Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Ben Hadden; or, Do Right, Whatever Comes Of It, by W.H.G. Kingston.
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This small book, starts Ben off as the son of a fisherman on the east
coast of England. The father is a pious Christian, and brings Ben up to
be one too. Unfortunately various accidents befall the family, and they
fall on hard times. Ben, in rescuing some children from a runaway
horse, is injured, but is befriended by Lieutenant Charlton, who is able
to arrange so that things go better for Ben's mother.
Ben and Charlton go to sea, where Ben has it in mind to find his
long-lost brother Ned.
Many accidents befall Ned, culminating in a shipwreck in the Pacific.
Eventually he is rescued, and, not long after, finds his brother Ned.
They come home together, and set up a new life in support of their
mother.
Throughout, Ben's morale is upheld by his Christian belief. We are told
a great deal about the progress of missionaries among the Pacific
Islands. Rather definitely a Victorian book, but a good read.
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BEN HADDEN, BY W.H.G. KINGSTON.
CHAPTER ONE.
BEN'S HOME.
On the east coast of England, there is a small hamlet surrounded by high
sand-hills, with scarcely a blade of grass or even a low shrub to be
seen in its neighbourhood. The only vegetable productions, indeed,
which can flourish in that light soil, are the pale green rushes, whose
roots serve to bind the sand together, and to prevent the high easterly
winds, so constantly blowing on that coast, affecting it as much as they
would otherwise do. Even in spite of the opposition of the rushes,
several deserted huts have been almost entirely covered up by the
drifting sand. See Note 1.
The population of the village consists of seafaring people and their
families. The men form the crews of the numerous vessels employed in
the herring fisheries which belong to the various fishing-places on the
coast. Nowhere along the shores of England are finer sea-boats or more
hardy crews to be found.
Most of the herring vessels are luggers, from thirty to forty tons
burden, and entirely decked over. Each carries from eight to ten men.
They are divided below into compartments, or tanks: in one compartment,
salt is stowed; into another, the herrings, as soon as caught, are
thrown; in a third they are salted, and are then packed away in lockers,
on either side of the vessel, till she is full. She is then steered for
the shore to the point nearest to a railway, or where there is a market.
Each vessel has several long nets: the upper part of the net floats
close to the surface of the water, buoyed up by bladders; the lower part
is kept down by small bits of lead, and one end is moored to the bottom
by a heavy weight. The fish, as they swim in large shoals, strike
against the net as against a wall, and are caught in the meshes.
Herring fishing is carried on at night, when the fish cannot see the
nets. When a vessel or boat has cast out her nets, she hangs on to the
lee [See note 2] end of them till the morning.
Besides these large herring luggers, many open boats are used; and great
numbers of other boats from the coasts of Scotland and the North of
England resort to these seas in the herring season. There is yet
another class of vessels which frequent this coast. They are the
deep-sea fishing smacks--cutters measuring from thirty to fifty tons,
each carrying about ten men. Their nets differ much from those used by
the luggers and boats. They fish with trawls, and so are called
_trawlers_. A trawl is a net with a deep bag fastened to a long beam,
which long beam has a three-cornered iron at each end. This beam is
dragged along at the bottom of the sea, and stirs up the turbot, bream,
plaice, soles, and other flat-fish which lie there; when they swim into
the bag and are caught. These trawlers fish in the North Sea, sometimes
a hundred and a hundred and fifty miles away from England, off the
Texel. Other fishing grounds are from twelve to twenty miles off the
British coast. At times, more than a hundred vessels are together,
forming a large fleet. One of the oldest and wisest of the captains is
chosen as their head man, and is called the admiral of the fleet.
They have, of course, many rules and laws to govern them. When they
fish far from the land, they remain out six weeks, or more; and do not
once, all that time, go into port. There are, however, steamers
employed, which run to and fro to carry them food and fresh-water, also
to take ice to them. With this ice the fish are packed, as soon as
caught, in large baskets. The steamers then collect the fish from the
different fishing-vessels, and carry it to London, or to the nearest
port where there is a railway station. This account will give an idea
of the many thousand people employed as fishermen on the eastern coasts
of our country. In summer, while the weather is fine, their calling is
pleasant and healthy; but when storms arise the hardships and perils are
very great, and many of the men every year lose their lives, leaving
widows and orphans behind them.
There was belonging to Sandhills, the little hamlet about which I have
spoken, as fine and bold a set of fishermen as any to be found on the
British coast. There were from fifteen to twenty families. The largest
family was that of old John Hadden. He had eight sons and several
daughters: three of his sons were away at sea--two of these were on
board men-of-war, and the third was on board a trading-vessel; four
followed his calling as fishermen, and formed part of the crew of the
lugger of which he was master; the youngest, the eighth--Little Ben as
he was always called, the son of his old age--was as yet too young to go
regularly to sea. He, however, went with his father and brothers in the
summer season, when fine weather was looked for, and he would not
probably be exposed to hardships too severe for his tender years.
The fishermen of that coast were long known as rough and careless men,
thinking nothing of religion, and utterly ignorant of religious truth.
