It was a cold, rainy, and impenetrably dark night on the tow-path. Here and there was a lantern, which, when passed, seemed only to deepen the darkness.
Now and then the swish of a tow-line in the water was heard, or the harsh scraping of a boat against another boat or against the timbers of the wharf. Men shouted hoarsely to one another or to their beasts.
Along the muddy tow-path a pair of drenched and miserable horses were urged by a drenched and miserable boy. To this boy, who was Joe Gaston, it was all like some hideous dream.
He moved under a constant strain of fear upon nerves already overwrought, and with incessant physical effort on the part of a body already worn to the verge of exhaustion.
He found relief for a few moments while he ate his supper. The boat was waiting below a lock. The captain, who had already eaten, went out on the tow-path, and Joe’s only companion at the table was Blixey.
When the two had eaten all that was before them, Blixey said: “Well, young un, had enough, eh?”
“No,” replied Joe, “I haven’t. I’m hungry yet.”
Blixey rose, and climbed far enough up the cabin stairs to put his head out and make sure that Captain Bill was not on deck. Then he came back, and opening a little cupboard under the dish shelves, took out half a loaf of bread and some cold ham, and set it before the boy.
“Mum’s the word,” he whispered. “Don’t say nothin’, but jes’ git around it’s quick’s ye can.”
Joe followed the advice without further delay.
“Blixey,” he said, between his mouthfuls, “you’re very good.”
As he ate, the captain’s hoarse voice was heard from the tow-path: “Blixey!”
“What is it, boss?” asked the negro, stumbling up the cabin stairs.
“Send that young rascal out here!”
The negro crawled back part of the way down the stairs. There was a certain compassion in his voice as he said,—
“You’ll hef to go, honey, an’ right smart, too. I know him.”
So Joe went, and took up again in the blackness of night his dreary, cruel task on the tow-path. He thought it would never end; that the sun would soon rise at his back, and that he should be kept right on at his work through another day.
But when Port Jackson was reached, at ten o’clock, the boat was tied up for the night. The horses were put under shelter in a stable near by, and fed. Then the two men and the boy went down into the cabin of the boat to go to bed.
Under the stern-deck there were two bunks, and no more. These were occupiedby the two men, so that Joe must sleep on the cabin floor.
He was given an old quilt, and an overcoat for a pillow. Removing part of his wet clothing, he rolled himself in the quilt and tried to sleep; but sleep would not come to him. His physical and his nervous system had undergone so great a strain and fatigue that he could not at once relapse into slumber.
The cabin was shut tight to keep out the storm, but the water found its way in nevertheless. Little rills ran across the floor, and soaked the old quilt in which Joe was wrapped. The air of the room, which seemed little more than a box, became foul and oppressive.
Visions of his own room at home floated into Joe’s mind as he lay there. He saw the spotless floor, the pictures on the walls, the pretty curtains at the windows, the warm, soft, tidy bed. He thought of the dear mother at his side, soothing him, with loving touch and gentle words, to sweet sleep and pleasant dreams.
That he wept, then, tears of homesickness,of sorrow, of deep and bitter shame, until he had sobbed himself to sleep, was but evidence of the gentle and manly spirit that lay beneath his boy’s foolish pride and impetuous will.
The next morning Captain Bill awakened Joe by pushing him rudely with his foot.
“Come, get up here,” he shouted, “an’ go an’ feed them hosses!”
Joe rose. He was stiff and sore from exposure and exertion. His damp clothing, as he put it on, sent a chill through his whole body.
He fed the horses, as he was told. After the crew had breakfasted in the cabin of the boat, the same monotonous round of duty was taken up that had occupied the day before.
Rain was still falling, and the cold had increased. The water of the canal was muddy, and the stream that ran along below it was very high.
The tow-path was softer and more slippery than it had been the previous day, and walking upon it was more difficult.The boy who drove the weary and wretched horses through the mud and rain was far more tired and miserable than they were.
Late in the forenoon the boat reached Ellenville.
For more than a mile Captain Bill had apparently been on the lookout for some one. As they passed under the iron bridge and in toward the lock without meeting any one, the captain uttered a sort of grunt of disappointment.
Just then, however, a man came down the tow-path, leading a gray horse.
The man was short and stout, with legs that were so bowed that it was a marvel that they held him up at all. Captain Bill’s face lighted up as he caught sight of him. He leaped from the boat to the tow-path, and went ahead to meet the stranger.
“Well, Callipers,” he inquired, “got a hoss for me?”
“You bet,” replied the man, “an’ a powerful good un, too.”
Captain Bill went close to the bow-leggedman, bent down to him, and said something in an undertone. The man listened and nodded.
