SO ON HE FARES
His mother had forbidden him to stray about the roads, and standing at
the garden gate, little Ulick Burke often thought he would like to run
down to the canal and watch the boats passing. His father used to take
him for walks along the towing path, but his father had gone away to
the wars two years ago, and standing by the garden gate he remembered
how his father used to stop to talk to the lock-keepers. Their talk
often turned upon the canal and its business, and Ulick remembered that
the canal ended in the Shannon, and that the barges met ships coming up
from the sea.
He was a pretty child with bright blue eyes, soft curls, and a shy
winning manner, and he stood at the garden gate thinking how the boats
rose up in the locks, how the gate opened and let the boats free, and
he wondered if his father had gone away to the war in one of the
barges. He felt sure if he were going away to the war he would go in a
barge. And he wondered if the barge went as far as the war or only as
far as the Shannon? He would like to ask his mother, but she would say
he was troubling her with foolish questions, or she would begin to
think again that he wanted to run away from home. He wondered if he
were to hide himself in one of the barges whether it would take him to
a battlefield where he would meet his father walking about with a gun
upon his shoulder?
And leaning against the gate-post, he swung one foot across the other,
though he had been told by his mother that he was like one of the
village children when he did it. But his mother was always telling him
not to do something, and he could not remember everything he must not
do. He had been told not to go to the canal lest he should fall in, nor
into the field lest he should tear his trousers. He had been told he
must not run in about in the garden lest he should tread on the
flowers, and his mother was always telling him he was not to talk to
the school children as they came back from school, though he did not
want to talk to them. There was a time when he would have liked to talk
to them, now he ran to the other side of the garden when they were
coming home from school; but there was no place in the garden where he
could hide himself from them, unless he got into the dry ditch. The
school children were very naughty children; they climbed up the bank,
and, holding on to the paling, they mocked at him; and their mockery
was to ask him the way to "Hill Cottage;" for his mother had had the
name painted on the gate, and no one else in the parish had given their
cottage a name.
However, he liked the dry ditch, and under the branches, where the wren
had built her nest, Ulick was out of his mother's way, and out of the
way of the boys; and lying among the dead leaves he could think of the
barges floating away, and of his tall father who wore a red coat and
let him pull his moustache. He was content to lie in the ditch for
hours, thinking he was a bargeman and that he would like to use a sail.
His father had told him that the boats had sails on the Shannon--if so
it would be easy to sail to the war; and breaking off in the middle of
some wonderful war adventure, some tale about his father and his
father's soldiers, he would grow interested in the life of the ditch,
in the coming and going of the wren, in the chirrup of a bird in the
tall larches that grew beyond the paling.
Beyond the paling there was a wood full of moss-grown stones and trees
overgrown with ivy, and Ulick thought that if he only dared to get over
the paling and face the darkness of the hollow on the other side of the
paling, he could run across the meadow and call from the bank to a
steersman. The steersman might take him away! But he was afraid his
mother might follow him on the next barge, and he dreamed a story of
barges drawn by the swiftest horses in Ireland.
But dreams are but a makeshift life. He was very unhappy, and though he
knew it was wrong he could not help laying plans for escape. Sometimes
he thought that the best plan would be to set fire to the house; for
while his mother was carrying pails of water from the back yard he
would run away; but he did not dare to think out his plan of setting
fire to the house, lest one of the spirits which dwelt in the hollow
beyond the paling should come and drag him down a hole.
One day he forgot to hide himself in the ditch, and the big boy climbed
up the bank, and asked him to give him some gooseberries, and though
Ulick would have feared to gather gooseberries for himself he did not
like to refuse the boy, and he gave him some, hoping that the big boy
would not laugh at him again. And they became friends, and very soon he
was friends with them all, and they had many talks clustered in the
corner, the children holding on to the palings, and Ulick hiding behind
the hollyhocks ready to warn them.
