Ben, Jr., tries his Goad.—Page 78.

ELM ISLAND STORIES.
BY
REV. ELIJAH KELLOGG.

HARDSCRABBLE
JOHN ANDREW—SON
LEE & SHEPARD BOSTON.

ELM ISLAND STORIES.

THE
HARD-SCRABBLE
OF
ELM ISLAND.
BY
REV. ELIJAH KELLOGG,
AUTHOR OF “LION BEN OF ELM ISLAND,” “CHARLIE BELL OF ELM ISLAND”,
“THE ARK OF ELM ISLAND,” “THE BOY FARMERS OF ELM
ISLAND,” “THE YOUNG SHIP-BUILDERS
OF ELM ISLAND,” ETC.
ILLUSTRATED.
BOSTON:
LEE AND SHEPARD.
1871.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870,
By LEE AND SHEPARD,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

ELECTROTYPED AT THE
BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY,
19 Spring Lane.

PREFACE.

This volume of the series finds the boys entering upon manhood. Already, by integrity and energy, have they secured the respect and confidence of their employers and the community.

Isaac at sea, John behind the anvil, Fred in trade, and Charlie in the shipyard. Fired by the success of Lion Ben, and the spirit of enterprise abroad, among a people who, having burst the shackles of arbitrary power, were leaping forward, with long strides, in pursuit of wealth, knowledge, and power, they resolve to build a vessel. When, by severe toil, and all manner of make-shifts, they have completed the hull, their means fail. Roused by necessity to still greater efforts, they weave the canvas for the sails in household looms, betake themselves to the depths of the forest, there spend an entire winter hunting and trapping. When the spring opens, they build canoes of bark, and return by water, unloading their furs, and carrying their canoes round the rapids, thus obtaining sufficient to accomplish their purpose.

So severe and protracted has been the conflict, they call their vessel the Hard-Scrabble.

She arrives at Martinique during the contest occasioned by the French revolution; war prices are obtained for the cargo, affording a most ample return. The property thus acquired is used to create business for the benefit of the community.

ELM ISLAND STORIES.

CONTENTS.

THE
HARD-SCRABBLE OF ELM ISLAND.

CHAPTER I.
INSTINCT TRIUMPHANT.

We took leave of our young friends at the close of the previous volume as they separated, John to return to the blacksmith’s shop at Portland, Charlie to the ship-yard at Stroudwater, while Fred Williams remained in his store, which was in one part of his father’s mill.

On Elm Island, Lion Ben was recovering from a severe sickness, through which he had passed without any other attendance than that of his wife, or medicine save those simple remedies which nature and experience had taught our mothers, or had been learned from the red man.

As Ben was not reduced by bleeding or purgatives,—the mode of medical practice prevalent in those days,—he gained strength rapidly after the first few weeks, soon being able to go about the house, and at length to extend his excursions to the workshop and barn.

He soon discovered that the partridges were missing; and upon asking Sally, she told him she remembered having seen them a week before, but had been so much occupied since that she had not given any attention to them.

“Then they are gone,” replied Ben; “some owl or hawk has carried them off.”

“I don’t believe they would go of their own accord,” said Sally; “they seemed just as tame and contented as the rest. Perhaps the coons have got them. There are no skunks or foxes on the island.”

“That’s it. I’m sorry, because Charlie will feel bad about it.”

A few days after, Ben went out quite early in the morning to the barn, and instantly returning, called Sally to the door, and told her to stand still and listen.

Soon a sound was heard in the woods, like that of distant thunder.

“Do you hear that noise, Sally?”

“Yes; what is it?”

“It is one of Charlie’s partridges drumming. They have taken to the woods. Uncle Isaac said they would, but I didn’t believe it. It’s all the better; they will breed, and fill the island full in a few years, and get their own living. Charlie will be glad of it, for he will have them to shoot.”

“But won’t they fly away?”

“No; it’s too far from the main land. They can’t fly but a little way before they have to light. Thus we shall have coons, partridges, and gray squirrels grow at our own door.”

“How nice it will be for Charlie to have all these things right on the island! He loves dearly, after supper, when he has done a good day’s work, to go shooting. How much better it would be, when he was tired and had not much time, to be able to find game here, instead of pulling three or four miles to some ledge or island!”

“Yes, this island is so large, we might have almost anything, except wolves, bears, and foxes; we shouldn’t want them.”

“Ben, what are you going to do with the corn-house that Charlie made? You don’t want two corn-houses.”

“I thought, when I was able, I would cut off the legs, and make a pigsty of it. ’Twould make a capital one. He needn’t have set it up on posts. There are no mice here; but I suppose he thought he must make it just like Uncle Isaac’s.”

“I never would make a pigsty of it in this world, it is so handsome. Charlie took so much pains with it, and was so proud of it when he got it done. Give it to me.”

“What do you want of it?”

“O, I want to keep flax and yarn there in the summer, and perhaps put the loom there.”

“Well, I’ll stop up the openings left to air the corn, and you may have it.”

CHAPTER II.
“I’LL GIVE HIM QUICKSILVER.”

The partial reformation in James Welch, to which his father referred in the conversation with Captain Rhines, already narrated, proved to be, like too many of those delusive hopes to which fond parents cling as drowning men to straws, void of foundation; and the father, driven to extremity, and perceiving at length that much of the criminal conduct of the son lay at the door of his own indulgence, determined to use sharper measures.

He informed James that he must go to Elm Island for the summer, there struggle with his habits, in the absence of outward temptation, or leave his house forever; that his mother, utterly discouraged, had come to the same conclusion.

James Welch, who, on the 15th of June, came to Elm Island, and became an inmate of Ben’s family, was a young man of superior general ability, remarkable business talent, fine appearance, affectionate, generous disposition, although of hasty temper, and exceedingly attractive in his manners.

