The Explosion.
The Explosion.
The Explosion.
Men who had volunteered for the duty were to fire the mass of combustibles on deck in three places, and the train leading to the magazine, all at the same moment, whenever the approach of the fire-ship was discovered by the enemy. Then, the fire being applied, and the helm lashed, she was to be left to make her own way.
The night, so anxiously expected, came at last, hazy, with here and there a star just visible; the wind moderate, but fair, and enough of it to give the vessels good headway. It was half an hour past midnight when this infernal contrivance glided silently from the harbor and passed the forts,—having the appearance of a blockade runner,—and steered for the centre of the English fleet, followed by the slaver with all her sails set. She, however, hove to, when a short distance from the port, leaving the infernal to proceed alone.
Moments seemed lengthened to hours, as the boys, hanging over the rail, gazed upon the dim outlines of the receding vessel, around which dark shadows were closing fast. Although the distance was not great which separated them from the fire-ship or the fleet, a thin haze, which obscured the light of the stars, completely obstructed the view. With bated breath they listened for some token from the bosom of that misty shroud, which they strove in vain to penetrate.
No sound, save the occasional surge of the helm in the lee becket, or the quiver of a sail, as the vessel came up to or fell off from the wind, disturbed the repose of the night.
"Walter," whispered Ned, "this silence is fearful; they must be almost there."
A pressure of his arm was the mute response. A few moments more of suspense, when a stern hail broke the ominous silence so suddenly that, with a convulsive start, the boys sprang to their feet. There was no reply. Again the summons rose louder on the air, instantly followed by a shot.
"They are discovered," said Ned. But even while the words were issuing from his lips three spirals of bright flame, shooting up from the fire-ship, revealed to the boys—who were looking from darkness towards the light—a scene combining every element, both of the sublime and terrible, and which thrilled them to the heart's core.
The period of French history, during which the events here narrated occurred, abounded in the most startling contrasts. Acts of utter selfishness and the most fiendish cruelty were relieved by others manifesting the purest philanthropy and noble self-sacrifice. The crew of the fire-ship, finding they were discovered, and foreseeing that if they left the vessel to drift down by herself no damage would probably be inflicted upon the enemy, after saying to each other, "We will cover ourselves with glory, lay her alongside an English ship, blow her to atoms, and die for France," kindled the mass of inflammable material on deck in three places, and by this light, which constantly increased in intensity, the boys beheld the black hulls of the English ships, every shroud and rat-line standing out in bold relief against the dark sky, and the boats' crews, who, supposing the vessel a blockade-runner, were pulling from different directions to "board" her; but, when the flames revealed her true character, there was an instinctive pause; they lay upon their oars.
"Give way, my hearts of oak," shouted the officer of the leading boat; "we'll put out their fire and their slow-match."
With an answering shout they dashed the oars into the water again; but the flames burst from the port-holes and over the rail into their very faces, rendering useless all attempts to board, the very purpose for which this mass of material had been prepared and ignited. As, expecting explosion, they pulled rapidly away, a volley from the fire-ship killed the midshipman in charge and two men. The stern of that vessel, where stood the four men, was as yet clear of flame, the wind carrying the fire and smoke forward.
"Why, in the name of Heaven, don't they leave? There's a boat towing astern," cried Ned; "she must blow up soon."
"Ned, those men don't mean to leave."
"Don't mean to leave!"
"No; they know if that vessel is left to steer herself, ten to one if she strikes an English ship. They're going to sacrifice themselves."
Right ahead of the infernal, as near as they could swing at their anchors, lay an eighty-gun ship and a sixty-four. It was evidently the intention of these desperate men to lay her between them, apply the match, and blow both themselves and their enemies into eternity together. It seemed most probable that they would accomplish their purpose; the breeze was light, and scarcely felt by the men-of-war, whose crews had cut the cables and made sail, while the infernal, by reason of momentum previously acquired, was coming down fast, bearing destruction and death.
Now ensued an uproar impossible to describe. Blazing cinders and sparks from the fire-ship blew on to the main-topsail of the eighty, which was instantly in flames; but with that cool courage and perfect discipline so characteristic of British seamen, the topmen cut the sail from the yard, and passed water in buckets; the boats' crews were towing the ship ahead, while at the same time a hot fire was kept up upon the fire-ship from every gun that could be brought to bear; the other ships, that were out of her path, also poured in whole broadsides, in the hope of either blowing up or sinking her before she should get near enough to do execution.
"That ship is gone for't," said Ned, as the helmsman of the infernal, seeing the two ships were separating, and that he could hope to destroy but one, altered his course, and steered direct for the eighty. At this moment a well-directed broadside cut off the foremast of the fire-ship, that, with all the head sails, went over the side. This brought the vessel to the wind, and arrested her progress, the man-o'-war improving the fortunate moment to escape.
The scene now grew appalling. The air was filled with the roar of hundreds of cannon, while, as the now unmanageable vessel came head to wind, the flames ran up the rigging of the mainmast and swept over the place where those self-devoted men stood.
In the midst of this horrid din, a shell exploded on her deck, a flash of blue flame illumined with its ghastly light the whole horizon, followed by an explosion that made every vessel quiver as though racked by the throes of an earthquake. The blazing mast shot up to the sky like a rocket, followed by jets of water and torrents of flame, bearing before them countless missiles, legs, arms, and other portions of the dismembered bodies of that ill-fated crew, to which succeeded a darkness made more intense by clouds of smoke, and a stillness as of death.
As the smoke gradually lifted and drifted away to leeward before the wind, the eyes of all in the fleet were naturally directed to the scene of the explosion and the spot from which the infernal had disappeared, when they beheld what they supposed to be the Arthur Brown coming rapidly down before the wind, her snow-white canvas conspicuous against the frowning sky. Instantly concluding that the shrewd Yankees had improved this moment of confusion and alarm to escape, "The brigantine! The brigantine!" rang out from many a boat's crew; and the water was white with the foam of oars, as from all directions they dashed upon their prey.
The boys, excited by the roar of artillery, the smell of gunpowder, and the examples of daring they had witnessed, were now perfectly reckless.
"This is glorious, Wal," cried Ned. "I'm going to stick her for sea, and give them a pull for it."
Notwithstanding a shot across their bows from the sixty-four, and a volley of small arms from the boats, they refused to heave to; and it was not till the man-o'-war's men were climbing over the side, that, sliding down the painter, they cut the rope and pulled away with might and main, the captors being too much occupied with their prize to concern themselves about them.
Having put a good distance between themselves and the boats, they lay upon their oars to breathe.
"Won't there be some swearing, Ned," said Walter, "when they come to look over their prize, and find her a condemned slaver, full of rocks?"
"Yes; but I guess there will be more when they find what I have written on the companion-way."
In the afternoon, while waiting for the fire-ship, Ned had written with chalk on the slide of the companion-way the value of the Arthur Brown's cargo, showing the man-o'-war's men what a rich prize they had lost, closing with some reflections upon the disappointments to which mankind are liable, and leaving the best respects of himself and Walter.