It used to be said of them, that as a rule they lived hard and died
hard, caring for nobody, and nobody caring for them. This was too true
of many, but not of all. It was not true of John Hadden. His outside
was rough enough, and very much so in winter, when he had on his high
fishing-boots, broad-flapped sou'-wester, thick woollen comforter,
Guernsey frock, with a red flannel shirt above it, and a pea-coat over
all. But he had an honest, tender, true, God-loving, and God-fearing
heart. As he had been brought up, so he brought up his children in "the
way they should go," trusting "that when they were old they would not
depart from it."
John Hadden was able to do what many of his friends could not; he could
read, having learned early in life. Not that he read very well, but
well enough to study the Book of books so as to understand what it
teaches. There are many, alas! who _can_ read it far more easily than
could John Hadden, but do _not_. How many have the Bible, but do not
even look into it, treating it as though it were of less value than any
common book! How many would rather read light foolish books than the
"Holy Scriptures," though they "are able to make us wise unto salvation,
through faith which is in Christ Jesus!"
What does that verse mean? That if we read and study the Scriptures,
with faith in Christ Jesus, they will show us how we may, without fail,
gain more joy, happiness, wealth, and glory than words can tell; not
such as will pass away in a few short years, but such as will last for
ever and ever.
John Hadden prized the Bible as the only light which could point out to
him the way of eternal life. He read and read, and, more than all, he
prayed as he read, till he understood the Bible well, and was able to
shape his own course by it, and to point out to his sons how they might
shape theirs. When he took up the Bible he humbly prayed, "Lord, teach
me that I may read and understand Thy holy Word aright." These words,
and the spirit of these words, he taught his children.
John Hadden and his family neglected no means or opportunities of
knowing more about the Bible, or of obtaining instruction. He did not
say, as some do, "I can read, and I can pray; and so why should I go
away from my own home and own fireside to listen to another man?" John
Hadden was a real Christian, and therefore he was a humble Christian.
The place of public worship was far off, and the road was rough; but
John, with his wife and children, never failed when he was on shore,
unless hindered by sickness, to go there on the Sunday to hear the Word
of God read and explained, and to pray with other Christian people.
When John and the boys were at sea, Mrs Hadden and the other children
went, and she used to say she dearly loved to do so, because then she
could pray with others to the good Lord, and say, "That it may please
Thee to preserve all that travel by land or by water." John often also
said that when he was away on the ocean, he always felt happy as the
hour of public service came round, because he knew that his wife and
children, and other Christian friends, would be praying for him and his
companions at sea.
Among the precepts which John Hadden found in his Bible was this:
"Remember that thou keep holy the Sabbath-day. Six days shalt thou
labour, and do all that thou hast to do; but the seventh day is the
Sabbath of the Lord thy God. In it thou shalt do no manner of work."
Now John Hadden was a plain man, and he understood things plainly.
When, early in life, he first understood this commandment, he determined
that he would keep it; and so, while others cast out their nets on
Saturday night, as usual, John always kept his in. If he could, he ran
into harbour, and worshipped God with his fellow-men on shore; if not,
he and his sons and the rest of his crew united in prayer: he also read
to them from the Holy Scriptures, and often besides from some religious
book likely to feed their souls with spiritual food. John Hadden had
acted in this way for years. The masters of other boats had tried in
vain to make him give up this practice. They told him he would be
ruined; that he had a large family to bring up; that it was foolish, and
not required; that such commandments wore for shore-going people, and
not for poor fishermen. But John's answer was always the same: "I'll
tell you what, mates: God says, `Do no work on the Sabbath'--don't fish,
that means; and I'm very certain that what He says is right. So it is
not right to fish more than six days in the week. What I tell you,
mates, and what I tell my boys, is this: `_Do right whatever comes of
it_.'"
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Note 1. This plant is the round-headed rush, or _Juncus conglomeratus_
of naturalists, and is cultivated with great care, especially on the
banks of the sea, in Holland, to prevent the water from washing away the
earth; for the roots of these rushes strike very deep in the ground, and
mat together near the surface so as to form a hold on the loose soil.
These rushes do not grow so strong in England as in the richer soil of
Holland.
Note 2. Sailors call the side on which the wind strikes, the weather or
windward side, and the opposite to it the lee side. A net is cast out
to windward, and the vessel drops slowly down from it till it is all
out, when she remains at the lee end. Sometimes the nets are left with
only a buoy to mark their position, and the vessel goes to a distance to
cast out others.
CHAPTER TWO.
BEN'S FATHER AND HIS MOTTO.
It would be well if all, of high or low degree, landsmen and sailors,
gentle and simple, kept to old John Hadden's rule. How much misery and
suffering would be saved! how much remorse of conscience! how much grief
and shame! How much better would Satan, that great foe of man, be kept
at a distance! That is just the reason he whispers, whenever he can get
an opening, "Do wrong that good may come of it," or, "Do a little wrong,
just a little, and no harm will come of it;" or again, "Commit a small
sin; God will not see it, or if He does, God will not care for it."
