*CHAPTER III*
*A LONG TRAMP TO THE SEA*
The village clock in the old church tower was striking eleven. It wasdreadfully dark, but the lads were not afraid, and they started off at asharp trot, as soon as they had regained their liberty. For somedistance they followed the tree-lined road that led away from thevillage. They kept on in silence till they reached the outskirts ofBogden Woods, then they took one of the narrow, winding paths that leddown through the thicket, crossed the stream at the bottom of the dell,and ascended the opposite hill-side.
Still they kept on--now through the more open country, over hill anddale, until at the end of two hours, despite the darkness, they had putsix good miles between themselves and the lock-up.
At last, fatigued beyond measure, they halted for a rest below Lin-Crag,one of the highest peaks in the Pennine Chain. Here, on the lowerreaches of the moor, they made for themselves a bed of dried heather,where they could lie down.
"Here, let us rest awhile, Jack, for I'm dead beat," said Jamie.
"Right!" said his companion, "No one will discover us here."
After a short breathing space, they began to take stock of theirpossessions. Alas! Jamie had but a few pennies and half-pence, a pieceof tar-band and a tinder-box, while Jack could only find a penknife, apocket compass and a sixpence. This, then, was their stock-in-trade,and it did not promise them much luxury on their way to the sea.
"Now," said Jack, "I have an uncle who is captain of a ship that tradesbetween the River Plate and Liverpool--Captain Elliot is his name, andthe ship is called the _Ilawara_. If, when we get to Liverpool, heshould happen to be in port, I am sure that he would give us both aberth aboard, for once, when father took me to see him, he advised me tobecome a sailor, when I had grown up."
"Capital! But let's see, how far away is Liverpool?"
"It must be about sixty miles away, and almost due west, right over themoors there, for I've often measured it roughly on the map. I thinkthat's the west, though I can't quite see the needle of the compass inthe dark."
"Yes, Jack, that's the west, right over the moors and over Lin-Crag too,and there are about twelve miles of moorland, with plenty of peat-bog,and soft ground, so that it will not be safe to go much further tilldaybreak."
"You're sure that's the west, Jamie?"
"Yes, certain. Why, look, you don't need a compass! There's the NorthStar, and the Cassiopean Guards, and right opposite is the south, andover there must be the east, as you'll soon see when the day breaks."
"Bravo, Jamie! You're as good as a compass."
"Then we'll sleep here, and at sunrise we'll get some food and start forLiverpool, and there'll be no going back for either of us. The die iscast, old fellow. What say you?"
"The die is cast! We will not go back."
They both laid themselves down on a couch of heather, there to spend therest of the night, but they were too excited to sleep--the events of thepast twenty-four hours chased each other through their brains. Jamiewas nearly dozing off, however, when Jack suddenly leapt to his feet,and exclaimed----
"Here's a piece of luck, Jamie!"
"Why, what's the matter? How you did startle me!" cried the other.
"Just look here!" said Jack, ripping open the lining of his jacket, andtaking out something that gleamed bright, even in the starlight.
"Why--it's a guinea! Where did you get it?"
"I'd forgotten all about it myself. About a month ago, Aunt Emma droveover from Honley, to see father, and when she went away, she saidsomething about my being a poor motherless bairn, and she slipped thisinto my hand as she left. She asked me to buy myself a present withit."
"But you didn't?"
"No! I had a presentiment that when we ran away, we should want it, soI just sewed it into the lining of my coat, and till this moment, I'dentirely forgotten it."
"We're rich men, Jack. We are indeed in luck."
They were doubly excited now and quite unable to sleep, so they talkedon about the future that lay before them, full of golden promise, whenonce they reached Liverpool. Then two hours before the dawn they fellfast asleep, and they slept so soundly that when at length they awokethe sun was nearly half-way to the meridian. Even then they werewakened by a rough but kindly voice that sounded in their ears----
"Here's a pretty sight, Jane! Come and see it. Here are two younggen'elmen, sleeping out o' doors." Then giving them both a heartyshake, he exclaimed, "What's the meaning o' this, young gen'elmen? Haveyou run away from school?"
Both boys sat up quickly, and rubbed their eyes. Then they lookedaround them, bewildered and astonished. Where were they? How came theyhere? Who was this big, burly-looking farmer before them?
