CHAPTER IV.

CHAPTER IV.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, saidnot 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’tdo 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, finishher 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 theleaves 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 thebestway 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 itfast 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 vesseland 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 givethat(snapping his fingers) for the schooling and privileges. What do they amount to, if the man hasn’t gotIndian suet,—hasn’tgot the articles in him? Theyhelp, but they can’t put anythingintoa man. I knew Isaac from the egg. I watched him as he grew up. There’s a great deal in theblood. 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 hadhim 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 wantedtimeto 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 obligationsto the captain, who is an Englishman and a stranger, yet he sticks by him, because he thinks it his duty. Ifthatain’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—wouldorcouldhave done it. And, Benjamin, ‘twill take a great deal to make me believe that a man who has got allthatin 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 setup 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.”“Knowyou! 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 madesomething.”“You knew Captain Brown, Arthur, who was lost on Abaco?”“Knewhim! 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 livewith 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 willoutsail 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, “thatafter 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.”CHAPTER V.“WE WERE PUT INTO THIS WORLD TO HELP ONE ANOTHER.”IT was about eight o’clock Saturday night. Captain Rhines had sailed that morning for Boston.Mrs. Brown had finished her household business for the day, and was seated before a bright fire in a cosy little sitting-room, reserved for her private use. Her children were with her, the girls having closed the store earlier than usual, and with the beloved and rescued son and brother in the midst, they were talking over the exciting events of the week.“When I look back upon what has happened for the past two or three weeks,” said the happy mother, “it seems like a dream. There I was, day after day, and week after week, watching the papers, and no news of the vessel, a shortpassage too. Then I got Captain Folger to write to Halifax, and the consignee wrote that they supposed the vessel was lost, as one of her boats, bottom up, had been found, and a bucket that had the vessel’s name on it. A husband and son both buried in the ocean. It tore open the old wounds, and they bled afresh; brought up all the anguish of your father’s loss anew. I felt it was more than I could bear. How I begged and plead with my heavenly Father for your life, Arthur, the widow’s only hope! And some how, whenever I rose from my knees, I felt better than when I knelt down; a feeling as though, some how or other, the cup would pass from me, seemed to take possession of me, and this feeling kept me, for the most part of the time, on my knees. I felt better and happier there than anywhere else.”“Don’t you think, mother, when I came to be on that raft, provisions and water all gone, the captain raving mad and jumping overboard, my shipmates dying one after another, that I didn’t think of you, and that you were praying for me? Poor little Ned and I, our throats were so dry and parched we couldn’t speak so as to be heardby each other above the winds and waves. I fell into a doze, and dreamed I saw a most beautiful grove of apple trees all in blossom, and a great long table spread under them, covered with piles and piles of meat, and great goblets, that held a gallon, full of the clearest water; and you was sitting at it, and saying, ‘Come, Arthur, this is all for you.’ I tried so hard to move towards you, it woke me; and I heard a shout, ‘Raft, ahoy! Is there anybody can take a line?’ Then I knew there was help. I tried to shout, but couldn’t. I could only raise my arm. Soon I heard something strike the raft; a voice shouted, ‘All fast!’ and two men stood over us. They were Mr. Ben Rhines and Charlie Bell. They told me to keep my heart up, for they would stick by me; but I was so overcome I fainted away.”“Brother,” said Ellen, “didn’t you suffer terribly before you got so low as that?”“Tongue can’t describe it; but the thirst was the worst. But here I am now, sitting before this comfortable fire, in this old room where we have spent so many happy hours, with you all around me. I’m sure, as mother says, it seems like a dream to me.”“I hope,” said the widow, “such trials and such mercies will make us better; they certainly should.”“I feel that it has been good for me,” said Eliza. “I thought, when we were in that agony of uncertainty, ‘O that I, too, could pray with mother! that I had a right to, as I felt she had! But when Captain Rhines’s letter came, I did go to God with tears of thankfulness, and trust I was accepted.”“I thought, if my poor boy’s life could only be spared, even if he was a cripple, or injured for life, I could ask no more. And then to have him come home so well and happy, with such a friend as God has raised up for us all in Captain Rhines! Yet I can never think upon him and his kindness but it makes me reflect upon myself.”“Why so, mother?” said Arthur.“Your father was of most open and generous nature, far too much so for his own interest, and, as I then thought, for that of his family, while my disposition was very different. My parents were poor, and I was brought up by a relative, early taught hardship, knew the valueof money, and was naturally prudent. Your father would take the clothes off his back to put on anybody else. I used to go to sea with him, when we were first married; and when sailors came on board without clothes, he would give them clothing, fix them all up, and make them comfortable. I used to tell him, sometimes, that if they drank, gambled, and threw all their money away, they ought to suffer the consequences, and his first duty was to his family. But it was no use to reason with him; he couldn’t help it—couldn’t bear to see anybody suffer; and at length I refrained from saying anything on the subject, but tried to economize all I could, to offset his liberality. He never concerned himself about household matters, was gone a great part of the time, and left everything to me.“He would come home, and bring barrels of sugar and molasses for family use, and bags of coffee, and have them hauled up to the house; and also quantities of fine cloths from Europe and the East Indies for me and the children, and material for towels, curtains, and bedding. After he was gone, I would live as prudently as possible, sell a great part of the things sent home, and put by the money against time of need.“After our third child was born, he began to alter gradually, and seemed to have different ideas, became more prudent, and, as he was a man of great business talent, began to accumulate, and soon owned a good part of the vessel, and, had he lived, would have become a wealthy man, but was taken away in a moment. There was no insurance on the ship or cargo, and all he had accumulated was gone, except this house. Then, being left a widow, with a young family, I found the benefit of the little I had saved.”“I’m sure, mother,” said Eliza, “I don’t see what you have to reflect on, except with satisfaction. You were not saving for yourself, but for us children, and for father, had he lived to be old, and past labor.”“Ah, but I was so anxious that your father should lay up something for his family, that after he was gone, I felt that perhaps I had said more than I ought; sometimes, too, I would discourage him from doing for others, when it did not consist in giving money; when he would spend a great deal of time at sea in teaching some young man navigation, when, as I thought, he ought to have been asleep in his berth, or resting; often, whenhe was on shore, and I wanted him to go with me, he would be running here and there, night and day, to get a vessel built for somebody, and oftentimes get small thanks for it, as I told him. Then he would say, ‘Harriet, we were put into this world to help each other; we ought not to feel vexed or disappointed if we do not always receive gratitude from those we have befriended, when we consider how ungrateful we are ourselves to our Maker, but do our duty.’ These things often came up in memory, after he was taken away, and I would have given anything if I had not said some things, and could have taken them back.”“But, mother,” said Ellen, “I don’t think you ought to feel so. You meant it for his good.”“I thought I did, at the time; but since then I have felt there was a good deal of selfishness at the bottom, that ought not to have been there; that your father felt it, and it pained him, for I could see a shade of sadness flit across his face, like a cloud across the sun in a spring morning.”“Don’t cry, mother,” said Arthur, putting his arm around her, and wiping away the tear that trembled on her cheek.“But when,” she continued, in a voice brokenwith emotion, “in the midst of my anguish about you, that letter came from Pleasant Cove, telling me your life had been saved by Captain Rhines (one of the very boys your father had worked so hard to help), so full of sentiments of affection for your father, and gratitude for the favors he had received from him, and a few days later your letter, telling me of their kindness to you and Ned, I was overcome.”“O, mother, I can’t tell you one half they did for me, because it can’t be told; for it was not only what they did, but the way they did it. It came so right out of the heart. They seemed to love to do it, and it was done with such looks and tones of love.”“Yes; and when that noble man came up here, and couldn’t do enough—wanted to take us all home with him—insisting upon it, didn’t I feel condemned for trying to hinder your father from helping others, and telling him he got small thanks for it? Here, now, is one of those very persons, becoming a father to his son, putting him right into business at once.”“Well, mother, I’ve made up my mind to one thing—I’ll try to show myself my father’s son,and practise that which I approve of so much in others. I’ll let Captain Rhines, Mr. Ben, Charlie, John, and the others see that I am not deficient in gratitude. If God gives me life and strength, the grass shan’t grow on that vessel’s bottom. I’ll make her a happy vessel for sailors, and help every young man I can, as father told Captain Rhines to do when he asked him how he could repay him. And as he has helped me, whether I get any thanks for it or not, I’ll look higher than that for my reward,—I’ll get it in doing my duty. I’ll begin with my shipmate, little Ned Gates.”“I am glad to hear you talk thus, Arthur. Your father’s principle was the true one,—do right because it is right,—and from all I have seen, it generally bears the best fruit even in this life. There was your uncle David, just the opposite of your father; always saving for his children; so close as to be on the edge of dishonesty, if not actually dishonest; never had a thought or care for any one but himself or his own, and, just as he had amassed a large property, went into a great speculation in his old age for the sake of getting more, when he had more than enough already risked the whole, and lost the whole. Now, wornout, and broken down, without a house over his head, everybody says, ‘Served him right,’ and his children all poor, while your father’s good name and deeds have been money at interest for his family, and the bread he cast upon the waters has come back after many days.”“Mother, there’s one thing I want you to do before I go to sea.”“What is that, Arthur?”“Just send off these boarders,—no longer make a slave of yourself,—and take some comfort. The girls are doing well in the store; George supports himself; I am going to have business, and Captain Rhines has given you and the girls money; so there’s no need of working, and wearing your life out now.”“I couldn’t feel right, Arthur, if I were not earning something; a thousand dollars would soon be spent, come to sit down and live upon it; you may have hard luck at sea; the girls are doing well, to be sure, but they have got to return the money that friends loaned them to start with. I have put that thousand dollars in the bank, against a rainy day; besides, I have another reason for wishing to earn something.”“What is it?” asked Ellen.“I want to atone for past selfishness, and follow your father’s example in doing what little I can to help those poorer than myself. It’s but little I can do, to be sure, but I mean to do that little cheerfully, and I trust ‘twill be accepted. There is the mother of poor James Watts, who was on the raft, and died. She is poor, and bereft of all her dependence, for he was a good boy, and gave her all his earnings, while my child was spared, and friends raised up to help me; and I mean to do all I can to help and comfort her. I mean to act on your father’s principle, ‘Harriet, we were put into this world to help each other.’”“At any rate, mother, you need not have so large a family and work so hard; you can keep more help; you must gratify me in that.”“Well, I will, my son.”At this period of the conversation, the servant announced that a young man wanted to see Arthur.“It is Ned; tell him to come in here. Good evening, Edward; sit down beside me; this is more comfortable than the raft.”“Indeed it is, sir.”“I suppose you hardly care to sail salt water any more, you’ve had such bad luck this time.”“O, yes, sir; old Captain Osborne tells me some people have all their bad luck at once, and that it’s a good sign when a man falls overboard before the vessel leaves the wharf, or is wrecked at the first going off. He says that ship was cursed.”“Was cursed!” said Mrs. Brown; “what did he mean by that?”“He says, marm, that he knew that captain; that he was a cruel man to sailors, abused and starved them (that I know to be true); that it was thought he had murdered men. Are you going again, Mr. Brown?”“Yes, Edward. Captain Rhines and his folks are building me a vessel; I expect the keel is laid by this time.”“Can I go with you, sir?”“Yes, if your parents are willing.”“They are willing I should go withyou, sir.”“It will be some months before the vessel is ready; now, you better go to school, and get all the learning you can.”“Yes, sir; shall I study navigation?”“No; I’ll teach you that on board ship. Studyarithmetic and book-keeping, learn to keep accounts and write a business hand, and study trigonometry and geography. If we live to get to sea in the ship, we won’t starve, or abuse anybody, nor pass any wrecks, and try not to have the vessel cursed. We know what it is, my boy, to starve, and to be helped in distress, and will do as we have been done by.”“Mr. Brown, don’t you think the folks at Pleasant Cove and round there are the best folks that could be?”“Yes, Ned.”“But don’t you think Charlie is handsome,—the handsomest man that ever was?”“I think Captain Rhines is handsome.”“Yes, sir; but Charlie Bell; is it any hurt for me to call him Charlie? They all down there call each other so, and somehow I seem to love him more when I don’t put the handle on.”“No, indeed; do you love me better when you don’t put on the handle?”“No, sir; because I have been used to calling you Mr. Brown, and it comes natural, and I couldn’t love you any better than I do.”“I suppose, Ned, Charlie looks handsome toyou, and Captain Rhines to me, because we had the most to do with them; but they are both really fine-looking men. Most people would think John Rhines a finer specimen of a man than Charlie. I have seen a great many men, but I never in all my life saw so fine a proportioned young man as John Rhines; if he lives, he’ll be almost as strong as Ben. Charlie is the handsomest, John the most manly.”“But, sir, do you know what I thought (I suppose I was wandering) after they took us off the raft, and I kind of came to? I opened my eyes, and Charlie was bending over the bed. I looked him right in the face; such a beautiful face, so much goodness in it, I thought I had got to heaven, and that an angel was hovering over me; and then, when I came to myself, he was so kind,—fed me with a spoon, took me in his arms, and put me in a chair, just as my mother would; and Ben Rhines, though he ain’t handsome, he is just as good as the rest. Uncle Isaac and Fred Williams, they are all just as good as they can be. I mean to go down there, and stay a month at Pleasant Cove, and Elm Island. They asked me to.”CHAPTER VI.THE YOUNG CAPTAIN UNDER FIRE.THE day is breaking. A vessel of two hundred and fifty tons lies completely enveloped in a dense, damp fog, and becalmed, off the coast of France, in the Mediterranean.It is impossible to discern an object twice the length of the vessel. Let us go alongside, and see if we can arrive at any conclusion respecting her character and business. She is evidently of American build, though she shows no colors; but spreading a cloud of canvas, modelled and rigged entirely with reference to speed, and though unarmed, with a much larger crew than would be required in the ordinary pursuits of commerce. The appearance of the crew as to dress is quite in contrast to that of a ship’s crew at the present time, for during the last forty years there has been a gradual change in the clothing of seafaringmen, rendering it not only more comfortable, but much lighter.At that time, sailors wore, for head covering, tarpaulins. These were generally made by the men themselves at leisure moments on board ship. The process was this: as the course of trade in those days was chiefly to the West Indies, they procured the leaves of the dwarf palm, which they split into proper widths and platted, making the button, in the middle of the crown, of the same material, though some, as a matter of fancy, took the lead tags that came on bolts of canvas, and some a piece of money, and punching holes in the rim, began their work on that. After the braid was made, it was sewed together with ravellings of duck; then, if there was a pig killed on board, or a porpoise harpooned, they soaked the hat in the blood and let it dry, to make it stiff (this was sailors’ paste), then covered it with canvas, then mixed tar, grease, and salt water together, and daubed it with the composition to render it water-proof; but after a while they found that black paint was just as good, and much lighter. Then tarpaulins gave way to peaked red caps, Scotchcaps, and finally the present dress was adopted. But the crew of the brigantine wore tarpaulins of still more ancient dates, and of enormous weight, made by covering thick wool hats with tar and canvas. The dress of landsmen at that time was breeches and long hose, but sailors wore trousers very wide at the bottom of the legs, the rule for the width, being the length of the foot; on their feet, for dress-up to go ashore, slippers that showed the joint of the great toe. Sheath knives were not worn, except occasionally by some Spanish sailor; they