For Name and Fame; Or, Through Afghan Passes Read online

  Chapter 2: The Foundling.

  It was a bitterly cold night in January. The wind was roaringacross the flats and fens of Cambridgeshire, driving tiny flakes ofsnow before it. But few people had been about all day, and thosewhose business compelled them to face the weather had hurriedalong, muffled up to the chin. It was ten at night; and the porterand his wife at the workhouse, at Ely, had just gone to bed, whenthe woman exclaimed:

  "Sam, I hear a child crying."

  "Oh, nonsense!" the man replied, drawing the bedclothes higher overhis head. "It is the wind; it's been whistling all day."

  The woman was silent, but not convinced. Presently she sat up inbed.

  "I tell you, Sam, it's a child; don't you hear it, man? It's achild, outside the gate. On such a night as this, too. Get up, man,and see; if you won't, I will go myself."

  "Lie still, woman. It's all thy fancy."

  "You are a fool, Sam Dickson," his wife said, sharply. "Do youthink I have lived to the age of forty-five, and don't know achild's cry, when I hear it? Now are you going to get up, or am I?"

  With much grumbling, the porter turned out of bed, slipped on apair of trousers and a greatcoat, took down the key from the wall,lighted a lantern, and went out. He opened the gate, and lookedout. There was nothing to be seen; and he was about to close thegate again, with a curse on his wife's fancies, when a fresh crybroke on his ears. He hurried out now and, directed by the voice,found lying near the gate a child, wrapped in a dark-colored shawl,which had prevented him from seeing it at his first glance. Therewas no one else in sight.

  Illustration: Sam Dickson finds little Willie Gale.

  The man lifted his lantern above his head, and gave a shout. Therewas no answer. Then he raised the child and carried it in; lockedthe door, and entered the lodge.

  "You are right, for once," he said. "Here is a child, and a prettyheavy one, too. It has been deserted by someone; and a heartlesscreature she must have been, for in another half hour it would havebeen frozen to death, if you had not heard it."

  The woman was out of bed now.

  "It is a boy," she said, opening the shawl, "about two years old, Ishould say.

  "Don't cry, my boy--don't cry.

  "It's half frozen, Sam. The best thing will be to put it into ourbed, that has just got warm. I will warm it up a little milk. It'sno use taking it into the ward, tonight."

  Ten minutes later the child was sound asleep; the porter--who was agood-natured man--having gone over to sleep in an empty bed in thehouse, leaving the child to share his wife's bed.

  In the morning the foundling opened its eyes and looked round.Seeing everything strange, it began to cry.

  "Don't cry, dear," the woman said. "I will get you some nicebreakfast, directly."

  The kindness of tone at once pacified the child. It looked round.

  "Where's mother?" he asked.

  "I don't know, dear. We shall find her soon enough, no doubt; don'tyou fret."

  The child did not seem inclined to fret. On the contrary, hebrightened up visibly.

  "Will she beat Billy, when she comes back?"

  "No, my dear, she sha'n't beat you. Does she often beat you?"

  The child nodded its head several times, emphatically.

  "Then she's a bad lot," the woman said, indignantly.

  The child ate its breakfast contentedly, and was then carried bythe porter's wife to the master, who had already heard thecircumstance of its entry.

  "It's of no use asking such a baby whether it has any name," hesaid; "of course, it would not know. It had better go into theinfants' ward. The guardians will settle what its name shall be. Wewill set the police at work, and try and find out something aboutits mother. It is a fine-looking little chap; and she must beeither a thoroughly bad one, or terribly pressed, to desert it likethis. Most likely it is a tramp and, in that case, it's odds weshall never hear further about it.

  "Any distinguishing mark on its clothes?"

  "None at all, sir. It is poorly dressed, and seems to have beenvery bad treated. Its skin is dirty, and its little back is blackand blue with bruises; but it has a blood mark on the neck, whichwill enable its mother to swear to it, if it's fifty yearshence--but I don't suppose we shall ever hear of her, again."