That is just what Satan has been saying over and over again since he
first tempted and deceived Eve in the garden of Paradise. He spoke then
from envy, to drive our first parents out of an earthly paradise; he in
like manner lies now to us, to hinder us from getting into the heavenly
paradise, prepared for those who love and obey God. John Hadden knew
this full well, and so he would allow no departure from that rule; he
would have it stuck to closely. He was for ever saying to his sons, "Do
right at all times, my lads; it is not your business to think of what
will happen afterwards. God will take care of that; He will guide you
better than you can guide yourselves. If you act as I say, no real evil
will befall you. You may fancy that what happens is an evil just for
the time; but, depend on it, what seems an evil will turn out for your
good in the end."
A stranger, visiting in the neighbourhood, once walked over to
Sandhills. He had a talk with John Hadden, who happened to be on shore.
He soon found that John was a Bible-reading man, and that he obeyed the
law of the gospel.
"And so you have followed this plan of yours for some time, and have
found it answer?" said the stranger.
"Yes, sir," said John, "I have followed it since I was a young man, and
now I am an old one. I never have fished on a Sunday, and I hope that I
never shall. Look at me, sir. Am I more feeble, am I thinner, am I
more sickly than my neighbours? am I less able to work?"
"No, indeed you are not," answered the stranger; "you are the stoutest
and one of the most able-bodied men I have seen in the place."
"Am I poorer? is my cottage less comfortable? are my children worse
educated? are they inferior in health, strength, or activity to the
children of others in the hamlet?" asked John, warming with the subject.
"No, my friend," answered the stranger; "your sons are the finest young
fellows in the place, and the best brought up, as I hear from all sides,
while your cottage is the neatest and most comfortable."
"That it is; that's what I say to my brother fishermen," exclaimed John
Hadden, warmly. "Now, sir, I will tell you more than this. Instead of
being a poorer man for not fishing on a Sunday I know that I am a richer
one, and I can prove it. God knows what is best for us; so in His love
He gave us the Sabbath, that we might rest, and that our souls might
turn to Him and be glad. While others have been toiling all the year
round, day after day, wearing out their bodies, and dulling and
saddening, so to speak, their souls, I have rested one day out of seven,
and on that day my strength and my spirits have been renewed. I have
not grown old so fast as they have. Then again, if I had been toiling
and working for the bread which perisheth, and made my sons toil and
work with me, how could I have fed my soul and their souls with that
bread which will make us live for ever? Instead of being steady,
honest, hard-working, God-fearing young men, a credit to me, and
respected by all who know them, they would have been careless, idle, and
vicious. Neighbours often say to me, `How is it, John Hadden, that your
sons are good steady young men, and do as you tell them?'--then I say,
`It is just this, because I bring them up in the fear and admonition of
the Lord. The Bible tells me how to bring up my children, and I do it.
If you brought up your children as the Bible tells you to do, your
children would make you as happy as mine do me.'
"But, sir, I was speaking about fishing on a Sunday. Now look here,
sir; there is another reason why I have an advantage over those who fish
every day in the week: my nets will last longer than theirs, and at the
end of a couple of years are worth one-third more. While their nets
have always been wet,--for they have not had time to mend them
properly,--I have had mine brought on shore on Saturday morning, spread
out all day in the sun, mended in the evening, and left to dry all the
next day. The wear and tear of the boats and the boats' gear also have
been saved. So you see that those who break God's commandments for the
sake of gain do not find it all profit. There is an old saying, sir,
that `The devil's wages slip through the fingers.' Whose wages are
those gained by working on the Sabbath but his? A man fancies that he
has got them safe in the palm of his hand, and when he wants to spend
them, they are gone. At the end of the year,--I have said it, and I
know it,--by following God's commandments, simply because He has
commanded, I have been a richer man than those who disobeyed them; and I
know surely that I have been a stronger, a more healthy, a happier, and
a more contented one.
"Again, sir, look here; many say they can't work on from the beginning
to the end of the fishing season without drink: no more they can, maybe,
but rest is better far than drink; and if they would take the
Sabbath-day's rest they might save the cost of the week's drink, and
that's more by a long way than the Sabbath-day's toil gives them. So,
as I say, when we obey God we do the best thing for ourselves, even in
this life; and that to my mind shows what a merciful and loving God He
is. He does not want to make us suffer pain or grief, He wants to make
us happy; and so all His laws are such that if we would obey them, we
should be happy. It is because men do not obey them that they are
unhappy. There, sir, that's my belief. I'm an old man now; but I
thought so when I was a young one, and every year since I have had good
cause to think the same."
"You speak nothing but the truth, my friend," observed the gentleman; "I
will tell others what you have said to me, and how you have acted, and I
will try to persuade them to follow your example."
"My example, sir!" said John Hadden gravely. "Say rather, sir, the same
example I try to follow."
"You are right, my friend," said the gentleman, wringing the fisherman's
rough hand and walking thoughtfully away.
Some time after this, John Hadden was sitting with his spy-glass resting
across his knees, at the top of the highest sand-hill near the village.
A strong gale from the north-east, which would not let any of the
fishing-boats put to sea, was blowing. It was at the time of the year
when the larger fishing-vessels are laid up. John had more than once
put his glass to his eye; he now kept it there, and made a crutch of his
left arm to hold it up. While thus employed, he was joined by one of
his sons.
