The Project Gutenberg eBook ofSummerfieldThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: SummerfieldAuthor: Day Kellogg LeeRelease date: December 12, 2007 [eBook #23832]Language: EnglishCredits: E-text prepared by Al Haines*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SUMMERFIELD ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: SummerfieldAuthor: Day Kellogg LeeRelease date: December 12, 2007 [eBook #23832]Language: EnglishCredits: E-text prepared by Al Haines
Title: Summerfield
Author: Day Kellogg Lee
Author: Day Kellogg Lee
Release date: December 12, 2007 [eBook #23832]
Language: English
Credits: E-text prepared by Al Haines
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SUMMERFIELD ***
E-text prepared by Al Haines
or
Life on a Farm
by
"When now the cock, the ploughman's horn,Calls forth the lily-wristed morn,Then to thy cornfields thou dost go,Which, though well-soil'd, yet thou dost knowThat the best compost for the landsIs the wise master's feet and hands."—HERRICK
Second Thousand.
Auburn: Derby and Miller. 1852.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, byDay K. Lee,In the Clerk's Office for the Southern District of New York.
BY THE AUTHOR OF "GOLDEN STEPS," &c.
Works of fiction are to be approved when they subserve the interests of morality and religion. The Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments—the ancient classics—the most distinguished productions of modern ages—afford striking illustrations of the beautiful and instructive lessons of virtue and piety, which may be conveyed in fabulous narration. The Parables of the Saviour; Milton's Paradise Lost; Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, are samples of salutary and saving truth exhibited in stories of the imagination.
I have made myself familiar with the contents of the following tale, from the manuscript copy. The aim of the author is of the highest description. He endeavors to instil into the minds of his readers a lesson of the utmost practical importance, intimately connected with the experience of every-day life. He would instruct them of the wisdom of being contented with a useful and productive occupation, which is honorable in its character, healthful in its nature, and conducive to the welfare of society, rather than to aspire to callings, not so laborious perhaps, yet more deceptive and uncertain in substantial remuneration, and far less calculated to promote public good.
This object the author successfully accomplishes. No reader can arise from a perusal of his pages, without feeling a higher respect for such pursuits as benefit the world, and a stronger inclination to avoid the more showy and worthless callings into which too many are disposed to crowd. The story is most happily conceived, and is narrated in a style highly finished and attractive. There is nothing insipid or over-wrought, in the frame-work or filling up; but all is natural and lifelike. The witty, the lively, the startling, are finely interwoven with the more grave and instructive. A fertile and vivid imagination has enabled the author to bring characters upon his stage which represent almost every phase in human nature, and to indulge in personal and scenic descriptions, whether in painting a landscape, or delineating some humorous or some noble quality of the heart, of the most charming character. The reader is enamored with the quiet enjoyments of rural life, and disgusted with the schemes of hackneyed sharpers. A high moral tone runs throughout the narrative. Vice is rebuked and punished—virtue is commended and rewarded. The idle, the vicious, the unprincipled schemer and deceiver, are painted to the life, and placed in such a light, as to act as examples of warning to the inexperienced, while the industrious, the wise and good, stand forth in the true nobleness of their nature, to the admiration of all.
To those who would discountenance the puerile and trashy novels, full of debasing and licentious tendencies, with which our country is flooded, I would earnestly recommend this work. It can be placed in the hands of the youthful not only with safety, but with the utmost confidence that it will exert a highly salutary influence upon them.
I understand the present is the first of a series of volumes on the various leading Occupations of Life. The author would discountenance the frivolous and demoralizing light reading of the day, and place in the hand of young men and women, works which shall induce and aid them to work out a great and noble life.
"Yes, and such a wilderness of game! My word for it, you would like it out there. The fat deer scamper from thicket and opening; foxes and wolves, and bears are plenty; wild turkeys romp and fly in flocks; wild ducks dip and skim like swallows on the lakes; trout and sturgeon, lusty and sweet; Indians good-natured as the yellow sun:—and such hunts as I've had there!—I tell you what, Matthew, they would cure you pretty quick of being homesick; and you would hardly look towards the Hudson again, if you were only once in the lake country."
