GOING ON BOARD.
Harry crossed Broadway with his companion, and went down a side street to
the North River pier, at which lay the Sea Eagle, of which Brandon had
obtained the command. It was a vessel of good size, and was now all ready
for sea. This fact, however, Captain Brandon did not care to communicate
to his young companion.
“How soon do you sail, Captain Brandon?” asked Harry.
“In a day or two,” said Brandon.
“Is your voyage a long one?”
“We are bound for China.”
“That is a long trip.”
“Yes, a very long one.”
“Don’t you get tired of the sea?”
“Oh, we sailors get used to it.”
“I don’t think I should like it.”
“So you wouldn’t like being a sailor?” said Brandon, looking at the lad
with a meaning which the latter did not understand.
“No, I don’t think I should.”
“So I thought at your age; but I became a sailor, after all.”
However it might have been in the case of Captain Brandon, Harry thought
it very improbable that such a change would take place in his own views.
At length he reached the pier. Bales of merchandise lay scattered about,
and there was a general appearance of confusion and disorder.
“There is my vessel,” said Captain Brandon, pointing it out. “Don’t you
want to go to China with me?”
“Thank you,” said Harry, with a smile, “but I will wait till I am older.”
“And then go as a merchant, I suppose?”
“Perhaps so.”
“Well, we will go on board, at all events. I will show you about.”
Harry ascended to the deck, and Captain Brandon followed. The latter
began to point out and name various parts of the vessel, walking about
with our hero. The sailors looked with some curiosity at Harry, but of
course asked no questions. The mate, however, Mr. Hawkes, after speaking
with Brandon about some matter connected with the vessel, asked, “Is that
the cabin-boy?”
“Certainly,” said Brandon.
“He asks if you are the cabin-boy,” he said, after the mate had passed
on. “It’s a good joke, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Harry, smiling.
“Now suppose we go into the cabin,” said Brandon.
“Thank you,” assented Harry.
Accordingly they descended into the ship’s cabin, which, though small,
was very comfortable.
“Sit down, Raymond,” said the captain, setting the example.
On the cabin table was spread out a slight repast, consisting of
sandwiches and ale.
“We’ll take a little lunch,” said Brandon. “It’s hungry work walking
about the streets. You can eat a little something, I guess.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Harry, accepting a sandwich.
“Let me pour you out some ale.”
“I don’t think I care for any, thank you.”
“Pooh, nonsense, ale won’t do you any harm;” and Brandon filled his glass.
Harry had never even tasted of ale, but he did not know how to refuse the
captain’s hospitality, and raised the glass to his lips. The taste was
not altogether agreeable, so he merely sipped a little, and set it down
again.
“Don’t you like it?”
“Not very much.”
“Never mind, it’ll do you good. Nothing more wholesome.”
“How long will your voyage be, Captain Brandon?”
“Eighteen months; perhaps longer. By the time I get back, I suppose you
will have become quite a man of business.”
“I hope so,” said Harry.
“How do you like my friend Fairchild?”
“He has been quite kind to me. I think I shall like him.”
“Keep on, and some time you may be as rich as he,” said the captain,
closing the remark with a laugh, for which our hero could see no good
reason.
“I should like to be rich, for my mother’s sake,” said Harry, seriously.
“For your mother’s sake, of course. Let me see,—what’s the name of the
town you come from?”
“Vernon.”
“Ah, yes, I think I’ve heard of it. A small place, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir, it’s only a village.”
“Any rich people there?”
“There’s one,—Squire Turner.”
“Squire Turner?” repeated Brandon. “What sort of a man is he?”
He asked the question carelessly, but fixed his eyes on Harry as he
spoke. It will be remembered that Squire Turner, unwilling to trust his
scapegrace cousin too far, had carefully kept hidden from him the cause
of his hostility to our hero. This naturally stimulated the curiosity of
Brandon, to whom it occurred that he might, by questioning the boy, draw
out the truth.
“He’s quite a prominent man in Vernon,” answered Harry, cautiously.
“I suppose he is popular, also.”
“Not very popular.”
“Why not?”
“He is not very liberal.”
“Then you don’t like him?”
“I haven’t had much to do with him.”
“Confound him! why don’t he speak out?” said Brandon to himself. It
occurred to him, however, that further questions, respecting a man whom
he was not supposed to know, might excite the suspicions of the boy, and
he refrained.
