Charlie Bell, The Waif of Elm Island Read online

  CHAPTER II.

  CHARLIE BELL.

  Ben now jumped into his canoe, and gave chase to the one who had jumpedoverboard, and was swimming with all his might for the shore. On comingout of the water he ran for the woods, but meeting Sally (who, afraidto stay among the groaning, bleeding sufferers, had set out for thebeach), he flung himself at her feet, and, clinging to her dress,begged for mercy.

  “Don’t touch him, Ben,” cried Sally, flinging her arms round him;“don’t you see he’s but a child, and hasn’t been in the thing at all?”

  Ben, who had been blinded by rage, now saw that he was, as she said, apale, slender-looking boy, and stayed his hand.

  The poor boy, on his knees, pale as death, the tears running down hischeeks, exclaimed, “O, don’t kill me, sir! I’m only a poor, friendlesslittle boy, and haven’t done any wrong. I ain’t to blame for what theothers did; truly, sir, I’m not a bad boy.”

  “If you are an honest boy, how came you in the company of suchvillains?”

  “Indeed, sir, I didn’t know what kind of men they were till I got onboard; I’ve been ever since trying to get away, and can’t.”

  “Why didn’t you run away?”

  “They watch me too closely; and when they can’t watch me, they tie orlock me up, and tell me if they catch me trying to run away they willshoot me.”

  “Let me talk to him, Ben,” said Sally; “you frighten him; don’t you seehow he quivers every time you speak?”

  “What is your name, my boy?”

  “Charles Bell, marm.”

  “Where do you belong?”

  “In England.”

  “Are your parents there?”

  “No, marm; they are dead. I have no kindred in this country, nor anyfriends.”

  “Well,” replied Ben, whose passion was rapidly cooling, “I shall letyou off; but I advise you next time to look out how you get into badcompany. Come, Sally, let’s go to the house and clear these ruffiansout.”

  When they returned to the house, they found it presenting theappearance of a butcher’s shambles, although none of the occupants weredead, as Sally had supposed.

  The leader still lay insensible on the hearth; and the blood had runfrom him the whole length of the room. The one Ben had flung againstthe wall lay on the bed, the sheets and pillows of which were soaked inblood that issued from his nose and mouth. The one he threw into thefireplace still lay on his back across the andirons, with his head inthe ashes, for Ben told them, if one of them moved, when he came backhe’d make an end of them.

  “Here, boy,” said Ben, giving him the key of the cuddy, “go and letthose fellows loose, and tell them to come up here and take away theircomrades, and bear a hand about it, too, or I shall be after them.”

  The men came, pale and trembling, bringing with them a hand-barrow,such as is used by fishermen to carry fish. On this they laid thecaptain, and carried him on board. The others were able, withassistance, to stagger along. Sally wanted to wash the captain’s face,and pour some spirit down his throat, to bring him to; but Ben wouldnot allow her, saying, “He is not fit for a decent woman to touch; andif he dies there’ll be one villain less in the world.”

  “But he’s not fit to die, Ben.”

  “That’s his lookout,” was the stern reply; “away with him.” The boystill lingered, though he eyed Ben with evident distrust, and shrunkhimself together every time he spoke. But as soon as the men were allout of the house, Ben assumed an entirely different appearance; hisvoice lost its stern tone, the flush faded from his face, his musclesrelaxed, and he asked the trembling boy to sit down, as it would besome time before the vessel would float that he came in.

  Sally now gave him some water to wash his hands, that were bloody fromhandling his comrades, combed his hair, and gave him a piece of breadand butter.

  “Here comes John Strout,” said Ben, looking out at the door.

  “O, dear!” said Sally, “what a looking place for anybody to come into!”

  “What’s all this?” said John, looking at the blood on the floor andbed-clothes; “have you been butchering?”

  “Almost,” replied Sally.

  “What schooner was that in the cove, Ben?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Where does she hail from?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Are they fishermen?”

  “No; thieves.”

  “What did they come here for?”

  “To see what they could get of me.”

  “How many of them have you killed?”

  “Well, I haven’t killed any of them outright; but there’s one of themnever’ll do much more work, I reckon.”

  He then told John the whole story. “I’m sorry I hurt that fellow somuch; there was no need of it, for I could have handled them withouthurting them so much; but they frightened Sally so, and used suchlanguage to her, that I got my temper up, and then they had to take it.”

  “These same chaps (at least I think they are the ones) went to a houseon Monhegan, and frightened a woman who was in a delicate condition, sothat she afterwards died. Boy, what is that vessel’s name?”

  “The Albatross, sir.”

  “That’s the name; I remember now. Pity you hadn’t killed him.”

  “Come, Ben,” said Sally, “you and John go out doors and talk; I wantto clean up here; and when it’s dinner-time I’ll call you.”

  “I can’t stop,” replied John; “I came to borrow your menhaden net, Ben,to catch some bait to-night, for I must go out in the morning.”

