CHAPTER II.THE FISHER-BOY.
T
THE house in which Tom lived stood on a hill that commanded a fine view of the village of Newport and the adjacent bay, and before it was a wide lawn, that sloped gently down to the water’s edge, shaded by grand old trees. On the day we introduce Tom to our readers, he had been sent out of the school-room in disgrace, not having mastered his arithmetic lesson. He lay at full length under one of the trees, stretching his arms and yawning, throwing his book about, and looking out over the bay at the vessels that were sailing in and out of the harbor. Now and then he would think of his lesson, but the thought was always dismissed with an impatient “O, I can’t learn it; I know I can’t, and what’s the use in trying?” But it was evident that he did not intend to abandon it altogether, for he would occasionally open his book and study for a few moments, with his mouth twisted on one side, as if he were on the point of crying. The fact was, Mr. Newcombe was present at the recitation that morning, when his son had made a worse failure than usual; and as he was about to leave the school-room, he turned to Tom and told him, in language too plain to be misunderstood, that if he “didn’t have that lesson by fiveo’clock that afternoon, he would get his jacket dusted in a way that would make him open his eyes.” Tom remembered the threat, and he would now and then turn to his task with a listless, discouraged air, as if he regarded it as far beyond his comprehension. His mind, as usual, was wandering off over the bay, and to save his life he could not learn the rule for addition.
His lesson, however, was not the only thing that troubled him just then; a more important matter was on his mind, and perplexed him exceedingly. He had that morning found an insurmountable obstacle in his path—one that shut him out from all hopes of ever becoming a sailor.
When the sight of that fine ship had again turned Tom’s attention to the sea, he laid a regular siege to his father, and tried every plan he could think of to obtain his consent to ship as boy on one of his vessels; and that morning he had asked permission to go out on the “Savannah,” a schooner that was to sail in a week or two.
Mr. Newcombe had, for a long time, patiently borne his fretting and teasing; and, finally, to set the matter at rest at once and forever, he said to Tom:
“My son, when you can add up a column of figures without counting your fingers, and can tell me the capital of every State in the Union, and where it is situated, you may go to sea. Now, wake up, and see if you can’t display a little energy. The Savannah will not sail under two weeks, so you will have plenty of time to do all this.”
“O no, father,” drawled Tom, (he always spoke in a very low tone, and so slowly that it made one nervousto listen to him,) “I can’t learn all that in two weeks. It’s too hard.”
Mr. Newcombe did not wait to hear what Tom had to say, but picked up his cane and started for his office, leaving his son pondering upon this new and wholly unexpected turn of events.
This was a death-blow to Tom’s hopes. It was, in his estimation, a task that would have made a Hercules hesitate. Learn all that in two weeks! Did his father take him for a walking arithmetic and geography, that he expected him to accomplish so much in so short a space of time? It was simply impossible, and he was astonished at his father for proposing such a thing. Under almost any other circumstances, Tom would have said, “Then I can’t be a sailor,” and would have immediately turned his attention to something else. But he remembered how grand that ship looked as she sailed out of the harbor, and he could not bear the thought of forever giving up all hopes of becoming the captain of a vessel like that.
Tom regarded this as one of his unlucky days. His lesson was very hard. He had been promised a whipping if he did not get it. There was that tremendous obstacle that had so suddenly risen up before him, and altogether he felt most discontented and miserable. It was no wonder he could not learn the rule.
“O, I do wish I could be a sailor,” said he, at length; “then I wouldn’t have any teachers to bother me, and ask why I place units under units, and tens under tens, when I want to add figures, and why I carry the left-hand figure to the next column when the amount exceeds nine. What good will it do me to learn all this?I can manage a vessel without it. And then, if I was on board ship, there wouldn’t be any one to tell me that he’d dust my jacket for me if I didn’t get my lesson. Ah, that would be glorious! But I can’t be a sailor now; I can’t add figures, and tell the capitals of all the States—there’s too many of them. O, dear, what shall I do? I always was an unlucky boy, and something is always happening to bother me. Now, there’s Bob Jennings! He ought to be a happy fellow, having nothing to do but row about the harbor all day, ferrying and catching fish. He’s a lucky chap, and I wish I was in his place. Hullo, Bob, come up here!”
Tom’s thoughts were turned into this channel by discovering a boy, about his own age, rowing a scow up the bay. The fisher-boy had seen Tom rolling about on the grass, and, if the latter could have known the thoughts that passed through his mind, no doubt he would have been greatly astonished.