"I should like to go there, Uncle Walter. It must be a very fine country, and the encouragements for young men must be great. I should like those grand old forests you speak of; and those pleasant lakes, and the hills, and the valleys. Just so strange I am—I should soon have affection for them, and reckon them among my friends. I should bring away their sweet summer fragrance and verdure in my soul. And the deer—how I'd like to see them bounding all about me! and the ducks and wild turkeys enjoying their free life. But to make them game,—I'll leave that to you, Uncle Walter, if I cannot soften your heart. If I could leave father and mother, I would go and see what sort of a life I could accomplish in a land so free and inviting; and what kind of a home I could build. The thought of this sets my blood a-bounding."
"Well, come, make up your mind, and get ready by then I start, and I'll be right glad of your company. I shall start in a fortnight."
"What say you, father and mother? My heart flutters as I ask you! But what say you to Uncle Walter's invitation? Can I not make a shift in the wild woods of Cayuga, and could you not get along without me awhile, in hopes something might be done for the good of us all?"
"It pleases me, Matthew, and it pleases your mother. We talked it all over last night, and concluded, if you would like to venture, we would make up our minds to part with you, and comfort ourselves with the hope of your doing well. Yes, go if you want to, and the Lord go with you, and help you all the time. I know by experience it is a good thing to learn to live away from home, and shift for one's self, and be independent. It makes a clear head, a ready hand, and a nervy heart. My father used to say, an upright mind, with a knack of self-assistance, was better for a president's son, than pockets full of money. I have found it true, and I hope you will remember it.
"It will try our old hearts a little to part with you, Matthew. All the rest are gone to the grave, and somehow we cling closer to you now. We are trembling on the edge of the grave, and waiting for Death to trip us in. We need to have hold of your hand, and lean on your shoulder. But I know it is for your good to go and build your own home and fortune; and if you prosper, as Mr. Mowry thinks you will, may be we shall live long enough to sell our little place here, and go into the woods again, and clear up a farm. It is a hard sort of work; but then it stoutens the knees, and knits the knuckles, and gives a capable soul, and a pleasant, pleasant life."
"That's the thing, Major Fabens. Tell the boy of the fun of clearing land; but don't talk of trying hearts, and old age, and the grave. You'll make a baby of him if you do; and he'll get a foolish dread of leaving, and want to hang around you all your days. Stir him up a little. Tell him you'll be glad to get rid of him; and to pack up his duds and be off, lickety-cut; and it will not be a great while afore he can pop over a deer without whimpering; and a log shanty in Cayuga will seem smarter to him than a city spare-room. Come, Matthew, get ready by then I start, and I'll take you to the handsomest country in all America!"
"Life is a wilderness journey, that all must go, having many struggles and trials; meeting many dangers, enduring many griefs. But if one does right, and keeps acting the noblest and hoping the best, that is the main thing; and it matters not so much where we go, nor where we build our home, and perform our labors of life. Hard indeed shall I find it, to take my soul away from all I love in Cloverdale: hard to leave father and mother, and all my young friends; but it is best I should go. Return in a fortnight, and I will be ready. God help me to be a man, and make my life an honor and a joy. If Icouldget a home that father and mother would like better than their little one here, would we not be happy?"
Such, my dear reader, was the beginning of a manner of life which it is the design of this volume to unfold. Such a conversation occurred at Major Fabens' many years ago. Major Fabens and his wife were very fine old people, who lived at Cloverdale, on the banks of the Hudson River. Matthew was their only surviving child; the solace and stay of their aged years; and Uncle Walter was a neighbor, who had been out to that beautiful region of western New York, called the Lake Country; taken up a tract of wild land; made a clearing; built a rude home; and returned, saying many a good, frank thing, to induce others to "pull up stakes," and follow him.
On the evening with which our story begins, a long conversation had been enjoyed at Major Fabens'; much had been said of the western country, in description of its climate and soil, its lakes and forests; and young Fabens listened in a spell of delight, more and more convinced that there was the land for his future home. He resolved upon going to the Lake Country. He hastened the preparation for his departure. His clothes were put in readiness; he passed around the neighborhood on all his farewell visits; and the morning of his exit smiled kindly and glad, as if to welcome him on his way.
It was a morning in August. Recent rains had refreshed all the woods and fields; recent thunders had cleared the air and sweetened the morning breeze; the pure sky spread like a curtain of clear blue satin to the sight; and all nature was afloat with those lofty and tender influences which soften the feelings, and induce meditation. A fit season for the scene that ensued at the Major's, when numbers gathered in sadness there, to take leave of their favorite. The sensations of the company can be fancied by those only who have joined in similar scenes, and shared their affecting interests. Kindest words had been exchanged, and a full flow of love was indulged through an hour prolonged, when it came for the father to speak, and give the farewell charge and blessing.