"It's all right, she's gone to the village," Ulick said, one day the
big boy asked him to come with them, they were going to spear eels in
the brook, and he was emboldened to get over the fence and to follow
across the meadow, through the hazels, and very soon it seemed to him
that they had wandered to the world's end. At last they came to the
brook and the big boy turned up his trousers, and Ulick saw him lifting
the stones with his left hand and plunging a fork into the water with
his right. When he brought up a struggling eel at the end of the fork
Ulick clapped his hands and laughed, and he had never been so happy in
his life before.
After a time there were no more stones to raise, and sitting on the
bank they began to tell stories. His companions asked him when his
father was coming back from the wars, and he told them how his father
used to take him for walks up the canal, and how they used to meet a
man who had a tame rat in his pocket. Suddenly the boys and girls
started up, crying "Here's the farmer," and they ran wildly across the
fields. However, they got to the high road long before the farmer could
catch them, and his escape enchanted Ulick. Then the children went
their different ways, the big boy staying with Ulick, who thought he
must offer him some gooseberries. So they crossed the fence together
and crouched under the bushes, and ate the gooseberries till they
wearied of them. Afterwards they went to look at the bees, and while
looking at the insects crawling in and out of their little door, Ulick
caught sight of his mother, and she coming towards them. Ulick cried
out, but the big boy was caught before he could reach the fence, and
Ulick saw that, big as the boy was, he could not save himself from a
slapping. He kicked out, and then blubbered, and at last got away. In a
moment it would be Ulick's turn, and he feared she would beat him more
than she had beaten the boy--for she hated him, whereas she was only
vexed with the boy--she would give him bread and water--he had often
had a beating and bread and water for a lesser wickedness than the
bringing of one of the village boys into the garden to eat gooseberries.
He put up his right hand and saved his right cheek, and then she tried
to slap him on the left, but he put up his left hand, and this went on
until she grew so angry that Ulick thought he had better allow her to
slap him, for if she did not slap him at once she might kill him.
"Down with your hands, sir, down with your hands, sir," she cried, but
before he had time to let her slap him she said: "I will give you
enough of bees," and she caught one that had rested on a flower and put
it down his neck. The bee stung him in the neck where the flesh is
softest, and he ran away screaming, unable to rid himself of the bee.
He broke through the hedges of sweet pea, and he dashed through the
poppies, trampling through the flower beds, until he reached the dry
ditch.
There is something frightful in feeling a stinging insect in one's
back, and Ulick lay in the dry ditch, rolling among the leaves in
anguish. He thought he was stung all over, he heard his mother
laughing, and she called him a coward through an opening in the bushes,
but he knew she could not follow him down the ditch. His neck had
already begun to swell, but he forgot the pain of the sting in hatred.
He felt he must hate his mother, however wicked it might be to do so.
His mother had often slapped him, he had heard of boys being slapped,
but no one had ever put a bee down a boy's back before; he felt he must
always hate her, and creeping up through the brambles to where he could
get a view of the garden, he waited until he saw her walk up the path
into the house; and then, stealing back to the bottom of the ditch, he
resolved to get over the paling. A few minutes after he heard her
calling him, and then he climbed the paling, and he crossed the dreaded
hollow, stumbling over the old stones.
As he crossed the meadow he caught sight of a boat coming through the
lock, but the lock-keeper knew him by sight, and would tell the
bargeman where he came from, and he would be sent home to his mother.
He ran on, trying to get ahead of the boat, creeping through hedges,
frightened lest he should not be able to find the canal! Now he
stopped, sure that he had lost it; his brain seemed to be giving way,
and he ran on like a mad child up the bank. Oh, what joy! The canal
flowed underneath the bank. The horse had just passed, the barge was
coming, and Ulick ran down the bank calling to the bargeman. He plunged
into the water, getting through the bulrushes. Half of the barge had
passed him, and he held out his hands. The ground gave way and he went
under the water; green light took the place of day, and when he
struggled to the surface he saw the rudder moving. He went under again,
and remembered no more until he opened his eyes and saw the bargeman
leaning over him.
