TONY FINDS A FRIEND.
"The first thing is to find a place in which to hide for awhile," said
Tony, to himself. "That tug can't be far away--Mr. Vandegriff said she
would come up with the barge by the time the Armada had taken all the
coal she wanted--and I must keep out of sight until she takes the barge
in tow and goes up the river again. I don't know what folks will think
when she goes back to St. Louis without me, and I don't care, either. I
don't expect to see any of them again for long years to come. I will
send Mr. Vandegriff his money as soon as I reach Cairo, and that will
make me square with him. I believe that is the spot I am looking for."
Tony had just discovered what he declared to be "the finest kind of a
hiding-place." A huge tree which had been undermined by the water had
sunk down into the river, and now lay with its top resting upon the bank
and its roots in the stream. These roots formed a mass twelve or fifteen
feet square, and between them and the bank there was water enough to
float the skiff. Tony pulled up to examine this hiding-place, his
movements being accelerated by a sound which just then came to his ears.
He exerted himself to the utmost, and to his great relief succeeded in
running his skiff behind the roots just as the tug came around the point
above. Had he been a few moments later he would certainly have been
discovered.
"A miss is as good as a mile," panted Tony, as he stretched himself out
under the thwarts and looked at the tug through an opening in the roots.
"If she doesn't see me now she never will, for it will be pitch dark
when she comes back with the barge. I'd give something to know how Jeff
and Mose will explain my disappearance."
Tony kept his eyes fastened upon the tug as she moved swiftly past his
place of concealment, and then he turned around, and lying with his face
toward the stern of the skiff, watched her until she disappeared around
the bend below. It _was_ pitch dark when her lights came into view
around the point, and her labored puffing, as she struggled against the
current with her heavy burden, became audible to the ears of the
runaway. Presently she began to whistle, and she kept it up at irregular
intervals.
"That's for me," thought Tony. "Captain, you're only wasting steam. I
hear you, but I'll not pay any attention to you."
In about two hours the tug passed Tony's hiding-place the second time,
and when the sound of her exhaust began to grow fainter, the boy made
his skiff fast to one of the roots and lay down to sleep. He slept, too,
and his slumber was not in the least disturbed by regretful dreams of
the home he had deserted. It needs contact with the world and a few hard
knocks from it to show a discontented boy what home is worth, and Tony
had not yet received any of these.
He awoke the next morning at daylight, hungry as a wolf, and impatient
to reach Cairo in order that he might send Mr. Vandegriff's money to
him. He was in a great hurry to be rid of it, for his experience on the
barge had satisfied him that he was not altogether safe so long as it
was in his possession. The first thing was to look out for a breakfast,
and this he obtained at a farm-house he found about five miles down the
river. At this place he also purchased a basket and cooked viands enough
to fill it. He did not want to go supperless to bed again if he could
help it.
Tony passed two more nights on the river, and by that time he had become
heartily disgusted with this mode of travelling. Whenever he became
tired of rowing, he drew in his oars and allowed the skiff to float with
the current; but during these periods of rest, his progress was very
slow, and he was so impatient to reach his journey's end, that he kept
the oars in motion almost all the time. He had to be constantly on the
alert, for there was a good many boats passing up and down the river,
and Tony made it a point to go ashore and hide in the bushes every time
one hove in sight. He was afraid that some of the pilots would see and
recognise him. He was plied with questions every time he stopped for
supplies. Canoeing was not as popular in those days as it has since
become, and the people living along the river had not grown accustomed
to the sight of solitary travellers making their way down the stream in
this primitive fashion. One long-haired, unkempt Missourian, after
filling his basket, informed him that he had given him a good looking
over, and that if anybody came that way in a day or two looking for a
stolen boat, he would be able to give an accurate description of him.
Tony passed the little town of Cape Girardeau bright and early one
morning, and shortly after twelve o'clock he looked over the levee on
the Illinois side, and obtained his first view of the city of Cairo. He
at once directed his course across the river, and running the bow of his
skiff high and dry upon the bank, he left it and the basket for the use
of the first person who might be in need of them, and set out for the
city on foot. In this way he saved himself a good deal of hard work, for
it would have taken him two or three hours to row around the point and
up the Ohio river to the wharf-boat. As it was, he reached the St.
Charles hotel in about half an hour, and having purchased two sheets of
note-paper and an envelope from the news-agent, he went into the office
and sat down to write a letter to Mr. Vandegriff. Having made up his
mind what he wanted to say, his pen moved rapidly, and in twenty minutes
the letter was finished. It contained a circumstantial account of the
battle on the coal-barge, and wound up with these words:--
"You told me that if those negroes attempted to rob me, and I saved your
money for you, I could keep a hundred dollars out of it and hand you the
balance. You will see, by reference to the book which I send you with
this letter, that I have kept out fifty dollars of it, which I need to
pay my expenses to the place where I am going. If you should happen to
see my father, I wish you would tell him for me that I have decided to
strike out for myself. I inclose you bank check for the rest of the
money."