"A good son, a very good son, you have been to us, Matthew," said he; "and we have little fear that you will forsake the principles you take with you, or give us trouble for any unhandsome act of your life. But this world has many temptations; singular and strange events fill up our experience; and a little counsel never comes amiss. I have lived longer than you. I ought to know more of life and its dangers; and be able to tell you many things that will do you good. I have fought my way through difficulties, under which many have fell; and I have seemed to see a light of heaven rising on the darkness, and have followed it, when others like lambs have strayed into troublesome ways.
"Be faithful to the right, and good, and true, my son, and you have nothing to fear. Let no puff of praise, or flush of good fortune lift you up with vanity. Stand erect and keep your balance, if you step on ice or walk on wire. Be a man always. Keep from castle-building. Insist on the honor of your calling; and don't burrow up in the soil like a woodchuck, but range abroad like a deer, and soar on high like an eagle. Good-bye."
The last word was spoken; the farewell moment fled; young Fabens was on his first long journey; and six weary days were numbered with past hours, before the last opening in the forest revealed to his anxious eyes the home of his eager guide—the Waldron Settlement.
A new home in the backwoods! Living where the dun deer roam, and wild fowl flock! Sleeping a-nights where waters murmur, wolves howl, and panthers scream in your hearing; and whip-poor-wills sing till morning comes, and Nature appears in her gladness and pride! Who would not enjoy a scene like that for a season, forgetting the tame monotony of towns, and imprisonment of cities? Who would not forsake a room amid walls of brick for a green woodland parlor? And leave velvet cushion and costly carpet, for a cushion of moss, and a carpet of flowers in the virgin wilderness? Follow me, then, to the Land of Lakes, and ramble abroad with my hero, while he explores the Waldron Settlement.
A rare and yellow August evening it was, and about fifty years ago, when Matthew Fabens arrived in the Lake Country. As he rose the first morning, and went forth to survey the region of his new home, thoughts of his distant abode awakened feelings of sadness, but other sensations very soon succeeded, and balanced his mind into satisfaction. A wilderness indeed it was that waved around him; and the manners of the settlers partook as much of its wildness, verdure, freedom, and wealth, as if they had sprung like the oaks and chestnuts, from the soil; and he found it a region opening upon him, at every step, some new delight or interest.
That particular section was called the Lake Country, from the occurrence of seven lakes, that shine out from their green borders like mirrors reflecting the face of heaven. That beautiful sisterhood of little inland seas lie along in lines nearly parallel, with ten and a dozen miles of lovely woodland waving between them; and they vary in length from ten to forty miles; and discharge their waters, through the Oswego River, into Lake Ontario. Their names are, Otisco, Skaneateles, Owasco, Cayuga, Seneca, Wawumkee, and Canandaigua, each name of them sounding the rich, wild music of the Indian tongue.
On the banks of the Cayuga Fabens found the settlement, and language cannot describe the charms of its fine scenery. Few were the clearings, and small, which as yet had been made, and tall and grand were the beeches and maples, the oaks and chestnuts, that tossed their arms on high. Fabens gave way to the excitement cast upon his sensitive nature, and allowed himself little rest for a fortnight. Each day was too brief to accomplish all he purposed. He took long rambles in the woods, sensing the sanctity of their venerable shade, enjoying the views they spread to his gaze, and tasting the fragrance of hemlock, birch, and pine, that floated to him in mingled odors. All he had heard was more than true. The trees were noble beyond description. There were narrow openings and plains, in places, where the sumac lifted its blood-red plumes, and bee-balm waved its crimson blossoms; while generally the woods were dense and magnificent.
Through opening and thicket the wild deer bounded like forms of beauty in a dream; squirrels were chattering, robins and thrushes were singing in gladness and pride; and wild fowl were sporting in water and air. he went out to the fallows, and they were covered with Indian corn, or gilded with yellow stubble; with here and there a garden studded with cool and lusty melons, almost bursting with delicious sweets. He descended the low valleys, and there, as on the hills, sprang thickly-clustering bushes of large and melting blackberries, inviting him to taste and enjoy. He followed the courses of the creeks, and found them teeming with trout and pickerel, as playful as the scampering fawns, all mottled with gold and silver, and royal as the peacock's plumes in the running changes of their lustre. He stood on the margin of the lake that lay placidly sleeping in the embrace of hills; and the willow waved on its borders, and wild ducks and herons wantoned on its breast. The waters were so transparent he could count the white pebbles and shells at the depth of thirty feet; and they were pure and sweet as the dew that lay all night on the wild honeysuckles and roses, which graced the upland plains.