In the mean time the Arthur Brown, without a single sail set to attract attention, propelled by muffled sweeps, and skilfully piloted by Jacques, was creeping along under the shadow of the land in calm water, till, entirely beyond the reach of observation, a kedge was silently lowered to the bottom, and she waited for her boat. Upon the arrival of the boys, with every inch of canvas spread, the swift vessel, now swifter than ever (for she had been coppered in Marseilles—a recent practice, and at that time scarcely known in the States), turned her prow homeward.
Just as the sun rose above the horizon in the morning, the lookout at the mast-head of the Agamemnon, sung out, "Sail, O!"
"Where away?"
"Right ahead, sir."
Mr. Reed beheld through the glass the well-known form of the Arthur Brown, bathed in sunlight, studding sails, alow and aloft, with the wind on her quarter making for the Straits of Gibraltar at a rate that defied pursuit. A smile of satisfaction—which he walked forward to conceal—passed over the fine features of the midshipman, as he took the glass from his eye.
When, having composed his features, he reported to his superiors that he knew the vessel, and that it was the brigantine, it was considered useless to chase her; and long before eight bells struck, she had faded from their view.
By reason of the tarry of the Arthur Brown in the oven, her voyage was so lengthened, that much uneasiness was felt respecting her at Pleasant Cove, and in Salem, by the parents of the captain and Ned.
A great many consultations were held between Lion Ben, Captain Rhines, Fred Williams, John Rhines, and Charlie Bell, her owners.
"Father," said Ben, "I'm afraid they have been taken by the English, or foundered in a levanter. Only consider how much longer they have been gone than they were on the other trip!"
"They say," replied Fred, "that people there are killing each other—half of them drunk, the rest crazy; perhaps they've been murdered."
Charlie Bell thought, that as affairs there were in a very unsettled state, the people had but a scanty supply of food, and the vessel being loaded with provision, the mob might have boarded her, and helped themselves.
"I don't see any particular cause for so much concern, boys," said the old captain. "If it was peaceable times, and the Arthur Brown was a regular trader, it would be another matter, and there might be some reason for anxiety; but there are a thousand things that might delay a blockade-runner. We have heard the blockade is very strict now that Nelson is there, and we all know what he is. She may have had bad land falls, been chased off the coast half a dozen times, had her sails blown away, or lost some spars, and had to go to Leghorn to repair, or have been crippled by a broadside, as she came near being before. I've been there a good deal in past days, sometimes for a long time. In December and January they have most delightful weather, and no storms to scatter blockaders; and then, when it gets into February, they'll come."
"Well, father," said Ben, "we are out of the world; can't hear anything. I wish you would start off up to Boston and see Mr. Welch; perhaps you may get some information there."
This request being seconded by the others, the captain said, "I don't know but I will; I shall have to go up before long to see him on some other business, and the coaster is going up the last of the week."
He obtained no information in Boston or Salem, but determined to remain there a while. On going through a portion of the town very much occupied with sailor boarding-houses, he made a short cut through "Black Dog Alley," when his progress was stopped by a crowd of sailors, all more or less under the influence of liquor. One old tar had taken it into his head to hire a truckman's horse for a ride up and down the street. Drunk as he was, he sat the horse well; for, as he boasted, he had been brought up among horses, and was half horse himself. He would not have the harness taken off the horse, which was a leader, but mounted, taking the trace-chains on his shoulder, with the rattling of which he and all seemed to be delighted; and, as he was flush of money, his vest pockets being crammed with bills, besides some silver in a purse which he frequently shook in the truckman's face, exclaiming, "Rich owners, my old boy!" the latter seemed inclined to submit to all his whims. He was surrounded by an admiring crowd of shipmates, who, like himself, had just been paid off, all gloriously drunk, but good-natured, and bent on having a merry time of it. In addition to these was a crowd of loafers and loungers, such as are generally abundant when sailors are paid off and liquor is plenty.
The dress of this horseman was comical enough. He had on a pair of Turkish trousers, an India shawl round his waist for a sash, a shirt made of fine grass-cloth also of East India manufacture, exceedingly fine and beautiful; on his head a Greek cap, which made his large, flushed features appear most prominent; his cue was wound with red ribbon, the two ends streaming down his back, and red slippers on his feet. Over the beautiful shirt were the rusty trace-chains, the hooks of which chafed against the shawl at every motion of the horse.
After shaking his purse in the truckman's face, and boasting of his riches, he next took it into his head to beg, and, pulling off his cap, he knocked the top in, causing it to resemble a bowl.
"Christian people, one and all," cried he, in doleful accents, holding out the cap, "pity a poor, disenabled sailor, who's lost his legs fighting for his country, whose father and mother are frying eggs in a wooden saucepan on the rock of Gibraltar; pity him, good people, and drop a shot in the lee locker."
As he concluded, cheers arose from the crowd, and his shipmates flung a shower of small coin into the cap, when, whirling it around his head, the silver was scattered among the crowd, creating a universal scramble.
The truckman now wanted his horse.
"Your horse! You're drunk, old boy, and don't know what you're talking about. I've chartered this 'ere horse for the vige, and the vige ain't up yet. Ain't that so, shipmates?"
This declaration was followed by a cheer of assent. Captain Rhines, meanwhile, was making strenuous efforts to get through the crowd, for he had recognized in the sailor on horseback Dick Cameron, who had been a great many voyages with him. Dick was an especial favorite with Captain Rhines, for he was a splendid seaman when at sea and away from liquors, and the captain would have been right glad to have met and shaken hands with his old shipmate when sober, or to have entertained him at his house; but he dreaded recognition by him in his present state, and was striving to avoid it. Dick, however, caught sight of him; for he was too conspicuous, by his size and noble physique, to escape notice in a crowd.
Dick hailed him with shout and gesture that drew the eyes of all upon him in an instant.
"Shipmates," he cried, "as I'm alive and a sinner, if here ain't my old cap'n, Cap'n Ben Rhines, the best man that ever sailed salt water; as knows how to carry sail, and how to take in sail; none of your kid-glove gentry! Ah, my boys, he's sailed for it! None of your ship's cousins; a man as knows when a man does his duty, and how to keep good dis-cip-line on board ship" (emphasizing the second syllable of "discipline," as seamen generally do). "No humbugging, nor calling men out of their watch or out of their names, on board his ship. God bless you, cap'n! I thought you was dead and gone to heaven long ago. Ah, cap'n, we've sailed the salt seas together round the Hook of Holland, round Cape Horn, through the Straits of Gibraltar, and on the Spanish Main. Haven't we had some tough ones on the coast? How are you, cap'n?"
"First rate, Dick. How are you, and where have you been all these years since you disappeared in Calcutta? I thought you was overboard, or knocked on the head with a slung shot; for I never believed you would run away from me."
"Run away fromyou, cap'n? I would run to you as I would to my mother if she was alive, God bless her! I got a dose of sheet lightning, and, when I waked up, I was aboard an English ship bound to Australia. What become of my clothes? I had a good chistful."