used large, square-pointed jack-knives of English manufacture, slung to the neck by a lanyard. The officers, both captain and mate, wore at sea short jackets. If a mate then had worn a long-tail coat, the sailors would have cut the tails off with their jack-knives. Every one of the ship’s company wore his hair in a cue, which was wound, when at sea, with an eel-skin, but with a ribbon when going ashore, and hung down the back. When at work it was frequently coiled around the top of the head and covered with the hat. Men prided themselves on the length of their cue, and in their watch below, watchmates combedout and tied up each other’s cues, and the cook or steward took care of the captain’s.She looks, for all the world, like a slaver. The use of copper on the bottom of vessels was scarcely known then, and as she rolls to windward, little spots of grease are seen floating on the water, and we perceive that her bottom is covered with a coat of tallow and soap, to increase her speed to the utmost.There is something in the appearance of the man who is climbing the main rigging that seems familiar. Looking more closely, we are delighted to recognize our old acquaintance Walter Griffin, now growing into a lithe, fine-looking young man. He is acting as second mate, that officer being sick with a carbuncle on the back of his neck, the pain of which made him nearly frantic.Walter was remarkably keen of sight and quick of hearing, and therefore went aloft as lookout, instead of a sailor. Although there was no possibility of discerning anything from the deck at any considerable distance, yet as the fog hung low, it was somewhat clearer aloft. There was also a probability that the fog might scale when the sun rose, or a breeze springing up sweep it away.There is evidently great anxiety among the ship’s company to gain intelligence, for all hands are on deck, the men clustered as thick as bees on the forecastle. The mate, a stranger, paces the quarter-deck. As Walter goes aloft aft, and another man forward, he cautions them, if they see or hear anything, not to hail the deck, but make a signal. A real racer, and no mistake, this craft. Lashed to the bulwarks are huge sweeps, with which the numerous crew (for they are evidently picked men of large proportions) can move her with considerable speed in a calm. But what is she? Some slaver from the French islands, built in Baltimore, and trying to get home? But how comes Walter Griffin there? To increase our surprise, as we look at the men grouped together on the forecastle, we recognize, seated on the heel of the bowsprit, our old friend Peterson, the largest man of the crew, and just behind him his son, who is fast emulating the massive proportions of his sire; but the usually cheerful face of the black was clouded with anxiety. On the end of the windlass, with one arm flung over the bitt, sits Sydney Chase, on the shank of the best bower anchor George Warren,a brother of Seth; and leaning against the stock of the anchor, in whispered conversation with him, is another old acquaintance, Danforth Eaton, recalling Elm Island, with all its home-like associations and interests. We almost expect to see Uncle Isaac and Captain Rhines make their appearance next. Between the knight-heads is Enoch Hadlock, a brother of Sally Rhines. The rest of the crew are Pettigrews, Godsoes, Merrithews, Lancasters, Warrens, Athertons, and Elwells, all belonging to Rhinesville, Pleasant Cove, or thereabouts. While thus perplexed, we gaze, seeking for some clew to guide us and unravel the mystery, the vessel, having no steerage-way, swings lazily round in the tide, presenting her stern to full view, where we read “Arthur Brown, Pleasant Cove,” and recognize in the boy sitting on the foretop-gallant-yard, little Ned, and the next moment the manly, handsome face of Arthur Brown appears in the companion way.It is all out now. Charlie has ground his broad-axe to some purpose. This is the vessel built by the Hard-scrabble boys and Captain Rhines for Arthur Brown, the noble offering of a manly,grateful heart, repaying to the son the debt incurred to the deceased parent, and bearing on her stern the name of him whose body sleeps beneath the waves that wash the cliffs of Abaco. What a contrast to the Hard-scrabble! what a testimony of the energy and progressive ideas of her builders! She is a model of symmetry and beauty; yet you can plainly see the lines of the West Wind, of famous memory. Charlie has put his whole soul in her; give her wind, she has evidently little to fear from the clumping British men-of-war.But there is not a breath of wind; she lies helpless off the port of Marseilles, which the English are blockading, deeply laden with a cargo, every article of which is contraband of war.It is the period when, after the outbreak of the French revolution, England had declared war against France, and, supreme at sea, was capturing the French West Indies, and blockading their home ports. The great majority of the people in this country, especially all the mercantile portion of the community, sympathized with France; they cherished a feeling of gratitudeto her as our ally in the war of the revolution, a bitter hatred against England, growing out of the right of search, which she exercised in the impressment of seamen, which eventually led to the war of 1812.It was all the government could do, aided by the great personal influence of Washington, to restrain the country from entering into alliance with France against England, and coming to open hostilities. In this state of things, sharp vessels, manned by resolute men, conducted by skilful pilots, influenced by motives of friendship and self-interest on one side, and a bitter sense of oppression on the other, broke the blockade which Great Britain (whose fleets were scattered over a vast extent of ocean) attempted to maintain in respect to the French coasts and West Indies, and supplied them with both arms and provisions.This is the errand of the Arthur Brown to run the blockade of Marseilles, and accounts for the feeling of anxiety evident upon the faces of both officers and crew, since their fortunes are alike at stake, as each one, in lieu of wages, receives a share in the profits of the voyage,and if captured breaking the blockade both ship and cargo would be confiscated. There was also another and more terrible cause for anxiety—the dread of impressment. The commanders of English ships were accustomed to take men by force from American vessels, claiming them as British, disregarding the custom-house protection, which declared them to be American citizens, sometimes even tearing them up, and they were dragged away to spend their lives in the British fleets. A terrible instance is on record, illustrating the dread which in the minds of seamen was connected with impressment. A fine, stalwart, young American seaman, being about to be taken by force from an American merchantman, under pretence that he was an Englishman, seeing no way of escape from a bondage worse than death, clasped the boarding officer in his arms and leaped overboard with him, when both sank, to rise no more till the great day of account.In the course of half an hour, in obedience to a signal from Walter, a man ascended the rigging, and, coming down, reported that Griffin was sure he heard a rooster crow, and also the sound of oars in a rowlock.The tide, which was at the flood, had drifted the vessel to the neighborhood of a large rock, that was dimly seen through the fog. The captain called Peterson aft. “What rock is that, Peterson?” The black gave him the French name, and pointed it out to him on the chart.“Then we are right in with the land?”“Yes, massa cap’n; there’s another one inside this, right abreast the harbor.”Peterson, who was getting somewhat in years, having broken off his intemperate habits, and obtaining good and constant employment at home, had given up all thoughts of ever again going to sea; but Captain Rhines persuaded him to go in the “Arthur Brown” as pilot and interpreter. Peterson’s parents were Guinea negroes; but the boy was born in Martinique, where his parents were slaves, and was sold, when a child, to the master of a vessel that traded to Marseilles, during which time he became perfectly acquainted with the harbor. The French captain finally sold him to Captain Hadlock, the father of Sally Rhines, who sold him to Peterson, with whom he remained till slavery was abolished in New England.Captain Rhines had frequently availed himselfof his knowledge as pilot, well knew his worth and reliability, and therefore insisted upon his going with Arthur Brown. No other person on board could speak a word of French, except Walter Griffin, and he not fluently, as he had learned it but a short time before, but was daily improving by conversation with Peterson.There was now a signal from the foremast, Ned Gates reporting that he heard blows as of a hammer on iron; and while all hands were anxiously listening, the sound of a boatswain’s whistle was faintly audible.“Man the sweeps,” cried the captain, running to the compass to note the quarter from which the sound came. Taking the helm himself, while the whole ship’s company applied their force to the sweeps, he steered in a direction opposite to that from which the sound that had so alarmed them proceeded. An hour thus passed without any repetition of the sounds, when the fog suddenly lifted, the sun broke out, and they found themselves almost within range of an English frigate on the port bow, while a sloop of war lay some miles off on the other quarter. The crew redoubled their efforts at the oars.“It’s no use, boys,” said the mate; “you might as well put on your jackets; the frigate is getting out her boats; they’ll be alongside of us before we can sweep half a mile.”“Sweep away, men,” cried the young captain, who was coolly watching the clouds; “something may yet turn up in our favor.”The man-o’-war’s-men, well aware of the character of the chase by the efforts put forth to escape, and anticipating a rich prize, strained every nerve, coming down upon their helpless victim with the speed of an arrow. The sound of the oars in the rowlocks could now be distinctly heard as the two leading boats diverged, one making for the fore and the other for the main chains of the “Arthur.”An expression of bitter anguish passed over the face of Arthur, as he felt that all his fair prospects, the hopes of Captain Rhines and others who had so nobly stepped forth to aid and start him in life, were to be blighted in the bud.The boats were now close aboard, and the bowmen stood up to grapple the prize.“Pull, men, for your lives!” shouted the captain,whose eye caught the sails; “there’s a breeze coming;her length, only herlengthahead.”They exerted themselves to the utmost, while, in pure recklessness, Peterson burst into a song used by whalemen when towing a whale.Despite their efforts, the foremost boat gained the quarter, and flung a grappling; it caught. Just then a light air filled the loftier sails, although there was not a breath of wind on deck. Slight as it was, it was sufficient to shoot the swift craft ahead with accelerated speed, leaving one boat far astern, towing and well nigh upsetting the other. A sharp axe in the hand of Peterson descended upon the grappling warp, and the boat was left astern, as the increasing breeze filled, partially, the larger sails of the “Arthur.”A broadside burst from the side of the frigate; but the shot all fell far short, covering the water with foam.The breeze now sensibly increased. The direction in which it sprung up brought the frigate dead to windward.“Dis be a bully grappling,” said Peterson, taking up the now harmless implement. “Me takehim home to Massa Rhines, to moor his boat with.”The light breeze, which propelled the swift brigantine with considerable velocity, was scarcely felt by the frigate; but as it gradually freshened she began to move through the water, and picking up her boats, crowded all sail in pursuit. But she had, during the light wind, lost much precious time, profiting by which the brigantine had increased the distance between them.But now the situation of things was entirely reversed. The frigate, though no match for the swift, sharp-built American, close-hauled on a wind; yet dead before it, her great bulk and vast cloud of sail rendered her superior; besides, as she could carry sail much longer, and the wind was every moment increasing, she would, after a while, drown the smaller vessel out. She was too near, at the outset, for the brigantine to haul on the wind, and endeavor to cross her bows, as already the shots from her guns began to fall uncomfortably near. The wind was blowing in squalls; when the squall struck, the frigate would gain, and almost heave her shot on board; when the wind slacked, the brigantine would gain. Directly ahead lay a cluster of islands, reefs,and outlying rocks; one island was called Pomegues, the other Rataneau. These islands are now connected by a breakwater; then they were not. The brow of the young captain now wore an expression of great anxiety; he called the mate and Peterson to his councils.“We are doing all we can,” said the captain to his subordinates, “and as the wind increases we bury and she gains; her shot will soon be coming aboard.”“I see no way,” replied the mate, “but to haul our sheets aft, and endeavor to cross her bows. If we could once get him on a wind, we could shake him off.”“Then,” replied the captain, “she would run square down on us; it is useless to attempt that. What is your advice, pilot?” addressing himself to the black, who was too modest to obtrude his opinion upon his superiors.“Massa cap’n,” said the black, “dis darky know all dese rocks jes as little boy know his letters in de book. Dis island on de starboard hand, he Rataneau; bold water close along shore, till get down to de pint; den he shoal, many rocks, bad place. It low water now; we luff right round de pint ob de island, right in among de shoals and rocks.”“Then we shall go ashore.”“Nebber you fear. Dis chile carry you clear. Dis darky know frigate no dare come in. We drew leben feet ob water. ‘Spose he draw twenty-fibe; he stand off good way; his shot no reach us. Den you be on de wind, close-hauled, beat up ’twixt de islands and de main, hab smooth water; ’spose frigate he try beat up too; he no do any ting; wid dis vessel on de wind, he nowhar. ’Spose he beat up toder side; den he habrough water; he do noting at all.”There was not much time for deliberation, for, even while they were speaking, a shot carried away the port davit, and splintered the planks of the stern.“If that shot had struck the main boom,” said the mate,—“and it did not lack much of it,—all had been up with us.”“You are right, pilot. Mr. Rogers, brace up the yards.”While this manœuvre was being executed, a succession of terrible screams arose from the forward part of the ship.“Some poor fellow is struck,” cried the captain; “run forward, Mr. Rogers, and see who it is.”The second mate was now heard singing out, “Avast hauling on that fore-brace. Slack it off handsomely.” Four or five men were at the same time seen running up the fore-rigging.In those days iron trusses to lower yards by (which they swing in all directions as easily as a door on its hinges) were not known; but they were made of rope, covered with leather, and very stiff. A man must be sent up to overhaul them when the yards were swung.Danforth Eaton went up to overhaul the weather-truss. The wind blew the end of his cue—he had the longest cue on board—into the hole of the cleat; it jammed fast, and the men bracing the yard hauled it in, pulling out the hair by the roots, starting the skin from the flesh, and well nigh breaking his neck.“Cut the blasted thing off,” cried the sufferer (his eyes bloodshot, and the tears streaming down his cheeks) to Walter, who was the first to reach him.Eaton never wore another cue, and his example was followed by a few of his shipmates; and at length cues went out of fashion altogether.The next shot fell wide; but as both vesselswere now brought nearer to the wind, it was evident, by the balls falling short, that the brigantine was increasing the distance between them, which became still greater as the man-of-war, afraid of the shoals, gave the island a wider berth, while the brigantine, under the skilful pilotage of the black, running as near as possible to the rocks, rounded the point of the island, gradually coming up more and more to the wind, till, having passed the last shoal, at a signal from Peterson, the yards were braced sharp, the main sheet hauled flat aft, and she shot out into a clear channel.“Dere,” cried the black (who had stood on the bow, with his eye glancing alternately from the water to the sails), as he flung his tarpaulin upon the deck, and wiped the sweat from his forehead, “where dat frigate now? Dis chile no see her,” he exclaimed, looking straight to windward. “You ole man, Peterson, you lose de eyesight.”A merry laugh went round, as the captain exclaimed, “You are looking the wrong way, Peterson. Look to leeward. Well done, my old pilot; reckon on a suit of clothes for yourself, and a dress for the old woman. I see you are all Captain Rhines recommended you to be, and more too.”“Me tank you, massa cap’n; tank you, sar. Cap’n Rhines he know dis chile well as he know hisself; wind blow awful; big sea; take two men hold toder man’s hair on; ship scudding; Massa Rhines, he come on deck; ‘Mr. Strout!’ ‘Ay, ay, sar.’ ‘Who got de helm?’ ‘Flour, sar.’ (Dey call me Flour den.) He say, ‘Den I go below. Gib me call, any change in de weder.’ ‘Ay, ay, sar.’”“Here comes another,” said the mate, as a hundred gun ship, aroused by the firing, stood out from the roadstead of Marseilles.“Here comes Grandfather Bull,” cried the captain, proud of the sailing qualities of his craft. “On a taut bowline I wouldn’t fear their whole navy. Come along, old gentleman.”The fleets of Great Britain were at this time so fully occupied in all parts of the world, that but a small number of vessels could be spared to blockade the most important of the French ports, the heavier ships lying just out of range of the forts, and patrolling the roadstead with boats, while the lighter vessels scoured the coast. In bad weather they were obliged to ride it out in an open roadstead, or run to sea—a time always improved by the blockade-runners who were inside to get out,and by those outside, while the fleet was scattered, to run in.It was of the greatest importance for blockade-runners to ascertain the position of the fleet in the daytime, and, eluding the outside vessels, run by the others in the night, taking the chance of an attack from their boats, and a broadside. In making the coast in thick weather, they were always liable to find themselves, as in the present instance, in the very jaws of the enemy.Nothing but her sweeps saved the “Arthur Brown,” by preventing the boats from boarding her, till the breeze came. The frigate, finding the chase was hopeless, tacked ship, and returned to the coast; but so far were the crew of the brigantine from relinquishing their purpose, that they kept in sight, and the moment the twilight came on, stood in for the land, guided by the frigate’s lights, while all was dark on board the brigantine.