There was the hunting-ground of the Indians, and wigwams dotted the shore; while on its waters, floating and ducking like the wild fowl, sported the Indian canoes. He visited the rude homes of the settlers, and was welcomed to each hearth with that rough and liberal hospitality, which leaps from the soul of forest life. Several of them had known his father on the Hudson, and all were soon his heartiest friends. A frolic in the greenwood chase was proposed for every day in two weeks to come; and gatherings and feasts were had without number. All were near neighbors, though dwelling five miles apart; all carried the spirit of the country, with the breath of its free air, and the image of its woods and lakes in their hearts; and one flowing soul of brotherhood was shared, while one ardent feeling of honest kindness, and jocund spirit, bound them in a fellowship fast and warm.
The autumn passed; the winter came, and retired; and spring succeeded, casting abroad her blooms and blessings; and the woodlands echoed with music, and nature smiled like a garden gay. And more sensible of sights and influences of beauty, Fabens enjoyed the genial season with new satisfaction, and determined that there should be his future home. He bargained for a farm of a hundred acres, and commenced its improvement, cutting the first tree with his own hands, and selecting, on an opening he had made, the site for a log house. On the approach of summer, by a neighbor who returned to the Hudson, he sent his parents the following letter:—
"Mr. Wilson starts to-morrow for Cloverdale, and I take this opportunity to write to you. Of course, you will hear from him all about me; but still it may gratify you to hear from me by letter. I am happy and well as I can be in a new home of promise without you.
"I have seen many happy hours, and some that were gloomy since I came here. Uncle Walter told the truth about this country; it is a land of promise, handsome now in the state of nature. But you know that he who comes here must labor hard, and endure many privations, before he succeeds as he desires. God has blessed the Lake Country with a fine soil and great advantages. Still, as I expected, money does not grow on the bushes here, nor are the softest couches gathered from the ground. Labor, honest, resolute labor alone can secure the objects of good desire. For this I am ready with a strong hand and an ardent heart; and trusting in God to prosper me, I mean to have a home and farm that I can call mine. And while clearing a farm, and bringing field after field to culture and beauty, will I not be clearing my life, and bringing mind and heart to culture, fertility, light and bloom?
"I know you would like it out here, and feel your young years rolling back, and your hearts growing green again on the banks of the Cayuga. The country isveryhandsome. The deer are so tame they will almost eat out of my hand. Fish and fowl are plenty. Each homely cabin is the shelter of large and hopeful hearts, and the Indians are all kindness to the settlers. O, when you can come and enter my home, will we not take comfort? My love to all.
"Your affectionate son,
Fabens was pleased with his neighbors, and warmly reciprocated the interest they took in him. There was old Moses Waldron, the first settler, an out-and-out backwoodsman; smart with an axe, sure with a gun, free with a bowl of metheglin, open in hospitality, and an enemy only to owls, and blackbirds, wolves, thieves, tories and the British. He chased the tories and redcoats in his dreams, and talked to himself while walking alone awake. The owls annoyed him sorely. Not because they killed his pretty chickens, but because there was so little of them beside their feathers, and their eyes were so monstrous white and large, and they had such a ghostly halloo. Whenever he caught an owl's hollow voice in ominous boomings from the woods, he stopped and cursed him, and cried, "Ah hoo, hoo, ah hoo-ah; ah hoo, you pesky torment! if I had you by the neck, I'd wring it for you, I'll warrant you I would, ah-hoo-ah!"
Aunt Polly Waldron was a match for her husband; and while she was an actual woman in chaste and single heart, in motherly loves, in the tenderest sympathies and most unselfish feelings, she was a large, square-shouldered and hard-handed woman; she could split oven-wood, hunt bees, skin deer, and hoe corn; and she loved to tell "how she shot a tory in the Revolution, who came while Moses was away in the wars, and fired their barn, and took her best feather-bed out door and ripped it, and scattered the feathers to the sky: how the tory whooped and keeled as she dropped him, and how three other tories and an Indian legged it like Jehu away."
