The Mail Carrier

by Harry Castlemon

This request was addressed to no one in particular, but the two men who happened to be standing the nearest to Bob were the ones who complied with it. Then Bob wished most heartily that George had held his peace, for the men who put their strong arms through his to help him along, were the constable and the owner of the corn. Bob’s heart seemed to stop beating, and he trembled so violently that he could scarcely walk; but he dared not refuse their offers of assistance. They mistook his agitation for weakness and helped him very tenderly over all the rough places. They did not speak to him, for they were wholly engrossed with George’s account of his adventure, which he was giving to the two pilots who were supporting him. All Bob heard of it was that George was sitting on the boiler-deck railing, watching a steamer that was going down the river, and the first thing he knew he was in the water. He praised Bob’s skill as a swimmer, and seemed lost in admiration of the courage and coolness he had exhibited, but Bob heard none of it. They were nearing the landing now, and there was that huge fire still burning brightly on the bank. Bob was afraid to pass it, but his good luck had not yet deserted him, and his disguise served him a good turn. The passengers on deck, and the idlers on the bank, all looked at him with the greatest interest and curiosity, but none of the latter recognised in him the “peart and honest-looking boy,” who had ridden that spotted horse into the settlement a few hours before. He was assisted up the gang-plank and to the steps that led to the boiler-deck; and there he sank down as if he were unable to go a step farther.

“Don’t stop,” said George, seizing him by the arm and trying to pull him to his feet. “Come up to my room, and get your wet clothes off. You’ll catch cold if you sit here in this keen wind.”

Bob was well aware of that fact, but he did not say so, for he was afraid to speak, even in a whisper, for fear that the constable, or that other man, would know his voice. He stopped there because he wanted to get away from them both, and he hoped they would leave the steamer without a moment’s delay. He saw the captain run up the stairs, and his heart bounded with delight when he heard the bell ring. The constable and his friend, and the idlers who had followed the boys on board, made all haste to get ashore; the lines and gang-plank were hauled aboard; the engines were set in motion again, and when Bob saw the steamer’s bow swinging toward the middle of the river, and the stretch of clear water between her guards and the bank growing wider, his courage and strength all returned to him. He went back after his valise, which he had left on the main deck, and accompanied the cub pilot to his room in Texas. His dripping garments, and George’s, were given into the charge of the porter, who carried them into the galley, and when Bob had restored his sluggish circulation by a vigorous rubbing, and put on his warm, dry suit, he felt none the worse for his long swim. He and George talked incessantly while they were thus engaged, and, by the time they were dressed, began to think they were very well acquainted with each other.

“How far up the river are you going?” asked George, as they went out into the cabin and took their seats by the stove.

“I am going to St. Louis.”

“Do you live there?”

“No; I don’t live anywhere,” replied Bob, who thought that, since he was fairly out in the world, it was time for him to begin to ignore the existence of home and all his relations.

“No father or mother, brothers or sisters?”

“No. When my hat is on my head my family is all covered.”

“I know how to sympathize with you,” said George. “I am almost alone in the world myself. The only relations I have are an uncle and cousin. My uncle is my guardian, and he is aboard the boat now. What are you going to do when you reach St. Louis?”