III.
If at any time during the twenty-four hours following Tom Gibson’s appearance among the startled crew of the Swiftsure that young gentleman had been asked if the old schooner was in any danger, he would have answered that she would surely sink within an hour and that all on board would perish with her.
No one asked Tom such a question; but he fully believed that it was impossible for the old craft to live much longer in the gale, and although he knew he was in even a more dangerous position than any one else, owing to the fact that he was below, he felt so sick that he paid but little attention to the supposed danger.
At the end of twenty-four hours, however, matters presented a decidedly different appearance. The wind having subsided, the clumsy old schooner no longer tumbled and tossed about; the sun was shining brightly, and, what was of more importance to Tom, he had so nearly recovered from his illness as to have eaten a very hearty breakfast in spite of the mixture of bad odors that had been so disagreeable to him.
Tom went on deck, almost enjoying the motion of the vessel which, a few hours before, had been so uncomfortable, and was beginning to think that there was some pleasure to be had by running away, when Captain Harrison said, in anything but a pleasant tone of voice:
“Well, Tom, you’ve come on board my vessel and eaten my food without so much as asking my permission, so now s’posin’ me an’ you have some kind of a settlement.”
Poor Tom! All idea of enjoyment vanished at once, and again he understood that the boy who runs away is obliged to pay a very high price for what is a continual pain, rather than a pleasure.
“Why don’t you say something?” demanded Captain Harrison. “Do you think I keep this schooner jest to accommodate boys who want to run away from home?”
“No, sir,” faltered Tom; “but I don’t know what to say, because, you see, I don’t know how we can have a settlement, unless you should take the things I brought on board to pay you.”
“I’ve seen what you brought with you,” thundered Captain Harrison, acting as if he was very angry, although if any one had been observing him closely a twinkle of mirth could have been seen in his eyes. “All the traps you’ve got wouldn’t pay for your breakfast. Now listen to me and take care that you don’t forget what I say. You’ve seen fit to come aboard this schooner, which is bound on a fishing cruise, consequently you’ve got to pay my price for your fun. You’ll have to do your share of the work without grumbling, and I tell you candidly that it’ll be more than you ever dreamed of, coddled by your mother as you have been.”
It was pretty hard for a boy who had run away from home because he had been obliged to work too hard to be told that he would have so much to do that what he had been obliged to submit to at home was hardly more than petting. But he had run away, and he was obliged to pay the price. He did not even dare to offer any objections, for he understood only too well that he was in the captain’s power.
“Why don’t you go to work?” shouted Captain Harrison, after he had given Tom plenty of time in which to think the matter over.
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Go forward and you’ll soon find plenty to keep you out of mischief.”
Tom did as he was directed, and he learned that the captain had said no more than was strictly true. Every one on board appeared to think that he had a perfect right to set a task for the stowaway and there was no hesitation about doing so. If the cook wanted wood split, the pots and pans scoured, vegetables pared, or any other disagreeable work done Tom was called upon, and he soon learned that it was dangerous to refuse. If any of the crew wanted an assistant at any time or on any piece of work, Tom was that assistant, and at the slightest hesitation a blow was given to remind him that in no sense was he his own master. He was the boy-of-all-work and with no opportunity to play.
Compared with his condition on the Swiftsure, Tom had lived a life of luxurious ease at home, and there was hardly a moment, when he was awake, during which he did not regret that he had ever been so foolish as to run away.
Before the fishing-grounds were reached the Swiftsure put into a harbor for supplies, and there Tom decided upon a bold step. He asked one of the men who had treated him with more consideration than the others had done to lend him two cents with which to buy a postage stamp, and on a dirty piece of paper he wrote the following letter to his mother:
“Dear Mama,—I was wicked to want to run away, and I want to come back terribly. If I had any money I would try to get back from here; but I haven’t, so I shall have to stay till this old vessel comes home. You’ll let me come, won’t you, mother? I won’t say a word, no matter how hard you whip me for running away, and I won’t ever grumble when you want me to do anything. My hands are all covered with blisters; but they don’t begin to be as sore as my heart is when I have to get into these dirty berths at night, knowing that I can’t even speak to you. Don’t be angry with me any more, but please let me in when I come home.
