CHAPTER III
A LONG TRAMP TO THE SEA

The village clock in the old church tower was striking eleven. It was dreadfully dark, but the lads were not afraid, and they started off at a sharp trot, as soon as they had regained their liberty. For some distance they followed the tree-lined road that led away from the village. They kept on in silence till they reached the outskirts of Bogden Woods, then they took one of the narrow, winding paths that led down through the thicket, crossed the stream at the bottom of the dell, and ascended the opposite hill-side.

Still they kept on–now through the more open country, over hill and dale, until at the end of two hours, despite the darkness, they had put six good miles between themselves and the lock-up.

At last, fatigued beyond measure, they halted for a rest below Lin-Crag, one of the highest peaks in the Pennine Chain. Here, on the lower reaches of the moor, they made for themselves a bed of dried heather, where they could lie down.

"Here, let us rest awhile, Jack, for I'm dead beat," said Jamie.

"Right!" said his companion, "No one will discover us here."

After a short breathing space, they began to take stock of their possessions. Alas! Jamie had but a few pennies and half-pence, a piece of tar-band and a tinder-box, while Jack could only find a penknife, a pocket compass and a sixpence. This, then, was their stock-in-trade, and it did not promise them much luxury on their way to the sea.

"Now," said Jack, "I have an uncle who is captain of a ship that trades between the River Plate and Liverpool–Captain Elliot is his name, and the ship is called the Ilawara. If, when we get to Liverpool, he should happen to be in port, I am sure that he would give us both a berth aboard, for once, when father took me to see him, he advised me to become a sailor, when I had grown up."

"Capital! But let's see, how far away is Liverpool?"

"It must be about sixty miles away, and almost due west, right over the moors there, for I've often measured it roughly on the map. I think that's the west, though I can't quite see the needle of the compass in the dark."

"Yes, Jack, that's the west, right over the moors and over Lin-Crag too, and there are about twelve miles of moorland, with plenty of peat-bog, and soft ground, so that it will not be safe to go much further till daybreak."

"You're sure that's the west, Jamie?"

"Yes, certain. Why, look, you don't need a compass! There's the North Star, and the Cassiopean Guards, and right opposite is the south, and over there must be the east, as you'll soon see when the day breaks."

"Bravo, Jamie! You're as good as a compass."

"Then we'll sleep here, and at sunrise we'll get some food and start for Liverpool, and there'll be no going back for either of us. The die is cast, old fellow. What say you?"

"The die is cast! We will not go back."

They both laid themselves down on a couch of heather, there to spend the rest of the night, but they were too excited to sleep–the events of the past twenty-four hours chased each other through their brains. Jamie was nearly dozing off, however, when Jack suddenly leapt to his feet, and exclaimed–

"Here's a piece of luck, Jamie!"

"Why, what's the matter? How you did startle me!" cried the other.

"Just look here!" said Jack, ripping open the lining of his jacket, and taking out something that gleamed bright, even in the starlight.

"Why–it's a guinea! Where did you get it?"

"I'd forgotten all about it myself. About a month ago, Aunt Emma drove over from Honley, to see father, and when she went away, she said something about my being a poor motherless bairn, and she slipped this into my hand as she left. She asked me to buy myself a present with it."

"But you didn't?"

"No! I had a presentiment that when we ran away, we should want it, so I just sewed it into the lining of my coat, and till this moment, I'd entirely forgotten it."

"We're rich men, Jack. We are indeed in luck."

They were doubly excited now and quite unable to sleep, so they talked on about the future that lay before them, full of golden promise, when once they reached Liverpool. Then two hours before the dawn they fell fast asleep, and they slept so soundly that when at length they awoke the sun was nearly half-way to the meridian. Even then they were wakened by a rough but kindly voice that sounded in their ears–

"Here's a pretty sight, Jane! Come and see it. Here are two young gen'elmen, sleeping out o' doors." Then giving them both a hearty shake, he exclaimed, "What's the meaning o' this, young gen'elmen? Have you run away from school?"

