BEN FINDS A PRIZE.
The next morning Charles went to look at the willows. He said they were
different from the sallies they made baskets of; that the same kind
grew in England, but they called them wild sallies there, and never
made baskets of them; but he thought if they could be made to grow
straight he could make a basket of them. So he got the axe, and cut off
a whole parcel of them, in order that they might sprout up the next
spring and grow straight.
Intercourse with the main shore was so difficult and dangerous in the
winter, as there was nothing better to go in than a canoe, that Ben
went off to procure provisions and breadstuff to last him till spring.
When he returned he brought Charles powder and shot.
“Father,” said Charles, “you never got all this powder and shot with
the money I gave you.”
“No, Charles; I put a little to it, because I wanted to make my little
boy a present.”
“Thank you, father.”
“John told me that he would like very much to go into the basket
business with you, and would pound a lot of basket-stuff, and make it
all of a width, and trim the edges smooth and handsome, and get out
the rims and handles. He wants to know if you are willing to take Fred
Williams into partnership with you and him, because he wants to go in.
His father is a miller, and he can sell a good many baskets to folks
that come to the mill. Nova Scotia people often come there after corn,
and he could sell them to them, to sell again to the fishermen down
their way.”
“Yes, father; I should like first rate to have him.”
“John Strout is going to the West Indies this winter, and will bring
the Perseverance over here, and leave her, because she’ll be safe. John
will send basket-stuff over by him, and you can send back word whether
you will take Williams into partnership.”
“I don’t know what would have become of me, if you and mother had not
taken me in. Now, John told me all about Fred. He said that he didn’t
want him to go with him and Uncle Isaac, because he knew that they
should have so much better time together; but he said one day, when
they were off together in a boat, Uncle Isaac told him that we ought
to deny ourselves to help others, and talked to him in such a way that
he felt ashamed of himself, and couldn’t look Uncle Isaac in the face,
but had to look right down in the bottom of the boat. Since that he had
gone with Fred, and was right glad of it, for he had become a real good
boy, and he’s as smart as lightning. I saw that the day I was over to
see John.”
“He has become a first-rate boy. Everybody that goes to the mill says
there is not a better, more obliging boy in town; and they are always
glad when he is in the mill, his father is so cross.”
“You know I would rather be with John alone; but if he made a sacrifice
to get him good, I ought to help keep him good.”
“That’s right, Charlie; that is a good principle.”
“Do you know, father, it seems to me just like this about Fred. When I
get out an ash rim for a basket, it is hard work to bend it; and if,
after I have bent it, I don’t fasten it, but throw it down on the floor
and leave it, in the morning it will be straightened out just where it
was before; but if I fasten it till it gets dry and set, it will stay
so; and I think we ought to do all we can to keep Fred good till he
gets fairly set in good ways, and then he’ll stay set.”
Ben had scarcely removed the provisions from the canoe, and put it all
under cover, when the weather suddenly changed. As night came on, the
wind increased, with snow; and afterwards hauling to the south-east,
blew a hurricane, the rain falling in torrents through the night; but
at daylight hauled to the south-west, when it became fair.
Ben and Joe were at work in the front room making shingles. At morning
high-water they heard a constant thumping in the direction of the White
Bull for more than an hour, when it gradually ceased. At night they
heard it again.
“Joe,” said Ben, “let us take the canoe after supper, and go over and
see what that thumping is. It is not the surf, nor rocks grinding on
each other, I know.”
When they reached the spot they found the bowsprit of a vessel, with
the bobstays hanging to it, having been broken off at the gammoning,
with the gripe attached to it. There was also the fore-mast and
fore-topmast, with the yards and head-stays, the mast being carried
away at the deck. The chain-plates also on the starboard side and
channels had been torn out, and hung to the shrouds by the lanyards.
On the port side there were only the shrouds and the upper dead-eyes.
The sails were on the yards, while braces, clew-garnets, clew-lines,
leach-lines, bunt-lines, and reef-tackles,--some nearly of their entire
length, others cut and parted,--were rolled around the spars, and
matted with kelps and eel-grass, in almost inextricable confusion. In
the fore-top was a chest lashed fast, and filled with studding-sail
gear, which having been fastened, the rigging remained in it. These
ropes were very long, and had been but little worn.
“Well,” said Ben, looking upon the mass with that peculiar interest
that a wreck always inspires in the heart of a seaman, “I am sorry for
the poor fellows who have met with a misfortune; but this rigging,
these sails and iron-work, are a most precious God-send to me.”
Iron and cordage were both very valuable articles in the country at
that time, as the British government had forbidden the erection of
rolling and slitting mills before the Revolution, and the manufactures
of the country were just struggling into life. Withes of wood were used
in lieu of ropes and chains.
“The long bolts in that gripe,” said Joe, “will make you a crane.
A few more links put to the chain on that bobstay will make you a
first-rate draught chain. The straps of the dead-eyes welded together,
and a little steel put on the point, will make a good crowbar.”
But Ben had ideas, which he did not make known to Joe, very different
from the construction of cranes or crowbars. These it were which
occasioned his joy at the sight of the wreck.
“These are the spars of a big ship,” said Ben; “neither the sea nor the
wind took these sticks out of her.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because, if the ship had gone ashore, and gone to pieces, the spars
and this gripe would have gone where she did. She never lost that mast
by the wind. If she had, the chain-plates wouldn’t be hanging to the
shrouds, for no rigging would hold to tear the channels from a ship’s
side.”
