CHAPTER XIX.
CHARLIE IN THE SHIP-YARD.
PERHAPS the readers of the previous volumes will recollect that IsaacMurch became so much interested in the account given him, in Havana,by Captain Rhines, of the noble conduct of Flour in respect to hisold master, aiding him in his poverty, and also of his kindness andfidelity to himself when sick, that he determined to teach him to readand write, and he made some progress during the passage home. WhenIsaac went to sea again, John Rhines became his teacher, and when Johnwent to learn a trade, Captain Rhines undertook the task himself. Itwas quite pleasing to note the respect with which Flour was treated bythe whole community since he had begun to respect himself, had becomea temperate man, and was acquiring knowledge; for, not satisfied withteaching him to read, Captain Rhines was instructing him in arithmetic.He spent the rainy days, and other leisure moments he could sparefrom his labor, in studying. Nobody now called him Flour, exceptoccasionally from long habit.
It was now James, or Peterson, or even Mr. Peterson. He was anexcellent calker and rigger. Captain Rhines introduced him atWiscasset, where they built many large vessels to carry ton-timber andspars, as a reliable workman, and he had all the work he wanted. Thecaptain also gave him a piece of land, put him up a houseframe, andboarded it. He was able to finish it, little by little, himself, andleave the money, which was in Captain Rhines’s hands, on interest. Hehad a boy, Benjamin, named after Captain Rhines, nineteen years old, astout, smart fellow, with very handsome form and features, all the boy,now John Rhines was gone, that Charlie couldn’t throw; but he was soblack he shone.
Before this, Flour lived near Captain Rhines’s pasture, in a half-facedlog cabin, where he had squat. It stood among a bed of thistles, withheaps of clam shells all around. Destitute of a chimney, the smoke wentthrough a hole in the roof of his cabin, and he was called Old Flour.
No one but they who had lived on Elm Island could imagine what aconvenience the Perseverance, Jr. had become. Indeed, not a member ofthe family would have parted with her for any consideration.
Sunday morning, no matter if it was quite rough, they would all butSally Merrithew or Mrs. Rhines, get in and go to meeting. On pleasantdays they would take the baby, and then all could go. If it was calm itdid not matter in the least. Ben would take two oars, and, sitting onthe forward thwart, row cross-handed, while Charlie would pull one oaraft, and Sally, assisted, or rather bothered, by Ben, Jr., would steer.
The boat had not been in the water a week before Mrs. Rhines and Marydiscovered that they had never seen the baby, and must see it; andCharlie had to bring them on.
It was so convenient, too, for Sally’s mother, who was no more afraidof the water than a coot, to come and see her daughter! and even Mrs.Rhines, naturally timorous on the water, was not afraid to come in_that_ boat.
Tige came on with the Rhines girls. _He_ wanted to see the baby; andsuch a frolic as he had with Ben, Jr., and the little one you neversaw! Tige played rather rough. Every once in a while he would get thewhole top of Bennie’s head into his mouth, and scrape the scalp withthe points of his teeth, till the child would sing out at the top ofhis voice, and quit playing till it had done smarting, and then beginwith new zeal. Bennie had a great chunk of meat that Tige wanted; butBen wouldn’t give it to him. Tige followed him round, and when hisattention was occupied, licked it out of his hand; but before he couldswallow it, Ben got bold of one half, and it was which and t’other,till, Ben’s fingers slipping on the greasy meat, he went over backwardson the floor, and the meat disappeared down Tige’s throat in a moment.
The child, provoked, began to strike him; but all the notice Tige tookof it was to wag his tail in complacent triumph, and lick the child’sgreasy fingers.
“It wouldn’t be a very safe operation for a man to pull meat out ofTige’s mouth, and strike him in that way,” said Ben, patting fondly thenoble brute; “his life wouldn’t be worth much.”
While Charlie was thus pleasantly and profitably occupied inboat-building, a cousin of Captain Rhines, Mr. Foss, who was employedin ship-building at Stroudwater, came to visit him. Captain Rhinesbrought him on to the island to see Ben. He conceived a great likingfor Charlie, who then had two boats set up in the shop, and partlydone. Charlie, in the course of conversation, told him of his desireand intention one day to become a ship-builder.