"If he don't take care he'll be on the bank as sure as my name is John
Hadden," he cried out, pointing to a large ship which had stood in from
the offing (that is, from the sea far off), and was trying to work to
the northward. A slant of wind which would allow the stranger (see note
1) to lay well up along shore, had tempted him to stand in closer than
he should have done. Old Hadden and his son watched the strange vessel
for some time with great interest. Still he stood blindly on.
"There, I feared that it would be so!" exclaimed John; "and if help
don't go to them before high water, not a soul of all on board will
escape."
Too true: the fine ship lay fast, her broadside struck again and again
by the heavy seas, which came rolling in from the eastward.
"Jem, we must go to her!" exclaimed John Hadden suddenly. "Call your
brothers, lad; it won't do to let these poor fellows perish for want of
help."
Scarcely two minutes passed after this, before John Hadden and his five
sons--for Ben also went--were launching their yawl through the surf
which broke on the sandy beach. A few of the people of the village
nearest the water came running down to see the boat off, but John had
not time to tell his wife and daughters of what he was going to do. He
would fain have given them a parting kiss, but time was precious. He
sent up a lad, though, to his home. "Tell them," he said, "we are doing
our duty; we shall be cared for." Away through the foaming sea the
brave men pulled their stout boat. The spray flew over her, and
speedily wetted them through, but for that they cared nothing. The
seas, however, sometimes broke on board, and little Ben was kept hard at
work, baling out the water.
"She is well out at the end of the spit, lads," observed old Hadden; "we
may get close enough for them to heave a rope on board us, if she hangs
together, and I don't see that there is much doubt about her doing
that."
They pulled on for some time, without any one again speaking. "She will
hang very well together," observed John; "but, oh! more's the pity, they
seem to be lowering one of their boats, instead of waiting for our
coming, as if they could reach the shore in her." Such was indeed the
case. A small boat was lowered, and several people were seen to leap
into her. She shoved off, but a current, of which the strangers could
not have known, swept the boat towards the breakers. In another instant
she was rolled right over, and all in her must have perished. Still the
Haddens, thinking that others might be left on board, pulled on lustily
to give them help.
As they rowed out more to sea, they saw another boat making her way
towards the wreck. She had come from a hamlet a short distance to the
north of Sandhills, from which place the wreck had been seen as well as
from the Haddens' village. Though she had not left the shore till after
the Haddens' boat had put off, she had the wind more in her favour, so
it seemed likely that she would reach the wreck as soon as they could.
When more than one boat is launched to go to a wreck, there is always a
rivalry among the boatmen of the coast to try who will be the first on
board, and if anything had been wanting to make the young Haddens toil
harder than they had been doing, this would have made them. Still, the
gale blew so strong that they could scarcely make any way against the
wind, and all they could do at times was to keep the boat with her head
to the sea to prevent her from being swamped (or filled with water).
Yet on they went. They believed that they might be able to save some of
their fellow-creatures from death, and that thought was enough to make
them run all risks.
The last squall had been stronger than any others. Soon after it had
passed over, John Hadden took a steady look to windward. "My boys,"
said he, "the gale is breaking. By the time we get up to the wreck, it
will be calm enough to allow us to climb on board. It is to be hoped
that her crew will stick by the vessel. No! what folly! they have
launched another boat, and she will meet, I fear, with the fate of the
first." He was silent for some minutes, while he looked now and again
towards the wreck. "I feared so!" he cried at last; "they are lost,
every one of them; no man could swim through that boiling surf."
Nearly another half-hour passed after this before the two boats got up
to the wreck. The gale had by this time very much abated, and, the tide
having turned, the sea had gone down. The boats pulled under the lee of
the wrecked vessel, which held well together, and had her crew stayed on
board, they might have been saved. Not a person was to be seen on deck.
The fishermen shouted loudly; no one came. It seemed certain that all
must have perished. Without help from the ship it was at first
difficult to get on board, except at great risk. However, after waiting
some time longer, the boats were able to run alongside, and the crews
reached her deck. They searched the ship through; not a human being was
found on board. A fire, however, was burning in the cabin grate, and
before it sat a cat, quietly licking her paws. (A fact.) Instinct had
guided her better than man's sense, of which he is often so proud.
The Haddens, with the men of the other boat, began, without loss of
time, to search through the ship. She was a foreigner. It was clear
that those who had left her were in great fear, and had thought only of
saving their lives. Many articles of value lay scattered about in the
cabins. John Hadden and his sons were on deck; the rest were below.
"Hurrah!--a prize! a prize!" cried one of the men of the other boat. "A
box of gold!"
"Hush!" cried one of his companions. "Don't talk of it, man. If no one
else sees it, we may have it all to ourselves."
At that moment John Hadden entered the cabin. His eye fell on the box,
as the men were trying to hide it; he looked at what was in it.
"Friends, this property is not ours," he remarked, in a calm, firm
voice; "we shall get a fair reward if we succeed in saving it. I hope,
if we stay by the ship, that we may get her off, at the top of the next
flood, by lightening her a little. What say you? Will you stay by my
lads and me, and do the job?"
