Lion Ben of Elm Island

by Elijah Kellogg

  CHAPTER XXII.

  BEN’S NOVEL SHIP.

  It was now early winter, and the proper time to work in the woods.

  “Do you think,” said Ben to Uncle Isaac, “I’d better hire Joe?”

  “He asks great wages, but he’s the cheapest man you can hire, for allthat. I’ve seen a man fall spars, so that they all had to be hauledout top foremost; it was like twitching a cat by the tail. Most menwill break more or less masts, falling them, and soon throw away alltheir wages; but though Joe seems to be such a great heedless creature,there’s nothing pertains to falling, hauling, or rafting timber, thathe don’t know; he can also shave shingles and rive staves, and will bejust as profitable in stormy weather as at any other time.”

  The next morning, as Ben and Joe were grinding their axes to attack theforest, they were very much surprised by a visit from Uncle Isaac.

  “I felt,” said he, “as though I must look upon Elm Island once more,before the axe and firebrand went into it, and while it was as God madeit. Perhaps it’s owing to my Indian bringing up, but I hate to see theforest fall; and when I have to go fifty miles to shoot a deer or abear, the relish will be all taken out of life for me.”

  “I feel very much as you do,” said Ben; “I know I shall spoil itsbeauty, but I see no other way to pay for it.”

  “I’m not so sure of that; there’s no doubt but Congress, by and by,will give a bounty to fishermen; fishing is going to come up. Mr. Welchdon’t want his money any more than a cat wants two tails; he told youto take your own time, and I’d take my time. I believe you can pay forthis island by clearing only what you need for pasture and tillage.That will make quite a hole in your debt, and the rest you can pull outof the water.”

  “But I don’t want to be a fisherman; I detest it; work all summer, andeat it all up in the winter; so much broken time, when it’s so windyyou can’t fish, and can’t do anything else, for fear it will come goodweather, and you will have to leave it.”

  “That’s the right kind of talk; I like to hear you talk so; but youcan fish till the land is yours--can’t you? All the time you arefishing, the timber will be growing, and then you can farm it to yourheart’s content; farming is going to be a first-rate business, too.People round here are all stark mad about lumbering and fishing; theywill touch anything but a hoe, and think barley ain’t worth thankingGod for. Since the peace, the country is full of foreign goods, andthey are ready to strip the land to get money to buy them. Nothing butFrench calico, silks, and satins, and all such boughten stuffs, willdo for ‘my ladyship’ now. If people are going to work in the woods allwinter, and drive the river and work in the mills all summer, I shouldlike to know where the corn, hay, pork, and beef, to feed all thesepeople that grow nothing, is to come from. I wonder if the people thatstay at home and raise it won’t get a round price for it.”

  “I’ve thought of that,” said Ben. “I know that a great many fishermencome here for supplies, must have them, and no time to run after them,and will give whatever the men ask that bring them alongside.”

  “There’s another thing; this timber will be worth more every year itstands, because it will be growing scarce.”

  “O, Uncle Isaac, this is a great country; it won’t be till you and I,and our grandchildren, if we have any, are dead and gone.”

  “That’s true; and it ain’t true there’s no end to the timber in thecountry; but the timber that is directly on the shore, where a vesselcan go right to it, is growing scarce, more especially these big masts.The king’s commissioners scoured the sea-coast pretty well before thewar; and masts and spars on an island like this, with a good harbor,where they can be got to the ship’s tackles with little expense, will,in a few years, bear a great price; for if timber is plenty, labor isnot. Thank God, every one has enough to do; and it costs, I can tellyou, to bring timber down a river thirty miles, to what it does to rollit off the bank, as you can here.”

  “I see you are right; for I’m sure I don’t know of another island thatis timbered like this. Others have all been cut, and burnt over by thefishermen setting fires in the summer; about half the timber on theislands is burnt up by mere carelessness.”

  “You wouldn’t like to lose this brook--would you?”

  “Lose the brook! I’d as soon lose the island; it would not be worthmuch without the brook.”

