Lost Lenore: The Adventures of a Rolling Stone. Майн Рид
I have every reason to believe, that this declaration on my part elevated me several degrees in the captain’s good opinion.
He replied by expressing a hope, that I would not aspire to the command of the ship; and if not, he would see what could be done for me.
The vessel was bound for Liverpool with cotton; and was owned by the captain himself, whose name was Hyland.
I was never better treated in my life, than on board that ship.
I was not assigned to any particular occupation, or watch; but no advantage was taken of this circumstance, on the captain’s part, to make me do too much, or by me to do too little.
I was generally on deck all the day; and whenever I saw anything useful that I could do, it was done.
In this way, both watches had the aid of my valuable services—which, however, were not always sufficiently appreciated to prevent a few sharp words being applied to me. But a boy aboard of a ship soon learns to take no notice of such trifles.
I was ordered to mess with the sailmaker, who—as I afterwards learnt—was directed by the captain to look well after me.
On our arrival in Liverpool, the ship was docked, and the crew went ashore, with the exception of two men—both strangers to me—who with myself were left on board.
One of the men had something to do with the Custom House; and tried hard to induce me to go ashore, along with the rest of the crew. But the ship being my only home, I was not willing to leave her; and I resisted all the inducements held out by the Custom House officer to that effect. The captain had gone away from the ship, after seeing her safe into port; but I would not leave the vessel lest I should never meet him again: for something told me he was my truest friend.
The next day he came on board again; and seemed rather surprised at finding me there.
“Ah! little Rolling Stone,” said he, “I’ve been inquiring for you; and am pleased to see you have not gone ashore. What do you intend to do with yourself?”
“Stay here,” I answered, “until the ship sails again.”
“No, you can’t stop here,” said the captain. “You must come ashore, and live somewhere—until the ship is made ready for sea.”
He continued to talk with me for half-an-hour; and obtained from me a full account of the circumstances under which I had left my home.
“If I thought that you would stay with me, and do something for yourself,” said Captain Hyland, after hearing my story, “I would endeavour to make a man of you.”
My reply to this was, that I preferred a life on the sea to any other, and that I left Captain Brannon, for the simple reason that I did not like either him, or the man who had placed me under his control.
“Very well,” said the captain, “I’ll keep you awhile on trial; and if you prove ungrateful for what I shall do for you, you will injure yourself, more than you can me.”
After this conversation, he took me ashore, bought me a suit of clothes; and then told me to accompany him to his own home.
I found that Captain Hyland had a wife and one child—a girl about ten years of age.
I thought there could be nothing in the universe more beautiful than that girl. Perhaps there was not. Why should not my opinion on such subjects be as correct as that of others? But no man living could have looked upon Lenore Hyland, without being convinced that she was very beautiful.
Six weeks passed before the ship was again ready for sea; and during that time I resided at the captain’s house, and was the constant companion of his little daughter, Lenore.
In the interval, my kind protector asked me—whether I would not like to go to Dublin for a few days, and see my mother.
I told him that the “Hope” would then be in Dublin; and that I would certainly be handed over to Captain Brannon.
He reflected for a moment; and then allowed the subject to drop.
I did feel some anxiety concerning my relatives; but was too happy in Liverpool, to change my condition by going to visit them.
In order to satisfy my conscience, I thought of several reasons why I should not go home. They were easily found: for very idiotic, indeed, is that mind that cannot find arguments, in support of desires emanating from itself—whether they be right or wrong.
I knew that in whatever state I might find my relatives—or whatever might have been the conduct of Mr Leary towards them—I would be powerless either to aid them or punish him.
I strove my best to make as little trouble as possible in my new home, and to gain the good will of Mrs Hyland. I had every reason to believe that my efforts were successful.
In justice to her, I should state that my task was not so difficult, as it would have been with most women: for she was a kind-hearted lady, who had the discernment to perceive that I was anxious to deserve, as well as obtain her esteem.
Before the ship was ready to sail, Lenore had learnt to call me brother; and when parting with her to go on board, her sorrow was expressed in a manner that gave me much gratification.
Perhaps it is wrong for any one to feel pleasure at the demonstrations of another’s grief; but there are circumstances when such will be the case, whether wrong or not. Unfortunate, indeed, is that lonely being, who has not in the wide world one acquaintance from whom he can part, with eyes dimmed by the bright drops of sorrow.
There are thousands of seamen, who have wandered long and far from every early tie of kindred and friendship. They form no others; but wander over the earth unloving, unloved and unknown—as wretched, reckless and lone, as the “last man,” spoken of by the poet Campbell.
There is ever a bright spot in the soul of that man, who has reason to believe that there is some one, who thinks of him with kindness when far away; and that one bright spot will often point out the path of virtue—which otherwise might have been passed, undiscovered, or unheeded.
Volume One—Chapter Seven.
Choosing a Horse.
The reader may justly say that I have dwelt too long on the incidents of my early years. As my excuse for having done so, I can only urge, that the first parts we play on the stage of life appear of more importance to us than what they really are; and are consequently remembered more distinctly and with greater interest than those of later occurrence.
I will try not to offend in the same way again; and, as some compensation for having been too tedious, I shall pass over nearly three years of my existence—without occupying much space in describing the incidents that transpired during this period. Circumstances aid me in doing so, for these three years were spent in a tranquil, happy manner. They produced no change in my situation: for I remained in the same employment—in the service of Captain Hyland.
The ship “Lenore,” owned and commanded by him, was a regular trader between Liverpool and New Orleans.
In our voyages, the captain took as much trouble in trying to teach me navigation—and all other things connected with the profession of the sea—as he could have done had I been his own son.
I appreciated his kindness; and had the gratification to know that my efforts to deserve it met with his warmest approbation.
At every return to Liverpool, and during our sojourn there, his house was my home. At each visit, my friendship for Mrs Hyland, and her beautiful daughter Lenore, became stronger. It was mutual too; and I came to be regarded almost as one of the family.
When in Liverpool,