Meanwhile Harry, who had a healthy boy’s appetite, had commenced eating
his second sandwich, but he had not again tasted of the ale.
“Come,” said Captain Brandon, “suppose we drink success to the Sea Eagle,
and a quick and prosperous voyage.”
So saying, he placed the glass to his lips.
“With pleasure,” responded Harry, following his example. He merely
tasted the ale, however, and then set down the glass.
“That will never do, my lad,” said the captain. “It is always usual, on
such occasions, to drain the glass.”
“I don’t like ale very well.”
“But you won’t refuse to drink it, under such circumstances?”
Fearing that his refusal might be misconstrued, Harry gulped down the
liquid, though with some difficulty.
“Come, that’s well,” said the captain, with satisfaction. “I won’t ask
you to drink any more. Now suppose I tell you a little of the countries I
have visited. We sailors see strange things.”
“I should be glad to have you,” said our hero, thinking that the captain
took great pains to please him.
Brandon launched out into a long and circumstantial account of Brazil,
and afterwards of Australia, both of which he had visited. Harry listened
at first with interest, but gradually a strange sensation of drowsiness
came over him. His eyes drooped heavily, and it was with a continual
effort that he kept them open. The captain lowered his voice, and kept
talking in a low, monotonous tone that helped the effect of the sleeping
potion which, unobserved, he had mingled with the ale in Harry’s glass.
“I feel sleepy,” said our hero, at length, after making a desperate
effort to keep awake. “It is strange, so early in the day.”
“I observed you found it hard to keep awake. I suppose it is the noise
and bustle of the city, to which you are not accustomed. I’ll tell you
what, my lad, I’ve got a little business to attend to on deck. As I
shan’t go back to Nassau Street for an hour or two I’ll give you that
time for a nap.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Harry, drowsily. “Won’t Mr. Fairchild think it
strange, my being away so long?”
“I’ll make it all right with him. He’s very good-natured. So just lie
down, and have your nap out.”
Harry lay down, and in two minutes his senses were locked in profound
repose. Captain Brandon looked at him with satisfaction as he lay
stretched out before him.
“It was a lucky thought of mine, the sleeping potion,” he said
to himself. “He’s polite enough, but there’s plenty of will and
determination about him. I can see that by the cut of his lip. He might
have made me considerable trouble. Now, he’s safe to sleep eighteen hours
at least, unless the druggist deceived me.”
He went on deck, taking care, however, to lock the cabin door behind him.
On the deck he met Mr. Hawkes, the mate.
“Well, Mr. Hawkes,” he said, “what is the prospect?”
“I think we shall get off in an hour, Captain Brandon.”
“Good.”
“I didn’t quite understand about the lad you had with you. Does he sail
with us?”
“Yes.”
“As cabin-boy?”
“Yes, but he doesn’t know it.”
“Ah, I see,” said Hawkes, nodding intelligently.
“His friends have thought it best to send him to sea, but he is obstinate
and headstrong, and might make trouble; so I agreed to manage it.”
He briefly related the strategy of which he had made use. The mate
laughed approvingly.
“We’ll make a sailor of him before we get through,” he said.
“No doubt of it.”
Meanwhile our hero, wrapped in a sleep unnaturally profound, slumbered on
happily unconscious of the unjustifiable plot which had been contrived
against him. On deck all was bustle and hurry. The pilot was all ready on
board, the sailors were hurrying about in obedience to the quick commands
of the officers, the creaking of cordage was heard, and in a short time
the Sea Eagle had commenced her voyage. But Harry heard nothing. His
slumber was profound. His career as an office-boy was at an end, and
after one brief day in the great city he was drifting away unconsciously
from home and friends, in the power of a reckless man, from whose
despotism there was no appeal.
I am quite sure that my young readers will all sympathize with Harry.
His misfortune was in no sense occasioned by his misconduct. He had left
home with a firm determination to do his duty, and work his way upward to
a position where he could be of service to his mother and sister; but all
his plans seemed disastrously interrupted.
But I do not despair of Harry yet. Hitherto his course has been smooth,
and he has had no opportunity of showing what he is. Difficulties develop
strength of character, and it is pretty clear that Harry has got into
difficulties, and those of a serious kind.
Will he sink or swim?