Vandemarks Folly | Page 7

I was whisked off into a new life.
CHAPTER II
I LEARN AND DO SOME TEACHING
I lay in a bunk in one of the two little forward cabins next the stable,
shivering and sobbing, a pitiful picture of misery, I suppose, as any one
ever saw. I began bawling as soon as the captain commenced putting
arnica on my back--partly because it smarted so, and partly because he
was so very gentle about it; although all the time he was swearing at
John Rucker and wishing he had skinned him alive, as he pretty nearly
did. To feel a gentle hand on my shredded back, and to be babied a
little bit--these things seemed to break my heart almost, though while
Rucker was flogging me I bore it without a cry or a tear. The captain
dressed my back, and said, "There, there, Bubby!" and went away,
leaving me alone.
I could hear the ripple of the water against the side of the boat, and
once in a while a gentle lift as we passed another boat; but there was
nothing much in these things to cheer me up. I was leaving John
Rucker behind, it was true, but I was also getting farther and farther
from my mother every minute. What would she do without me? What
should I do without her? I should be free of the slavery of the factory;
but I did not think of that. I should have been glad to the bottom of my
heart if I could have blotted out of my life all this new tragedy and
gone back to the looms and spindles. The factory seemed an awful
place now that I was free, but it was familiar; and being free was awful,
too; but I never once thought of going back. I knew I could learn to
drive the horses, and I knew I should stay with the captain who had
flogged John Rucker. I who had never thought of running away was
just as much committed to the new life as if I had planned for it for
years. Inside my spirit I suppose I had been running away every time I
had gone down and watched the boats float by; and something stronger
than my conscious will floated me along, also. I fought myself to keep
from crying; but I never thought of running up on deck, jumping ashore
and going home, as I could easily have done at any time within an hour

of boarding the boat. I buried my face in the dirty pillow with no
pillow-case on it, and filled my mouth with the patchwork quilt. It
seemed as though I should die of weeping. My breath came in long
spasmodic draughts, as much deeper and bitterer than sighs as sighs are
sadder and more pitiful than laughter. My whipped back pained and
smarted me, but that was not what made me cry so dreadfully; I was in
the depths of despair; I was humiliated; I was suffering from injustice; I
had lost my mother--and at this thought my breath almost refused to
come at all. Presently I opened my eyes and found the captain throwing
water in my face. He never mentioned it afterward; but I suppose I had
fainted away. Then I went to sleep, and when I awoke it was dark and I
did not know where I was, and screamed. The captain himself quieted
me for a few minutes, and I dropped off to sleep again. He had moved
me without my knowing it, from the drivers' cabin forward to his own.
But I must not spend our time on these things.
The captain's name was Eben Sproule. He had been a farmer and
sawmill man, and still had a farm between Herkimer and Little Falls on
the Mohawk River. He owned his boat, and seemed to be doing very
well with her. The other driver was a boy named Asa--I forget his other
name. We called him Ace. He lived at Salina, or Salt Point, which is
now a part of Syracuse; and was always, in his talk to me, daring the
captain to discharge him, and threatening to get a job in the salt Works
at Salina if ever he quit the canal. He seemed to think this would spite
Captain Sproule very much. I expected him to leave the boat when we
reached Syracuse; but he never did, and I think he kept on driving after
I quit. Our wages cost the boat twenty dollars a month--ten dollars
each--and the two hands we carried must have brought the pay-roll up
to about seventy a month besides our board. We always had four horses,
two in the stable forward, and two pulling the boat. We plied through to
Buffalo,