CHAPTER X.THE JOURNEY.
Jerryhad planned his flight with considerable care and skill, for a boy of his age; and before the time came for him to take the first step, he had laid out the course he intended to pursue. Dressed in his best suit, with his bundle of clean clothes under his arm, and with the ill-gotten thirty dollars stowed away in the lower corner of his vest pocket, he started on his journey into the great unknown world. He walked for many a weary mile, over a road covered with snow that had recently fallen; but the sun shone pleasantly, and the weather was not so cold but that he sweat very freely from his exercise. It was not until after sunset that he reached the tavern where he proposed to spend the night. This tavern was a large wooden building, somewhat dingy with age, and bore upon its front a faded, weather-beaten sign, on which was inscribedthe name of its proprietor. Some time before Jerry reached the building, he could see the bright, cheerful light of the fire shining through the windows, and flickering and flashing over the wide, level field of snow which separated him from its comfortable shelter. Quickening his steps, he was soon at the door, and without stopping to knock, he entered the room from which he had seen the light.
It was a large room, with sanded floor, and the walls were covered with dingy maps, pictures, stage and railroad bills, advertisements of public houses in other places, and various other things. There was a large, open fire-place on one side, and a heap of glowing coals and blazing logs gave the room a very comfortable and attractive aspect. Several men were seated around the fire, in chairs, which supported themselves on their back legs, at an angle of forty-five degrees. Two or three of the company were smoking cigars, the fumes of which filled the room almost to suffocation. As Jerry entered, the men all seemed to look at him pretty sharply, and as he laid down his bundle, and drew a chair up to the fire, one of them said,
“Well, young man, what can we do for you?”
“I want to stay here to-night,” replied Jerry, “and I should like some supper too, if it isn’t too late.”
“How far have you come to-day?” inquired the man.
“I don’t know,” answered Jerry; “I should think it was about eighteen miles.”
“Running away from home, eh?” continued the inquirer.
“No, I’m not running away, but my mother has sent me to Boston, to get work.” And Jerry could utter this falsehood with so honest a look and so smooth a tongue, as to deceive all who heard him!
“What is your name?” continued his inquisitive host—for it was the keeper of the tavern that put these questions.
“Jeremiah Preston.”
“And where did you say you belong?”
“In Brookdale.”
“And are you going to take the stage to-morrow morning for Boston?”
“Yes, sir.”
The tavern-keeper made several other inquiries, which were answered to his satisfaction. He then left the room, and presently returned and told Jerry that his supper was ready. Following his host, Jerry entered a long room, in the middle of which stood a table, running nearly the whole length. At one end of this table were spread the dishes and victuals for Jerry’s supper, the rest of the household having been to tea. There were warm biscuits and butter, rich milk, and smoking tea, nice-looking cheese, and red, juicy applesauce,—besides a plate of tempting cakes, and pies of two kinds. A lady poured out a cup of tea, and then left him to help himself to the eatables. His long walk had given him a sharp appetite, and he availed himself of this privilege very freely. It seemed to him that he never sat down to so good a supper before. He ate until he began to feel ashamed of himself, and then left off, not because he had had enough, but because he was afraid to eat more.
The demands of hunger satisfied, Jerry began to realize how tired he was. He accordingly asked the landlord to show him the way to his bed-room, which the latter did. Before leaving him for the night, thelandlord told Jerry that the stage started at five o’clock in the morning, and that he would call him in season for it. Jerry then went to bed, and was soon lost in sound sleep, from which he did not awake till a loud and long-continued rapping on his door, and the repeated cry of “stage ready!” at length elicited from him the response, “I hear.” Scarcely knowing where he was, or what all the disturbance was about, he leaped out of bed, and was soon dressed, and ready to resume his journey. His tavern bill was fifty cents, which he paid, and without stopping for breakfast, he took his seat in the stage that stood waiting at the door. It was quite dark, and the snow was falling fast, a driving wind piling it up in drifts. The stage, as it was called, was a large covered sleigh, with three long seats inside. Having fastened down the woollen curtains to keep out the snow, the driver mounted his seat, gave the word to the horses, and away they started.
