CHAPTER XVII.

THEY MARRY, AND GO ON TO THE ISLAND.

The wedding was at the widow Hadlock’s; but Captain Rhines made the infare, as ’twas called,--which was an entertainment given the day after the wedding at the house of the bridegroom. To this were invited all who had aided in building the house, including the girls who prepared the victuals; and a merry time they had of it.

It was very hard for Sally and her mother to part. Since the death of her father, and while the other children were small, Sally had been her mother’s great dependence; and, as they came to the edge of the water, the widow lifted up her voice and wept.

Sally, with her eyes full, strove to comfort her mother.

“Well, I ought not to feel so, I know; but it sort o’ brings up everything, and tears open all the old wounds. May God bless you! you’ve been a good child to me in all my trials, and, I doubt not, you’ll make a good wife. There’s a blessing promised in the Scriptures to those who are dutiful to their parents. Keep the Lord’s day, Sally, as you’ve been taught to do, and seek the one thing needful.”

Ben had chosen a sunny, calm morning, that the impressions made upon Sally’s mind might be as pleasant as possible, not dreaming that she had already visited the island, and been all over the house. Nevertheless, as he sat down to the oars, his old fears began somewhat to revive; but Providence ordered matters in a much better manner than he could have done, to render Sally’s first impressions of the island both pleasant and permanent.

When he left it the last time, knowing that Sally would return with him, he had crammed the great fireplace with dry wood, and pushed under the forestick the top of a dry fir, with the leaves all on, and covered with cones full of balsam. They were well on their way when a black cloud rose suddenly from the north-west, denoting that the wind, which had been south for some days, was about to shift, with a squall.

“We are two thirds over now,” said Ben; “we shall be head to the sea, and soon get under the lee of the island; ’tis better to go ahead than to go back.”

“I wish we were there now,” said Sally to herself, as she thought of that sheltered spot behind the thick woods, that no wind could get through.

“Sit down in the bottom of the canoe, Sally; if the water flies over you, don’t move.”

When the squall struck, the wind seemed to shriek right out, and in an instant raised a furious sea, drenching them with water from head to foot. Sally uttered not a word, but sat perfectly still, though the cold spray flew over and ran under her, wetting her through and through.

The little boat, managed with consummate skill and strength, rode the sea like an egg-shell. It began to grow smoother as they approached the high woods on the island, when Ben, exerting his strength, drove her through the water, and they were soon at the mouth of the brook, where it was as smooth as a mill-pond. Jumping out, he dragged the canoe from the water, and, taking Sally out, stood her, all dripping, on the beach.

“What a calm place,” she exclaimed, “after that dreadful sea! O, you wicked Ben, how could you tell me ’twas such an awful place?”

“You’re shaking with the cold; let’s go where there’s a fire;” and catching her up, he ran into the house with her; then striking fire, he lighted the fir top under the forestick; in an instant the bright flame flashed through the pile of wood, and roared up the chimney, diffusing a cheerful warmth through the room. Ben pulled up the great settle; Sally stretched herself upon it, her wet garments smoking in the heat.

“Isn’t this nice?” she said, as, safe from danger, she basked in the warm blaze. “I shall always love this great fireplace after this, as long as I live.”

Ben was delighted. He knew by experience the power of strong contrasts,--for the whole life of a seaman is made up of them,--and that nothing could have made the island seem so much like home to Sally, as there finding safety when in danger, and warmth when shivering with cold.

They now went over the house together; and Sally made Ben completely happy by telling him she would have been thankful for a house not half so good. We see in this well-matched and hardy pair the representatives of those who laid broad and deep the foundations of our free institutions, and whose strength was in their homes.

They flung themselves with alacrity upon these hardships, which were to procure for them a heritage of their own,--the product of their own energies,--confident in their own resources, and the protection of that Being whom they had been educated to believe helps those who help themselves.

They were now on an island, in the stormy Atlantic, six miles from the nearest land, which, with the exception of a little strip of grass along the beach, was an unbroken forest.

Here they had commenced married life, in the face of a long, hard winter.

It may seem to many of our readers idle to talk about happiness in relation to people in such circumstances. They, perhaps judging from their own feelings, wonder how they could pass their time.

In the first place, they had health and strength, were not troubled with dyspepsia, and hence did not look at life through green spectacles. They took pride in overcoming obstacles, and feeling that they were equal to the emergency. They had plenty to do from the time they rose in the morning till they went to bed at night; not a moment to brood over and dread difficulties; and a June day was too short for all they found to do in it. Finally, they loved each other, had an object to look forward to, had never known any of those things which are considered by many as necessary to happiness, and thus neither pined after nor missed them.

Sally had plenty of bed-clothes, which she had made herself; also beautiful table-cloths and towels of linen, figured, that she had spun, woven, and bleached; and tow towels, coarse sheets, and table-cloths for every day. One little looking-glass, about six inches by eight in size, graced the wall, with a comb-case, made of pasteboard, hanging below it. They had one really beautiful piece of furniture, which her father had brought from England--a mahogany secretary, with book-cases and drawers, and inlaid with different kinds of wood, contrasting strangely with the rough logs against which it rested. They had chairs with round posts, and bottoms made of ash-splints; mugs, bowls, a tea-pot, and pitchers of earthen ware; and pewter plates, from the largest platter to the smallest dishes and porringers; also an iron skillet. Ben had a shoe-maker’s bench, awls and lasts, and quite a good set of carpenter’s tools.

Sally now put all the earthen and new pewter ware upon the dressers, which made quite a show.

