II. REDBURN'S DEPARTURE FROM HOME


It was with a heavy heart and full eyes, that my poor mother parted with
me; perhaps she thought me an erring and a willful boy, and perhaps I
was; but if I was, it had been a hardhearted world, and hard times that
had made me so. I had learned to think much and bitterly before my time;
all my young mounting dreams of glory had left me; and at that early
age, I was as unambitious as a man of sixty.

Yes, I will go to sea; cut my kind uncles and aunts, and sympathizing
patrons, and leave no heavy hearts but those in my own home, and take
none along but the one which aches in my bosom. Cold, bitter cold as
December, and bleak as its blasts, seemed the world then to me; there is
no misanthrope like a boy disappointed; and such was I, with the warmth
of me flogged out by adversity. But these thoughts are bitter enough
even now, for they have not yet gone quite away; and they must be
uncongenial enough to the reader; so no more of that, and let me go on
with my story.

"Yes, I will write you, dear mother, as soon as I can," murmured I, as
she charged me for the hundredth time, not fail to inform her of my safe
arrival in New York.

"And now Mary, Martha, and Jane, kiss me all round, dear sisters, and
then I am off. I'll be back in four months--it will be autumn then, and
we'll go into the woods after nuts, an I'll tell you all about Europe.
Good-by! good-by!"