Uncle Walter Mowry was younger by ten years than Mr. Waldron, and his wife Huldah was five years younger than he, and they were specimens of thrifty and noble, but uncultivated nature, such as we love to find in the backwoods, and such as furnish materials for the richest and finest city life. Uncle Walter was of a medium stature, a well-moulded face, and fair skin, and he was hardy as a bear and athletic as a panther. There was never a farmer who kept cleaner fields, or handsomer stake-and-rider fence than he; or had earlier corn, or a larger woodpile; yet he did love a hunt more dearly than a venison pie; he caught fish from pools where others received not a nibble; and he enjoyed a leisure day, and a feast, and a fine story.
Aunt Huldah was a little swarthy woman, weighing only ninety pounds at forty years of age; but she was free and generous, and all who had her heart and its overflowing love, had all, and there was nothing left of her. She had the whitest linens, the clearest maple sugar, and the smoothest and cleanest white maple floor in all the settlement; and she loved scrubbing and scouring as well as Uncle Walter loved hunting. A stranger would have thought her a real firer of a scold; but she was never in a passion; and Uncle Walter used to say, he found her the best, if anything, when seeming to scold the hardest, and she had that way of expressing her interest in him, and making her work go on more briskly.
There were Thomas Teezle and his wife, who were valued acquisitions to the settlement. Thomas was stocky and muscular, frank, fearless and free-hearted; and he kept a keen and ringing broad axe, and could hew a beam or a sleeper as straight as a bee-line.
There were Jacob Flaxman and his wife Phoebe, and they were cousins; and both had yellow hair and freckled faces; both weighed in one notch; both sang in one song; both craved a fine farm and happy home, and were prospered in their craving.
There was Abram Colwell, who gloried in never having cyphered beyond the rule of three, or read any book but his almanac through; but who was upright as an oak; shrewd as a black fox; hearty as a beaver, and jocund as a jay.
And there was Bela Wilson, a farmer, a chairmaker, a shoemaker, carpenter and blacksmith, all in one, as Uncle Walter declared; and while he was close and exacting in a bargain, and stinted in his gifts, he had many streaks of kindness, and added usefulness, honor, interest and life to the settlement.
And among these people Fabens found pleasure and good fortune. The summer that followed the date of his letter, was warm and fruitful, and he went forth clearing and planting with a forward heart; and when September came, he looked back on his labors with pride, and felt a sense of comfort and content, for the beginning he had made of a home. By dint of extreme diligence he made a larger clearing in the spring than he had hoped, and succeeded in planting it all to corn; and now in the autumn, he had a wide field, bearing the promise of a bountiful harvest.
But he had not expected increase without tax, nor joy without annoyance. His corn-hills supported a liberal yield of well-filled, glistening ears; but foreign feeders that had not planted, nor hoed, came in for a share of his abundance.
The bears invaded his cornfield, trampled down the stalks, devoured much, and carried away more than he felt like sparing. He consulted his neighbors, and found that others were annoyed in the same way, and all they could do, was to guard their fields as well as they could, and hunt down and slay some of the ravening forest prowlers.
"We told you, Fabens, you'd have to come to that at last," said Colwell. "Wild beasts are thick as spatter around here; and you must down with some of 'em. It's no use to talk baby; you must kill the critters, or they'll eat you out of house and home."
"But they have a right to live, and I haven't a heart to kill 'em," said Fabens.
"It does look kindy cruel to drag down a handsome buck and cut his glossy throat; and see a harmless fawn spout blood, and strangle and die; and I used to shut my eyes when I bit a pigeon's neck,[1] and took little quails' heads off; but now I can do't without winkin'; and as for them infarnal bears, I'd ruther kill 'em than to eat. And you'll have to kill 'em, if you want any corn."
"But I hate to see them hunted, and wounded, and killed, they suffer so much."
"Suffer?—Suffer to bekilled!—Bearssuffer to be killed? By hokey, they don't indeed! Not they, they're used to it as eels are to bein' skinned. And haint you heern of the bear-hunt we're goin' to have to-night?"
"No, I have not."
"Wal, make ready with your birch candle and your axe; and come over and get my old queen's-arm musket, and go with us. I tell you what, it's no small fun to hunt bears. We'll have a smart time, and finish off at Waldrons's with a supper of bear's meat washed down with metheglin. Come, none of your chicken feelins in this country. You must kill and quarter the wolves and bears."
"I suppose I must. They are carrying away all my corn. In whose field do you meet?"
"In yourn, Fabens, if you'll jine us. Come, we'll give your little patch a sweepin."
"Well, I'll be with you. They cannot suffer much if shot through the head or heart; and I may as well begin a hunter's life killing bears and wolves; but the deer I'll never trouble."
