Ben Hadden; or, Do Right Whatever Comes Of It

by William Henry Giles Kingston

Ben had recollected the day of the week on which, he was cast on the island. By means of a stick which he notched regularly, a plan he had often heard of being adopted under similar circumstances, he kept an exact note of the days as they passed. Sunday he made a day of rest. It was not, however, a day of weariness. He read much more than usual of his Testament, and, recollecting the way the natives had repeated portions of it, he set to work to commit some of its chapters to memory.

This he found a delightful occupation. When doing so, he spent many hours walking up and down on the smooth sea sand, with shoeless feet, looking out every now and then on the blue ocean, and thinking what a beautiful world it is we inhabit, and how grievous that man should mar it by his evil temper and wicked deeds. Then he would occasionally sing all the hymns he knew at the top of his voice, from very joyfulness of heart. In the week-days, when at work, he would repeat over what he had learned on the Sundays. Thus five months, by his calculation, passed away.

One Monday forenoon, as he was going out to the end of a reef to fish, on looking in the direction where he had frequently seen what he supposed to be land, he saw an object moving over the water. It was not white, like the sail of a vessel. It must, then, be the mat-sail of a large double canoe. Thinking no more of his fishing, he ran up to the highest rocky hill in the neighbourhood to watch its progress. It was drawing nearer the island, and yet apparently not steering directly for it, rather, as it were, to pass at some distance.

“I wonder what sort of people are on board,” he thought. “Perhaps savages—cannibals. Then it will be much better if they do not come here. If they are Christian natives, then I shall be very glad to go with them, as they of course are on their way to some civilised island where ships are likely to call.”

The wind was light, the canoe moved slowly, and Ben’s anxiety increased. At last it seemed clear that the canoe would not come nearer to the island. He heaved a deep sigh, and sat silent and sad for some time. Then he recollected that he was going to fish. He got up, and again worked his way towards the end of the reef. He cast in his line, and had hooked a fish, when, just as he landed it, on looking up for an instant, he saw the canoe gliding towards the island. It was steering for the point on which stood the cross, there could be no doubt about that. He watched it eagerly, anxious to ascertain who was on board. If they were savages, should he hide himself, and trust to their going away again? “Yet even if they are savages, they will not hurt me,” he said to himself. “They will see at once that I cannot do them any harm. I will run and meet them, and welcome them. That will be the best way, I am sure. I will take a branch in my hand, and wave it as the natives do, to show that I wish to be friendly with them.”

Saying this, Ben drew up the fish he had hooked,—a fine large one,—retreated along the reef over the rocks, cut a branch, and ran along the beach as fast as his legs could carry him towards Cross Point. He got there before the canoe, for the wind was light. He could see a number of people on it as it drew nearer. Were they savages? They were all clothed. Yes, and some of them were dressed as English sailors. There was a glitter of gold-lace on the coat of one of them. In the bow stood a young sailor lad. Gradually the faces began to grow distinct. How his heart leaped with joy! There were Tom Martin and Mr Manners, and several of the prize crew he had long thought in their ocean graves, and there were also a good number of the natives, busy in lowering the huge mat-sail of the canoe. They were the very men who had been on board the schooner.

Ben was at first almost beside himself with delight. He waved his hands and shouted wildly; then he ran down and showed them the best place for bringing the canoe to shore. The natives cried out to him, but neither Tom Martin nor any of the English seamen seemed to know him. “I wonder what that little savage wants,” he heard Tom say to one of the men. “He looks to me as if he was out of his senses.”

“No, I am not, Tom Martin, I can assure you,” cried Ben, running up to him and putting out his hand; “only very, very glad to see you again, and to find that you are all alive.”

“Well, indeed, I am also glad to find you were not drowned, Ben,” answered Tom, wringing his shipmate’s hand till it seemed as if he would wring it off. “I felt certain that you were drowned, and was very sorry for you, that I was!”

“He speaks truth, Ben,” observed Jem Stokes, a seaman who had always stood Tom’s friend. “The lad took so ill when he thought that you were lost, that we thought he would have slipped his cable altogether; but Mr Manners spoke to him, as he did to all of us, and told him that if you had left this world you had gone to a better.”