The boy who loved the sea; the story of Captain James Cook

Front matter

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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT.

THE BOY WHO LOVED

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

XX. Bad News. 180

XXI. The Homecoming. 190

CHAPTER I On the Farm T IS time to water the horses, laddie.”

At his father’s words, the scarcely eightyear-old lad would hurry to the barn to give the animals the drink they needed.

No sooner was this task done than he might hear: “Come, come, be on your way to the pasture with the cows.”

Or it might be: “Scamper to the house as fast as your legs can carry you. Mistress Walker has just called, saying she wants you to do an errand for her.”

So the day would pass, with little James ever on the go, doing this one’s or that one’s bidding, with¬ out complaining.

Then, when night set in, he would leave the farm with his father, to get a sound night’s sleep in the humble home where his mother was already watch¬ ing for him.

This home was somewhat better than the mud hut of two rooms in which James had first opened his eyes, far up there in northern England. A “clay biggin”—that was what the Yorkshire people around him called the hut. Little of comfort it held in the z way of furniture. But the all important thing in life was there: it was the love that overflowed from the hearts of the poor but ignorant couple who dwelt in that humble home with their two children— James, who was born on the twenty-seventh day of October in that long-ago year of 1728, and his older brother John.

Even when the family moved to a larger house, it was poor enough beside the farm where James’s father worked daily for the wealthy yoeman, Wil¬ liam Walker.

“A grand place!” So little James must have thought of the Walker home. Why, there were many rooms in the house! And outside in the barns, sleek horses and cattle were sheltered. And there were pigs, no doubt, on the farm, and sheep and fowls in great number.

James, who was always a fearless little fellow, could have all sorts of adventures there, because one never knew what horses, and cows, and even chickens, might take it into their heads to do.

Far away, as it seemed to the lad, but really not very many miles distant, was a vast ocean on which rode immense ships. Sailors spent their lives on those ships and stories of the wonderful sights they beheld drifted from time to time to the farm. James, busy and happy as he was, had chance mo¬ ments in which he could listen to these tales with amazement.

Mistress Walker liked the lad. “He is always

On the Farm willing to do what I ask,” she thought. “He never sulks about his tasks, and is faithful. And he is so bright, he deserves to get some of the learning books can give.”

So it was that, busy as she was with her many cares, she found time to teach James his letters and give him some lessons in reading, thus starting him on the road to knowledge.

He had grown fast out of babyhood. With coarse but nourishing food to eat, and with his days spent in the great outdoors, he became tall for his age and strong of body, while his bright, dark, deep-set eyes showed that his mind was wide awake.

So the weeks and the months flew by till James was eight years old. Then, one day, he was told ex¬ citing news: there was to be a change in the family fortunes. The father had obtained a job in the vil¬ lage of Great Ayton about five miles away, and a much larger place than Marton which was the only home James had known up to that time.

“How good it will be to live in Great Ayton!” thought the lad as he dreamed of new sights to look upon, new playmates to join in his sports, and new adventures.

“Only to think!” he considered. “My father is actually to have charge of a farm owned by the rich lord of a manor. No longer must he go out to work by the day, and we will live right there on the farm in a comfortable home. It will be glorious!”

It was, without question, a rise in the fortunes of the honest laborer. When quite a young man, he had left his native Scotland where wages were very poor, and had crossed over the border into England in search of better pay than he could obtain in his native land.

His mother’s blessing had gone with him. “God send you grace,” she had said in parting with her dear son. Her words were impressed upon his mind, and when, not long afterwards, he fell in love with a Yorkshire lassie named Grace, he felt it might well be in accord with his mother’s wish that the young girl should become his wife.

You can readily guess what followed. The church bells soon rang out merrily for the wedding of James Cook, the poor and honest Scotchman, and the equally poor English maiden who was indus¬ trious and self-reliant like himself.

The young couple began their simple housekeep¬ ing at once, and when their second child James came to them, they were managing only by hard work to keep the grim wolf, hunger, from the door of their mud cabin.

It was a wretched home according to our way of thinking to-day.

Times were different in that long ago when George II was King of England. While some peo¬ ple were very wealthy, lived in castles, and wore rich garments, there was great poverty in the land, and many were clad in scarcely more than rags, and

On the Farm satisfied their hunger with food little better than was given to swine.