He was passionately fond of all out-door recreations; but a drunkard at two-and-twenty. He proved a great accession to the society on Elm Island, being an excellent singer, fond of children, and rare company for Bennie, who was lonely enough without Charlie. They all enjoyed themselves finely, sitting on the door-stone at twilight, and singing together.

It was difficult even for Ben, but especially for Sally, to credit the stories they had heard of him.

As his father had predicted, the first time he came in contact with Uncle Isaac, he conceived a liking for him, which continually increased.

He soon learned to manage a boat; and Captain Rhines let him take his, and keep her at the island, although he took the precaution, unknown to Welch, to cut her sails down.

He would take this boat, and go over to Uncle Isaac’s Point; if he was working, off coat, and help him, in order that Uncle Isaac might be able to fish or hunt with him.

He was naturally of a mechanical turn, and would amuse himself in the shop with the tools. Indeed, he was, with one exception, universally liked. He could not make friends with Tige, and never dared to go to Captain Rhines’s in the evening. With Sailor and Uncle Isaac’s Watch he was a sworn friend; but Tige would have nothing to do with him, and it was by no means safe to force attentions upon Tige.

His attenuated limbs became round and plump with muscle; his haggard cheeks began to crimson; his step regained the elasticity, and his eye the fire, of youth, which seemed forever to have departed.

Uncle Isaac said he was as fine-looking and good-hearted a fellow as ever the sun shone upon.

He learned, after upsetting several times, to manage the birch. Uncle Isaac permitted him to keep her at the island. Thus he had two boats, and when it was calm, would take her, paddle over to the main, and up the river, following all its windings. In one of these excursions, he discovered Pleasant Cove. Enraptured with the beauty of the spot, he carried his canoe around the fall, and paddled up the brook into the pond.

“Ben,” said he, on his return, “I have known people spend thousands of dollars to make a beautiful place, and not obtain anything half so fine as the place I have seen to-day. I mean to ask father to buy it. Would Charlie sell it?”

“When he sells himself,” replied Sally. “Besides, there’s another party as much attached to it as he is.”

“Well, I mean to sketch it, at any rate.”

Matters went on thus pleasantly for some time. James would often start off, taking a luncheon, fishing-lines, cooking utensils, and be gone a day or two, sometimes longer, camping in the woods, sleeping at Captain Rhines’s or Uncle Isaac’s, just as it happened. Sometimes the first thing they would know of him, he would make his appearance at the breakfast-table, having come across in the night.

His parents, who were informed of his good doings by Captain Rhines, and especially of his friendship with Uncle Isaac, with that parental credulity ever prone to catch at the shadow of a hope, were greatly encouraged.

“No one,” wrote his father, in reply, “could like Uncle Isaac so well as I know he does unless there was some good in them, and some hope of them.”

Captain Rhines shook his head. He had seen, in a life spent at sea, too much of the strength of the appetite for liquor to leap at conclusions.

One morning after breakfast, as Ben was going to the field, he saw James, as they now called him, paddling out of the cove in the birch. Two days after, about ten o’clock in the forenoon, Uncle Isaac espied from his point the birch half way over to Elm Island. She was apparently empty, drifting down the bay with the tide.

He waited a while, and seeing no one coming after her, took his boat, and pulled off, when he found James Welch flat on his back in the bottom of her, and an empty bottle beside him. He was completely stupefied with liquor. It appeared afterwards that he had gone along shore gunning, camped a night in the woods, and the next afternoon came upon some men who were making potash, and well provided with liquor. They offered him some. This awoke the slumbering appetite. He bought a bottle, and kept drinking. Through the aid of that Providence which seems to watch over drunkards, he made out to get into the birch, and push off, when becoming helpless, the tide was drifting him to sea. Uncle Isaac, with a sad heart, towed the birch, with its occupant, to the island. Ben took him up in his arms, carried him to the house, and laid him on the bed.

Sally, who had felt greatly encouraged, was affected to tears.

“Stop to dinner, Uncle Isaac.”

“I’ll stop and rest, and cool off, Benjamin; but as for eating, this thing has taken away all my appetite.”

“I’m sorry for his poor parents; but I’m afraid it’s no use.”

“O, Ben, it’s too much! It’s more than I can bear to see so fine a young fellow go to ruin right before my eyes! We’ve done all that can be done in the way of counsel, coaxing, and kindness. I mean to give him a dose of quicksilver.”

When James Welch recovered his senses, his reflections were most harrowing. Having formed a strong and healthy attachment to Ben and his family, he was deeply mortified when he reflected upon the exhibition he had made of himself before them. But he was, most of all, attached to Uncle Isaac, and loved him with all his heart. How he got back to the island, whether Uncle Isaac knew what had taken place, were questions he could not solve, and was too proud to ask.

He went to the cove. The birch was there. He then concluded that Ben went in search of and picked him up; that Uncle Isaac knew nothing about it, and had half a mind to go over and see him; but he was by no means sure that Ben would permit it. His pride inclined him to remain where he was, rather than ask or attempt to go and be prevented. Ben had not made the most distant allusion to his conduct; but he saw he kept his eye on him, and knew he was in the hands of a giant.

He wandered over the island a day or two, miserable enough, and for the first time in his life really sorry for his acts. While in this state of suspense and misery, uncertain whether he was a prisoner or not, Uncle Isaac came to the island, apparently as cordial as ever, and invited him to go after fowl. The invitation was most joyfully accepted, and they set out. He now felt sure that Uncle Isaac was ignorant of all that had taken place; but he was soon undeceived.

