CHAPTER IV.

PERILS BY THE WAY.

By the end of his first month of service Terry had become somewhat accustomed to the novelties of his position, and bid fair to prove a useful acquisition to the staff. His intimate knowledge of the business portion of the city stood him in good stead. He knew every wharf in Halifax, and more than half the vessels that tied up at them, and could always be counted upon to find any one of them that the office wanted to communicate with.

There were many times when, being on some commission of this kind, he was sharply tempted to indulge in a little dalliance with his old playmates, who were more eager for his company than ever now that they were deprived of it. On a hot summer day, after a long forenoon of tiresome tramping through the dusty streets delivering bills or getting replies to inquiries, the longing to take a plunge into the cool green water of the dock was very hard to resist. At such times his fine clothes were apt to feel like fetters, which it would be an inexpressible relief to cast off and return to his former tatters.

Again and again he succeeded in withstanding the temptation; but one sultry, oppressive afternoon in August proved too much for him, and he yielded, though could he only have foreseen the consequences he would surely have held firm.

He had been sent out to collect wharfage accounts. They were usually trifling as to amount, and the method was for the clerk paying the bill to mark it down in a small book Terry carried as well as to take a receipt, thus making a double record.

This fateful afternoon it happened that Terry's collections reached a larger amount than usual, totalling up nearly fifty dollars. He finished his round away up at West's Wharf, and feeling very hot and tired went down to have a look at the cool salt water. He found there a half-dozen boys, nearly all of whom he knew, just getting ready for a hilarious swim in the dock. They hailed him at once with pressing requests to join them.

"Come along, Terry; off with your duds. It's a great day for a duck," and so forth, growing more and more urgent as they perceived him to waver in his resolution of refusal. Finally, a couple of them, having got rid of their own garments, rushed upon him, and seizing him on either side, proceeded to pull off his hat and coat, and to unbutton his vest; while the others, with loud shouts of, "Here she goes! Who's last?" dived joyously into the seductive depths.

This was more than Terry could stand. Giving each of his captors a smart slap that sent them capering off uttering feigned cries of pain, he tore off his own clothes, flung them in a heap on the wharf, and with a shout of "Here we are again!" described a graceful parabola in the air ere he shot head first into the water.

He had what he would have called a "high old time." Abandoning himself entirely to the pleasure of the moment, the restraint of the preceding weeks gave all the keener zest to his enjoyment. He was the very last to leave the water, and when he came out several of the boys had already dressed and gone away. He did not notice this until he took up his clothes to put them on. Then, to his surprise, he found that his vest, containing the money that he had collected, was missing.

Thinking that this was merely an attempt at a joke on him, he said good-humouredly, as he hastened to dress,--

"When you fellows have done with that vest, just bring it back, will you?"

But the only response was a general protest of entire ignorance on the part of those around him, and although, growing angry, he threatened all sorts of vengeance upon the perpetrator of the joke if he did not promptly make restitution, he was still met by persistent denials. While in the very midst of this, Tom Morley came down the wharf looking sharply about him. On catching sight of Terry he first made as though he would go up to him. Then a thought flashed into his mind that caused him to halt, and with a smile of malicious satisfaction playing over his ugly face, he wheeled about and vanished up the wharf.

But threaten or coax as he might, Terry could learn nothing as to what had become of his vest, save that it must have been carried off by one of the boys who had gone ashore and dressed before any of the others, and--what made matters worse--the latter did not seem to know anything about him. They had not seen him before that day, and they had no idea whence he had come or whither he had gone.

When the full sense of his loss came to Terry he was in a sad state of mind. The thief, whoever he was, had got away not only with the fifty dollars, but with the silver watch--Miss Drummond's gift. Little wonder then if the poor boy, going off to a corner where he would not be observed, gave way to tears.

He felt himself to be in a very serious plight. Had he been doing his duty when robbed he need not have feared an explanation. But he had been neglecting his duty; and not only so, but Tom Morley, who, as he well knew, would take only too much pleasure in telling on him, had caught him in the act.

"I can never go back to the office," he sobbed. "They'll not believe me whatever I say. They'll be thinkin' I've taken the money myself, and made up a story to get out of the scrape. Oh, if I could only lay my hands this blessed minute on the villain that run off with my vest! Just wouldn't I give him the worst licking he ever had in his life--bad cess to him!"

The heat of his anger against the cause of his distress dried up his tears, and feeling somewhat ashamed at having allowed them to flow, he gave himself a shake, and without any definite purpose in mind strolled over to the other side of the wharf, where a smart schooner was moored.

