In order that you may know all about them, we will resume the thread of our story, and trace the history of Captain Rhines and his family. The captain was a strong-built, finely proportioned, “hard-a-weather” sailor, not a great deal the worse for wear, and seasoned by the suns and frosts of many climates. In early life he had experienced the bitter struggle with poverty. His father came into the country when it was a wilderness, with nothing but a narrow axe, and strength to use it. His first crops being cut off by the frosts, they were compelled to live for months upon clams, and the leaves of beech trees boiled. There were no schools; and the parents, engaged in a desperate struggle for existence with famine and the Indians, were unable to instruct their children. Fishing vessels from Marblehead often anchored in the cove near the log camp, and little Ben, anxious to earn somewhat to aid his parents in their poverty, went as cook in one of these vessels when so At nineteen years of age he went to Salem, and shipped in a brig bound to Havana, to load with sugar for Europe. He was then a tall, handsome, resolute boy as ever the sun shone upon, without a single vicious habit; for his parents, though poor, were religious, and had brought him up to hard work and the fear of God. He was passionately fond of a gun and dogs, and what little leisure he ever had was spent in hunting and fowling. As respected his fitness for his position, he could “steer a good trick,” had learned what little seamanship was to be obtained on board a fisherman and coaster, but he could not read, or even write his name. The mate of the vessel conceived a liking for him the moment he came over the ship’s side, and this good opinion increased upon acquaintance. They had been but a fortnight at sea, when he said to the captain, “That long-legged boy, who shipped “I hardly see how that can be,” replied the captain, “for he can’t write his own name.” “Can’t write his own name! Why, that is impossible.” “At any rate he made his mark on the ship’s articles, and he is the only one of the crew who did.” “Well,” replied the mate, “I can’t see through it; but he’s in my watch, and I’ll know more about it before twenty-four hours.” That night the mate went forward where Ben was keeping the lookout. “Ben!” “Ay, ay, sir.” “Where do you hail from?” “Way down in the woods in Maine, Mr. Brown.” “What was you about there?” “Fishing and coasting summers, and working in the woods in the winter.” “Why didn’t you ship, then, for an ordinary seaman, and get more wages?” “I see you made your ‘mark’ on the brig’s articles. Were you never at school?” “No, sir.” “Why not?” “There’s no such thing where I came from.” “Couldn’t your parents read and write?” “Yes, sir.” “Then why didn’t they learn you themselves?” “There were a good many of us, sir, and they were so put to it to raise enough to live on, and fight the Indians, they had no time for it.” The mate was a noble-hearted man; all his sympathies were touched at seeing so fine a young man prevented from rising by an ignorance that was no fault of his own. He took two or three turns across the deck, and at length said,— “I tell you what it is, youngster: I’ll say this much before your face or behind your back: you’re just the best behaved boy, the quickest to learn your duty, and the most willing to do it, that I ever saw, and I’ve been following the sea for nearly thirty years; and before I’ll see an American boy like you kept down by ignorance, I’ll do as I’d Mr. Brown was as good as his word. While the rest of the crew in their forenoon watch below were mending their clothes, telling long yarns, or playing cards, and when in port drinking and frolicking, Ben was learning to read and write, and putting his whole soul into it. He stuck to the vessel, and Mr. Brown stuck to him. When he shipped the next voyage as able seaman, he wrote his name in good fair hand. They went to Charleston, South Carolina, to load with pitch, rice, and deer-skins, for Liverpool. The vessel was a long time completing her cargo, as it had to be picked up from the plantations. Ben improved the time to learn navigation. From Liverpool they went to Barbadoes. While lying there, the captain of the ship James Welch, of Boston, named after the principal owner, died. The mate taking charge of the ship, Ben, by Mr. Brown’s recommendation, obtained the first mate’s berth. He was now no longer Ben, but Mr. Rhines, and finally becoming master of the ship, continued in the employ of Mr. Welch as long as he followed the sea. He then married, built a house on the site of the old log camp, and surrounded it with Although he was compelled by necessity thus early to go to sea, he had a strong attachment to the soil, and would have devoted himself to its cultivation in middle life, had he not met with losses, which so much embarrassed him, that he was compelled to continue at sea to extricate himself. Captain Rhines’s fine house, nice furniture, and curiosities which he brought home from time to time, excited no heart-burnings among his neighbors, because they knew he had earned them by hard work, and did not think himself better than others on account of that. Thus, when he became embarrassed, instead of saying, “Good enough for him,” “He will have to leave off some of his quarter-deck airs now,” everybody felt sorry for him, and told him so. Indeed, everything about the Rhines family was pleasant, and excited cheerful emotions. The