Harry Milvaine: or, The Wanderings of a Wayward Boy. Stables Gordon

Чтение книги онлайн.

      The boy pulled out a letter from his breast-pocket.

      “This is for my dear mother,” he said. “Give it to her to-day. Tell her how sorry I was to go away. Tell her – tell her – .”

      Here the boy fairly broke down, and sobbed as if his heart would break.

      My hero crying? Yes, I do not feel shame for him either. The soldier or sailor, ere journeying far away to foreign lands, is none the less brave if he does pause on the brow of the hill, and, looking back to his little cottage in the glen, drop a tear.

      Do you remember the words of the beautiful song —

      Andrew, when he saw Harry crying, felt very much inclined to join him. There was a big lump in his throat that he could hardly gulp down. But then Andrew was a bit simple.

      Harry jumped up presently and took two or three strides up and down the floor of the little room, and so mastered his grief.

      “It won’t be for such a very long time, you know, Andrew,” he said.

      “No,” said Andrew, brightening up. “And I’ll look after your garden, Harry.”

      “Thank you, Andrew, and the turning lathe and the tools?”

      “I’ll see to them. You’ll find them all as bright as new pins on your return.”

      “And my pets, Andrew?”

      “Yes.”

      “Well, look after those too. Sell them all as soon as you can – rats, mice, guinea-pigs, and pigeons, and all.”

      “Yes.”

      “And, Andrew, keep the money you get for them to buy snuff.”

      “Good-bye, Andrew.”

      “Good-bye. Mind you take care of yourself.”

      “I’ll do that for my mother’s sake.”

      Andrew pressed Harry’s soft hand between his two horny palms for just a moment.

      “God bless you, Harry!” he muttered.

      He could not trust himself to say more, his heart was too full.

      Then away went Harry, grasping his stick in his hand and trudging on manfully over the hills, with his face to the east.

      By and by the sun rose, and with it rose Harry’s spirits. He thought no more of the past. That was gone. He felt a man now; he felt he had a future before him, and on this alone he permitted his thoughts to rest.

      Now I do not mean to vindicate that which my hero has done – quite the reverse. Obedience to the wishes of his parents is a boy’s first duty.

      Still, I cannot help thinking that my young hero had a bold heart in his breast.

      See him now, with the sun glinting down on his ruddy face, on which is a smile, and on his stalwart figure; he is more like a boy of fifteen than a child under twelve. How firm his tread on the crisp and dazzling snow, how square his shoulders, how springy and lithe his gait and movement! No, I’m not ashamed of my hero. Hear him. He is singing —

      Poor brave, but rather wayward, boy! the gallant ship is even now lying in Lerwick Bay that soon shall bear him far o’er Arctic seas.

      Book Two – Chapter One.

      A Life on the Ocean Wave.

      Harry in a Queer Position

      Very picturesque and beautiful does the Greenland fleet of the sealers and whalers appear from any of the neighbouring hills which enclosed Lerwick Sound in their midst, giving it the appearance of some great Highland lake. The dark blue rippling water is to-day – as Harry gazes on it – studded with threescore gallant ships, many of them steamers, but each and all having tall and tapering masts. Then the bare, treeless, rugged mountains; the romantic little town with its time-worn fort; the boats flitting hither and thither like birds on the water, and lofty Ben Brassa – capped in snow – looking down upon all, form a scene of impressive beauty and quiet grandeur that once beheld is not easily forgotten.

      The town, however, like many others in this world, looks immensely better at a distance than it does upon close inspection. The streets, or rather lanes, are close and confined. Indeed, there is but one principal street, which is transversed by a multitude of lanes, which on one side lead down to the sea, and on the other scramble up a steep hill. And in the rainy season these lanes are converted into brawling streams which pour their roaring floods down into the tide-way.

      The houses in the street are built in the Danish or Scandinavian style, and are mostly built with their gables to the front, while at every ten or twelve yards’ distance, one of these buildings stands threateningly forth across the path in a thus-far-shalt-thou-go sort of fashion, giving to the street a very awkward appearance, and on dark nights seriously endangering the noses of the pedestrians.

      Harry had come by steamboat from Aberdeen, to which fair granite city he had trudged all the way on foot. He had to harbour his funds, rich and all though he thought himself, and I believe that during all that long, weary walk to the city, he subsisted almost entirely on bread and cheese washed down with milk. But he was young and strong and hardy.

      He had taken steerage fare to Lerwick, and no sooner had he ensconced himself on the locker than he fell sound asleep, and never lifted his head for twelve whole hours.

      In most books of travel by sea the author says nothing about seasickness. This is something very real and very dreadful nevertheless. There is no cure for it, nor ever will be, till the world is at an end. Only its effects can be mitigated by fresh air and exercise on deck. One must fight the fearful malady, and, as you fight it, it will flee from you. Intending sailor-boys would do well to remember СКАЧАТЬ