They killed a few birds; then went to Pleasant Cove, and landing, sat down to rest beneath the birches at Cross-root Spring, when Uncle Isaac, in a kind but commanding tone, said,—

“James, I was at work last Tuesday forenoon on the eend of my p’int, and happening to look off in the bay, I saw the birch drifting about. Going to see what was the matter, found you dead drunk in the bottom of her. Don’t you feel ashamed of yourself?”

The fiery temper of the young man was roused in an instant by this blunt question. Forgetting the usual urbanity of his manners, and the deference he always paid to his friend, he exclaimed,—

“What concern is that to you? I should like to know what business you have to go nosing round after me, watching my proceedings?”

“The birch was mine. I had a perfect right, and it was my duty, to look after my own property when I saw it adrift and likely to go to sea. It is, moreover, the duty of every one who loves his neighbor to give seasonable advice, and even to reprove, in a kind spirit, a young man who is ruining himself, bringing disgrace upon his friends, and setting a bad example to those who have had fewer privileges.”

“Murch, you ignorant, meddlesome old codger you! Because I have permitted you some liberties, you presume on my condescension to insult me. But,” he replied, with an awful oath, “I’ll make you know your place! I’ll trample you under my feet!”

“Please not swear in my presence, young man. It’s wrong, and hurts my feelings. I am indeed ignorant, as you say, having had but few privileges; but I certainly have the advantage of you in one thing. I have made the best use I know how of the few a kind Providence has given me. Neither am I a pauper, swearer, drunkard, or thief.”

“This to me, you old villain!” exclaimed Welch, leaping to his feet, with both fists clinched, and livid with passion. “Take every word of that back, and humbly ask my pardon, or I’ll beat you like a dog.”

A quiet smile played over the features of Uncle Isaac, as he replied, “I do love to see a mud-puddle in a squall.”

Pulling a bulrush out of a clump that grew beside the spring, he flung it across one of the enormous roots of the birch that towered above them.

“You speak of beating me, young man. What that rush is to this birch would you be in my hands. You have drunk too much liquor to have any strength, even if you was made for it, which you are not. Just open these fists, which look more like potato-balls than anything else. Sit down on that flat rock, and listen to what I have to say, or I shall be tempted to call you a fool, which is contrary to Scripture. ‘A little pot soon biles over.’ If I had no more government over myself than you have, I should set you on your head in this spring, when you would probably die by water, which is a much more respectable death than the one you seem to be preparing yourself for.”

“I will leave you, at any rate,” replied Welch, in a much more subdued tone; for he now bethought himself that he was in the woods, miles from any human being, and entirely in the power of a man whom he had most grossly insulted and threatened, and whose forbearance he might well distrust.

“No, you won’t, except you can outrun a man who has run down a bull-moose more than once or twice. Did you hear me tell you to sit down?”

This was spoken in a tone so peremptory that Welch obeyed at once, trembling with passion and fear. James Welch was the idol of his parents, and with an overweening affection by no means uncommon, they had injured him by indulgence.

Uncle Isaac, with that instinctive discernment of character that can neither be learned nor taught, had become aware of this. He had also, during their long and familiar intercourse, obtained an accurate knowledge of his character; as he would have phrased it, “knew just how much of sound wood there was in him to nail to.”

In view of the estimate thus formed, he had resolved, as he told Ben, to give him quicksilver. This was a metaphoric term for stringent measures, borrowed by Uncle Isaac from the practice of physicians in his day, who were accustomed, in severe cases of stoppage, where life was at stake, to give quicksilver, which, by its weight, was sure to force a passage, either by the ordinary channel, in which event the patient recovered, or through the walls of the intestines, when death was the result. Thus it became a synonyme for “kill or cure.”

“I have said,” he continued, addressing his involuntary listener, “that you are a profane swearer and a drunkard. You have sworn in my presence. I found you drunk in my birch, and it is well known that these are your customary habits. You are also a pauper. All property, everything that goes to support life, in these parts, of any amount, comes by the hard work of somebody,—either bone labor or brain labor,—the labor of those who now possess it, or of those from whom they inherited it. That, I take it, you can’t deny, though you’ve been to school and I ’aint. If a great, stout, hearty feller, able to work, should go about the country, eating the bread and wearing the clothes somebody else earned, sleeping in the beds and warmed by the fires that others provided, I take it there wouldn’t be much doubt he was a pauper. That’s just the way with you. You have eaten your three meals a day ever since you was born, and never earned one—no, not the salt that seasoned them. That makes you out to be a pauper, and it’s only your father that keeps you off the town. Everybody who lives in society is bound to do something for the society in which he lives—to help bear its burden, and return something for the benefits he receives from his neighbor, and be a man among men. If he don’t do it, he’s not one whit better than a thief, because he takes from the common stock, eats up what ought to go to those who ain’t able to earn it, and he makes no return to society for what he draws. That’s just what you are doing. You are useless, which seems to me to be the meanest of all things, just about as bad as being a drunkard or thief. You are not of so much account as one of the clams in these flats, or one of the frogs in this spring, for they answer the end of their existence, and get an honest living, which you don’t. Your father and mother begun the world with nothing but their heads and hands; and your father, moreover, had to support your grandfather after his misfortune, and pay his debts; but by industry, good principles, and the blessing of God on their labor, they have got together a large property, and bear nobly their share of the burdens of society. They have spent—I would say, thrown away—a mint of money on you; given you the best of larning, the best of opportunities to go into business, do for yourself and others, make something of yourself, and be looked up to; but here you are at two-and-twenty years of age. You’ve done nothing, you’re good for nothing, and are going to the devil as fast as you can. Look at Charlie Bell. He came to Elm Island a poor, ragged orphan. See what he’s made of himself. Talk about beating me! He could lay you on your back faster than you could get up. Look at Fred Williams. His father and mother never knew how to treat a child, always hectoring and fretting him; and now that his father is poorly, and can do but little, that boy is at work from daylight till dark, tending mill and store, making fish, and seeing to the whole family; while you are lazing round here, and can’t be trusted with yourself, spending money you never earned a dollar of, and killing the best of parents by inches. Look at John Rhines. Yes, there’s a case in pint. Look at that boy. He might have staid at home, worked or played, laid abed or got up, as he liked; for his father is indulgent, and as well off as yours, considering the small expense at which he lives, and that he hasn’t got a reprobate son to break his heart, and spend his hard earnings. There he is, larning a blacksmith’s trade; up early and late, sweating at the anvil. He scorns to live on his father and grandsir’s substance. Yes, and I may say your grandsir, for Elm Island stood in his name, though he would have lost it shortly, for the mortgage had nearly eaten it up, when your father, from his own earnings, cleared it. Yes, and took care of your grandsir in his old age. When your father is in his grave, which will be shortly unless you turn over a new leaf, you will be living on what he leaves, gnawing the bones of the dead—a business that I never knew any dumb cretur to foller for a living but a wolf. When you die, you’ll be no more missed than yonder dead limb on that leaning beech. Now, if you ain’t the smallest, pitifulest consarn there is round here, I should like to know who is. There’s another thing to be thought of, young man. Where God has given great capacity and great privileges, there’s great accountability; there’s Holy Scripture for that. You may see the time that you will wish you had been born a fool, or not born at all. Come, it’s time we were going.”

