Rensselaer Republican, Volume 22, Number 43, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 26 June 1890 — SKIPPER BEN’S GIRL. [ARTICLE]

SKIPPER BEN’S GIRL.

Youths' Companion. If, in your travels, you ever visit the rugged coast of New England, you may come upon * 'The Cove, ” with its cluster of browm, gray and blaok wooden houses having queer, uneven roofs and crooked chimneys, and its narrow strip of pebbly beach, backed by high, foroniding rooks. You are very likely to find boats drawn up upon this beach, some of them over-turned for calking, and great heaps of hemp and seaweed and lasers of salt hay, showing how far up the water comes at high tide. And climbing over the boats or playing along the beach, lam quite sure you will find-a little girl—a brownfaced, barefooted little girl in a faded pink frock, whose hair is like seaweed a rich chestnut underneath, but faded to a sort of nutty tinge where the sun strikes it. If you ask this little girl who she is she will peep shyly up through her tangled hair, with a pair of eyes that will win yeur love and admiration at once, and will answer, “Dolly!" Then she will run away and hide among the boats, with her brown curls shaken over her blushing cheeks. But if you ask any one else—say the old lobster man yonder examining Ms lobster pots beside his warped and leaky old dory, or, better still, old Gapt, Graves, as he stands on the wharves every day, or sits by the stove in ’Lisha Tucker’s store, telling of the fishing when he was young, he will «y: “Thet? oh, thet’s Skipper Ben’s gal!” It is a strange story, and it all happened some years ago- —a great many yeqjES ago, Dolly would say, when Skipper Ben was not a skipper at all, but merely a brown-skinned young fisherman. He lived with his old mother in the little brown house that stands quite by itself by the water side, and whose leaves almost touoh the ground. And over in the blackish-looking cottage, with the silingles down the side, lived his sweet-heart—a rosy lass named Dolly.

They had always been friends ever since they were old enough to go about and sailed boats together in the pools among the rocks, or fhihod from the wharves. As they grew older, the Cove just kind or understood 1 ’ that they were to ‘be married as soon as Ben should become owner or part owner of a fishing vessel. Ben tfte an industrious fellow, and was always off at the Banks. Each time he same home he laid a little money away in an old stocking, for he was savirg up to buy his boat, and onoe, while he was on a fishing cruise with Captain Pratt, the captain told him of a prime little sohooner Ito had at home in the Cove, which Ben might seaiire for the contents of his stocking and in payment for his services that season. Ben came hoqje a happy youth. He had already christened his new possession the Dolly. And as he walked up the narrow, orooked street of the little fishing town h§ wondered why all his old comrades should look at him with such solemn, pitying glances. Peer Ben! He soofc learned why they all looked pityingly at him. His sweetheart, Dolly, was dead. Two weeks before she had been buried in the little graveyard upon the hill. Poor Ben, indeed! He was never the same man afterward. He kept the Dolly and took pride in her, going off to the Banks, and becoming in time one of the fir6t fishermen in the Cove. But he qjqypy was a boy again 5 all his old lightheartedness had vanished, and he became grave, moody and silent. For se'mo years he Mved, when be wee at heme, alone in the little byown house —for his old mother wae dead, toot A lonely time he had of It, when he was not at the Banks- In the evenings he would sit for hours with hi 6 pipe, staring into the fire, and thinking how different it might all have been if only Dolly had lived. ' . One night there was a terrible storm, and Skipper Ben sat by hi* lonely hearth, smoking and thinking. The wind blew and howled about the little brown house. It rushed down the chimney, and beat against the side of the house until it rooked. But Ben ' does mot notice a bit of wind. Pveaeotlj his gloomy thoughts got the better-of him. The tiny reom seemed to grow as narrow and suffocating as a grays, and he rushed out Into the night and the storm, where he oould draw in deep breaths of the wild* salt air. There was np rain, but the clouds were scurrying, swiftly across the sky. And well they might with such a wind at their he~!s - Such a wind! If Ben had not been the broad, sturdy fellow that he was It would have blown him off his Aset But ee I* was. he dtooffe ng sad lew*