CHAPTER IV.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, saidnot 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’tdo 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, finishher 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 theleaves 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 thebestway 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 itfast 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 vesseland 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 givethat(snapping his fingers) for the schooling and privileges. What do they amount to, if the man hasn’t gotIndian suet,—hasn’tgot the articles in him? Theyhelp, but they can’t put anythingintoa man. I knew Isaac from the egg. I watched him as he grew up. There’s a great deal in theblood. 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 hadhim 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 wantedtimeto 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 obligationsto the captain, who is an Englishman and a stranger, yet he sticks by him, because he thinks it his duty. Ifthatain’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—wouldorcouldhave done it. And, Benjamin, ‘twill take a great deal to make me believe that a man who has got allthatin 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 setup 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.”“Knowyou! 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 madesomething.”“You knew Captain Brown, Arthur, who was lost on Abaco?”“Knewhim! 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 livewith 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 willoutsail 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, “thatafter 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.”

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, saidnot 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’tdo 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, finishher 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 theleaves 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 thebestway 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 itfast 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 vesseland 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 givethat(snapping his fingers) for the schooling and privileges. What do they amount to, if the man hasn’t gotIndian suet,—hasn’tgot the articles in him? Theyhelp, but they can’t put anythingintoa man. I knew Isaac from the egg. I watched him as he grew up. There’s a great deal in theblood. 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 hadhim 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 wantedtimeto 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 obligationsto the captain, who is an Englishman and a stranger, yet he sticks by him, because he thinks it his duty. Ifthatain’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—wouldorcouldhave done it. And, Benjamin, ‘twill take a great deal to make me believe that a man who has got allthatin 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 setup 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.”

“Knowyou! 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 madesomething.”

“You knew Captain Brown, Arthur, who was lost on Abaco?”

“Knewhim! 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 livewith 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 willoutsail 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, “thatafter 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.”

