CAPTAIN RHINES MANIFESTS HIS GRATITUDE.
NED and the mate now began to mend rapidly. In the enjoyment of
abundant food and rest, inhaling the bracing air of autumn, and with
all the fruit they chose to eat, their sunken cheeks filled out, the
flesh covered their limbs, their muscles assumed their wonted vigor,
and they rapidly regained all that buoyancy which pertains to youth
and high health. Mrs. Rhines, Hannah Murch, and Mrs. Ben Rhines made
them clothes. And thus arrayed, as the evenings were now getting of
considerable length, they went around on social visits, with Charlie
and John, among the neighbors, and over to Elm Island; made friends,
and won good opinions every day.
Captain Rhines, instead of manifesting any disposition to take them to
Salem in the Perseverance, as he had promised at their arrival, said
not a word about it. Instead he seemed very earnest in laying plans,
and inventing amusements to make them contented where they were. One
day it was a gunning excursion by water; again hunting in the woods. At
another time he wanted them to help him about some harvesting, which
they were more than willing to do, and seemed never so happy as when
they were doing something for their benefactor.
The captain’s line of conduct was a sore puzzle to John and Charlie,
and indeed to all the family. The Perseverance must have a new mast and
windlass before she could go to Salem. But although Charlie had made
both, the captain would not let him put them in.
One day Charlie, John, and Ben were together on the island, and this
fruitful subject of conjecture came up.
“Ben,” said John, “what do you suppose the reason is father don’t take
Ned and Mr. Brown home? He said, when they were first picked up, that
he would take them to Salem in the Perseverance as soon as they were
fit to go. They are all right now, and want to see their folks.”
“He seems,” said Charlie, “to have forgotten all about it. I don’t
believe he wants to take them, for I’ve had the mast and windlass made
these three weeks, and he won’t let me put them in.”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Ben. “Father ain’t like most old folks.
He likes to have young people around him. Mother says he talks hours
and hours with Brown. Perhaps he don’t like to lose their company. If
you want to know, Charlie, why don’t you and John ask him?”
“I don’t like to.”
“Well, get Uncle Isaac to. He will ask in a moment; indeed, if there’s
a special reason, I’ll warrant he knows it now.”
“What seems more singular to me,” said Charlie, “is, that after telling
how much he thought of Arthur’s father and mother, how much he was
willing to do for his children, even to cut the last piece of bread in
two, that he don’t _do something_—build him a vessel. I have got out
board and ceiling plank at the mill, and deck plank all sawed out. It
would be a capital time now to get a frame and set her up this fall,
let her season through the winter, finish her in the summer, and rig
her before cold weather.”
“Benjamin,” said Uncle Isaac (as they shot into a thickly wooded cove
to rest their backs, on their way home from a fowling excursion),
laying his paddle across the float, and leaning both elbows on it, “why
don’t you take these boys home? they want to go.”
“Do they want to go?”
“To be sure. Isn’t it natural they should want to see their parents and
friends, after being at death’s door?”
“But their parents know they are comfortable, and they hear from each
other every week.”
“That isn’t like seeing them. There’s another thing; the boys want to
build a vessel for this young man, and so does Ben.”
“Ben wants to, does he?”
“Yes.”
“Hum.”
“He seems to be a nice, steady, well-informed young man.”
“Is that the way it strikes you, Isaac?”
“Yes.”
“The fact is, Isaac,” beginning to pick the leaves of a beech limb,
which hung over the float, and chew them up, “I am ready and willing,
and count it a privilege to do all I can for this boy, and his father’s
family; but whether building a vessel, and putting him in her, is the
_best_ way to do it, I am not clear.”
While they were engaged in this conversation, the boat had drifted
under the limbs of a birch, that had never regained its upright
position after being bent down by the ice and snow of the previous
winter.
“What have you got that’s good in that red box, Isaac?”
“I’ve got a chicken, boiled eggs, bread, butter, cheese, and
doughnuts,” he replied, placing the box on the middle thwart of the
boat, and removing the cover.
“There’s something to wash it down,” said the captain, unrolling a jug,
carefully wrapped in the folds of his long jacket. “That’s some of the
coffee I brought home in the Ark; it’s warm, too. We might as well eat
now as any time, for by the tide it can’t be far from noon.”
Uncle Isaac twisted one of the long, slender limbs of the birch into
a string, and making it fast to a thole-pin hole, it held the boat
stationary, while the two friends, sitting face to face in the warm
sunshine, gossipped and ate; and having eaten nothing since three
o’clock that morning, evidently enjoyed the repast, the warm sunshine,
and the sheltered nook, so highly as to wish to prolong the pleasure,
and ate very deliberately, till the meal was brought to an abrupt
termination by the entire consumption of the contents of both box and
jug.