  “Well, just as sure as you clear the middle ridge, and the north-eastend of the island where the springs are that feed it, and let the sunand wind in on the land, you’ll dry the brook.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “I don’t _think_ so--I _know_ so. There’s a brook runs through myfield. Long since I can remember it used to carry a saw-mill; but myfather and I cleared the land, and the people at the source of itcleared theirs, and now it’s dry all summer, and but a little water init early in the spring and late in the fall.”

  “I’m glad you told me this; you know I’m a sailor, and don’t know muchabout such matters. I hope you’ll never be mealy-mouthed, but speakjust as you think.”

  “I’m an ignorant man, and have never been to school, and over theworld, as you have; but I know about these sort of things, becauseI’ve either tried ’em, or seen other people try them; it’s jest myexperience.”

  When he had thus spoken he prepared to depart.

  “Do stay to dinner, Uncle Isaac,” said Sally.

  “It’s impossible; I ought to be at home this very minute; but Icouldn’t help coming over here and freeing my mind;” and, dropping hisoars into the water, he was in a moment round the eastern point.

  This conversation made a deep impression upon Ben; he looked upon theisland not merely as offering advantages for a living, but he loved it.All his ideas of beauty and sublimity were ingrafted upon these woodsand shores; from boyhood he had been accustomed to go there with hisfather. Often, in the lonely hours of the middle watch on the ocean,had memory painted the green foliage of the birches drooping over thehigh ledge.

  In many a black night of tempest, as he stood amid the pouring rainand flashing lightning, did his thoughts revert to that tranquil cove,reflecting from its bosom the overhanging rocks and trees, while thesunlight of a summer’s morning was glancing on the glossy breasts ofthe sea-ducks sporting in its calm waters.

  Standing upon the beach where he had parted with his friend, he lookedover the scene, and pictured to himself the middle ridge, shorn of itsgreen coronal of majestic forest, covered with blackened stumps and thecharred ruins of mighty trees. The interlacing network of tree-roots,ferns, and mosses of a thousand hues, that now adorned the rocks, burntoff, leaving them white and barren, and the bare bones of the soilsticking out. No shelter for fruit trees or crops, man or beast, andthe supply of water greatly diminished; the sweet music of the brookhushed, and the multitudes of hawks and herons, who, notwithstandingtheir harsh notes, could ill be spared, banished forever, and theisland left a shelterless rock in the ocean for the cold sea winds towhistle over.

  He found that Sally shared his feelings in the fullest extent, andtogether they resolved to submit to any privations, and make everypossible effort in order to save, at least, a good part of the forest.

  The axes now went merrily from daylight till dark. They made a workshopof the front part of the house, and in stormy days made staves andshingles, as there were many trees, which, after they were cut, provedto have a hollow in the butt, or were “konkus,” and, though notsuitable for spars, made good shingles. Sometimes an oak was in the wayof a road, which, cut, made staves.

  Ben, while privateering, had taken from a prize some fine rifles; twoof these he sold, and bought a large yoke of oxen, and hiring fourmore, he began to haul his spars to the beach. As the distance wasshort, and the ground in general descending, he did not wait for snow,but hauled the smallest spars on the bare ground, leaving the largemasts and bowsprits till the snow came. This was not so difficult asit might appear; for it is very different hauling in the woods fromdoing the same thing on a road. The ground was
in most places coveredwith a network of roots, strewn with leaves and frozen, and the sledslipped over these quite easily; besides, wherever there was a hardspot, or a hollow, they cut small trees, peeled the bark off, and putthem along the road for the sled to slip over, and thus, though theycould not move the largest sticks in this way, they got along as fastwith the others as though there was snow; for if they hauled smallerloads, having no snow to wade through, and no road to break, they wentthe oftener. Even when the snow came, his team was light to haul someof the biggest masts; but they made calculations take the place ofstrength, put rollers under the sticks, and helped the cattle with atackle.

  Thus they spent the winter. As the spring came on, how he longed toplough up the clear spot along the beach, to plant a few peas andpotatoes, or set out a currant bush or two in the warm sunny ground,under the high ledge, that every time he passed it seemed to say, “Doplant me, Ben.”

  How much more difficult it was to let the wild geese alone, that wereflying in vast flocks over his head! It made him half crazy to hear theguns of Uncle Isaac, John, and his father, who were letting into themright and left, as they went, bang, bang.