CHAPTER V.“WE WERE PUT INTO THIS WORLD TO HELP ONE ANOTHER.”IT was about eight o’clock Saturday night. Captain Rhines had sailed that morning for Boston.Mrs. Brown had finished her household business for the day, and was seated before a bright fire in a cosy little sitting-room, reserved for her private use. Her children were with her, the girls having closed the store earlier than usual, and with the beloved and rescued son and brother in the midst, they were talking over the exciting events of the week.“When I look back upon what has happened for the past two or three weeks,” said the happy mother, “it seems like a dream. There I was, day after day, and week after week, watching the papers, and no news of the vessel, a shortpassage too. Then I got Captain Folger to write to Halifax, and the consignee wrote that they supposed the vessel was lost, as one of her boats, bottom up, had been found, and a bucket that had the vessel’s name on it. A husband and son both buried in the ocean. It tore open the old wounds, and they bled afresh; brought up all the anguish of your father’s loss anew. I felt it was more than I could bear. How I begged and plead with my heavenly Father for your life, Arthur, the widow’s only hope! And some how, whenever I rose from my knees, I felt better than when I knelt down; a feeling as though, some how or other, the cup would pass from me, seemed to take possession of me, and this feeling kept me, for the most part of the time, on my knees. I felt better and happier there than anywhere else.”“Don’t you think, mother, when I came to be on that raft, provisions and water all gone, the captain raving mad and jumping overboard, my shipmates dying one after another, that I didn’t think of you, and that you were praying for me? Poor little Ned and I, our throats were so dry and parched we couldn’t speak so as to be heardby each other above the winds and waves. I fell into a doze, and dreamed I saw a most beautiful grove of apple trees all in blossom, and a great long table spread under them, covered with piles and piles of meat, and great goblets, that held a gallon, full of the clearest water; and you was sitting at it, and saying, ‘Come, Arthur, this is all for you.’ I tried so hard to move towards you, it woke me; and I heard a shout, ‘Raft, ahoy! Is there anybody can take a line?’ Then I knew there was help. I tried to shout, but couldn’t. I could only raise my arm. Soon I heard something strike the raft; a voice shouted, ‘All fast!’ and two men stood over us. They were Mr. Ben Rhines and Charlie Bell. They told me to keep my heart up, for they would stick by me; but I was so overcome I fainted away.”“Brother,” said Ellen, “didn’t you suffer terribly before you got so low as that?”“Tongue can’t describe it; but the thirst was the worst. But here I am now, sitting before this comfortable fire, in this old room where we have spent so many happy hours, with you all around me. I’m sure, as mother says, it seems like a dream to me.”“I hope,” said the widow, “such trials and such mercies will make us better; they certainly should.”“I feel that it has been good for me,” said Eliza. “I thought, when we were in that agony of uncertainty, ‘O that I, too, could pray with mother! that I had a right to, as I felt she had! But when Captain Rhines’s letter came, I did go to God with tears of thankfulness, and trust I was accepted.”“I thought, if my poor boy’s life could only be spared, even if he was a cripple, or injured for life, I could ask no more. And then to have him come home so well and happy, with such a friend as God has raised up for us all in Captain Rhines! Yet I can never think upon him and his kindness but it makes me reflect upon myself.”“Why so, mother?” said Arthur.“Your father was of most open and generous nature, far too much so for his own interest, and, as I then thought, for that of his family, while my disposition was very different. My parents were poor, and I was brought up by a relative, early taught hardship, knew the valueof money, and was naturally prudent. Your father would take the clothes off his back to put on anybody else. I used to go to sea with him, when we were first married; and when sailors came on board without clothes, he would give them clothing, fix them all up, and make them comfortable. I used to tell him, sometimes, that if they drank, gambled, and threw all their money away, they ought to suffer the consequences, and his first duty was to his family. But it was no use to reason with him; he couldn’t help it—couldn’t bear to see anybody suffer; and at length I refrained from saying anything on the subject, but tried to economize all I could, to offset his liberality. He never concerned himself about household matters, was gone a great part of the time, and left everything to me.“He would come home, and bring barrels of sugar and molasses for family use, and bags of coffee, and have them hauled up to the house; and also quantities of fine cloths from Europe and the East Indies for me and the children, and material for towels, curtains, and bedding. After he was gone, I would live as prudently as possible, sell a great part of the things sent home, and put by the money against time of need.“After our third child was born, he began to alter gradually, and seemed to have different ideas, became more prudent, and, as he was a man of great business talent, began to accumulate, and soon owned a good part of the vessel, and, had he lived, would have become a wealthy man, but was taken away in a moment. There was no insurance on the ship or cargo, and all he had accumulated was gone, except this house. Then, being left a widow, with a young family, I found the benefit of the little I had saved.”“I’m sure, mother,” said Eliza, “I don’t see what you have to reflect on, except with satisfaction. You were not saving for yourself, but for us children, and for father, had he lived to be old, and past labor.”“Ah, but I was so anxious that your father should lay up something for his family, that after he was gone, I felt that perhaps I had said more than I ought; sometimes, too, I would discourage him from doing for others, when it did not consist in giving money; when he would spend a great deal of time at sea in teaching some young man navigation, when, as I thought, he ought to have been asleep in his berth, or resting; often, whenhe was on shore, and I wanted him to go with me, he would be running here and there, night and day, to get a vessel built for somebody, and oftentimes get small thanks for it, as I told him. Then he would say, ‘Harriet, we were put into this world to help each other; we ought not to feel vexed or disappointed if we do not always receive gratitude from those we have befriended, when we consider how ungrateful we are ourselves to our Maker, but do our duty.’ These things often came up in memory, after he was taken away, and I would have given anything if I had not said some things, and could have taken them back.”“But, mother,” said Ellen, “I don’t think you ought to feel so. You meant it for his good.”“I thought I did, at the time; but since then I have felt there was a good deal of selfishness at the bottom, that ought not to have been there; that your father felt it, and it pained him, for I could see a shade of sadness flit across his face, like a cloud across the sun in a spring morning.”“Don’t cry, mother,” said Arthur, putting his arm around her, and wiping away the tear that trembled on her cheek.“But when,” she continued, in a voice brokenwith emotion, “in the midst of my anguish about you, that letter came from Pleasant Cove, telling me your life had been saved by Captain Rhines (one of the very boys your father had worked so hard to help), so full of sentiments of affection for your father, and gratitude for the favors he had received from him, and a few days later your letter, telling me of their kindness to you and Ned, I was overcome.”“O, mother, I can’t tell you one half they did for me, because it can’t be told; for it was not only what they did, but the way they did it. It came so right out of the heart. They seemed to love to do it, and it was done with such looks and tones of love.”“Yes; and when that noble man came up here, and couldn’t do enough—wanted to take us all home with him—insisting upon it, didn’t I feel condemned for trying to hinder your father from helping others, and telling him he got small thanks for it? Here, now, is one of those very persons, becoming a father to his son, putting him right into business at once.”“Well, mother, I’ve made up my mind to one thing—I’ll try to show myself my father’s son,and practise that which I approve of so much in others. I’ll let Captain Rhines, Mr. Ben, Charlie, John, and the others see that I am not deficient in gratitude. If God gives me life and strength, the grass shan’t grow on that vessel’s bottom. I’ll make her a happy vessel for sailors, and help every young man I can, as father told Captain Rhines to do when he asked him how he could repay him. And as he has helped me, whether I get any thanks for it or not, I’ll look higher than that for my reward,—I’ll get it in doing my duty. I’ll begin with my shipmate, little Ned Gates.”“I am glad to hear you talk thus, Arthur. Your father’s principle was the true one,—do right because it is right,—and from all I have seen, it generally bears the best fruit even in this life. There was your uncle David, just the opposite of your father; always saving for his children; so close as to be on the edge of dishonesty, if not actually dishonest; never had a thought or care for any one but himself or his own, and, just as he had amassed a large property, went into a great speculation in his old age for the sake of getting more, when he had more than enough already risked the whole, and lost the whole. Now, wornout, and broken down, without a house over his head, everybody says, ‘Served him right,’ and his children all poor, while your father’s good name and deeds have been money at interest for his family, and the bread he cast upon the waters has come back after many days.”“Mother, there’s one thing I want you to do before I go to sea.”“What is that, Arthur?”“Just send off these boarders,—no longer make a slave of yourself,—and take some comfort. The girls are doing well in the store; George supports himself; I am going to have business, and Captain Rhines has given you and the girls money; so there’s no need of working, and wearing your life out now.”“I couldn’t feel right, Arthur, if I were not earning something; a thousand dollars would soon be spent, come to sit down and live upon it; you may have hard luck at sea; the girls are doing well, to be sure, but they have got to return the money that friends loaned them to start with. I have put that thousand dollars in the bank, against a rainy day; besides, I have another reason for wishing to earn something.”“What is it?” asked Ellen.“I want to atone for past selfishness, and follow your father’s example in doing what little I can to help those poorer than myself. It’s but little I can do, to be sure, but I mean to do that little cheerfully, and I trust ‘twill be accepted. There is the mother of poor James Watts, who was on the raft, and died. She is poor, and bereft of all her dependence, for he was a good boy, and gave her all his earnings, while my child was spared, and friends raised up to help me; and I mean to do all I can to help and comfort her. I mean to act on your father’s principle, ‘Harriet, we were put into this world to help each other.’”“At any rate, mother, you need not have so large a family and work so hard; you can keep more help; you must gratify me in that.”“Well, I will, my son.”At this period of the conversation, the servant announced that a young man wanted to see Arthur.“It is Ned; tell him to come in here. Good evening, Edward; sit down beside me; this is more comfortable than the raft.”“Indeed it is, sir.”“I suppose you hardly care to sail salt water any more, you’ve had such bad luck this time.”“O, yes, sir; old Captain Osborne tells me some people have all their bad luck at once, and that it’s a good sign when a man falls overboard before the vessel leaves the wharf, or is wrecked at the first going off. He says that ship was cursed.”“Was cursed!” said Mrs. Brown; “what did he mean by that?”“He says, marm, that he knew that captain; that he was a cruel man to sailors, abused and starved them (that I know to be true); that it was thought he had murdered men. Are you going again, Mr. Brown?”“Yes, Edward. Captain Rhines and his folks are building me a vessel; I expect the keel is laid by this time.”“Can I go with you, sir?”“Yes, if your parents are willing.”“They are willing I should go withyou, sir.”“It will be some months before the vessel is ready; now, you better go to school, and get all the learning you can.”“Yes, sir; shall I study navigation?”“No; I’ll teach you that on board ship. Studyarithmetic and book-keeping, learn to keep accounts and write a business hand, and study trigonometry and geography. If we live to get to sea in the ship, we won’t starve, or abuse anybody, nor pass any wrecks, and try not to have the vessel cursed. We know what it is, my boy, to starve, and to be helped in distress, and will do as we have been done by.”“Mr. Brown, don’t you think the folks at Pleasant Cove and round there are the best folks that could be?”“Yes, Ned.”“But don’t you think Charlie is handsome,—the handsomest man that ever was?”“I think Captain Rhines is handsome.”“Yes, sir; but Charlie Bell; is it any hurt for me to call him Charlie? They all down there call each other so, and somehow I seem to love him more when I don’t put the handle on.”“No, indeed; do you love me better when you don’t put on the handle?”“No, sir; because I have been used to calling you Mr. Brown, and it comes natural, and I couldn’t love you any better than I do.”“I suppose, Ned, Charlie looks handsome toyou, and Captain Rhines to me, because we had the most to do with them; but they are both really fine-looking men. Most people would think John Rhines a finer specimen of a man than Charlie. I have seen a great many men, but I never in all my life saw so fine a proportioned young man as John Rhines; if he lives, he’ll be almost as strong as Ben. Charlie is the handsomest, John the most manly.”“But, sir, do you know what I thought (I suppose I was wandering) after they took us off the raft, and I kind of came to? I opened my eyes, and Charlie was bending over the bed. I looked him right in the face; such a beautiful face, so much goodness in it, I thought I had got to heaven, and that an angel was hovering over me; and then, when I came to myself, he was so kind,—fed me with a spoon, took me in his arms, and put me in a chair, just as my mother would; and Ben Rhines, though he ain’t handsome, he is just as good as the rest. Uncle Isaac and Fred Williams, they are all just as good as they can be. I mean to go down there, and stay a month at Pleasant Cove, and Elm Island. They asked me to.”

“WE WERE PUT INTO THIS WORLD TO HELP ONE ANOTHER.”

IT was about eight o’clock Saturday night. Captain Rhines had sailed that morning for Boston.

Mrs. Brown had finished her household business for the day, and was seated before a bright fire in a cosy little sitting-room, reserved for her private use. Her children were with her, the girls having closed the store earlier than usual, and with the beloved and rescued son and brother in the midst, they were talking over the exciting events of the week.

“When I look back upon what has happened for the past two or three weeks,” said the happy mother, “it seems like a dream. There I was, day after day, and week after week, watching the papers, and no news of the vessel, a shortpassage too. Then I got Captain Folger to write to Halifax, and the consignee wrote that they supposed the vessel was lost, as one of her boats, bottom up, had been found, and a bucket that had the vessel’s name on it. A husband and son both buried in the ocean. It tore open the old wounds, and they bled afresh; brought up all the anguish of your father’s loss anew. I felt it was more than I could bear. How I begged and plead with my heavenly Father for your life, Arthur, the widow’s only hope! And some how, whenever I rose from my knees, I felt better than when I knelt down; a feeling as though, some how or other, the cup would pass from me, seemed to take possession of me, and this feeling kept me, for the most part of the time, on my knees. I felt better and happier there than anywhere else.”