“If that is your intention,” was the reply of Mr. Foss, “you haveworked long enough on boats.”
“Why so, sir; is it not much the same thing?”
“Not by any means; the proportions are very different. A full boatwould be a very sharp ship--too sharp: the scale is larger, and thedistances longer. What would be a proper dead rise in a boat would bequite another thing, come to let it run the length of a vessel’s floor,three times as wide as the whole boat. I’m going to set up a vesselwhen I go back; if you will go with me and work till spring, I’ll giveyou good wages, and learn you all I know; with the practice you havehad on boats, you will learn very fast.”
Ben expressed his willingness.
“But I have these boats to finish.”
“Mr. Foss will not go for a week; what is not done by that time, I willdo.”
“What will you do, if I take the tools?”
“You need take no more than a broadaxe, adze, square, rule, andcompasses,” said Mr. Foss; “I’ve got tools enough.”
It was so late in the year, Ben thought he should not be able to crossto the main land much more, and told them to take the boat.
They accordingly furnished themselves with provision, water, and acompass, and set out, Charlie consoling himself for leaving Elm Islandby the prospect of being only three or four miles from John.
He was now to leave Elm Island for the first time since he came on toit, and he went all around to take a last look at his pets, and bidthem “good by,” and even to the top of the old maple and big pine,where he had spent so many happy hours.
They had a pleasant time up, either a fair wind or calm, did not haveto row but little till they ran her right into Stroudwater River, andinto the ship-yard.
The next Saturday evening about eight o’clock, John Rhines was toldthat some one wished to see him at the door; and going without a light,he landed in the embrace of Charlie.
The moment they were alone, Charlie said,--
“Guess what I have done since you came away.”
“Built a boat.”
“Yes; I’ve sold her, and built five more; sold all but one of them, andI came up in _her_.”
“What a boy you are, Charlie! We’ll have some sails in her; there’s aglorious chance to sail in this harbor in the summer, and a splendidfishing ground. There are lots of acorns on Hog Island, and walnuts onMackie’s Island.”
“Yes; but guess what else I’ve done.”
“It’s no use to guess, you do so many things.”
“Bought a farm.”
“Bought a farm!”
“Yes, and paid for it! almost four hundred acres; all kinds of land. O,the prettiest harbor! and a pond, a brook, and the handsomest elm treeyou ever saw. All kinds of land, and bears on it, John; only think,bears on it, and wolves. O, I forgot a little duck of an island, wherethe Indians made canoes.”
“Is there a great long point that crooks round like a horseshoe? anddoes the elm stand on a little tongue that the water runs almost round?”
“Just so.”
“O, I know; that’s a splendid place! I’ve been there many a time,frost-fishing. Cross-root Spring is there, a regular boiling spring;but I never was far from the beach. I didn’t know there was a pond.”
“Now, John, some time when we get through here, you, and I, and Fredwill go and have a chowder there; go all over it, and have a good time.”
After this they spent Sundays together, and sat side by side at meeting.
When Charlie began to work at Stroudwater the timber was not cut;thus he had an opportunity to help cut the timber, and begin at thefoundation. Modern improvements were unknown
then, and he found Mr.Foss built his vessels very much as he built his boats--by setting upstem and stern posts, a few frames, and working by ribbands.
It was late in the fall when Charlie went away, and Ben was obliged towork on the boats when he ought to have been putting his winter woodunder cover. The moment the boats were done, he hauled up an enormouspile of wood, both green and dry, and had cut up a good part of thedry, when there came a great fall of snow and covered it all up; andnot only so, but the dry chips that had come from hewing the frame ofthe shed, which were scattered over the ground, and that he meant tohave put under cover. Thus the wood was all covered up in snow, and thenew wood-shed stood empty.
Sally Merrithew had returned home; the snow was deep; the weather,though fair, extremely cold; and communication between Elm Island andthe main pretty much suspended. Joe Griffin was building a log-house onhis own land; but the snow being so deep that it was quite difficult towork in the woods, Peter Brock had persuaded him to assist in makingaxes.
