The Young Ship Builders of Elm Island 33

The Young Ship Builders of Elm Island 33

“Do they ever shoe rams?”

 

Joe’s features instantly assumed a terrified __EXPRESSION__. He colored to

the very tips of his ears, but uttered no word.

 

“If,” said Sally, “it had been Ben Rhines, Seth Warren, Charlie, or

anybody that could have taken their own part; but to set to work on

that poor old man, one of the kindest men that ever lived, who took in

that miserable Pete Clash, and clothed him, when he had no place to

put his head, and whom everybody loves, to run the risk of killing or

crippling him for life, I say it’s real mean!”

 

Joe made no reply, and Sally saw something very much like a tear in his

eye. She pitied him from the bottom of her heart, but felt that for the

reformation of such an incorrigible sinner it was her duty to go on.

 

“Did you ever see that before?” she inquired, holding before the

terrified culprit the identical shoe, with the nails still sticking in

it.

 

Joe uttered a groan.

 

“If it should get out, the neighbors would never speak to you again,

and you’d have to leave town. I know you feel bad,” she continued,

bursting into tears; “but what did put it into your head?”

 

“The devil.”

 

“Well, I’d keep better company.”

 

“You see, Sally, I was going home to dinner one day, and the ram had

the old man penned on the ice, and there they stood looking at each

other. That’s what put it into my head. I didn’t think anything about

the consequences till I saw the ram start for him. Then it all came to

me, and I was over the fence in a minute; but it was too late. I don’t

think I’m made like other folks. Such things come over me just like

lightning, and it seems as if I was hurried. This is the last shine I

shall ever cut up.”

 

“You’ve said so before, Joe.”

 

“But I _mean_ it now; I’m _purposed_. Won’t you give me that shoe,

Sally?”

 

“No, Joe, I’m going to keep it; and as sure as you cut up another

shine, I’ll show it.”

 

Joe’s reformation was _radical_ this time, and Sally ventured to marry

him. Years after--when Mrs. Griffin--Sally Rhines was visiting her. In

hunting over her drawers to find a pattern of a baby’s dress, she came

across the shoe, and then it came out. She gave it to the baby to play

with.

 

“I should be afraid to give it to him,” said Mrs. Rhines, “for fear

he’d catch something, and go to cutting up shines when he grows up.”

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XX.

 

THE FIRST TROUBLE, AND THE FIRST PRAYER.

 

 

BEING somewhat lonely in the absence of Charlie, Ben employed himself

in getting timber to build a scow, that he meant to construct with

a mast, sails, and a sliding-keel, or, as they are now termed,

centre-boards, to take cattle and hay to and from Griffin’s Island.

 

Uncle Isaac and Captain Rhines came on New Year’s Day. They told Ben

and Sally it was so cold, and the weather uncertain, that they needn’t

expect to see them again till April.

 

The next day, Danforth Eaton and two more came and hired the

Perseverance. Ben told them, when they were done with her, to leave her

in Captain Rhines’s Cove.

 

They were now left entirely alone. During the latter part of the same

week, Ben, who had been out gunning all day, crawling round on the

rocks, and getting wet, complained at night of pain in his head and

back, and of chilliness. He made use of the usual remedies for a

cold, but without avail. He continued to grow worse rapidly, and it

was evident that he was to have a run of fever. Sally was in great

extremity, her husband dangerously sick, neither physician nor medicine

at hand,--save those simple remedies that necessity had taught our

mothers,--with two children, one a baby, a stock of cattle to take

care of, and utterly alone as respected any human aid. It was a bitter

thought to her, as she sat listening to the wanderings of her husband

she tenderly loved, and for whom she had sacrificed so much, that,

while so rich in friends, all were ignorant of their necessity.

 

“If they only knew it at home,” said she to herself, “how soon should I

see the Perseverance’s sails going up, and help coming!”

 

Sally had not what is sometimes termed a religious temperament. There

was no sentiment about her. She was extremely conscientious in respect

to keeping the Sabbath, or making light of serious things, was very

decided in all her convictions, and never temporized. If it was wrong

to do anything, it was wrong, and that was the end of it with her. She

never read religious books from choice,--like many who never arrive at

any satisfactory results in religious matters,--but only as a duty, as

she did the Bible. She never cared to hear religious conversation,

and, though she listened with the greatest respect to her mother in

relation to these subjects, it went in at one ear and out at the other.

Uncle Isaac’s description of her was perfect. She was lively as a

humming-bird, and had too good a time of it in this world to think much

about the other. But under the terrible pressure that now came upon

her, the resolute nature and iron frame of the true-hearted, loving

woman began to give way.

 

With the exception of some large logs for back logs, the wood which was

cut was exhausted, and she was obliged to dig it from the snow and cut

it.