“Don’t you think, mother, when I came to be on that raft, provisions and water all gone, the captain raving mad and jumping overboard, my shipmates dying one after another, that I didn’t think of you, and that you were praying for me? Poor little Ned and I, our throats were so dry and parched we couldn’t speak so as to be heardby each other above the winds and waves. I fell into a doze, and dreamed I saw a most beautiful grove of apple trees all in blossom, and a great long table spread under them, covered with piles and piles of meat, and great goblets, that held a gallon, full of the clearest water; and you was sitting at it, and saying, ‘Come, Arthur, this is all for you.’ I tried so hard to move towards you, it woke me; and I heard a shout, ‘Raft, ahoy! Is there anybody can take a line?’ Then I knew there was help. I tried to shout, but couldn’t. I could only raise my arm. Soon I heard something strike the raft; a voice shouted, ‘All fast!’ and two men stood over us. They were Mr. Ben Rhines and Charlie Bell. They told me to keep my heart up, for they would stick by me; but I was so overcome I fainted away.”

“Brother,” said Ellen, “didn’t you suffer terribly before you got so low as that?”

“Tongue can’t describe it; but the thirst was the worst. But here I am now, sitting before this comfortable fire, in this old room where we have spent so many happy hours, with you all around me. I’m sure, as mother says, it seems like a dream to me.”

“I hope,” said the widow, “such trials and such mercies will make us better; they certainly should.”

“I feel that it has been good for me,” said Eliza. “I thought, when we were in that agony of uncertainty, ‘O that I, too, could pray with mother! that I had a right to, as I felt she had! But when Captain Rhines’s letter came, I did go to God with tears of thankfulness, and trust I was accepted.”

“I thought, if my poor boy’s life could only be spared, even if he was a cripple, or injured for life, I could ask no more. And then to have him come home so well and happy, with such a friend as God has raised up for us all in Captain Rhines! Yet I can never think upon him and his kindness but it makes me reflect upon myself.”

“Why so, mother?” said Arthur.

“Your father was of most open and generous nature, far too much so for his own interest, and, as I then thought, for that of his family, while my disposition was very different. My parents were poor, and I was brought up by a relative, early taught hardship, knew the valueof money, and was naturally prudent. Your father would take the clothes off his back to put on anybody else. I used to go to sea with him, when we were first married; and when sailors came on board without clothes, he would give them clothing, fix them all up, and make them comfortable. I used to tell him, sometimes, that if they drank, gambled, and threw all their money away, they ought to suffer the consequences, and his first duty was to his family. But it was no use to reason with him; he couldn’t help it—couldn’t bear to see anybody suffer; and at length I refrained from saying anything on the subject, but tried to economize all I could, to offset his liberality. He never concerned himself about household matters, was gone a great part of the time, and left everything to me.

“He would come home, and bring barrels of sugar and molasses for family use, and bags of coffee, and have them hauled up to the house; and also quantities of fine cloths from Europe and the East Indies for me and the children, and material for towels, curtains, and bedding. After he was gone, I would live as prudently as possible, sell a great part of the things sent home, and put by the money against time of need.

“After our third child was born, he began to alter gradually, and seemed to have different ideas, became more prudent, and, as he was a man of great business talent, began to accumulate, and soon owned a good part of the vessel, and, had he lived, would have become a wealthy man, but was taken away in a moment. There was no insurance on the ship or cargo, and all he had accumulated was gone, except this house. Then, being left a widow, with a young family, I found the benefit of the little I had saved.”

“I’m sure, mother,” said Eliza, “I don’t see what you have to reflect on, except with satisfaction. You were not saving for yourself, but for us children, and for father, had he lived to be old, and past labor.”

“Ah, but I was so anxious that your father should lay up something for his family, that after he was gone, I felt that perhaps I had said more than I ought; sometimes, too, I would discourage him from doing for others, when it did not consist in giving money; when he would spend a great deal of time at sea in teaching some young man navigation, when, as I thought, he ought to have been asleep in his berth, or resting; often, whenhe was on shore, and I wanted him to go with me, he would be running here and there, night and day, to get a vessel built for somebody, and oftentimes get small thanks for it, as I told him. Then he would say, ‘Harriet, we were put into this world to help each other; we ought not to feel vexed or disappointed if we do not always receive gratitude from those we have befriended, when we consider how ungrateful we are ourselves to our Maker, but do our duty.’ These things often came up in memory, after he was taken away, and I would have given anything if I had not said some things, and could have taken them back.”

“But, mother,” said Ellen, “I don’t think you ought to feel so. You meant it for his good.”

“I thought I did, at the time; but since then I have felt there was a good deal of selfishness at the bottom, that ought not to have been there; that your father felt it, and it pained him, for I could see a shade of sadness flit across his face, like a cloud across the sun in a spring morning.”

“Don’t cry, mother,” said Arthur, putting his arm around her, and wiping away the tear that trembled on her cheek.

“But when,” she continued, in a voice brokenwith emotion, “in the midst of my anguish about you, that letter came from Pleasant Cove, telling me your life had been saved by Captain Rhines (one of the very boys your father had worked so hard to help), so full of sentiments of affection for your father, and gratitude for the favors he had received from him, and a few days later your letter, telling me of their kindness to you and Ned, I was overcome.”

“O, mother, I can’t tell you one half they did for me, because it can’t be told; for it was not only what they did, but the way they did it. It came so right out of the heart. They seemed to love to do it, and it was done with such looks and tones of love.”

“Yes; and when that noble man came up here, and couldn’t do enough—wanted to take us all home with him—insisting upon it, didn’t I feel condemned for trying to hinder your father from helping others, and telling him he got small thanks for it? Here, now, is one of those very persons, becoming a father to his son, putting him right into business at once.”

“Well, mother, I’ve made up my mind to one thing—I’ll try to show myself my father’s son,and practise that which I approve of so much in others. I’ll let Captain Rhines, Mr. Ben, Charlie, John, and the others see that I am not deficient in gratitude. If God gives me life and strength, the grass shan’t grow on that vessel’s bottom. I’ll make her a happy vessel for sailors, and help every young man I can, as father told Captain Rhines to do when he asked him how he could repay him. And as he has helped me, whether I get any thanks for it or not, I’ll look higher than that for my reward,—I’ll get it in doing my duty. I’ll begin with my shipmate, little Ned Gates.”

“I am glad to hear you talk thus, Arthur. Your father’s principle was the true one,—do right because it is right,—and from all I have seen, it generally bears the best fruit even in this life. There was your uncle David, just the opposite of your father; always saving for his children; so close as to be on the edge of dishonesty, if not actually dishonest; never had a thought or care for any one but himself or his own, and, just as he had amassed a large property, went into a great speculation in his old age for the sake of getting more, when he had more than enough already risked the whole, and lost the whole. Now, wornout, and broken down, without a house over his head, everybody says, ‘Served him right,’ and his children all poor, while your father’s good name and deeds have been money at interest for his family, and the bread he cast upon the waters has come back after many days.”

“Mother, there’s one thing I want you to do before I go to sea.”

“What is that, Arthur?”

“Just send off these boarders,—no longer make a slave of yourself,—and take some comfort. The girls are doing well in the store; George supports himself; I am going to have business, and Captain Rhines has given you and the girls money; so there’s no need of working, and wearing your life out now.”

“I couldn’t feel right, Arthur, if I were not earning something; a thousand dollars would soon be spent, come to sit down and live upon it; you may have hard luck at sea; the girls are doing well, to be sure, but they have got to return the money that friends loaned them to start with. I have put that thousand dollars in the bank, against a rainy day; besides, I have another reason for wishing to earn something.”

“What is it?” asked Ellen.

“I want to atone for past selfishness, and follow your father’s example in doing what little I can to help those poorer than myself. It’s but little I can do, to be sure, but I mean to do that little cheerfully, and I trust ‘twill be accepted. There is the mother of poor James Watts, who was on the raft, and died. She is poor, and bereft of all her dependence, for he was a good boy, and gave her all his earnings, while my child was spared, and friends raised up to help me; and I mean to do all I can to help and comfort her. I mean to act on your father’s principle, ‘Harriet, we were put into this world to help each other.’”

“At any rate, mother, you need not have so large a family and work so hard; you can keep more help; you must gratify me in that.”

“Well, I will, my son.”

At this period of the conversation, the servant announced that a young man wanted to see Arthur.

“It is Ned; tell him to come in here. Good evening, Edward; sit down beside me; this is more comfortable than the raft.”

“Indeed it is, sir.”

“I suppose you hardly care to sail salt water any more, you’ve had such bad luck this time.”

“O, yes, sir; old Captain Osborne tells me some people have all their bad luck at once, and that it’s a good sign when a man falls overboard before the vessel leaves the wharf, or is wrecked at the first going off. He says that ship was cursed.”

“Was cursed!” said Mrs. Brown; “what did he mean by that?”

“He says, marm, that he knew that captain; that he was a cruel man to sailors, abused and starved them (that I know to be true); that it was thought he had murdered men. Are you going again, Mr. Brown?”

“Yes, Edward. Captain Rhines and his folks are building me a vessel; I expect the keel is laid by this time.”

“Can I go with you, sir?”

“Yes, if your parents are willing.”

“They are willing I should go withyou, sir.”

“It will be some months before the vessel is ready; now, you better go to school, and get all the learning you can.”

“Yes, sir; shall I study navigation?”

“No; I’ll teach you that on board ship. Studyarithmetic and book-keeping, learn to keep accounts and write a business hand, and study trigonometry and geography. If we live to get to sea in the ship, we won’t starve, or abuse anybody, nor pass any wrecks, and try not to have the vessel cursed. We know what it is, my boy, to starve, and to be helped in distress, and will do as we have been done by.”

“Mr. Brown, don’t you think the folks at Pleasant Cove and round there are the best folks that could be?”

“Yes, Ned.”

“But don’t you think Charlie is handsome,—the handsomest man that ever was?”

“I think Captain Rhines is handsome.”

“Yes, sir; but Charlie Bell; is it any hurt for me to call him Charlie? They all down there call each other so, and somehow I seem to love him more when I don’t put the handle on.”

“No, indeed; do you love me better when you don’t put on the handle?”

“No, sir; because I have been used to calling you Mr. Brown, and it comes natural, and I couldn’t love you any better than I do.”

“I suppose, Ned, Charlie looks handsome toyou, and Captain Rhines to me, because we had the most to do with them; but they are both really fine-looking men. Most people would think John Rhines a finer specimen of a man than Charlie. I have seen a great many men, but I never in all my life saw so fine a proportioned young man as John Rhines; if he lives, he’ll be almost as strong as Ben. Charlie is the handsomest, John the most manly.”

“But, sir, do you know what I thought (I suppose I was wandering) after they took us off the raft, and I kind of came to? I opened my eyes, and Charlie was bending over the bed. I looked him right in the face; such a beautiful face, so much goodness in it, I thought I had got to heaven, and that an angel was hovering over me; and then, when I came to myself, he was so kind,—fed me with a spoon, took me in his arms, and put me in a chair, just as my mother would; and Ben Rhines, though he ain’t handsome, he is just as good as the rest. Uncle Isaac and Fred Williams, they are all just as good as they can be. I mean to go down there, and stay a month at Pleasant Cove, and Elm Island. They asked me to.”

