CAPTAIN RHINES AND DICK CAMERON.
During the day they were occupied in discharging cargo, were tired
at night, and turned in early to make up their sleep. But the night
following the same company assembled again in the cabin of the Arthur.
"Now," said Captain Rhines, "for the crew."
"Ned and I are officers and crew," said Walter; "we can handle her."
"You could handle her in good weather, or in a gale of wind, if it gave
you time, but you might lose your masts in a sudden squall; besides,
you must have more than one in a watch. You must have a lookout, and
you might have a scuffle to get Peterson. You must have two men, and
a boy for a cook: one stout, reliable man, an able seaman, and an
ordinary, or stout, smart boy, eighteen or nineteen. One of you may be
sick, or washed overboard. However, there's time enough for that. I
think I know where to find the able seaman."
A week after this Captain Rhines takes a walk to "Black Dog Alley."
"Where is Dick Cameron?" he inquired of the bar-keeper.
"On that bench," pointing to a wooden settee, on which lay Dick, drunk
and sound asleep.
"Been out all night?"
"Ay."
"Got the 'horrors'?"
"Never has 'em; head's too hard."
"I suppose you had his advance."
"Yes."
"How much money has he left?"
"When his board is paid, Saturday night, he'll have three dollars and
some cents left."
"Has he sold or pawned his clothes?"
"No. He has boarded with me, off and on, a good many years, and I never
knew him to do that."
"Well, will you ask him to meet me at Washburn's at four o'clock this
afternoon?"
"I will."
At the appointed time the captain found Dick on the spot.
"Dick, how many times, since we have been acquainted, have I told you
that you was an out-and-out fool?"
"Shiver my limbs if I know, cap'n; mayhap as many times as there are
yarns in the best bower cable."
"It has done a great deal of good. You are just the same old sixpence
you were when you sailed with me, fifteen years ago."
"Well, cap'n, you take a little something when you have a mind. Why
shouldn't an old sailor--that nobody cares anything about, and that's
going to be thrown overboard when he's worn out, just like the cook's
hot water and ashes--take his comfort while he can? I tell you, cap'n,
you don't know anything about it. It ain't so easy to get clear of your
shipmates. Here's mayhap half a dozen, or mayhap twenty-five of us,
been on a long vige or a short vige. We come ashore; go to a boarding
house. They treats me. Of course I must treat them. One glass brings on
another, till we are all blind drunk."
"_Don't_ I know all about it? Haven't I been through it all? Wasn't I a
sailor, before the mast, years and years?"
"Not such a sailor as Dick Cameron, poor, God-forsaken devil. When you
got into port, you had something ahead. You had a good home, father,
mother, brothers and sisters, way back in the bush, that you carried
to sea with you in your heart. When you turned in, and when you turned
out, they turned in and turned out with you. They were close by you all
the while. When you was at the wheel, on the lookout, or walking the
deck in the middle watch, they were there. When you got farther along
you thought of that young wife, dutiful woman, the little children, the
trees you had planted; and though, mayhap, your body was in Trieste,
Antigua, or Calcutta, your heart was at home with the wife and the
little ones. You could see their faces, hear the fire snap. The moment
you got in, and the vessel was made fast, the grass didn't grow under
your feet till you was at home. You didn't see anything else. You
looked right over everything else to that home."
"That is true, Dick, every word of it."
"You see, cap'n, with all these shrouds, and head-stays, and back-stays
to hold you up, you could take your liquor in moderation, and stop when
you had enough. But here's old Dick comes ashore. He's no parents,
no home; nothing but his shipmates. They go to a rum mill. He's a
drunkard, they are drunkards, and you know the rest. I drew up a strong
resolution this time. Before I come ashore, says I to myself, 'I'll
take my glass in moderation, just as my old cap'n, Ben Rhines, used to,
and not make a beast of myself.' But it all ended in smoke."
"I don't take my glass in moderation, Dick. I've knocked off; flung it
all overboard. Ben has done the same. We don't drink, nor keep it in
the house."
"That's a go, now! Slipped the cable, and let the end run out the
hawse-hole?"
"Yes, Dick; and haven't buoyed the cable, neither."
"But what was the need of that? You never abused yourself with liquor.
You could stop at the score."
"Ben begun it. You know John Strout, who was such a great friend of
his."
"Was mate of the Leonidas?"
"The same. Well, he fell overboard drunk, after getting his liquor at
Ben's house. Ben swore then that he'd never drink another drop, and he
never has. I held out a good while; but at length I found I was making
drunkards of the young folks by the wholesale. They had no idea of
imitating old Uncle Yelf, who died drunk among the pigs; but they were
going to do like Captain Rhines, who drank in moderation; and three
fourths of them ended in becoming drunkards."