The other men, however, had set their hearts on getting the box of gold.
Have it they would, and they made all sorts of excuses to get away from
the ship, that they might take it with them. John Hadden was a man who
not only would not do wrong himself, but would stop others, if he could,
from doing it.
"Mates," he said, "I do not want to quarrel with you, or with any other
men; but the goods on board this ship must remain just as we found them.
I am sure that my own lads will bear me out in what I say: none of us
will touch them."
"Oh, we always have heard that you were a very strict man, Mr Hadden,
and now we find it true enough!" replied one of the men, with a sneer.
"No," said John Hadden quietly; "I only say, `Do right, whatever comes
of it.' If we take the goods on board this ship, we should be doing
wrong. And others doing so, won't make wrong right. That's all."
"Well, well; we don't want to quarrel. We wished you to share; but if
you won't, you won't, and neither will get it," answered the other; "so,
Mr Hadden, let's say no more about it."
John, honest and true himself, did not think that any trick was going to
be played him. The other men joined him and his sons, with seeming
goodwill, in getting out warps, and in heaving overboard some of the
cargo. Thus they worked on till night stopped them. There was a
promise of a fine night; and so, making fast their boats under the lee
of the wreck, they prepared to spend the time on board till the return
of day. Of course, they had to keep a watch on deck. The first watch
was kept by the Haddens; the morning watch by the people of the other
boat. When John Hadden and his sons awoke in the morning, and came on
deck, the other boat was gone, and so was the box of gold, which had
been left in the cabin.
Daylight returning, a white speck was seen away to the northward. John
Hadden, as he looked through the glass, knew that it was the boat of
those who had been with him. There were some sand-banks, and a narrow
passage through them, by which a long distance might be saved. At
certain tides this passage was dangerous, even in fine weather.
"The foolish fellows are making for the Gut!" exclaimed John Hadden. "I
would not try to go through it for any sum." Just then some clouds were
seen driven across the sky by a squall; the wind struck the boat.
"She's lost! she's lost!" cried John Hadden, in a tone of pity. Over
went the boat; nor she, nor her crew, nor the box of gold were ever seen
again.
The ship was soon got afloat, and was brought by John Hadden and his
brave sons into harbour. They gained a large sum for saving the ship.
"I told you," said John to his sons, "do right, whatever comes of it.
This time, much good has come to us; so it generally will. If it does
not, never mind; we don't see the good--that's all. God knows best what
is best. Still do right."
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Note 1. When the name and character of a vessel met at sea are not
known, it is spoken of by sailors as `a stranger'; of a stranger they
say _he_, but a known vessel is named _she_.
CHAPTER THREE.
A SHIP IN DISTRESS.
As yet the sun seemed always to have shone on little Ben. He had a good
fond mother to look after him at home, and a kind father who set him a
good example, taught him well, fed him well, and never took him to sea
in bad weather, or let him suffer any hardships which could be helped.
Seldom could a merrier, happier fellow than Ben then was be found. Dark
days, however, were coming for him, of which he little thought.
Thankful, indeed, should we be that our ever-kind God does not allow us
to know beforehand what we may be called on to suffer.
The summer passed away, the winter returned, and the large luggers being
once more laid up in harbour, John Hadden and his sons went home to
spend their Christmas. It was a very happy one. Nearly all the family
were together; two sons had returned from sea, a daughter had come home
for a visit from service, and many a pleasant evening they spent as they
sat over the cottage fire, while the sailors recounted the adventures
they had met with in their voyages to distant lands. The fishermen had
also their tales to tell, and many an old story was recalled to mind and
recounted by John and his eldest sons, or a neighbour who had stepped in
to see them. John, too, would read to his family, not only on a Sunday
evening, but on every evening in the week, when he was at home, from the
Book of books.
"I can't see why people should fancy, as many do, that they need read
the Bible only on one day in the week. It was surely given us to be our
guide not only for Sundays, but for every day. There is no business in
life in which it won't tell us how to act whenever we may have any
doubts about the matter," said John one evening, after he had been
reading the Scriptures; and then he continued, "In every page the Bible
says, `Do right, whatever comes of it,' and that is the very thing we
ought to be reminded of, day after day, for it is the very thing we are
too apt to forget."
John not only read the Bible, but he profited by what he read, and so
did his children; and that is the reason why they were a happy, united,
and prosperous family.
Some time after Christmas, John Hadden had gone out by himself on the
sea-shore, with his constant companion, his spy-glass, under his arm.
He walked up and down, and his mind dwelt on many of the scenes and
events of his past life; he thought of the many dangers he had gone
through, and of how often he had been mercifully preserved. "People do
say that the life of a fisherman is a very dangerous one," he thought to
himself. "They are right. How many of those I have known have lost
theirs! Not a year that I can call to mind but some friend or other has
been drowned. Such may be my end. God is merciful; He knows what is
best. He will not call me away, except for some good purpose."