“No more it wouldn’t. I never thought of that; but how did she lose it?”
“She has run full splinter on to an iceberg, and struck it with her
starboard bow. An iceberg would scrub her chain off as easy as you
would pull a mitten off your hand.”
“Then she went down with all hands.”
“Perhaps not. I’ve seen a vessel keep up, and get into port, that had
her stem cut off within four inches of the hood ends. Look there,”
pointing to the larboard shrouds of the fore-rigging; on the dead-eyes
and the shrouds were the marks of an axe. “Somebody did that in cutting
the lanyard to let the spars go clear of the ship. They would not have
done that if she had been going down.”
They built a shed of boards to put the rigging and sails under, and
yards, while Charles burnt the mast, bowsprit, and caps to get the iron.
Snow having now fallen, they began to haul their spars and logs to
the beach. John Strout now came over and brought the basket-stuff,
and Charles sent word by him to John that he would like to take Fred
Williams into partnership.
John brought word that Fred’s father was going to repair the mill, and
that while that was going on, Fred would like to come over and see
Charles, and learn to make baskets. Charles sent word back that it
would be agreeable to him to have him come. He was now quite excited.
Here was company coming, and nowhere for them to sleep but on the
floor. There were but two bedsteads in the house,--one in the kitchen,
where Ben and his wife slept, and the other in the front room, where
Joe slept. This was the spare bed, and the best room, though it was
made a workshop of, and was half full of shingles and staves; but they
could do no better.
Charlie, as usual, went to Sally for counsel.
“I should not care for him,” said she; “I should as lief he would sleep
on the floor as not. If you give him as good as you have yourself, that
is good enough.”
“But, mother, I shouldn’t want him to go home and say that he came to
see me, and had to sleep on the floor; besides, John might hear of it,
and then he wouldn’t like to come.”
“John! he’d sleep on the door-steps, or a brush-heap, and think it was
beautiful. I’ll tell you; I’ll ask Joe to sleep in your bed, and let
you and Fred have the front room.”
“O, no, mother! I’m afraid he won’t like it; and then he will play some
trick on us. I have thought of a plan, mother.”
“Let us hear it.”
“There are some yellow-birch joist up chamber, all curly, with real
handsome whorls in them. I think I could make a bedstead of them;
and then, you know, it would be my own, and we should have it if any
company came. I have got an auger that I borrowed of Uncle Isaac, to
bore the holes for the cord, and the earings on the sails that came
ashore would make a nice cord.”
“I would, Charlie; that will be a first-rate plan.”
“But I don’t like to ask father for the wood. He has saved it to make
something, and perhaps I might spoil it, and not make a bedstead after
all.”
“Ask him yourself. I’ll risk your spoiling the stuff. If you do,
there’s plenty more where that came from.”
Charlie asked for and obtained the joist. As he didn’t want Joe to look
at and criticise him, when he saw him coming from the woods to his
meals, he put it up chamber. At length he finished making it. Then he
scraped it with a scraper made of a piece of saw-plate, and then rubbed
it with dogfish skin, which made all the curls and veins in the wood
to show, and put it in the front room for Ben and Joe to see when they
came in to dinner.
“If I only had,” said Charles, “some dye-stuff, how handsome I could
make this look!”
Joe told him there was a little red ochre in the schooner, which he
would get for him. This Charles mixed with vinegar, and rubbed a little
on the wood, which brought out the beauty of the wood, and gave it a
nice color.
“If I were you, Charlie,” said Ben, “I would have a sacking bottom to
your bed, instead of bare cords.”
“What is that?”
“Why, there is a piece of canvas that was torn from one of the sails,
take that, and make it almost large enough to fill up the bedstead;
then hem it, and make a row of eyelet-holes all around the edges, and
cord it tight into the bedstead. It will be first rate to sleep on.”
“Ben, shew Charles how to sew with a sailor’s thimble, which is held in
the hollow of the hand;” and he made it and put it in.
Fred now came over, and Charles taught him to set up and make a basket.
He made a good many, and burnt them up in the fire, till at length he
made one that would do. After this he got along very well.
The two boys now began to fire at a mark, as Fred had brought some
powder and shot, and a gun with him. Charles, at first, shut up both
eyes when he fired, and almost dropped the gun when it went off,
and was afraid it would kick; and Fred could show him as much about
shooting as he could Fred about basket-making; but he soon got so that
he could fire without winking, and hold the gun firm to his shoulder,
and hit a mark quite well. Then they took a block of wood, and made it
in the shape of a Whistler, and anchored it in the water, and fired
at that, as it was bobbing up and down in the water; and at length
Charles got so he could hit that twice out of four times. When they
had expended their ammunition, they took, instead of shot, peas and
gravel-stones.
One day, after dinner, Charles came running into the house all out of
breath, saying there was a little child in the woods.
“How do you know?” said Ben.
“I have seen its tracks and its bare foot-prints in the snow. O,
father! do come and help me find it; it will freeze to death.”
“It is not a child’s track, Charles.”
“What is it?”
“It is a raccoon track thawed out; they look like a child’s track.”
“What is a raccoon, father?”
“They are about twice as large as Sailor, and live in the woods on
mice, fish, and berries. I will show you one some day.”
“May I shoot him; me and Fred?”
“No; I want them to breed.”
They now began to take what Charles called real solid comfort. The days
were short; as Ben said, only two ends to them. They had abundance of
time to sleep, and were all in full health and vigor.