Uncle Jonathan Smullen lived about half way between Joe’s father’s andthe blacksmith’s shop, on a little rise, just where the road makes ashort turn and goes down to Peterson’s spring. Thus Joe passed thehouse several times a day, going to and returning from labor.
Sally Merrithew did not approve of his practical jokes: he knew it, andendeavored with all his might to restrain himself. It was now a longtime since Joe had been uncorked, and Sally was beginning to hope henever would be again.
Uncle Smullen had a cross ram: he would often run at the old man, who,being old and clumsy, was afraid of him. The barn-yard was very large,being used for both sheep and cattle. In the middle was a large patchof ice. The old man had stocking feet drawn over his shoes, to preventslipping, and whenever the ram made demonstrations, would run on theice; the ram, unable to follow, would stand at the edge and keep himthere till some one came, or the ram got tired.
Half the cause of the trouble was, that the ram wanted the hens’ corn,and, because the old man wouldn’t let him have any, meant to proceed toblows. Joe, finding the old gentleman beleaguered one day, relieved him.
“The pesky creetur, Mr. Griffin, has kept me here most all theforenoon.”
“I’d cut his head off.”
“I would, Joseph; but he’s an excellent breed; I bought him of SethDingley.”
This incident suggested an idea to Joe’s but too fertile brain in aninstant. The spirit of mischief invigorated by a long repose, and withdifficulty suppressed, rose in arms. That night he made shoes forthe ram’s feet, with sharp calks, and nails to put them on with. Mr.Smullen was very methodical in his habits, and Joe was well acquaintedwith them.
It was his custom, before turning the cattle out in the forenoon, toput a little salt hay in the yard for the sheep, then carry out thecorn for the hens, and bring in the eggs in the same measure; and henever varied a hair’s breadth.
After Bobby had gone to school, Joe went into the sheep-house, nailedthe shoes on the ram, and after plaguing and irritating him till he wasthoroughly mad, hid himself behind the log fence, in the sun, to seewhat would come of it.
The ram did not offer to molest the old gentleman while he was bringingout the hay. Soon afterwards he came out with a wooden bowl full ofcorn, going to the barn, when the ram started for him.
“You won’t catch me this time, you pesky sarpint you,” said the oldgentleman, quickening his pace for the ice, and soon reached what hesupposed his harbor of safety. The brute had found out he was shod,and running backward half the length of the yard to obtain momentum,rushed forward and struck the old gentleman in the rear with the forceof a battering-ram. Away went the corn in all directions over theyard, to the manifest delight of the hungry sheep. Uncle Smullen layprostrate on the ice: one half the wooden bowl flew over the fence, theother into the water trough, while the ram, who had exerted his utmoststrength in a dead rush, not meeting with the resistance upon which hehad calculated, turning a summerset upon the body of his antagonist,went end over end. Before he could pick himself up, he was seized byJoseph, and flung into the barn.
UNCLE JONATHAN AND THE RAM. Page 282.]
The moment Joe saw Uncle Smullen fall, his better nature awoke:hastening to his aid, he inquired,--
“Are you much hurt, Uncle Jonathan?”
“I don’t know! I’m in hopes there ain’t no bones broke; it’s a marcythere ain’t. If I’d gone backwards, it would sartainly have killed me.”
“Your face is bleeding,” said Joe, wiping it with his handkerchief.
“Yes; I’m terribly shook all over, and I feel kind o’ faint.”
The old man was bruised on his forehead, and his lip was cut by theedge of the bowl; but though much frightened, he was not seriouslyinjured.
Joe took him in his arms, and carried him into the house, secretlyresolving that this should be the last thing of the kind he would everbe guilty of.
Depositing the old man on the bed, he went to the barn and tore theshoes off the ram’s feet, but, in his haste to get back, dropped one onthe floor of the tie-up.
“I thought I was safe on that spot of ice, Joseph. He never followedme there before. I didn’t think he could stand on the ice.”
“You see he couldn’t very well,” replied Joe, who was in agony lest hisagency in the matter should get wind; “for you see he went end overend.”