  That afternoon, however, the news came that the body of a tramp hadbeen found, frozen to death in a ditch near the town. She hadapparently lost her way and, when she had fallen in, was so numbedand cold that she was unable to rise, and so had been drowned inthe shallow water. When the master heard of it, he sent for theporter's wife.

  "Mrs. Dickson," he said, "you had better take that child down, andlet it see the tramp they have found, frozen to death. The child istoo young to be shocked at death, and will suppose she is asleep.But you will be able to see if he recognizes her."

  There was no doubt as to the recognition. The child started interror, when he saw the woman lying in the shed into which she hadbeen carried. It checked its first impulse to cry out, butstruggled to get further off.

  "Moder asleep," he said, in a whisper. "If she wake, she beatBilly."

  That was enough. The woman carried him back to the house.

  "She's his mother, sir, sure enough," she said to the master,"though how she should be puzzles me. She is dressed in prettydecent clothes; but she is as dark as a gypsy, with black hair.This child is fair, with a skin as white as milk, now he iswashed."

  "I daresay he takes after his father," the master--who was apractical man--said. "I hear that there is no name on her things,no paper or other article which would identify her in her pockets;but there is two pounds, twelve shillings in her purse, so she wasnot absolutely in want. It will pay the parish for her funeral."

  An hour later the guardians assembled and, upon hearing thecircumstances of the newcomer's admission, and the death of thetramp, they decided that the child should be entered in the booksas "William Gale,"--the name being chosen with a reference to theweather during which he came into the house--and against his name anote was written, to the effect that his mother--a tramp, nameunknown--had, after leaving him at the door of the workhouse, beenfound frozen to death next day.

  William Gale grew, and throve. He was a quiet and contented child;accustomed to be shut up all day alone, while his mother was outwashing, the companionship of other children in the workhouse was apleasant novelty and, if the food was not such as a dainty childwould fancy, it was at least as good as he had been accustomed to.

  The porter's wife continued to be the fast friend of the child whomshe had saved from death. The fact that she had done so gave her aninterest in it. Her own children were out in service, or at work inthe fields; and the child was a pleasure to her. Scarce a daypassed, then, that she would not go across the yard up to theinfants' ward, and bring Billy down to the lodge; where he wouldplay contentedly by the hour, or sit watching her, and sucking at acake, while she washed or prepared her husband's dinner.

  Billy was seldom heard to cry. Perhaps he had wept all his stock oftears away, before he entered the house. He had seldom fits of badtemper, and was a really lovable child. Mrs. Dickson never waveredin the opinion she had first formed--that the dead tramp was notBilly's mother--but as no one else agreed with her, she kept herthoughts to herself.

  The years passed on, and William Gale was now no longer in theinfants' ward, but took his place in the boys' school. Here he atonce showed an intelligence beyond that of the other boys of hisown age. The hours which he had, each day, spent in the porter'slodge had not been wasted. The affection of the good woman hadbrightened his life, and he had none of the dull, downcast look socommon among children in workhouses. She had encouraged him to talkand play, had taught him the alphabet, and supplied him with anoccasional picture book, with easy words. Indeed, she devoted farmore time to him than many mothers, in her class of life, can giveto their children.

  The guardians, as they went in and out to board meeting, woulddelight her by remarking:

  "That is really a fine
little fellow, Mrs. Dickson. He really doesyou credit. A fine, sturdy, independent little chap."

  The child, of course, wore the regular uniform of workhousechildren; but Mrs. Dickson--who was handy with her needle--used tocut and alter the clothes to fit him, and thus entirely changedtheir appearance.

  "He looks like a gentleman's child," one of the guardians said, oneday.

  "I believe he is a gentleman's child, sir. Look at his white skin;see how upright he is, with his head far back, as if he wassomebody. He is different, altogether, from the run of them. Ialways said he came of good blood, and I shall say so to my dyingday."

  "It may be so, Mrs. Dickson; but the woman who left him here, if Iremember right, did not look as if she had any good blood in her."