Welch uttered not a word in reply, or on the way home.

“What have you done to him?” asked Ben, astonished at the appearance of Welch.

“Given him quicksilver, and it’s my opinion ’twill either kill or cure. I do hope he’ll rally, for I love the young man, though I felt it my duty to speak quite plain to him. Indeed, I spoke quite plain to him. He feels bad, Benjamin—all mixed up, half crazy. We must let him sweat in his grease. I shouldn’t wonder if he had a strong craving to drown trouble in liquor. I think you had better keep him on the island for a day or two.”

When James Welch got out of the boat, he would have killed Uncle Isaac if he could. O, how he wished he had the strength of Ben! But God generally gives great strength, and a mild temper in connection with it, to those who know how to use it.

He declined coming to the supper-table, saying he was unwell, and shutting himself in his room, paced the floor till midnight, half demented. At length there came over him a craving for liquor, that he might escape from himself in the delirium or stupor of intoxication. He knew the men who were making potash had half a barrel of New England rum in their camp, and went to the shore resolved to go after some; but Ben had hauled the boats so far up on the grass-ground that he was unable to launch any of them.

Foiled in this, he bathed his burning forehead in sea-water, and sat down on the rocks of the eastern point, beneath the light of the stars.

No sound disturbed the night, save the low, peculiar murmur of the tide, as it crept around the foot of the cliff. The first paroxysm of passion had passed away. He recalled the stinging truths to which he had so unwillingly listened. They no longer excited his anger, but appeared to him in a very different light. His ingratitude to his parents assumed a new aspect when presented by another, and touched him to the heart. He could no longer doubt that Uncle Isaac had faithfully portrayed the estimation in which he was held by the community at large.

No part of the conversation had touched him so nearly, or cut so deep, as the parallel instituted between himself and John Rhines. So completely was he absorbed in thought, that the flowing tide wet him to the knees unperceived.

In that still midnight hour, on the ocean cliff, the better nature of James Welch won the victory.

“Uncle Isaac is right,” he said. “I have been a drunkard, swearer, pauper, and thief. But from this hour I am so no more.”

The gray light of morning was breaking, as, utterly exhausted in mind and body, he flung himself upon the bed, and sank into a profound sleep. The next day Ben noted the change, and, surprised by his offering to help him about his work, shoved the boats into the water. In the course of the week, James took the boat, and told Ben he was going over to see Uncle Isaac. Before he had fairly cleared the harbor, Ben entered the house at a rate so unusual—for he was generally quite moderate in his motions—and a face so replete with joyful emotions, that Sally instantly exclaimed,—

“Why, Ben, what has happened?”

“The best thing that could happen. James has gone over to Uncle Isaac’s.”

“Glory to God! He’s all right, or he never would do that.”

James and Uncle Isaac came back together in the afternoon, and before night there was another auger-hole in the great maple.

Mr. Welch soon received a letter from his son, telling him all that had transpired, and asking permission to come home and go to work.

“Blessed be God!” exclaimed the delighted father. “My last days are going to be my best days.”

The reform proved permanent. James Welch became a partner with his father, and assumed the position for which his abilities qualified him. In after years, he often visited the spot where this singular scene was enacted, and the fountain was ever after, by universal consent, called Quicksilver Spring. In process of time the first syllable was dropped, and many who are familiar with Silver Spring are ignorant of the circumstances from whence it derived its present name.

CHAPTER III.
THE BOYS CATCH THE SPIRIT OF THE AGE.

After the departure of James Welch, nothing worthy of note occurred to disturb the quiet enjoyment of life on Elm Island.

Upon Ben’s recovery in the spring, he had hired Robert Yelf for the summer.

Ben, Jr., who now began to manifest as great a capacity for work as he had heretofore evinced for mischief, made himself extremely useful. He assumed the entire charge of the hens, ducks, geese, and turkeys. In the spring he had dropped corn and potatoes, and assisted in planting the garden. He pulled up weeds, carried in wood and chips for his mother, brought up the cows at night, and drove them to pasture in the morning.

After haying, Ben and Yelf finished and rigged the scow, which he had begun before he was taken sick, and built a wharf in the cove, with an inclined platform, over which cattle could be driven to or from the scow. They also built a boat to take the place of the Perseverance, Jr., from Charlie’s moulds, which was an easy matter, as the work was all laid out.