It was a full half minute before they became fully conscious of all thathad happened. At length they looked at each other, and then burst outlaughing, for they were both relieved to find that the intruder wasneither Old Click nor Beagle. Jane the milkmaid came over to the spot,leaving the cow that she had been milking, some twenty yards away.
The boys looked around them again to take their bearings before theyreplied to the farmer. A dozen cattle stood round about, chewing theircud lazily, and flicking off, with their long tails, the flies that hadalready begun to bother them, while beside the farmer stood his faithfulsheep-dog, which had really first attracted his master's attention tothe spot. The place where they had been sleeping was a sheltered littlehollow, where the meadow joined the moor, while about two hundred yardsaway was a long, low farmhouse.
"I see you're running away from school, gen'elmen," repeated the farmer,good-humouredly, for there was a twinkle in his eye.
"Yes, sir," replied Jack, thinking it best to let it stop at that.
"An' where are you goin' to?"
"Liverpool--to the sea----"
A burst of laughter, like a minor explosion, came from the farmer. "Ah,I see. But ye'll be glad to get home before to-morrow night. I oncetried it myself, I did. Walked all the way to Liverpool, and when I gotthere--ha! ha! ha!--the sea was rough, and I was 'skeered' an' I didn'tlike the look of it, and I turned back home, an' I tell ye, that forfour days and for four nights I had nothing to eat, 'cept a few rawturnips. My poor feet were that sore an' blistered that I sometimes laydown and cried, and when at last, after six days, I limped back into thefarm-yard yonder, my faither said--
"'What! Home again so soon, Jock? I didn't expect ye for anither week,lad!'
"'Could I ha' a basin o' porridge, faither?' I said meekly.
"'Jock,' he said, 'afore ye touch ony porridge, ye mun' earn it. Do yesee that heap o' stones there? Well, ye mun' wheel 'em across the yardthere afore ye touch ony porridge here.'
"It was the same heap of stones that I had refused to wheel, and whichhad been the cause o' my setting off to Liverpool. I were that tiredand faint an' hungry that I were ready to drop, but I simply said--
"'All right, faither,' and I began the task; but when I had wheeled adozen barrow-loads or so, the old man saw me stagger once or twice.
"'That'll do! Porridge is ready, Jock, lad.' An' to my dying day Ishall never taste anither meal half so foine as yon basin o' porridge,an' if ye lads 'll take my advice, ye'll just turn back, and go homeagain, for it'll come to that later, only then ye'll be footsore andtired and hungry. But please yersel's, I don't suppose ye'll listen toan old man," he added, as he saw a clouded and uneasy look come overtheir faces.
"We're not going back," said Jamie boldly. "Are we, Jack?"
"No! We'll die first."
"I thought so. Maybe you're hungry, and could do with a littlebreakfast, lads."
"Indeed, we could, sir, and we're willing to pay for it."
"Tut! tut! Come into the house, then." And the kindly old man led themto the farmhouse, where his wife simply said, "Puir lads," and soonprovided for them a substantial meal.
A large steaming basin of oatmeal porridge was soon laid
before each ofthem, made from rich milk, instead of water. They soon made short workof this. Then Jane brought in a plate of home-made cakes,well-buttered, but still their hunger did not abate one jot. The farmerwas used to big appetites, and neither his wife nor Jane expressed anysurprise. Then their host took out his huge clasp knife and cut severalrashers from a flitch of bacon that hung suspended from the ceiling.These were fried along with a few eggs, and when they had cleared thisthird dish, the keen edge was taken from their appetites, and theydeclared that they were satisfied.
They thanked the farmer for his great kindness, and asked him how muchthey were indebted to him, but when they offered to pay, he held up bothhands, and exclaimed--
"Not a penny! Keep your money. You'll want it all before long. Itdoes me good to see lads with pluck like yours. Maybe you'll getfurther than I did. I think you're made of different stuff, and I ha'quite ta'en a fancy to you. While we've lads like you, we shall neverwant men to fight the Frenchers."
"I have a brother fighting under Clive now, in India!" exclaimed Jack,with a touch of family pride.
"Oh, maybe you're Squire Elliot's son, then!"