"Now, what ails you to be throwing yourself into the water in that way?"
Ulick closed his eyes; he had no strength for answering him, and a
little while after he heard someone come on board the barge, and he
guessed it must be the man who drove the horse. He lay with his eyes
closed, hearing the men talking of what they should do with him. He
heard a third voice and guessed it must be a man come up from the
cabin. This man said it would be better to take him back to the last
lock, and they began to argue about who should carry him. Ulick was
terribly frightened, and he was just going to beg of them not to bring
him back when he heard one of them say, "It will be easier to leave him
at the next lock." Soon after, he felt the boat start again, and when
Ulick opened his eyes, he saw hedges gliding past, and he hoped the
next lock was a long way off.
"Now," said the steersman, "since you are awaking out of your faint
you'll be telling us where you come from, because we want to send you
home again."
"Oh," he said, "from a long way off, the Shannon."
"The Shannon!" said the bargeman. "Why, that is more than seventy miles
away. How did you come up here?"
It was a dreadful moment. Ulick knew he must give some good answer or
he would find himself in his mother's keeping very soon. But what
answer was he to give? it was half accident, half cunning that made him
speak of the Shannon. The steersman said again, "The Shannon is seventy
miles away, how did you get up here?" and by this time Ulick was aware
that he must make the bargemen believe that he had hidden himself on
one of the boats coming up from the Shannon, and that he had given the
bargemen some money, and then he burst into tears and told them he had
been very unhappy at home; and when they asked him why he had been
unhappy, he did not answer, but he promised he would not be a naughty
boy any more if they would take him back to the Shannon. He would be a
good boy and not run away again. His pretty face and speech persuaded
the bargemen to bring him back to the Shannon; it was decided to say
nothing about him to the lock-keeper, and he was carried down to the
cabin. He had often asked his father if he might see the bargemen's
cabin; and his father had promised him that the next time they went to
the canal he should go on board a barge and see the cabin; but his
father had gone away to the wars. Now he was in the bargemen's cabin,
and he wondered if they were going to give him supper and if he would
be a bargeman himself when he grew up to be a man.
Some miles further the boat bumped the edge of the bridge, and on the
other side of the bridge there was the lock, and he heard the lock gate
shut behind the boat and the water pour into the lock; the lock seemed
a long time filling, and he was frightened lest the lock-man might come
down to the cabin, for there was no place where he could hide.
After passing through the lock one of the men came down to see him, and
he was taken on deck, and in the calm of the evening Ulick came to look
upon the bargemen as his good angels. They gave him some of their
supper, and when they arrived at the next lock they made their beds on
the deck, the night being so warm. It seemed to Ulick that he had never
seen the night before, and he watched the sunset fading streak by
streak, and imagined he was the captain of a ship sailing in the
Shannon. The stars were so bright that he could not sleep, and it
amused him to make up a long story about the bargemen snoring by his
side. The story ended with the sunset, and then the night was blue all
over, and raising himself out of his blanket, he watched the moonlight
rippling down the canal. Then the night grew grey. He began to feel
very cold, and wrapped himself in his blanket tightly, and the world
got so white that Ulick grew afraid, and he was not certain whether it
would not be better to escape from the boat and run away while
everybody slept.
He lay awake maturing his little plan, seeing the greyness pass away
and the sky fill up with pink and fleecy clouds.
One of the men roused, and, without saying a word, went to fetch a
horse from the stables, and another went to boil the kettle in the
cabin, and Ulick asked if he might help him; and while he blew the fire
he heard the water running into the lock, and thought what a fool they
were making of the lock-keeper, and when the boat was well on its way
towards the next lock the steersman called him to come up, and they
breakfasted together. Ulick would have wished this life to go on for
ever, but the following day the steersman said:--
"There is only one lock more between this and our last stopping-place.
Keep a look-out for your mother's cottage."