“We ought to be thankful,” said Mrs. Smullen, “it’s no worse. There wasold Mrs. Aspinwall broke her hip only by treading on a pea, and fallingdown on her own floor. What we’re going to do about wood and the cattleI’m sure I don’t know! I’m so lame, I couldn’t milk to save my life.”
“Don’t worry the least mite about the cattle, Mrs. Smullen. I’ll takecare of them, and cut you up a lot of wood.”
“I’m sure I don’t know how we shall ever repay you, Joseph. It’s of theLord’s marcies you happened to be here.”
This was perfect torture to Joe. His cheeks burned, and his consciencestung.
“I’m sure,” said the old man, “I don’t know what I shall do with thatram, now he’s got to be master.”
“I’ll take care of him,” said Joe.
He persuaded Sally Merrithew to go there, and stay till the oldgentleman got better, then went and tied the ram’s legs, and, flinginghim on his shoulders, carried him over to his father’s.
Sally was a girl of keen wit and excellent judgment. She had not theleast doubt but that, in some way or other, Joe Griffin was at thebottom of the whole matter.
“How came he there at that time of day, when he ought to have been inPeter Brock’s shop?” was the query she raised in her own mind. Hisassiduous attentions to the old people had to her a suspicious look,and appeared very much like an effort to atone for an injury. The ramhad never ventured on the ice before--how came he to then? Still thesesurmises afforded not a shadow of proof. She was greatly perplexed.
One morning she was milking, and, perceiving that her pail didn’t seteven on the floor, moved it, and underneath was one of the ram’s shoesthat Joe had dropped. In an instant she had a clew to the mystery.Perceiving that no one was in sight, she went to the spot of ice, foundthe prints of the ram’s corks, and compared them with the shoe.
“What a creature he is!” said Sally. “I was in hopes he had left offsuch things, after having been most smothered in a honey-pot, andscorched in the brush. He’s broke out again, worse than ever.”
Sunday night he came to see her, as usual.
“Joe,” said she, “do they shoe at Peter’s shop?”
“Yes, Peter shoes lots of horses; but they go round to the houses toshoe oxen, carry the shoes and nails, and cast the cattle in the barnfloor” (slings were not in use then) “to nail them on.”
“Do they ever shoe rams?”
Joe’s features instantly assumed a terrified expression. He colored tothe very tips of his ears, but uttered no word.
“If,” said Sally, “it had been Ben Rhines, Seth Warren, Charlie, oranybody that coul
d have taken their own part; but to set to work onthat poor old man, one of the kindest men that ever lived, who took inthat miserable Pete Clash, and clothed him, when he had no place toput his head, and whom everybody loves, to run the risk of killing orcrippling him for life, I say it’s real mean!”
Joe made no reply, and Sally saw something very much like a tear in hiseye. She pitied him from the bottom of her heart, but felt that for thereformation of such an incorrigible sinner it was her duty to go on.
“Did you ever see that before?” she inquired, holding before theterrified culprit the identical shoe, with the nails still sticking init.
Joe uttered a groan.
“If it should get out, the neighbors would never speak to you again,and you’d have to leave town. I know you feel bad,” she continued,bursting into tears; “but what did put it into your head?”
“The devil.”
“Well, I’d keep better company.”
“You see, Sally, I was going home to dinner one day, and the ram hadthe old man penned on the ice, and there they stood looking at eachother. That’s what put it into my head. I didn’t think anything aboutthe consequences till I saw the ram start for him. Then it all came tome, and I was over the fence in a minute; but it was too late. I don’tthink I’m made like other folks. Such things come over me just likelightning, and it seems as if I was hurried. This is the last shine Ishall ever cut up.”
“You’ve said so before, Joe.”
“But I _mean_ it now; I’m _purposed_. Won’t you give me that shoe,Sally?”
“No, Joe, I’m going to keep it; and as sure as you cut up anothershine, I’ll show it.”
Joe’s reformation was _radical_ this time, and Sally ventured to marryhim. Years after--when Mrs. Griffin--Sally Rhines was visiting her. Inhunting over her drawers to find a pattern of a baby’s dress, she cameacross the shoe, and then it came out. She gave it to the baby to playwith.
