The Rival Crusoes

by William Henry Giles Kingston

Peter, who was a good-natured old fellow, though his morality was not of the strictest order, gave Dick a hearty supper, then, taking a thick stick in hand, started off with him, walking at a rapid pace until they reached the confines of Plymouth—a much smaller town in those days than it is at present. Dick then, having received directions from the old man as to the road he was to take, commenced what he had made up his mind would be a long tramp homewards.

He was strong and active, and had not been long enough at sea to lose his shore legs. The night being clear, he was able to see the road, and he knew by the position of the Great Bear, which he always kept on his left hand, that he was going in the right direction. The dread he felt of being overtaken by a pressgang, or by the seamen of his own ship, whom he thought might be sent in pursuit, made him walk all the faster. It was with difficulty indeed at first that he restrained himself from breaking into a run; but he guessed rightly that he would thus be more likely to be stopped by any one who might meet him, and he restrained himself, continuing on only at a rapid walk. Every now and then, however, he turned his head over his shoulder, fancying that he heard footsteps, expecting to find himself seized and carried back to be ignominiously flogged—a fate he well knew would be in store for him, should he be caught. He was not, however, very well contented with himself. He was perfectly aware of the light in which the crime of desertion was regarded; and that he was abandoning all hopes of rising in the service, for which he had always had a liking, notwithstanding the way Ben had abused it. He had sufficient discernment to distinguish the good, true-hearted seamen from the bad, and he had observed that the former were well treated and looked on with respect by their officers. Then the recollection of the way Lord Reginald and Toady Voules had behaved to him would occur. “If it hadn’t been for them, and others like them, I should have been happy enough on board, and willing to do my duty,” he exclaimed. “I should have got on very well with Mr Bitts, for he was always kind in his way, and wanted to make a seaman of me; and I should have been one, for he was ready to show me how to do everything I wanted to learn. However, it’s all past now, and I must go back to the plough. I must take care, though, that Mr Gooch doesn’t hear of my being at home again, or he will be down upon me. I suspect that father will be afraid of that, and will be sending me off to a farm away from home, so that, after all, I shall not be with him and mother and Janet. I’ve half a mind even now to go back again—but then there’s this flogging, and Lord Reginald would be down upon me more than ever; and what would Ben say? and old Purkiss would get it for helping me off.”

Such were some of Dick’s meditations as he trudged on during the night, making good about four miles an hour, so that he was nearly thirty miles away from Plymouth when morning broke. He still walked on until he came to a roadside inn, where, feeling very hungry, he stopped for breakfast. While the landlady was cooking some eggs and bacon, he fell asleep, with his head on the table.

“What ails you, lad?” said the woman, as she placed the smoking hot dish near him, and shook him by the shoulder. “It’s not the time o’ day people who have had a night’s rest take to sleeping.”

“But I haven’t had a night’s rest,” answered Dick, rousing himself. “I have been walking on all the morning; but I am more hungry than sleepy, so I thank you for the eggs and bacon, and would be glad of a jug of ale to wash them down.”

The landlady, still looking at him somewhat suspiciously—detecting, perhaps, the seaman’s shirt below his frock—placed the ale before him. From the questions she put to him, Dick thought that she guessed who he was, and deemed it prudent to again set off. Recollecting Peter’s advice, he produced sixpence to pay for his breakfast, and then at once took his leave. For another hour or more he trudged on, until he became so weary that he could scarcely move. He saw a haystack a short distance from the road, inviting him to rest beneath it. Hardly had he thrown himself down on the lee side, away from the public path, than he was fast asleep.

It was late in the afternoon before he awoke, when he continued his journey, stopping only at the first inn he came to that he might obtain some food. He at length reached Exeter, but as he saw seamen moving about and ships in the distance, he was afraid of stopping there, and, passing through it, he again found himself in the country.

Many a weary mile he trudged on. What might be in store for him he could not tell, but anything would be better than going back. Puzzling questions were often asked him, and he ran, on several occasions, great risk of being detected. His sun-burnt countenance and seaman’s roll, which he had already acquired, often nearly betrayed him.

As he approached his home, the anxiety to get safely to his journey’s end increased. At length, passing through Christchurch, he recognised the familiar scenery of his native district. The high white cliffs of the Isle of Wight, the Needle rocks below them, and the tall lighthouse of Hurst, with its cheese-like castle, bathed in a rich glow from the rays of the setting sun. He sat down on the top of the cliff, and considered—while he ate some bread and cheese he had obtained at his last stopping-place—in which direction he should bend his steps. Longing as he did to go home, he was anxious to fulfil Ben’s commission by delivering the money entrusted to him for Susan. He decided to do this first.

“She’ll be longing, poor woman! to hear of her husband; and it won’t make much difference to father and mother whether I get home an hour or two later.”