Then followed a conversation which no one could hear, except the persons engaged in it. It ended with Captain Bill’s counting out some money from a black and greasy leather wallet, and handing the money to Callipers.
Then one of the captain’s horses was unfastened, and placed in possession of the bow-legged man. The gray took its harness, and its place at the tow-line.
All this time Joe had been busy at the feed-box at the bow of the boat. At this moment he came up and discovered what was going on.
The gray horse first attracted his attention. There was something about the animal that reminded him strongly of Old Charlie.
He looked again, and more closely. The horse threw up his head and neighed. It was Old Charlie!
Joe gave a leap to the side of the boat, another to the tow-path, and in the next instant he was at the horse’s head.
“Charlie!” he cried. “Charlie! Why, Old Charlie, is this you?”
The beast whinnied, and putting his nose down against Joe’s breast, began to rub him in the old way.
Captain Bill and Callipers looked at each other in open-eyed astonishment.
“Knows ’im!” exclaimed the bow-legged man.
“Seems to,” replied the captain.
“Who is ’e?”
“Don’t know ’im. He’s a runaway.”
The bow-legged man advanced and looked at the boy more closely.
“Bless my eyes an’ ears!” he exclaimed, drawing hastily back.
He recognized Joe as the boy who had visited the stable the morning on which the horse was stolen.
“Good-by, Bill!” he said to the captain. “I’m goin’!”
But at that moment Joe, running quickly, intercepted him.
“Where’d you get that horse?” he demanded, panting with excitement. “Where’d you get him?”
“I got ’im where ’e grew, sonny, but they aint no more like ’im, so you needn’t go lookin’ for one.”
“But I want to know—”
“You don’t want to know nothin’. You go ten’ to them hosses,” interrupted Captain Bill. “See where the boat’s gittin’ to. Mind your business and stop asking questions.”
“But that horse—”
“Never mind that hoss. You ten’ to business. He’s my hoss now!”
“No, he’s not your horse! He’s my father’s horse. He was stolen from my father’s barn. He—”
The captain took one step toward the boy, fastened his hand in Joe’s collar, and dragged and pushed him to his post.
Joe was frightened and cowed. His lips turned white. He dared no longer disobey.
He went ahead and resumed his monotonous duties, but in his brain was a whirlpool of rage.
The rain fell harder than ever; thewind blew in fierce gusts; the tow-path was muddy beyond description. It was a day on which neither man nor beast should have labored except under shelter.
Joe walked as much as possible at Old Charlie’s head, urging him gently at times, putting his arm caressingly over the beast’s drooping neck, or twining his hand in the long, wet mane.
He talked to the horse, too, in the old familiar way; telling him of his troubles, pitying him for his own hard lot, sympathizing with him, until he fancied that tears stood in the horse’s eyes. He knew they were rolling down his own face.
It was evident that the horse had been on a long journey, though the distance was not great from the place from which he had been stolen.
The thief was a crafty and skilful one, and had kept the animal out of the channels of travel, where search would be most likely. What adventures he had had, and what other operations he had carried on meanwhile, no one knew.
Late in the afternoon, when both boyand horse should have been relieved from further work, Old Charlie began to indulge in a habit which he had acquired on the farm.
Whenever he had thought his work too hard, or his hours too long, or the weather too inclement for further labor, he would stop in his tracks and turn his head around to his driver, and stand gazing in mute appeal, until he was urged forward.
Charlie had never been punished for this. It was not really balkiness, for the horse went on stoutly after a moment’s rest. But for that matter, Old Charlie had been indulged at home in all sorts of queer ways.
Now, however, the case was quite different. Joe tried to make these interruptions as short as possible, so that they should not interfere seriously with the passage of the boat; but the horse’s conduct soon attracted Captain Bill’s attention.
“Tryin’ to loaf, eh? Well, I’ll cure the lazy old beast o’ that,” he said.
He took a whip from the cabin and tossed it out to Joe.
“Next time that hoss does that,” he said, “whip ’im! Don’t let him do it again.”
“No, sir! I—I’ll try not to.”
Even as Joe spoke Old Charlie stopped, turned, and looked back at him with melancholy eyes.
“Go on, Charlie!” entreated Joe; “that’s a good fellow, go on!”
But Charlie stood still, half-turned in his tracks, in mute remonstrance. It was new business to him, and he had not a favorable opinion regarding it. The leading horse, nothing loath, had also stopped.
“Whip ’im!” shouted Captain Bill from the boat, which, with its impetus, was bearing rapidly down on horse and boy. “Thrash ’im!”
Joe lifted the whip and let it fall lightly on the horse’s back.
“Get up, Charlie!” he cried; “get up now, quick!”
“Oh, whip ’im!” cried the captain. “Give ’im a good un!”