When Tony read the letter over to correct the mistakes he had made in
his hurried writing, and came to this part of it, he could not help
telling himself that it was rather a heartless way of taking leave of
his relations; but he was in a great hurry to get through with the
business he had to do before the bank closed, and he had only time to
add, "Give my love to my mother." Then a sharp pang shot through his
heart. He had never cherished much affection for his father, who, being
completely engrossed in his business, scarcely ever spoke to Tony,
except to take him to task for something he had done. But his mother;
could he leave her in this way?
"It isn't too late yet," thought the runaway, settling back in his
chair, and holding the letter off at arms' length. "If I leave town this
afternoon by rail, I can be in St. Louis to-morrow morning, and I have
half a notion--no, I haven't, either. Father would give me a regular
overhauling for going away on that barge without first asking his
permission (I wasn't fool enough to do that, for I know he would have
said 'no' most emphatically), and what excuse could I make for dodging
the tug? No, sir; this thing has gone so far that there's no backing out
now."
As the boy said this he drew his hand hastily across his eyes, folded
and addressed the letter, and placed it into the account book, which he
put into his pocket. It was necessary that the book should go with the
letter, so that Mr. Vandegriff might know how many bushels of coal the
Armada had taken from the barge.
"I suppose there is a bank in this city?" said he, as he approached the
clerk's counter.
"Yes, sir," was the reply; "it is in the block up the levee."
"Where is the express office?"
"Two doors this side of the bank; same block."
After thanking the clerk for this information, Tony hurried away. He had
no trouble in finding the bank, and after he had counted out fifty
dollars of Mr. Vandegriff's money, he handed the rest, together with the
letter, to the cashier, with the request that he would give him a check
on St. Louis for it, made payable to the person whose name was on the
envelope. The cashier complied, and when Tony had placed the check in
the letter, and the letter in the account book, he started back for the
express office. The clerk he found there was accommodating enough to
supply him with paper and twine, and when he had wrapped the book and
its contents up in a neat package, and the clerk had further secured it
by sealing it with wax, Tony paid the charges on it and went out.
"That's done," said he, as he crossed the railroad track and bent his
steps toward the nearest wharf-boat, "and all I have to do now is, to
find a boat that is going down the river."
Just then the afternoon train came in from the north, and the steamer
lying alongside the wharf-boat began to whistle. Toward her the boy
directed his course; and ten minutes later, he was seated on the
boiler-deck with his chair tipped back, his feet on the railing, his
thumbs hooked in the armholes of his vest, and a ticket for Memphis in
his pocket. When he reached that city, he took passage on a steamer
bound for New Orleans, at which place he arrived early in the morning.
He stayed on board the boat long enough to get his breakfast, and then
sauntered out to take a look at things along the river. He had never
been in the city before, and and if he had come there under different
circumstances, he would have been glad to spend a day or two in seeing
the sights; but he was too full of his idea of becoming a sailor, to
waste any time in that way. The sooner he found a chance to ship, the
sooner he would be on the ocean.
A few minutes after he left the steamer, he obtained his first view of a
sea-going vessel. Of course, he was disappointed in her; we generally
are disappointed, when we see for the first time something of which we
have read and heard a great deal, and which we have often longed to
examine for ourselves. She was not near as large as he had expected to
find her; and there were many things about her, that did not suit Tony's
idea of marine architecture. While he stood on the wharf looking at
her, and wondering if anybody would order him ashore if he should step
aboard to take a closer view of her, he became aware that he was an
object of interest to a boy a little older than himself, who was leaning
over the rail, staring at Tony as hard as the latter was staring at the
vessel. He was a sailor, that was plain enough to be seen; and he might
have been a very good-looking one too, if he had taken a little more
pains with his personal appearance. He wore a tarpaulin, which was
pushed as far back on his head as it could go without falling off; a
blue flannel shirt with a wide collar, and trowsers of the same
material, which were thrust into a pair of heavy boots. His face was
almost copper-colored; and his hands, which were large and bony, were
profusely tattooed with India ink. He chewed tobacco, too, and threw
away a big quid before addressing Tony.
"Want to ship?" said he.
"That's what I am here for," answered Tony. "Do you allow folks aboard
there?"
"O, yes; come on. You don't look like a sailor man," he added, as Tony
sprang over the rail and approached him.
"And when you first went to sea, you didn't look any more like a sailor
than I do," replied Tony. "I know I am green, but I can learn as well as
anybody, can't I?"
"Of course you can," said the boy, backing up against the rail, and
running his eyes over Tony's clothes. "But I don't know whether you can
stand the racket or not. You don't look to be any too stout."
"I shouldn't care to measure strength with you," said Tony, with a
smile, "but still I have got a pretty good muscle, although I have never
done a day's manual labor in my life."
"What kind of labor is that?" asked the young sailor.