Continuing his walk, Hadden's mind grew more and more serious, almost
melancholy; yet it must not be said that his mind was one of a gloomy
turn; no man was generally more cheerful. The day, however, had an
effect on his spirits. The clouds gathered thickly in the sky, and hung
low down; the wind moaned as it came across the dull, leaden-looking
ocean, and found its way among the sand-hills, making the tall rushes
bend before it. Sheets of cold mist came rolling in every now and then
towards the land; and, though they swept by, they were quickly succeeded
by others, till they grew denser and denser, and a regular heavy wetting
mist settled down over the face of the land and the water.
John Hadden was about to turn his steps homeward, when one of his sons
came to remind him that it was time to return home to tea. Just then a
heavy squall burst on the land from the eastward, and the clouds and
mist breaking away left a clear space all the way to the horizon.
"I'll come, Bill, I'll come, my boy," he answered, lifting, however, his
glass to his eye, to take another last look over the troubled waters
before he went in for the evening. Just then he caught sight of a
stranger in the offing, where, outside the sand-banks, a high sea was
running. He looked earnestly through his glass for half a minute.
"There is a large ship," he said to his son, "driving on towards the
banks, and totally dismasted. Unless there is a pilot aboard who knows
his way through the passage, he'll be on the bank to a certainty, and
then, with such a night as we shall have presently, Heaven have mercy on
the unfortunate people! Even if the wreck should hang together till the
morning, they will be washed overboard and be lost. Though we missed
saving the people from the wreck last year, through their own folly, we
must not be dispirited. Perhaps we may be able to save these. Bill, go
and find your brothers, and tell them that there's a ship will be on
shore directly, and that we must do something to help. Say nothing,
though, to your mother, boy." Bill hastened away, and old John still
watched the ship.
As he had foreseen, the stranger very soon drove on to a dangerous part
of the sand-banks, and the sea before long was evidently making a clean
breach over the deck. In a short time all the young Haddens, and
several other men, came down on the beach, bringing old John's
rough-weather coat and boots, which he put on while they were getting
ready to launch the boat. Little Ben came with his brothers.
Old John put his hand on the boy's shoulder, and looked earnestly into
his face. "No, Ben, I'll not take thee, my child, to-day," said he;
"it's over-rough work we are going on; I couldn't even tell thy mother
of it; so go home, and take care of her."
Little Ben pleaded hard to be taken, but he pleaded in vain. "No, lad,
no, I cannot take you," repeated the father. "Go home now, go home. It
may be late before we return. Perhaps we shall be out all night, so
mother will want you at home to keep her company. Read to her, lad, out
of the Bible; and, I say, Ben, if thy father never comes back, remember
that his last words to thee were--_Trust to God_. _Do right, whatever
comes of it_."
Old John Hadden then joined the young men and the rest of the boat's
crew, and their united strength soon launched her, with all her gear on
board, into the water; and as they all leaped in, each man seizing an
oar, they quickly had her through the surf, which had begun to roll in
somewhat heavily. Little Ben stood on the top of a sand-hill, and
watched them as they pulled away out to sea. His eye anxiously followed
the boat as she grew less and less distinct, till she was lost to sight
among the breaking seas, which leaped upwards around the sand-banks.
For a time he could clearly see the wreck towards which they were
directing their course. Then the shades of evening increasing, and a
thick mass of mist gathering round her, she also was lost to sight.
Ben, as his father had desired him, went home, and having reported that
he had seen the boat get well off, sat himself down by the side of his
mother, who was working with her needle before the fire, and taking the
big Bible on his knees, he began to read to her out of its sacred pages.
His father's mark was at the thirteenth chapter of Saint Luke's Gospel,
and he read: "There were present at that season some that told Him of
the Galileans, whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices.
And Jesus answering said unto them, Suppose ye that these Galileans
_were_ sinners above all the Galileans, because they suffered such
things? I tell you, Nay: but, except ye repent, ye shall all likewise
perish. Or those eighteen, upon whom the tower in Siloam fell, and slew
them, think ye that they were sinners above all men that dwelt in
Jerusalem? I tell you, Nay: but, except ye repent, ye shall all
likewise perish."
"Father was saying that to me the other day, mother," remarked little
Ben. "He told me that he had known many God-fearing men to lose their
lives, and many bad ones live on and remain still in their wickedness."
"Yes, my boy; God knows best when a servant of His has lived long
enough. He calls us when He wants us," replied Mrs Hadden; adding, "It
matters little to a Christian when or how he is taken from earth. The
great thing of all is to know that we are Christians, not in name only,
but in truth. And to be a Christian is to believe on and love the dear
Saviour, who has done so much for us; and so to be born again of God's
Holy Spirit, as the Lord Jesus Christ Himself has told us: `For, except
a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.'"
Ben read on to his mother till she told him that it was time for him to
go to bed. He repeated his prayers, and then he went up and lay down in
the room which he and his brothers usually occupied; but he was the only
one there. Every now and then he awoke, expecting to hear them coming
in; but he only heard the rain dashing against the lattice window, and
the wind howling and whistling dismally. A heavy gale was blowing right
on shore. Every now and then there was a flash of vivid lightning, and
a loud crash of thunder rattling away across the sky. Ben tried again
to go to sleep, but he could not. He was certain that his poor mother
could not be sleeping. He crept down to her room, where a light was
burning. Her head had not pressed her pillow; she was on her knees,
with her face bent down to the bed, and her hands clasped together.