He promised he would, and he beguiled them all the evening with
pretended discoveries. That cabin was his mother's cabin. No, it was
further on, he remembered those willow-trees. Ulick's object was to get
as far away from his home as possible; to get as near the Shannon as he
could.
"There's not a mile between us and the Shannon now," said the
steersman. "I believe you've been telling us a lot of lies, my young
man."
Ulick said his mother lived just outside the town, they would see the
house when they passed through the last lock, and he planned to escape
that night, and about an hour before the dawn he got up, and, glancing
at the sleeping men, he stepped ashore and ran until he felt very
tired. And when he could go no further he lay down in the hay in an
outhouse.
A woman found him in the hay some hours after, and he told her his
story, and as the woman seemed very kind he laid some stress on his
mother's cruelty. He mentioned that his mother had put a bee down his
neck, and bending down his head he showed her where the bee had stung
him. She stroked his pretty curls and looked into his blue eyes, and
she said that anyone who could put a bee down a boy's neck must be a
she-devil.
She was a lone widow longing for someone to look after, and in a very
short time Ulick was as much loved by his chance mother as he had been
hated by his real mother.
Three years afterwards she died, and Ulick had to leave the cottage.
He was now a little over thirteen, and knew the ships and their
sailors, and he went away in one of the ships that came up the river,
and sailed many times round the coast of Ireland, and up all the
harbours of Ireland. He led a wild rough life, and his flight from home
was remembered like a tale heard in infancy, until one day, as he was
steering his ship up the Shannon, a desire to see what they were doing
at home came over him. The ship dropped anchor, and he went to the
canal to watch the boats going home. And it was not long before he was
asking one of the bargemen if he would take him on board. He knew the
rules, and he knew they could be broken, and how, and he said if they
would take him he would be careful the lockmen did not see him, and the
journey began.
The month was July, so the days were as endless and the country was as
green and as full of grass, as they were when he had come down the
canal, and the horse strained along the path, sticking his toes into it
just as he had done ten years ago; and when they came to a dangerous
place Ulick saw the man who was driving the horse take hold of his
tail, just as he had seen him do ten years ago.
"I think those are the rushes, only there are no trees, and the bank
does not seem so high." And then he said as the bargeman was going to
stop his horse, "No, I am wrong. It isn't there."
They went on a few miles further, and the same thing happened again. At
last he said, "Now I am sure it is there."
And the bargeman called to the man who was driving the horse and
stopped him, and Ulick jumped from the boat to the bank.
"That was a big leap you took," said a small boy who was standing on
the bank. "It is well you didn't fall in."
"Why did you say that?" said Ulick, "is your mother telling you not to
go down to the canal?"
"Look at the frog! he's going to jump into the water," said the little
boy.
He was the same age as Ulick was when Ulick ran away, and he was
dressed in the same little trousers and little boots and socks, and he
had a little grey cap. Ulick's hair had grown darker now, but it had
been as fair and as curly as this little boy's, and he asked him if his
mother forbade him to go down to the canal.
"Are you a bargeman? Do you steer the barge or do you drive the horse?"
"I'll tell you about the barge if you'll tell me about your mother.
Does she tell you not to come down to the canal?"
The boy turned away his head and nodded it.
"Does she beat you if she catches you here?"
"Oh, no, mother never beats me."
"Is she kind to you?"
"Yes, she's very kind, she lives up there, and there's a garden to our
cottage, and the name 'Hill Cottage' is painted up on the gate post."
"Now," said Ulick, "tell me your name."
"My name is Ulick."
"Ulick! And what's your other name?"
"Ulick Burke."
"Ulick Burke!" said the big Ulick. "Well, my name is the same. And I
used to live at Hill Cottage too."
The boy did not answer.
"Whom do you live with?"
"I live with mother."
"And what's her name?"
"Well, Burke is her name," said the boy.
"But her front name?"
"Catherine."
"And where's your father?"
"Oh, father's a soldier; he's away."
