CHAPTER IX.
THE HUNGRY RUNAWAY.
I went to the barn, but not to obey the order of Captain Fishley. I wasas ugly as Ham himself, and anything more than that was needless. I wentthere because the barn was a sort of sanctuary to me, whither I fledwhen the house was too warm to hold me. I went there to nurse my wrath;to think what I should do after the new indignities which had beenheaped upon me. I had not been the aggressor in the quarrel. I had beenmeanly insulted and assaulted.
After the blows of Captain Fishley, I felt that Torrentville was noplace for me and for my poor sister. The six months which were tointervene before the coming of Clarence, and the end of my misery,looked like so many years to me. If it had not been for Flora, I wouldnot have remained another hour in the house of my tyrants. I would havefled that moment.
I could not stay long in the barn without another row, for the captainhad ordered me to harness the horse; and I concluded that he and thesquire were going to ride. I was just ugly enough then to disobey; infact, to cast off all allegiance to my tyrants. I felt as though I couldnot lift my finger to do anything more for them till some atonement forthe past had been made. I gave Darky some hay, and then left mysanctuary, without knowing where I was going.
Back of the house, and half a mile from it, was a narrow but deepstream, which flowed into the creek. This branch ran through a denseswamp--the only one I knew of in that part of the state. In the earlyspring its surface was overflowed with water. It was covered with athick growth of trees, and the place was as dismal, dark, anddisagreeable as anything that can be imagined.
Hardly any one ever visited the swamp except myself. At this season ofthe year it was not possible to pass through it, except in a boat. I wasrather fond of exploring out-of-the-way places, and this deep and darkmorass had early attracted my attention. The year before I had made asmall raft, and threaded its gloomy recesses with Sim Gwynn, a stupidcrony of mine, and, like myself, an orphan, living out and working forhis daily bread.
When I left the barn, I wandered towards the swamp. I was thinking onlyof the indignities which had been heaped upon me. I meant to keep out ofthe way till dinner-time. At the foot of the slope, as I descended tothe low land, I came across the raft on which Sim and I had voyagedthrough the avenues of the dismal swamp the preceding year. It was in adilapidated condition; and, after adjusting the boards upon the logs, Ipushed off, and poled the clumsy craft into the depths of the thicket.The place was in harmony with my thoughts.
I continued on my purposeless voyage till I reached the swollen branchof the creek. Piled up at a bend of the stream was a heap of logs,planks, boards, and other fugitive lumber which had come down from thesaw-mills, miles up in the country. I seated myself on this heap oflumber, to think of the present and the future. I noticed that one endof a log had been driven ashore by the current, and had caught betweentwo trees. All the rest of the boards, planks, and timbers had restedupon this one, and being driven in by the current at the bend, had beenentrapped and held by it.
This fact made me think of myself. My refusal to black Ham's boots theday before had been the first log, and all my troubles seemed to bepiling themselves up upon it. I thought then, and I think now, that Ihad been abused. I was treated like a dog, ordered about like a servant,and made to do three times as much work as had been agreed with myguardian. I felt that it was right to resist. There was no one to fightmy battle, and that of my poor sister, but myself. I am well aware thatI took upon myself a great responsibility in deciding this question.Perhaps, without the counsel of my brother, I should not have dared toproceed as I did. Bad as the consequences threatened to be, I did notregret that I had permitted the log to drift ashore.
Again that pine stick seemed like some great vice, sin, or error,which, having thrown itself up from the current of life, soon gathersmany other vices, sins, and errors around or upon it. As this log hadcaught a score of others, so one false step leads to more. The firstglass of liquor, the first step in crime, the first unclean word, weretypified in this stick.
I was not much of a philosopher or moralist then, but it seemed to methat the entire heap ought to be cleared away; that the whole course ofthe river might be choked by it in time, if the obstruction was notremoved. By detaching that first log, all the rest would be cast loose,and carried away by the stream--just as I had known old Cameron tobecome an honest, Christian man by cutting away the log of intemperance.I was about to use my setting-pole for the purpose of detaching theobstacle, when I happened to think that the lumber might be saved--justas the zeal of Paul, in persecuting the Christians, was the same zealthat did so much to build up the true church.
Why should I trouble myself to save the lumber? It would cost a deal ofhard labor, and Captain Fishley would be the only gainer. I decided atonce not to waste my time for his benefit, and was on the point ofdetaching the mischievous stick which had seduced all the others, when Iheard a voice calling my name. I was rather startled at first, thinkingit might be one of my tyrants in search of me.