CHAPTER VI.THE YOUNG CAPTAIN UNDER FIRE.THE day is breaking. A vessel of two hundred and fifty tons lies completely enveloped in a dense, damp fog, and becalmed, off the coast of France, in the Mediterranean.It is impossible to discern an object twice the length of the vessel. Let us go alongside, and see if we can arrive at any conclusion respecting her character and business. She is evidently of American build, though she shows no colors; but spreading a cloud of canvas, modelled and rigged entirely with reference to speed, and though unarmed, with a much larger crew than would be required in the ordinary pursuits of commerce. The appearance of the crew as to dress is quite in contrast to that of a ship’s crew at the present time, for during the last forty years there has been a gradual change in the clothing of seafaringmen, rendering it not only more comfortable, but much lighter.At that time, sailors wore, for head covering, tarpaulins. These were generally made by the men themselves at leisure moments on board ship. The process was this: as the course of trade in those days was chiefly to the West Indies, they procured the leaves of the dwarf palm, which they split into proper widths and platted, making the button, in the middle of the crown, of the same material, though some, as a matter of fancy, took the lead tags that came on bolts of canvas, and some a piece of money, and punching holes in the rim, began their work on that. After the braid was made, it was sewed together with ravellings of duck; then, if there was a pig killed on board, or a porpoise harpooned, they soaked the hat in the blood and let it dry, to make it stiff (this was sailors’ paste), then covered it with canvas, then mixed tar, grease, and salt water together, and daubed it with the composition to render it water-proof; but after a while they found that black paint was just as good, and much lighter. Then tarpaulins gave way to peaked red caps, Scotchcaps, and finally the present dress was adopted. But the crew of the brigantine wore tarpaulins of still more ancient dates, and of enormous weight, made by covering thick wool hats with tar and canvas. The dress of landsmen at that time was breeches and long hose, but sailors wore trousers very wide at the bottom of the legs, the rule for the width, being the length of the foot; on their feet, for dress-up to go ashore, slippers that showed the joint of the great toe. Sheath knives were not worn, except occasionally by some Spanish sailor; they used large, square-pointed jack-knives of English manufacture, slung to the neck by a lanyard. The officers, both captain and mate, wore at sea short jackets. If a mate then had worn a long-tail coat, the sailors would have cut the tails off with their jack-knives. Every one of the ship’s company wore his hair in a cue, which was wound, when at sea, with an eel-skin, but with a ribbon when going ashore, and hung down the back. When at work it was frequently coiled around the top of the head and covered with the hat. Men prided themselves on the length of their cue, and in their watch below, watchmates combedout and tied up each other’s cues, and the cook or steward took care of the captain’s.She looks, for all the world, like a slaver. The use of copper on the bottom of vessels was scarcely known then, and as she rolls to windward, little spots of grease are seen floating on the water, and we perceive that her bottom is covered with a coat of tallow and soap, to increase her speed to the utmost.There is something in the appearance of the man who is climbing the main rigging that seems familiar. Looking more closely, we are delighted to recognize our old acquaintance Walter Griffin, now growing into a lithe, fine-looking young man. He is acting as second mate, that officer being sick with a carbuncle on the back of his neck, the pain of which made him nearly frantic.Walter was remarkably keen of sight and quick of hearing, and therefore went aloft as lookout, instead of a sailor. Although there was no possibility of discerning anything from the deck at any considerable distance, yet as the fog hung low, it was somewhat clearer aloft. There was also a probability that the fog might scale when the sun rose, or a breeze springing up sweep it away.There is evidently great anxiety among the ship’s company to gain intelligence, for all hands are on deck, the men clustered as thick as bees on the forecastle. The mate, a stranger, paces the quarter-deck. As Walter goes aloft aft, and another man forward, he cautions them, if they see or hear anything, not to hail the deck, but make a signal. A real racer, and no mistake, this craft. Lashed to the bulwarks are huge sweeps, with which the numerous crew (for they are evidently picked men of large proportions) can move her with considerable speed in a calm. But what is she? Some slaver from the French islands, built in Baltimore, and trying to get home? But how comes Walter Griffin there? To increase our surprise, as we look at the men grouped together on the forecastle, we recognize, seated on the heel of the bowsprit, our old friend Peterson, the largest man of the crew, and just behind him his son, who is fast emulating the massive proportions of his sire; but the usually cheerful face of the black was clouded with anxiety. On the end of the windlass, with one arm flung over the bitt, sits Sydney Chase, on the shank of the best bower anchor George Warren,a brother of Seth; and leaning against the stock of the anchor, in whispered conversation with him, is another old acquaintance, Danforth Eaton, recalling Elm Island, with all its home-like associations and interests. We almost expect to see Uncle Isaac and Captain Rhines make their appearance next. Between the knight-heads is Enoch Hadlock, a brother of Sally Rhines. The rest of the crew are Pettigrews, Godsoes, Merrithews, Lancasters, Warrens, Athertons, and Elwells, all belonging to Rhinesville, Pleasant Cove, or thereabouts. While thus perplexed, we gaze, seeking for some clew to guide us and unravel the mystery, the vessel, having no steerage-way, swings lazily round in the tide, presenting her stern to full view, where we read “Arthur Brown, Pleasant Cove,” and recognize in the boy sitting on the foretop-gallant-yard, little Ned, and the next moment the manly, handsome face of Arthur Brown appears in the companion way.It is all out now. Charlie has ground his broad-axe to some purpose. This is the vessel built by the Hard-scrabble boys and Captain Rhines for Arthur Brown, the noble offering of a manly,grateful heart, repaying to the son the debt incurred to the deceased parent, and bearing on her stern the name of him whose body sleeps beneath the waves that wash the cliffs of Abaco. What a contrast to the Hard-scrabble! what a testimony of the energy and progressive ideas of her builders! She is a model of symmetry and beauty; yet you can plainly see the lines of the West Wind, of famous memory. Charlie has put his whole soul in her; give her wind, she has evidently little to fear from the clumping British men-of-war.But there is not a breath of wind; she lies helpless off the port of Marseilles, which the English are blockading, deeply laden with a cargo, every article of which is contraband of war.It is the period when, after the outbreak of the French revolution, England had declared war against France, and, supreme at sea, was capturing the French West Indies, and blockading their home ports. The great majority of the people in this country, especially all the mercantile portion of the community, sympathized with France; they cherished a feeling of gratitudeto her as our ally in the war of the revolution, a bitter hatred against England, growing out of the right of search, which she exercised in the impressment of seamen, which eventually led to the war of 1812.It was all the government could do, aided by the great personal influence of Washington, to restrain the country from entering into alliance with France against England, and coming to open hostilities. In this state of things, sharp vessels, manned by resolute men, conducted by skilful pilots, influenced by motives of friendship and self-interest on one side, and a bitter sense of oppression on the other, broke the blockade which Great Britain (whose fleets were scattered over a vast extent of ocean) attempted to maintain in respect to the French coasts and West Indies, and supplied them with both arms and provisions.This is the errand of the Arthur Brown to run the blockade of Marseilles, and accounts for the feeling of anxiety evident upon the faces of both officers and crew, since their fortunes are alike at stake, as each one, in lieu of wages, receives a share in the profits of the voyage,and if captured breaking the blockade both ship and cargo would be confiscated. There was also another and more terrible cause for anxiety—the dread of impressment. The commanders of English ships were accustomed to take men by force from American vessels, claiming them as British, disregarding the custom-house protection, which declared them to be American citizens, sometimes even tearing them up, and they were dragged away to spend their lives in the British fleets. A terrible instance is on record, illustrating the dread which in the minds of seamen was connected with impressment. A fine, stalwart, young American seaman, being about to be taken by force from an American merchantman, under pretence that he was an Englishman, seeing no way of escape from a bondage worse than death, clasped the boarding officer in his arms and leaped overboard with him, when both sank, to rise no more till the great day of account.In the course of half an hour, in obedience to a signal from Walter, a man ascended the rigging, and, coming down, reported that Griffin was sure he heard a rooster crow, and also the sound of oars in a rowlock.The tide, which was at the flood, had drifted the vessel to the neighborhood of a large rock, that was dimly seen through the fog. The captain called Peterson aft. “What rock is that, Peterson?” The black gave him the French name, and pointed it out to him on the chart.“Then we are right in with the land?”“Yes, massa cap’n; there’s another one inside this, right abreast the harbor.”Peterson, who was getting somewhat in years, having broken off his intemperate habits, and obtaining good and constant employment at home, had given up all thoughts of ever again going to sea; but Captain Rhines persuaded him to go in the “Arthur Brown” as pilot and interpreter. Peterson’s parents were Guinea negroes; but the boy was born in Martinique, where his parents were slaves, and was sold, when a child, to the master of a vessel that traded to Marseilles, during which time he became perfectly acquainted with the harbor. The French captain finally sold him to Captain Hadlock, the father of Sally Rhines, who sold him to Peterson, with whom he remained till slavery was abolished in New England.Captain Rhines had frequently availed himselfof his knowledge as pilot, well knew his worth and reliability, and therefore insisted upon his going with Arthur Brown. No other person on board could speak a word of French, except Walter Griffin, and he not fluently, as he had learned it but a short time before, but was daily improving by conversation with Peterson.There was now a signal from the foremast, Ned Gates reporting that he heard blows as of a hammer on iron; and while all hands were anxiously listening, the sound of a boatswain’s whistle was faintly audible.“Man the sweeps,” cried the captain, running to the compass to note the quarter from which the sound came. Taking the helm himself, while the whole ship’s company applied their force to the sweeps, he steered in a direction opposite to that from which the sound that had so alarmed them proceeded. An hour thus passed without any repetition of the sounds, when the fog suddenly lifted, the sun broke out, and they found themselves almost within range of an English frigate on the port bow, while a sloop of war lay some miles off on the other quarter. The crew redoubled their efforts at the oars.“It’s no use, boys,” said the mate; “you might as well put on your jackets; the frigate is getting out her boats; they’ll be alongside of us before we can sweep half a mile.”“Sweep away, men,” cried the young captain, who was coolly watching the clouds; “something may yet turn up in our favor.”The man-o’-war’s-men, well aware of the character of the chase by the efforts put forth to escape, and anticipating a rich prize, strained every nerve, coming down upon their helpless victim with the speed of an arrow. The sound of the oars in the rowlocks could now be distinctly heard as the two leading boats diverged, one making for the fore and the other for the main chains of the “Arthur.”An expression of bitter anguish passed over the face of Arthur, as he felt that all his fair prospects, the hopes of Captain Rhines and others who had so nobly stepped forth to aid and start him in life, were to be blighted in the bud.The boats were now close aboard, and the bowmen stood up to grapple the prize.“Pull, men, for your lives!” shouted the captain,whose eye caught the sails; “there’s a breeze coming;her length, only herlengthahead.”They exerted themselves to the utmost, while, in pure recklessness, Peterson burst into a song used by whalemen when towing a whale.Despite their efforts, the foremost boat gained the quarter, and flung a grappling; it caught. Just then a light air filled the loftier sails, although there was not a breath of wind on deck. Slight as it was, it was sufficient to shoot the swift craft ahead with accelerated speed, leaving one boat far astern, towing and well nigh upsetting the other. A sharp axe in the hand of Peterson descended upon the grappling warp, and the boat was left astern, as the increasing breeze filled, partially, the larger sails of the “Arthur.”A broadside burst from the side of the frigate; but the shot all fell far short, covering the water with foam.The breeze now sensibly increased. The direction in which it sprung up brought the frigate dead to windward.“Dis be a bully grappling,” said Peterson, taking up the now harmless implement. “Me takehim home to Massa Rhines, to moor his boat with.”The light breeze, which propelled the swift brigantine with considerable velocity, was scarcely felt by the frigate; but as it gradually freshened she began to move through the water, and picking up her boats, crowded all sail in pursuit. But she had, during the light wind, lost much precious time, profiting by which the brigantine had increased the distance between them.But now the situation of things was entirely reversed. The frigate, though no match for the swift, sharp-built American, close-hauled on a wind; yet dead before it, her great bulk and vast cloud of sail rendered her superior; besides, as she could carry sail much longer, and the wind was every moment increasing, she would, after a while, drown the smaller vessel out. She was too near, at the outset, for the brigantine to haul on the wind, and endeavor to cross her bows, as already the shots from her guns began to fall uncomfortably near. The wind was blowing in squalls; when the squall struck, the frigate would gain, and almost heave her shot on board; when the wind slacked, the brigantine would gain. Directly ahead lay a cluster of islands, reefs,and outlying rocks; one island was called Pomegues, the other Rataneau. These islands are now connected by a breakwater; then they were not. The brow of the young captain now wore an expression of great anxiety; he called the mate and Peterson to his councils.“We are doing all we can,” said the captain to his subordinates, “and as the wind increases we bury and she gains; her shot will soon be coming aboard.”“I see no way,” replied the mate, “but to haul our sheets aft, and endeavor to cross her bows. If we could once get him on a wind, we could shake him off.”“Then,” replied the captain, “she would run square down on us; it is useless to attempt that. What is your advice, pilot?” addressing himself to the black, who was too modest to obtrude his opinion upon his superiors.“Massa cap’n,” said the black, “dis darky know all dese rocks jes as little boy know his letters in de book. Dis island on de starboard hand, he Rataneau; bold water close along shore, till get down to de pint; den he shoal, many rocks, bad place. It low water now; we luff right round de pint ob de island, right in among de shoals and rocks.”“Then we shall go ashore.”“Nebber you fear. Dis chile carry you clear. Dis darky know frigate no dare come in. We drew leben feet ob water. ‘Spose he draw twenty-fibe; he stand off good way; his shot no reach us. Den you be on de wind, close-hauled, beat up ’twixt de islands and de main, hab smooth water; ’spose frigate he try beat up too; he no do any ting; wid dis vessel on de wind, he nowhar. ’Spose he beat up toder side; den he habrough water; he do noting at all.”There was not much time for deliberation, for, even while they were speaking, a shot carried away the port davit, and splintered the planks of the stern.“If that shot had struck the main boom,” said the mate,—“and it did not lack much of it,—all had been up with us.”“You are right, pilot. Mr. Rogers, brace up the yards.”While this manœuvre was being executed, a succession of terrible screams arose from the forward part of the ship.“Some poor fellow is struck,” cried the captain; “run forward, Mr. Rogers, and see who it is.”The second mate was now heard singing out, “Avast hauling on that fore-brace. Slack it off handsomely.” Four or five men were at the same time seen running up the fore-rigging.In those days iron trusses to lower yards by (which they swing in all directions as easily as a door on its hinges) were not known; but they were made of rope, covered with leather, and very stiff. A man must be sent up to overhaul them when the yards were swung.Danforth Eaton went up to overhaul the weather-truss. The wind blew the end of his cue—he had the longest cue on board—into the hole of the cleat; it jammed fast, and the men bracing the yard hauled it in, pulling out the hair by the roots, starting the skin from the flesh, and well nigh breaking his neck.“Cut the blasted thing off,” cried the sufferer (his eyes bloodshot, and the tears streaming down his cheeks) to Walter, who was the first to reach him.Eaton never wore another cue, and his example was followed by a few of his shipmates; and at length cues went out of fashion altogether.The next shot fell wide; but as both vesselswere now brought nearer to the wind, it was evident, by the balls falling short, that the brigantine was increasing the distance between them, which became still greater as the man-of-war, afraid of the shoals, gave the island a wider berth, while the brigantine, under the skilful pilotage of the black, running as near as possible to the rocks, rounded the point of the island, gradually coming up more and more to the wind, till, having passed the last shoal, at a signal from Peterson, the yards were braced sharp, the main sheet hauled flat aft, and she shot out into a clear channel.“Dere,” cried the black (who had stood on the bow, with his eye glancing alternately from the water to the sails), as he flung his tarpaulin upon the deck, and wiped the sweat from his forehead, “where dat frigate now? Dis chile no see her,” he exclaimed, looking straight to windward. “You ole man, Peterson, you lose de eyesight.”A merry laugh went round, as the captain exclaimed, “You are looking the wrong way, Peterson. Look to leeward. Well done, my old pilot; reckon on a suit of clothes for yourself, and a dress for the old woman. I see you are all Captain Rhines recommended you to be, and more too.”“Me tank you, massa cap’n; tank you, sar. Cap’n Rhines he know dis chile well as he know hisself; wind blow awful; big sea; take two men hold toder man’s hair on; ship scudding; Massa Rhines, he come on deck; ‘Mr. Strout!’ ‘Ay, ay, sar.’ ‘Who got de helm?’ ‘Flour, sar.’ (Dey call me Flour den.) He say, ‘Den I go below. Gib me call, any change in de weder.’ ‘Ay, ay, sar.’”“Here comes another,” said the mate, as a hundred gun ship, aroused by the firing, stood out from the roadstead of Marseilles.“Here comes Grandfather Bull,” cried the captain, proud of the sailing qualities of his craft. “On a taut bowline I wouldn’t fear their whole navy. Come along, old gentleman.”The fleets of Great Britain were at this time so fully occupied in all parts of the world, that but a small number of vessels could be spared to blockade the most important of the French ports, the heavier ships lying just out of range of the forts, and patrolling the roadstead with boats, while the lighter vessels scoured the coast. In bad weather they were obliged to ride it out in an open roadstead, or run to sea—a time always improved by the blockade-runners who were inside to get out,and by those outside, while the fleet was scattered, to run in.It was of the greatest importance for blockade-runners to ascertain the position of the fleet in the daytime, and, eluding the outside vessels, run by the others in the night, taking the chance of an attack from their boats, and a broadside. In making the coast in thick weather, they were always liable to find themselves, as in the present instance, in the very jaws of the enemy.Nothing but her sweeps saved the “Arthur Brown,” by preventing the boats from boarding her, till the breeze came. The frigate, finding the chase was hopeless, tacked ship, and returned to the coast; but so far were the crew of the brigantine from relinquishing their purpose, that they kept in sight, and the moment the twilight came on, stood in for the land, guided by the frigate’s lights, while all was dark on board the brigantine.