"But my father was a soldier too, and I used to live in that cottage."
"And where have you been ever since?"
"Oh," he said, "I've been a sailor. I think I will go to the cottage
with you."
"Yes," said little Ulick, "come up and see mother, and you'll tell me
where you've been sailing," and he put his hand into the seafarer's.
And now the seafarer began to lose his reckoning; the compass no longer
pointed north. He had been away for ten years, and coming back he had
found his own self, the self that had jumped into the water at this
place ten years ago. Why had not the little boy done as he had done,
and been pulled into the barge and gone away? If this had happened
Ulick would have believed he was dreaming or that he was mad. But the
little boy was leading him, yes, he remembered the way, there was the
cottage, and its paling, and its hollyhocks. And there was his mother
coming out of the house and very little changed.
"Ulick, where have you been? Oh, you naughty boy," and she caught the
little boy up and kissed him. And so engrossed was her attention in her
little son that she had not noticed the man he had brought home with
him.
"Now who is this?" she said.
"Oh, mother, he jumped from the boat to the bank, and he will tell you,
mother, that I was not near the bank."
"Yes, mother, he was ten yards from the bank; and now tell me, do you
think you ever saw me before?"... She looked at him.
"Oh, it's you! Why we thought you were drowned."
"I was picked up by a bargeman."
"Well, come into the house and tell us what you've been doing."
"I've been seafaring," he said, taking a chair. "But what about this
Ulick?"
"He's your brother, that's all."
His mother asked him of what he was thinking, and Ulick told her how
greatly astonished he had been to find a little boy exactly like
himself, waiting at the same place.
"And father?"
"Your father is away."
"So," he said, "this little boy is my brother. I should like to see
father. When is he coming back?"
"Oh," she said, "he won't be back for another three years. He enlisted
again."
"Mother," said Ulick, "you don't seem very glad to see me."
"I shall never forget the evening we spent when you threw yourself into
the canal. You were a wicked child."
"And why did you think I was drowned?"
"Well, your cap was picked up in the bulrushes."
He thought that whatever wickedness he had been guilty of might have
been forgiven, and he began to feel that if he had known how his mother
would receive him he would not have come home.
"Well, the dinner is nearly ready. You'll stay and have some with us,
and we can make you up a bed in the kitchen."
He could see that his mother wished to welcome him, but her heart was
set against him now as it had always been. Her dislike had survived ten
years of absence. He had gone away and had met with a mother who loved
him, and had done ten years' hard seafaring. He had forgotten his real
mother--forgotten everything except the bee and the hatred that
gathered in her eyes when she put it down his back; and that same ugly
look he could now see gathering in her eyes, and it grew deeper every
hour he remained in the cottage. His little brother asked him to tell
him tales about the sailing ships, and he wanted to go down to the
canal with Ulick, but their mother said he was to bide here with her.
The day had begun to decline, his brother was crying, and he had to
tell him a sea-story to stop his crying. "But mother hates to hear my
voice," he said to himself, and he went out into the garden when the
story was done. It would be better to go away, and he took one turn
round the garden and got over the paling at the end of the dry ditch,
at the place he had got over it before, and he walked through the old
wood, where the trees were overgrown with ivy, and the stones with
moss. In this second experience there was neither terror nor
mystery--only bitterness. It seemed to him a pity that he had ever been
taken out of the canal, and he thought how easy it would be to throw
himself in again, but only children drown themselves because their
mothers do not love them; life had taken a hold upon him, and he stood
watching the canal, though not waiting for a boat. But when a boat
appeared he called to the man who was driving the horse to stop, for it
was the same boat that had brought him from the Shannon.
"Well, was it all right?" the steersman said. "Did you find the house?
How were they at home?"
"They're all right at home," he said; "but father is still away. I am
going back. Can you take me?"
The evening sky opened calm and benedictive, and the green country
flowed on, the boat passed by ruins, castles and churches, and every
day was alike until they reached the Shannon.