  It was not like the gunning nowadays, when a great lazy fellow goes allday to shoot a sandpiper or a sparrow; but there was profit as well assport in it. Nevertheless, he manfully resisted temptation, and pliedthe axe.

  “I’ll not live another spring without a gunning float,” said he to Joe,and dismissed the matter from his thoughts.

  “What fools we are!” said Joe; “we’ve not had a drink of sap yet.” Ashe spoke, he struck his axe with an upward blow into the body of a rockmaple, and stuck a chip in the gash; he then cut down a small hemlock,took off a length, and from it made a trough. The sap ran down the chipinto the trough, and in a few hours they had enough to drink.

  “How good that looks!” said Joe, as he got down on his hands and knees,and looked into the luscious liquid, as clear as crystal; “and it don’ttaste bad, neither.”

  The first thing Joe did the next morning was to visit the trough,expecting to find it full; but it was entirely empty.

  “It was half full when I left it, and it must have run fast; what afool I was I didn’t drink it all up! I know who’s got it,” cried he,as he noticed on a little patch of snow some tracks, that looked notunlike those made by the bare feet of little children, for they hadbeen enlarged by the thawing of the snow; “they are that coon’s wifeand children, that we killed when we were hewing timber. They will benice neighbors, Ben, when you come to plant corn here.”

  “I don’t care if they do eat a little corn; I want all the neighborsI can get. It will be first rate to know just where to go and get acoon when you want one. I shall be as well to do as the grand folksin England, and have my own game preserve; besides, if they gettroublesome, I can kill them all with Sailor in a week, on a place nolarger than this.”

  There was no vessel in that vicinity larger than a fisherman’s, or awood coaster. It required a vessel of larger size to carry such spars,and to have hired one from a distance would have eaten up a great partof their value. Determined at any risk to save a great part of theforest, he devised and executed a most audacious plan, that he mightrealize every dollar from the sale of his spars, by avoiding the greatexpense of transportation.

  With a cool daring and skill, perfectly characteristic, he rolled hismasts and spars on to the beach, where, by the help of the tide, hecould handle them as he pleased, and built them somewhat into the shapeof a vessel, securing the whole firmly together with cross-ties andtreenails. He then made a large oar to steer with, which no one buthimself could lift, that worked in a port, so that it could not slipout and float up. He then put a large timber across the stern, withdeep notches cut in it, to hold the oar in whatever direction he placedit, in order that he might be able to leave it, and go to other partsof the raft to attend to other matters. A mast had been already builtin when the raft was made; he bought an old mainsail that belonged toJohn Strout, made for the Perseverance, and put a cable, anchor, andboat-compass on board.

  “I must have a chance to make a cup of tea,” said Ben; “for I shall beup nights, as there’s only one in a watch.”

  They placed a large flat stone in the midst of the raft to buildthe fire on, and then made a fireplace with stones laid in clay,to prevent the wind from blowing the fire away from the kettle. Twocrotches were then placed each side of the fireplace, and a pole putacross to hang the tea-kettle on. Wood and water were now put on board;some dry eel-grass to lie down on; staves, shingles; and feathers, theresults of gunning at odd times; and the preparations for the voyagewere complete.

  “Ben,” said his wife, “Joe says you are going to Boston on that thingalone?”

  “I’m going to set out, Sally. I can tell you better when I come back,whether I get there or not.”

  “Suppose you should get blown off to sea, and never be heard fromagain.”

  “Suppose, what is more likely, I shouldn’t.”

  “Suppose the raft should come to pieces.”

  “Suppose it should stay together. We never shall save the woods, andthe beach, and all the pretty things, if it costs half the spars areworth to get them to market.”

  “Better lose the island than your life; what if there should come a bigsea, and wash you overboard?”

  “What, if when the angels were taking Elijah to heaven, they had lethim drop?”

  Perceiving he had fully made up his mind, she said no more, but quietlyset about preparing his food for the voyage. This was put under thecanoe, which was turned bottom up on the raft, and lashed.

