the story of a bad boy(顽童故事)-第2节
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My father was greatly perplexed and troubled by this unusually violent
outbreak； and especially by the real consternation which be saw written in
every line of my countenance。 As little black Sam picked himself up； my
father took my hand in his and led me thoughtfully to the library。
I can see him now as he leaned back in the bamboo chair and
questioned me。 He appeared strangely agitated on learning the nature of
my objections to going North； and proceeded at once to knock down all
my pine log houses； and scatter all the Indian tribes with which I had
populated the greater portion of the Eastern and Middle States。
〃Who on earth； Tom； has filled your brain with such silly stories？〃
asked my father； wiping the tears from his eyes。
〃Aunt Chloe； sir； she told me。〃
〃And you really thought your grandfather wore a blanket embroidered
with beads； and ornamented his leggins with the scalps of his enemies？〃
〃Well； sir； I didn't think that exactly。〃
〃Didn't think that exactly？ Tom； you will be the death of me。〃
He hid his face in his handkerchief； and； when he looked up； he
seemed to have been suffering acutely。 I was deeply moved myself； though
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The Story of a Bad Boy
I did not clearly understand what I had said or done to cause him to feel so
badly。 Perhaps I had hurt his feelings by thinking it even possible that
Grandfather Nutter was an Indian warrior。
My father devoted that evening and several subsequent evenings to
giving me a clear and succinct account of New England； its early struggles；
its progress； and its present condition…faint and confused glimmerings of
all which I had obtained at school； where history had never been a favorite
pursuit of mine。
I was no longer unwilling to go North； on the contrary； the proposed
journey to a new world full of wonders kept me awake nights。 I promised
myself all sorts of fun and adventures； though I was not entirely at rest in
my mind touching the savages； and secretly resolved to go on board the
ship…the journey was to be made by sea…with a certain little brass pistol in
my trousers…pocket； in case of any difficulty with the tribes when we
landed at Boston。
I couldn't get the Indian out of my head。 Only a short time previously
the Cherokees…or was it the Camanches？…had been removed from their
hunting…grounds in Arkansas； and in the wilds of the Southwest the red
men were still a source of terror to the border settlers。 〃Trouble with the
Indians〃 was the staple news from Florida published in the New Orleans
papers。 We were constantly hearing of travellers being attacked and
murdered in the interior of that State。 If these things were done in Florida；
why not in Massachusetts？
Yet long before the sailing day arrived I was eager to be off。 My
impatience was increased by the fact that my father had purchased for me
a fine little Mustang pony； 20and shipped it to Rivermouth a fortnight
previous to the date set for our own departure…for both my parents were to
accompany me。 The pony （which nearly kicked me out of bed one night in
a dream）； and my father's promise that he and my mother would come to
Rivermouth every other summer； completely resigned me to the situation。
The pony's name was Gitana； which is the Spanish for gypsy； so I always
called her…she was a lady pony…Gypsy。
At length the time came to leave the vine…covered mansion among the
orange…trees； to say goodby to little black Sam （I am convinced he was
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The Story of a Bad Boy
heartily glad to get rid of me）； and to part with simple Aunt Chloe； who； in
the confusion of her grief； kissed an eyelash into my eye； and then buried
her face in the bright bandana turban which she had mounted that morning
in honor of our departure。
I fancy them standing by the open garden gate； the tears are rolling
down Aunt Chloe's cheeks； Sam's six front teeth are glistening like pearls；
I wave my hand to him manfully。 then I call out 〃goodby〃 in a muffled
voice to Aunt Chloe； they and the old home fade away。 I am never to see
them again！
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The Story of a Bad Boy
CHAPTER Three
On Board the Typhoon
I do not remember much about the voyage to Boston； for after the first
few hours at sea I was dreadfully unwell。
The name of our ship was the 〃A No。 1； fast…sailing packet Typhoon。〃 I
learned afterwards that she sailed fast only in the newspaper
advertisements。 My father owned one quarter of the Typhoon； and that is
why we happened to go in her。 I tried to guess which quarter of the ship he
owned； and finally concluded it must be the hind quarter…the cabin； in
which we had the cosiest of state…rooms； with one round window in the
roof； and two shelves or boxes nailed up against the wall to sleep in。
There was a good deal of confusion on deck while we were getting
under way。 The captain shouted orders （to which nobody seemed to pay
any attention） through a battered tin trumpet； and grew so red in the face
that he reminded me of a scooped…out pumpkin with a lighted candle
inside。 He swore right and left at the sailors without the slightest regard for
their feelings。 They didn't mind it a bit； however； but went on singing…
〃Heave ho！
With the rum below；
And hurrah for the Spanish Main O！〃
I will not be positive about 〃the Spanish Main；〃 but it was hurrah for
something O。 I considered them very jolly fellows； and so indeed they
were。 One weather…beaten tar in particular struck my fancy…a thick…set；
jovial man； about fifty years of age； with twinkling blue eyes and a fringe
of gray hair circling his head like a crown。 As he took off his tarpaulin I
observed that the top of his head was quite smooth and flat； as if
somebody had sat down on him when he was very young。
There was something noticeably hearty in this man's bronzed face； a
heartiness that seemed to extend to his loosely knotted neckerchief。 But
what completely won my good…will was a picture of enviable loveliness
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painted on his left arm。 It was the head of a woman with the body of a fish。
Her flowing hair was of livid green； and she held a pink comb in one hand。
I never saw anything so beautiful。 I determined to know that man。 I think I
would have given my brass pistol to have had such a picture painted on
my arm。
While I stood admiring this work of art； a fat wheezy steamtug； with
the word AJAX in staring black letters on the paddlebox； came puffing up
alongside the Typhoon。 It was ridiculously small and conceited； compared
with our stately ship。 I speculated as to what it was going to do。 In a few
minutes we were lashed to the little monster； which gave a snort and a
shriek； and commenced backing us out from the levee （wharf） with the
greatest ease。
I once saw an ant running away with a piece of cheese eight or ten
times larger than itself。 I could not help thinking of it； when I found the
chubby； smoky…nosed tug…boat towing the Typhoon out into the
Mississippi River。
In the middle of the stream we swung round； the current caught us； and
away we flew like a great winged bird。 Only it didn't seem as if we were
moving。 The shore； with the countless steamboats； the tangled rigging of
the ships； and the long lines of warehouses； appeared to be gliding away
from us。
It was grand sport to stand on the quarter…deck and watch all this。
Before long there was nothing to be seen on other side but stretches of low
swampy land； covered with stunted cypress trees； from which drooped
delicate streamers of Spanish moss…a fine place for alligators and Congo
snakes。 Here and there we passed a yellow sand…bar； and here and there a
snag lifte
