“Ben,” said Captain Rhines, “we’re going to have a gale of wind; here’s an old roll coming from the east’ard, and the surf is roaring on the White Bull. Let us take the canoe, slip over to Elm Island, and get a couple of lambs, before it comes on. I’m hankering after some fresh ‘grub.’”
When, having caught the lamb, they were pulling out of the harbor, the old gentleman, resting on his oar, looked back upon the mass of forest, and said, “What a tremenjus growth here is! here are masts and yards, bowsprits and topmasts, for a ship of the line; and there’s no end of the small spars and ranging timber; a great deal of it, too, ought to be cut, for it has got its growth, and will soon be falling down. It is first-rate land, and would make a capital farm after it’s cleared. I wish old father Welch had to give it to me; he never would miss it. I believe my soul all he keeps it for is for the sake of coming down here once in three or four years, and going over there gunning ’long with me.”
At noon the gale came on with great violence. The captain took advantage of the stormy afternoon to kill a lamb, and have a regular “tuck out” on a sea-pie. Under his directions, Mrs. Rhines lined the large pot with a thick crust, put in the lamb and slices of pork, with flour, water, and plenty of seasoning, and covered the whole with a crust, which Captain Rhines pricked full of holes with his marline-spike.
In addition to this were pudding, pies, and fried apples; coffee, which was seldom indulged in at that day; and last, but not least, a decanter of Holland gin beside his plate. When they had despatched this substantial repast, the family, eight in number, all drew up around the fire. The old house shook with the violence of the gale; the rain came down in torrents; the roar of the surf was distinctly heard in the intervals of the gusts, while the blaze went up the great chimney in sheets of flame.
The old seaman flung off his coat, kicked off his boots, and sitting down in the midst of this happy circle, while the cheerful light flickered around his weather-beaten form, animated by as noble a heart as ever throbbed in human breast, cried, as he listened to the clatter without, “Blow away, my hearty; while she cracks she holds; let them that’s got the watch on deck keep it; it’s my watch below; eight hours in to-night.”
He then sat some time in silence, with his hands clasped over his knees, and looking into a great bed of rock-maple coals. Rousing up at length, he laid his hard hand on his wife’s shoulder, and, with an expression of heartfelt happiness on his rugged features, that was perfectly contagious, said, “Mary, I do believe I’ve never had one hardship too many. When I think how poor I began life; what my parents suffered before they got the land cleared; why, I’ve seen my poor father hoe corn when he was so weak from hunger that he could scarcely stand. There were times when we should have starved to death, if it had not been for the old dog (stooping down and patting Tige’s head, who lay stretched out before the fire, with his nose on his master’s foot). How glad I felt as I carried them the first dollar I ever earned! and how glad they were to get it! Well, as I was saying, when I hear the wind whistle, and the sea roar, as it does now, I can’t help thinking how many such nights on ship’s deck, wet, worn out, listening to the roar of the surf, and expecting the anchors to come home every minute; next ‘vige’ perhaps in the West Indies; men dying all around me, like sheep, with the yellow fever and black vomit. When I look back, and feel it’s all over, that I’ve got enough to carry me through, can do what little duty I’m fit for, among my comforts, and surrounded by my family, I don’t believe I ever could have had the feelings I’ve got in my bosom to-night, before this comfortable fire, if I hadn’t been through the cold, the hunger, the dangers, and all the other miseries first;” and he rolled up his sleeves in the very wantonness of enjoyment, to feel the grateful warmth of fire on his bare flesh.
“I don’t wonder you do feel so, husband,” replied his wife; “as you say, you’ve enough to carry you through, as far as this life is concerned; but there is another life after this, and, perhaps, if we get to the better world, that also will seem sweeter for all the crosses we take up, and the self-denial we go through in getting there. I’ve often told you, Benjamin, that you lack but one thing; for surely never woman had a kinder husband, or children a better father, than you have always been.”
“God bless you, Mary!” exclaimed the old seaman in the fulness of his heart; “I’ve never been half so good a husband as I ought, and must often have hurt your feelings; for I’m a rough old sea-dog; never had any bringing up, but grew up just like the cattle.
“I never see John Strout but it puts me in mind of his oldest brother, George. We both of us shipped for the first time, as able seamen, in the same vessel; we were about of an age—‘townies;’ both in the same watch, full of blue veins and vitriol, and were forever trying titles to see which was the best man. It was hard work to tell, when the watch was called, whose feet struck the floor first, his’n or mine. If he got into the rigging before I did, I’d go up hand over fist on the back-stay. I’ve known him to go on the topsail yard in his shirt-flaps to get ahead of me. We allers made it a p’int to take the weather earing, or the bunt of a sail, away from the second mate, who was the owner’s nephew, and put over the head of his betters.”
“Was that the reason, father,” said Ben, “you wouldn’t let me go to sea with you?”