Похищенный
Chapter 7
Ididmybestinthesmalltimeallowedmetomakesomethinglikeaman,orratherIshouldsaysomethinglikeaboy,ofthepoorcreature,Ransome.Buthismindwasscarcetrulyhuman.Hecouldremembernothingofthetimebeforehecametosea;onlythathisfatherhadmadeclocks,andhadastarlingintheparlour,whichcouldwhistle“TheNorthCountrie;”allelsehadbeenblottedoutintheseyearsofhardshipandcruelties.Hehadastrangenotionofthedryland,pickedupfromsailor’sstories:thatitwasaplacewhereladswereputtosomekindofslaverycalledatrade,andwhereapprenticeswerecontinuallylashedandclappedintofoulprisons.Inatown,hethoughteverysecondpersonadecoy,andeverythirdhouseaplaceinwhichseamenwouldbedruggedandmurdered.Tobesure,IwouldtellhimhowkindlyIhadmyselfbeenuseduponthatdrylandhewassomuchafraidof,andhowwellfedandcarefullytaughtbothbymyfriendsandmyparents:andifhehadbeenrecentlyhurt,hewouldweepbitterlyandsweartorunaway;butifhewasinhisusualcrackbrainhumour,or(stillmore)ifhehadhadaglassofspiritsintheroundhouse,hewouldderidethenotion.
ItwasMr.Riach(Heavenforgivehim!)whogavetheboydrink;anditwas,doubtless,kindlymeant;butbesidesthatitwasruintohishealth,itwasthepitifullestthinginlifetoseethisunhappy,unfriendedcreaturestaggering,anddancing,andtalkingheknewnotwhat.