Both boys sat up quickly, and rubbed their eyes. Then they looked around them, bewildered and astonished. Where were they? How came they here? Who was this big, burly-looking farmer before them?

It was a full half minute before they became fully conscious of all that had happened. At length they looked at each other, and then burst out laughing, for they were both relieved to find that the intruder was neither Old Click nor Beagle. Jane the milkmaid came over to the spot, leaving the cow that she had been milking, some twenty yards away.

The boys looked around them again to take their bearings before they replied to the farmer. A dozen cattle stood round about, chewing their cud lazily, and flicking off, with their long tails, the flies that had already begun to bother them, while beside the farmer stood his faithful sheep-dog, which had really first attracted his master's attention to the spot. The place where they had been sleeping was a sheltered little hollow, where the meadow joined the moor, while about two hundred yards away was a long, low farmhouse.

"I see you're running away from school, gen'elmen," repeated the farmer, good-humouredly, for there was a twinkle in his eye.

"Yes, sir," replied Jack, thinking it best to let it stop at that.

"An' where are you goin' to?"

"Liverpool–to the sea–"

A burst of laughter, like a minor explosion, came from the farmer. "Ah, I see. But ye'll be glad to get home before to-morrow night. I once tried it myself, I did. Walked all the way to Liverpool, and when I got there–ha! ha! ha!–the sea was rough, and I was 'skeered' an' I didn't like the look of it, and I turned back home, an' I tell ye, that for four days and for four nights I had nothing to eat, 'cept a few raw turnips. My poor feet were that sore an' blistered that I sometimes lay down and cried, and when at last, after six days, I limped back into the farm-yard yonder, my faither said–

"'What! Home again so soon, Jock? I didn't expect ye for anither week, lad!'

"'Could I ha' a basin o' porridge, faither?' I said meekly.

"'Jock,' he said, 'afore ye touch ony porridge, ye mun' earn it. Do ye see that heap o' stones there? Well, ye mun' wheel 'em across the yard there afore ye touch ony porridge here.'

"It was the same heap of stones that I had refused to wheel, and which had been the cause o' my setting off to Liverpool. I were that tired and faint an' hungry that I were ready to drop, but I simply said–

"'All right, faither,' and I began the task; but when I had wheeled a dozen barrow-loads or so, the old man saw me stagger once or twice.

"'That'll do! Porridge is ready, Jock, lad.' An' to my dying day I shall never taste anither meal half so foine as yon basin o' porridge, an' if ye lads 'll take my advice, ye'll just turn back, and go home again, for it'll come to that later, only then ye'll be footsore and tired and hungry. But please yersel's, I don't suppose ye'll listen to an old man," he added, as he saw a clouded and uneasy look come over their faces.

"We're not going back," said Jamie boldly. "Are we, Jack?"

"No! We'll die first."

"I thought so. Maybe you're hungry, and could do with a little breakfast, lads."

"Indeed, we could, sir, and we're willing to pay for it."

"Tut! tut! Come into the house, then." And the kindly old man led them to the farmhouse, where his wife simply said, "Puir lads," and soon provided for them a substantial meal.

A large steaming basin of oatmeal porridge was soon laid before each of them, made from rich milk, instead of water. They soon made short work of this. Then Jane brought in a plate of home-made cakes, well-buttered, but still their hunger did not abate one jot. The farmer was used to big appetites, and neither his wife nor Jane expressed any surprise. Then their host took out his huge clasp knife and cut several rashers from a flitch of bacon that hung suspended from the ceiling. These were fried along with a few eggs, and when they had cleared this third dish, the keen edge was taken from their appetites, and they declared that they were satisfied.

They thanked the farmer for his great kindness, and asked him how much they were indebted to him, but when they offered to pay, he held up both hands, and exclaimed–

"Not a penny! Keep your money. You'll want it all before long. It does me good to see lads with pluck like yours. Maybe you'll get further than I did. I think you're made of different stuff, and I ha' quite ta'en a fancy to you. While we've lads like you, we shall never want men to fight the Frenchers."

"I have a brother fighting under Clive now, in India!" exclaimed Jack, with a touch of family pride.

