The Boy Tar

by Mayne Reid

It was near night when we arrived at the farm; and I took care during the remainder of the evening to act as naturally as if there was nothing unusual in my thoughts. Little dreamt my relatives and the domestics of the farmhouse—little dreamt they of the big design that lay hid within my bosom, and which at intervals, when I reflected upon it, caused my heart to heave again.

There were moments when I half repented of my purpose. When I looked upon the familiar faces of home—for after all it was home—the only home I had—when I reflected that I might never see those faces again; when I reflected that some of them might grieve for me—some I knew, would grieve—when I pondered upon the deception I was practising upon all of them, I in full possession of a design of which they knew nothing; I say when these thoughts were in my mind, I half repented of my purpose. I would have given the world for a confidant, while thus wavering; and no doubt, had I had one who would have advised me against going, I should have remained at home—at least, for that time—though, in the end, my wayward and aquatic nature would have carried me to sea all the same.

You will, no doubt, think it strange that under these circumstances I did not seek out Harry Blew, and take his advice. Ah! that is just what I should have done, had Harry been within reach, but he was not: the young waterman was a waterman no more. He had become tired of that sort of life months ago, had sold his boat, and gone off as a regular sailor before the mast. Perhaps if Harry Blew had been still at home, I should not have so much wished to go abroad; but from the time that he left, I longed every day to follow his example; and whenever I looked seaward over the bay, it was with a yearning that it would be impossible to explain. A prisoner, looking through the bars of his prison, could not have felt a greater longing to be free, than I to be away, far away, upon the bosom of the bright ocean. Had the young waterman only been there to counsel me, perhaps I might have acted differently; but he, my best friend, was gone.

And now I had no confidant to whom I might impart my secret. There was one young fellow, a farm-servant, whom I thought I might have trusted. I was fond of him, and I believe I was a favourite with him as well. Twenty times I had it on my tongue’s end to tell him of my intention, but as often I checked myself. I did not fear that he would betray me, provided I gave up my design of running away; but I fancied he would advise me against it, and in the event of my persisting, then he might betray me. It would be of no use, therefore, seeking counsel from him, and I kept the design to myself.

I ate my supper, and went to bed as usual.

You will expect to hear that I got out of bed, and stole away in the night.

Not so. I kept my bed till the usual hour for rising, though I slept scarce a wink. The thought of my important purpose kept me awake, and during the few snatches of sleep I had, I dreamt of big ships and rolling seas, of climbing up tall masts, and dragging black, tarry ropes, till my fingers were in blisters.

I had at first partly made up my mind to take my departure in the night, which I could easily have effected without danger of disturbing any one. There were no burglars in our quiet little village, nor had any been heard of for years, so that most people left their outside doors on the latch. The door of my uncle’s house was on that night particularly free of egress, for, it being summer, and the weather extremely hot, it had been left “on the jar.” I could have slipped out without causing it even to creak.

But though so very young, I was not without some powers of ratiocination; and I reasoned that if I ran away in the night, I should be missed at an early hour of the morning, and consequently sought for. The searchers, or some portion of them, would be pretty certain to follow me to the seaport town, and find me there as a matter of course. I should be in no better position than if I had given John the slip on the preceding day. Moreover, it was but five or six miles to the town—I should go over the ground in two hours at most—I should arrive too early, before the people of the ship would be stirring—the captain would be a-bed, and therefore I could not see him to offer myself as a volunteer in his service. These were the considerations that induced me to remain at home until morning, although I waited impatiently for the hour.

I ate my breakfast along with the rest. Some one observed that I looked pale and “out of sorts.” John attributed it to my journey of the preceding day, under the hot sun; and this explanation seemed to satisfy every one.