"I mean that I have never worked with my hands. I have always worked
with my head," explained Tony.
"O! Then you are not the stuff that sailors are made of," was the rather
disheartening rejoinder. "I didn't think you could stand the racket."
"Is it a hard life?"
"Well, it aint an easy one--not by no means."
"Then why don't you quit it and go at something else?"
"Me? O, I can't. There's nothing else I could do. I have been to sea
ever since I was eight years old, and I am now seventeen."
"You ought to be a first-class sailor," said Tony.
"I can hand, reef and steer as well as the rest of them, if that's what
you mean," replied the young sailor, rather proudly. "I am an able
seaman, and I should think I had ought to be. I made three voyages as
second mate of a little coaster."
"Are you an officer of this ship?" inquired Tony.
"This aint a ship, you lubber. She's a brig." "You see," he added, in a
little milder tone, "a ship has three masts, and this has only two. No,
I am not an officer. I always have to go before the mast on long
voyages, such as the one we have just made, but then I like them better
than I do short ones. If you have got any book-learning you might get to
be an officer in a few years. If you want to ship I know where there is
a chance for you."
"Do you?" exclaimed Tony, eagerly. "I am ever so much obliged to you for
telling me of it. I _do_ want to ship."
"All right! Come on. There's a berth for somebody aboard my old vessel,
the Princeton," said the young sailor, as he and Tony sprang out upon
the wharf. "She's the one I was second mate of, you know. I was down
there this morning, and the old man told me, if I heard anybody say he
wanted to ship, to send him along; but I guess I had better go with you,
for you might not be able to find her. If the captain takes you, you
will have the same berth I did when I first went to sea."
"What was it?" asked Tony.
"Jemmy Ducks!"
"I don't understand you. Who's Jemmy Ducks?"
"Well, he's a sort of lackey to everybody. He has to keep the cabin in
order, help the cook, and haul at the sheets; and he works for kicks
instead of ha'pence."
"Kicks!" exclaimed Tony. "Who'll kick me?"
"All hands and the cook. But, bless you, that won't hurt you. It only
makes you tough and waterproof. The only way is to work hard; keep
still, and say nothing to nobody till your time comes, and then let him
have it, good and strong."
"Let who have it?"
"Why, if you tend to your business straight and square you'll get ahead,
of course; and then you'll go for the fellow that takes your place."
"Must I kick somebody who has never done me any harm, simply because
somebody else has kicked me?" cried Tony.
"If you want to get square, that's the only way you can do it," said his
new friend, indifferently.
If Tony had never known before, that it will not do to put implicit
faith in everything one reads in books, he knew it now. In his favorite
sea-novels there was no mention made of the hardships of a sailor's
life, and the cruelties that are practised upon him. His existence was
described as one of ease and pleasure. Of course there were wrecks, and
fights with pirates and mutinous crews; but the typical sailor, who was
always loyal to his captain, rather enjoyed such things as these, for
they served to break the monotony of long voyages, and gave him
opportunity to show his skill and courage, and win a reward. The
constant annoyances and punishments to which a foremast hand is
sometimes subjected, were never spoken of; but Tony's new friend
referred to them as though they were matters of everyday occurrence. The
runaway found that they were, too. He began to believe that he had made
a mistake, and while he was informing himself of the fact, his companion
led him down to a pier and across to a little schooner that lay on the
opposite side. This was the Princeton--an ill-looking craft to bear so
dignified a name. She was not more than half as large as the brig to
which Tony's new acquaintance belonged, and neither did her deck present
the same scene of neatness and order.
"She's bound for Rio, so the old man told me this morning; and on the
way, she's going to stop at Havana," said the young sailor, as he and
Tony fell in behind a couple of longshoremen, who were rolling a heavy
cask down the gang-plank.
"To Rio Janeiro!" exclaimed Tony. "Why, that's in Brazil. This little
brig can't go there."
"This is a schooner," replied the young sailor, with some contempt in
his tones.
"She has two masts, just like yours."
"She's got two masts, I know, but she ain't like my vessel. Can't you
see that she is a fore-and-after, while mine is square rigged?"
This was all Greek to Tony, who could only gaze about the vessel and
look bewildered.
"Avast, there!" suddenly cried his companion, seizing him by the arm and
pulling him away from an open hatch, into which he would have walked in
a moment more. "Don't fall into the hold and break your neck before you
sign articles. Say, captain," he added, as he and Tony approached a
short, broad-shouldered, red-faced man, who had just ascended the
companion-ladder. "You told me this morning, that you wanted a
cabin-boy. How do you like the looks of this fellow?"
The captain run his eyes over Tony's face and figure, took one or two
pulls at his pipe, and said in a hoarse voice:
"He looks well enough, but can he do anything?"
"Nary thing," replied the young sailor, with refreshing candor. "Can't
you see for yourself that his mouth is always gaping like a contribution
box for dimes? He don't know a schooner from a brig. You'll have to
break him in."