Ben Hadden; or, Do Right Whatever Comes Of It

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“Yes, he’s a kind, good gentleman as ever lived,” answered Ben warmly.

“That may be; but what I mean is, if you keep wide awake, and try to win his favour, you’ll have a comfortable time of it, and get a good rating before the ship is paid off,” observed Tom.

Ben, resolved as he was to keep to his principles, and to be ready to own them on all fit occasions, looked at his companion, and said, “I know, Martin, there’s one thing I have to do, and that is, to do right whatever comes of it. If I do right, I need have no fear but that, in the long-run, I shall please the first lieutenant and all the officers; at any rate, I shall please God, and that’s of more consequence than anything else.”

“Oh, I see what sort of a chap you are!” observed Tom. “Well, don’t go and talk like that to others—they mayn’t take it as I do; for my part, I don’t mind it.” And Tom put on a very self-pleased, patronising air.

“I don’t see that I have said anything out of the way,” remarked Ben. “It stands to reason that to do right is the only way to please God, and that to please God is the wisest thing to do, as He gives us everything we have; and of course He will give more to those who try to please Him than to those who do not. There are many other reasons, but that is one, is it not?”

“Yes, I suppose so; but I haven’t thought much about such things,” said Tom.

“Then do think about them. I know that it is a good thing to do,” said Ben.

“I’ll try,” whispered Tom.

It must not be supposed that Ben and Tom often talked together like this at first. There was too much bustle going forward for anything of the sort; they, as well as everybody in the ship, were kept hard at work from sunrise to sunset, and they were both so sleepy at night, when they turned into their hammocks, that they instantly fell fast asleep.

Ben had thus an opportunity of observing the whole process of fitting-out a ship. First he saw the huge, heavy guns hoisted on board, by means of tackles, with as much ease as an angler draws a big fish out of the water; then they were mounted on their carriages, and secured along the sides. Tackles, he learned, are formed by reeving ropes several times backwards and forwards through blocks. Then the topmasts and yards were got on board, swayed up, and crossed. Next, stores of all sorts were brought alongside—anchors, and chain-cables, and coils of rope, and round shot, and sails, and canvas, and paint, and tools for the various departments, and muskets, and cutlasses, and pistols, and bullets. No powder, however, came; and Ben learned that that would not be brought on board till the ship was out at Spithead. This rule was made because of accidents which had occurred formerly, ships having been blown up in the harbour, and been not only themselves destroyed, but caused the destruction of others, and the lives of very many people. Ben, however, saw the place where it was to be kept—a room lined with iron, with two doors. Between the doors was a sort of anteroom, and the outer door had an iron grating in it. There were means of flooding the magazine, in case of the ship catching fire. Last of all, the provisions and water were got on board—casks of beef and pork, and flour, and groceries, and spirits; and there were candles, and clothing, and (more necessary than most other things) water came alongside in lighters, and was pumped up into large iron tanks at the bottom of the ship. These tanks were large enough to allow a person to get into them to clean them out. They were in the inside coated with lime, and Ben was told that the water was kept in them fresh and pure for years.