When corn was in the milk, Sally Merrithew ventured to marry Joe Griffin, who had been on probation since he nearly finished Uncle Smullen. Joe built his log house in the midst of a burn, where he had planted corn and sowed wheat in the spring. Ben gave Sally a cow and Captain Rhines a pig to begin housekeeping with, and Ben continued to pasture her sheep on Griffin’s Island, as Joe had no land cleared for pasturing sheep, and they were safe from the wolves on that island. Elm Island gradually improved in beauty as Ben ploughed and removed the stumps; and the fruit trees in the new soil increased rapidly in size.

Amid these quiet occupations and enjoyments, interspersed with tramps in the woods, bear-hunts and gunning expeditions with Uncle Isaac, the autumn, winter, and succeeding summer glided rapidly away.

Very different was the appearance of Elm Island, with its comfortable and roomy buildings, broad fields covered with crops, now fast ripening to the harvest, and vocal with the lowing of kine and the song of birds, from its appearance the morning that Uncle Isaac and Joe Griffin landed on the beach, and startled the herons from their nests with the sound of the axe and the crash of falling trees. Great as was the change that had taken place on Elm Island, it was trifling in comparison with that which obtained in respect to the country at large.

Then it was a period of general poverty and distress, although money was made by individuals through superior energy, tact, and the irregularities then existing in trade, and the intercourse of nations,—Ben and his father being among the fortunate ones.

Then there was neither revenue nor power to collect any; the country oppressed with debt, and no means to pay the old government under which the war of the revolution had been fought—a rope of sand—and no confidence in any quarter. The states were deluged with importations of all kinds—French gewgaws, English broadcloths, iron, cordage, and duck from Russia and Sweden—which people who had any means or credit were but too much inclined to buy, despite the efforts made by the government to discourage it, and encourage home manufacture.

But now the Federal government was established, and Washington at its head, with power to form treaties of amity and commerce, lay duties and imposts; the national debt funded, affording an opportunity for safe and profitable investments; and banks were established. The spirit of the country was up, and rose with a bound over all obstacles, ready to grapple with any odds.

Nowhere was the exhilarating influence of the times more eagerly responded to than in the District of Maine,—with a vast extent of sea-coast, and to a great degree aquatic population, and the town of Portland in particular, then but recently arisen from its ashes after its bombardment by the British, and incorporated, with an unrivalled harbor, a back country almost one unbroken forest of timber of all kinds, for which there was an abundant demand at high prices in Europe and the West Indies, with extensive water-power for its manufacture; vast quantities of ship-timber, with mechanics both native and imported; and a population whose energies were then, and have continued to be, equal to every demand made upon them.

This town was among the first to avail itself of, and profit by, these altered circumstances. Mills were going up on every waterfall, wharves building, distilleries erecting, the keels of vessels laid, and the roads thronged with teams dragging the masts, spars, and boards to the place of shipment. Mails were established, and a newspaper published. It is easy to perceive what effect these new excitements must make upon boys so impressible as Charlie and John, at work in the midst of such scenes. They read the Cumberland Gazette, which Mr. Starrett took; also the Columbian Centinel, printed at Boston, which he borrowed from one of his neighbors; a Portsmouth paper, which was sent to a Portsmouth man who worked in the shop. They listened with sharp ears to every word of the excited conversation that occurred within their hearing, in that stirring period, when the state of Europe, its politics, its markets, the troubles in France, and their bearing upon the prosperity of America, became subjects of discussion, and were every whit as much interested as the actual participants, and, when they were alone, talked over all they had heard between themselves.

John was now working as a journeyman, and received four-and-six a day. Charlie found an excellent employer in Mr. Foss, who instructed him by every method in his power, and put him on the best work, as he found that he was capable of doing it, and also increased his wages.

Fishing, too, had received the same impulse as other pursuits, not merely by reason of the increased market for fish, and increased facilities for carrying them to foreign parts, but also in consequence of a bounty granted by the government. And Fred Williams, who, to his traffic in fish and groceries, had added the buying of potash, beef, and pork, was steadily acquiring.

As the country became cleared, great numbers of cattle were raised, and salted beef found a ready market in the West Indies for the use of the slavers.

Potash was in great demand in Europe. Fred was able to barter goods for potash, sell it in Boston at a large advance, and thus make a double profit—making more in that way than by all his other traffic.

Charlie, finding that the price of land was rising, sent word to Uncle Isaac to purchase enough more of the heavy pine growth abutting on the back part of his lot to make, with what he already had, four hundred acres; but Uncle Isaac bought the whole lot, and informed Charlie he might have of him, at the price he gave, enough to make out his four hundred acres. Charlie also bought Birch Island of the state, as he did not relish the idea of being a squatter; and the whole island, containing six acres of first-rate land, covered with a heavy growth of birch, an excellent harbor, and a noble spring of water, cost him only nine shillings. But in those days land on a small island like that was but lightly valued, while birch wood was not considered worth thanking God for.

“Charlie,” said John, in one of those confidential interviews that generally occurred on Saturday night, “couldn’t you build a vessel now?”

“I don’t know but I could. I lined up the Freebooter, while Mr. Foss was laying the keel of another vessel.”

“What is the reason we couldn’t build a vessel? I know I could do the iron-work.”

“I suppose we might do the work if somebody would find the money. It takes a heap of money to build a vessel and fit her for sea.”

“But couldn’t we build one, take time enough, and sell her just as you do the boats—without rigging her?”

“I’ll tell you what we might do.”

“What?”

“Build one, take our own time for it,—I’ve got timber enough on my land to build and load ever so many,—then keep a part of her, and sell the rest; put our work, my timber, and what little money we could muster, against somebody else’s money.”

“Yes, we could do that; but I should much rather have her to ourselves,—say you, and I, and Fred.”

