“I didn’t expect to see you here. Didn’t you know that I would have to lock up the cabin every night until the vessel sails, and that you would surely get caught?”
“Yes, but I want to go as cabin boy, and I thought that they wouldn’t ship me in the office.”
“Does your mother know you are here?”
“No.”
“Don’t you see how foolish this all is? Now get out and I’ll take you home.”
I objected and he insisted. I was ashamed and did not want to go home—not that I feared punishment, but because I shrank from facing my parents. The shipkeeper took me along with him and left me with my mother. I am not going to dwell on what happened at home. I have only to say that I had a long talk with my parents that evening, and I promised that I would never attempt to run away again and that I never would ship for a voyage without their consent.
But the sea continued to call me, and Saturdays I still visited the wharves. I read every volume I could get on the life of the sailor, and was particularly delighted with such books as Dana’s “Two Years before the Mast”, and Melville’s “Moby Dick.” With the aid of my friend, the shipkeeper, I collected all kinds of articles brought home on the ships until I had a veritable little museum.
And here, let me say that my parents took the proper course. My mother was apparently troubled, but she conferred with my father, and it was agreed that when I was old enough I might go to sea. “When I was old enough” was not very definite. I felt that I was old enough then, but I knew that my parents thought otherwise. At thirteen I entered the High School and at fifteen I felt that I had sufficient education, at least for a sailor, and I implored my parents to let me go.
“You aren’t old enough,” said my mother.
“But yesterday, mother, you said that I was large and strong for my age—as large and strong as a man of eighteen.”