“I should be afraid to give it to him,” said Mrs. Rhines, “for fearhe’d catch something, and go to cutting up shines when he grows up.”
CHAPTER XX.
THE FIRST TROUBLE, AND THE FIRST PRAYER.
BEING somewhat lonely in the absence of Charlie, Ben employed himselfin getting timber to build a scow, that he meant to construct witha mast, sails, and a sliding-keel, or, as they are now termed,centre-boards, to take cattle and hay to and from Griffin’s Island.
Uncle Isaac and Captain Rhines came on New Year’s Day. They told Benand Sally it was so cold, and the weather uncertain, that they needn’texpect to see them again till April.
The next day, Danforth Eaton and two more came and hired thePerseverance. Ben told them, when they were done with her, to leave herin Captain Rhines’s Cove.
They were now left entirely alone. During the latter part of the sameweek, Ben, who had been out gunning all day, crawling round on therocks, and getting wet, complained at night of pain in his head andback, and of chilliness. He made use of the usual remedies for acold, but without avail. He continued to grow worse rapidly, and itwas evident that he was to have a run of fever. Sally was in greatextremity, her husband dangerously sick, neither physician nor medicineat hand,--save those simple remedies that necessity had taught ourmothers,--with two children, one a baby, a stock of cattle to takecare of, and utterly alone as respected any human aid. It was a bitterthought to her, as she sat listening to the wanderings of her husbandshe tenderly loved, and for whom she had sacrificed so much, that,while so rich in friends, all were ignorant of their necessity.
“If they only knew it at home,” said she to herself, “how soon should Isee the Perseverance’s sails going up, and help coming!”
Sally had not what is sometimes termed a religious temperament. Therewas no sentiment about her. She was extremely conscientious in respectto keeping the Sabbath, or making light of serious things, was verydecided in all her convictions, and never temporized. If it was wrongto do anything, it was wrong, and that was the end of it with her. Shenever read religious books from choice,--like many who never arrive atany satisfactory results in religious matters,--but only as a duty, asshe did the Bible. She never cared to hear religious conversation,and, though she listened with the greatest respect to her mother inrelation to these subjects, it went in at one ear and out at the other.Uncle Isaac’s description of her was perfect. She was lively as ahumming-bird, and had too good a time of it in this world to think muchabout the other. But under the terrible pressure that now came uponher, the resolute nature and iron frame of the true-hearted, lovingwoman began to give way.
With the exception of some large logs for back logs, the wood which wascut was exhausted, and she was obliged to dig it from the snow and cutit.
The great fireplace was so deep, it was impossible to keep the roomwarm without a large log to bring the fire forward, and throw the heatinto the room. These logs, which were three feet through, Sally hauledinto the house on a hand-sled, and rolled into the fireplace, then cutup the rest of the wood to complete the fire.
The weather was intensely cold, the snow deep and drifted, and shewas obliged to drive the cattle to the brook, and cut holes in theice for them to drink. In addition to all this was the care of Bennieand the baby, the constant watching, and sense of loneliness. Whata commentary was this upon the declaration of Uncle Isaac to Ben, inreply to the expression of his fears lest the untried hardships of ElmIsland should prove too much for Sally,--
“O, she’s got the old iron nature of that breed of folks. She’s hadnothing to call out that grit yet; but you’ll find out what she’s madeof when she comes to be put to’t.”
Her husband was now so much reduced that it was with the greatestdifficulty she could hear his requests, and the apprehension that hewould die, which had tortured her for weeks, now seemed ripening intocertainty.
It was just before midnight. Ben had lain since morning in a stupor,from which it seemed impossible to rouse him, and, being nearly highwater, she feared he would die when the tide turned.
