THE BRIDAL CALL.
Parents and friends of the new-married pair had watched with no small
anxiety their progress through the squall. During the height of it,
they could see the canoe when it rose upon the top of a wave; as
it disappeared in a trough of the sea, the widow clasped her hands
convulsively, and gave them up for lost.
“They are safe,” cried Captain Rhines, drawing a long breath; “they’ve
got under the lee of the island. John, run to the house and get my
spy-glass.”
With the aid of the glass he saw them land, and Ben carry Sally to the
house in his arms.
“She’s fainted with fright, poor thing; it’s a rough beginning for
her,” said the widow.
“He only wants to get her to the fire; there’s nothing the matter with
her but a good soaking.”
’Twas now the Indian summer, with calm moonlight nights.
“Wife,” said Captain Rhines, “I expect Sally’s mother is dying to know
how she got on the island that morning. If we don’t go now, we shan’t
be able to go this winter; it’ll be too rough by and by. John, run over
there, and ask her if she would like to go and see Sally.”
“Can I go, too, father?”
“Yes, I want you to help row; so do your chores, tie up the cattle, and
bear a hand about it.”
Sally had washed her supper dishes, and Ben was pulling off his boots,
when the door was opened, and in walked the party. It was a most joyful
surprise to the new-married couple.
“Why, mother!” exclaimed Sally, kissing her again and again; “I was
thinking the other day whether you would ever venture to come on to
this island; and now you’re here so soon, and in the fall of the year,
too!”
“Indeed, Sally, you know I never lacked for courage, only for strength.
You must needs think I had a strong motive.”
But, of all the group, none seemed more delighted than John. He stared
at the log walls, looked up the chimney, capered round the room with
Sailor, and finally getting up in Ben’s lap, put both arms round his
neck, and fairly cried for joy.
“How should you like to live on here, Johnnie?” said Ben.
“O, shouldn’t I like it! you’d better believe.”
“I shot two seals the other day, on the White Bull; and within a week
I’ve killed fifty birds, of all kinds.”
“Won’t you ask father to let me come on and stay a little while, and go
gunning? O, I do miss you so!”
“I shouldn’t wonder if there were ducks now feeding on the flats; take
my gun; she’s all loaded.”
The moment Sailor saw the gun taken down, he was all ready: so
perfectly was he trained, that when it was not desirable he should
play, he would lie still till the gun was fired, and then bring in the
game.
“How I should like to be on here in the daytime!” said John. “Do you
know, Ben, I was never here in all my life before?”
“Why, Sally,” said her mother, “how did you get over in that dreadful
squall? We were all watching you, and felt so worried! Wasn’t you
frightened almost to death?”
“No, mother, I wasn’t much frightened; but I was terrible cold, and
wet all through. I never saw anything look so good, in all my life, as
this great fireplace did, for Ben made a roaring fire in it; and I’m
just as happy and contented as I can be.”
In the midst of this conversation the door opened, and in walked Uncle
Isaac.
“It was such a pleasant night,” said he, addressing the captain, “I
told Hannah we’d take a run down to your house; and when I found you’d
come over here, I thought I’d take your gunning float and follow suit.”
“Why didn’t you bring Hannah with you?” inquired Sally.
“Well, I wanted to; but she ain’t much of a water-fowl, and was afraid
to come in a tittlish gunning float, and said she’d stay and visit
Captain Rhines’s girls; but she sends her love to you, and says if
she’d known I was coming, she’d sent you over a bag of apples.”
“How this does carry a body back!” said the widow; “it don’t seem but
t’other day since I was living in a log house; and how much I’ve been
through since then!”
They then went all over the house, and down cellar.
“Well, Isaac,” said Captain Rhines, “you’ve done yourself credit in
building this house; I knew you would. ’Tisn’t much like the house
I was born in; that wasn’t tighter than a wharf, except while it was
stuffed with moss and clay; and some of that was always falling out.
I’ve gone to bed many a night, and waked up in a snow drift, because
the wind had blown the clay out, and the snow in; but I thought,
when I was coming up from the shore, and saw it standing here in the
moonlight, that it was as much like the one father built, after his
boys got big enough to be of some help to him, as two peas in a pod:
just as many windows, just as high, and with a bark roof; but it ain’t
much like it other-ways; for the timber wan’t hewed--only the bark
and knots taken off where it came together; but this is as tight as a
churn. And then that fireplace; I wouldn’t believed it possible.”
