Up The Baltic Part 13

"O, does he, indeed!" exclaimed the princ.i.p.al. "We have a vacant place, and he can be accommodated."

The fond mother's heart sank at this announcement. Mr. Lowington, though his experience with students of this description had been far from satisfactory, felt that his duty to humanity required him to take this boy, who was evidently on the high road to ruin through the weak indulgence of his mother.

CHAPTER VI.

A DAY AT CHRISTIANSAND.

"But, madam, your steamer seems to be on the point of starting,"

suggested Mr. Lowington, as the Orlando rang her bell, and whistled violently.

"I cannot help it," replied the lady, apparently taking no notice of the steamer. "I came over here on a pleasure excursion, and now I feel as though I had lost my son."

"Lost him, madam! We intend to save him," laughed Mr. Lowington. "But we have no claim upon him. If you desire to leave in the steamer, the boatswain shall put the boy on board whether he is willing or not."

"No, no; that would be very, _very_ harsh. Let the steamer go. This matter is of vastly more consequence than going to Christiania.

James," she added, turning to the man in livery, "you will take the boat, get our baggage from the steamer, and take it to the hotel on sh.o.r.e."

"Yes, mem," replied James, as he very deliberately went over the side into the boat.

"This will be a sad day to me, sir," continued Mrs. Blacklock, as she glanced at her son, who was whistling an air from the last opera, as indifferent as though his mother had been at peace in her own drawing-room.

"I beg to repeat, madam, that I have not the slightest wish to take your son into this inst.i.tution."

"But Clyde insists upon joining the s.h.i.+p, and what can I do?"

"You can say no, if you please."

"You had better not say it, mother; if you do, I will run away, and go to sea in a merchant s.h.i.+p," added Clyde, shaking his head.

"You hear, sir, what he says," replied Mrs. Blacklock, with a long and deep sigh.

"That would be the very best thing in the world for a boy troubled with his complaint," answered Mr. Lowington.

"I have no complaint; I'm not sick," growled Clyde.

"I'm afraid you are, my boy, though you don't know it. The most dangerous maladies often make great progress even before their existence is suspected."

"Nothing ails me," added Clyde.

"This seems to be a very nice s.h.i.+p, and you say the students are all gentlemen," continued the lady, glancing around her at the s.h.i.+p and the crew. "If Clyde must go to sea--"

"I must, mother," interposed the young gentleman, very decidedly.

"If he must go to sea, he had better go with you, sir."

"If you will walk into the cabin, madam, I will show you our regulations," said the princ.i.p.al, leading the way down the steps.

Clyde followed, apparently unwilling that a word should be said which he could not hear.

"I want to speak with your mother alone," interposed Mr. Lowington.

"I'm going too," persisted Clyde, after Mrs. Blacklock had descended the stairs.

"I prefer to see your mother alone," added the princ.i.p.al, firmly.

"You are going to talk about me, and I want to hear what is said,"

replied the youth, rudely.

"Peaks, remain here," said the princ.i.p.al to the big boatswain, who had followed them to the companionway.

Mr. Lowington descended the steps, and Peaks slipped in behind him, fully understanding his duty without any explanations. Clyde attempted to follow, but the entrance was effectually blockaded by the stalwart forward officer.

"Get out of my way; I want to go down there," said Clyde, in no gentle tones.

"It can't be done, my hearty," replied Peaks.

"I'm going down, any way."

"I think not, my little gentleman."

"Yes, I am! Get out of my way."

"Ease off, my hearty. Don't get up a squall."

"I want to see my mother," growled Clyde.

"You were not invited to the cabin, and your mother was," answered Peaks, very mildly.

"I don't care if I wasn't; I'm going down."

"So you said before;" and the boatswain tried to pacify the youngster, and to induce him to be reasonable; but Clyde had always had his own way, and was ready to fight for it now, even though he had nothing to gain by it.

Captain c.u.mberland was still walking with Miss Celia, explaining to her the nature of the discipline on board, and giving her an account of the voyage across the Atlantic. A group of the officers had collected on the quarter-deck, and, much amused at the scene, were observing the conduct of Clyde. As he became more violent, his sister tried to quiet him, and induce him to behave like a gentleman; but he replied to her in a tone and with words which made the captain's cheeks tinge with indignation.

Finally, when he found that abuse had no effect upon the stout boatswain, he drew back, and made a desperate plunge at his heavy opponent. Peaks caught him by the shoulders, and lifted him off his feet like a baby. Taking him in his arms, with one hand over his mouth, to smother his cries, he bore him to the waist, where his yells could not be heard by his mother.

"Be quiet, little one," said Peaks, as he seated himself on the main-hatch, and twined his long legs around those of the prisoner, so that he was held as fast as though he had been in the folds of an anaconda. "Hold still, now, and I'll spin you a sea-yarn. Once on a time there was a little boy that wanted to go to sea--"

"Let me go, or I'll kill you!" sputtered Clyde; but the boatswain covered his mouth again, and silenced him.

"Kill me! That would be wicked. But I'm not a mosquito, to be cracked in the fingers of such a dear little boy as you are. But you snapped off my yarn; and if you don't hold still, I can't spin it s.h.i.+p-shape."

Clyde had well nigh exhausted his breath in his fruitless struggle, and before his sister went far enough forward to see him, he was tolerably calm, because he had no more strength to resist. Then the boatswain told his story of a boy that wanted to go to sea, but found that he could not have his own way on board the s.h.i.+p.

In the cabin, Mrs. Blacklock told a pitiful story of the wilfulness of her son; that she was obliged to do just as he said, and if he wanted anything, however absurd it might be, she was obliged to give it to him, or he made the house too "hot" for her. Her husband had died when the children were small, and the whole care of them had devolved on her. Clyde had made her miserable for several years. She had sent him to several celebrated schools; but he had got into trouble immediately, and she had been compelled to take him away, to prevent him from killing himself and her, as she expressed it. Her husband had left her a handsome property, but she was afraid her son would spend it all, or compel her to do so, before he became of age.