"I kept them aboard till I gave them all away to sailors that had been robbed by the land-sharks."
"Jest right, cap'n, jest like you. Now, shipmates, give me a fist. I want to go ashore, and shake the cap'n's flippers."
With their aid he dismounted, and, getting hold of the captain's hand, which he extended most cordially, he continued to pour forth his protestations of respect and affection.
"How is the wife, cap'n, and the pickaninnies, and that leetle boy of yours, what's got Bunker Hill on his shoulders? Ah, shipmates, that's the bully boy can bend a crowbar over his knee, and mast-head a topsail alone."
"They are all well. But where are you from, Dick?"
"Messina."
"Have you spoke any American vessels on the coast?"
"Yes; two."
"What were they?"
"West Indiamen from Antigua, bound into New London."
"How long have you been ashore?"
"Since eight o'clock this morning—jest long enough to moisten the clay a little."
Here the conversation was interrupted by the truckman attempting to lead off the horse, having received his pay in advance; but this Dick's shipmates would by no means permit. One shook his fist in the truckman's face, threatening to drive his teeth down his throat; another seized the horse by the bridle, while two others caught hold of his long tail.
"Catch a turn, Bill, round that timber-head."
Bill caught a turn with the tail round a barber's pole that was set in the ground before the door of a grog-shop, the barber occupying rooms overhead. But the horse, not accustomed to being thus dealt with, began to kick and jump, amid the cheers and laughter of the crowd, till he pulled the pole over amongst them.
In order to restore good feeling, Dick now proposed to the truckman to take some bitters.
"I say, Dick," said Bill Matthews, "it seems to me as how you ought to treat this 'ere horse."
"So I will, shipmates, bless me if I don't," said Dick, who had meantime been trying to persuade the captain to drink with him. "If the cap'nwon'tdrink, the horseshall;" and, mounting, he intended to ride him into the bar-room. The horse protested, and so did his owner, but both alike without success. Despite his struggles, the beast was pushed up three steps, into the bar-room.
"Mix him a good stiff glass, Tom," said Dick. "He needs it."
The bar-keeper, nothing loath, as he calculated to get his pay for all the liquor poured out, whether drank or not, obeyed. The room was crammed, all crowding in to see the fun and share the drinking, as Dick had invited all hands; no change out of a dollar.
Captain Rhines might have escaped now; but he wished to make some further inquiries of Dick. He was interrupted by the truckman calling for his horse, and the disturbance that followed; so he remained on the sidewalk.
Just as they were attempting to turn the liquor down the beast's throat, the floor broke through with the great weight, and both horse and crowd went into the cellar. None, however, were seriously injured. Some were cut with broken glass of tumblers and bottles, some bruised by the struggles of the horse: but, as usual, those drunkest fared the best. Dick escaped unharmed, and the horse was not injured.
The captain now got hold of Dick again.
"Were those two West Indiamen all the vessels you saw or spoke?"
"All we spoke, cap'n; but there was one went by us, beating up the bay yesterday arternoon, like as we had been lying at anchor."
"What kind of a vessel?"
"A brigantine; a raal sharp-shooter," said Matthews.
"How painted?"
"All one color, spars and all, betwixt black and a lead color. I says to Dick (we was on the fore-topsail-yard, freshening the sarvice on the topgallant-sheet), 'Dick,' says I, 'that's some kind of a smuggler, or slaver, or something. So handsome a clipper as that's not painted such a color for nothing.'"
"Was she heavy sparred? Did she carry a press of sail?"
"She was all sail; long yards, and plenty of staysails and savealls, a whacking mainsail, and a ringtail at the end of it. I noticed it," said Dick, "and spoke of it then, what a spread she had to her fore-rigging and long spreaders on the cross-trees to spread the topgallant and royal back-stays."
"That must be the vessel I'm looking for; but if she passed you, beating up, why ain't she here?"
"She went into Salem."
"O, ho! went into Salem! Then it's her. The captain belongs in Salem; and, as he had a head wind and tide, he went in there, and will be up to-day."
Captain Rhines had proceeded but a little way after leaving Dick, when, just before him, a man was pushed out of the door of a sailor boarding-house, and fell his whole length on the sidewalk. He rose with difficulty to his feet as the captain came along, and addressed him by name. He was covered with filth, his face bruised and bloody, a battered tarpaulin on his head, a beard of three weeks' growth, clothed in a red shirt, canvas trousers, and barefoot. He trembled like a man with the fever and ague, evidently being in that state expressively termed by sailors the "horrors," and could scarcely stand.
"Cap'n," he cried, "don't you know me?"
"No," he replied, after looking at him a moment, "and don't want to."
"I'm Percival, William Percival, that went mate of your ship with Captain Aldrich."
"Your own mother wouldn't know you, Percival. How came you in this condition?"
"I've had hard luck, cap'n: been cast away; lost everything but what I stood in."
The captain was the last man to be imposed upon. He had always believed that Percival and Aldrich both were two precious rascals, saw in an instant what had reduced him to his present state, and that the story of shipwreck was manufactured at the spur of the moment.
"You've cast yourself away," was the reply. "You might have been master of a ship if you had behaved yourself, and had any principle. Don't lie to me. You've got the shakes on you this blessed minute."
"That's so, cap'n," said the poor wretch, making a virtue of necessity; "but I only drank to drown misery. O, cap'n," he cried, stretching out his hands, which trembled like an aspen leaf, "give me a quarter, just to get a little rum to taper off with."
"Not a cent. You've had too much now."
"O, cap'n, dear cap'n, do," cried the miserable wretch; "only a fourpence ha'pp'ny, cap'n."
"No."
"Three cents, then, just to get one glass to taper off with."
"Why don't you go and ship?"
"No cap'n will have me as I look now, when men are plenty."
"I will give you victuals."
"I can't eat, nor I can't sleep."
"If I give you clothes, you'll sell them for rum."
The captain was turning to leave him, when he said, "I could tell you something that would make you shell out the chink."
The captain, paying no attention, kept on, when he cried, "I can tell you what became of that nigger you thought so much of."
The captain whirled on his heel in an instant. "What nigger?"
"Why, that was pilot in the Casco."
"James Peterson?"
"Ay."
"Iknowwhat became of him. He was drowned between the vessel and the wharf, in Martinique."
"No, he wasn't."
"Whatdidbecome of him?"
"I can tell you what became of him if I like?"
"I believe you lie."
"Well, have it your own way, then."
The captain mused a moment. He knew Aldrich and Percival well; that there was no principle in either of them; had never believed the story that Peterson was in liquor, and fell overboard, but always mistrusted there had been some foul play. His suspicions were now thoroughly aroused, and he determined to sift the matter to the bottom.
"Come along with me," he said.
The seaman followed the captain to a sailor boarding-house, kept by an old acquaintance, with whom the latter had boarded when mate of a ship.
"Mr. Washburn," said he, "I want you to oblige me by taking this man in. He's got the 'horrors.' Give him liquor enough to taper off with, clothes to make him decent, and look to me for pay."
"I will, captain."
