In his position as mate of a vessel it became his duty to control men of all nations. Being well aware that his appearance was calculated to invite aggression, he took singular methods to escape it. He knew that his temper, when it reached a certain point, was beyond his control. He also knew his strength; and as the good-natured giant didn’t want to hurt anybody when milder methods would answer the purpose, he would come along just as the ship was getting under way, the men at the topsail halyards, and reaching up above all the rest, bring them down in a heap on deck, causing those that were singing to bite their tongues. Sometimes when two or three sailors were heaving with the handspikes to roll up a spar to the ringbolts, singing out and making a great fuss, he would seize hold of the end of it, and heave it into its bed apparently without any effort, while the men would wink to each other and reflect upon the consequences of having a brush with such a mate as that.
By proceeding in this way, though he had taken up one or two that had insulted him beyond endurance, and smashed them down upon the ground, kicked a truckman into the dock who was beating his horse with a cordwood stick, he never struck but one man in his life, which happened in this wise.
Ben was on board a ship in port, with only a cook and two boys, the captain having gone home, and the rest of the crew being discharged. He hired an English sailor to help the boys trim some ballast in the hold; they complained that he kicked and abused them.
Ben told them to go to work again, and he would see about it. After dinner he lay down in his berth for a nap, when he was disturbed by a terrible outcry in the hold, and, going down, found the sailor beating the boys with a rope’s end. He asked him what he was doing that for; the man said they wouldn’t work, and were saucy to him. Ben replied that the boys were good boys, that he had always known them, and that he mustn’t strike the boys. The bully asked him if he meant to take it up. Ben replied that he didn’t wish to take it up, but he mustn’t strike the boys.
The sailor then threatened to strike him; upon which Ben stood up before him, and folding his arms on his breast, in his drawling, childish way, told him to strike. The man struck, when Ben inflicted upon him such a terrible blow, that, falling upon the ballast, he lay and quivered like an ox when he is struck down by the butcher.
“O, Mr. Rhines,” exclaimed the terrified boys, “you’ve killed him, you’ve killed him!”
“Well,” he replied in his quiet way, “if I’ve killed him, I’ve laid him out.”
CHAPTER III.
TIGE RHINES.
There was another member of the family whose qualities deserve especial mention—the great Newfoundland dog.