WE GO ON BOARD—THE PIE—AN EXPLOSION—MR. ROWE THE BARGE-MASTER—THE
'WHITE LION'—TWO LETTERS—WE DOUBT MR. ROWE'S GOOD FAITH.
The dew was still heavy on the grass when Fred and I crossed the
drying-ground about five o'clock on Thursday morning, and scrambled
through a hedge into our "coastguard" corner on the wharf. We did not
want to be seen by the barge-master till we were too far from home to
be put ashore.
The freshness of early morning in summer has some quality which seems
to go straight to the heart. I felt intensely happy. There lay the
barge, the sun shining on the clean deck, and from the dewy edges of
the old ropes, and from the barge-master's zinc basin and pail put out
to sweeten in the air.
"She won't leave us behind this time!" I cried, turning triumphantly
to Fred.
"Take care of the pie," said Fred.
It was a meat-pie which he had taken from the larder this morning;
but he had told Mrs. Johnson about it in the letter he had left behind
him; and had explained that we took it instead of the breakfast we
should otherwise have eaten. We felt that earth-nuts might not be
forthcoming on the canal banks, or even on the wharf at Nine Elms when
we reached London.
At about a quarter to six Johnson's wharf was quite deserted. The
barge-master was having breakfast ashore, and the second man had gone
to the stable. "We had better hide ourselves now," I said. So we crept
out and went on board. We had chosen our hiding-place before. Not in
the cabin, of course, nor among the cargo, where something extra
thrown in at the last moment might smother us if it did not lead to
our discovery, but in the fore part of the boat, in a sort of well or
_hold_, where odd things belonging to the barge itself were stowed
away, and made sheltered nooks into which we could creep out of sight.
Here we found a very convenient corner, and squatted down, with the
pie at our feet, behind a hamper, a box, a coil of rope, a sack of
hay, and a very large ball, crossed four ways with rope, and with a
rope-tail, which puzzled me extremely.
"It's like a giant tadpole," I whispered to Fred.
"Don't nudge me," said Fred. "My pockets are full, and it hurts."
_My_ pockets were far from light. The money-bag was heavily laden
with change—small in value but large in coin. The box of matches was
with it and the knife. String, nails, my prayer-book, a pencil, some
writing-paper, the handbook, and a more useful hammer than the one in
my tool-box filled another pocket. Some gooseberries and a piece of
cake were in my trousers, and I carried the tool-box in my hands. We
each had a change of linen, tied up in a pocket-handkerchief. Fred
would allow of nothing else. He said that when our jackets and
trousers were worn out we must make new clothes out of an old sail.
Waiting is very dull work. After awhile, however, we heard voices, and
the tramp of the horse, and then the barge-master and Mr. Johnson's
foreman and other men kept coming and going on deck, and for a quarter
of an hour we had as many hairbreadth escapes of discovery as the
captain himself could have had in the circumstances. At last somebody
threw the barge-master a bag of something (fortunately soft) which he
was leaving behind, and which he chucked on to the top of my head.
Then the driver called to his horse, and the barge gave a jerk, which
threw Fred on to the pie, and in a moment more we were gliding slowly
and smoothly down the stream.
When we were fairly off we ventured to peep out a little, and stretch
our cramped limbs. There was no one on board but the barge-master,
and he was at the other end of the vessel, smoking and minding his
rudder. The driver was walking on the towing-path by the old grey
horse. The motion of the boat was so smooth that we seemed to be lying
still whilst villages and orchards and green banks and osier-beds went
slowly by, as though the world were coming to show itself to us,
instead of our going out to see the world.
When we passed the town we felt some anxiety for fear we should be
stopped; but there was no one on the bank, and though the towers of S.
Philip and S. James appeared again and again in lessening size as we
looked back, there came at last a bend in the canal, when a high bank
of gorse shut out the distance, and we saw them no more.
In about an hour, having had no breakfast, we began to speak seriously
of the pie. (I had observed Fred breaking little corners from the
crust with an absent air more than once.) Thinking of the first
subdivision under the word Hardships in my handbook, I said, "I'm
afraid we ought to wait till we are _worse hungry_."
But Fred said, "Oh no!" And that out adventure-seeking it was quite
impossible to save and plan and divide your meals exactly, as you
could never tell what might turn up. The captain always said, "Take
good luck and bad luck and pot-luck as they come!" So Fred assured me,
and we resolved to abide by the captain's rule.
"We may have to weigh out our food with a bullet, like Admiral Bligh,
next week," said Fred.
"So we may," said I. And the thought must have given an extra relish
to the beefsteak and hard-boiled eggs, for I never tasted anything so
good.
Whether the smell of the pie went aft, or whether something else made
the barge-master turn round and come forward, I do not know; but when
we were encumbered with open clasp-knives, and full mouths, we saw him
bearing down upon us, and in a hasty movement of retreat I lost my
balance, and went backward with a crash upon a tub of potatoes.
The noise this made was not the worst part of the business. I was
tightly wedged amongst the odds and ends, and the money-bag being
sharply crushed against the match-box, which was by this time well
warmed, the matches exploded in a body, and whilst I was putting as
heroic a face as I could on the pain I was enduring in my right
funny-bone, Fred cried, "Your jacket's smoking. You're on fire!"