  "Not likely, sir. She never came by him honestly, I am sure. Icouldn't have believed she was his mother, not if she had sworn toit with her dying breath."

  Mrs. Dickson's belief was not without influence upon the boy. Whenhe was old enough to understand, she told him the circumstances ofhis having been found at the workhouse door, and of the discoveryof the woman who had brought him there; and impressed upon him herown strong conviction that this was not his mother.

  "I believe, Billy," she said, over and over again, "that yourparents were gentlefolk. Now mind, it does not make one bit ofdifference to you, for it ain't likely you will ever hear of them.Still, please God, you may do so; and it is for you to bear it inmind, and to act so as--if you were to meet them--they need not beashamed of you. You have got to earn your living just like all theother boys here; but you can act right, and straight, andhonorable.

  "Never tell a lie, Billy; not if it's to save yourself from beingthrashed ever so much. Always speak out manful, and straight, nomatter what comes of it. Don't never use no bad words, work hard atyour books, and try to improve yourself. Keep it always before youthat you mean to be a good man, and a gentleman, some day and, markmy words, you will do it."

  "You're spoiling that child," her husband would say, "filling hishead with your ridiculous notions."

  "No, I am not spoiling him, Sam. I'm doing him good. It will helpkeep him straight, if he thinks that he is of gentle blood, andmust not shame it. Why, the matron said only yesterday she couldnot make him out, he was so different from other boys."

  "More's the pity," grumbled the porter. "It mayn't do him harmnow--I don't say as it does; but when he leaves the house he'll beabove his work, and will be discontented, and never keep a place."

  "No, he won't," his wife asserted stoutly; although, in her heart,she feared that there was some risk of her teaching having thateffect.

  So far, however, there could be no doubt that her teaching had beenof great advantage to the boy; and his steadiness and diligencesoon attracted the attention of the schoolmaster. Schoolmasters arealways ready to help pupils forward who promise to be a credit tothem, and William Gale's teacher was no exception. He was not alearned man--very far from it. He had been a grocer who had failedin business and, having no other resource, had accepted the verysmall salary offered, by the guardians of Ely workhouse, as theonly means which presented itself of keeping out of one of thepauper wards of that institution. However, he was not a bad reader,and wrote an excellent hand. With books of geography and historybefore him, he could make no blunders in his teaching; and althoughhe might have been failing in method, he was not harsh orunkind--and the boys, therefore, learned as much with him as theymight have done with a more learned master, of a harsherdisposition.

  He soon recognized not only William's anxiety to learn, but thefearlessness and spirit with which he was always ready to own afault, and to bear its punishment. On several occasions he broughtthe boy before the notice of the guardians, when they came roundthe school and, when questions had to be asked before visitors,William Gale was always called up as the show boy.

  This prominence would have made him an object of dislike, among theother lads of his own age; had it not been that William was alively, good-tempered boy; and if, as sometimes happened on theseoccasions, a sixpence or shilling was slipped into his hand by somevisitor, who was taken by his frank open face and brightintelligent manner, it was always shared among his school fellows.

  At one of the examinations the wife of a guardian, who was presentwith her husband, said on returning home:

  "It must be very dull for those poor boys. I will pack up some ofthe boys' books, and send them. Now they have gone to college, theywill never want them again; and they would make quite a library forthe workhouse boys. There must be twenty or thirty of them, atleast."

  If ladies could but know what brightness they can infuse into thelives of lads, placed like these in Ely workhouse, by a simple actof kindness of this kind, there would not be an institution in thekingdom without a well-supplied library. The gift infused a newlife into the school. Hitherto the world outside had been a sealedbook to the boys. They knew of no world, save that included withinthe walls of the house. Their geography told them of other landsand people, but these were mere names, until now.