THE YOUNG CAPTAIN UNDER FIRE.

THE day is breaking. A vessel of two hundred and fifty tons lies completely enveloped in a dense, damp fog, and becalmed, off the coast of France, in the Mediterranean.

It is impossible to discern an object twice the length of the vessel. Let us go alongside, and see if we can arrive at any conclusion respecting her character and business. She is evidently of American build, though she shows no colors; but spreading a cloud of canvas, modelled and rigged entirely with reference to speed, and though unarmed, with a much larger crew than would be required in the ordinary pursuits of commerce. The appearance of the crew as to dress is quite in contrast to that of a ship’s crew at the present time, for during the last forty years there has been a gradual change in the clothing of seafaringmen, rendering it not only more comfortable, but much lighter.

At that time, sailors wore, for head covering, tarpaulins. These were generally made by the men themselves at leisure moments on board ship. The process was this: as the course of trade in those days was chiefly to the West Indies, they procured the leaves of the dwarf palm, which they split into proper widths and platted, making the button, in the middle of the crown, of the same material, though some, as a matter of fancy, took the lead tags that came on bolts of canvas, and some a piece of money, and punching holes in the rim, began their work on that. After the braid was made, it was sewed together with ravellings of duck; then, if there was a pig killed on board, or a porpoise harpooned, they soaked the hat in the blood and let it dry, to make it stiff (this was sailors’ paste), then covered it with canvas, then mixed tar, grease, and salt water together, and daubed it with the composition to render it water-proof; but after a while they found that black paint was just as good, and much lighter. Then tarpaulins gave way to peaked red caps, Scotchcaps, and finally the present dress was adopted. But the crew of the brigantine wore tarpaulins of still more ancient dates, and of enormous weight, made by covering thick wool hats with tar and canvas. The dress of landsmen at that time was breeches and long hose, but sailors wore trousers very wide at the bottom of the legs, the rule for the width, being the length of the foot; on their feet, for dress-up to go ashore, slippers that showed the joint of the great toe. Sheath knives were not worn, except occasionally by some Spanish sailor; they used large, square-pointed jack-knives of English manufacture, slung to the neck by a lanyard. The officers, both captain and mate, wore at sea short jackets. If a mate then had worn a long-tail coat, the sailors would have cut the tails off with their jack-knives. Every one of the ship’s company wore his hair in a cue, which was wound, when at sea, with an eel-skin, but with a ribbon when going ashore, and hung down the back. When at work it was frequently coiled around the top of the head and covered with the hat. Men prided themselves on the length of their cue, and in their watch below, watchmates combedout and tied up each other’s cues, and the cook or steward took care of the captain’s.

She looks, for all the world, like a slaver. The use of copper on the bottom of vessels was scarcely known then, and as she rolls to windward, little spots of grease are seen floating on the water, and we perceive that her bottom is covered with a coat of tallow and soap, to increase her speed to the utmost.

There is something in the appearance of the man who is climbing the main rigging that seems familiar. Looking more closely, we are delighted to recognize our old acquaintance Walter Griffin, now growing into a lithe, fine-looking young man. He is acting as second mate, that officer being sick with a carbuncle on the back of his neck, the pain of which made him nearly frantic.

Walter was remarkably keen of sight and quick of hearing, and therefore went aloft as lookout, instead of a sailor. Although there was no possibility of discerning anything from the deck at any considerable distance, yet as the fog hung low, it was somewhat clearer aloft. There was also a probability that the fog might scale when the sun rose, or a breeze springing up sweep it away.

There is evidently great anxiety among the ship’s company to gain intelligence, for all hands are on deck, the men clustered as thick as bees on the forecastle. The mate, a stranger, paces the quarter-deck. As Walter goes aloft aft, and another man forward, he cautions them, if they see or hear anything, not to hail the deck, but make a signal. A real racer, and no mistake, this craft. Lashed to the bulwarks are huge sweeps, with which the numerous crew (for they are evidently picked men of large proportions) can move her with considerable speed in a calm. But what is she? Some slaver from the French islands, built in Baltimore, and trying to get home? But how comes Walter Griffin there? To increase our surprise, as we look at the men grouped together on the forecastle, we recognize, seated on the heel of the bowsprit, our old friend Peterson, the largest man of the crew, and just behind him his son, who is fast emulating the massive proportions of his sire; but the usually cheerful face of the black was clouded with anxiety. On the end of the windlass, with one arm flung over the bitt, sits Sydney Chase, on the shank of the best bower anchor George Warren,a brother of Seth; and leaning against the stock of the anchor, in whispered conversation with him, is another old acquaintance, Danforth Eaton, recalling Elm Island, with all its home-like associations and interests. We almost expect to see Uncle Isaac and Captain Rhines make their appearance next. Between the knight-heads is Enoch Hadlock, a brother of Sally Rhines. The rest of the crew are Pettigrews, Godsoes, Merrithews, Lancasters, Warrens, Athertons, and Elwells, all belonging to Rhinesville, Pleasant Cove, or thereabouts. While thus perplexed, we gaze, seeking for some clew to guide us and unravel the mystery, the vessel, having no steerage-way, swings lazily round in the tide, presenting her stern to full view, where we read “Arthur Brown, Pleasant Cove,” and recognize in the boy sitting on the foretop-gallant-yard, little Ned, and the next moment the manly, handsome face of Arthur Brown appears in the companion way.

It is all out now. Charlie has ground his broad-axe to some purpose. This is the vessel built by the Hard-scrabble boys and Captain Rhines for Arthur Brown, the noble offering of a manly,grateful heart, repaying to the son the debt incurred to the deceased parent, and bearing on her stern the name of him whose body sleeps beneath the waves that wash the cliffs of Abaco. What a contrast to the Hard-scrabble! what a testimony of the energy and progressive ideas of her builders! She is a model of symmetry and beauty; yet you can plainly see the lines of the West Wind, of famous memory. Charlie has put his whole soul in her; give her wind, she has evidently little to fear from the clumping British men-of-war.

But there is not a breath of wind; she lies helpless off the port of Marseilles, which the English are blockading, deeply laden with a cargo, every article of which is contraband of war.

It is the period when, after the outbreak of the French revolution, England had declared war against France, and, supreme at sea, was capturing the French West Indies, and blockading their home ports. The great majority of the people in this country, especially all the mercantile portion of the community, sympathized with France; they cherished a feeling of gratitudeto her as our ally in the war of the revolution, a bitter hatred against England, growing out of the right of search, which she exercised in the impressment of seamen, which eventually led to the war of 1812.