It was a fearful night. The roar of the sea on the rocks, with thathoarse, pitiless sound which pertains to the surf, and the hollow moanof the wind in the forest was heard all through the house. Sally hadbeen taught to say her prayers from childhood, but never in all herlife had she prayed in her own words. But now, as she sat with theBible upon her knees, and her eye caught the promise, “Ask and yeshall receive,” something seemed to whisper, “Pray, poor woman, pray.”“Had I shown any gratitude for His mercies,” thought she, “I mightwith more confidence resort to Him in trouble.” At length, driven todespair, she fell on her knees beside the bed, and begged for mercy andhelp from heaven. “I am glad I did it,” said Sally, as she rose fromher knees; “I think I now know something of what I have heard mothersay--that the best place to carry a sore heart is to the cross. I don’tknow what God will do with me, but I feel more willing to be in Hishands. What a strange thing praying is! If you don’t get what you ask,you get comfort. It kind of takes the sting out. It’s like as when Iwas burnt so awfully, and the fire was out; the anguish is abated,though the wound is not healed. I will pray more, and trust more.” Shespent the remainder of the night in prayer and reading the Scriptures.
The wind, shortly after midnight, had changed to north-west, and,though bitterly cold, it became clear. As the light of morningstruggled through the windows, Sally scraped the thick coating offrost from the panes, that she might see her husband’s face, andeagerly scanned the pallid features. “He certainly does not look sodeath-like,” thought she, “is not feverish at all, and he certainlybreathes better.” In the course of an hour, he made a sign for drink.She put it to his lips, and found that he swallowed. A short timeafter, she gave him some nourishment, which he also took. When a coupleof hours had passed, he opened his eyes. She bent her ear to his lips,and asked him how he felt. “Better,” was the reply, in a voice scarcelyaudible. It was the first word he had spoken for two days. “The feverhas turned, I know it has!” she cried; and falling on her kne
es, shepoured out her heart in gratitude to God. Just then the child waked.“O, you blessed little soul,” cried the delighted mother, almostsmothering it with kisses, “did you know your father was better?” Andtying the young child in a chair, and giving it some playthings, shecaught the milk-pail. As she opened the door, a ray of sunshine flashedin her face, and streamed across the threshold. “Bless God!” cried she,tears of gladness streaming down her cheeks; “it’s sunshine in my heartthis morning.”
“How are you all?” said Sally, as she entered the barn, and, mountingwith rapid steps the mow, pitched down a bountiful foddering to thecattle. “Put that into you; it’s Thanksgiving on this island to-day.”While Sailor, catching the altered looks and tone of his mistress,barked, and ran into the snow till nothing but the end of his tail wasto be seen.
“How strong I feel this morning!” she exclaimed, rolling an enormouslog on to the hand-sled; “I’ll make this old fireplace roar. I’ll havesome light in this room, so that I can see Ben’s face. I have not daredto look at him for a month past,” catching a cloth, wet with hot water,and washing the frost from the windows. “I’ll wash up this floor, too;it is dirty enough to plant potatoes on; and then I’ll have a nap.”
In the afternoon, Ben awoke in the full possession of his faculties,though extremely weak, and in a whisper asked for the baby; he thenasked for Sailor. Sally had kept the dog in the outer room, that hemight not disturb her husband; but the moment she opened the door, heleaped on the bed, and licked his master’s hands and face, and then,rolling himself into a ball at his feet, went to sleep, occasionallyopening one eye to see if his master was there.
It was now the first of March. The brigantine General Knox, EdwardHiller, master, was working her way to the eastward. She was homewardbound from Matanzas, having lain in Portland during a severe gale,where she had discharged her cargo. A heavy sea was still running,and the vessel, close hauled on the wind, and under short sail, beinglight, was knocking about at a great rate. Captain Hiller had been fromboyhood a deep-water sailor, but, having married the year before, tooka smaller vessel, traded to the West Indies in winter, and coasted inthe summer. He was now bound home for a summer’s coasting, having hisbrother Sam for mate, and a crew composed of his neighbors’ boys, twoof whom, John Reed and Frank Wood, were his cousins. Captain Hiller wasamusing himself with humming the old capstan ditty,--
“Storm along, my hearty crew, Storm along, stormy,”--
in tones which sounded like a nor’wester, whistling through agrommet-hole, at times varying his occupation by sweeping the horizonwith his glass. At length he said to the man at the helm,--
“John, what island is that on the lee bow?”
“Don’t know, sir.”