The exciting day came at last for the Cook family to move to Great Ayton. How were they to make the journey of a few miles? And how were they to carry the few household goods they possessed? When James’s father had made his way from Scot¬ land down into England he had used “Shanks’ mare,” as country folk sometimes say when they are forced to walk. To be sure, the distance was not great, but the roads and pathways were rough and little trodden, so that days doubtless passed before the journey ended.

The way to Great Ayton must have seemed long to James. Very likely the goods were packed on a stout farm horse’s back while the boys trudged along barefooted as was their daily habit.

At last the new* home was in sight, with a brook running through the village, spanned by a strong stone bridge, and more houses grouped together than James had ever seen before.

Best of all, there were lofty hills not far away. One of these, Roseberry Topping, was at least a thousand feet high with a summit all of sandstone.

“What fun there will be,” James must have thought, “in climbing that hill and hunting for birds’ nests on its slopes! Roseberry Topping is so high that when I have reached the top I will be able to see the ocean, the wonderful blue ocean that stretches farther than the eyes can follow.”

The boy’s dark eyes sparkled with excitement as he thought of the exciting life of the men who took long voyages on that ocean. How vast it was I One could sail far out on it, so people said, till all sight of land was lost. And still ahead would be those waters that seemed to have no limit, and were never still—not even for a moment, day or night. Mar¬ velous to say, also, their color changed with the changing sky. Now it was blue as a robin’s egg, now gray, and dark, and foreboding.

With the move to Great Ayton, James was brought nearer to those magic waters that had hith¬ erto seemed to him so far, far away because rail¬ roads and automobiles were then unknown. And yet the sea had been ever striving to make the little fellow hear her call.

“Behold!” she was saying, “It is not too early for you to be planning for a life on my breast. Gain all strength possible because a great experience is ahead of you. Dangers will be many, but you are brave and daring. You will not fear.”

“And think!” she could well have added, “The world of men is waiting for the knowledge you will bring them through the discoveries that you will make.”

However strongly the sea might now be calling to James, he was largely concerned with getting set¬ tled in his new home, Airy Holme Farm, on the borders of Great Ayton.

CHAPTER II The Wonderful Sea

J AMES’S father began at once to take up his new duties. Besides the fairly comfortable house in which he and his family were to live, he was to re¬ ceive regular wages from Mr. Skottowe, the lord of the manor. On the other hand he was to hand over all the produce he raised to his landlord. Hard work was ahead of him, but he had no longer to fear actual want for his wife and children.

It soon came to pass that Mr. Skottowe took as great a liking to little James as Mistress Walker had done.

“The lad is so bright he should have a chance to learn,” he decided after watching him carefully.

Accordingly, he said to James’s father, “If you will send the lad to the village school, I’ll pay for his tuition.”

The young farmer was glad enough to accept the offer for his son, and James was soon busily solving simple problems in arithmetic and mastering pen¬ manship in the little cottage on the “High Green” where the schoolmaster, Mr. Pullen, soon discov¬ ered that he had a prize pupil. He saw that the boy did not have to be driven to study, but took a real joy in it. Mr. Skottowe, for his part, was so pleased at James’s progress that the lad was allowed to continue at school the greater part of the next four years. And since he was quick to learn, he must have tucked away in his head quite a deal of helpful knowledge.

He had considerable time for play with his mates, too. With them he explored the hills and fields around, hunted for birds’ nests to his heart’s con¬ tent, and entered into other boys’ sports with a will. They liked him, of course—no one could have helped that—but they found fault with him at times. They declared: “James Cook wants to have his own way. He won’t follow what we propose if it doesn’t suit him. He always insists that he knows how to do a thing better than we do. He won’t give up to us, even if we threaten to go off and leave him.”

A determined little fellow he was without doubt, and one not easily turned from what he believed the right way of solving a problem, whether in arithme¬ tic or in climbing a steep cliff.

When he was twelve years old, his father de¬ clared: “The boy has all the book learning he needs. He must settle down to farm work now and help me support the family.”

By that time several brothers and sisters had been born to John and James, and the household had many needs. Some people have since said that James worked with his father right there in Great

The Wonderful Sea

Ayton for the next four years. Again, the story has been handed down that the good father began early to think of a more promising future than farming for such a lively, intelligent son.

“He shall learn trading,” he finally decided, “since he has a mind for figures.”

There was no opening, however, in this line for the lad, in Great Ayton. But at Staithes, on the coast fifteen miles away, lived a shopkeeper whom Mr. Cook knew well, and who might aid him.