Noiselessly Ben stole back to his attic. "I can pray too, and join my
prayers to mother's," he said to himself. He prayed for his father and
brothers exposed in their open boat to that fierce storm near those
terrific breakers, which rolled in over the sand-bank where the ship had
struck. He fully understood all the dangers to which they were exposed.
"God knows best what to do--God's will be done," he repeated as he rose
from his knees.
Daylight came at last. Ben got up, and, slipping on his clothes, he ran
out to the sand-hills, whence he could obtain a clear view over the sea.
He well knew the spot where the ship had struck. She was not there,
nor was there any sign of the boat. He could not bring himself to go
back to his poor mother with this account, so he went down to the beach.
The shore was strewed with bits of the wreck, showing the fearful
character of the gale which had blown all night, and was still blowing.
Hour after hour passed by; but no boat neared the shore. His mother
came to look for him, and with trembling voice called him in; yet she
lingered, watching anxiously with haggard eyes the foaming ocean. At
length night returned. Neighbours looked in, but they could give her no
comfort. The boat might have run into port, but it was not likely.
Sadly that second night passed away. The morning brought no gleam of
hope. Mrs Hadden's lot has been that of many fishermen's and sailors'
wives.
CHAPTER FOUR.
A SORROWFUL HOME AND A NEW FRIEND.
As day after day passed away, Mrs Hadden ceased to hope. Neither John
Hadden nor any of his companions were ever again heard of. There could
be no doubt that they had been lost in their gallant attempt to carry
succour to their fellow-creatures on the wreck. Mrs Hadden was a widow
and little Ben was fatherless.
"Whom the Lord loveth He chasteneth," repeated the bereaved woman over
and over to herself. "Oh, may He in His mercy give me strength to bear
the lot He has thought fit in His wisdom to prepare for me, and make it
profitable to my soul."
She had many trials to bear. Her husband and sons, those able to
support her, were gone; and some time passed before she could gather
strength to arouse herself to consider what she could do for the
sustenance of little Ben and herself. He was willing and eager to work,
though he could not hope to gain much as yet. He soon had also another
besides his mother and himself to work for. One of his sisters at
service fell ill, and had to come home and be nursed; and, poor girl, it
made her feel worse to know that she was thus trespassing on her
mother's scanty means; though little Ben did his best to cheer her up,
telling her that it was just a double pleasure to have two to work for
besides himself, instead of only one.
He did his best certainly, though that was but little. His mother
entreated him not to go out in the fishing-boats, for she dreaded (and
that was but natural) that the same fate which had befallen his father
and brothers might overtake him. He, however, bought, on credit, fish
caught by others, and all the fishermen were ready to trust him. He
carried them for sale to the houses of the neighbouring gentry and
farmers. Sometimes, with his basket at his back, he got a lift in a
cart to the nearest town, where, in the summer season, he was able to
obtain a better price than he usually asked of his regular country
customers. People who had once dealt with him were always ready to deal
again. They found that they could without fail trust him. He could
always tell the day, and almost the very hour, the fish he had to sell
had been caught, and his customers found from experience that he never
deceived them. At the first, when in a frank manner he told them the
exact time the fish had been landed, some were inclined to laugh, and
others to be angry, fancying that he was practising on their credulity;
but the more generous soon saw, from the honest blush which rose on his
cheeks when he assured them that he was simply saying what he knew to be
the case, that he was really speaking the truth. He thus gained many
friends, and even bargain-loving housekeepers ceased to try and beat him
down. His price was always moderate, and the profit he made was, after
all, but a small remuneration for the toil he went through.
To be up early, to be on his feet all day, and often unable to reach
home till late in the evening, was now little Ben's fate. He did not
complain; far from it. He rejoiced that he was thus able to assist his
widowed mother.
John Hadden had saved but little money. His boat and his nets composed
the principal part of his worldly wealth, besides the cottage he lived
in. The boat was gone; and the nets, without the hands which used them,
could gain nothing. Mrs Hadden was therefore advised to sell them,
with the portions of the boat-gear which had remained on shore. The
times, however, were bad, she was told, and the things were sold very
much under their real value. She was still thankful for what she
received, and she resolved to live as frugally as possible, that her
humble means might the longer hold out.
Her daughter was a heavy expense to her. Poor Susan grew worse and
worse; yet she still lingered on, utterly helpless to look at, yet not
helpless in reality, for she was supported by faith in the Lord Jesus
Christ. She was perfectly happy, as far as she herself was concerned;
her only regret being that she deprived her mother of part of the scanty
means she so much required for herself. At length, full of hope and
joy, she died. Little Ben wept bitterly for the loss of his sister: he
had never for one moment thought of the money spent on her. The
bereaved mother mourned more silently.