“We might go to work, cut the timber, and set up a vessel, get her along as far as our means would allow, then let her stand till we could earn more. But we should want a captain.”

“That is true; and perhaps Seth Warren or Sydney Chase might take a part, and go in her.”

“Yes, that would be a quarter apiece.”

“Charlie, I heard Captain Pote say, in this very house last Saturday night, that if anybody could get a load of lumber to the West Indies, at the right time, he could make enough to build another vessel.”

“How much do you suppose it costs to build a vessel?”

“I don’t know; the rigging and sails are the most. You can build the hull very cheap, so that she will last a little while without much iron fastening; but you must have good rigging and sails, or else you are liable to lose vessel and cargo.”

“How much?”

“I know Mr. Foss built a vessel for Weeks and Tucker, hull and spars, and found everything, for fifteen dollars a ton, delivered at Pearson’s breast-work, in Portland.”

“Fifteen hundred dollars for the hull and spars of a vessel of a hundred tons?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m sure we could build a sloop of fifty.”

“But a sloop of fifty tons wouldn’t be of any use to carry such bulky cargoes as boards, spars, ton-timber, and molasses, which is what we must do.”

“Ye-e-e-e-s.”

Here the conversation came to an abrupt termination by Charlie’s falling asleep.

CHAPTER IV.
NEWS FROM HOME.

As the summer was drawing to a close, the evenings grew longer, and these conversations were renewed from time to time, as the boys were excited by hearing of some great slap made by an enterprising captain, or some smuggler making a fortune in one or two trips to Havana. Captain Starrett, the brother of John’s master, was an inveterate smuggler. The house was resorted to by seafaring men, masters and mates, and the boys had abundant opportunities to gain information in respect to voyages and profits.

Both Mr. Foss and Mr. Starrett owned a small part of several vessels, which afforded the boys an excellent opportunity to obtain accurate and reliable information, of which they did not hesitate to avail themselves.

As there were no mails east of Portland, the only way in which the boys obtained letters from home was by some coasting vessel. When they did get one, it was correspondingly valued, read and re-read, commented upon, and formed the subject of conversation for a month. John received a letter one afternoon, and on opening it, found enclosed one from Ben to Charlie.

The moment he was done work at night, he went to Stroudwater to see Charlie, spend the night with him, and walk in before work-hours in the morning. To the no small delight of the boys, they were informed that it was nearly two years since they had been at home, with the exception of the time when Ben was sick; that neither Captain Rhines’s family nor Ben and Sally could stand it any longer, and they must come home, and make a good visit.

“Ain’t I glad!” cried John.

“Ain’t I!” replied Charlie. “I wanted to go bad enough, but I didn’t like to lose my time, and was afraid Mr. Foss would think I was a baby.”

“That was just the way with me.”

Mr. Foss had a vessel that would be ready to launch in a fortnight, and wanted Charlie to stay till after launching. They wrote home by a coaster, that was to sail the next day, that they would start in a fortnight in the boat.

Meanwhile the Perseverance, Jr., was hauled up, repaired, re-painted, and put in first-rate order for the cruise. During that fortnight there was but one subject of conversation, and that never grew stale—home, and what they should do when they got there.

“There’ll be partridges and coons, lots of ’em, to shoot on Elm Island, Charlie.”

“There’ll be bears on my land, John.”

“Won’t Tige wag his tail off?”

“Won’t Bennie and the baby have a time?”

“What will Fred say?”

“We shall see Uncle Isaac!”

“Yes, and Joe Griffin and Henry.”

“Yes.”

“I wonder if they’ve got any boat there that’ll outsail the Wings of the Morning?”

“Do you calculate to come back here, Charlie?”

“Do you?”

“I don’t know; Mr. Starrett wants me to. I shall come if you do.”

“Mr. Foss wants me, too; but I can do better building boats at home than I can working in the ship-yard. I’ve learned about all I can here.”

“I could get just as good wages at Wiscasset as I can here, and go home every few weeks.”

“Ain’t we going home in a glorious time of year? The sea-fowl will be coming along.”

“There will be berries.”

“Pickerel in my pond.”

“O, Charlie, I’ll tell you what we’ll do—you, and I, and Fred.”

“What?”

“We’ll borrow Uncle Isaac’s birch, and go up the brook to the falls, then take her on our shoulders, and carry her round the falls, then follow all the crooks of the brook till we come to the pond. It is real crooked; I dare say ’twould be three or four miles.”

“That would be something we never did; and the water in the pond will be so warm to go in swimming!”

“Yes; I never thought of that.”

“O, John, I tell you, we’ll go on to Indian Island, and make a birch of our own—a smasher. I know I can make one.”

“And we’ll get Uncle Isaac to work the ends with porcupine quills.”

“Then we shall have the Perseverance, Jr., to go outside in and fish, and take the girls to sail. We’ve got a boat now—no old dugout—and we’ll go exploring just where we like—way down the coast.”

As is often the case with boys, they planned employments and enjoyments enough to occupy a whole summer, while they intended to allow themselves not more than three weeks of vacation at the outside.

“I felt real bad, John, when father wrote that the partridges had gone; but come to think, I’m glad of it, ’cause they’ll breed in the woods, and if I want to try to tame some more, I can find the eggs.”

“I should be; because when it blows, and you can’t get off the island, or any time after supper, you can take the gun, and find them in the yellow birches.”

While the boys are revelling amid these anticipated pleasures, let us note what effect the announcement of their coming produced at home.

CHAPTER V.
TIGE’S NOSE BETTER THAN THE CAPTAIN’S SPY-GLASS.

No sooner had Captain Rhines received the letter, informing him of the time at which they expected to set out, than he hurried home with it, and then, getting into his boat, made sail for Elm Island, where his information caused no little gratification. He had scarcely left the shore on his errand, when Elizabeth made the discovery that there was not a needle in the house fit to sew with, nor one grain of beeswax.

