The Runaway Part 2

And Rodney, who wanted to be a man, drank it with a swaggering air, though it scorched his throat; and then another, until he became very sick;--and the last he remembered was, that the sailors and the women all seemed to be swearing and fighting together.

The next morning he was awaked by Bill Seegor, and found himself in a garret, on a miserable bed, with all his clothes on. How he had ever got there he could not tell. His head ached, and his limbs were stiff and pained him when he moved. His throat was parched and burning, and he felt so wretchedly, that, if he had dared, he would have begged permission to stay there on the bed. But Bill told him that it was time to start and look up a ship, for he had only money enough to last another day.

After breakfast they started, and inquired at every place which Bill knew, but without success; no men or boys were wanted.

In the afternoon, Rodney was terribly frightened at seeing his brother-in-law walking along the wharves. He knew in a moment that he had come to New York to search for him; and he darted round a corner into an alley, and hid himself behind some barrels, till he had pa.s.sed by. He afterwards learned that his brother-in-law had been looking for him all day, and that he had found and taken his trunk, and had been several times at places which he had just left. O! if he had then abandoned his foolish and wicked course, and gone home with his brother, how much misery he would have escaped! But he contrived to keep out of his way.

That evening Bill said to him, as they were eating their supper in a cellar--

"Rodney, to-morrow morning we must start for Philadelphia."

"But how shall we get there?"

"We shall have to tramp it."

"How far is it?"

"About a hundred miles."

"How long will it take?"

"Four or five days."

"But how shall we get anything to eat, or any place to sleep on the road?"

"Tell a good story to the farmers, and sleep on the hay-mows."

Rodney began to find out that "_the way of the transgressor is hard_."

That night they went to the theatre. Bill had given Rodney a dirk, which he carried in his bosom. They went up into the third tier of boxes, which was filled with the most wicked and debased men and women. While the rest were laughing, and talking, and cursing, Rodney sat down on the front seat to see the play; but they made so much confusion behind him that he could not hear, so he turned round, and said, rather angrily: "I wish you wouldn't make so much noise."

"Who are you talking to?" shouted a rough, bully-looking man behind him, with a terrible oath; "I'll pitch you into the pit, if you open your head again."

He rushed towards him, but, quick as thought, Rodney s.n.a.t.c.hed the dirk from his breast, drew his arm back over his head, and told the bully to keep off. The man stopped, and in an instant the whole theatre was in confusion. The play on the stage ceased; and there, in full view, leaning over the front of the box, stood the boy, with the weapon in his hand, gleaming in the eyes of the whole audience.

Bill Seegor rushed to him, pulled him back toward the lobby, and took the dagger from his hand. The bully then aimed a tremendous blow at the boy's face, which fortunately was warded off by one of the women. Just then a police-officer came up, and, taking Rodney by the collar, led him down stairs. Half a dozen men, who were Bill's friends, followed; and when they got into the street, they dashed against the officer, and broke his hold, when Bill caught Rodney by the arm and told him to run. They turned quickly through several streets, and escaped pursuit.

Do you think that Rodney was happy amid such scenes? Ah! no; he was alarmed at himself. He felt degraded and guilty; he felt that he was taking sudden and rapid strides in the path of debas.e.m.e.nt and vice. He thought of his home and its sweet influences. He knew how deep would be the grief of those who loved him, should they hear of his course. His conscience condemned him, and he thought of what he was becoming with horror. But he seemed to be drawn on by his wild desires, and felt scarcely a disposition to escape the meshes of the net that was winding around him.

The sailors praised him, and patted him on the back; told him that he was a brave fellow,--that he was beginning right, and that there was good stuff in him. And Rodney laughed, tickled by such praises, and drank what they offered, and tried to stifle his conscience and harden himself in sin. Yet often, when he was alone, did he shrink from himself, and writhe under the lashings of conscience; and the remembrance of home, and thoughts of his conduct, rendered him very wretched.

CHAPTER V.

RODNEY IN PHILADELPHIA.

Young Rodney was prepared for an early start on the following morning; and, in company with Bill Seegor, he crossed the ferry to Jersey City just as the sun rose, and together they commenced their journey to Philadelphia. They were soon beyond the pavements of the town, and in the open country. It was a lovely morning, and the bright summer developed its beauties, and dispensed its fragrance along their path. The birds sang sweetly, and darted on swift wing around them. The cattle roamed lazily over the fields, and the busy farmers were everywhere industriously toiling. All nature seemed joyously reflecting the serene smile of a benevolent G.o.d.

Even the wicked hearts of the wanderers seemed lightened by the influence of the glorious morning, and cheerily, with many a jocund song and homely jest, they pressed on their way. Even guilt can sometimes forget its baseness, and enjoy the bounties of the kind Creator, for which it expresses no thankfulness and feels no grat.i.tude.

At noon they stopped at a farmer's house, and Bill told the honest old man that they belonged to a ship which had sailed round to Philadelphia; that it had left New York unexpectedly, without their knowledge, and taken their chests and clothes which had been placed on board; and that, being without money, they were compelled to walk across to Philadelphia to meet it.

The farmer believed the falsehood, and charitably gave them a good dinner. They walked on till after sunset, and then crossed over a field, and climbed up into a rack filled with hay, where they slept all night.

In the morning they started forward very hungry, for they had eaten nothing, since the noon before, except a few green apples.