For a large portion of the way, Jerry was the only passenger. Now and then he could hear the crack of the whip above the noise of the storm, and the sound of the horses’ bells, deadened by the snow and wet, was just audible. He could see nothing, for it was notyet daylight, and besides, he was a close prisoner. He could not even tell which way the vehicle was going. Sometimes he thought it went sideways, and then again it would seem to be going backwards. Sometimes, with a jerk and a bounce he would be almost thrown from his seat,—and at other times, it would seem as if it were impossible to escape upsetting. For a while, he was much amused with his situation, but at length he began to grow tired of the continual thumping and jolting, and longed to see the end of the journey. Several more passengers were picked up, as they passed through other villages, which, with the appearance of daylight, served to enliven somewhat the remainder of the way. But Jerry was not sorry when the driver reined up the horses in front of one of the hotels in Waterville. Hungry and benumbed with cold, he entered the public house, and spoke for breakfast, which was furnished very soon, as passengers were expected by the stage. For this he paid twenty-five cents. It was a very good breakfast, and well worth the money; but he could not help thinking how many meals, quite as good as this, he had eaten at home, without payinganything for them. He began to feel the difference between living at home and living abroad.
After breakfast, Jerry ascertained that he had about two hours to spare, before the cars started, which he thought he would spend in looking about. Waterville seemed to him to be quite a large and bustling place. The houses were numerous, and many of them were very elegant. There were also plenty of stores and work-shops, and quite a number of churches. The Kennebec river, on one bank of which the town is built, was frozen over, and the saw-mills were not in operation. He went on to the covered bridge, which crosses the Kennebec, where he obtained a good view of the river, the mills, and a portion of the town. On a hill, a short distance from the centre of the town, he saw three large brick buildings, one of which had a cupola. On inquiring of a boy what they were, he was told they were “the colleges.”
Jerry now directed his steps to the railroad depot, where he found preparations making for the train of which he was to be a passenger. After examining the locomotive, cars, depot, switches, turn-tables, signals, etc., all of which possessed the charm of noveltyto him, he seated himself in the train. Soon the signal was given for starting; the engine commenced its at first slow but gradually quickening puffs; the bell rang to warn people of the approach of the train, and in a few minutes they were under full headway. Jerry had travelled by railroad once or twice before, but the novelty of the thing had not worn off, and he watched the movements of the train, and the snow-covered country through which they passed, with a good-deal of interest. On they flew, over hills and valleys, through forests and villages, over rivers and under roads. The storm had ceased, and the snow on the track was not sufficient to impede their progress. Occasionally they stopped to take up or drop a passenger, or to replenish the engine with water and fuel. The ride, however was a long one,—eighty-two miles,—and it was three hours and a half before they reached Portland. After a while Jerry grew tired of looking at strange scenes, and then his thoughts wandered back to the home he had left. How he wished he could look in unperceived, for a moment, and see what his mother was doing! Was she sorry or angry, that he had run away? Would she try to get him back again?What would the neighbors say about his disappearance? And then he wondered how his sisters felt about losing their brother. Little Mary, the youngest, he thought would be sad, for she seemed to love him better than the others did,—perhaps, because her affectionate disposition and tender age did not allow him to treat her so rudely as he did Emily and Harriet. He wished that he had bidden her good-by, for really, he was just learning that he felt something like affection towards her. Such were the thoughts that were passing through his mind, when the train stopped at the depot in Portland.
Jerry had bought a through-ticket for Boston, and was obliged to continue his journey without stopping in Portland. He did not have time even to eat dinner, but bought some cakes and a glass of milk at a refreshment room in the depot, and then seated himself in another train bound for Boston. Nothing occurred, worthy of notice, during the trip. It grew dark before the train had proceeded a third of its distance, and the lamps in the cars were lighted. Of course nothing could be seen, outside, save the lights in the villages through which they passed. It was nearly eighto’clock in the evening when the train entered a large building, lighted by gas lanterns, and the passengers made a general movement towards the car-doors. Jerry followed the others, and soon found, as he had already suspected, that he was in Boston. The locomotive was not to be seen, having been switched off upon another track before the cars entered the depot; and the baggage car, which followed immediately after the engine and tender, was now unhitched from the cars, and some men were pushing it forward to the farther end of the depot. Here there was a raised platform, where the baggage could be delivered, and which was fenced round, so that no person could get at the car to help themselves. The passengers soon began to crowd around in search of their baggage, which was passed out as fast as possible by men in the car. Each trunk, valise, box, etc., had a number affixed to it, on a little brass tag, or check; and as each passenger had received a check with a number corresponding to that on his trunk, the baggage-master had no difficulty in telling to whom each article belonged. These checks were given to the passengers when their baggage was received at the depot in Portland, and on surrenderingthem in the Boston depot, they were sure of receiving back their own baggage. As Jerry’s bundle was small, he did not have it put among the baggage, but took it with him into the cars.
