Arthur Brown, The Young Captain

by Elijah Kellogg

  CHAPTER XIII.

  THE BASKET-MAKER.

  IT was a glad day to Ned, when he had so far recovered that thesurgeon, yielding to his solicitations, told him he might go on boardthe vessel, spend most of the day, and come back at night.

  The fisherman’s house was not far from the pier. Walter and Petersonmade a chair, by taking hold of each other’s wrists, and Ned, seated onit, with an arm round each of their necks, was taken on board.

  The weather was warm, and some blankets from Walter’s berth were spreadon the hen-coop, and a pillow placed so that Ned could lie down or situp, as he chose, see what was going on, and chat with his shipmates,who were all rejoiced to see him on board again. Peterson prepared hisdinner, but Ned wanted to eat with the rest, it seemed so much moresociable, having been compelled for so long a time to eat alone.

  It was just after dinner; Ned was sitting, propped up with pillows,the captain seated near by, watching him, when he noticed an old man,apparently over sixty years of age, in seaman’s dress, coming along thegangway plank. His hair, where it came outside his tarpaulin, was gray;he stooped very much, appearing feeble, and bore on his back a largenumber of articles manufactured of willows, and strung together by acord.

  Approaching the captain, he deposited the bundle on the deck, evidentlymuch fatigued, and asked, in English, if he would like to buy anyof his work—market-baskets, knife-baskets, table-mats, ladies’work-baskets, and many articles, merely ornamental, of superiorworkmanship and most beautifully stained.

  There was something in his whole demeanor that was both modest andprepossessing—quite the reverse of street-venders in general.

  “There,” said he, “is a market-basket that would be very handy on boardship; and here,”—producing a basket nearly square, and with partingsin it for tumblers,—“is an article that would be very convenient ona cabin table, or in a ship’s pantry. Many of my articles are made forvessels’ use, as I deal much with seafaring men.”

  Arthur Brown, who was of quick sympathies, was interested in the oldgentleman, and touched by seeing a man of his years, apparently infirm,thus employed, felt inclined to converse, especially as he spokeEnglish.

  “This is beautiful work,” he observed. “I have seen a great deal of itin England and Germany, where excellent work is made, but never anysuperior to this. You are surely master of your business.”

  “I should be, considering I have been at it for the greater part of mylife since I was twelve years old, and we have no knowledge that any ofour ancestors were ever anything but weavers of sallies,—that’s whatwe call the rods the baskets are made of.”

  “You seem infirm. Have you been sick?”

  “No, captain; I am worn down with wounds and hardships, but, most ofall, with a sore heart.”

  “Then you’ve been a soldier?”

  “No, sir; a sailor. I was born in Lincolnshire, England, in the fens.There my forefathers all lived and followed their trade. A happierman, sir, the sun never shone upon than myself. I had an affectionatewife,—a right godly woman, and thrifty,—and three children. Iemployed four, sometimes five men. My oldest child was a boy. He workedin the shop. We paid our rent easy, and were getting along nicely,when, in the midst of all this happiness, I was pressed, torn from myfamily, and put aboard a hulk. Wouldn’t you think, sir, that wouldbreak a man down?”

  “I should, indeed, my friend,” replied Captain Brown, greatly moved,“and I feel for you, from the bottom of my heart.”

  The tears were running down little Ned’s cheeks as he sat propped up onthe hen-coop.

  “It must have been long ago,” continued the captain.

  “Not so very long, sir. Only about ten years.”

  “Indeed!”

  “How old might you take me to be, sir?”

  “Sixty, or thereabouts.”

  “I am but forty-seven. Ought to be in my prime. But O, sir, to have awife and family, and be forever separated from them, in a strange land,and not know whether they are dead or alive, or whether they are indistress or not,—only to know that they are dead to you, and you tothem,—it keeps gnawing at the heart-strings.”

  “It must, indeed. But how did you get clear from the navy?”

  “It was near the close of the American war. The frigate I belongedto was in action with a French seventy-four. I was wounded and flungoverboard for dead. The cold water revived me, and I clung to thewreck of our spars, which were shot away. The French vessel won thebattle, being a much heavier ship. I was picked up, brought ashore atToulon, and lay a long time in the hospital, wishing for death; butI recovered, and since then have, though feeble, made a living by mytrade. The people here are very kind.”

  “What is your name, my friend?”

  “Bell—John Bell, sir.”

  “Why, that is the name of the man who built this vessel, and is partowner.”

