CHAPTER IV

IN WHICH IT IS SHOWN THAT THE NAVIGATION OF THE RIVER IS DIFFICULT AND DANGEROUS

Harry was astounded at this information. Ben was exhausted, as though he had been running very hard; besides, he was much agitated--more so than the circumstances of the occasion seemed to justify. In connection with the threat which his companion had uttered that day, these appearances seemed to point to a solution of the burning building. He readily understood that Ben, in revenge for the indignity the squire had cast upon him, had set the barn on fire, and was now running away by the light of it.

This was more than he had bargained for. However ill-natured he felt towards the squire for his proposal to send him to Jacob Wire's, it never occurred to him to retaliate by committing a crime. His ideas of Christian charity and of forgiveness were but partially developed; and though he could not feel right towards his powerful enemy, he felt no desire to punish him so severely as Ben had done.

His companion gave him a short answer, and manifested no disposition to enlarge upon the subject; and for several minutes both maintained a profound silence.

The boat, drifting slowly with the current, was passing from the pond into the narrow river, and it required all Harry's skill to keep her from striking the banks on either side. His mind was engrossed with the contemplation of the new and startling event which had so suddenly presented itself to embarrass his future operations. Ben was a criminal in the eye of the law, and would be subjected to a severe penalty if detected.

"I shouldn't have thought you would have done that," Harry observed, when the silence became painful to him.

"Done what?" asked Ben, sharply.

"Set the barn afire."

"Who said I set it afire?"

"Well, I can see through a millstone when there is a hole in it."

"I didn't say I set the barn afire."

"I know you didn't; but you said you meant to pay the squire off for what he had done to you."

"I mean to."

"Haven't you done it already?"

"I didn't say I had," answered Ben, who was evidently debating with himself whether he should admit Harry to his confidence.

"But didn't you set the barn afire?"

"What if I did?"

"Why, I should say you run a great risk."

"I don't care for that."

"I see the reason now, why you wouldn't tell me what you was going to do before."

"We are in for it now, Harry. I meant to pay off the squire, and--"

"Then you did set the barn afire?"

"I didn't say so; and, more than that, I don't mean to say so. If you can see through a millstone, why, just open your eyes--that's all."

"I am sorry you did it, Ben."

"No whining, Harry; be a man."

"I mean to be a man; but I don't think there was any need of burning the barn."

"I do; I couldn't leave Redfield without squaring accounts with Squire Walker."

"Where are you going, Ben?"

"To Boston, of course."

"How shall we get there?"

"We will go by the river, as far as we can; then take to the road."

"But this is George Leman's boat--isn't it?"

"Yes."

"You hooked it?"

"Of course I did; you don't suppose I should mind trifles at such a time as this! But he can have it again, when I have done with it."

"What was the use of taking the boat?"

"In the first place, don't you think it is easier to sail in a boat than to walk? And in the second place, the river runs through the woods for five or six miles below Pine Pleasant; so that no one will be likely to see us. We shall get off without being found out."

"But the river is not deep enough. It is full of rocks about three miles down."

"We won't mind them. We can keep her clear of the rocks well enough. When I was down the river last spring, you couldn't see a single rock above water, and we don't draw more than six inches."

"But that was in the spring, when the water was high. I don't believe we can get the boat through."

"Yes, we can; at any rate, we can jump ashore and tow her down," replied Ben, confidently, though his calculations were somewhat disturbed by Harry's reasoning.

"There is another difficulty, Ben," suggested Harry.

"O, there are a hundred difficulties; but we mustn't mind them."

"They will miss the boat, and suspect at once who has got it."

"We shall be out of their reach when they miss it."

"I heard George Leman say he was going a fishing in her to-morrow."

"Did you? Then why didn't you say so before?" retorted Ben, angrily.

"Because you didn't tell me what you were going to do. How could I?"

"Never mind; it is no use to cry for spilt milk. We will make the best of it."

"We are in for it now."

"That we are; and if you only stick by me, it will all come out right. If we get caught, you must keep a stiff upper lip."

"Never fear me."

"And, above all, don't blow on me."

"Of course I won't."

"Whatever happens, promise that you will stick by me."

"I will, Ben."

"That's a good fellow, Harry. On that, we will take a bit of luncheon, and have a good time of it."

As he spoke, Ben drew out from under the seat in the bow a box filled with bread and cheese.

"You see we are provisioned for a cruise, Harry," added Ben, as he offered the contents of the box to his companion. "Here is enough to last us two or three days."

"But you don't mean to keep on the river so long as that?"

"I mean to stick to the boat as long as the navigation will permit," replied Ben, with more energy than he had before manifested, for he was recovering from the perturbation with which the crime he had committed filled his mind.

"There is a factory village, with a dam across the river, six or seven miles below here."

"I know it; but perhaps we can get the boat round the dam in the night time, and continue our voyage below. Don't you remember that piece in the Reader about John Ledyard--how he went down the Connecticut River in a canoe?"

"Yes; and you got your idea from that?"

"I did; and I mean to have a first rate time of it."