At this Jack's face fell, for he saw that he had well-nigh given awayhis identity.
"Ah well, never mind! Perhaps ye did not get on very well with the oldsquire. He was a harder man after your poor mother died."
The mention of his mother gave Jack a twinge of pain, and caused a lumpto rise in his throat. His mother's early death had removed hisguardian angel. Perhaps he would have been a better lad if she hadlived; more tame and docile, like other boys.
"Puir lad!" exclaimed the farmer's wife; "and has he no mother then? Hema' weel run away."
Jack's tears were very near the surface, but he forced them back with aneffort, for he considered it a great weakness to give way to hisfeelings.
As they left the old farmhouse, yet another kindness was shown to them,for Jane, secretly bidden by the farmer's wife, had made up a bundle ofsubstantial oat-cakes, with a large piece of cheese, and as they passedout of the door she handed it to them.
This last act of kindness to these two poor motherless lads touchedtheir hearts as perhaps nothing else could have done. They had not beenused to such kindness, and they expressed their gratitude, not by words,for they couldn't speak, but by the great, big tears that welled up intheir eyes, despite their every effort to keep them back now. Ah!nothing penetrates a boy's heart like kindness.
The old farmer pointed out the way, across the moors, and overLin-Crag--the way he had trodden fifty years ago, and soon they wereclimbing the steep hill-side, knee-deep in heather, and following thewinding sheep tracks. Again and again they turned round to wave theirhandkerchiefs at the trio standing by the farm-yard gate now far beneaththem, until at last, as they stood on the summit of the crag, the houselooked like a little speck in the distance and soon disappeared.
Then they footed it gaily across the lonely blue moorlands. Sometimesthey started a covey of young grouse, hidden amongst the heather; thenthe peewits wheeled around them, uttering plaintive cries, as thoughbidding them good-bye. The scenes of their childhood, and the landscapeon which their infant eyes had first gazed, were now left behind. Thelittle lambs frisked about playfully, or cropped the short, greenpatches of tough grass near the water-courses, while overhead the larkssang joyously, continuously, and the sun shone brilliantly down fromthat wide expanse of azure dome.
The lads sang, too, blithely, lustily, for nothing could repress thatfeeling that was bubbling up within them; they trod the earth lightly,for they were in the "Land of Havilah," which is the "Golden Land ofYouth," where the sun is always shining, where all the visions andideals are golden, the enthusiasm and the energy boundless. So life withall its charm was opening out to them, but what was that life to be?
"Let us halt beside this spring, Jamie, for we have come twelve milessince morning," said Jack, about an hour after mid-day.
So they rested awhile, and ate some of the oat-cakes, and drank at thespring, where commenced a little stream of clear water, which sang itsway down to the sea. Soon they left the wild moorlands behind them, anddescending the western slopes of the Pennines, they entered the countyof Lancaster, and passed through several hamlets and villages, where therude country people spoke a dialect which they could scarcelyunderstand.
Towards evening their footsteps began to lag. They had long ago ceasedto sing, or even to whistle. They were tired and footsore, and for thelast hour they had trudged on in silence, for they were both very brave,and neither would confess fatigue.
That night they slept under a hayrick in the corner of a field. Theyslept soundly, too, but next morning they were up early, and afterperforming their ablutions, and cooling their blistered feet in aneighbouring pond, they finished the oat-cakes and cheese, and startedagain.
The first day they had covered nearly half the distance between theirhome and that rising little sea-port town of Liverpool, whose docks andwharves were now crowded with ships from every part of the globe. Thesecond day, however, they were too footsore to travel half thatdistance, and they had to break into that golden guinea to buy food, butthey still persisted and never spake one word about turning back, and inthe afternoon of the fourth day their hearts beat with joy, as theyreached the top of a little eminence, that is now part and parcel of thegreat city of Liverpool, but was then merely a country lane, and theireyes were gladdened by a first glimpse of the forest of masts and spars,that lay in the river beneath them, while out there--beyond the bar,where the breakers were rolling in by the lighthouse--was the sea.
"The sea! the sea!" they both exclaimed.
And in the transport of joy which followed, tired limbs and blisteredfeet were forgotten, for this was their first glimpse of the sea.