“You must go to the store, Elizabeth, and get some needles and wax,” said her mother; “and tell Fred to send me half a yard of cloth from the piece I looked at yesterday. I must finish John’s waistcoat before he comes home.”

Thus Fred was made acquainted with the tidings, and through him Uncle Isaac, Henry Griffin, and Joe.

“I do believe,” said Mrs. Rhines, “that Tige knows what is going on, for every time John’s name is mentioned, he wags his tail, and seems uneasy.”

“Knows!” replied the captain; “to be sure he does. Any fool of a dog might know as much as that; and Tige has forgot more than most dogs know. Here, Tige—go find John.”

The dog instantly ran to the door, and barked to be let out. After making a tour of the premises, he came in, ran up to John’s bedroom, and came down with one of his jackets in his mouth, and laid it at his master’s feet.

“See that, and tell me he don’t know what we are talking about!”

Ever since Tige had saved little Fannie from drowning, she had been in the habit of making him frequent visits, bringing with her something she knew he would like to eat. Tige never returned the visits, for it was not in accordance with his habits and principles ever to leave the premises, except sent on an errand by his master, or with one of the family; but he always received her with great cordiality. Fannie could talk plain now. Ever since the promise to her from Captain Rhines, that Tige never should be whipped, do what he would, she had entertained a very high opinion of the captain, who loved dearly to play and romp with her.

While Captain Rhines and his wife were conversing, Fannie came trudging along, with gingerbread and meat in her basket for Tige.

“Good morning, my little woman! Have you come to see me, and have a good frolic?”

“Fannie came to see Tige.”

“Then you think more of Tige than you do of me?”

“I love Tige.”

“That’s a fact.”

I’ve no doubt Tige by this time had his nose in Fannie’s basket.

“Captain Rhines, you know Tige loves babies.”

“Yes, my dear.”

“Don’t you know we have a little baby?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve come for Tige to go and see it.”

“What a comical little thing you are! Well, I suppose he must go. Then you’re not going to stop and play with me?”

“No, sir; because Tige wants to see the baby.”

“He won’t go with her,” said Mrs. Rhines, “without some of us go with him.”

“Yes, he will,” said the captain, “if I tell him to, and give him something to carry.”

“Then you must give him something that he won’t eat, or she’ll give every mite of it to him.”

Captain Rhines filled Fannie’s basket with apples, and put in some flowers, and Mrs. Rhines gave her some cake to eat herself. Tige took the basket in his mouth, and away they went; but Fannie gave him all her cake before she got home.

She made out to get him into the house, where he licked the baby’s face, and frightened it half to death, and then set out for home, refusing the most urgent solicitations to stay to dinner.

Tige also had the promise of going over to Elm Island again, to see the baby there.

The heart of Captain Rhines was bound up in John. Two days had now passed since the time fixed in his mind for their arrival. He became very uneasy. Every few moments he would catch the spy-glass, and run out on the hill to look.

“Why, Captain Rhines,” said his wife, “I don’t think you need laugh any more at us women for being nervous and fidgety when our friends are away! I’m sure you beat us all. Old Aunt Nabby Rideout, of Marblehead, that they say used to bank up her house with tea-grounds, never begun with you! You can’t expect folks that are coming by water to come just at the time they set. You must have patience.”

“Patience! I’ve had patience to kill.”

“Perhaps they’ve had a head wind, or calm.”

“No, they haven’t! I know how the winds have been. They’ve had as good and steady a wind as ever blew—just the breeze for a boat.”

The next day after this conversation, the captain, after running in and out half of the forenoon with the spy-glass in his hand, said, “Wife, I won’t look any more till they come. I’m going to have patience; but there’s Tige been laying all the morning before the door, with his nostrils to the wind.”

He put the glass in the brackets, and taking up a book, began to read. He had hardly commenced, when a tremendous roar, ending in a prolonged howl, rang through the house.

“Heavens!” cried the captain; “why couldn’t I have seen them? I’ve been looking with all the eyes I’ve got the whole morning;” and rushing to the door, he caught a glimpse of Tige’s tail disappearing round the corner of the wood-pile.

To his astonishment, there was no boat to be seen in the cove, nor in the offing. Turning round to learn what had become of Tige, he espied him going at full speed across the orchard, clearing logs and fences at a leap, for the main road, emitting sharp, short barks as he ran, and was soon lost to view around a point of thick woods. The captain sat down on a log to see what would turn up next, and in a quarter of an hour was joined by all the family.

“What do you suppose it means?” asked Mrs. Rhines.

“Means? It means they are coming along the road. Tige has known it since six o’clock this morning. I knew he did by his actions, and that was what made me so patient.”

“Yes, you was very patient; but what has become of their boat?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps she has sprung a-leak, or they run on to some reef and punched a hole in her. Here they come!” roared the captain, as Tige’s voice was again heard. He was evidently returning, and the barking sounded louder and louder. In a few minutes Tige appeared in view around the point of woods.

He presented a comical appearance. He was coming sidewise, doubled all up like a rainbow, or the colonel’s horse prancing at the head of the regiment general-muster morning, caused by the effort to keep one eye on the boys and the other on Captain Rhines and his company, and progress at the same time.

These anxiously-expected ones came in sight, each with a pack on his back. John also bore a gun on his shoulder, and Charlie a hatchet in his hand.

“They have travelled all the way!” exclaimed Captain Rhines.

“What are we thinking about! Here it is, most noon, not a thing done towards dinner, and these poor boys tired and half starved!” said Mrs. Rhines.

This was the signal for a general stampede in the direction of the house.

“I’ll get some dry wood, and have a fire in no time, wife.”