"This is all very fine for you, cap'n; but here's poor Dick comes
ashore, goes into a boarding-house. If he don't drink, his shipmates
tell him he's no part of a man. The landlord tells him, says he, 'Dick,
you're a disgrace to the place. You're taking the shingles off the
house, the shoes off my children's feet. You must drink for the good of
the house.' I've no home to go to, no place to be decent in."
Our readers must recollect this was long before the era of "sailors'
homes."
"Look here, my old web-foot," said the captain, bringing down his hand
on Dick's shoulder with a force that would have made a less stalwart
man wince; "you shall have a place to be decent in. You shall go home
with me."
"_Go home with you_, cap'n! What could you do with such a rough
customer as me? I should scare your family. You wouldn't try to make
a farmer of an old shell-back. I might, perhaps, do something with
horses, for my father carried the king's mail from Greenock; and, since
I was knee high to a toad, I have been used to horses; but it's little
old Dick knows about your horned cattle."
"I'll tell you what I want of you. Have you forgotten James Peterson,
that used to go with me?"
"I never had any shipmate of that name that I knows of."
"Yes, you had. He was a negro. I used to hire him of his master. He was
with us in the James Welch to Cadiz the time I had the big dog."
"I don't mind any nigger, only Flour."
"Well, it's _Flour_ I mean. His real name is Peterson."
"Ay, I mind him well, and liked him well."
"You know the blacks are free here at the north since the war."
"I've heard so. Then they are a mighty sight better off than the
sailors."
"He went out of here to Martinique, with a great villain, in one of our
vessels. I coaxed him to go, because it was hard to get a crew; and the
rascal has sold him to a planter there. I am going to have him back."
"If you can get him."
"I shall get him."
"Why don't you get your government to demand him of the French
government, if he's a citizen, and save the expense and trouble?"
"They have no government that amounts to anything. They don't like us
because we won't go into a war with England on their account. Peterson
might die of old age, and I likewise, before they could be got to move
in the matter. Ben has got a vessel that sails like a witch; she has
been repaired this winter past; we are going to put new rigging and a
new suit of sails on her; and two of our boys have volunteered to take
charge, and go after Peterson, and get him back by hook or by crook."
"What do you want me to do?"
"I want you to go home with me. You, myself, and Ben will cut and make
the sails, rig and load her. You will live in my family, get all the
salt junk and bad rum out of you, be amongst steady people, away from
temptation, go out in the vessel with the boys, and, perhaps, a couple
more of our young men; no rum, no landlords, no drunken shipmates. I'll
give you better wages than you ever had in your life, because you
shall have a share of the profits when the voyage is up. I'll build you
a vessel; and, as you are no navigator, you shall coast along the shore
in her, Captain Richard Cameron, marry some one of our good girls,
and be a man. Is not there a chance to be decent? and do as I have
done--let the liquor alone."
"God bless you, cap'n; will you do all that for old Dick?"
"I will, and there's my hand on it."
The seaman grasped the extended hand of his benefactor, exclaiming,
"I'll do it, cap'n. Don't think the manhood is all so leached out of me
by rum and bad company that I can't rally with such a motive as that."
"I don't want you to feel that the obligation is all on one side. It
is not so. I know you, Richard Cameron, through and through; you are a
cool, resolute, powerful, noble-hearted man. I never expected to meet
you again; but I have always said, that, in a real trying time, you
were worth any two men I ever had. I can't help thinking you have been
sent to help me at this present time. You have had experience, and are
seasoned to all climates and all kind of hardships, and you may have to
throttle somebody."
"I don't profess to be much of a saint, cap'n; but, if there's any
throttling to do, I am as good as the next one."
"Well, take your dunnage, and come right on board the brigantine.
There's room enough and grub enough. You'll get acquainted with the
boys, and be out of harm's way."
After listening to the story of Percival, the captain had written
to his wife, recounting all the particulars. Such a commotion as it
created in the quiet community of Pleasant Cove has rarely been seen.
Peterson was known and liked by every one. The story, with all manner
of additions and exaggerations, flew from mouth to mouth, increasing
as it went, formed the staple of conversation at every fireside, and
excited universal concern and indignation. It was asserted that he was
compelled to work every day with a ball and chain fastened to his leg,
and flogged till the blood ran. Persons who would hardly have spoken
to him if they had met him on the street before his misfortune were
outrageous at this violation of the rights of an American citizen. Any
number of plans were devised; some were for bringing the matter before
President Washington at once; others proposed to raise money to ransom
him; but it was finally concluded to wait till Captain Rhines came
home, who, no one doubted, would stir at once in the matter.