Now it chanced that the captain of this schooner was a friend of Terry's, having taken some interest in the bright, energetic boy whom he had seen at Long Wharf; and he happened to be sitting on the cabin deck when Terry came along, looking very downcast. "Hollo, Terry!" he cried cheerily. "You seem to be in the dumps. What's the matter?"

Terry had no inclination to tell him the reason of his dejection, so he evaded the question by responding--

"Nothin' much;" and then adding in a tone of decided interest, "Where are you going? you seem near ready to start."

"So I am, Terry," replied the captain. "I'll be off for Boston inside of an hour. Would you like to come?"

Terry's heart gave a sudden leap. Here was a way out of his difficulties. If he stayed in Halifax, he might have the police after him at any moment, and of the police he had a most lively dread; while, if he slipped away to Boston, he would be rid of the whole trouble.

"Do you mean it, captain, or are you after foolin' me?" he asked, peering eagerly into the mariner's honest countenance.

"I mean it right enough, Terry," was the reply. "I'm wanting a cabin-boy, and you'll do first-rate. Can you come aboard at once?"

Terry reflected a moment. He ought to tell his mother before he went. She would be sure to worry about him. But then if he did tell her she'd make a fuss, and perhaps stop him altogether. No; if he were going, his best plan was to say nothing about it, but just go on board.

Noting his hesitation, the captain said,--

"I'll not be sailing for an hour yet, so if you want to get anything you'll have time to if you'll be sharp about it."

With a quick toss of his head that meant he had made up his mind, Terry responded,--

"I'll go. I've nothin' to get. I'll go right on board now;" and springing into the shrouds, he swung himself lightly on to the deck.

The die was cast. Rather than face the consequences of his dereliction of duty he would take refuge in flight, leaving Tom Morley free to put as black a face upon his conduct as he pleased, thereby causing deep disappointment to those who had befriended him, and sore grief to his poor mother, who would be utterly at a loss to account for his strange disappearance.

It never entered into Captain Afleck's easy-going mind to inquire whether Terry ought to ask permission of somebody before taking service as cabin-boy on board his schooner. He himself had no family ties of any kind, and he took it for granted that other people were in the same position, unless they claimed something to the contrary. So when Terry jumped aboard the _Sea-Slipper_, thereby signifying acceptance of his offer, that was an end of the matter so far as he was concerned.

Once committed to the going away, Terry was all impatience for the schooner to start; and the stretching of the hour Captain Afleck had just mentioned into two gave him a good deal of concern, as every minute he dreaded the appearance of some clerk from Drummond's, perhaps even Mr. Hobart himself, sent to look after him.

He would have liked very much to have hidden in the cabin until the schooner had got well away from the wharf, but he was wise enough to realize that so doing might arouse the captain's suspicions, and lead him summarily to cancel the engagement.

However, at last his anxiety on this score was put at rest by the _Sea-Slipper_ warping slowly out into the stream; and then, as the big sails were hoisted, and they bellied out with the afternoon breeze, she glided off on a tack across the harbour that soon put a wide distance between her and the wharves.

No fear of being followed now. Terry was as safe from that as though he were already in Boston; and in the mingled feelings with which, from the stern of the schooner, he watched the line of wharves losing their distinctness, and the rows of houses melting into one dark mass against the sloping, citadel-crowned hill, there was no small proportion of relief.

He had solved the problem so suddenly presented that afternoon in a very poor and unsatisfactory fashion, it is true. Still, it was solved for the present at least; and bearing in mind Terry's training and opportunities for moral culture, he must not be too hardly judged for the folly of his action.

By the time the fast-sailing schooner had passed Meagher's Beach Light, and was beginning to rise and pitch in the long ocean billows, Terry, with all the heedlessness of boyhood, had thrown his cares to the wind, and given himself up to the enjoyment of the hour.

He was quite at home on the sea, having already had several trips along the coast through the kindness of captains who had taken a fancy to him. Seasickness had no terrors for him. He might have undertaken to sail round the world without missing a meal; and at supper that evening he showed so keen an appetite that Captain Afleck, who had allowed him to sit down with him for the sake of hearing him talk, said jestingly,--

"Why, Terry, my boy, you eat so hearty that I ought to have laid in an extra stock of food, so we mightn't run short before we get to Boston."

Not a bit disconcerted by this chaff, Terry went on busily munching the food, which was much better than he got at home, and which he proposed to enjoy thoroughly while he had the chance.

"Ah, you young monkey!" laughed the captain, shaking his knife at him, "you know when you're well off, don't you, now?"