He then said to Percival, "Clean yourself up, and get a night's sleep. I will come here to-morrow at ten o'clock; and, if I have reason to think there's any truth in your statements, I'll do more for you."
In the course of the afternoon the Arthur Brown came up with the flood tide. It was a joyful meeting between Captain Rhines, Arthur Brown, Walter, Ned, and the whole crew, who were all his neighbors. They spent the evening talking over the events of the voyage, while the captain made them acquainted with all that had taken place at home.
Seeing Captain Rhines was next to seeing their own parents, especially to Ned, whose life he, with others, had saved. Ned got on one side and Walter the other, and plied him with questions about everybody and everything at home.
After retiring that night, the captain strove to recall all he had ever heard said by any one of the crew who were in the Casco at the time of the mysterious disappearance of Peterson, and recollected that Eaton, who was a great friend to Peterson, said there had been some difficulty between him and the captain on the passage out. He was sorely puzzled; for, from the time he first heard of the occurrence, he had cherished an opinion that somehow or other Aldrich was concerned in the matter; still he could not help feeling that there was not the least evidence of if, and that this opinion was based more upon his prejudice against the captain than upon anything else; while he had no better opinion of Percival than to believe he would trump up any kind of a story, if there was the least possibility of its being believed, in order to obtain money. At ten o'clock he was at Washburn's, where he found Percival arrayed in a decent suit of seaman's clothes, clean, shaved, his nerves steadied by liquor and a night's rest, and altogether another man.
It is even now a mooted question among physicians whether, in delirium tremens, to give moderate doses of liquor to "taper off" with, as it is called, or not; but in those days there was but one opinion and one mode of practice—to give the individual a hair of the dog that bit him, which the captain had done.
"Now, Percival," said he, "I am ready to hear what you have to say."
"You see, Captain Aldrich was down on that nigger from the day he came aboard the vessel."
"What for?"
"I'm sure I don't know, except because everybody else liked him. He was the best cook I ever see on board a vessel, and the best seaman; always ready to lend a hand, night or day; knew his place, and kept it."
"You've told the truth there, Percival."
"I intend to tell the truth all the way through. There was a good deal of hard feeling. The cap'n was overbearing. The men wouldn't stand it, because there was no occasion for it. He came near having a row with Eaton, but thought better of it, and one day he picked a quarrel with the nigger."
"And how did he come out with that?"
"Out of the little end of the horn, as they say. Peterson said some pretty hard things about him and his folks, which the men said afterwards was all true, and set out to fling him overboard. He run aft, scared half to death."
"I wish he had. He would have been no more in James Peterson's hands than a peck of wheat bran."
"Well, Aldrich was a very proud man, and it gravelled him terribly to be put down by a nigger, and he was out with me, because I wouldn't take his part. He laid it up. I heard him swear a hundred times that he would be square with that nigger before he left Martinique, and he was as good as his word."
"He murdered him?"
"No, he sold him."
"Sold him!What do you mean by that?"
"I mean that he sold him into slavery."
"The villain! I never should have thought of that. And was you a party to it?"
"No."
"Well, how was it managed?"
"It came about after this fashion. I don't think the cap'n thought himself about selling him, but it was kind of flung in his way, and he jumped at it like a dolphin at a flying-fish. Perhaps you know Peterson was a first-rate calker?"
"Yes."
"Well, there was a planter that lived on the other side of the island, somewhere, who had a lot of drogers that brought sugar and coffee. One day he was lying with his droger right under our stern, and Peterson was on a stage, over the stem, calking. After that the planter came on board, and I heard him say to Aldrich, 'Cap'n, I'll give you two thousand in gold for that nigger.' The cap'n laughed, but said nothing."
"The planter was joking," said Captain Rhines; "I have had planters in Cuba and Antigua say so to me a hundred times, when I've had Peterson and other darkies with me."
"I've no doubt he was, when he first spoke; but it put an idea into Aldrich's head, and he carried it out. For some days after that, I saw him and the planter Henri Lemaire always with their heads together on the piles of boards, and saw them look at Peterson. Then they would be together a long time in the cabin of his droger; and they had no business with each other, for we hauled in to the government wharf, because we sold our lumber to the government. This set me on the lookout. I tried to listen, but couldn't get a chance to hear anything. One night the cap'n sent Peterson ashore with letters, and he never came back. Then I know he had sold him."
"But he did come back. Danforth Eaton and all the crew told me that there was a good fire in the fireplace; that he had got breakfast well under way the next morning when they turned out, and had gone ashore, as they supposed, to get something for his 'lobscouse,' and fell overboard."
"Peterson never made that fire, nor peeled the potatoes and onions, or cut the pork and put it in the frying-pan; but he pounded the coffee and chopped the beef the night before, for I saw him do it."
"Who did the rest?"
"The cap'n did it himself."
"Thecaptain?"
"Ay. I had a tooth that grumbled, and didn't sleep well. I heard the cap'n get out of his berth, like a, cat crawling after a squirrel, and, having my suspicions, I followed him, and saw what he was up to—saw him kindle the fire, put on the tea-kettle, and do all the other things."
"But his boy, Ben, told me that they found his handkerchief on the fender."
"True; but it was a handkerchief that he wore on his head when he was cooking, and kept it on a nail before the fire, and the cap'n put it on the fender himself. Besides, what did he want to send Peterson to the office with letters that were blank, if it was not to make an errand to get him ashore in the night, that he might be kidnapped?"
"Blank letters?"
"Ay. I peeked through the skylight, and saw him fold and direct them, and there was not a word written in them."
The captain rose and took a turn or two across the room. He was a shrewd judge of men, had watched Percival closely during the conversation, and was strongly inclined to believe all he said.
His account of the captain's relations with the ship's company tallied precisely with what he had previously heard from the men, and it seemed altogether improbable, if not impossible, that he could have originated some of the statements.
"I have always suspected," said the captain, sitting down again, "that there was foul play of some kind. I have known Ezra Aldrich from the egg, and knew he was capable of any kind of villany; never wanted him to go in the ship, but was overruled by others. If what you say is true, it certainly looks like it. But how do you know that he was sold? You have no proof. He might have been, and probably was, murdered. There are plenty of renegade Spaniards in Martinique, and Frenchmen, too, that would stab a man in in the back in the night for two dollars. There was Enoch Freeman, of North Yarmouth, a cooper, had a shop there for years, used to go out in the fall and come back after it began to be hot (he went out with me a good many times), had some difficulty with a Frenchman about coopering a cargo of sugar. He saw a nigger hanging around his shop, and one of his men said to him, 'Mr. Freeman, that nigger means to kill you.' Freeman walks right up to the fellow, and says, 'What did that Frenchman offer you to kill me?' 'Two dollars.' 'Go and kill him, and I'll give you four.' The nigger went and killed him."
"But I know he sold him."
"How do you know?"
"Because he owned to me he did it."
"How came he to be fool enough to do that?"
"We had some difficulty in Martinique."
"How was that?"