Mrs Hadden was yet to be further tried. A letter one day reached her
from a stranger. It told her that her only surviving son, besides Ben,
had been cast away in the far off Pacific Ocean, and, with many others,
murdered or held captive by savages. The writer, Thomas Barlow, said
that he and Ned were great friends, and that they had agreed, should any
misfortune happen to either, the survivor should write home, and give an
account of what had occurred. Barlow wrote, in fulfilment of his
promise, addressing his letter to John Hadden: all the hope he could
give was that Ned might have escaped with his life, as some white men
had been known from time to time to be living among those savages; but
the opinion was that all their shipmates had been murdered. The writer
added that he, with six other men only of all the crew, had made their
escape in the longboat of the wrecked vessel, and, after suffering great
hardships, had been picked up at sea by a ship bound for Sydney, New
South Wales.
"Poor Ned! poor Ned!" exclaimed little Ben, crying bitterly; "he must
not be lost! I'll go and look for him, mother. If he is alive, I'll
find him, and bring him back to you."
"Oh no! no, Ben! don't you go away from me," cried the poor widow. "I
should indeed be forlorn if I was to lose you. Yet, Ned! Ned! poor
Ned! where can you be--among savages, or killed? You wouldn't find him,
Ben; they would only treat you in the same way, and I should lose you,
Ben. It cannot be: oh, don't--don't think of it, Ben!" And the poor
widow at length found some relief to her feelings in a flood of tears.
It was seldom that she gave way in this manner; but the announcement of
Ned's too probable fate, and the thought of losing Ben, completely
overcame her.
The idea, however, that he would go to sea and find his brother had
entered little Ben's head, and, moreover, that they together would bring
back wealth sufficient to support their mother in comfort. That idea
was not very easily driven away. Day after day it occurred to him. His
difficulty was to persuade his mother to let him go. He did not
understand as clearly as an older person might have done, that he could
not go away without making her very unhappy. He argued that he should
be away only a short time, and that then he should come back so rich,
and be able to take such good care of her, that she would gain ample
amends for the pain she might suffer by parting with him for a season.
Poor fellow! he little knew the dangers and hardships he would have to
encounter in a sailor's life.
Ben's mind was full of his plans, and they served at all events to
beguile many a weary mile, as he trudged on through the country,
contentedly as usual, selling his fish. One day, however, when walking
along the streets of the town, he met with an accident. A horse,
dragging a cart, took fright and was dashing along the road, near the
sea, towards a group of little children whose nursemaids were standing
chatting to each other, not thinking much about their young charges.
The women, startled at hearing the horse coming, were so frightened that
they knew not what to do. They snatched up one child after the other,
running here and there, and leaving several of the little creatures,
unconscious of their danger, in the very way of the maddened animal.
Ben saw the peril in which the children were placed, and, throwing down
his basket of fish, he sprang forward and caught the reins, which were
hanging over the shafts. He had not strength to stop the horse, though
he turned it aside, while he still hung on to the reins; he was at the
same time dragged down, and the wheel passed over his side and one of
his legs. The horse, thus turned from his course, dashed against some
railings, and was stopped. The children were saved.
A gentleman looking out of a window saw the accident, and the gallant
way in which little Ben had behaved. He rushed out of the house, took
him in, placed him on a sofa, and sent for a surgeon. His leg was not
broken, but some of his ribs were. The gentleman said that Ben should
remain at his house till he was cured. He also at once sent off to Mrs
Hadden to inform her of the accident, and to assure her that her son was
well taken care of. Immediately she received the sad news, she set off
to see Ben. She could not bear the thought of letting him remain with
strangers, however kind they might prove.
It was almost midnight when she arrived. Ben's friend received her
kindly, and her heart was comforted when she found that her son was
going on so well. The gentleman told her that he was Lieutenant
Charlton, of the navy, and again assured her that he would take good
care of the boy. Satisfied that Ben's new friend would keep his word,
she returned home the next day.
In less than six weeks Ben was almost himself again. Lieutenant
Charlton nursed the poor boy as if he had been his own son, and showed
how much pleased he was with him. Ben spoke frankly to him, told him of
his past life, hopes, and wishes.
"Well, my boy, I will take you to sea with me when next I go, and that
will be, I hope, before long," said the lieutenant to him one day.
"I should like to go, sir, very much indeed, but mother says that she
cannot part with me," answered Ben.
"I will speak to your mother, and explain to her how seamen in the
British navy are now treated," said the lieutenant. "She, I daresay,
believes that they are no more cared for than they used to be at one
time; whereas, the truth is that they are better looked after than many
people on shore, and certainly much better than the seamen in the
merchant service."
"It is not ill-treatment either she or I fear, sir," said Ben. "I'd go
anywhere with you, sir; but mother cannot bear the thought of parting
with me--that's the truth of it, sir."
"I'll speak to her about the matter, and perhaps she may see things in a
different light," said Lieutenant Charlton. "Perhaps I may be able to
find a home for her while you are away, and then she will be content to
let you go, knowing that you are well provided for."
Ben thanked the lieutenant very much. He made up his mind, however,
that, unless his mother was perfectly ready to let him go to sea,
nothing should persuade him to quit her. He had not forgotten his
father's last words, "Do right, whatever comes of it."