“I’ll ask our Sam: he is pilot all along shore, and knows every rock,and everybody. Sam, come aft here.”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
“What island is that to leeward?”
“Elm Island, captain.”
“Does anybody live there?”
“Yes, sir; Ben Rhines.”
“What Ben Rhines?”
“Him they call Lion.”
“That can’t be, Sam: he took his father’s ship when the old man gaveup; there ain’t his equal along shore. I’ve been “shipmates” with him:he wouldn’t be living on such a place as that.”
“It is so, captain; he was offered the ship; but like another manI know of, that is a relation to me, he fell in love with a prettygirl, who vowed she wouldn’t marry him if he went to sea. And so hebought that island, married the girl, and has turned farmer. There’ssome trouble there; I can see a woman on the beach, and she has got apetticoat--that’s the flag of all nations--on an oar, and is makingsignals.”
“If my old shipmate is in trouble, I’m there. Keep her off for theisland, John. Flow the main sheet, and set the colors in the mainrigging, and then she’ll know we see her signals.”
The vessel, with the wind free, increased her speed, but notsufficiently to suit the impatience of the noble-hearted seaman, whoexclaimed,--
“Shake the reefs out of the mainsail! loose the fore-topsail! Why, howslow you move to help a neighbor! Sam, do you know the way in there? Itseems to be all breakers.”
“I know the way, captain; there’s water enough.”
“Then shove her in: we’ll soon know what’s the matter.”
Ben, propped up with pillows, and now able to converse, receivedwith heartfelt joy his old shipmate, who sat down beside him, whilethe young men gazed with awe upon the great bones and muscles, madeprominent by the wasting of the flesh, and called to mind the wonderfulstories they had heard of his strength.
“What do you think of that, boys, for a lion’s paw?” said the captain,taking up Ben’s right arm, and showing it to the astonished group.“Now, Mrs. Rhines,” said he, “do you get a couple of axes, and John andFrank will cut some wood, while Sam and myself get your husband up, andput some clean clothes on him, and I will shave him; then you can makethe bed, and we will put him back; for I suppose he has not been movedsince he was taken sick.”
“No,” said Sally; “it was impossible for me to move him.”
These strong and willing hands soon put a new face on matters. With aroaring fire in the old fireplace, clean linen on the bed, the houseput to rights, Ben shaved, and his spirits excited by hope, everythingseemed cheerful.
“Frank,” said the captain, “go aboard, and in my berth you’ll find apot of tamarinds and a box of guava jelly; they’ll be just the stufffor him: I got them fresh in Matanzas.”
“Frank,” said Sam, “get a couple dozen oranges out of my chest.”
“Don’t you do it, Frank,” said John Reed; “get them out of mine: he iscourting a girl; but I ain’t so happy. I haven’t anybody to give mineto.”
“Captain,” said Ben, “you will dine with us.”
“By no means.”
“Yes; I insist upon it,” said Sally; “such friends as you don’t grow onevery bush.”
“But, Mrs. Rhines, you are worn out with labor and anxiety.”
“I _was_; but that is all gone now.”
“Well,” said the captain, who perceived that a refusal would do moreharm than good, “we will go on board, and get our dinners; yourhusband, who has had quite enough fatigue for once, will sleep; then wewill come to supper, take care of the cattle, and some of us will situp with Mr. Rhines; you will get a good night’s rest, and then will beall right. To-morrow we will go over and get your folks. I should notfeel right to leave you alone.”
The next morning the brig’s boat went over, and brought back SamHadlock, his mother, and Sally Merrithew. Captain Rhines followed, inhis own boat, with Uncle Isaac, and they brought cooked victuals enoughfor a small army. The news spread, and by night the house was full.
“Who will take the Perseverance, and go to Portland for the boys, ifthey are well paid for it?” asked Captain Rhines.
“I,” replied Joe Griffin; “but not for pay.”
“And I,” said Henry.
“And I, too,” said Joe Merrithew.
In less than an hour the swift little craft was cleaving the waves,her sheets well aft, the smoke pouring from the wooden chimney intothe clew of the foresail, and the spray freezing as fast as it came onboard.