"We were all discharged, and lay in the stream. The cap'n went ashore in the morning, and left orders with me to send the boat for him at four o'clock. He came on board drunk and ugly enough. As soon as he got his head over the rail, he sings out, 'Why wasn't that boat sent ashore, as I ordered?'
"'It was, sir.'
"'No, it wasn't. I ordered the boat to be on the beach at four; it was five minutes after.'
"He then began to blow round deck, growl, curse, and find fault.
"'Why ain't those skids got ready,' he roared, 'to take in sugar? The lighter will be alongside in the morning.'
"'They are ready, sir.'
"The skids were over the hatchway and blocked up.
"'Well, they ain't right.'
"'Yes, they are right, sir. I know how to rig skids to take in molasses and sugar, and how to stow it afterwards, as well as you, or any other man.'
"'Youdo—do you?'
"'Yes, sir. I do.'
"'Why ain't those head-stays set up, as I ordered, and chafing gear put on the forestay in the wake of the topsail?'
"'There was not time, sir; the hold had to be cleared up, and the dunnage piled up fore and aft, ready for taking in cargo.'
"'Why didn't you do it yourself, then?'
"'I didn't come here to work, sir.'
"'What did you come for?'
"'To see other folks work.'
"I now left him, and went below; but he came down into the cabin, and began upon me again.
"'If you come here to see other folks work, why don't you do it? Why didn't you send that foretopsail down, and have it mended? The duty of the ship can't go on, if I am ashore seeing to my business.'
"I couldn't bear no more, but walked straight up to him, and, looking him right in the eye, said, 'How about that nigger, Cap'n Aldrich? How about those blank letters, those onions and potatoes I saw you peeling, that handkerchief you put on the fender?' He changed countenance in a moment, became as pale as a corpse, staggered, and caught hold of the pantry door for support. I said no more, but went on deck."
"What did he say afterwards. Did he ask you what you meant?"
"Never a word, but was as agreeable as could be, though he didn't make much talk with me; but I was afraid he would poison me; didn't drink any liquor all the passage for fear he might give me a dose, and watched him as a cat would a mouse."
"Pity you couldn't always have sailed with him. It might have made a sober man of you."
"One night, after we got in the edge of the gulf, he got crooking his elbow again, and began to use bad language to me because I shortened sail in my watch without consulting him. I just held up my fore-finger, and said, 'Look here, my fine fellow: we are in the edge of the gulf. I will hang you when we get in.' I then told him that I knew all about his selling that nigger to Lemaire, that he had abused me in Martinique, and on the passage thus far home, and I would have my revenge; that the moment we made land, I would tell the crew, put him in irons, and appear against him in court."
"What did he say to that?"
"He was terribly frightened; said he was sorry he did it, but he couldn't bear to be put down before the crew by a nigger; and that he never should have thought of that way of getting revenge, if the planter hadn't put it into his head; and wound up by telling me that he would give me five hundred dollars to say nothing about it, when we got in."
"Then Peterson's alive, and a slave to this Lemaire?"
"Ay. The cap'n said, the moment he proposed to take him up, Lemaire, was fierce for it; said that he owned a great many drogers and launches that carried sugar, coffee, tortoise-shell, and other truck, and he wanted him because he saw that he was a first-rate calker, and calculated to keep him calking all the time."
"Did you ever get your five hundred dollars?"
"No, sir; he put me off once or twice, and then cleared out while I was on a spree."
The captain now believed the story of Percival, for he had heard from the crew that he and the captain had quarrelled, and of his coming on board drunk in Martinique, and saying and doing just as Percival said he did; he knew, also, that he disappeared suddenly and left the country, although (through the influence of Isaac Murch) he was offered the command of a vessel in Wiscasset. "I think that your story seems probable. At any rate, I'll do this much. I'll make arrangements with the landlord in respect to your board for two weeks from to-day (no rum, mind, for you are through with the horrors), and your outfit when you go aboard some vessel. If I ever get hold of Peterson, or if he dies there, and I find that you have told me the truth, there will be time enough to do something more."
Captain Rhines was occupied with business the remainder of the day, and in the evening went aboard of the brigantine. The Arthur left before the arrival of the Casco bringing tidings of the disappearance of Peterson; consequently the ship's company had not heard of it till informed by the captain, on the evening of their arrival. It therefore excited no little astonishment and interest when they were informed that he was sold for a slave in Martinique. After the affair had been thoroughly discussed in all its bearings, the captain said, "I am getting somewhat the worse for wear, and when I went to Cuba on the raft, I took leave of the sea, as I thought, forever; but James Peterson saved my life once; and before a man like him (born a slave, now an American citizen, and as noble-hearted a creature as ever drew the breath of life) shall live and die a slave, perhaps feel the lash, I'll risk these old bones once more, and spend the last dollar I've got in the world."
"Captain Rhines," cried Walter, leaping to his feet, "you shan't go. You ought not to go. I'll go. I, too, loved Peterson dearly. He carried me in his arms when a child. I have spent weeks at his house. He made all my playthings, and would do anything for our folks. I'll go, and something tells me I shall succeed."
"Count me in, too," cried Ned. "I love everybody that Walter loves. James was just like a father to me when I was wounded—sat up nights, and did everything for me."
"It is a great undertaking for persons of your age, and without much experience; but, ever since you went from home, you have been put in places where boys ripen fast, and always shown yourselves capable of accomplishing whatever you undertook. You are going, too, upon a good, I may say holy, errand, and may certainly expect aid and wisdom from aloft. Have you thought of any plan, Walter?"
"No, sir; we are only boys, and must leave the direction of affairs with you, who know everything."
"I am a great ways from knowing everything," said the captain, smiling. "We have been talking this matter over amongst ourselves the better part of an hour and a half, and I don't think you made the offer you have without some plan in your head upon which it was built."
The captain made these remarks, wishing to draw Walter out.
"As I sat listening to your account," said Walter, "it appeared to me that, as Ned and myself had quite a little pile of money for boys of our age, we could not spend part of it in any better manner than by using it to restore Peterson to his family; that we might ship in some vessel, before the mast, to Martinique, for low wages, to leave when we got there. If we couldn't do that, work our passage; and, if no captain would take us on that lay, pay our passage. As we both speak French well, we should have no difficulty in finding the place where he is, if alive."
"How would you get him off, if you found him?"
"I suppose we must be governed by circumstances, when on the spot."
"But you have probably thought of some way, if you should succeed in getting hold of him, to get him and yourselves home?"
"I have heard Uncle John say," said Walter, "that he has come out of the West Indies in yellow fever time, when there was only one man besides himself and his first and second mates fit for duty, and all he could do was to sit in a chair and steer, and the crews of other American vessels hove up the anchor and mast-headed the topsails for them; and, as soon as they got to sea, they all began to come right up. So, as it will be right in the sickly time of year, if we don't die ourselves, there will be plenty of vessels short-handed that will be glad enough to ship us."
The captain, perceiving by the looks of Ned that he had some ideas in respect to the matter in hand, but was too modest to speak, asked his companion.