old house itself had a most comfortable, cosy look, as it lay in the very eye of the sun, with an orchard Some houses are high and thin, resembling a sheet of gingerbread set on edge; they impress you with a painful feeling of insecurity, as though they might blow over. Such houses generally have all the windows abreast, so that when the curtains are up, and the blinds open, you can look right through them. They seem cold, cheerless, repellent; you shrug your shoulders and shiver as you look at them. But this house was large on the ground, and looked as if it grew there, with an ell and long shed running to the barn, a sunny door-yard, a spreading beech before the end door, with a great wood-pile under it, suggestive of rousing fires. There was a row of Lombardy poplars in front of the house, and a large rock maple at the corner of the barn-yard, which the children always tapped in the spring to get sap to drink and make sap coffee. There was a real hospitable look about the old homestead; it seemed to say, “There’s pork in the cellar, there’s corn in the crib, hay in the barn, But the popularity of Captain Rhines among his neighbors had a deeper root than this. A great many of the young men in the neighborhood had been their first voyage to sea with him; he had treated them in such a manner, had taken so much pains to advance them in their profession, that they respected and loved him ever after. When it was known in the neighborhood that Captain Rhines was going to sea, the question was not, how he should get men, but how he should get rid of them, there were so many eager for the berth. It would have done your heart good to have seen the happy faces of the men grouped together on that ship’s forecastle, waiting, like hounds straining in the leash, for the order to man the windlass; not an old broken-down shellback among them, but all the neighbors’ boys, in their red shirts, and duck trousers white as the driven snow, which their mothers had washed. As each one of them had a character to sustain, was anxious to outdo his shipmate, and the greater portion of them were in love with some neighbor’s daughter, and expected to be married as soon as Captain Rhines, though a large and powerfully built man, was a pygmy to his son Ben. Ben measured, crooks and all, six feet two inches in height, weighing two hundred and thirty pounds. He was possessed of strength in proportion to his size, and, what was more remarkable, was as spry as an eel, and could jump out of a hogshead without touching his hands to it. His neighbors called him “Lion Ben.” He obtained the appellation from this circumstance. One day when the inhabitants of the district were at work on the roads, they dug out a large rock. Ben, then nineteen years of age, took it up, carried it out of the road, dropped it, and said it might stay there till they raised another man in town strong enough to take it back. He was now twenty-six years of age, of excellent capacity, and good education for the times, his father having sent him to Massachusetts to school. It was very difficult to provoke him; but when, after long provocation, he became enraged, He had a large chair made on purpose for him to sit in, and tools for him to work with; and if anybody lent a crowbar to Captain Rhines, they always said, “Don’t let Ben use it,” as in that case it was sure to come home bent double, and had to be sent to the blacksmith’s to be straightened. He was passionately fond of gunning, and would risk life and limb to shoot a goose or sea-duck. Though he had followed the sea since he was seventeen years of age, yet he was greatly attached to the soil, and when at home loved to work on it. It was a curious sight to see this great giant weeding the garden, or at work upon his sister’s flower-bed. He was a generous-hearted creature; when anybody was sick or poor he would get all the young folks together, make a bee, get in their corn, do their planting, or cut their winter’s wood for them. He had often done this for the widow Hadlock, The tax-gatherer came to the widow for the taxes. “Why, Mr. Jones,” said the widow, “you tax me altogether too much; I have not so much property.” “O, Mrs. Hadlock,” said he, “we tax you for your faculty.” Notwithstanding all the sterling qualities we have enumerated, the personal appearance of Ben Rhines was anything but an exponent of his character. There was such an enormous enlargement of the muscles of the shoulders, and his neck was so short, that his head seemed to come out of the middle of his breast. The great length of his arms was From such a square-jawed fellow you would naturally expect to proceed a deep bass voice; but from this monstrous bulk came a soft, child-like voice, such as we sometimes hear from very fat people; and unless he was greatly excited, the words were slowly drawled: the entire impression made by him upon a stranger was that of a great, listless, inoffensive man, without penetration to perceive, or courage to resist, imposition. But never was the proverb, “Appearances are deceitful,” more strikingly verified than in this instance. That listless exterior, and almost infantile voice, concealed a mind clear and well informed, and a temper, that when goaded beyond the limits of forbearance, broke out like the eruption of a volcano. 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 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 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.” |