“Well,” said Uncle Isaac, “I did the best I could; but I think Sam beat
the whole of us. I should be glad to swap my fireplace and chimney for
that, and give a yoke of oxen to boot.”
“Do you know, Isaac, there’s nothing carries me back to my boy days
like that old chamber? It’s the very image of ours; it seems to me
as if I was setting there now, on a rainy day, astraddle of a tub,
shelling corn on the handle of mother’s frying-pan, with my thoughts
running all over the world, longing to go to sea, and contriving how I
should get father’s consent.”
A loud mewing was now heard in the corner of the room.
“I declare to man,” said the widow, “I’ve been so taken up with old
times, I forgot. See here, Sally,”--opening her basket and taking out
a kitten,--“I thought she’d be company for you. You know them speckled
chickens, Sally, that the old top-knot hen hatched out.”
“Yes, mother.”
“Well, the hawks carried off three of ’em; and I meant to brought the
rest over to you, but Sam said they wouldn’t lay much this winter;
you’d have to buy corn, and you’d better have ’em in the spring. But
I’ve brought you over a pillow-case full of flax.”
“I,” said Mrs. Rhines, “brought you over some wool.”
“And I,” said Captain Rhines, “a barrel of cider and some vegetables,
to go with your coots and salt beef.”
“While I,” said Uncle Isaac, “am all the one that’s come empty-handed;
but I know what I’ll do; I’ll give you a pig, and Ben can get him next
time he comes off.”
John now came in, bringing five ducks, that he had shot.
“He’s just like the rest of us, Ben,” said his father: “I believe it
runs in the breed of us to shoot.”
“Let him come over here, and stay a day or two, and gun with me.”
“He’s too good a boy,”--patting him fondly on the head;--“I couldn’t
get along without him.”
“That is just the reason,” said his mother, “that he ought to be
gratified once in a while. It’s a great deal better he should be here
with Ben, than with some of the boys he goes with; I should feel much
easier about him than I do when he’s with them in boats, and gunning.
I’m always afraid they’ll shoot one another, or be drowned.”
“Well, it’s just as his mother says; I’m at home so little, I don’t
interfere with her concerns; she’s cap’n; I’m only passenger.”
“But you’re going to be at home all the time now; and I should like to
give up my authority.”
“By the way, Ben, I’ve had a letter from Mr. Welch; he says large,
handsome masts, bowsprits, and spars are in great demand; that he can
find a market in Boston and Salem, in the spring, for all you can send
him.”
“I’m going to cut small spars directly, father; but I want snow to fall
the large ones on, else I shall have to bed them with brush, for fear
of breaking them.”
“He says that the war in Europe is throwing all the carrying trade into
the hands of neutrals; that now we’ve got our government going, it’ll
be snapping times; and that while they’re all fighting like dogs over a
bone, we can run off with the bone; and if I want to try a voyage, he
has a vessel for me.”
“Well, you’re not going,” said his wife; “you’ve been enough, and
you’ve done enough. If Ben could afford to give up going to sea, in the
prime of life, for the sake of Sally, I’m sure you can, in your old
age, for the sake of Betsey; and you belong to me for the rest of your
life.”
“Old!” said the captain, dancing over the room; “I don’t feel a bit
old. I should like a little cash, just to fix up the buildings a
little, buy that timber lot that joins the rye field; and then”--with
a comical look at his wife--“I should like to do a little more for the
minister. I should be so thankful, sometimes, if somebody would come
in that could talk about anything else than some old horse, or cow, or
sheep that’s got the mulligrubs!”
“Father,” said John, as they were preparing to go, “why can’t I stay
now?”
“Because, child, I want you to help me row.”
“Let him stay,” said Uncle Isaac, who, from instinct, always took the
part of the boys; “I’ll go over with you.”
“But there’s my float over here, and I want to go gunning to-morrow.”
“We’ll take her in tow,” said Uncle Isaac.
With mutual good wishes they now separated, leaving John in high glee
at the result, with Ben, for a visit.