"Oh, maybe you're Squire Elliot's son, then!"

At this Jack's face fell, for he saw that he had well-nigh given away his identity.

"Ah well, never mind! Perhaps ye did not get on very well with the old squire. He was a harder man after your poor mother died."

The mention of his mother gave Jack a twinge of pain, and caused a lump to rise in his throat. His mother's early death had removed his guardian angel. Perhaps he would have been a better lad if she had lived; more tame and docile, like other boys.

"Puir lad!" exclaimed the farmer's wife; "and has he no mother then? He ma' weel run away."

Jack's tears were very near the surface, but he forced them back with an effort, for he considered it a great weakness to give way to his feelings.

As they left the old farmhouse, yet another kindness was shown to them, for Jane, secretly bidden by the farmer's wife, had made up a bundle of substantial oat-cakes, with a large piece of cheese, and as they passed out of the door she handed it to them.

This last act of kindness to these two poor motherless lads touched their hearts as perhaps nothing else could have done. They had not been used to such kindness, and they expressed their gratitude, not by words, for they couldn't speak, but by the great, big tears that welled up in their eyes, despite their every effort to keep them back now. Ah! nothing penetrates a boy's heart like kindness.

The old farmer pointed out the way, across the moors, and over Lin-Crag–the way he had trodden fifty years ago, and soon they were climbing the steep hill-side, knee-deep in heather, and following the winding sheep tracks. Again and again they turned round to wave their handkerchiefs at the trio standing by the farm-yard gate now far beneath them, until at last, as they stood on the summit of the crag, the house looked like a little speck in the distance and soon disappeared.

Then they footed it gaily across the lonely blue moorlands. Sometimes they started a covey of young grouse, hidden amongst the heather; then the peewits wheeled around them, uttering plaintive cries, as though bidding them good-bye. The scenes of their childhood, and the landscape on which their infant eyes had first gazed, were now left behind. The little lambs frisked about playfully, or cropped the short, green patches of tough grass near the water-courses, while overhead the larks sang joyously, continuously, and the sun shone brilliantly down from that wide expanse of azure dome.

The lads sang, too, blithely, lustily, for nothing could repress that feeling that was bubbling up within them; they trod the earth lightly, for they were in the "Land of Havilah," which is the "Golden Land of Youth," where the sun is always shining, where all the visions and ideals are golden, the enthusiasm and the energy boundless. So life with all its charm was opening out to them, but what was that life to be?

"Let us halt beside this spring, Jamie, for we have come twelve miles since morning," said Jack, about an hour after mid-day.

So they rested awhile, and ate some of the oat-cakes, and drank at the spring, where commenced a little stream of clear water, which sang its way down to the sea. Soon they left the wild moorlands behind them, and descending the western slopes of the Pennines, they entered the county of Lancaster, and passed through several hamlets and villages, where the rude country people spoke a dialect which they could scarcely understand.

Towards evening their footsteps began to lag. They had long ago ceased to sing, or even to whistle. They were tired and footsore, and for the last hour they had trudged on in silence, for they were both very brave, and neither would confess fatigue.

That night they slept under a hayrick in the corner of a field. They slept soundly, too, but next morning they were up early, and after performing their ablutions, and cooling their blistered feet in a neighbouring pond, they finished the oat-cakes and cheese, and started again.

The first day they had covered nearly half the distance between their home and that rising little sea-port town of Liverpool, whose docks and wharves were now crowded with ships from every part of the globe. The second day, however, they were too footsore to travel half that distance, and they had to break into that golden guinea to buy food, but they still persisted and never spake one word about turning back, and in the afternoon of the fourth day their hearts beat with joy, as they reached the top of a little eminence, that is now part and parcel of the great city of Liverpool, but was then merely a country lane, and their eyes were gladdened by a first glimpse of the forest of masts and spars, that lay in the river beneath them, while out there–beyond the bar, where the breakers were rolling in by the lighthouse–was the sea.

"The sea! the sea!" they both exclaimed.

And in the transport of joy which followed, tired limbs and blistered feet were forgotten, for this was their first glimpse of the sea.