Then, with the combined efforts of these practised hands, a great fire was roaring in the chimney, the teakettle boiling, the table in the floor, and eggs frying by the time that Tige burst into the room, followed by the boys.

“Why, John, how you’ve grown!” said Captain Rhines, twirling him round on his heel; “and Charlie, too; I believe he has grown more than you have. There was more chance for it. You was as big as a moose before.”

“I guess hard work agrees with both of you,” said Mrs. Rhines.

“It always did,” replied Charlie. “We’re the boys for that.”

“Yes,” added John, “none of the western boys can lay us on our backs, either. Mother, do your hens lay well?”

“Yes; but what makes you ask that?”

“Because, if you think there’s eggs enough in that kettle, you’re very much mistaken.”

“There’s half a bushel in the buttery,” said his father. “They’ll stay your stomachs, and after dinner I’ll kill a fat wether I’ve got in the barn.”

The captain could not well have given stronger evidence of hospitality and glad welcome than by his resolve to kill a wether, that would afford double the wool which could be sheared from an ordinary sheep, as will be evident if we reflect a moment upon the state of affairs at that period. Before the war of the revolution, when the British government was imposing onerous taxes upon our fathers, prohibiting American manufactures, and endeavoring to compel them to purchase those of the mother country, they not only threw the tea overboard, but in every way attempted to clothe themselves, that they might be independent of Great Britain. In order to be provided with material for cloth, the people of Massachusetts resolved to eat no lamb, and not a butcher dared to offer any for sale. Bounties were offered for wolves, flocks of sheep were increased by every possible means, great quantities of flax were raised, and every household was transposed into a manufactory, where wool and flax were carded, spun, and wove, and colored with barks and roots found in the woods.

“Save your money, and save your country,” became a proverb.

After the war, and at the period of our tale, when the country was oppressed with debt, and its infant manufactures were struggling for existence, when Great Britain, while excluding us from her West India ports, was deluging the country with her manufactures in order to effectually crush our own, all true patriots, and the government to the extent that lay in its power, strove to sustain the old spirit of independence, and raise wool and flax. Captain Rhines very rarely, and Uncle Isaac never, killed a lamb; but on this occasion the glad father was willing to slaughter even a wether.

Evil kills the home-feeling; virtue deepens and strengthens it. The fact that the presence of these boys added so much to the happiness of home, and that they were so happy to get home, was a fine tribute both to their heart and principles.

CHAPTER VI.
TELLING AND HEARING THE NEWS.

“What’s the news, father?” asked John, when the protracted meal was at length finished. “Who’s dead? who’s married?”

“Are all well on the island?” interposed Charlie.

“All are first-rate on the island. Aunt Molly Bradish, good old soul! has gone to heaven. She was buried a week ago Tuesday. Nobody else has died that you are much acquainted with; but old Mrs. Yelf is very sick, and you must go and see her. She has talked about you ever since you have been gone, and will never forget the good turns you did her after her husband died.”

“How is Uncle Isaac, father?”

“Smart as a steel trap; has killed lots of birds, and last winter bears, deer, and three wolves; and the last time I rode by there, I saw a seal-skin stretched on the barn.”

“How is Fred?”

“First-rate.”

“Has he built a new store?”

“A real nice one.”

“And put a T on the wharf?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you talk some, Charlie?” asked John. “You sit there just as mum!”

“He can’t get a word in edgewise,” said Mrs. Rhines, “you talk so fast yourself.”

“Well, then, I’ll hold my tongue.”

“There’s another hole bored in your great maple, Charlie,” said Mary.

“There is? Who bored it?”

“Guess.”

“Joe Bradish?”

“Guess again.”

“Sydney Chase?”

“Guess again. O, you’ll never guess! James Welch;” and she told him the story.

“I’ll name that spring ‘Quicksilver Spring.’”

“Father,” said Mary, “you haven’t told the boys who is married.”

“Indeed, their questions follow each other so fast, I lose my reckoning. Joe Griffin.”

“Joe!” cried John. “Where does he live?”

“Right on the shore, between Pleasant Point and Uncle Isaac’s, in a log house.”

“Then he’ll be close to me,” said Charlie.

“Yes, only two lots between. They say he’s raised the biggest crop of wheat that was ever raised in this town, and has got the handsomest crop of corn growing.”

“Then Sally mustered up courage to marry him?”

“Marry him! She may thank her stars she got him. Let them talk as much as they like about his being a harum-scarum fellow. There’s not a smarter, better-hearted fellow in this place, nor a man of better judgment. He showed a good deal more sense than our Ben, who, folks think, is all sense.”

“How, father?”

“Why, Ben built his house, and then set his fire, and liked to have burned up his house, baby, and all the lumber that went into his vessel, and did scorch his wife; but this harum-scarum fellow burnt his land over first, and put something in the ground to live on.”

“They say,” said Mrs. Rhines, “that they are the most affectionate pair that ever was. Joe thinks there is not her equal in the world.”

“That’s just what he ought to think, wife. I hope it will last, and not be with them as it was with Joe Gubtail and his Dorcas.”

“How was that?”

“Why, he said, when they were first married, he loved her so well he wanted to eat her up, and now he wishes he had.”

“I don’t think it will, for they have been fond of each other since they were children, and ought to be well acquainted.”

“You haven’t said anything about Flour, Captain Rhines,” said Charlie.

“O, he ain’t Flour any longer. He lives in a frame house on his own land, is Mr. Peterson, has money at interest, can read, write, and cipher, and is master-calker at Wiscasset.”

“Good! Won’t we go over and see him? Didn’t they cut up some rusties on Joe when he was married?”

“No.”

“I should have thought the boys would have done something to him to pay him up for all his tricks, for there’s hardly anybody in town but has something laid up against him.”