being sailor-like. Most of the money was Fred's, but he was very
generous about this, and said I was to take care of it as I was more
managing than he. And we practised tree-climbing to be ready for the
masts, and ate earth-nuts to learn to live upon roots in case we were
thrown upon a desert island. Of course we did not give up our proper
meals, as we were not obliged to yet, and I sometimes felt rather
doubtful about how we should feel living upon nothing but roots for
breakfast, dinner, and tea. However, I had observed that whenever the
captain was wrecked a barrel of biscuits went ashore soon afterwards,
and I hoped it might always be so in wrecks, for biscuits go a long
way, especially sailors' biscuits, which are large.
I made a kind of handbook for adventure-seekers, too, in an old
exercise book, showing what might be expected and should be prepared
for in a career like the captain's. I divided it under certain heads:
Hardships, Dangers, Emergencies, Wonders, &c. These were subdivided
again thus: Hardships—I, Hunger; 2, Thirst; 3, Cold; 4, Heat; 5, No
Clothes; and so forth. I got all my information from Fred, and I read
my lists over and over again to get used to the ideas, and to feel
brave. And on the last page I printed in red ink the word "Glory."
And so the half went by and came to an end; and when the old Doctor
gave me my three prizes, and spoke of what he hoped I would do next
half, my blushes were not solely from modest pride.
The first step of our runaway travels had been decided upon long ago.
We were to go by barge to London. "And from London you can go
anywhere," Fred said.
The day after the holidays began I saw a canal-boat lading at the
wharf, and finding she was bound for London I told Fred of it. But he
said we had better wait for a barge, and that there would be one on
Thursday. "Or if you don't think you can be ready by then, we can wait
for the next," he added. He seemed quite willing to wait, but
(remembering that the captain's preparations for his longest voyage
had only taken him eighteen and a half minutes by the chronometer,
which was afterwards damaged in the diving-bell accident, and which I
had seen with my own eyes, in confirmation of the story) I said I
should be ready any time at half-an-hour's notice, and Thursday was
fixed as the day of our departure.
To facilitate matters it was decided that Fred should invite me to
spend Wednesday with him, and to stay all night, for the barge was to
start at half-past six o'clock on Thursday morning.
I was very busy on Wednesday. I wrote a letter to my mother in which I
hoped I made it quite clear that ambition and not discontent was
leading me to run away. I also made a will, dividing my things fairly
between Rupert, Henrietta, and Baby Cecil, in case I should be drowned
at sea. My knife, my prayer-book, the ball of string belonging to my
kite, and my little tool-box I took away with me. I also took the
match-box from the writing-table, but I told Mother of it in the
letter. The captain used to light his fires by rubbing sticks
together, but I had tried it, and thought matches would be much
better, at any rate to begin with.
Rupert was lying under the crab-tree, and Henrietta was reading to
him, when I went away. Rupert was getting much stronger; he could walk
with a stick, and was going back to school next half. I felt a very
unreasonable vexation because they seemed quite cheerful. But as I was
leaving the garden to go over the fields, Baby Cecil came running
after me, with his wooden spade in one hand and a plant of chick weed
in the other, crying: "Charlie, dear! Come and tell Baby Cecil a
story." I kissed him, and tied his hat on, which had come off as he
ran.
"Not now, Baby," I said; "I am going out now, and you are gardening."
"I don't want to garden," he pleaded. "Where are you going? Take me
with you."
"I am going to Fred Johnson's," I said bravely.
Baby Cecil was a very good child, though he was so much petted. He
gave a sigh of disappointment, but only said very gravely, "Will you
promise, _onyer-onner_, to tell me one when you come back?"
"I promise to tell you lots _when I come back_, on my honour," was my
answer.
I had to skirt the garden-hedge for a yard or two before turning off
across the meadow. In a few minutes I heard a voice on the other side.
Baby Cecil had run down the inside, and was poking his face through a
hole, and kissing both hands to me. There came into my head a wonder
whether his face would be much changed next time I saw it. I little
guessed when and how that would be. But when he cried, "Come back
_very soon_, Charlie dear," my imperfect valour utterly gave way, and
hanging my head I ran, with hot tears pouring over my face, all the
way to Johnson's wharf.
When Fred saw my face he offered to give up the idea if I felt
faint-hearted about it. Nothing that he could have said would have
dried my tears so soon. Every spark of pride in me blazed up to reject
the thought of turning craven now. Besides, I longed for a life of
adventure most sincerely; and I was soon quite happy again in the
excitement of being so near to what I had longed for.