Chapter Two.

A Start in Life.

The carrier’s cart stopped on a height above the little town of Oldport. Peter gazed with wonder and admiration on the wide ocean spread out before him, now bright and shining under a blue sky and light summer breeze. It surpassed his utmost expectations—a beautiful highway it seemed to those distant regions he had longed to visit, and he fancied that there could be no impediment in his course till he could reach them.

As soon as the carrier had deposited him and his bundle at the inn close to the harbour, he set out to walk along the quay, and looked at the vessels whose tall masts rose in a long row above it. As he had never before seen a vessel, he was unable to judge of their size; to his eyes they seemed mighty ships, capable of battling with the wildest waves which could ever rage across the bosom of the deep. They were in reality colliers or other small coasters, as no vessels of any size could enter the harbour. He was ready to go on board the first which would receive him.

Peter had never had any playmates or young companions. He had lived alone with his mother, who had taught him to read, and trained him in the love and fear of God. The Bible was almost the only book he knew. He was, in consequence, grave beyond his years. The few neighbours used to laugh at him as “an odd, old-fashioned little fellow,” as, indeed, he was; but everybody respected and trusted him.

He walked up and down the quay once or twice before he could make up his mind what to do. At last he determined to address a sailor-looking man who was leaning against a stout post round which two or three hawsers from the neighbouring vessels were secured.

“Is one of those ships there yours?” asked Peter, in a hesitating tone.

“Why do you want to know, my lad?” inquired the seaman.

“Because I want to go and be a sailor in one of them,” said Peter.

“Then take my advice, and give up wanting,” said the seaman. “Better by half remain on shore, and tend sheep and cattle, as I have a notion you have been doing. None of the vessels are mine; I am only mate in the John and Mary, yonder,” pointing to a schooner which lay alongside the quay. “We have got a boy, and I would not have a hand in taking any youngster away from home unless he knew more about what he would have to go through than I suspect you do. Now go back, lad, whence you came,” continued the mate, folding his arms and puffing away at the pipe he had in his mouth.

One or two other sailors laughed at him or roughly turned aside without deigning to answer.

At last he reached a two-masted vessel, in reality a brig, somewhat larger than the rest, but her deck was black with coal-dust, and everything about her had a dark, grimy look. A rough, black-bearded, strongly-built man, better dressed than some of those he had spoken to, was stepping on shore by the plank which formed a communication between the vessel and the quay. Peter guessed rightly that he was the captain. Beginning to feel that his hope of going to sea was less likely to be accomplished than he had expected, he determined, with a feeling somewhat akin to desperation, to address him, though the expression of his countenance was far from encouraging.

“Do you want a boy on board your ship, sir?” he said, touching his hat, as his mother had taught him to do when addressing his betters.

“What, run away from home?” asked the man, stopping, and looking down upon him.

“I have no home, sir,” answered Peter.

“What, no father and mother?”

“No, sir,” said Peter. “Mother is dead, and father, they say, is dead, too.”

“Then you will do for me. As it happens, I do want a boy. Here, Jim,” he said, turning round, and addressing a sailor as rough-looking as he was himself, but much dirtier, who appeared at the companion-hatch; “here’s a lad for you. You had better keep an eye on him, as maybe he will change his mind, and run off again. Go aboard, boy,” he added, turning to Peter, “Jim will look after you, and show you what you have got to do.”

The captain went into the town, and old Jim, who proved to be the mate, took charge of Peter.

Old Jim asked him several questions. The answers which Peter gave appeared to satisfy him.

Peter inquired the captain’s name.

“Captain Hawkes; and our brig is the Polly,” answered Jim. “You won’t find a finer craft between this and ‘No man’s land,’ if you know where that is.”

Peter saw that she was the largest vessel in the harbour, and so readily believed what the mate said.

The old man asked him if he was hungry, and Peter acknowledging; that such was the case, he took him down into the cabin, and after giving him some bread and ham, offered him a tumbler of rum and water. Peter, who had never tasted spirits, said he would rather not take the rum, whereon old Jim laughed at him and drank it himself.

“We shall all get under weigh with the evening tide if the wind holds fair, for it’s off the land you see, and will take us out of the harbour,” he observed. “You had better lie down till then on the locker and get some sleep, for may be you will find your first night at sea rather strange to you.”

“Where is the vessel going to?” asked Peter, who fully expected to be told that it was to the Holy Land, or India, or some of the few other distant countries of which he had heard.

“We are bound to Newcastle first to take in coals, and it’s more than I can tell you where we shall go after that.”

“Is Newcastle in a far-off country?” asked Peter.

“It’s a good bit from here,” said old Jim; “and if you want to be a sailor, you will have a fair chance of learning before the voyage is out, and so take my advice and don’t trouble yourself about the matter. Do as I tell you, just lie down—you would have slept all the sounder if you had taken the grog, though.”

Old Jim was afraid, perhaps, that Peter would get talking to the rest of the crew, and hear something about Captain Hawkes which might induce him to go on shore again, the last boy having run from the ship, though shoeless and penniless, rather than endure the treatment he had received.

Peter, not suspecting old Jim’s motive, sat down on the locker in the cabin. Not feeling disposed to sleep he took up his Bible, as he had been accustomed to do when tending sheep on the Springvale downs, and began to read. Old Jim gazed at him with open eyes. To see a ship’s-boy reading a book, and that book the Bible, as he guessed it to be, was entirely out of his experience. “He must be a curious chap,” he said to himself; “I don’t know that he will suit us, after all; but then he will soon get all that knocked out of him I have a notion.”

Peter, who never failed to pray that God’s Holy Spirit would enlighten his mind when he read the Bible, was so completely absorbed in perusing the sacred page, that he did not observe old Jim’s glances, nor hear his muttered words. At length, feeling his eyes heavy, he closed the book and replaced it in his bosom. Then he lay down, as he had been advised, on the locker, and was soon fast asleep. The fatigue he had gone through, and the heat of the cabin, made him sleep soundly, and he did not hear the noise of the men’s feet on deck as the warps were cast off, or their “yeo! yeo! yeos!” as they hoisted the sails.

The captain, who came into the cabin to deposit his papers and several articles he had brought on board, did not rouse him up, and the Polly gliding smoothly out of the harbour, was some distance from the land before he awoke.

The sun, a bright ball of fire setting the heavens all ablaze, was