Again the whip descended lightly on Old Charlie’s back; but the horse did not move. This, too, was new treatment, which he did not seem in the least to understand.
By this time Captain Bill was very angry. He seized the tiller, and swept it back till the stern of the boat touched the bank. “Whip that hoss!” he cried, leaping to the tow-path, “or I’ll whip you!”
For an instant Joe stood irresolute; then, with sudden determination, he passed the handle of the whip to the angry man who faced him.
“I won’t,” he said slowly, with set teeth; “I won’t whip Old Charlie. I’ll die first!”
Infuriated beyond measure, Captain Bill seized the whip and raised it swiftly in the air. Just as it was about to descend on Joe’s head and shoulders, the frightened horse, swinging his body around nervously, caught the full force of the blow.
But it mattered little to Captain Bill.The beast was as much an object of his wrath as was the boy.
Again the whip cut the air and curled cruelly about the horse’s body. Again and again it fell, while Old Charlie, frightened and tortured, leaped and struggled for release.
Poor Joe, who was trying alternately to soothe the horse and to entreat the man who was beating him, felt every stroke of the cruel whip almost as sharply as if it had been inflicted on his own back.
At last the captain stopped.
“It’ll be your turn next!” he said savagely, throwing the whip toward Joe, and leaping to the deck of his boat.
The tow-line was pulled taut, and the boat moved on again. The poor beast, still quivering with excitement and pain, and allowing himself now to be led quietly along, showed by the occasional touch of his nose to the boy’s breast or shoulder that he wanted his sympathy and friendship.
So they trudged on together, boy and horse, each helping and comforting theother,—on in distress and despair, through cold and rain and mud, into the darkness, the dreariness, the frightfulness of another night!
How they got through that evening until ten o’clock, Joe could never quite recollect. His memory recalled only a confusion of lights and noises, of splashing mud and roaring water, of tangled tow-lines and interfering boats.
It was only when the horses had been put up for the night, and he was once more lying on the wet cabin-floor, listening to the beating of the rain on the deck above his head, that he was able to think clearly. How everything that he had done, and all his woes and troubles, rushed before him!
With his prejudice and passion all swept away, he went over in his mind the events of the last three months. His follies and sins became as plain to him as if they had been committed by another. Slowly but surely, as he pondered, there came into his mind the irresistible conviction that he must go home.
The old and beautiful story of the Prodigal Son came up from the depths of memory and glowed before him. He would go back, as did the child of the parable; but he would go in such repentance and humility as the Prodigal Son had never dreamed of.
He could not wait. He resolved to start at once,—now, in the night, in the storm, if he could but escape his keepers.
But there was Charlie,—poor Old Charlie!—who deserved, far more than did he himself, to escape from the sufferings of the present. How could he leave the old horse?
A thought came into his mind so suddenly that it brought him up on his elbow. Charlie should help him to escape! He would take the horse home where he belonged. They would go back to the old home together.
Joe lay back for a moment, almost breathless with his scheme. Then, cautiously laying his quilt aside, he rose, put on his jacket, hat, and shoes, and climbed softly up the steep cabin-stairs to the deck.
The rain had ceased at last, and low in the west a half-moon was struggling through the mist of clouds.
For a moment Joe listened. No sound came from the sleepers in the cabin. Then he leaped lightly to the tow-path. It was not far to the stable where the horses and mules were kept, and he lost no time in going there.
As he opened the door and peered into the darkness of the stable, the heavy breathing of the sleeping animals came strangely on his ears.
In a near stall, a dim, white shape struggled up and was still. It was Old Charlie. He recognized his young master with a subdued neigh, and tossed his head impatiently.
The next moment Joe had untied him, and led him out into the night.
“We’ve got a long ride before us, Charlie,” he said, standing for a moment at the stable door to transform the halter strap into driving reins. “It’s a long ride; but then, you know, we’re going—we’re going home!”
Again the horse tossed his head, as if he understood. Joe, catching hold by the mane, leaped to Charlie’s back, as he had done many times in the dear old days.
He rode slowly down the little hill to the tow-path, turned in the direction from which they had come,—the direction in which home lay,—and galloped away.
Away they went toward the east, with lighter hearts and higher spirits than either had known before for many a day. To Joe it seemed that he was doing no more than his duty in riding away with Old Charlie. He was too inexperienced to know that he had no right to seize the horse in this way, even though the animal was his father’s lawful property. He was too much confused by his sufferings and excitement, moreover, to have a nice sense of propriety in such a matter.
As he passed the boat he had just left, Joe noticed that there was a light in the cabin window. He heard a noise there as of something falling. To his ears came distinctly the sound of angry words from Captain Bill.