  There were but four pieces of rope on the whole raft, for rope was highin those days: these were the cable, the canoe’s painter, and the sheetand halyards of the sail.

  The logs were lashed with withes, as also the canoe, water, and otherthings. These withes were of enormous strength, though stiff and hardto handle; for many of them were as thick as a man’s wrist, which Bentwisted as though they had been willow switches.

  Ben had not mentioned his plan to any one out of his own house, but,when the wind came in strong from the north-east, set sail just as thesun came up.

  The first proceeding of John Rhines at this time of year, when he gotout of bed, was to look out of his window, to see if there were anywild geese round that were anxious to be shot, that he might give thealarm to his father. No sooner did he espy the novel craft come outfrom the harbor, and proceed to sea, than going down stairs threesteps at a time, he shouted, “Father! father! see what this is!”

  “It is a raft, that has come down from the head of the bay, and isgoing over to Indian Creek Mill.”

  “But it came from Elm Island; I saw it.”

  “You thought it did; but it came down by it, and appeared to you tocome from it.”

  “No, father; it came right out of the harbor, for I saw it with my owneyes.”

  “Get the glass, John; that will tell the story.” Resting the glass onthe fence, he looked long and carefully. At length he said, “John,that’s your brother Ben on that raft. He’s got half an acre of spars,I verily believe--all they have cut this winter; well, he’s one of thekind to make a spoon or spoil a horn--always was.”

  “But where’s he going to?”

  “Boston, I expect; he’s steering that way, and is making first-rateheadway, too.”

  Forgetting all about his breakfast, John ran to Uncle Isaac’s, whileCaptain Rhines went in to tell the news to his wife.

  “Ben’s going to Boston on a raft!” he shouted; “O, come quick, or he’llbe out of sight!”

  They watched him from the hill, and then from the garret window, tillhe disappeared from view.

  “If the wind should come in fresh at north-west,” said Uncle Isaac, “nopower on earth could prevent his going to sea, and that would be theend of him;” but, noticing the look of anxiety upon John’s face, hesaid, “Come in and take breakfast with us, and then we’ll see what yourfather thinks about it.”

>   “Don’t you think Ben’s running a great risk?” asked Uncle Isaac ofCaptain Rhines.

  Now, Captain Rhines had never done much else, except to run risks, andtherefore was not particularly sensitive on that score.

  “It’s a risk, that’s certain; but then it’s a risk that’s well worththe running, to get such a tremendous raft of spars as that to market,as you may say, for nothing. The wind often holds easterly, this timeof year, a fortnight; it’s our trade-wind; he is going every bit offour knots. I’ll risk Ben; he’s one of the kind that always come ontheir feet. There’s not another man in the world that looks as bad ashe does, that would have got Sally Hadlock. Nobody else could havegot Elm Island from Father Welch. I have been trying to buy it of himthese twenty years; but he said it was his father’s before him, and hewouldn’t sell it, for he didn’t want to see it stripped; and he knew Iwould cut the timber off the first thing. No, I’ll risk Ben. Did I evertell you what a Yankee trick he served a British man-of-war, when hewas captain of a privateer?”

  “No; what was it? I didn’t know he ever was captain.”

  “Well, he never was, only in this way. Their captain was killed inaction with an armed merchantman; Ben, being lieutenant, took charge,and acted as captain the rest of the cruise. You see, they werecruising off the coast, to try and cut off some of the English supplyvessels, that were bringing provisions and ammunition to their armies,for our folks were mighty short of powder, and everything else, forthe matter of that. They were lying by in a thick fog--not a breathof wind--couldn’t see your hand before you; and when the fog liftedat sunrise, they were right under the guns of a fifty-gun ship, thatwas off there looking out for the expected transports. No squeak forthem. What does Ben do but strip off his clothes, get into his berth,and make the doctor bind his right leg and arm all up with splintersand bandages, as though they were broken, then bleed him, and put theblood over the wound, as though it had been done by a shot! John Stroutwas second mate; so he became first mate, or first lieutenant, whenBen took charge; you know he and Ben are like knife and fork--alwaystogether. The man-of-war put a prize captain and crew on board, and putBen’s crew in irons, and ordered her into New York. They took him outof his berth, and put him between decks with his men, which was justwhat he wanted, though he groaned and took on terribly when they weremoving him, it hurt him so; and the doctor said ’twas real barbarity tomove a patient in his condition.