“I’ll ask Mr. Sanderson to take James to work for him, on trial,” he decided.

So it came about that James, while still in his teens, went to Staithes which proved to be a far more won¬ derful place to him than Great Ayton even with its good schoolmaster, its high hills, and the pretty brook where boys could go wading and fishing for minnows. Staithes was on the shores of the sea itself! A narrow, lovely bay stretched before its very doors. On either side of this bay were high cliffs that shut in the waters. Thus the harbor made a safe resting place for the boats of the fisher folk who lived in the village, as well as for bigger craft that went off on long voyages.

James loved Staithes, or The Staith as it was sometimes called, from the moment he arrived there. It was a dream place made real! The shop where he worked was so near to the water’s edge that when storms raged, the waves were likely to make their way to its very door. The air was filled with the delicious saltness of the sea. Fisherfolk were to be seen on every hand—yes, and sailors resting between long voyages. The sleepy quiet of the countryside was not to be found there. The place was full of mystery, and with every rise and fall of the tide the sea was calling to James, ever more loudly and insistently. Beside it, the cliffs and streams and meadows of his old home had no charm. Here, with the ocean spread directly before him, his fancy could wander to the ends of the earth.

There were many drawbacks to James’s happiness at Staithes, however, because life inside the shop was far from pleasant. Mr. Sanderson was a harsh, coarse man and a heavy drinker. He was often cruel to his young assistant, beating him till his shoulders ached when the shopkeeper was out of temper or not satisfied with his work. Little did it matter to his master if he left heavy welts on James’s back. Such treatment of apprentices was common enough in those days, and no one criticized him for his cruelty. Other boys who had been bound to him had run away. But he had not learned the need of kindness, and he only considered that he had an¬ other youth in his power, whom he was free to abuse when he felt like doing so.

It was James’s task to keep the dingy shop as clean as possible. He had to wash the floor, scrub the counters, dust the shelves, run errands, and help in waiting upon the customers if need be till the time came for closing the shop. It was a queer kind of

io

The Wonderful Sea a place, somewhat like what we find in little villages in this country and call a general store. On one side were piled groceries. On the other were bon¬ nets, coats, material for draperies, and so on.

This dingy shop was the only home James knew for possibly eighteen months. He had scant fare to strengthen his tall slender body. A hunk of bread, a slice or two of bacon, and a mug of ale must satisfy his hunger. When night came, his only bed was a heap of straw under one of the counters, with rough covering of some sort. But he had no chance to feel lonely there. Far from it! There was plenty of company, though not to his liking. Mice scurried around his head through the hours of darkness, while beetles and earwigs crawled freely over the floor and bed coverings.

During James’s work hours he must have gained a little happiness from the smiles of the fishermen’s kind-hearted wives who traded at the shop, the merry words of pretty maidens who sometimes passed by, and the sound of surf along the shore, that he could hear when the door stood open.

Ah! but when he was freed from duty, he could have joy in the great outdoors. Sitting on the edge of the sea wall, the lad could dream con¬ tentedly. Then, too, he could listen with eager ears to the tales told by the fishermen in their idle hours. In good weather, when not out in their boats, they would sit in little groups on the quay. And between the long whiffs drawn from their pipes, they would

ii outvie each other in describing the approach of fierce storms when they were far from land, and the dangers that beset them when the storms raged and their little boats were tossed about like feathers in the angry waters. Or perhaps some described a tremendous haul of fish when fortune favored them, or the unexpected breaking of nets just as they were about to draw in their prey.

More thrilling even than tales of this sort were those related by sailors who had gone far away from England and taken part in adventures that made the listening James gasp in astonishment. Some of these sailors had looked upon strange people with their own eyes! They had heard them speak in strange tongues! A number of them had barely escaped when their ships had been wrecked on dangerous reefs. Oh, it was all wonderful, won¬ derful ! Every day of those long months at Staithes James’s heart beat with increasing longing to leave his hateful tasks behind him and sail far away over the wide ocean to have adventures of his own.

In biting wintry weather the sailor folk could not sit at their ease on the quay. Then they would gather at one of the inns—the Cod and Lobster, the Shoulder of Mutton, or the Black Lion—to drink and smoke and tell more tales of their “life on the ocean wave.” James, when free from the shop, would often seek them at one such place or another to drink in eagerly all he could hear of the exciting experiences that the men described.