"Buck!" shouted the voice again; and I was satisfied it was not that ofeither of my oppressors. I could not see through the dense thicket ofthe swamp; but another repetition of the call assured me it came fromSim Gwynn, my fellow-navigator in the swamp.
"Come here, Buck--will you?" said he, when I had answered his summons.
"I'm coming, Sim!" I shouted.
I plied the pole vigorously, and soon propelled the raft to the placewhere he stood.
"I saw you come down here, Buck; and I waited for you a while," said he,stepping upon the raft at my invitation.
"Why didn't you sing out before, then?"
"I thought you'd be coming back," he replied, with more embarrassmentin his manner than the circumstances seemed to warrant.
"Where do you want to go, Sim?" I asked, as I pushed off again.
"Anywhere; it don't make any difference to me now where I go," heanswered, shaking his head.
"Why, what is the matter? Are you not at work now?"
"Not to-day. I've been waiting to see you, Buck."
"What for?"
"I left off work yesterday."
"What's up?"
"I wanted to see you, Buck."
He talked and acted very strangely, and I was sure something unusual hadhappened. He lived with a farmer by the name of Barkspear, who had thereputation of being the stingiest man in Torrentville, if not in thecounty. Sim was a great, stout, bow-legged fellow, as good-natured asthe day was long. He always looked as though he had recently escapedfrom the rag-bag, with its odds and ends sticking to him. Though healways looked fat and hearty, he frequently complained that he couldnot get enough to eat at Barkspear's.
"What's the matter, Sim? Why don't you tell me what has happened?" Icontinued.
"I wanted to see you, Buck," he repeated, for the fourth time.
"What do you want to see me for?"
"Well, I thought I wanted to see you," said he, fumbling his fingerstogether, and looking into the water, instead of in my face.
"You do see me," I added, impatiently, beginning to have a suspicionthat he had lost his senses, what little he had.
"I wanted to ask you something," he added, after a long pause.
"Well, ask it."
"I thought I would tell you about it, and that's the reason I wanted tosee you," said Sim, poking about his trousers pockets, just as some boysdo when they are going to make a speech in school.
"About what?" I asked, more mildly, when I saw that Sim was sort ofchoking, and exhibited some signs of an intention to break out in a fitof blubbering.
"I'm a poor boy. I haven't got many friends, and--and I wanted to seeyou."
This was too much for him, and, turning away his head, he cried like agreat baby. I pushed the raft up to a fallen tree, whose trunk was abovethe water, and stuck the pole down into the mud, so as to keep it inplace.
"What is the matter, Sim?" I asked again, seating myself on the log. "IfI can help you any way, I
will."
"I knew you would; and that's the reason I wanted to see you," blubberedSim, seating himself by my side.
"You said you stopped work yesterday," I continued, in the kindest tonesI could command, for I was much moved by his apparent distress.
"Yes; I stopped work yesterday, and--and--and that's the reason I wantedto see you," sobbed he, wiping his face with his dirty hands.
I thought he wanted to see me for a good many reasons; but I concludedto wait until he had recovered his self-possession before I asked anymore questions. When the silence had continued for full five minutes,it became embarrassing to him, and he remarked that he had wanted to seeme.
"I believe you have lost your senses, Sim," I replied.
"No; I haven't lost my senses--only my stomach," said he, with a piteouslook, which alone prevented me from laughing at his ludicrous speech,and the more ludicrous expression upon his face.
"What is the matter with your stomach?" I inquired.
"Nothing in it," whined he.
"What do you mean?" I asked, sharply, rather to quicken his wits than toexpress anger.
"I quit work yesterday."
"So you said before."
"I can't stay to Barkspear's no longer; and that's the reason I wantedto see you," said he, blubbering, and absolutely howling in his deepgrief.
"Why not?" I asked, gently.
"I didn't get hardly any breakfast yesterday morning," sobbed he; "onlya crust of brown bread. But I wouldn't minded that, if there'd only beenenough on't. I was working in the garden, and when I saw Mis' Barkspeargo out to the barn to look for eggs, I went into the house. In thebuttery I found a piece of cold b'iled pork, about as big as one of myfists--it was a pretty large piece!--and four cold taters. I eat thepork and taters all up, and felt better. That's what I wanted to see youfor."
"Why did you quit work?"
"Mis' Barkspear saw me coming out of the house, and when she missed thepork and taters, she knowed I did it. She told the old man I'd eat upthe dinner for that day. Barkspear licked me, and I quit. I hain't hadnothin' to eat since," said he, bursting into tears.
I pushed the raft back to the landing-place again.
"You won't tell on me, Buck--will you?" pleaded he.
"No. I'm going to get you something to eat."
He was willing.