The Cruise of the Sally D

"Well," said Uncle Ben at last, "I never allowed that a lad had the right to run away from his home, an' I've lived nigh to sixty years, man an' boy, consekently it stands to reason that I oughter know how much trouble is likely to come from sich didoes."

"Huh!" the boy broke in, "you don't call the 'Sally D.' a home, do you? I guess you wouldn't if you'd lived on her a spell."

"No," said Uncle Ben, "after what you've told me I don't. An' Cap'en Doak was only your stepfather at the best of times. Now that your mother's dead it don't appeal to me that he's any relation whatsoever, so, consekently ag'in, an' holdin' that a schooner can't be called a house, which same is necessary to the makin's of a home, what's wrong with your sneakin' off unbeknownst to Cap'en Doak before the 'Sally D.' weighs anchor?"

"But where could I go, Uncle Ben? I haven't got so much as one cent in this wide world, an' there's never a single person who would take me in. Besides, s'pose I sneaked off while the 'Sally D.' is lying here, I couldn't get away from the island, 'less you should set me across to the mainland."

"I wasn't countin' that you would leave the island, Sammy. What's to hinder your stoppin' right where you are, an' helpin' me out in the lobster fishin'? I'm allowin' that Apple Island ain't the worst place in the world, 'specially when you compare it with the 'Sally D.'s' cabin while Cap'en Doak is ragin' 'round findin' a lot of fun in knockin' you fore 'n' aft by way of exercise. Now, I don't wanter be taken as meanin' that I think lobster fishin' is a very encouragin' business for a bright little shaver like you; but it goes way ahead of the lay you've got with that stepfather of yourn. What your mother ever saw in Eliakim Doak to make her willin' to marry him, 'specially after she'd been on what you might call terms of friendly acquaintance with your father, beats me."

"Mother did it all on my account," Sam cried quickly, his eyes filling with tears as he spoke of his "best friend." "You know we had nothin' left but the house when father died, an' Cap'en Doak made her believe that he would give me a start in the world with a good education."

"All of which he perceeded to do by gettin' the little money ye had inter his own hands an' squanderin' it," Uncle Ben exclaimed as he angrily splintered the result of his handiwork. "Speakin' from your mother's end of the trade, it was a mighty good thing she died less'n a year after she hitched up with Cap'en Doak, though it come tough on you. Does he allow that you're to spend your life—or the best part of it—as cook aboard the 'Sally D.,' with never a cent in the way of wages, when you, an' he, an' everybody knows he squandered full fifteen hundred dollars of your money, for I've been told he sold the house at that figger?"

"He says that he's bound to take care of me," the lad replied, as if anger was rapidly getting the better of him.

"An' he's doin' it by keepin' you aboard that ramshackle old schooner, which is likely to drop inter pieces any minute, an' savin' what he'd otherwise have to pay as wages to a cook!"

"He'd serve me out terribly if I should try to run away from him," Sam said half to himself, with a tremor as of fear. "If I sneaked off while the 'Sally D.' laid at anchor here, he'd know just where I was."

"Well, an' s'posen he did?" Uncle Ben asked sharply, looking down at the lad as if in anger. "S'posen he did, what good would it do him? I don't allow that I own this 'ere island; but I pay rent for it, which amounts to much the same thing, an' Eliakim Doak would soon find out that he couldn't tromp over me! Sneak off inter the bushes this very hour, lad, so's to give me a chance to talk to the old heathen in what you might call a sensible way, an' I'll guarantee he'll up anchor without raisin' any very considerable of a row."

"An' what then?" the boy asked as he looked over his shoulder apprehensively, much as if fearing his stepfather might suddenly have come within ear-shot.

"Why then me an' you'll strike out for ourselves. I own the shanty yonder, the dory on the beach, two hundred or more lobster-pots, with cars an' what lawyers call 'other appurtences,' an' you shall have a fair share of what money comes in the way of Apple Island. I'm allowin' it would be a favor to you, though that ain't the chiefest reason why I'm makin' it. I'd like to have for mate a decent lad like you, for it's lonesome here sometimes—that much I'm willin' to admit."

"Why is it that you never had a mate, Uncle Ben? I've heard lots of folks puzzle over the same question."

"I reckon you have, lad, for this 'ere coast of Maine is mightily given to gossip. I've had the question put to me time an' time ag'in; but never felt called on to answer it till now, when it may be we're likely to come together as mates. First an' foremost, why did I come off here nigh to forty years ago an' settle down to catchin' lobsters, when it seems as if a man what was put inter this world to help others as well as himself mighter done better? It was all on account of my havin' been the rankest kind of an idjut when I was young, same's you are."

"Oh, come, Uncle Ben, you don't think I'm as bad as all that," said Sam Cushing, smiling.