“We were speaking, Isaac,” said the captain, “about this young man,
and about building him a vessel. If I was able to build him one, fit
her for sea, load her, and say to him, ‘Here, my boy, take her, and do
the best you can for yourself and me;’ and then if he made a ‘funger,’
pocket the loss, I would lay the keel to-morrow. But in doing that, I
must be concerned with others, and risk other people’s money. Here are
Ben, Fred, John, and Charlie, all ready to strike, only waiting for me
to say the word; and Mr. Welch would take hold in a moment if I should
say to him, ‘Here is a young man, who I think capable, wants a vessel
built.’ Now, how do I know he is capable of taking charge of a vessel
and managing business in these squally times, with the English and
French pitching into our commerce, and pirates to boot? A master of a
vessel must have grit and cool judgment—qualities that don’t always
nor often go together. He’s very young, has been only one voyage and
part of another as mate; of course has had but little experience. Some
men make first-rate mates, but poor masters; others poor mates, but
excellent masters. Then, if he should make a losing voyage of it, I
should feel very bad, and the rest (though they did not say it) might
feel that they had been brought into difficulties, and lost money
through me.”
“He is as old, and has had as much experience as Isaac had when he
became master. You was keen enough for putting him ahead; far more than
I was, though he is my own nephew, and has done splendidly. This young
man has had the best of schooling, and ten times the privileges Isaac
ever had.”
“_Schooling! privileges!_” cried the captain; “I wouldn’t give _that_
(snapping his fingers) for the schooling and privileges. What do they
amount to, if the man hasn’t got _Indian suet_,—hasn’t got the
articles in him? They _help_, but they can’t put anything _into_ a man.
I knew Isaac from the egg. I watched him as he grew up. There’s a great
deal in the _blood_. I knew the breed he came of, both sides. He sailed
with me. I taught him, and knew him through and through,—knew he had
the root of the matter in him. But in regard to this young man, I know
only the father. If he takes after his father in mind, as he does in
looks, he will be all right. But he may look like the father, and take
after the mother. I don’t know anything about her or her people.”
“You mean to help him, don’t you?”
“Reckon I do, if my life is spared. But I could help him without
building him a vessel, or involving other folks. I might give him a
couple of thousand dollars in cash, and let him help himself; or say
to him, ‘Arthur, go to Salem; see if some of your father’s friends,
and the people you’ve sailed for, won’t build you a vessel. I’ll take
an eighth or a fourth.’ I can help the mother,—that will be my own
concern, and nobody’s business,—and I shan’t involve others, and risk
their hard earnings.”
“But he’s been here some time. You’ve had him in your house all the
time, with opportunities for talking with him, and making up your mind.
What do you think?”
“I think well of him. I like him all round, think him capable, and, to
tell the truth, that is what I’ve been backing and filling for so long,
and keeping the boys back. I wanted _time_ to make up my mind, and have
you and the neighbors see and get acquainted with him, and find what
you all thought of him.”
“As far as my opinion is worth anything, I shouldn’t hesitate a moment.
There’s one little thing just settles the matter in my mind.”
“What is that, Isaac?”
“Why, his sticking by that captain. Here is a crew of men, the
sweepings of Liverpool; they take the boats, compass, and other
instruments, and shove off,—they’ve had trouble with the captain, and
are down on him, and mean to have their revenge,—leaving him to shift
for himself; the mate they like, and offer to take him with them—even
coax him to go; they have provision, water, and instruments, and are
not overloaded. In the boats, there’s no great risk; to remain, is
almost certain death. He is under no particular obligations to the
captain, who is an Englishman and a stranger, yet he sticks by him,
because he thinks it his duty. If _that_ ain’t pluck, principle, and
Christianity,—if that ain’t real manhood, I wonder where you’d find
it! There’s not one man in a hundred—no, not in a thousand—_would_
or _could_ have done it. And, Benjamin, ‘twill take a great deal to
make me believe that a man who has got all _that_ in him hasn’t all the
other qualities that go to make up a man.”
“It’s just what his father would have done. Well, Isaac, I’ll take them
to Salem. I’m acquainted there; have an old shipmate that knew his
father. I’ll see the captain he’s been mate with, and if they speak
well of him, we’ll go ahead.”
“John,” said his father, on his return home, “clap the saddle on the
horse, ride over to Charlie’s, and tell him he may get the schooner
ready as soon as he likes; and tell Fred to get his fish and potash
ready, for I’m going to Salem, and will take a freight to Boston, and
bring back any goods he wants.”
Captain Folger was sitting in his store just before noon, frequently
looking at his watch, for the demands of appetite were pressing,—he
had set up a ship-chandler’s store, after having spent the greater
part of life at sea,—when Captain Rhines entered, and most agreeably
surprised him.
“Why, Captain Ben!” exclaimed the old seaman, grasping his friend by
the hand, “what good wind has blown you hither?”
“I had business in Boston, and so called in here. It’s long since we’ve
met. I hardly thought you’d know me so readily.”