The Wonderful Sea

As the freezing winds blew about the inn, and the snow piled up about the doors, it was easy for the young listener to picture to himself the mighty ice¬ bergs encountered by the men who described danger¬ ous voyages far up into the Arctic in search of whales. With them he could in fancy send harpoons into the whales’ bodies and, if successful, end the creatures’ lives after a fierce struggle.

James could easily imagine himself coming upon fierce polar bears that slowly made their way over floating cakes of ice in search of prey. He watched gentle-eyed seals sporting along the shores of bar¬ ren rocky lands, as happy as kittens in their play, and quite unconscious that human enemies were close upon them.

Again, the youth would listen with eagerness to the stories of men who had gone forth to fight bat¬ tles on the sea for their king, or who had, perchance, spent years in sailing along the coast of their own country, carrying cargoes to different English ports and learning the ways of their countrymen. Every¬ thing the boy heard had interest of its own.

Not the least thrilling to the young listener must have been the tales of the fishermen who never sailed far from home, but who had to go forth night after night, no matter how severe the weather, to catch boatloads of cod and haddock and herring. The sale of these brought money enough to support the men’s families. They must not consider pos¬ sible danger even though violent storms were raging and they were leaving sweethearts and wives and little children behind them. In their hearts was the hope that they would return safe, with the arrival of morning light. But alas! Sometimes their frail boats were overpowered by wind and wave, and many a brave man was carried down into the deeps where greedy sharks were waiting to devour his body.

Besides the stories James could hear within a stone’s throw of the shop where he lived and worked, there were sights to interest him not very far away. In fact, around the bend of Coburn Nob, one of the cliffs that shut in the bay, were shipyards where all sorts of sea craft were built. There the lad could, in occasional visits, watch the shaping of a little fishing smack, or even of a big whaler which was soon to be sent out from that peaceful spot to meet with adventure in dangerous waters.

So it was that between the shipbuilding and the tales of the sailors and fishermen during their stay in port James’s mind was kept filled with thoughts of the sea and the marvels thereof. Little wonder was it that he had no desire to become a shopkeeper and sell groceries and cloth over dingy counters for the rest of his life.

CHAPTER III The Runaway

I WON’T stay here any longer,” James said to himself after eighteen months had passed by in Mr. Sanderson’s shop, and he was still dusting shelves, scrubbing floors, and running errands for his hard taskmaster.

His love of the sea had been growing ever deeper through the long months till his heart was filled with one tremendous longing: to follow the life of a sailor on the great ocean.

“I’ll run away!” the youth decided. “I’ll go to Whitby ten miles from here. It is a wondrously big town, close to the sea like Staithes, but busier, oh, much busier ! There are large shipbuilding yards at Whitby and big vessels go out from there to trade with other countries. I am sure I can get a job as a sailor on one of them. And then—then!”

Many a happy dream of the future filled James’s mind after he had once determined on the great venture and was making his plans for departure.

The last evening (it was that of the Sabbath) arrived to find him in his bed under the counter.

Mr. Sanderson, little guessing what was shortly to happen, drank an unusual amount of grog that evening. Then he sought his couch to sleep heavily from the effects of the liquor.

How much James slept that night we shall never learn. It is enough for us to know that, with the first ray of light next morning, he was wide awake and moving softly about the shop. He dressed himself and got his belongings together. An easy task, that last! His one handkerchief was spread out, and in it he tied his extra shirt and a treasured jackknife.

Now for the start, after a bite or two to stay his stomach on the long tramp. Then out of the shop, down through the narrow village street he hurried, with the people in the houses he passed still peaceably asleep, ignorant that young James Cook was daring to run away. In those days there were no roads stretching between the village and Whitby. Rough bridle paths had to be followed, but little concern was that to the would-be sailor lad.

Perhaps even in the midst of his joy over his new freedom he still felt a little sad at leaving pretty Staithes behind him, with its red-roofed cottages and its quaint inns in which sailors and fishermen were wont to gather. But the youth’s thoughts must have been mainly busy with the glorious life he believed was ahead of him.

As he hurried along with head held high and with rapid strides of his long legs, excitement was brew¬ ing in the home of the Sandersons. The master, who had slept later than usual, woke up and looked

The Runaway out of his window. By the high tide on the shore, he knew that it was close to six o’clock. It was time for his helper, James, to be busy opening up the shop and cleaning it up for customers. But there was no sound below!

As the master dressed himself, he thought with an ugly frown, “If that lazy scamp has overslept him¬ self, he shall have a good beating.”