They stopped at the first farm-house on the road, and, by telling the same falsehood that had procured them a meal the day before, excited the pity of the farmer and obtained a good breakfast.

Thus did they go on, lying and begging their way along.

On the third day there were heavy showers, accompanied by fierce lightnings and crashing thunders. They were as thoroughly soaked as if they had been thrown into the river, and at night had to sleep on a haystack, in the open field, in their wet clothes.

Rodney's feet, too, had become very sore, and he walked in great and constant pain.

In the afternoon of the fourth day they stopped on the banks of the Delaware, five or six miles from Philadelphia, to wash their clothes, which had become filthy in travelling through the dust and mud. As they had no clothing but what they wore, there was nothing else to be done but to strip, wash out their soiled garments, and lay them out on the bank to dry, while they swam about the river, or waited on the sh.o.r.e, with what patience they could summon.

A little after sunset they reached the suburbs of the great city; and now the sore feet and wearied limbs of the boy could scarcely sustain him over the hard pavements. Yet Bill urged him onward with many an impatient oath, on past the ship-yards of Kensington,--on, past the factories, and markets, and farmers'

taverns, and shops of the Northern Liberties,--on, through the crowded thoroughfares, and by the brilliant stores of the city,--on, into the most degraded section of Southwark, in Plumb-street, where Bill said a friend of his lived. This friend was an abandoned woman, who lived in a miserable frame cabin, crowded with wicked and degraded wretches, who seemed the well-known and fitting companions of Rodney's patron. The woman for whom he inquired was at a dance in the neighborhood, and there Bill took the boy in search of her.

They went up a dark alley, and were admitted into a large room filled with men and women, black and white, the dregs and outcasts of society.

A few dripping candles, placed in tin sconces along the bare walls, threw a dim and sickly glare over the motley throng. A couple of negro men, sitting on barrels at the head of the room, were drawing discordant notes from a pair of cracked, patched, and greasy fiddles. And there were men, whose red and bloated faces gave faithful witness of their habitual intemperance; and men, whose threadbare and ragged garments betokened sloth and poverty; and men, whose vulgar and ostentatious display of showy clothing, and gaudy chains, and rings and breast-pins, which they did not know how to wear, indicated dishonest pursuits; and men, whose blue jackets and bluff, brown faces showed them to be sailors; and men, whose scowling brows and fiendlike countenances marked them as villains of the blackest and lowest type. And there were women, too, some old--at least, they looked so--and haggard; some young, but with wretched-looking faces, and dressed in tawdry garments, yet generally faded, some torn and some patched, and all seeming to be brought from the p.a.w.nbroker's dusty shop for the occasion.

In a little filthy side-room was a bar covered with bottles and gla.s.ses, behind which stood a large, red-faced man, with a big nose, and little ferret, fiery eyes, now grinning like a satyr, now scowling like a demon, dealing out burning liquors to his miserable customers.

A man fell beastly drunk from a bench upon the floor. "Take him up stairs," said the man at the bar. Rodney followed the two men who carried him up, and looked into the sleeping apartment. The floor was covered with dirty straw, where lodgers were accommodated for three cents a night. Here the poor wretches were huddled together every night, to get what sleep they could in the only home they had on earth.

Thus does vice humble, and degrade, and scourge those who are taken in its toils. From the threshold of the house of guilty pleasure there may issue the song and laugh of boisterous mirth; but those who enter within shall find disgrace and infamy, woe and death.

CHAPTER VI.

THE PUNISHMENT BEGINS.

Bill Seegor found the woman he sought, and soon they returned to her house. Here the bottle was brought out and pa.s.sed round; and, after much blasphemous and ribaldrous conversation, a straw bed was made up on the floor, and Rodney laid down. Before he went to sleep, he heard Bill tell the woman that he was entirely out of money, and beg her to lend him five dollars for a few days. After some hesitation she consented, and drew out from under the bed an old trunk, which she unlocked, and from which she took five dollars in silver and gave it to him. Bill, looking over her shoulder, saw that she took it from a little pile of silver that lay in the corner of the trunk.

For a long time Rodney could not sleep. The scenes of the last eventful week were vividly recalled to his mind, and, in spite of his fatigue, kept him awake. He tried to make himself believe that it was a glorious life he had begun to lead,--that now he was free from restraint, and entering upon the flowery paths of independence and enjoyment. Though he had met with some difficulties at the start, he thought that they were now nearly pa.s.sed, and that soon he should be upon the blue water, and in foreign countries, a happy sailor boy.

But conscience would interpose its reproaches and warnings, and remind him of the horrible company into which he had been cast,--of the scenes of sin which he had witnessed, and in which he had partic.i.p.ated; and he could not but shudder when he thought of the probable termination of such a life.

But he felt that, having forsaken his home,--and he was not even yet sorry that he had done so,--he was now in the current, and that there was no way of reaching the sh.o.r.e, even had he been disposed to try; and that he must continue to float along the stream, leaving his destination to be determined by circ.u.mstances.

It is very easy to find the paths of sin. It is easy, and, for a season, may seem pleasant, to travel in them. The entrance is inviting, the way is broad, companions are numerous and gay. But when the disappointed and alarmed traveller, terrified at the thought of its termination, seeks to escape, and hunts for the narrow path of virtue, he finds obstacles and entanglements which he cannot climb over nor break. It requires an Omnipotent arm to help him then.

Rodney fell asleep.