Bob Jennings was the son of a poor widow who lived in the village. His father, like the majority of men in Newport, had followed the sea for a livelihood, but, having been washed overboard from his vessel during a storm, Bob was left as the only support for his mother and two little brothers. From the time he was strong enough to handle an oar, he had been accustomed to work, and, unlike Tom, he was not ashamed of it. He was ready to undertake any thing that would enable him to turn an honest penny; and many a dime found its way into his mother’s slim purse, that Bob had earned by running errands after his day’s work was over. But, if he was obliged to work hard while his father was living, he was compelled to redouble his exertions now, for the pittancehis mother earned by sewing and washing could not go far toward feeding and clothing four persons. Bob well understood this, and he worked hard and incessantly. Every morning, rain or shine, he was on hand at pier Number 2, which he regarded as his own particular “claim,” ready to ferry the workmen across the harbor to the ship-yards. After this was done, he pulled down the bay to his fishing grounds, from which he returned in time to be at his pier when the six o’clock bell rang in the evening.
Bob was ambitious, and he longed to follow in the footsteps of his father. Like all the boys in Newport, who seemed to inhale a passionate love of salt water with the air they breathed, he looked forward to the day when he should become the master of a fine vessel. But his mother could not live without his assistance. His earnings, however small, were needed to procure the common necessities of life; and, thus far, Bob had been unable to take the first step toward attaining his long-cherished object. A few weeks previous to the commencement of our story, he had entered into an agreement with his mother, to the effect, that as soon as he could lay by a sum sufficient to support her and his brothers for two months, he was to be allowed so go on a short voyage. This served as an incentive to extra exertion, and Bob worked early and late to accomplish the desired end. Every cent he earned, he placed in his mother’s hands; and so impatient was he to save the amount required, that he reserved not a penny for himself, but went about his work ragged, shoeless, and almost hatless. How often, as he rowed by the elegant mansion in which Tom Newcombe lived, had he given utterance to the wish that he could find some way inwhich he might earn as much money as the rich ship-owner allowed his son to spend foolishly every month. He was confident that it would amount to double the sum required to support his mother while he was gone on his first voyage, and would have placed it in his power to enter upon his chosen work at once. Nearly every day, as he pulled by in his leaky, flat-bottomed boat, he saw Tom rolling about under the trees; and, when he drew a contrast between their stations in life, it almost discouraged him.
Hearing Tom calling to him, Bob turned his boat toward the shore, and in a few moments reached the spot where the young student was seated. There was a great difference between the two boys. The rich man’s son was neatly clad, while Bob was barefooted, wore a brimless hat on his head, and his clothes were patched in a hundred places, and with different kinds of cloth, so that it was almost an impossibility to tell their original color. The fisher-boy thought his garments looked worse than ever by thus being brought in contrast with those of the well-dressed student, and he involuntarily seated himself on the ground, with his feet under him, as if to hide them from the gaze of his more fortunate companion. But the difference did not cease here. About the one, there were virtues that could not be hidden by ragged clothes; and in the other, there were glaring defects that made themselves apparent in spite of his well-blacked boots and broadcloth jacket; and, had a total stranger been standing by, with an errand he wished promptly executed, the successful accomplishment of which was of the utmost importance, he would, without hesitation, have selected Bob as the more reliable. There was anhonest, resolute look about him, which showed that he was ready for any thing, and that he felt within him the power to overcome all obstacles; while Tom had a listless, die-away manner of moving and talking, that led one to believe that he had been utterly exhausted by hard labor.
“You’re a lucky chap, Bob Jennings,” said Tom, at length, throwing down his book rather spitefully, and seating himself on the grass opposite the fisher-boy. “A most lucky chap.”
Bob looked down at his clothes, but made no reply.
“You have no arithmetic lesson to learn, as I have,” continued Tom. “All you have to do is to row about in your boat all day, and be your own master. That must be fun!”
For a moment Bob gazed at his companion in utter astonishment. Was it fun that he was compelled to work day after day, through storm and sunshine, and at such small wages that his mother could scarcely lay by half a dollar a week? Was it fun for him to pull five miles down the bay, in a leaky boat, and back, without catching a single fish, as he had done that day? If there was any fun in that, the fisher-boy thought he had never before understood the meaning of the word.
“No, I don’t see much sport in it,” answered Bob. “I call it downright hard work, and so would you if you could trade places with me for a few days. You are the one that sees all the fun. You have no work to do.”