A large number of men, with silver numbers on their hats, were moving about among the passengers, accosting almost everybody that they met with the words, “Cab, sir?” “Hack, madam?” “Ride up, sir?” etc. On going to the door, Jerry saw that there were a great many coaches and cabs arranged along the side-walk, waiting for the passengers. He was surprised to find that all these vehicles were on wheels, and that the streets were quite destitute of snow. He had not seen bare ground before for several months; for in Brookdale the snow often falls in the latter part of November, and does not disappear till late in March. Boston being farther south and nearer the sea-coast, the snow does not accumulate in such quantities, nor remain so long upon the ground, as it does in that part of Maine where Jerry belonged.
Haymarket Square
Jerry now thought it was time to hunt up quarters for the night. He was wholly unacquainted with the streets, but he knew there were a great many publichouses in the city; and he supposed he should not have to go far, in any direction, to find one. On leaving the depot, he found himself in a large, open square, surrounded on all sides by tall buildings. In the centre of the square, was a circular enclosure, surrounded by an iron fence and a brick side-walk; and in the centre of that was a tall, iron post supporting a gas-lamp. This was Haymarket Square. Eight different streets lead out of it, in various directions, and it was some time before Jerry could decide which to take. He, at length, chose one and started on his way, notknowing whither it would lead him. He had not gone far before he saw a building, which he thought might be a hotel, and on inquiring of the driver of a carriage which was standing before the door, he was told that it was a public house. He accordingly ascended the steps, and entered the room which had the word, “Office,” painted over the door. Several men were seated around a very large stove, reading; and another was sitting at a desk, behind a counter that extended across one end of the room. Going up to the latter, Jerry said:—
“Can I stay here to-night, sir?”
The man addressed,—who was the clerk of the hotel,—eyed the stranger somewhat sharply for a moment, and then inquired:—
“Where are you from?”
“Brookdale,” replied Jerry.
“Brookdale,—I never heard of that place; where is it?”
“It is in Maine,” answered Jerry, who was rather surprised that the man should ask such a question.
“Come from there to-day?” continued the clerk.
“Yes, sir.”
“And what are you going to do in Boston?”
“I’m going to sea.”
“Have you got any baggage?”
“Nothing but this,” replied Jerry, holding up his bundle.
“We don’t like to take strangers, who haven’t any baggage,” continued the man; “they sometimes step out very suddenly, without settling their bills.”
“If you are afraid to trust me, I can pay you in advance,” replied Jerry, who began to fear he should have to seek further for lodgings.
“O, never mind that,” said the clerk; “you look honest enough; and as you’re fresh from the country, I aint afraid to trust you. Put your name in that book,” he continued, handing Jerry a pen, and placing a large book on the counter.
This book was the register of the house, and each guest who stopped there recorded in it his name and place of residence. Jerry wrote his name as well as he could,—which is not saying a great deal,—and then inquired if he could not have something to eat. The clerk replied in the affirmative; and, in a little while, Jerry was summoned into another room, wherehe found a good supper provided, of which he ate with a keen relish after his long fast. Having finished his meal, he told the clerk he was tired, and should like to go to bed. The latter gave a pull at a cord and tassel, which rang a bell in another part of the house. A servant quickly answered the summons, and was directed to show Jerry to No. 69. Following the servant, Jerry passed through several narrow entries, and ascended four long flights of stairs, and turned more corners than he could remember, before he reached his sleeping-room. It was a small room, and had but a few plain articles of furniture. Jerry was too tired, however, to give much attention to these things. He was soon in bed, and sleeping as soundly as though under his father’s roof.