  “Indeed, sir, I hope he is a happier man than I am.”

  “He is a happy man, and deserves to be, for he tries to make othershappy.”

  The captain bought a good many articles of the basket-maker, and thensent him forward among the crew, who purchased so largely that thereremained but very little to carry away. Peterson bought a work-basketfor Captain Rhines’s wife, and Enoch Hadlock another for old Mrs. Yelf.

  Walter was away, for, as he could speak French, the captain had senthim to make some purchases for him. Walter, indeed, had plenty ofbusiness in this way, being spokesman for all hands.

  The captain insisted upon the basket-maker stopping to supper; butsomething in his appearance prevented him from offering him money as agift,—he felt it might wound his feelings,—but he gave him a cordialinvitation to come on board and eat or sleep, whenever his businessled him in that direction. The next night, when Walter went over tosee Ned, he mentioned the circumstance of the basket-maker’s coming onboard, showed him his purchases, and told him he was an Englishman, andthat his name was Bell. This excited Walter’s curiosity. He inquiredfurther about it, and Ned, who had been deeply touched by the man’spitiful story, repeated the whole conversation between him and thecaptain, word for word. When he concluded, Walter sat for a fewmoments, with his hands clasped over his knees, as though striving torecall something.

  At length he said, “Ned Gates, as sure as you are lying on that bed,the basket-maker is our Charlie Bell’s father.”

  “Charlie Bell’s father?” said Ned, sitting bolt upright, and thenscreaming at the twinge the effort occasioned, because of his wound.

  “Yes, Charlie Bell’s father.”

  “But the man is an Englishman.”

  “So is Charlie Bell.”

  “I never knew that before.”

  “He was an English boy; came to Elm Island as poor as he could be, withsome bad men,—but he didn’t know they were bad when he started,—thatcame to rob; but they came to the wrong place, for Lion Ben most killed‘em, kept the boy, and brought him up. I’ve heard our Joe and Mr.Williams tell about it a thousand times.”

  “What if it should turn out to be so?”

  “I tell you it is so; I’m certain sure it is. His father was abasket-maker, and was pressed; I heard Mr. Williams say so; and whenthey were boys, Charlie, Mr. Bell, and John Rhines used to makebaskets, and Mr. Williams sold ‘em at the mill; and when I first wentto tend store for him, there were some of ‘em in the store.”

  “If your Joe or Mr. Williams were only here, we could ask them, andknow all about it.”

  “Yes, Joe, they said, used to live on Elm Island half the time beforehe was married. I remember another thing Joe said.”

  “What is that?”

  “He said he made baskets of willows, and colored them red, blue, andgreen, real handsome, and said that was the way they did in England.”

  “But the basket-maker said, if I remember right, that it was about tenyears ago, and that his son was large enough to work in the shop atlight work. O, Walter, wouldn’t I be glad, and wouldn’t the captain beglad (when Mr. Bell saved our l
ives), to be the means of taking hisfather home to him?”

  “Don’t you think somebody else would be glad too, you little monkey,you?”

  “The boys didn’t sleep much that night, having worked each other up tosuch a state of excitement. In the morning Walter went on board, fullof the news, and opened the whole matter to the captain, who was asmuch astonished as Ned; being entirely ignorant of the antecedentsof Charlie, he supposed him a native of the country. After patientlylistening with the deepest interest to all that Walter had to say, heacknowledged that the probabilities were very strong, but, much lesssanguine, did not express a very decided opinion.

  “He said he had a wife and three children,” observed the captain; “whatbecame of them? were they ever at Elm Island?”

  Walter had never heard them mentioned; but he was very young whenCharlie came to Elm Island, and might not have heard half thatoccurred. Captain Brown turned the matter over in his mind, andconversed with Walter, who daily recollected some fresh corroboratingcircumstance, till at length he determined, the next time thebasket-maker came on board, to broach the matter to him, even at therisk of exciting unfounded hopes. Day after day they expected hisappearance; but he came not. Walter searched the streets and piers, butin vain.

  The time of year now drew on when periodical gales were expected, andthe vessel would be likely to go to sea.

  “He may be sick, Walter,” said Ned; “for he looked pale and half sickthe day he was aboard.”

  “He may be dead,” said Walter; “and we never should know it, in thisgreat city. I wish I had seen him; if he was Charlie Bell’s father, Icould tell; I know I could see something of the look.”

  “I saw, when he pulled his hat off,” said Ned, “that his hair, where itwas not gray, is the same color as Charlie’s.”