LOCKS—WE THINK OF GOING ON THE TRAMP—PYEBRIDGE—WE SET SAIL.
During our first day's voyage we passed two locks. There was one not
very far from home, and Fred and I had more than once been to see a
barge pass it, sitting on the bank whilst the boat gradually sank to
the level of the water below.
It was great fun being on board whilst the barge went down and down,
though I must say we did not feel anything peculiar, we sank so
gradually.
"Just fancy if it was a hole in the ship's bottom," said Fred, "and we
were settling down with all on board. Some ships do, and are never
heard of again."
We amused ourselves as we went along by guessing beforehand on which
shore the next house or hamlet would appear. We betted shillings on
the result, but neither of us won or lost, for however often the
shillings changed hands, they remained in the canvas bag.
Perhaps places look more as if events happened in them if you do not
know them well. I noticed that even our town looked more interesting
from the water than I had ever seen it look, so I dare say to
strangers it does not appear so dull as it is. All the villages on the
canal banks looked interesting. We passed one soon after tea, where
the horse rested under some old willows by the towing-path, and we and
Mr. Rowe went ashore. Whilst the barge-master delivered a parcel to a
friend, Fred and I strolled into a lane which led us past cottages
with very gay gardens to the church. The church was not at all like S.
Philip or S. James. It was squat, and ivy-covered, and carefully
restored; and it stood in a garden where the flowers almost hid the
graves. Just outside the lych-gate, four lanes met, and all of them
were so shady and inviting, and it was so impossible to say what they
might not lead to, that I said to Fred,
"You said the only way to run away besides going to sea was to
_tramp_. It sounds rather low, but we needn't beg, and I think walking
would be nice for a change, and I don't believe it would be much
slower than the barge, and it would be so much shadier. And we could
get off from Old Rowe at once, and hide if we heard anybody coming. I
wonder how far it is to London now?"
"Not far, I dare say," said Fred, who was pleased by the idea; "and if
we keep on we must get there in time. And we can get things to eat in
the hedges, which we can't do on the barge."
At this moment there passed a boy, to whom I said, "Which is the way
to London, if you please?" for there were four roads to choose from.
"What d' say?" said the boy.
I repeated my question.
"Dunno," he replied, trying to cram half his hand into his mouth. The
captain would have thought him very stupid if he had met him as a
native in one of the islands of the Pacific, I am sure; but I followed
him, and begged him to try and think if he had not heard of people
going to London.
At last his face brightened. He was looking over my head down the
lane. "There's a man a-cummin yonder's always a-going to Lunnon," said
he. Visions of a companion on our tramp—also perhaps in search of
adventures—made me look briskly round. "Him with the pipe, as b'longs
to the barge," the boy exclaimed.
It was indeed Mr. Rowe come to look for us, and we had to try and seem
glad to see him, and to go on board once more.
Towards evening the canal banks became dotted with fishers of all ages
and degrees, fishing very patiently, though they did not seem to catch
much.
Soon after dark we reached the town of Pyebridge.
When the barge lay-to for the night, and the driver was taking the
horse away to the stable, Mr. Rowe confronted us, in his firmest
manner, with the question, "And where are you going to sleep, young
gentlemen?"
"Where are _you_ going to sleep, Mr. Rowe?" said I, after a thoughtful
pause.
"_I_ sleeps below, but the captain's cabin is guv up to no one—unless
it be the Queen," replied the barge-master, humorously but decidedly.
"We should like to sleep on deck," said I.
But Mr. Rowe would not hear of it, on account of various dreadful
diseases which he assured us would be contracted by sleeping "in the
damps of the water," "the dews of the _h_air," and "the rays of the
moon."
"There's a hotel—" he began; but I said at once, "We couldn't afford
a hotel, but if you know of any very cheap place we should be much
obliged."
Mr. Rowe took off his hat and took out his handkerchief, though it was
no longer hot. Having cleared his brain, he said he "would see," and
he finally led us along one of the pebbled streets of Pyebridge to a
small house with a small shop-window for the sale of vegetables, and
with a card announcing that there were beds to let. A very little old
woman got up from behind a very big old geranium in the window as we
entered, and with her Mr. Rowe made our arrangements for the night. We
got a clean bed, and had a mug of milk and a slice of bread and
treacle apiece for breakfast the next morning, and I paid two
shillings. As I thanked the old lady and bade her good day, she called
to me to hold out my hat, which she filled with cherries, and then
stood at the door and watched us out of sight.
There was a railway station in Pyebridge, and we might easily have
escaped from Mr. Rowe, and gone by train to London. But besides the
fact that our funds were becoming low, the water had a new attraction
for us. We had left the canal behind, and were henceforward on a
river. If the wind favoured us we were to sail.
"A canal's nothing to a river," said Mr. Rowe, "same as a river's
nothing to the sea," and when Fred had some difficulty in keeping his
hat on in the gusty street (mine was in use as a fruit-basket), and
the barge-master said it was a "nice fresh morning," I felt that life
on Linnet Island would have been tame indeed compared to the hopes and
fears of a career which depended on the winds and waves.
And when the boom went up the barge's mast, and the tightly corded
roll of dark canvas began to struggle for liberty, and writhe and flap
with throttling noises above our heads, and when Mr. Rowe wrestled
with it and the driver helped him, and Fred and I tried to, and were
all but swept overboard in consequence, whilst the barge-master
encouraged himself by strange and savage sounds—and when the sunshine
caught our nut-brown sail just as she spread gallantly to the breeze,
our excitement grew till we both cried in one breath,
"This is something _like_ being at sea!"