Furious with anger, he went down the narrow stairs and entered the shop. The shutters were still closed! No broom had as yet brushed the floor!

And then, so the story goes, the shopkeeper with fury in his eyes sought the corner where he kept his stout stick—his oft-used instrument of torture.

“I’ll see that that young scoundrel gets what he deserves,” he promised himself, as with staff in hand he moved noiselessly towards the counter under which he expected to find his sleeping assistant. The bed was empty!

The master went to the door. He found the bolt had been drawn. James had run away—that was certain—like other apprentices before him who had worked in the shop and been fired, like him, with the longing for a seafarer’s life.

“Hm!” grunted Mr. Sanderson, “I’ll see if that useless fellow took aught with him to help him on his way.”

Accordingly, the shopkeeper went suspiciously to the till where change was kept.

“I left a new shilling there yesterday,” he mut¬ tered. “I’ll see if it is there still.”

On opening it he found it empty. “James took it, the wretch,” he said to himself.

Going to the door, with the empty till in his hand, he called to some men who happened to be standing outside, “Ha ye seen James Cook? He’s run awa’ and robbed the till of a shilling.”

One of the men, a wise old fellow, spoke up at once. “Thou robbed the till thysel’ last night to pay for the grog thou drank. Art thou still too drunk to mind goin’ oot for the shilling?”

That should have settled the matter. James had always been an honest lad as the village folk well knew, but it was as easy then as now to suspect wrong of others, so that the tale of a stolen shilling was repeated for a while by many an evil tongue after the runaway had left his life at Staithes far behind him.

Long afterwards, when he had become a hero to all the world, the tale was a far different one. Then every one who had even talked with the youth was proud of the fact. Chance words he had said were repeated again and again. His good qualities were boasted of. And even a certain honor was attached to the storekeeper because James Cook had once served him. Just now, however, we may wonder for a moment why Mr. Sanderson did not start out with some fellow villagers in pursuit of the run¬ away. It was without doubt, because that would

The Runaway have been easier said than done, for the surround¬ ing country was largely a hilly wilderness, and travel¬ ing both afoot and on horseback was extremely difficult. Moreover, no one could be certain as to the direction the youth had chosen to follow. So let us turn to join James as he entered the bustling town of Whitby that bright July day nearly two hundred, years ago.

Chapter IV

W HEW! what a busy place! Surely there will be a chance for me there.” In such wise, James talked to himself as he reached the top of a steep cliff and looked down at the town of Whitby stretched below.

Though it was still early in the day, the smoke rising from the furnaces already set to work was so thick that objects were not as clear to the run¬ away’s eyes as he might have wished. Yet he could see the red-tiled roofs of the houses built along the slopes below him and the outlines of the church standing on a cliff to the east, that could be reached from the lower town only by climbing two hundred steps.

On looking more closely still, James could make out the town hall and the big market on the low stretch of land by the water’s edge. But what thrilled him most was a ship with sails set, moving grandly out of the harbor. Where was she bound? How long a voyage was ahead of the men who sailed her.

And, yes! there was another ship lying at the dock. She was being loaded rapidly. Perhaps the main part of her cargo was already on board, and she was nearly ready to depart for distant shores.

“I’ll go thither as fast as possible,” James said to himself. “Who knows but I may get a job on that very ship?”

With all possible speed the youth descended the cliff. Then, in his usual straightforward fashion, he made his way to the vessel lying at the dock.

Something in his manly, cheery face must have pleased the mate who had charge of the loading of the vessel because, when James saluted him re¬ spectfully, he at once appeared ready to answer the youth’s questions.

“Please, sir, I want to get a job as a sailor,” ex¬ plained James.

He had to admit that he had had no experience in this line. But he was ready to do his best and was sure he could learn fast.

“I believe this young stranger will quickly make himself useful,” decided the mate, and he advised James to Seek the owners of the ship, two Quaket brothers.

Following his directions, the youth at once sought the house of the coal merchants, John and Henry Walker, to repeat the tale he had told the mate.

We may well believe that the lad’s heart was light, as well as his steps, as he hurried along with high hopes that his dream was to be realized. His mind was too busy otherwise to heed the children playing about the pier. Perhaps, even, his ears were closed to the sound of the hammers plied by the builders in the near-by shipyard as they worked on one of the famous Whitby ships, known for their strength in withstanding the liveliest gales.