Ben proceeded to describe the anticipated pleasures of the river voyage, as he munched his bread and cheese; and Harry listened with a great deal of satisfaction. Running away was not such a terrible thing, after all. It was both business and pleasure, and his imagination was much inflated by the brilliant prospect before him. There was something so novel and exciting in the affair, that his first experience was of the most delightful character.

He forgot the crime his companion had committed, and had almost come to regard the burning of the squire's barn as a just and proper retribution upon him for conspiring against the rights and privileges of young America.

My young readers may not know how easy it is even for a good boy to learn to love the companionship of those who are vicious, and disposed to take the road which leads down to moral ruin and death. Those lines of Pope, which are familiar to almost every school boy, convey a great truth, and a thrilling warning to those who first find themselves taking pleasure in the society of wicked men, or wicked boys:

"Vice is a monster of so frightful mien As to be hated, needs but to be seen; But seen too oft, familiar with her face, We first endure, then pity, then embrace."

Now, I have not represented my hero, at this stage of the story, as a very good boy, and it did not require much time to familiarize him with the wickedness which was in Ben's heart, and which he did not take any pains to conceal. The transition from enduring to pitying and from that to embracing was sudden and easy, if, indeed, there was any middle passage between the first and last stage.

I am sorry to say that an hour's fellowship with Ben, under the exciting circumstances in which we find them, had led him to think Ben a very good fellow, notwithstanding the crime he had committed. I shall do my young reader the justice to believe he hopes Harry will be a better boy, and obtain higher and nobler views of duty. It must be remembered that Harry had never learned to "love God and man" on the knee of an affectionate mother. He had long ago forgotten the little prayers she had taught him, and none were said at the poorhouse. We are sorry he was no better; but when we consider under what influences he had been brought up, it is not strange that he was not a good boy. Above every earthly good, we may be thankful for the blessing of a good home, where we have been taught our duty to God, to our fellow-beings, and to ourselves.

The young navigators talked lightly of the present and the future, as the boat floated gently along through the gloomy forest. They heard the Redfield clock strike twelve, and then one. The excitement had begun to die out. Harry yawned, for he missed his accustomed sleep, and felt that a few hours' rest in his bed at the poorhouse was even preferable to navigating the river at midnight. Ben gaped several times, and the fun was really getting very stale.

Those "who go down to the sea in ships," or navigate the river in boats, must keep their eyes open. It will never do to slumber at the helm; and Harry soon had a practical demonstration of the truth of the proposition. He was so sleepy that he could not possibly keep his eyes open; and Ben, not having the care of the helm, had actually dropped off, and was bowing as politely as a French dancing master to his companion in the stern. They were a couple of smart sailors, and needed a little wholesome discipline to teach them the duty of those who are on the watch.

The needed lesson was soon administered; for just as Ben was making one of his lowest bows in his semi-conscious condition, the bow of the boat ran upon a concealed rock, which caused her to keel over to one side, and very gently pitch the sleeper into the river.

Of course, this catastrophe brought the commander of the expedition to his senses, and roused the helmsman to a sense of his own delinquency, though it is clear that, as there were no lighthouses on the banks of the river, and the intricacies of the channel had never been defined and charted for the benefit of the adventurous navigator, no human forethought could have provided against the accident.

Harry put the boat about, and assisted his dripping shipmate on board again. The ducking he had received did not operate very favorably upon Ben's temper, and he roundly reproached his companion for his carelessness. The steersman replied with becoming spirit to this groundless charge, telling him he had better keep his eyes open the rest of the night. Wet and chilly as he was, Ben couldn't help growling; and both evidently realized that the affair was not half as romantic as they had adjudged it to be an hour or two before.

"Never mind it, Ben. If we fail once let us try again--that's all."

"Try again? You want to drown me, don't you?" snarled Ben.

Harry assured him he did not, and called his attention to the sound of dashing waters, which could now be plainly heard. They were approaching the rocks, and it was certain from the noise that difficult navigation was before them. Harry proposed to haul up by the river's side, and wait for daylight; to which proposition Ben, whose ardor was effectually cooled by the bath he had received, readily assented.

Accordingly they made fast the painter to a tree on the shore, and both of them disembarked. While Harry was gathering up a pile of dead leaves for a bed, Ben amused himself by wringing out his wet clothes.

"Suppose we make a fire, Harry?" suggested Ben; and it would certainly have been a great luxury to one in his damp condition.

"No; it will betray us," replied Harry, with alarm.

"Humph! It is easy enough for you to talk, who are warm and dry," growled Ben. "I am going to have a fire, anyhow."

In vain Harry protested. Ben had some matches in the boat, and in a few minutes a cheerful fire blazed in the forest. As the leader of the enterprise felt its glowing warmth his temper was sensibly impressed, and he even had the hardihood to laugh at his late misfortune. But Harry did not care just then whether his companion was pleasant or sour, for he had stretched himself on his bed of leaves, and was in a fair way to forget the trials and hardships of the voyage in the deep sleep which makes it "all night" with a tired boy.

After Ben was thoroughly dried and warmed, he placed himself by the side of his fellow-voyager, and both journeyed together through the quiet shades of dreamland, leaving no wakeful eye to watch over the interests of the expedition while they slumbered.