Sewall Lancaster expressed his willingness to go, and Captain Rhines
gladly accepted him, as he was well acquainted in Martinique and with
their trade; and, two days after the Arthur Brown was discharged, the
captain, with the boys and seamen, started in a coaster for Pleasant
Cove.
They found everything ripe and ready for their purpose. Lion Ben told
the boys they were welcome to the schooner, and refused to receive a
cent of remuneration.
The whole community rose up as one man to load her. Every household
contributed its supply of butter, candles, and vegetables.
Captain Rhines said if they were going round to the plantations it was
no use to carry fowl, as there were enough there; but they took a few
to sell in St. Pierre, as everybody was eager to contribute something,
and some who had nothing else could furnish fowls.
Twenty-five young men, with Charlie Bell at their head, went into his
woods, cut down the trees, rolled them into the pond, floated them
to the saw-mill, sawed them into joist, and framed the small houses.
Others contributed money to buy locks, hinges, and nails.
The boys were not permitted to contribute a cent, it being agreed on
all sides that whatever was made should be divided between the rescuers
and Peterson's family. Captain Rhines had also brought with him in the
coaster from Boston a large lot of spermaceti candles, which Arthur
Brown, Mr. Welch, and the crew of the brigantine contributed.
I trust you will not think that Captain Rhines, Lion Ben, and the boys
were idle amid all this commotion. You may believe this experienced
seaman, and the boys, full of enthusiasm, made the Perseverance look
saucy enough. Dick Cameron was in the right place now. As they sewed on
the sails, he told yarns that excited as much laughter as wonder; for
Dick, as our readers may suspect, was a jolly soul, and, as he was in
agreeable company, had a clear conscience, was full of good resolutions
and new-born hopes, a happier fellow you never saw. They grafted,
hitched, and pointed every rope on board of her that admitted of it,
even to the bucket-rope, and holy-stoned the deck till it was white
as snow. Didn't they put the muslin on her--a bonnet on her jib for
light winds, a lug foresail that trimmed way aft to the tiller-head, a
squaresail that travelled on an up-and-down stay, and two gaff-topsails
that set from the deck? These were all kites for light winds, and could
be set or taken in very quick. I wish you could have seen her boat. The
readers of the Elm Island Stories know very well that Charlie Bell was
by no means slow as respected boat-building, and was a complete epitome
of progress.
Just after they began to repair the Perseverance, his old father said
to him one day, as they sat before the fire,--
"Charlie, they have a new fashion of building boats in France."
"How is that, father?"
"Why, instead of doing as you do, and getting natural crooks for
timbers, they saw them out of a white-oak plank, or whatever kind of
wood they make them of, put them into a steam-box, and bend them. They
generally get natural crooks for stem, stern-post, and floor-timbers;
but often they saw them out of plank, because timber is not so plenty
there as here, and necessity has driven them to it."
"I see, father," said Charlie, "you could build two boats in that way
while you were building one in our fashion."
Charlie instantly set to work, at odd jobs, to build a boat for the
Perseverance that should take the fly off of everything. It was a labor
of love, because he meant to make a present of it to Lion Ben, and felt
all the enthusiasm naturally connected with new ideas.
He made the stem, stern-post, sharp-risers, and floor-timbers of apple
tree, which takes a very good polish, and the other timbers from plank
sawed out of small, second-growth white-oak butts, tough enough for
ox-goads, and as blue as a whet-stone. The excellent quality of the
wood enabled him to secure sufficient strength, and yet make them quite
small and neat. She was planked with the best of cedar.
He then made a fancy rudder, fancy oars, mast, and boom, and
painted her white to correspond. As she was small, Lion Ben made a
shoulder-of-mutton sail for her, which shape brought the body of the
sail low in the boat, enabling her to carry it much longer. She was
just the prettiest, lightest thing imaginable; and she would streak it
with a good breeze. After work at night, the boys did enjoy sailing in
her. Pleasantly and swiftly did these days pass away. They hardly ate
two meals in the same house; for they were universal favorites, and all
wanted to have the boys at their houses, and it was only on Sabbath
days that Walter spent the day at home.
Again he sat beside Charlie Bell in the old church, and had many a
pleasant talk with him; but Walter was obliged to tell Charlie, that,
although he had often thought of that moonlight talk by the brook, and
how vividly, among the crumbling ruins of the old castle, the power
of association recalled that conversation, he had complied with his
request no farther than to repeat the Lord's Prayer with Ned then, and
ever after when he retired to rest.
The Perseverance was now ready for sea; as Dick Cameron said,
everything about her was ship-shape and Bristol fashion. Never did more
good wishes and fervent prayers follow a craft than followed her, as,
with a wholesale breeze, she weighed anchor, and went down the bay
like a race-horse. Reluctantly the crowd of spectators left the heights
from which they had watched her as she faded from view, and slowly
sought their different places of abode.