“I declare, Ben, I’ve forgotten my candle-moulds, and we’ve got no light. Here’s a lamp, but not a drop of oil or wick in it.”

“I’ll shoot a seal,--I saw three or four on the White Bull when we came over,--then to-morrow you can try out the blubber.”

Ben was better than his word, for before night he shot two.

There was one piece of property that Sally valued more than anything else, because ’twas alive, and there was such a look of home about it.

The widow Hadlock had a line-backed cow, that gave a great mess of milk. Sally had milked her ever since she was large enough to milk; indeed, she milked her that memorable night when Ben and Sam Johnson went blueberrying in the widow’s parlor.

They raised a calf from her, which was marked just like the old cow, and Mrs. Hadlock had given it to Sally. The creature, having been brought up with a large stock of cattle, missing her mates, had been very lonesome on the island, and roared and moaned a great deal. As Sally opened the door to throw out some water, the heifer came on the gallop, and, putting her feet on the door-stone, rubbed her nose against Sally’s shoulder, and licked her face. The tears came into Sally’s eyes in a moment. “You good old soul,” said she, putting her arms round her neck,--half a mind to kiss her,--“do you know me, and were you glad to see me? I wish I had an ear of corn to give you.”

After this the cow made no more ado, but went to feeding, perfectly contented with the knowledge that her old mistress was present. As night came on, Sally made the discovery that they had no milk-pail; but Ben was equal to the emergency: he cut down a maple, cut a trough in it, drove the cow astride of it, while Sally milked her into this novel pail. That evening Ben dug out a pine log, put a bottom in it, and a bail, then drove two hoops on it, and made a milk-pail.

The next day Sally tried out the seals, while Ben went into the swamp and got some cooper’s flags, which he cut into short pieces, for lamp-wicks.

Fowling, for a person in Ben’s situation, was not merely a source of pleasure, but of profit, as the feathers sold readily for cash, the bodies were good for food, and could be exchanged at the store for groceries, or with the farmers for wool and flax, which Sally made into cloth.

Ben had a little yellow dog, with white on the end of his tail, that would _play_. Sea-fowl possess a great share of curiosity, which leads them to swim up to anything strange, in order to see what it is. They would often swim in to a squirrel, playing in the bushes at the water’s edge, to see what he’s about. The gunners take advantage of this trait in their character; they teach a little dog to play with a stone on the beach: he’ll roll it along the ground, stand up on his hind legs with it in his fore paws, and when he gets tired of it, his master’ll throw him another from his ambush. The birds swim in to see what he is doing, and are killed, and the little dog swims off and brings them ashore. All dogs cannot be taught this, only those who have a genius for it.

Tige Rhines would pick up birds right in the surf, or in the dead of winter, but could never be taught to play; he was too dignified.

It is impossible for one destitute of a taste for fowling to conceive of the intensity which the passion will acquire by indulgence. Ben was so eager for birds, that he would lie on a ledge till Sailor froze his ears and tail. There were a great many minks on the island, whose furs were valuable: these Sailor would track to their holes, when Ben would smoke them out.

The widow Hadlock had brought up her family to cherish a great reverence for the Lord’s day. Ben had been trained by his mother in the same way; but, after leaving home, he, like most seafaring men, carried a traveller’s conscience, and did many things on that day which would not have met her approval.

One Sabbath morning a whole flock of coots swam into the mouth of the brook to drink; ’twas a superb chance for a shot. Ben, without a moment’s hesitation, took down his gun from the hook, and was just going out the door when Sally laid her hand on his arm.

“Ben, where are you going?”

“To shoot those coots; I never saw such a chance for a shot in my life. I shouldn’t wonder if I could knock over twenty with this big gun.”

“Why, Ben, you must be out of your head; do you know what day ’tis? would you go gunning on the Lord’s day?”

“No, I wouldn’t _go_ a-gunning; but when they come right in under my nose, asking to be shot, I’d shoot them.”

“Well, I never would begin by breaking the Lord’s day; ’tis not right, and we shall not prosper; if we’ve not much else, let us, at least, have a clear conscience. What do you think your father and mother would say, if they heard you had fired a gun on the Lord’s day?”

“It wouldn’t trouble father much; he would do the same himself; but ’twould mother, and I see it does you.”

He took his ramrod, and thumped on the side of the house; the coots took to flight in an instant.

“There goes the temptation,” said he. “I didn’t know before that you was a professor of religion.”

“No more I ain’t, nor a possessor either; wish I was; but I mean to keep the Lord’s day; I’ll do that much, any way.”

“I know you’re right, Sally; but you must make some allowance for a feller who has been so long at sea, and couldn’t keep it, if he would, as people can ashore. Suppose a hawk was carrying off a chicken on the Sabbath--wouldn’t you let me shoot it?”

“No, I’m sure I wouldn’t; but if an eagle was carrying off a baby, I would.”

This was the first and only time Ben ever took the gun down on the Sabbath. They made it a day of rest.

They had some good books, and one Sally’s mother had given her, which she was very fond of reading, called “Hooks and Eyes for Christian’s Breeches.” It was a queer title, but a very good book. In those days people did not wear suspenders, but kept their breeches up by buttoning the waistband, or by a belt. Where people were well-formed, and had good hips, they would keep up very well; but when they were all the way of a bigness, or were careless and didn’t button their waistbands tight, they would slip down; so some had hooks and eyes to keep them up, and prevent this by hooking them to the waistcoat. Thus this book was designed for those slouching, careless Christians who needed hooks and eyes to their breeches, and were slack in their religious duties.