 

The great fireplace was so deep, it was impossible to keep the room

warm without a large log to bring the fire forward, and throw the heat

into the room. These logs, which were three feet through, Sally hauled

into the house on a hand-sled, and rolled into the fireplace, then cut

up the rest of the wood to complete the fire.

 

The weather was intensely cold, the snow deep and drifted, and she

was obliged to drive the cattle to the brook, and cut holes in the

ice for them to drink. In addition to all this was the care of Bennie

and the baby, the constant watching, and sense of loneliness. What

a commentary was this upon the declaration of Uncle Isaac to Ben, in

reply to the __EXPRESSION__ of his fears lest the untried hardships of Elm

Island should prove too much for Sally,--

 

“O, she’s got the old iron nature of that breed of folks. She’s had

nothing to call out that grit yet; but you’ll find out what she’s made

of when she comes to be put to’t.”

 

Her husband was now so much reduced that it was with the greatest

difficulty she could hear his requests, and the apprehension that he

would die, which had tortured her for weeks, now seemed ripening into

certainty.

 

It was just before midnight. Ben had lain since morning in a stupor,

from which it seemed impossible to rouse him, and, being nearly high

water, she feared he would die when the tide turned.

 

It was a fearful night. The roar of the sea on the rocks, with that

hoarse, pitiless sound which pertains to the surf, and the hollow moan

of the wind in the forest was heard all through the house. Sally had

been taught to say her prayers from childhood, but never in all her

life had she prayed in her own words. But now, as she sat with the

Bible upon her knees, and her eye caught the promise, “Ask and ye

shall receive,” something seemed to whisper, “Pray, poor woman, pray.”

“Had I shown any gratitude for His mercies,” thought she, “I might

with more confidence resort to Him in trouble.” At length, driven to

despair, she fell on her knees beside the bed, and begged for mercy and

help from heaven. “I am glad I did it,” said Sally, as she rose from

her knees; “I think I now know something of what I have heard mother

say--that the best place to carry a sore heart is to the cross. I don’t

know what God will do with me, but I feel more willing to be in His

hands. What a strange thing praying is! If you don’t get what you ask,

you get comfort. It kind of takes the sting out. It’s like as when I

was burnt so awfully, and the fire was out; the anguish is abated,

though the wound is not healed. I will pray more, and trust more.” She

spent the remainder of the night in prayer and reading the scriptures.

 

The wind, shortly after midnight, had changed to north-west, and,

though bitterly cold, it became clear. As the light of morning

struggled through the windows, Sally scraped the thick coating of

frost from the panes, that she might see her husband’s face, and

eagerly scanned the pallid features. “He certainly does not look so

death-like,” thought she, “is not feverish at all, and he certainly

breathes better.” In the course of an hour, he made a sign for drink.

She put it to his lips, and found that he swallowed. A short time

after, she gave him some nourishment, which he also took. When a couple

of hours had passed, he opened his eyes. She bent her ear to his lips,

and asked him how he felt. “Better,” was the reply, in a voice scarcely

audible. It was the first word he had spoken for two days. “The fever

has turned, I know it has!” she cried; and falling on her knees, she

poured out her heart in gratitude to God. Just then the child waked.

“O, you blessed little soul,” cried the delighted mother, almost

smothering it with kisses, “did you know your father was better?” And

tying the young child in a chair, and giving it some playthings, she

caught the milk-pail. As she opened the door, a ray of sunshine flashed

in her face, and streamed across the threshold. “Bless God!” cried she,

tears of gladness streaming down her cheeks; “it’s sunshine in my heart

this morning.”

 

“How are you all?” said Sally, as she entered the barn, and, mounting

with rapid steps the mow, pitched down a bountiful foddering to the

cattle. “Put that into you; it’s Thanksgiving on this island to-day.”

While Sailor, catching the altered looks and tone of his mistress,

barked, and ran into the snow till nothing but the end of his tail was

to be seen.

 

“How strong I feel this morning!” she exclaimed, rolling an enormous

log on to the hand-sled; “I’ll make this old fireplace roar. I’ll have

some light in this room, so that I can see Ben’s face. I have not dared

to look at him for a month past,” catching a cloth, wet with hot water,

and washing the frost from the windows. “I’ll wash up this floor, too;

it is dirty enough to plant potatoes on; and then I’ll have a nap.”

 

In the afternoon, Ben awoke in the full possession of his faculties,

though extremely weak, and in a whisper asked for the baby; he then

asked for Sailor. Sally had kept the dog in the outer room, that he

might not disturb her husband; but the moment she opened the door, he

leaped on the bed, and licked his master’s hands and face, and then,

rolling himself into a ball at his feet, went to sleep, occasionally opening one eye to see if his master was there.