It was all the government could do, aided by the great personal influence of Washington, to restrain the country from entering into alliance with France against England, and coming to open hostilities. In this state of things, sharp vessels, manned by resolute men, conducted by skilful pilots, influenced by motives of friendship and self-interest on one side, and a bitter sense of oppression on the other, broke the blockade which Great Britain (whose fleets were scattered over a vast extent of ocean) attempted to maintain in respect to the French coasts and West Indies, and supplied them with both arms and provisions.

This is the errand of the Arthur Brown to run the blockade of Marseilles, and accounts for the feeling of anxiety evident upon the faces of both officers and crew, since their fortunes are alike at stake, as each one, in lieu of wages, receives a share in the profits of the voyage,and if captured breaking the blockade both ship and cargo would be confiscated. There was also another and more terrible cause for anxiety—the dread of impressment. The commanders of English ships were accustomed to take men by force from American vessels, claiming them as British, disregarding the custom-house protection, which declared them to be American citizens, sometimes even tearing them up, and they were dragged away to spend their lives in the British fleets. A terrible instance is on record, illustrating the dread which in the minds of seamen was connected with impressment. A fine, stalwart, young American seaman, being about to be taken by force from an American merchantman, under pretence that he was an Englishman, seeing no way of escape from a bondage worse than death, clasped the boarding officer in his arms and leaped overboard with him, when both sank, to rise no more till the great day of account.

In the course of half an hour, in obedience to a signal from Walter, a man ascended the rigging, and, coming down, reported that Griffin was sure he heard a rooster crow, and also the sound of oars in a rowlock.

The tide, which was at the flood, had drifted the vessel to the neighborhood of a large rock, that was dimly seen through the fog. The captain called Peterson aft. “What rock is that, Peterson?” The black gave him the French name, and pointed it out to him on the chart.

“Then we are right in with the land?”

“Yes, massa cap’n; there’s another one inside this, right abreast the harbor.”

Peterson, who was getting somewhat in years, having broken off his intemperate habits, and obtaining good and constant employment at home, had given up all thoughts of ever again going to sea; but Captain Rhines persuaded him to go in the “Arthur Brown” as pilot and interpreter. Peterson’s parents were Guinea negroes; but the boy was born in Martinique, where his parents were slaves, and was sold, when a child, to the master of a vessel that traded to Marseilles, during which time he became perfectly acquainted with the harbor. The French captain finally sold him to Captain Hadlock, the father of Sally Rhines, who sold him to Peterson, with whom he remained till slavery was abolished in New England.

Captain Rhines had frequently availed himselfof his knowledge as pilot, well knew his worth and reliability, and therefore insisted upon his going with Arthur Brown. No other person on board could speak a word of French, except Walter Griffin, and he not fluently, as he had learned it but a short time before, but was daily improving by conversation with Peterson.

There was now a signal from the foremast, Ned Gates reporting that he heard blows as of a hammer on iron; and while all hands were anxiously listening, the sound of a boatswain’s whistle was faintly audible.

“Man the sweeps,” cried the captain, running to the compass to note the quarter from which the sound came. Taking the helm himself, while the whole ship’s company applied their force to the sweeps, he steered in a direction opposite to that from which the sound that had so alarmed them proceeded. An hour thus passed without any repetition of the sounds, when the fog suddenly lifted, the sun broke out, and they found themselves almost within range of an English frigate on the port bow, while a sloop of war lay some miles off on the other quarter. The crew redoubled their efforts at the oars.

“It’s no use, boys,” said the mate; “you might as well put on your jackets; the frigate is getting out her boats; they’ll be alongside of us before we can sweep half a mile.”

“Sweep away, men,” cried the young captain, who was coolly watching the clouds; “something may yet turn up in our favor.”

The man-o’-war’s-men, well aware of the character of the chase by the efforts put forth to escape, and anticipating a rich prize, strained every nerve, coming down upon their helpless victim with the speed of an arrow. The sound of the oars in the rowlocks could now be distinctly heard as the two leading boats diverged, one making for the fore and the other for the main chains of the “Arthur.”

An expression of bitter anguish passed over the face of Arthur, as he felt that all his fair prospects, the hopes of Captain Rhines and others who had so nobly stepped forth to aid and start him in life, were to be blighted in the bud.

The boats were now close aboard, and the bowmen stood up to grapple the prize.

“Pull, men, for your lives!” shouted the captain,whose eye caught the sails; “there’s a breeze coming;her length, only herlengthahead.”

They exerted themselves to the utmost, while, in pure recklessness, Peterson burst into a song used by whalemen when towing a whale.

Despite their efforts, the foremost boat gained the quarter, and flung a grappling; it caught. Just then a light air filled the loftier sails, although there was not a breath of wind on deck. Slight as it was, it was sufficient to shoot the swift craft ahead with accelerated speed, leaving one boat far astern, towing and well nigh upsetting the other. A sharp axe in the hand of Peterson descended upon the grappling warp, and the boat was left astern, as the increasing breeze filled, partially, the larger sails of the “Arthur.”

A broadside burst from the side of the frigate; but the shot all fell far short, covering the water with foam.

The breeze now sensibly increased. The direction in which it sprung up brought the frigate dead to windward.

“Dis be a bully grappling,” said Peterson, taking up the now harmless implement. “Me takehim home to Massa Rhines, to moor his boat with.”

The light breeze, which propelled the swift brigantine with considerable velocity, was scarcely felt by the frigate; but as it gradually freshened she began to move through the water, and picking up her boats, crowded all sail in pursuit. But she had, during the light wind, lost much precious time, profiting by which the brigantine had increased the distance between them.

But now the situation of things was entirely reversed. The frigate, though no match for the swift, sharp-built American, close-hauled on a wind; yet dead before it, her great bulk and vast cloud of sail rendered her superior; besides, as she could carry sail much longer, and the wind was every moment increasing, she would, after a while, drown the smaller vessel out. She was too near, at the outset, for the brigantine to haul on the wind, and endeavor to cross her bows, as already the shots from her guns began to fall uncomfortably near. The wind was blowing in squalls; when the squall struck, the frigate would gain, and almost heave her shot on board; when the wind slacked, the brigantine would gain. Directly ahead lay a cluster of islands, reefs,and outlying rocks; one island was called Pomegues, the other Rataneau. These islands are now connected by a breakwater; then they were not. The brow of the young captain now wore an expression of great anxiety; he called the mate and Peterson to his councils.

“We are doing all we can,” said the captain to his subordinates, “and as the wind increases we bury and she gains; her shot will soon be coming aboard.”

“I see no way,” replied the mate, “but to haul our sheets aft, and endeavor to cross her bows. If we could once get him on a wind, we could shake him off.”

“Then,” replied the captain, “she would run square down on us; it is useless to attempt that. What is your advice, pilot?” addressing himself to the black, who was too modest to obtrude his opinion upon his superiors.

“Massa cap’n,” said the black, “dis darky know all dese rocks jes as little boy know his letters in de book. Dis island on de starboard hand, he Rataneau; bold water close along shore, till get down to de pint; den he shoal, many rocks, bad place. It low water now; we luff right round de pint ob de island, right in among de shoals and rocks.”

“Then we shall go ashore.”

“Nebber you fear. Dis chile carry you clear. Dis darky know frigate no dare come in. We drew leben feet ob water. ‘Spose he draw twenty-fibe; he stand off good way; his shot no reach us. Den you be on de wind, close-hauled, beat up ’twixt de islands and de main, hab smooth water; ’spose frigate he try beat up too; he no do any ting; wid dis vessel on de wind, he nowhar. ’Spose he beat up toder side; den he habrough water; he do noting at all.”

There was not much time for deliberation, for, even while they were speaking, a shot carried away the port davit, and splintered the planks of the stern.

“If that shot had struck the main boom,” said the mate,—“and it did not lack much of it,—all had been up with us.”

“You are right, pilot. Mr. Rogers, brace up the yards.”

While this manœuvre was being executed, a succession of terrible screams arose from the forward part of the ship.

“Some poor fellow is struck,” cried the captain; “run forward, Mr. Rogers, and see who it is.”

The second mate was now heard singing out, “Avast hauling on that fore-brace. Slack it off handsomely.” Four or five men were at the same time seen running up the fore-rigging.

In those days iron trusses to lower yards by (which they swing in all directions as easily as a door on its hinges) were not known; but they were made of rope, covered with leather, and very stiff. A man must be sent up to overhaul them when the yards were swung.

Danforth Eaton went up to overhaul the weather-truss. The wind blew the end of his cue—he had the longest cue on board—into the hole of the cleat; it jammed fast, and the men bracing the yard hauled it in, pulling out the hair by the roots, starting the skin from the flesh, and well nigh breaking his neck.

“Cut the blasted thing off,” cried the sufferer (his eyes bloodshot, and the tears streaming down his cheeks) to Walter, who was the first to reach him.

Eaton never wore another cue, and his example was followed by a few of his shipmates; and at length cues went out of fashion altogether.

The next shot fell wide; but as both vesselswere now brought nearer to the wind, it was evident, by the balls falling short, that the brigantine was increasing the distance between them, which became still greater as the man-of-war, afraid of the shoals, gave the island a wider berth, while the brigantine, under the skilful pilotage of the black, running as near as possible to the rocks, rounded the point of the island, gradually coming up more and more to the wind, till, having passed the last shoal, at a signal from Peterson, the yards were braced sharp, the main sheet hauled flat aft, and she shot out into a clear channel.

“Dere,” cried the black (who had stood on the bow, with his eye glancing alternately from the water to the sails), as he flung his tarpaulin upon the deck, and wiped the sweat from his forehead, “where dat frigate now? Dis chile no see her,” he exclaimed, looking straight to windward. “You ole man, Peterson, you lose de eyesight.”

A merry laugh went round, as the captain exclaimed, “You are looking the wrong way, Peterson. Look to leeward. Well done, my old pilot; reckon on a suit of clothes for yourself, and a dress for the old woman. I see you are all Captain Rhines recommended you to be, and more too.”

“Me tank you, massa cap’n; tank you, sar. Cap’n Rhines he know dis chile well as he know hisself; wind blow awful; big sea; take two men hold toder man’s hair on; ship scudding; Massa Rhines, he come on deck; ‘Mr. Strout!’ ‘Ay, ay, sar.’ ‘Who got de helm?’ ‘Flour, sar.’ (Dey call me Flour den.) He say, ‘Den I go below. Gib me call, any change in de weder.’ ‘Ay, ay, sar.’”

“Here comes another,” said the mate, as a hundred gun ship, aroused by the firing, stood out from the roadstead of Marseilles.

“Here comes Grandfather Bull,” cried the captain, proud of the sailing qualities of his craft. “On a taut bowline I wouldn’t fear their whole navy. Come along, old gentleman.”

The fleets of Great Britain were at this time so fully occupied in all parts of the world, that but a small number of vessels could be spared to blockade the most important of the French ports, the heavier ships lying just out of range of the forts, and patrolling the roadstead with boats, while the lighter vessels scoured the coast. In bad weather they were obliged to ride it out in an open roadstead, or run to sea—a time always improved by the blockade-runners who were inside to get out,and by those outside, while the fleet was scattered, to run in.

It was of the greatest importance for blockade-runners to ascertain the position of the fleet in the daytime, and, eluding the outside vessels, run by the others in the night, taking the chance of an attack from their boats, and a broadside. In making the coast in thick weather, they were always liable to find themselves, as in the present instance, in the very jaws of the enemy.

Nothing but her sweeps saved the “Arthur Brown,” by preventing the boats from boarding her, till the breeze came. The frigate, finding the chase was hopeless, tacked ship, and returned to the coast; but so far were the crew of the brigantine from relinquishing their purpose, that they kept in sight, and the moment the twilight came on, stood in for the land, guided by the frigate’s lights, while all was dark on board the brigantine.

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