When Charlie came, he was so shocked by the emaciated appearance ofBen, and the alteration in Sally, who had grown pale and thin, that heburst into tears.
“Charlie,” said Sally, as they sat together, after the rest hadretired, and Ben was asleep, “do you remember that the first nightyou came here, you said your mother’s dying counsel to you was, whentrouble came, to pray to God, and he would take care of you?”
“Yes, mother.”
“Do you ever pray now?”
“I say the Lord’s prayer; and the first time I went on to my land afterit was mine, I thanked the Lord, or tried to; but I’ve been so happyhere, that I have not prayed as I did before. Don’t you think,” saidhe, fairly getting
into her lap, “that we are more for praying when weare in a tight place?”
“Yes, Charles; and so the better God uses us, the worse we use Him. Thenight you came here, a poor outcast boy, like drift-wood flung on theshore, you said you thought God had forgotten you; and now that he hasgiven you a mother in me, and a father in Ben, and a brother in John,you have forgotten Him.”
“O, mother, I know I am a wicked, ungrateful boy.”
“No more so than the rest of us. Since you left home, I have sufferedall but death; but I have also experienced a great joy. When Ben wasfirst taken sick, he had a high fever; then he was out of his head;after that he went into a sog. At last there came a night, O, what anight! I could scarce get wood to keep from freezing; the sea roaredas though it would come into the house; I thought Ben would die beforemorning. As I sat here, just where I do now, something seemed to say,‘There’s no help for you on this earth; look to God!’ I did look toGod; and I made a promise that I mean to keep! I looked for Ben to diewhen the tide turned; and such horrible thoughts as passed through mymind, that I could not move him from the bed, nor bury him; and to behere alone with a corpse! but when the day broke, I saw he was better.What sweet joy and love sprang up in my heart! You must pray to Godthis night, this moment, Charlie.”
“I will do anything you want me to, mother.”
“You must do it because it is right, not because I want you to.”
“I feel ashamed to, when I think how good He has been to me, and howmeanly I have used Him; but if you will pray for me right here, I willpray for myself when I go to bed.”
When Ben had regained in some measure his strength, Sally told him allher heart.
“These things,” replied he, “are not new to me. In boyhood, yes, evenin childhood, they were familiar to and grew up with me. There aretrees growing on our point that were bushes when I prayed under them.After I went to sea, these impressions faded out; but the death of Johnbrought them back; and since I have left off drinking spirit, they haveincreased in power. The day before I was taken sick, as I lay on therocks watching for birds, and thinking of John, and how quick he went,the thought, _Are you ready to follow him?_ came in my mind with suchdistinctness, that I turned round to see who spoke to me. On the rocks,right there, I cried to God, which I had not done since I was fifteen.I think I see men as trees walking; and I mean to follow after thelittle glimmering of light that I have.”
Ben now improved, the great bones were again clothed with flesh, andthe sinews regained their tremendous power.
In a fortnight the boys returned to their work, Charlie having filledthe shed with dry wood, and the door-yard with green, cut for the fire.He also left a boy of fifteen to take care of the cattle till Benrecovered his strength.
The good impression produced by sickness upon both Ben and Sally wasnot confined to them, but extended to Captain Rhines, Seth Warren, JoeGriffin, John, and Fred, and was the means of bringing Uncle Isaac tomake a public profession of faith, for which he had never before felthimself qualified. Captain Rhines, after a severe struggle, gave up theuse of spirit. Before the boys separated, Fred told them he had done sowell that summer, he meant to get timber in the winter, build a storein the spring, and make a T to the wharf, that vessels might lie safelythere in any weather.
Reluctantly these youthful friends, whose aspirations and sympathiesmingled like the interlacing of green summer foliage, parted each ofthem to their different places of labor. The next and concluding volumeof the series, THE HARD-SCRABBLE OF ELM ISLAND, will inform our readershow they bore themselves in life’s battle, when its responsibilitiesbegan to press upon their young shoulders, cares and trials to thickenaround them, and when called to discharge sterner tasks, and facegreater perils than they had yet encountered.
FOOTNOTE:
[1] Boy Farmers, p. 176.
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