the beach with long, fierce strides, and heeded neltrar the wlnfl nor the roaring serf. '-- _ Was it strange that, with the fieroe storm raging without, and the equally 4terce storm raging within, Skipper Ben should not have heard the shriek and cries of distress that night? Hot so very strange I think, but what was strange was that, above all the din and commotion, he should have heard a feeble wail—the faintest little wail in the world.' T \T J ~ T T' : ~ - But he heard it, at any rate and hurried to the spot fro'fca whence it came. There, lying on the beach, with its frock securely fastened to a-broken-spar, was a little child. “Why, you poor little oreeter!” exclaimed Ben, as he unfastened the dress. -"How ’n the world did you get out here?” . . ■* The baby stopped crying as soon as she saw him, and, stretching out her tiny arms, gave a little chuckle of delight. He picked her up tenderly, and, wringing out the soaked little garments, which were like cobwebs, and were trimmed with the finest lace, buttoned her up inside his heavy jacket.

Then it was that he heard the shouts and cries for the first time, and saw& men running helplessly up and down the beach, and gazing seaward. What were they looking at? Looking at nothing. -They are staring and gaping at the place whese a good ship had just gone to pieces. Could no one be saved? No, it was impossible. No boat could live in such a surf, and there is, moreover, no lifeboat at the Cove.

The ship went to pieces where she struck. Of all the crew no one lived to tell the tale, and of all the passengers, not one was saved—except the little baby buttoned up under Skipper Ben’s rough pilot-jacket. But the baby lived, and was like a sunbeam in the little brown house, for no one talked of putting her in the “Asylum.” Nor is there any orphan asylum at the Cove, though there are orphans, in plenty, for many a good fellow goes to the Banks never to return, nor supposing that he has said good-by lor the last time to the youngsters at home. The baby cried for “mamma” a little at first, but she soon learned to say “Ben” instead. And from that day on. the little room never beeatne narrow and stuffy, and Ben’s pipe of peace and comfort. The next year, when he went to the Banks, he left her in the. care of ’Lisha Tucker’s wife, at the store; but the year after she cried so hard when he was going that he took her with him. And ever since she has been his oonstant companion. And he named her—Dolly. Five years have passed since that storay night, and Dolly is six years old. She is a bright,happy little girl; and she loves the grim old ocean dearly, even if it did so nearly become her tomb.

Sometimes in the evening, when the wind is howling and shaking the little brown house, and the fire is roaring brightly and merrily up the chimney, Skipper Ben will tell Dolly how he found her lying on the beach, securely fastened to a broken spar. Then he will pull out a little, old worn leather trunk, and will take from it the once dainty baby clothes. They are yellow now and still stained with sea water. He will hold the delioate fabric in his hard, rough hand with reverential awe, and look with wonder at the little faded blue ribbons that gnoe were shoulder-knots. “I wonder who your parents was?” he says to Dolly. “Only think what you might ha’ been! Why, you might ha’ been a Markis!” . »-

Skipper Ben’s round blue eyes beooin e rounder and bluer at the thought and he takes his pipe from his mouth. “You might ha’ been a Dorchess!” But Dolly shakes her head with its brown curls and lays her oheek againßt Ben’s rough coat, saying, “No, no! I’d rather be Bkipper Ben’s girl!”

Senatorial Consideration. Washington special, N. Y. Sun. It is probable that when the silver bfll is taken up for consideration in the Senate, Senator Jones, of Nevada, will piake the second great speech of his life. It is an open secret in the Senate that the duty of reporting the silver bill of the Finance Committee and steering it through the Senate was assigned to Mr. Jones for the purpose of giving him an opportunity to boom his prospects for re-election. His term expires next March, and there are several ambitious gentlemen who will endeavor to succeed him. Among them, it Is understood. Is Mr. F. G. Newlands the wealthy Californian, who has recently been making heavy investments in Washington real estate. In 1876 Senator Jones made the most exhaustive speech on the subject of silver ever delivered In Congress. He spoke for. the, greater part of three days. The speech was generally regarded as a very able one and drew attention to him as a man of good attainments. The speech showed the evidences of hard study, and Mr. Jones has ever since been looked upon as one of the strong men in the Senate. His forthcoming speeoh will not be so long as his former one, but it is looked forward to by the So nators with much interest.