  Among the books were Robinson Crusoe, Midshipman Easy, PeterSimple, three or four of Cooper's Indian tales, Dana's Life beforethe Mast, and several of Kingston's and Ballantyne's books. Theseopened a wonderland of life and adventure to the boys. Theschoolmaster used to give them out, at twelve o'clock; and theywere returned at two, when school recommenced; and only such boysas obtained full marks for their lessons were allowed to have them.In this way, instead of the library being a cause of idleness--assome of the guardians predicted, when they heard of itspresentation--it was an incentive to work.

  Certainly its perusal filled the minds of most of the boys with anintense longing to go to sea but, as there is always a demand forapprentices for the Yarmouth and Lowestoft smacks, the guardiansdid not disapprove of this bent being given to their wishes--indeed,as no premium had to be paid, with apprentices to smack owners,while in most trades a premium is required, a preference was givento the sea by the guardians.

  When William Gale reached the age of fifteen, and was broughtbefore the board to choose the trade to which he would beapprenticed, he at once said that he would go to sea. There wereapplications from several smack masters for apprentices; and he,with the five other boys brought up with him, were all of oneopinion in the matter.

  "Mind, lads," the chairman said, "the life of an apprentice onboard a North Sea smack is a hard one. You will get a great manymore kicks than half pence. It will be no use grumbling, when youhave once made your choice. It is a rough, hard life--none rougher,or harder. When you have served your time, it will be open to youeither to continue as smacksmen, or to ship as seamen in sea-goingships.

  "Sailors who hail from the eastern fishing ports are alwaysregarded as amongst the best of our seamen. Still, it is a roughlife, and a dangerous one. The hardest life, on shore, is easy incomparison. There is time to change your minds, before you sign;when you have done so, it will be too late. Are you alldetermined?"

  None of them wavered. Their signatures were attached to theindentures, and they were told that the porter would take them toYarmouth, on the following day. William Gale obtained leave tospend his last evening at the porter's lodge, and there he talkedvery seriously, with Mrs. Dickson, over his future prospects.

  "I know," he said, "from Dana's book, that the life is a very roughone, but that will not matter. A sailor, when he has been fouryears at sea, can pass his examination as a mate; and I mean towork hard, and pass as soon as I can. I don't care how much I amknocked about, that's nothing; there's a good chance of getting on,in the end."

  "You will meet a great many bad boys, Bill; don't you let them leadyou into their ways."

  "Don't be afraid of that," he answered, "I won't do anything Ishould be ashamed of, afterwards. You have taught me better."

  "I suppose the guardians gave you a Bible, today; they always do,when boys goes out."

  Will nodded.

  "Be sure you read it often, my boy. You read that, and stick to
it,and you won't go far wrong. You know what the parson said, lastSunday:

  "'No one is strong in himself, but God gives strength.'"

  "I remember," Will said. "I made up my mind, then, that I'd bear itin mind, and act upon it when I could. I think the thought of God,and the thought that I may meet my parents--and they must not beashamed of me--will help me to be honest, and firm."

  "I hope, Bill, you will come, sometimes, and see me, when you areashore."

  "I shall be sure to do that, when I can," he answered. "But ofcourse, I shall have no money, at first; and it may be a long timebefore I can pay my railway fare here; but you may be sure I willcome. Whoever may be my real mother, you are the only mother I everknew, and no mother could have been kinder. When I grow to be aman, and go to sea in big ships, I will bring you all sorts ofpretty things from abroad and, if ever you should want it, you maybe sure that my wages will be quite as much yours as if I had been,really, your son!"

  Sam Dickson gave a snort. It was very good of the boy, but heconsidered it his duty to snub him, in order to counteract what heconsidered to be the pernicious counsels and treatment of his wife.

  "Fine talk," he said, "fine talk. We shall see."

  "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Sam Dickson," his wife said,wrathfully. "The boy means what he says, and I believe him. Ifanything was to happen to you, and that boy was growed up, Ibelieve he would come forward to lend me a helping hand, just as hesays, as if he were my son. The gals is good gals, but gals inservice have plenty to do with their wages--what with dress, andone thing or another. We must never look for much help from thembut, if Bill is doing well, and I ever come to want, I believe ashis heart would be good to help, a bit."

