Those were exactly the thoughts that were at that moment passing through the merchant’s mind; but, seeing that his son still stubbornly held to his own opinions, and knowing that he could not be talked out of them, he brought the interview to a close by turning to his desk and picking up some letters that had just been brought in. Tom was left to himself, and being too uneasy to sit still, even for a moment, he loitered about the office for a short time, and then started for home.
“Father doesn’t know what he is talking about,” he soliloquized. “I never saw a man with such funny ideas. Does he suppose that the captain of the Savannah is going to make me work? No, sir; he won’t do it. He won’t dare do it; for my father owns that schooner, and I guess I shall have a right to do as I please. I expect to go aloft and take in sail, but I don’t call that work. The captain and I understand each other, and I know that I shall get along finely.”
Tom thought the day on which the schooner was to sail never would arrive, for never before had the time hung so heavily on his hands. He was very cross and fretful, and spent the entire week in walking about the wharf, with his hands in his pockets. His private teacher had left the mansion as soon as it was decided that his pupil was to go to sea; and when Tom saw him go out of the yard, he drew a long breath of relief, as if a heavy load had been removed from his shoulders. Had he dared to do so, he would have thrown his desk and all his books out after him; but as it was, he contented himself with believing that he would never again be required to open an arithmetic or geography.
How he pitied his unfortunate acquaintances who were obliged to attend school, and how they all envied Tom, when they learned that he was about to go on a voyage to Callao. Every one of them said that Callao was in Peru; but Tom stoutly maintained that it was in England, and that when he arrived there, he would persuade the skipper to take him to see the Queen.
“Look at your geography,” said one of the boys, “and you will see that you are mistaken.”
“O, no, I won’t do it,” drawled Tom. “I said I never would open that book again if I could help it, and I’m going to stick to it.”
At last, to Tom’s immense relief, the long-expected day arrived. From daylight until dark he sat on the wharf, watching the workmen who were engaged in loading the vessel, and when he went home to supper with his father, the latter informed him that the schooner would be ready to sail by ten o’clock that evening. At nine o’clock, Tom bade his mother good-by, and returned to the wharf, accompanied by his father. He was dressed in a full sailor’s “rig,” with wide pants, a blue flannel shirt, a tarpaulin, which he wore as far back on his head as he could get it; a neck-tie, that looked altogether too large for him, and, when his father was not looking at him, he tried to imitate the captain’s walk. If clothes made the sailor, Tom could certainly lay claim to that honor. Shortly after he reached the vessel, his bedding and extra clothing arrived, and Tom gave orders to have them carried into the cabin. Had he taken the trouble to see how the command was obeyed, he would have found that his bundle was unceremoniously thrown down into the forecastle. At last, when every thing was ready for the start, a steamer came along-side to tow the schooner out of the harbor. Mr. Newcombe took leave of the young sailor, and sprang upon the wharf, after which, the lines were cast off, and the Savannah began her voyage.