It was now Tom’s turn to be astonished. He started up in perfect amazement, and looked at the fisher-boy for a moment without speaking.
“I see all the fun, do I?” said he, when he had recovered somewhat from his surprise. “Bob Jennings, let me tell you that you don’t know what hard work is. Did your father ever tell you that he’d dust your jacket for you if you didn’t get a difficult arithmetic lesson?”
“No,” answered, Bob, slowly.
“Well, that’s just what my father told me this morning,” continued Tom, “and he also informed me that I can’t go to sea until I can add up a column of figures, and tell him the capitals of all the States. Now, that’s a harder job than you ever had laid out for you.”
The fisher-boy did not act as though he considered that a very difficult task, for he brightened up, and said:
“I wish somebody would give me that job, and agree to support my mother while I was at sea; I’d sign shipping articles in three days. Don’t you want that book?” he added, as Tom picked up his arithmetic and threw it down the bank toward the water, as if he wished it as far as possible out of his sight. “If that book was mine I wouldn’t fling it about that way. I’d study it and try to learn something.”
“Why, I thought you wanted to be a sailor,” said Tom.
“So I do. But I don’t want to be before the mast all my life. I want to be captain; and I will, too, if I live to be a man.”
“So will I. I am going to be master of a full-rigged ship, like the one that left port about two months ago. But what’s the use of studying arithmetic?”
“Why, you can’t be captain until you understand navigation,” said Bob; “and you can’t learn that unless you know something about figures.”
As Tom heard this very disheartening piece of news, he stretched himself at full length on the grass, drew on a long face, and twisted his mouth on one side, as if he had half a mind to cry. He looked at the fisher-boy a moment, then out over the bay, and finally drawled out, “Then I can’t be a sailor! I didn’t know they had to study arithmetic. I can’t learn it, and there’s no use in trying.”
As Tom said this, he happened to glance toward the gate, and saw his father approaching. Remembering the whipping that had been promised if he again failed in his lesson, he hastily sprang to his feet and ran down the bank after his book; while Bob, thinking that the gentleman regarded him rather suspiciously, retreated to his boat and pulled toward home.
Mr. Newcombe always returned from his office at five o’clock; and Tom, knowing that it was time to recite his lesson, applied himself to his task with much more energy than he was accustomed to display. But, as usual, his mind was upon something else; for, as he read over the rule, he was pondering upon what the fisher-boy had told him—that a sailor, in order to win promotion, must know something about arithmetic. Here was another obstacle in his way. All that day Tom had cherished the hope that he might, in some manner, be able to avoid the task his father had imposed upon him, of committing to memory the capitals of the different States, and learning to add without counting his fingers; but here was something that could not be got over. In building his air-castles (for he was continually dreaming about something) he thought only of the happiness he would experience when he shouldbe able to grasp the object of his ambition. He did not believe that whatever is worth having is worth striving for! He never reflected upon the toil and privation to which he must submit before he could work his way up from “boy” to the responsible position of captain! Work! That was something he never intended to do. His idea was, that, when he arrived at the proper age, he would, in some mysterious manner, be placed in the position at which he aimed, without the necessity of labor. He was hopeful if he was unlucky; and, although he had suffered repeated disappointments in the failure of his grand schemes, he clung to the belief that, at some time during his life, something would “turn up” in his favor, and that then he would have plain sailing. There was but one way out of his present difficulty that he could discover, and that was to hope that the fisher-boy was mistaken. What did Bob Jennings—a boy who had never been to school three months in his life—know about such things? He was just as liable to make mistakes as any body; and Tom at first hoped, and ended with finally believing, that Bob knew nothing about the matter.
As these thoughts passed through Tom’s mind, he was industriously studying his lesson, but of course without comprehending one word of it, and presently the ringing of a bell summoned him to the school-room. The sound acted like a charm on Tom, for, as he arose to his feet and walked slowly toward the house, he began to study earnestly, and to such good advantage—for he learned very readily when he set himself resolutely to work—that he began to hope he might pass a creditable recitation. When he entered theschool-room, he found his father and the teacher waiting for him. A hasty glance at the former served to convince him that the threatened whipping would certainly be forthcoming if he failed, and just then he looked upon himself as the most abused boy in the world. The recitation commenced, and with considerable assistance from his teacher Tom managed to blunder through his lesson, but it is certain that he knew no more about it when he got through than he did when he began. Although Mr. Newcombe was far from being satisfied, Tom escaped without a whipping, and that was all he cared for.