"Please, sir, I don't think my opinion would be of any value; but if you will plan for us, sir, it will all go right."
"I know you have some ideas, Ned, and I want to hear them. Speak up, like a man. If you are going to risk your life, and spend hard-earned money, you certainly are entitled to your opinions."
Thus exhorted and encouraged, Ned, after some hesitation, said,—
"You know, sir, after you took us from the raft I was a long time at Charlie Bell's, very weak and miserable—could only sit in a chair, and walk about the room."
"Yes."
"Well, Charlie, in order to amuse me and pass the time, told me about your going to Havana in the Ark; of the ventures you carried for him and others. He told me what a lot of money was made on such simple things as beets, onions, carrots, and potatoes, that are worth next to nothing at home; that you made a lot on some hens, butter, candles, and on beef—more, according to, than even on the lumber."
"That is all so."
"I hope you and Captain Brown will excuse me, sir, for presuming to plan for people who know all about it. I was thinking that perhaps by and by Walter and I might put our money together, build part of a vessel, and go in her,—he master, and I mate; and that we ought, if it is right, to keep our money, and get all we can to put with it. Not but I am willing to spend the last dollar for James, if it is necessary; but it seems to me it would be better to make money than to spend money."
"But how are you going to get James?"
"I was thinking, sir, if we could get a fore-and-after, a sloop, or some kind of a vessel that we could handle, load her with something that wouldn't be so bulky as lumber,—like those things you carried for ventures,—so that a small vessel could carry a good deal of value, we might get Peterson clear, and make money for ourselves likewise."
"Bravo, my boy! That's a plan just as full of sense as it can be."
"Then, you know, sir, we should have the vessel to get home with and bring James in."
"To be sure you would, and make a lot on your return cargo. What do you think of that plan, Walter?"
"I think it is a first-rate plan, sir."
"This little chap that you and all of us have been petting, and calling little Ned so long, is outgrowing his teachers. He'll be taking the wind out of your sails by and by."
"There's nothing lost that a good friend gets," said Walter, putting his arm round Ned.
"Well said. It's a principle I have always acted upon."
"It struck me, while Ned was speaking, that if we carried such kind of freight as he suggests, why not go and peddle it out at some of the small ports. What is to hinder going to the plantation of this very Lemaire, and swap our truck for his, get the right side of him, and that would give us a first-rate opportunity to get at Peterson."
"So you could. Nobody but a Yankee would have thought of that; whereas, if you should go hanging round there without any business, you would be suspected in a moment, watched, and perhaps shot or stabbed."
"Allow me to make a suggestion," said Captain Brown.
"Certainly; the more heads the better."
"Does that Lemaireownthose drogers, or only go in them?"
"Owns them! Man alive, he owns three estates and four or five hundred niggers. I've sold him lumber, bought sugar and coffee of him, and they say he treats his slaves well, and gives them a chance to earn money for themselves, and buy their freedom."
"Then he must have to buy a great many spars for drogers' masts. Why not take a deck-load of spars and the other stuff in the hold? Then he would be sure to trade with you, especially if you gave him a good bargain. If he didn't want all the spars at once, he could pile them up."
"Those drogers are large, and require quite a large stick for masts. It would take a larger vessel than the boys could handle. You can't keep them on hand in that climate. If you pile them up, they rot; if you put them in the salt water, the worms will eat them up in sixty days."
"Captain," said Sewall Lancaster, "may I speak in meeting?"
"Free your mind, brother."
"Wal, what's the matter they couldn't take frames all ready to put up for nigger quarters, small timbers not very bulky, sell 'em, not by the foot, but for so much right out? I was out there three years ago in the John and Frederick, with old Cap'n Treadwell. No! How time runs away! 'Twas four years ago this very month, because it was three days before we sailed, that Lion Ben sarved Joe Bradish such a rinctum."
"What was that?" asked Captain Brown; "let us hear it, Lancaster."
"Wal, you see the Lion, besides being so all-fired strong, is a great teamster; they say the greatest in town (now Uncle Isaac Murch is gone). He won't abuse an ox, neither, nor let anybody else; but Joe (he's no teamster at all, nor much else; when he gits stuck, he takes off the forrard cattle), he can't make four oxen pull together; he's real cruel, too. I've seen him stand with one foot on the tongue, and the other on an ox's back, and beat him with a stake. Wal, he got to the foot of Merrithew's Hill with a heavy load and four oxen; the cattle wouldn't haul for him; he licked his goad up about 'em, and hollered, and screeched, and cursed. They wouldn't haul; he looked round for a stake, but it was stone wall both sides of the road, and he had to go a good ways down, over the first little rise, to get one. Lion Ben comes to the top of the hill; he'd heard the screeching; saw the team standing there. Frank Chase told me this; he was picking rocks in their field, and saw the whole of it. He said the Lion came along, went to the cattle, patted 'em, lifted up the yokes, pulled up a last year's mullein stalk, flourished that over 'em a few times, put his pretty little shoulders to the wheel, and spoke to the cattle. Frank said he didn't speak loud enough for him to hear; and they went right up the hill with it; then Ben squats down behind the log fence. Joe came back with his stake to whale 'em, and there was no team there. Frank said it was comical enough to see him rub his eyes and stare round. Bime by he went up the hill. There was his team. Frank said he looked under the load, on the top of the load, and everywhere. Frank held his tongue, and Joe allers thought that the cattle started for fear of the licking they would get when he come back."
"Did he ever find out?" asked Walter.
"Yes; the Lion met him one night at the store, and told him, before all hands, that if ever he saw him beat cattle with a stake, or heard tell on't, he'd pay his respects to him. I reckon you kin guess what Lion Ben's respects would be."
"All the satisfaction," said the captain, "I wish of the villain that sold and the villain that bought Peterson is, that Ben might get his mud-hooks on them both. If the blood and brains wouldn't fly when he smashed their heads together, I'll never guess again. But about the frames, Sewall?"
"Wal, the upshot was, the planters almost quarrelled to see who should git 'em, they were so taken with 'em, and gave him his own price. The old man said he wished he'd loaded with 'em."
"Just the things for us, Sewall," said the captain. "I've heard people speak in meeting, when I thought they had better have held their tongues, but you have spoken to the purpose."
"The old cap'n," continued Lancaster, "said he might have made his jack if he had only brought bolts, locks, and cheap hinges for doors, cause sometimes they want to lock the darkies up; and also if he had brought handsome ones for the planters' houses, and nails, he might have thribbled his money; but that his wits allers come afterwards he seemed quite in a passion about it, cause he hadn't made more, when he'd made enough a'ready to satisfy any reasonable person."
"Thank you, Sewall; we'll try and not have our wits come afterwards."
"The greatest difficulty with me at the outset," said Walter, "is, where to find a vessel."
"I'll settle that matter at once—charter the Perseverance of Ben. I can rig her so that nothing of her size can catch her; and a better sea-boat never swam. No matter how hard it blows; she'll lay to like a duck, go dry, and work to windward all the time."
"She may do well in the bays and along shore, bit she is old, and must be rotten."
