Lost Lenore: The Adventures of a Rolling Stone. Майн Рид

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ Help Us!

      No week of my life ever seemed so long, as that night spent in waiting for the return of Stormy Jack. It was not until the sun beams were gushing through my window in the morning, that I was able to fall asleep.

      By nine o’clock I was up, and out upon the streets in search of my companion and protector. My search was continued all day without success.

      I did not know the name of the ship on which he had gone to work; and therefore I had no clue to his whereabouts. In fact I had such a slight clue to guide me, that my search was but little less than the pursuit of folly.

      I did not like to believe that Stormy had wilfully deserted me.

      In my lone and friendless condition, with the memory of the way in which I had left my mother, to have thought so, would have made me desirous of dying. I had rather think that some serious accident had happened him, than that he had abandoned me to my fate, to avoid any further trouble I might give him.

      Another idea occurred to me. He might have been found by some of the officers of the “Hope,” and either taken aboard, or imprisoned for deserting. This was so probable, that for awhile I was tempted to go back to the ship and resume my duties.

      Reflection told me, that if he had fallen into the hands of the captain, he would not leave me alone in a city like New Orleans. He would tell the captain where I was staying, and have me sent for and brought aboard.

      The only, or what seemed the best thing I could do, was to return to the lodging-house, and there await the event.

      After a long weary day spent in vain search for my lost companion, I carried this idea into effect, and went back to the lodging-house. As I anticipated, Stormy had not returned to it.

      The landlady was a woman of business; and fancied, or rather believed, that my responsible protector had deserted me, leaving her with a boy to keep, and a bill unpaid.

      She asked me if I had any money. In reply, I produced all I had. All but one “picayune” of it was required, for the payment of the score we had already run up.

      “Now, my lad,” said she, “you had better try to find some employment, where you will earn a living. You are welcome to stay here to-night, and have your breakfast in the morning. You will then have all day to-morrow to find another home.”

      The next morning, after I had swallowed my breakfast, she came to me and bid me an affectionate “good bye.” It was a broad hint that she neither expected, nor wished me to stay in her house any longer.

      I took the hint, walked out into the street, and found myself in a crowd, but alone, with the great new world before me.

      “What shall I do?” was the question set before a full committee of my mental faculties, assembled, or awakened, to deliberate on the emergency of the moment.

      I could be a newsvendor no longer: for the want of capital to invest in the business.

      I could return to the ship, and perhaps get flogged for having run away; but I was so disappointed in the treatment I had received at the hands of the captain, that nothing but extreme suffering could have induced me to seek protection from him.

      The restraint to which I had been subjected on board the ship, seemed partly to have emanated from Mr Leary, and for that reason was to me all the more disagreeable.

      I wandered about the streets, reflecting on what I should do until both my brain and legs became weary.

      I sat down on some steps leading to the door of a restaurant. My young heart was still strong, but beating wildly.

      Over the door of a grocer’s shop in front of me, and on the opposite side of the street, I read the name “John Sullivan.” At sight of this familiar name, a glimmering of hope entered into my despairing mind.

      Four years previous to that time, the grocer with whom my parents used to deal had emigrated to America. His name was John Sullivan. Was it possible that the shop and the name before me belonged to this man?

      I arose, and crossed the street. I entered the shop, and inquired of a young man behind the counter, if Mr Sullivan was at home.

      “He’s up stairs,” said the youth. “Do you wish to see him in particular?”

      I answered in the affirmative; and Mr Sullivan was called down.

      The man I hoped to meet was, when I saw him last, a little man with red hair; but the individual who answered the summons of the shop boy, was a man about six feet in his stockings, with dark hair and a long black beard.

      I saw at a glance, that the grocer who had emigrated from Dublin and the man before me were not identical, but entirely different individuals.

      “Well, my lad, what do you want?” asked the tall proprietor of the shop, looking down on me with a glance of curious inquiry.

      “Nothing,” I stammered out, perhaps more confused than I had ever been before.

      “Then what have you had me called for?” he asked, in a tone that did little to aid me in overcoming my embarrassment.

      After much hesitation and stammering, I explained to him that from seeing his name over the door, I had hoped to find a man of the same name, with whom I had been acquainted in Ireland, and who had emigrated to America.

      “Ah!” said he, smiling ironically. “My father’s great-grandfather came over to America about two hundred and fifty years ago. His name was John Sullivan. Perhaps you mean him?”

      I had nothing to say in answer to this last interrogation, and was turning to leave the shop.

      “Stop my lad!” cried the grocer. “I don’t want to be at the trouble of having come downstairs for nothing. Supposing I was the John Sullivan you knew—what then?”

      “Then you would tell me what I should do,” I answered, “for I have neither home, friends, nor money.”

      In reply to this, the tall shopkeeper commenced submitting me to a sharp examination—putting his queries in a tone that seemed to infer the right to know all I had to communicate.

      After obtaining from me the particulars relative to my arrival in the country, he gave me his advice in exchange. It was, to return instanter to the ship from which I had deserted.

      I told him that this advice could not be favourably received, until I had been about three days without food.

      My rejoinder appeared to cause a change in his disposition towards me.

      “William!” said he, calling out to his shop-assistant, “can’t you find something for this lad to do for a few days?”

      William “reckoned” that he could.

      Mr Sullivan then returned upstairs; and I, taking it for granted that the thing was settled, hung up my hat.

      The grocer had a family, living in rooms adjoining the shop. It consisted of his wife and two children—the eldest a girl about four years of age.

      I СКАЧАТЬ