  “Well, then, just stay where you are to-night; when the flood tidemakes, there will be any quantity of menhaden round the Little Bull,and I’ll help you sweep round the school, and then you can go off asearly as you like in the morning.”

  When they left the house, the boy offered to assist Sally in cleaningthe floor, brought her wood and water, and put the dishes on the table.

  When he saw how different Ben appeared, now that his anger had cooled,he shrank from the idea of leaving them and going back to his prison.The tide was fast making, and the vessel would soon be afloat; and ashe looked out of the door and saw that the vessel, which had lain onher broadside on the beach, had now righted up, he approached Sally,and, with tears in his eyes, said, “Mrs. Rhines, I don’t want to gowith those men. I’m afraid some time when they are drunk they’ll killme; I don’t want to be with such bad men. Can’t you let me stay withyou? I’ll do all the chores; and I can catch fish, cut wood and bringit in, and do anything that I am able, or that you will show me how todo.”

  Sally, who had taken to the boy the moment she had a good look at him,and heard him speak, was deeply moved by his distress. She reflected amoment, and replied, “I should be willing, with all my heart; I willsee what Mr. Rhines says. Ben,” said she, going out to where he wastalking with John, “that boy wants to stay with us; he is, I believe,a real good boy; he is afraid those fellows will kill him, or will behauled up for their wickedness, and he shall have to suffer with them.”

  “There’s a great risk in taking up with a boy like that; we can’t knowanything about him; they all tell a good story.”

  “I know that’s a good boy, Ben; I feel it in my bones.”

  “It will make you a great deal of work, Sally; you will have to spinand weave, make clothes, knit stockings, and wash for him.”

  “And he’ll bring in wood and water, churn, feed the hogs, and help me.I know what it is to take care of a boy; I’ve taken care of all ours.I made every stitch of clothes that our Sam wore till I was married;besides, when you begin to plant and sow, such a boy will be a greathelp.”

  “That is all true, Sally; and I would not hesitate a moment if I knewhe was a good boy; but suppose he should turn out like that Pete, UncleSmullen and his wife did so much for, and got no thanks for; and evenif he is good, boys that have got a notion of running about can’t staylong in a place, and settle themselves down to steady work; they wantto be among folks, and with other boys.
Now, we might take him, and yougo to work, as I know you would, and clothe him all up, and then he getlonesome on this island, get on board some vessel, and run off.”

  “It seems to me, Ben, that this poor little boy, without ‘kith or kin,’has been thrown into our hands by the providence of God, and, if welet him go back to these wretches, when we can keep him just as wellas not, and drive the poor little harmless, trembling thing from ourthreshold, with the tears on his cheeks, that we shall not prosper, andought not to expect to.”

  “Enough said; I’ll take him.”

  “You’ll be kind to him--won’t you? because he trembles so every timeyou speak to him.”

  “I’ve not altered my nature, Sally, because I treated those villains asthey deserved.”

  When Sally came back, she wanted to press the wanderer to her heart;but she recalled Ben’s caution, and merely said, “My husband is willingyou should stay with us, and I hope you will try and be a good boy.”

  A flush of inexpressible joy lit up the pale features of the forlornboy at these words, and, too full to speak much, he said, “O, how muchI thank you!” and sitting down, covered his face with his hands, whiletears of joy ran through his fingers from an overcharged heart, thathad shed so many tears of bitter agony that day.

  The vessel was now afloat, and, spreading her sails, was soon out ofsight, to the great relief of the boy, who could hardly believe himselfsafe as long as she remained in the harbor.

  Ben and John took him with them when they went to sweep for menhaden,and found that he could pull an oar, was handy in a boat, and knew howto dress the fish for bait. The nights were now cool, and the boy hadbrought in a good pile of wood. They made a cheerful fire after supper,and Ben asked him some questions in respect to his history. He toldthem his father was a basket-maker; that all their people had followedthat business, which was good in England, where wood was scarce; andbaskets and sacks were used to transport everything, instead ofbarrels and boxes, as in this country. They made a comfortable living,his father employing several hands; and he was sent to school till hewas eleven years of age; then his father put him to work in the shop tolearn the trade.

  “I should not think it was much of a trade,” said Ben; “I can make agood basket.”

  “But not such baskets as they make there,” replied the boy. “Thebasket-makers there make a great many other things besides. My fatherwas pressed into the navy, and, before the vessel had got out of thechannel, was killed in an action with a French frigate. My mother had abrother in St. John’s. She sold her effects, put the younger childrenout, and spent nearly all the money she had to pay our passage; butwhen we got over, my uncle had gone to Melbourne. Soon after that mymother took sick and died.”

  “Was she a Christian woman?” asked Sally.

  “Yes; she belonged to the Wesleyan Methodists; so did my father. If mypoor mother had died at home, she would have had friends to take careof her, and to follow her to the grave, for everybody loved her; butthere was nobody but me to do anything for her; and only myself andthe Irish woman we hired a room of went to the grave. It took all butone pound to pay the rent, and expenses of my mother’s funeral. Thelandlady permitted me to sleep on the foot of her bed, with my head ona chair, because I carried her washing home, and her husband’s dinnerto him, for he worked in a foundery.”