"Last fall Ben took her over to Pleasant Cove. He, John, and Charlie overhauled her thoroughly, made a winter's job of it, put in new ceiling, drove a lot of fastening into her, laid a new deck, and put in a new mainmast and bowsprit. All the rot they found was under the bowsprit and two timbers in the counter. While I am here, I am going to get new rigging and sails for her. Ben would have her name put on in gold leaf. I thought it was nonsense for a fisherman; but he sets his life by that craft because she belonged to his nearest friend, John Strout, who was drowned."
"But will Mr. Ben let us have her?"
"Tell him that James Peterson is a slave in Martinique, and that you want the schooner to go out there and rescue him, and see whether he won't let you have her."
"Don't it seem a pity, Captain Rhines," said Ned, "when such awful things are done as Aldrich did, that there couldn't be somebody like Lion Ben around, to give them just what they deserve?"
"There is somebody round."
"Yes, sir; but he don't interfere."
"Not all the time, perhaps. He has no occasion to be in haste, but can lay his hand on a villain next year, or a hundred years from now, as well as to-day. Depend upon it, my boy, Aldrich will get his broth as hot as he can sup it, and, perhaps, a good deal of it as he goes along."
"O, I am so glad we are going to have the Perseverance, not only because she is fast and a good sea-boat, but it was her that you took us off the raft with."
"Yes, my brave sailor-boy," said the captain, taking Ned on his knee (for his jovial, sanguine temperament was stirred to its depths by the safe arrival of the brigantine, the prospect of liberating Peterson, and the noble sentiments and practical ability manifested by the boys), "had not the schooner been just where I could lay my hand upon her, you must have perished; nor do I know of another vessel, that, in such a sea and wind, would have towed the raft clear of the breakers; indeed, it was touch and go. Had the foremast gone overboard three minutes before it did, you would not be sitting on my knee to-night. I was frightened myself, after I was safe on shore, and the pressure was taken off."
"A penny for your thoughts, Mr. Griffin," observed Captain Brown, noticing that Walter was preoccupied.
"Out with it, my boy," said Captain Rhines.
"I was thinking over something Sewall's conversation put in my head, not clear to me. I have not got it shaped as yet. But if we can get to Martinique with the kind of cargo Sewall speaks of, and Peterson is alive, I feel sure that I know what to do when there."
"What is that?" asked Captain Rhines, pointing to the companion-way.
"It's daylight," said Ned; "we've talked all night; it is break of day."
During the day they were occupied in discharging cargo, were tired at night, and turned in early to make up their sleep. But the night following the same company assembled again in the cabin of the Arthur.
"Now," said Captain Rhines, "for the crew."
"Ned and I are officers and crew," said Walter; "we can handle her."
"You could handle her in good weather, or in a gale of wind, if it gave you time, but you might lose your masts in a sudden squall; besides, you must have more than one in a watch. You must have a lookout, and you might have a scuffle to get Peterson. You must have two men, and a boy for a cook: one stout, reliable man, an able seaman, and an ordinary, or stout, smart boy, eighteen or nineteen. One of you may be sick, or washed overboard. However, there's time enough for that. I think I know where to find the able seaman."
A week after this Captain Rhines takes a walk to "Black Dog Alley."
"Where is Dick Cameron?" he inquired of the bar-keeper.
"On that bench," pointing to a wooden settee, on which lay Dick, drunk and sound asleep.
"Been out all night?"
"Ay."
"Got the 'horrors'?"
"Never has 'em; head's too hard."
"I suppose you had his advance."
"Yes."
"How much money has he left?"
"When his board is paid, Saturday night, he'll have three dollars and some cents left."
"Has he sold or pawned his clothes?"
"No. He has boarded with me, off and on, a good many years, and I never knew him to do that."
"Well, will you ask him to meet me at Washburn's at four o'clock this afternoon?"
"I will."
At the appointed time the captain found Dick on the spot.
"Dick, how many times, since we have been acquainted, have I told you that you was an out-and-out fool?"
"Shiver my limbs if I know, cap'n; mayhap as many times as there are yarns in the best bower cable."
"It has done a great deal of good. You are just the same old sixpence you were when you sailed with me, fifteen years ago."
"Well, cap'n, you take a little something when you have a mind. Why shouldn't an old sailor—that nobody cares anything about, and that's going to be thrown overboard when he's worn out, just like the cook's hot water and ashes—take his comfort while he can? I tell you, cap'n, you don't know anything about it. It ain't so easy to get clear of your shipmates. Here's mayhap half a dozen, or mayhap twenty-five of us, been on a long vige or a short vige. We come ashore; go to a boarding house. They treats me. Of course I must treat them. One glass brings on another, till we are all blind drunk."
"Don'tI know all about it? Haven't I been through it all? Wasn't I a sailor, before the mast, years and years?"
"Not such a sailor as Dick Cameron, poor, God-forsaken devil. When you got into port, you had something ahead. You had a good home, father, mother, brothers and sisters, way back in the bush, that you carried to sea with you in your heart. When you turned in, and when you turned out, they turned in and turned out with you. They were close by you all the while. When you was at the wheel, on the lookout, or walking the deck in the middle watch, they were there. When you got farther along you thought of that young wife, dutiful woman, the little children, the trees you had planted; and though, mayhap, your body was in Trieste, Antigua, or Calcutta, your heart was at home with the wife and the little ones. You could see their faces, hear the fire snap. The moment you got in, and the vessel was made fast, the grass didn't grow under your feet till you was at home. You didn't see anything else. You looked right over everything else to that home."
"That is true, Dick, every word of it."
"You see, cap'n, with all these shrouds, and head-stays, and back-stays to hold you up, you could take your liquor in moderation, and stop when you had enough. But here's old Dick comes ashore. He's no parents, no home; nothing but his shipmates. They go to a rum mill. He's a drunkard, they are drunkards, and you know the rest. I drew up a strong resolution this time. Before I come ashore, says I to myself, 'I'll take my glass in moderation, just as my old cap'n, Ben Rhines, used to, and not make a beast of myself.' But it all ended in smoke."
"I don't take my glass in moderation, Dick. I've knocked off; flung it all overboard. Ben has done the same. We don't drink, nor keep it in the house."
"That's a go, now! Slipped the cable, and let the end run out the hawse-hole?"
"Yes, Dick; and haven't buoyed the cable, neither."
"But what was the need of that? You never abused yourself with liquor. You could stop at the score."
"Ben begun it. You know John Strout, who was such a great friend of his."
"Was mate of the Leonidas?"
"The same. Well, he fell overboard drunk, after getting his liquor at Ben's house. Ben swore then that he'd never drink another drop, and he never has. I held out a good while; but at length I found I was making drunkards of the young folks by the wholesale. They had no idea of imitating old Uncle Yelf, who died drunk among the pigs; but they were going to do like Captain Rhines, who drank in moderation; and three fourths of them ended in becoming drunkards."
