The Mail Carrier

by Harry Castlemon

Once on the previous night, and two or three times during the day, the boys had passed an eating-house, over the door of which was a huge lantern, with a notice on it containing the information that supper and lodging could be had there for fifty cents. This was the place Bob wanted to find, and, to his great joy, he went almost straight to it. He kept a sharp lookout for fear that he might run against George before he knew it; and, when he reached the eating-house, he stopped and looked all around to make sure that he was nowhere in sight. Then he went in, laid his fifty cents on the counter, and informed the proprietor that he wanted supper and a bed to sleep in. He was shown to a place at one of the tables in the room, and ate as only a hungry boy can eat. When he had satisfied his appetite he was conducted to his room, and sank into a heavy slumber almost as soon as he touched the bed. He was aroused in the morning by a loud and long-continued rapping at his door, accompanied by cries of “Breakfast! breakfast!” He got up, but there was no breakfast for him. He resumed his wanderings about the city, not knowing where to go or what to do. He could not go home—O! how he wished now that the steamer had been hailed when she passed Rochdale, and that he had been discovered and compelled to go ashore. He could not find work, and he could not live much longer as he was living now. He was a miserable runaway. Once during the day he came very near encountering the boy he most wished to avoid. While he was passing one of the numerous hotels in the city, he saw George follow a gentleman in there. As soon as Bob caught sight of him he turned and walked in the opposite direction.

“He has either found work, or else he has been begging, and that gentleman is taking him in there to give him his breakfast,” thought Bob. “Begging! Must I come down to that?”

Bob had shot very wide of the mark. George had not found work, and neither had he been begging. He had found Mr. Gilbert, the very man to whom he had written the day before, and the two had spent a good portion of the night and all the morning in looking for Bob. The latter had not bettered his condition by running away from George.

Bob spent the forenoon in wandering about the streets, and was growing very hungry and almost desperate when his eye caught a notice that attracted his attention. It read: “Men wanted for the U. S. Cavalry service.” Bob looked at it for several minutes, then put his hands into his pockets and moved on with his eyes fastened on the sidewalk, as if he were thinking deeply about something. When he came to a crossing he went over to the opposite side of the street and read the sign from there. Then he came back again and read it while standing in front of it. After that he looked in through the open door and saw three or four men in fatigue uniform sitting beside a long table, which was covered with papers and writing materials.

“There’s a chance to get plenty to eat and a place to sleep,” thought Bob, as he walked on again, “and I don’t know that I can do any better. I can’t go home; I don’t know anything about such work as they have to do in a city, and I can’t live in this way. I’ll ask them if they will take me, at any rate.”

As Bob said this he turned about and walked toward the recruiting-office. He walked rapidly, as if he feared that his courage might fail him, and when he reached the door he went in without stopping to think about it. When he went in he was a free boy; when he came out he was not so, having sworn away his liberty for five years. Perhaps then he regretted the step he had taken as heartily as he regretted that he had run a way from home; but it was too late to mend the matter. He could no longer go and come as he pleased, and neither was there any such thing as running away. But he was sure of something to eat and a place to sleep in, and that was what he wanted. He had a long term of years before him in which to think over the mistakes and follies of his life, and let us hope that it was of benefit to him.

And what were the people in Rochdale doing all this while? Let us go back and inquire. Let us return to Dan Evans, whom we have not seen since Bob stole David’s money from him.

“Thar!” said Dan, to himself, as the report of his rifle rang through the woods, and the squirrel, after turning two or three somersets, struck the ground with that dull thud so gratifying to a hunter’s ears, “I reckon I’ve done got a breakfast now. If ye’d only showed yourself a little sooner I wouldn’t had to go up to Owens’s hen-roost, dog-gone it! That ole nigger Bijah done cotched me in the tree, an’ he knowed me, too; but I don’t keer fur that. The only thing that bothers me is to know what I am goin’ to do next. I can’t go hum, kase Dave an’ the ole woman won’t let me stay thar’, an’ thar aint no other place in the settlement whar I kin stay. My circus-hoss, an’ my fine guns that break in two in the middle, an’ all the other nice things I was goin’ to buy with my money, are up a holler stump, kase I can’t use ’em while I’m livin’ out here in the woods.”

Talking thus to himself Dan re-loaded his rifle, picked up his squirrel and slowly and thoughtfully retraced his steps toward his camp. He was now learning the lesson that Bob Owens was destined to learn a few days later, and that was that the possession of money does not by any means make one happy. Dan had more in his hands now than he had ever hoped to earn by his own labor, and he had never been more miserable and discontented in his life. He was lonely out there in the woods, and he would have been almost willing to give up the money, if by so doing he could bring himself back to his old mode of life again. When he was handling the money he was in ecstasies; but the unwelcome thought that it was of no earthly use to him would always force itself upon him sooner or later, and then he would think strongly of taking it back to his brother, with the assurance that he had stolen it from his father on purpose to return it to him. He thought strongly of it now. He was not so stupid but that he could see that he was getting rather low down in the world. He had no clothes except those on his back, and they afforded him but very little protection against the keen morning air—only three or four more matches in his pocket and but a dozen bullets and powder enough to shoot half of them. What should he do when his matches and ammunition were all gone?

“I dassent go to the landin’ to spend none of this money,” thought Dan, as he seated himself on the log beside the fire and began skinning the squirrel, “kase folks ’ll know it’s Dave’s money I’m spendin’, an’ then I’ll get into a furse, sure pop. Other fellers, like them Gordons, kin get along jest as smooth and easy as failin’ off’n a log, an’ here’s me who’s been a toilin’ an’ slavin’ ever since I was knee-high to a duck, an’ jest look at me! Whoop!” yelled Dan, who grew angry while he thought about it. “That’s what makes me so pizen savage agin everybody!”