  “The English in time of war were always short of seamen,--more so nowthan ever,--as they were fighting with us and France both; they had butfew men to spare for a prize crew; they took out part of Ben’s crew,and put the rest in irons; made a captain of an old quartermaster, withtwo midshipmen for lieutenants; gave them about a dozen seamen, andthree or four petty officers, thinking, as ’twas so short a run intoport, there was no great risk of their meeting any Yankee cruiser. Benknew very well there was no time to lose, and laid his plans with thedoctor for re-taking the vessel that very night. They apprehended butlittle trouble from the seamen, who were most of them pressed men; butthere were three marines to be got rid of,--one on the forecastle, andone at each gangway, and armed to the teeth. The doctor secured the keyof the arm-chest as soon after twelve o’clock as the watch, who camebelow, were well asleep. Ben took off the splints and bandages, andcrawling out of his hammock, wrenched the handcuffs from the wrists ofeight of his men.”

  “Who did he let loose?” said Uncle Isaac; “anybody I know?”

  “Yes; John Strout, and black Cæsar, who was the strongest man in thevessel, except Ben.”

  “I knew him; he was a slave to Seth Valentine, and he gave him hisliberty when the war broke out.”

  “And Calvin Merrithew, who was almost as stout; and Ed Griffin, brotherto Joe, who was killed afterwards, with Jack Manley, in the Leeprivateer. The rest of ’em didn’t belong round here.”

  “I heard something about it at the time, but never heard theparticulars. But were not these sailors armed?”

  “No; they don’t allow sailors arms when about their duty; the marinesdo all the guard duty; the sailors are only armed in time of action.The doctor had a dog, who got the end of his tail jammed off aday or two before, under the truck of a gun carriage. The men, fordeviltry, would touch it, to make him sing out; he got so at last,that if anybody pointed at it he would howl. They resolved to makethe howl of the dog, which was too common to attract attention, asignal for action. They dressed themselves in the hats and coats ofthe watch who had turned in, that they might be taken in the dark formen-o’-war’s-men. Cæsar went up the main hatch, passed the sentry onthe forecastle, and went into the head. As ’twas nothing uncommonfor men to come up in the night, the marine took no notice of ’em.Merrithew, Ed Griffin, and another, lay at the steps of the mainhatch, watching the marine there; Ben, John Strout, and the othersat the after hatch. The doctor, who went and came without question,pinched the dog’s tail, who instantly began to howl. Cæsar felled themarine with a blow of his fist, and flung him overboard; Merrithew,rushing upon the marine at the hatchway, whose attention was occupiedwith the noise on the forecastle, flung him head foremost into thehold, while the others put on the hatches and barred them down. Inthe mean time Ben, rushing upon the sentry in the gangway, flunghim against the lieutenant, who was pacing the deck, with such forceas to fell him senseless on the planks, while the doctor locked thecabin doors, and the rest barred down the after hatches, then, seizingthe boarding-pikes that were lashed to the main boom, joined theircomrades. The seamen made little or no resistance. A terrible noise andswearing were now heard aft; the prize captain, having got up on thecabin table, with his head out of the skylight, was screaming to knowwhy the doors were fastened, and what was the matter.

  “‘Come out here and see, my little man,’ said Ben, reaching down, andtaking him by both ears, he pulled him through the skylight, and sethim astride a gun.

  “‘Who are you?’ exclaimed the astonished commander.

  “‘This,’ said the doctor, ‘is the man with the broken leg; he’s gotwell; I never had a patient mend so rapidly.’”

  “I don’t think that was very civil treatment for a prisoner of war,”said Uncle Isaac.

  “It was tit for tat,” said Captain Rhines. “In the first of the warthe British frigates used to run our privateers down, and destroy allhands, and starve and maltreat our prisoners in their hulks; but theygot more civil in the last of it. I tell you, Ben would stick a mastinto Elm Island, and sail it to Boston, if he undertook it.”