"It's yourself says it, captain," responded Terry, as well as he could with his mouth full. "I'm thinking I would like to hire with you for a year, if ye'll always give me as good food."

"And is it only the food you care for, Terry?" asked the captain, the smile on his face giving way to a serious look. "You're not such a poor creature as that, are you?"

Terry's countenance crimsoned, and his head dropped upon his breast, while he worked his hands together nervously. At last he managed to stammer out,--

"Faith, captain, I didn't say so."

"No, Terry, you didn't," said the captain, in a soothing tone. "Nor did you mean it either. I'm only testing you a bit. Look here, Terry, listen to me now. What do you intend to do with yourself as you grow older? Do you think of following the sea?"

Once more the colour mounted high in Terry's face. The question was a home-thrust which he knew not how to parry, and so he simply kept silence; while Captain Afleck began to wonder why his question, asked in such an offhand way, should have so marked an effect upon the boy. Getting no answer, he sought to ease the situation by saying kindly,--

"If you think I'm over-inquisitive, Terry, you needn't say anything. It's none of my business any way."

Touched by the captain's genuine kindness of tone, Terry's Irish heart opened towards him, and he impulsively began to tell him the whole story of the past month.

Captain Afleck listened with unmistakable interest and sympathy, interrupting but seldom, and then only to put a question to make the matter clearer to his comprehension.

When the recital was finished, he stretched his big brown hand across the table to Terry, and taking hold of his little freckled fist, gave it a grip that made the boy wince, saying, with the full strength of his deep, bass voice,--

"You're a brick, Terry, my boy, even if you have made a mistake in running away with me instead of clearing up the whole thing with Mr. Drummond. But I'll see you through, Terry, as sure as my name's Afleck. You'll come back with me, and we'll go to see Mr. Drummond as soon as we land."

Poor little Terry! The kind action, and still kinder words and tone, were too much for him altogether. He covered his face with his hands and burst into tears, while the captain said soothingly,--

"That's all right, Terry; I know just how you feel. Cheer up now. You'll be back in Mr. Drummond's office inside of a month."

As quickly as sunshine follows shower in April, Terry's bright spirit reasserted itself, and he turned into his bunk that night in the enjoyment of the cheerful frame of mind which was his wont.

He awoke next morning to see the last of the Nova Scotian coast disappearing astern, and for the first time in his life to be entirely out of sight of land.

The wind continued favourable all that day and the next, greatly to the satisfaction of Captain Afleck, who wanted to lose no time in making the round trip, as business was brisk between Halifax and Boston then, and the more trips he could put in the better for his pocket.

Terry enjoyed the voyage thoroughly. His duties were not onerous, and out of love for the kind-hearted captain he fulfilled them promptly and neatly. When they were all attended to he had a good margin of time for himself, and he found Captain Afleck ready to talk or to tell stories from his own extensive experience at sea. Then the seamen, of whom there were four, proved very friendly, and seemed always glad of his company; so that everything helped to render the short voyage a real delight to the boy, who did everything in his power to pay his way by good behaviour.

The evening of the fourth day was closing in when the _Sea-Slipper_ entered Massachusetts Bay; and if Captain Afleck had not been so eager to save time, he would have been content with getting inside Boston Light and anchoring there until morning. But he knew the ship-channel well, having often passed up it before, and he determined to push in, although the wind was dropping fast.

The darkness fell before he had cleared Lovel's Island, and the sky being overcast he had only the harbour lights to guide him. Nevertheless he kept on, though it was little better than feeling his way.

The schooner thus crept up as far as Governor's Island, and the city lights began to come into view.

"Ah!" exclaimed Captain Afleck, bringing the palm of his hand down with a smart slap on his thigh as he stood at the wheel, "we'll make the dock to-night yet, even if I have to hail a tug to tow me in."

He had hardly spoken when suddenly there loomed up on the port side the dim form of a huge steamer bearing down on the schooner at full speed; and then it flashed upon the captain that in his eagerness to get into port he had omitted to put up the regulation lights.

There was no time to do it now. The only chance of escaping a collision was to go off on the other tack. Round spun the wheel, and swiftly the men sprang to the sails. But the schooner refused to answer her helm for lack of steerage way, and lay almost motionless right in the steamer's path.

Leaping upon the bulwarks, Captain Afleck shouted with all his strength,--

"Ahoy, there! Keep away, or you'll run us down!"

But even if his warning had been heard, it was too late to heed it; and a minute later, with a tremendous shock, the steamer crashed into the schooner just abaft of the fore-chains.