“_Know_ you! Old shipmates don’t forget each other.”
“So you’ve left off going to sea, and turned storekeeper!”
“Yes; it’s the most natural thing an old shipmaster can do to turn
ship-chandler, and have vessels and rigging to look after. I couldn’t
be contented ashore in any other business. I own some navigation,
and have that to look after. My shop is a loafing place for the old
captains, and we fight our battles over again, spin our yarns, plan
voyages, and keep each other’s spirits up. We heard about your going
to Cuba on a raft, and it was agreed on all hands it was the smartest
thing ever done in these parts, or anywhere. You ran a confounded risk,
but they say you made your Jack out of it.”
“Yes, I made _something_.”
“You knew Captain Brown, Arthur, who was lost on Abaco?”
“_Knew_ him! I guess I did. He was the means of putting me into
business.”
“He was the means of putting a great many into business.”
“Do you know his son?”
“What, young Arthur?”
“Yes.”
“To be sure. We’ve been much worried about him. The vessel he was in
foundered, but he has been picked up, so his mother tells me.”
“I picked him up, and brought him here not two hours ago. What kind of
a young man is he?”
“As fine a one as ever the sun shone upon; he is thought a great deal
of here, both upon his father’s account and his own.”
“Is there business in him, or only goodness?”
“Both; as much of one as the other.”
“Do you know Captain Bates, who he was mate with?”
“Yes.”
“Will you introduce me to him?”
“Yes; he’ll be in here about two o’clock, with half a dozen more old
web feet, that you know, or who have heard of you, and we’ll have a
jolly time of it. But come,” looking at his watch, “it is grub time; go
up to the house; you belong to me while you are here.”
“I will dine with you; but I made an engagement with young Brown to
meet me here at five o’clock, and I am to take tea with him.”
Captain Rhines met Captain Bates at three o’clock, who, in reply to
his questions in relation to young Brown, replied, “If you’ve got a
frigate, give it to him.” When Arthur came, according to appointment,
Ned Gates came with him.
“Captain Rhines,” said Ned, “father and mother want you to come to our
house, and stop with us while you are here.”
“He’s going to stay with us,” said Arthur.
“No, he ain’t,” said Captain Folger; “he belongs to me. He can go to
supper with Arthur, and he can dine to-morrow with you, Ned; but we are
old shipmates, and the rest of the time he belongs to me.”
Captain Rhines, while at Mrs. Brown’s, proposed that the whole family
should go down and live with him. But Mrs. Brown, who was a capable,
energetic woman, many years younger than her husband, would by no means
consent. She told him, in reply, that her daughters were doing well in
their store; that though her husband left her no money, he had left
the house clear of debt. That his nephew was learning a trade, and she
was doing well keeping boarders, and could not consent, by any means,
to live upon him, as she could not be happy in so doing; but as he had
announced his intentions of helping Arthur to a vessel, she should feel
under the greatest obligations.
Before leaving, he compelled her to accept a check upon Mr. Welch
for two thousand dollars, made the girls a present of five hundred
more, and a hundred to George Ferguson, the nephew, without which, he
declared, he could not sleep nights.
Having accomplished this, he felt quite satisfied and happy; and began
to talk with Arthur in relation to the intended vessel.
“What kind of a vessel do you want, Arthur, and what trade do you want
to go into?”
“I should prefer, sir, always with submission to your better judgment,
a sharp vessel, that will outsail the English cruisers, run the
gantlet, and carry provisions and supplies to France. There will be
risk, but I have an idea there will be corresponding profit.”
“That’s the talk, my boy,” cried the captain, delighted with a proposal
so congenial to his own hardy and enterprising nature. “I only wish I
was young enough to go into it myself. Now, if there’s a man in these
United States that can build a clipper that will show a clean pair of
heels to anything that swims, that man is Charles Bell.”
It was just after dinner, of a pleasant afternoon, Charlie and his wife
were seated in the sun, in the barn-door, husking corn, the sharp click
of a horse’s feet that overreached was heard.
“That’s father,” said Mary. “I know the click of the mare’s shoes.”
“Charlie!” shouted the captain, never stopping, till the mare’s feet
struck the heap of corn in the floor, sending the kernels in Mary’s
face, “grind your broad-axe. Arthur Brown wants a vessel that will show
her heels to the English frigates, run the blockade, and make the sweat
stand on a dolphin’s nose to keep up.”
“I am thankful,” cried Charlie, delighted, “that after so long a time
I am to build something that is not a box.”
“You can’t find a better model than the Hard-scrabble.”
“Than the Hard-scrabble?”
“No; she sails well when she is light, and with a free wind in ballast,
Isaac says there’s nothing will catch her. Just give her more depth,
so she can hold on, and put the sail on her, and I tell you she would
streak it. You must have breadth to carry sail.”
“Well, I’ll do the best I can.”