“Yours truly,
“Thomas Gibson.”
Captain Harrison, who had seen Tom writing, and who suspected at once to whom the letter was to be sent, gave the boy an envelope and allowed him to go on shore in order to mail it.
Tom felt better after this, even though his condition was in no wise improved. His mother would know that he was sorry for what he had done, and even though but a short time before he had looked upon her as a hard-hearted parent, it seemed as if her forgiveness was the one thing he wanted above all others.
If, during the voyage to the fishing-grounds, Tom thought he had worked as hard as was possible, he learned that he had been mistaken when the real labor of the cruise was commenced. All day he was obliged to fish with twenty or thirty fathoms of line, to which was attached a heavy sinker of lead that required nearly all his strength to pull up, and when the catch had been large he was compelled to remain up half the night helping the men dress the fish. His hands, which had been covered with blisters, as he wrote his mother, were cut and bleeding, while many times the pain was so great that he could not go to sleep even when he had the opportunity.
In this work Tom could not say that he was obliged to do more than any one else; all hands worked to the best of their ability, and it but serves to show that Tom was getting to be quite a sensible boy when it is said that he felt he was doing no more than was right under the circumstances. But nevertheless his heart was quite as sore and his homesickness as severe as when he wrote the letter to his mother. The only time when he was in the slightest degree contented was when he was fishing. He knew that the sooner the old schooner was loaded, the sooner would she be headed toward home, and he counted each fish he caught as another step toward his getting home to Sedgwick and to mother.
The time finally came, six weeks after Tom had started to pass the night under Rankin’s bridge, when Captain Harrison said:
“We won’t ‘dress down’ to-night, boys; but try to carry back fresh what we catch to-day.”
“What does he mean by that?” Tom asked of one of the crew.
“It means that we shall start for home after the fish are done biting to-day.”
Tom could hardly realize his good-fortune, and he worked in a dazed sort of way, but kept repeating to himself each moment: “I’m going home, I’m going home. And what’s better, I’ll stay when I get there.”
At an early hour that afternoon the bow of the old Swiftsure was turned toward Sedgwick, and as she rose and fell heavily on the waves, sending clouds of spray fore and aft, Tom could hardly refrain from giving vent to his joy by at least three hearty cheers.
The trip home was by no means as speedy as Tom could have desired. It seemed to him as if the old vessel was sailing more slowly than she had ever sailed before and as if the winds were really trying to delay him.
Then came the day when he could see the spire of the church in Sedgwick, and just at the time when he knew that his father and mother were sitting down to supper Tom leaped on shore. He waited for nothing, but ran home at full speed, and it was not until he had kissed his mother and father again and again and heard them assure him of their forgiveness that he could breathe freely.
As may be expected, Tom had not been home more than an hour before the friends to whom he had confided his purpose of running away called to see him and to learn how much of his fortune he had made.
“I tell you what it is, fellows,” he said, in reply to their questions. “I’m not as big a fool as I was before I ran away. I thought I was having a mighty hard time of it here, but I soon found out my mistake. All I can say is that I pity fellows that haven’t got any homes to go to when they get as homesick as I was.”
“Then you don’t think of running away again very soon?” suggested Dwight Holden, laughingly.
“Boys,”—and Tom spoke very solemnly now—“when I was on the Swiftsure I found out how lonesome a boy can be without his mother; I never knew before. Just as long as I can I shall stay where I can see my mother and speak to her; and if at any time any one of you thinks that his mother isn’t the best and dearest friend a boy can have, just do as I did and it won’t take you very long to find out that you are mistaken.”
THE END
Transcriber’s Notes:
Except for the frontispiece, illustrations have been moved to follow the text that they illustrate, so the page number of the illustration may not match the page number in the Illustrations.
Punctuation and spelling inaccuracies were silently corrected.
Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.
Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.
A bonus short story (“[Tom’s Troubles]”), by the author, is included in the source volume, and follows the main story at p. 209.