"This is all very fine for you, cap'n; but here's poor Dick comes ashore, goes into a boarding-house. If he don't drink, his shipmates tell him he's no part of a man. The landlord tells him, says he, 'Dick, you're a disgrace to the place. You're taking the shingles off the house, the shoes off my children's feet. You must drink for the good of the house.' I've no home to go to, no place to be decent in."
Our readers must recollect this was long before the era of "sailors' homes."
"Look here, my old web-foot," said the captain, bringing down his hand on Dick's shoulder with a force that would have made a less stalwart man wince; "you shall have a place to be decent in. You shall go home with me."
"Go home with you, cap'n! What could you do with such a rough customer as me? I should scare your family. You wouldn't try to make a farmer of an old shell-back. I might, perhaps, do something with horses, for my father carried the king's mail from Greenock; and, since I was knee high to a toad, I have been used to horses; but it's little old Dick knows about your horned cattle."
"I'll tell you what I want of you. Have you forgotten James Peterson, that used to go with me?"
"I never had any shipmate of that name that I knows of."
"Yes, you had. He was a negro. I used to hire him of his master. He was with us in the James Welch to Cadiz the time I had the big dog."
"I don't mind any nigger, only Flour."
"Well, it'sFlourI mean. His real name is Peterson."
"Ay, I mind him well, and liked him well."
"You know the blacks are free here at the north since the war."
"I've heard so. Then they are a mighty sight better off than the sailors."
"He went out of here to Martinique, with a great villain, in one of our vessels. I coaxed him to go, because it was hard to get a crew; and the rascal has sold him to a planter there. I am going to have him back."
"If you can get him."
"I shall get him."
"Why don't you get your government to demand him of the French government, if he's a citizen, and save the expense and trouble?"
"They have no government that amounts to anything. They don't like us because we won't go into a war with England on their account. Peterson might die of old age, and I likewise, before they could be got to move in the matter. Ben has got a vessel that sails like a witch; she has been repaired this winter past; we are going to put new rigging and a new suit of sails on her; and two of our boys have volunteered to take charge, and go after Peterson, and get him back by hook or by crook."
"What do you want me to do?"
"I want you to go home with me. You, myself, and Ben will cut and make the sails, rig and load her. You will live in my family, get all the salt junk and bad rum out of you, be amongst steady people, away from temptation, go out in the vessel with the boys, and, perhaps, a couple more of our young men; no rum, no landlords, no drunken shipmates. I'll give you better wages than you ever had in your life, because you shall have a share of the profits when the voyage is up. I'll build you a vessel; and, as you are no navigator, you shall coast along the shore in her, Captain Richard Cameron, marry some one of our good girls, and be a man. Is not there a chance to be decent? and do as I have done—let the liquor alone."
"God bless you, cap'n; will you do all that for old Dick?"
"I will, and there's my hand on it."
The seaman grasped the extended hand of his benefactor, exclaiming, "I'll do it, cap'n. Don't think the manhood is all so leached out of me by rum and bad company that I can't rally with such a motive as that."
"I don't want you to feel that the obligation is all on one side. It is not so. I know you, Richard Cameron, through and through; you are a cool, resolute, powerful, noble-hearted man. I never expected to meet you again; but I have always said, that, in a real trying time, you were worth any two men I ever had. I can't help thinking you have been sent to help me at this present time. You have had experience, and are seasoned to all climates and all kind of hardships, and you may have to throttle somebody."
"I don't profess to be much of a saint, cap'n; but, if there's any throttling to do, I am as good as the next one."
"Well, take your dunnage, and come right on board the brigantine. There's room enough and grub enough. You'll get acquainted with the boys, and be out of harm's way."
After listening to the story of Percival, the captain had written to his wife, recounting all the particulars. Such a commotion as it created in the quiet community of Pleasant Cove has rarely been seen. Peterson was known and liked by every one. The story, with all manner of additions and exaggerations, flew from mouth to mouth, increasing as it went, formed the staple of conversation at every fireside, and excited universal concern and indignation. It was asserted that he was compelled to work every day with a ball and chain fastened to his leg, and flogged till the blood ran. Persons who would hardly have spoken to him if they had met him on the street before his misfortune were outrageous at this violation of the rights of an American citizen. Any number of plans were devised; some were for bringing the matter before President Washington at once; others proposed to raise money to ransom him; but it was finally concluded to wait till Captain Rhines came home, who, no one doubted, would stir at once in the matter.
Sewall Lancaster expressed his willingness to go, and Captain Rhines gladly accepted him, as he was well acquainted in Martinique and with their trade; and, two days after the Arthur Brown was discharged, the captain, with the boys and seamen, started in a coaster for Pleasant Cove.
They found everything ripe and ready for their purpose. Lion Ben told the boys they were welcome to the schooner, and refused to receive a cent of remuneration.
The whole community rose up as one man to load her. Every household contributed its supply of butter, candles, and vegetables.
Captain Rhines said if they were going round to the plantations it was no use to carry fowl, as there were enough there; but they took a few to sell in St. Pierre, as everybody was eager to contribute something, and some who had nothing else could furnish fowls.
Twenty-five young men, with Charlie Bell at their head, went into his woods, cut down the trees, rolled them into the pond, floated them to the saw-mill, sawed them into joist, and framed the small houses. Others contributed money to buy locks, hinges, and nails.
The boys were not permitted to contribute a cent, it being agreed on all sides that whatever was made should be divided between the rescuers and Peterson's family. Captain Rhines had also brought with him in the coaster from Boston a large lot of spermaceti candles, which Arthur Brown, Mr. Welch, and the crew of the brigantine contributed.
I trust you will not think that Captain Rhines, Lion Ben, and the boys were idle amid all this commotion. You may believe this experienced seaman, and the boys, full of enthusiasm, made the Perseverance look saucy enough. Dick Cameron was in the right place now. As they sewed on the sails, he told yarns that excited as much laughter as wonder; for Dick, as our readers may suspect, was a jolly soul, and, as he was in agreeable company, had a clear conscience, was full of good resolutions and new-born hopes, a happier fellow you never saw. They grafted, hitched, and pointed every rope on board of her that admitted of it, even to the bucket-rope, and holy-stoned the deck till it was white as snow. Didn't they put the muslin on her—a bonnet on her jib for light winds, a lug foresail that trimmed way aft to the tiller-head, a squaresail that travelled on an up-and-down stay, and two gaff-topsails that set from the deck? These were all kites for light winds, and could be set or taken in very quick. I wish you could have seen her boat. The readers of the Elm Island Stories know very well that Charlie Bell was by no means slow as respected boat-building, and was a complete epitome of progress.
Just after they began to repair the Perseverance, his old father said to him one day, as they sat before the fire,—
"Charlie, they have a new fashion of building boats in France."
"How is that, father?"
"Why, instead of doing as you do, and getting natural crooks for timbers, they saw them out of a white-oak plank, or whatever kind of wood they make them of, put them into a steam-box, and bend them. They generally get natural crooks for stem, stern-post, and floor-timbers; but often they saw them out of plank, because timber is not so plenty there as here, and necessity has driven them to it."