George Henty - By Conduct and Courage - A Story of the Days of Nelson

“I hate books,” the boy said; “still, I will try what I can do. But at any rate I don’t care much so that I am with you.”

“Well, we will see about it when the time comes, Tommy. Miss Warden was married, as you know, last week. In another three months she will be at Scarborough, and she has promised that her husband will try to get me apprenticed either there or at Whitby, which is a large port. Directly I get on board a ship I will let you know if there is a vacancy in her for a cabin-boy. But you think it over well first; you will find it difficult, for I don’t expect your uncle will let you go.”

“I don’t care a snap about him. He is always knocking me about, and I don’t care what he likes and what he don’t. You may be sure that I sha’n’t ask him, but shall make off at night as soon as I hear from you. You won’t forget me, will you, Will?”

“Certainly I will not; you may be quite sure of that. Mind, I don’t promise that I shall be able to get you a berth as cabin-boy at once, or as an apprentice. I only promise that I will do so as soon as I have a chance. It may be a month, and it may be a year; it may even be three or four years, for though there is always a demand for men, at least so I have heard, there may not be any demand for boys. But you may be sure that I will not keep you waiting any longer than I can help.”

One day Will was walking along the cliffs, feeling very solitary, when he heard a faint cry, and, looking down, saw Tom Stevens in a deep pool. It had precipitous sides, and he was evidently unable to climb out. “Hold on, Tom,” he shouted, “I will come to you.”

It was half a mile before he could get to a place where he was able to climb down, and when he reached the shore he ran with breathless speed to the spot where Tom’s head was still above the water. He saw at once that his friend’s strength was well-nigh spent, and, leaping in, he swam to him. “Put your arms round my neck,” he said. “I will swim down with you to the point where the creek ends.” The boy was too far gone to speak, and it needed all Will’s strength to help him down the deep pool to the point where it joined the sea, and then to haul him ashore.

“I was nearly gone, Will,” the boy said when he recovered a little.

“Yes, I saw that. But how on earth did you manage to get into the water?”

“I was running along by the side of the cliff, when my foot slipped. I came down on my knee and hurt myself frightfully; I was in such pain that I could not stop myself from rolling over. I tried to swim, which, of course, would have been nothing for me, but I think my knee is smashed, and it hurt me so frightfully that I screamed out with pain, and had to give up. I could not have held on much longer, and should certainly have been drowned had you not seen me. I was never so pleased as when I heard your voice above.”

“Can you walk now, do you think?”

“No, I am sure I can’t walk by myself, but I might if I leant on you. I will try anyhow.”

He hobbled along for a short distance, but at last said: “It is of no use, Will, I can’t go any farther.”

“Well, get on my back and I will see what I can do for you.”

Slowly and with many stoppages Will got him to the point where he descended the cliff. “I must get help to carry you up here, Tom; it is very steep, and I am sure I could not take you myself. I must go into the village and bring assistance.”

“I will wait here till morning, Will. There will be no hardship in that, and I know that you don’t like speaking to anyone.”

“I will manage it,” Will said cheerfully. “I will tell John Hammond, and he will go to your uncle and get help.”

“Ah, that will do! Most of the men are out, but I dare say there will be two or three at home.”

Will ran all the way back to the village, which was more than a mile away. “Tom Stevens is lying at the foot of the cliff, father. I think he has broken his leg, and he has been nearly drowned. Will you go and see his uncle, and get three or four men to carry him home. You know very well it is no use my going to his uncle. He would not listen to what I have to say, and would simply shower abuse upon me.”

“I will go,” the old man said. “The boy can’t be left there.”

In a quarter of an hour the men started. Will went ahead of them for some distance until he reached the top of the path. “He is down at the bottom,” he said, and turned away. Tom was brought home, and roundly abused by his uncle for injuring himself so that he would be unable to accompany him in his boat for some days. He lay for a week in bed, and was then only able to hobble about with the aid of a stick. When he related how Will had saved him there was a slight revulsion of feeling among the better-disposed boys, but this was of short duration. It became known that a French lugger would soon be on the coast. Will was not allowed to approach the edge of the cliff, being assailed by curses and threats if he ventured to do so. Every care was taken to throw the coast-guard off the scent, but things went badly. There was some sharp fighting, and a considerable portion of the cargo was seized as it was being carried up the cliff.

The next day Tom hurried up to Will, who was a short way out on the moor.

“You must run for your life, Will. There are four or five of the men who say that you betrayed them last night, and I do believe they will throw you over the cliff. Here they come! The best thing you can do is to make for the coast-guard station.”

Will saw that the four men who were coming along were among the roughest in the village, and started off immediately at full speed. With oaths and shouts the men pursued him. The coast-guard station was two miles away, and he reached it fifty yards in front of them. The men stopped, shouting:“You are safe there, but as soon as you leave it we will have you.”

“What is the matter, lad?” the sub-officer in charge of the station said.

“Those men say that I betrayed them, but you know ’tis false, sir.”

“Certainly I do. I know you well by sight, and believe that you are a good young fellow. I have always heard you well spoken of. What makes them think that?”

“It is because I would not agree to go on acting as watcher. I did not know that there was any harm in it till Miss Warden told me, and then I would not do it any longer, and that set all the village against me.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I will stay here to-night if you will let me. I am sure they will keep up a watch for me.”

“I will sling a hammock for you,” the man said. “Now we are just going to have dinner, and I dare say you can eat something. You are the boy they call Miss Warden’s pet, are you not?”

“Yes, they call me so. She has been very kind to me, and has helped me on with my books.”

“Ah, well, a boy is sure to get disliked by his fellows when he is cleverer with his books than they are!”

After dinner the officer said: “It is quite clear that you won’t be able to return to the village. I think I have heard that you have no father. Is it not so?”

“Yes, he died when I was five years old. He left a little money, and John Hammond took me in and bought a boat with that and what he had saved. I was bound to stay with him until I was fourteen years old, but was soon going to leave him, for he is really too old to go out any longer.”

“Have you ever thought of going into the royal navy?”

“I have thought of it, sir, but I have not settled anything. I thought of going into the merchant navy.”

“Bah! I am surprised at a lad of spirit like you thinking of such a thing. If you have learned a lot you will, if you are steady, be sure to get on in time, and may very well become a petty officer. No lad of spirit would take to the life of a merchantman who could enter the navy. I don’t say that some of the Indiamen are not fine ships, but you would find it very hard to get a berth on one of them. Our lieutenant will be over here in a day or two, and I have no doubt that if I speak to him for you he will ship you as a boy in a fine ship.”