  “Couldn’t you find any work?” said Ben.

  “No, sir; no steady work: I wandered about the streets and wharves,getting a day’s work now and then, till my money was all gone, and thenI was glad to ship in the Albatross as cook.”

  “Who owned the vessel?” asked Ben.

  “They said the captain bought her; he seemed to have money enough. Shewas an old condemned fisherman; if we pumped her out dry at night, thewater would be up to the cuddy floor in the morning.”

  “Where did they belong?”

  “I don’t know, sir; the captain was Portuguese; his name was Antonio.They had all been together in a slaver, and the captain was mate ofher; and from things they used to say, I think they must have beenpirates.”

  “How did they treat you?”

  “They treated me very well when they were sober, but when they weredrunk I used to be afraid they would kill me. They would hold me, andspit tobacco juice in my eyes, and pour liquor down my throat, and makeme drunk, which was the worst of all, for I had promised my mother Iwould never drink.”

  “If they poured it down your throat against your will, that wasn’tbreaking your promise,” said Sally.

  “One night I was so afraid of them that I jumped overboard and swamunder the stern, holding on to the rudder; and I heard them talking,and the captain began to cry and take on at a great rate. After theyhad gone to sleep, I swam to the cable and got on board.”

  “Why didn’t you swim ashore?”

  “It was too far; we were way off on the fishing ground; the water wascold, and I should have been chilled to death. My mother, before shedied, told me to read the Bible, and pray to God when trouble came, andHe would take care of me; but I think He must have forgotten me, forthough I have prayed to Him every day, I have found nothing but miseryever since she died; and now I’m friendless and alone in a strangeland.”

  “No, you ain’t!” cried Sally, drawing him towards her, and kissing hisforehead, “for I will be a mother to you.”

  At this, the first word of kindly sympathy the poor boy had heard sincehis mother died, he hid his face in her lap, and sobbed aloud. Sallyflung her apron over his head, and patted him, and in a few moments,worn out with all he had passed through that day, he fell asleep. Asthey had but two bedsteads in the house, one in the corner of thekitchen, where Ben and his wife slept, and the other a spare bed inthe front room, which was partly filled with shingles and staves, andwas parlor, bedroom, and workshop, Sally had made a bed for him in thegarret, and Ben, taking him carefully in his arms, carried him up andplaced him on it.

  “It’s my opinion, Ben,” said John, “that is a good boy, and that itwill be a good thing for you and him both that he has fallen in here;that boy never was brought up on a dunghill, I know; he’s smart, too.Did you see how handy he takes hold of an oar? Why, he can dress a fishas quick as I can.”

  “I took him at first,” replied Ben, “for one of these Liverpoolwharf-rats, that are rotten before they are ripe; but his story holdstogether well, and he tells it right; he don’t make out that hebelongs to some great family, or call upon God Almighty, as such onesgenerally do when they are going to tell some great lie.”

  “He looks you right in the face, too,” said John; “I like that; yes,and then he didn’t begin to pour out blessings on your head; perhapshe’ll show his gratitude in some other way.”

  Sally had made a piece of nice fulled cloth that summer, and from itshe soon made Charlie breeches and a long jacket. She also made him ashirt from some cloth, part linen and part woollen; and as the weatherwas coming cool, and she had no time to knit a pair of stockings, shemade him a pair from some of Ben’s old ones. She then cut his hair, andknit him a pair of mittens, and Ben made him a pair of shoes.

  He almost worshipped Sally, calling her mother, and being every momenton the watch to oblige her, and anticipate her wishes. But in respectto Ben, he seemed timid, always calling him Mr. Rhines, or captain, andstarting nervously oftentimes when he spoke to him. He evidently couldnot forget the terrible impression made upon his mind when he supposedBen would kill him.

  Sally felt grieved at this, and she saw that it worried her husband.

  One evening, when he patted him on the head, and praised him forsomething that he had done that day, Sally made a sign to Ben that heshould take the boy on his knee, which he did, when Charlie put hisarms around his neck (that is, as far as they would reach), and everafter that called him father.

  When John came to bring the net home, Charles met him at the shore.

  “Good morning, Captain Strout!”

  “Good morning, my lad; how do you like Elm Island?”

 
“It is such a nice place! O, I’m as happy as the days are long! I hopeI’ve had all my sorrows!”

  “If you have, you’ve had good luck; better than most people; for you’vegot through before the most of people’s trials begin. Now, my lad, youhave a chance to make something of yourself. If you stay here, and fallinto the ways of our people, it will make a man of you, and you willfind friends, for everybody is respected here that works. I have knownMr. Rhines ever since he was a boy; have been shipmate with him, andowe my life to him. Though he’s a hard master to such reprobates asthose you came with, he is kind to everybody that does right.”

  “I think, captain, that he is like some of those good giants I’ve heardmy grandmother tell about in England, that went about killing dragons,wicked giants, and robbers, and protecting innocent people.”