  "Well," the porter said, dryly, "there's time enough to see aboutit, yet. I ain't dead, you ain't a pauper, and he ain't a man, notby a long way."

  "Well, you needn't go to be short tempered over it, Sam. The boysays as he'll be as good as a son to me, if the time ever comes ashow I may want it. There is no call for you to fly out, as if he'dsaid as he'd poison me, if he'd the chance.

  "Anyhow, you'll write to me regular, won't you, Bill?"

  "That I will," the boy said. "Every time I gets back to port, I'llwrite; and you'll write sometimes, won't you? And tell me how youare, and how every one is, schoolmaster and all. They have all beenvery kind to me, and I have nothing to say against any of them."

  The next morning William Gale laid aside, for ever, his workhousedress; and put on a suit of rough blue cloth, fitted for his futurework. Then, bidding adieu to all his friends, he--with his fivefellow apprentices--started by rail, under charge of Sam Dickson,for Yarmouth.

  The journey itself was, to them, a most exciting event. They had,in all their remembrance, never been a mile from the workhouse; andthe swift motion of the train, the changing scenery, the villagesand stations, were a source of immense interest. As they nearedYarmouth their excitement increased, for now they were nearing thesea; of which they had read so much, but could form so little idea.They were disappointed, however, inasmuch as no glimpse wasobtained of it, as they crossed the flat country leading to thetown but, failing the sea, Yarmouth itself--the town which washenceforth to be their headquarters--was in the highest degreeinteresting.

  Presently the train reached the station, and then Sam Dickson--whohad made many annual journeys to Yarmouth, on the same errand--atonce started off with them to the smack owners who had written tothe workhouse. These lived at Gorleston, a large village on thesouth side of the river. Walking down from the station, the boyscaught a glimpse of the river, and were delighted at the sight ofthe long line of smacks, and coasters, lying by the wharvesopposite.

  Presently they left the road, and made their way down to the riverside. Their guardian had great difficulty in getting them along, sointerested were they in the smacks lying alongside. Presently theystopped at a large wooden building, over which was the name of"James Eastrey."

  "Here we are," Sam Dickson said. "Now, stop quietly outside. I willcall three of you up, when I have spoken to Mr. Eastrey."

  Presently the porter re-appeared at the door, and called three ofthe boys in. William Gale was one of the number, James Eastreybeing the name of the owner to whom he had signed his indentures.

  A smell of tar pervaded the whole place. Nets, sails, and cordagewere piled in great heaps in the store; iron bolts and buckets,iron heads for trawls, and ship's stores of all kinds.

  Mr. Eastrey came out from a little wooden office.

  "So," he said, "you are the three lads who are going to be myapprentices. Well, boys, it is a rough life but, if you take theups and downs as they come, it is not a bad one. I always tell mycaptains to be kind to the boys but, when they are at sea, they donot always act as I wish them. When you are on shore, between thevoyages, I give you eight shillings a week, to keep yourselves; orI put you in the Smack Boys' Home, and pay for you there. The lastis the best place for you, but some boys prefer to go their ownway.

  "I suppose you are all anxious to go to sea--boys always are, forthe first time. One of my boats is going out, tomorrow.

  "You," he said, pointing to William Gale, "shall go in her. What isyour name?"

  "William Gale, sir."

  "Very well, William Gale, then you shall be off first. The otherswill only have a day or two to wait.

  "I can only send one new hand in each smack. The others will go tothe Home, till the smacks are ready. I will send a man with them,at once. They can have a day to run about the town. I shall findplenty of work for them, afterwards.

  "You, Gale, will stop on the smack. I will take you on board, inhalf an hour, when I have finished my letter."

  The three lads said goodbye to their comrades and to Sam Dickson. Asailor was called up, and took two off to the Smack Boys' Home; andWill Gale sat down on a coil of rope, to wait till his employer wasready to take him down to the craft to which he was, henceforth, tobelong.