Whether Mr. Rowe, the barge-master, had learnt presence of mind out of
a book, I do not know; but before Fred and I could even think of what
to do in the emergency, my jacket was off, the matches were
overboard, and Mr. Rowe was squeezing the smouldering fire out of my
pocket, rather more deliberately than most men brush their hats. Then,
after civilly holding the jacket for me to put it on again, he took
off his hat, took his handkerchief out of it, and wiped his head, and
replacing both, with his eyes upon us, said, more deliberately still,
"Well, young gentlemen, this is a nice start!"
It was impossible to resist the feeling of confidence inspired by Mr.
Rowe's manner, his shrewd and stolid appearance, and his promptness in
an emergency. Besides, we were completely at his mercy. We appealed to
it, and told him our plans. We offered him a share of the pie too,
which he accepted with conscious condescension. When the dish was
empty he brought his handkerchief into use once more, and then said,
in a peculiarly oracular manner, "You just look to me, young
gentlemen, and I'll put you in the way of every think."
The immediate advantage we took of this offer was to ask about
whatever interested us in the landscape constantly passing before our
eyes, or the barge-furniture at our feet. The cord-compressed balls
were shore-fenders, said Mr. Rowe, and were popped over the side when
the barge was likely to grate against the shore, or against another
vessel.
"Them's osier-beds. They cuts 'em every year or so for basket-work.
Wot's that little bird a-hanging head downwards? It's a titmouse
looking for insects, that is. There's scores on 'em in the osier-beds.
Aye, aye, the yellow lilies is pretty enough, but there's a lake the
other way—a mile or two beyond your father's, Master Fred—where
there's white water-lilies. They're pretty, if you like! It's a rum
thing in spring," continued Mr. Rowe, between puffs of his pipe, "to
see them lilies come up from the bottom of the canal; the leaves
packed as neat as any parcel, and when they git to the top, they turns
down and spreads out on the water as flat as you could spread a cloth
upon a table."
As a rule, Mr. Rowe could give us no names for the aquatic plants at
which we clutched as we went by, nor for the shells we got out of the
mud; but his eye for a water-rat was like a terrier's. It was the only
thing which seemed to excite him.
About mid-day we stopped by a village, where Mr. Rowe had business.
The horse was to rest and bait here; and the barge-master told us that
if we had "a shilling or so about" us, we might dine on excellent
bread and cheese at the _White Lion_, or even go so far as poached
eggs and yet more excellent bacon, if our resources allowed of it. We
were not sorry to go ashore. There was absolutely no shelter on the
deck of the barge from the sunshine, which was glaringly reflected by
the water. The inn parlour was low, but it was dark and cool. I felt
doubtful about the luxury even of cheese after that beefsteak-pie but
Fred smacked his lips and ordered eggs and bacon, and I paid for them
out of the canvas-bag.
As we sat together I said, "I wrote a letter to my mother, Fred. Did
you write to Mrs. Johnson?"
Fred nodded, and pulled a scrap of dirty paper from his pocket,
saying, "That's the letter; but I made a tidy copy of it afterwards."
I have said that Fred was below me in class, though he is older; and
he was very bad at spelling. Otherwise the letter did very well,
except for smudges.
"DEAR MOTHER,
"Charlie and I are going to run away at least by the time you get
this we have run away but never mind for wen weve seen the wurld
were cumming back we took the pi wich I hope you wont mind as we
had no brekfust and I'll bring back the dish we send our best love
and I've no more to tell you to-day from your affectionate son
FRED."
I saw Mr. Rowe myself very busy in the bar of the _White Lion_, with a
sheet of paper and an old steel pen, which looked as if the point had
been attenuated to that hair-like fineness by sheer age. He started
at the sight of me, which caused him to drop a very large blot of ink
from the very sharp point of the pen on to his paper. I left him
wiping it up with his handkerchief. But it never struck me that he was
writing a letter on the same subject as Fred and I had been writing
about. He was, however: and Mr. Johnson keeps it tied up with Fred's
to this day. The spelling was of about the same order.
"MR. JOHNSON. HONERD SIR.
"i rites in duty bound to acqaint you that the young genlemen is
with me, looking out for Advenchurs and asking your pardon i wish
they may find them as innercent as 2 Babes in the Wood on the
London and Lancingford Canal were they come aboard quite unknown to
me and blowed theirselves up with lucifers the fust go off and
you've no need to trubble yourself sir ill keep my I on them and
bring em safe to hand with return cargo and hoping you'll excuse
the stamp not expecting to have to rite from the fust stoppige your
obedient humble servant
"SAMUEL ROWE."
As I have said, we did not suspect that Mr. Rowe had betrayed us by
post; but in the course of the afternoon Fred said to me, "I'll tell
you what, Charlie, I know old Rowe well, and he's up to any trick,
and sure to want to keep in with my father. If we don't take care
he'll take us back with him. And what fools we shall look then!"
The idea was intolerable; but I warned Fred to carefully avoid
betraying that we suspected him. The captain had had worse enemies to
outwit, and had kept a pirate in good humour for a much longer voyage
by affability and rum. We had no means of clouding Mr. Rowe's
particularly sharp wits with grog, but we resolved to be amiable and
wary, and when we did get to London to look out for the first
opportunity of giving the barge-master the slip.