Arrangements were made for the bear hunt, and a bear hunt they had; and all declared they were glad Fabens was along, for it gave him something not to be found on the Hudson. Torches were prepared, guns and axes were ready, dogs and men assembled at an early hour, and Fabens, Colwell, and Wilson were sent on a scout into the field to listen for the ravagers, and give the signal of attack. The full, bright moon beamed down from the sky, and every movement had to be stealthy and low to avoid alarm; and as Fabens crept into the field, and hid himself in the hollow of a stump, and listened, his very heart frightened him, for it beat so loudly, he waited in fear that it would alarm the bears, or betray him into their clutches. Beat, beat, went his heart; tang, tang, went the insects; hoot, hoot, went the owls; and on, and on rode the moon. Again his flint was examined; again his tinder-box felt for, and his torch fixed for lighting when it might be needed in the woods; and his eager ear opened wider and wider to catch a rustling noise.
At last the corn rustled, and footfalls sounded faintly in his ear, andColwell crept up and whispered, "The bears are in! don't you hear 'em?They're movin' this way. There! hear 'em rattle the corn!—There,there again, hear 'em snuffle and chank!"
"I hear something," said Fabens.
"That's 'um! Old Bruin has come with his wife and children. We'll give 'em a belly full. Stay here, Fabens, and I'll sly away, and start up the company. Hear that! and that!—they're snorters! Slink down into the stump; and if our comin' scares 'em, jump out and keep track a little. Don't be scart. We'll be along in a jiffy, and nab the varmints."
Colwell crept away, and exchanged a word with Wilson, and then stole off to rally the company. But Fabens began to shudder in his sentry-box. He had grown to be quite a backwoodsman; he had taken the strength and courage of the wild forest life; he was usually calm and self-possessed; but here was a new venture entirely, and while beat, beat, went his heart in rising alarm, the loud and louder rattle of the corn informed him of the closer coming of the animals. Now he hears them tear off an ear! Now they craunch it, and crowd snuffling along through the corn-hills! Now they cough, and his wildest fears are up; and now they breathe in hearing, and move as if for the place of his concealment, strip down a stalk, and rend off an ear, as he thinks, where Colwell just lay!
What shall he do? If he stirs, they may grasp him. If he remains, they will surely scent him out, and take him. O, terrible moment! Where in the world are the company, that they do not run to his relief? His hair stands on end, lifting his hat so high, the bearsmustsee him now!—Shall he rise and shoot? He would be likely to miss, he is so awkward with a gun. Why did he consent to lie there? Why don't they come, as they said they would?—There! there! a step nearer, and the grate of their teeth sets him shivering! Now, now he must die!—Must he not? or what other sound is that more distant? Footsteps—a whisper, and—they come, they come! and away jump the bears, and away with dogs, axes, guns, and torches after them go the men of the hunt!
"Now, Fabens, up and away; the fun's afoot, the fun's afoot!" criedColwell.
"Yes; butsuchfun!" faltered Fabens.
"Come on, come on! Mr. Bruin and his cubs shall have a good visit at their home!" cried Wilson.
"Nothing could be more in the nick of time!" cried Uncle Walter.
"We git 'em now!" said the Indians.
"Seek 'em, Bose! seek 'em, Spanker! seek 'em Nig! seek 'em, Watch!" shouted Flaxman; and with flaring lights, and clatter, and howl, and laugh, and halloo, away they pursued the bounding game. Now they take the woods. Now the bears rush down the hill, cross the stream, run in the gully, and race away; and dogs and men follow close and closer on their track. Now they worry up a difficult bank, and scuttle and wheeze away, away. But the dogs gain upon them; the torches alarm them; the ground is not safe, and they climb the trees, as the hunters all wish, and seek concealment in the shadow of closely covering leaves.
"Up a tree, be you, Mr. Bruin, eh?" cried Colwell.
"What can you do now?" asked Fabens.
"Down with the tree!" shouted Flaxman.
"No, let me see if I can't fetch the fellow with my old gun," cried Uncle Walter. "I reckon I can reach him. I've picked bears out of taller trees than that."
"What's there?" shouted Flaxman. "There's two on 'em treed. See the dogs tear away at the foot of yon maple! Let's slash down the trees, and give the dogs a little more fun. Old Spank's ready to jump out of his skin, he's so fairse. And see Nig on his hind legs, and Watch jump up and nip the bark from the tree. Down with them, and give the dogs a little more fun."
"No, no; I'll see first if I can't tickle 'em with quicker fun," said Uncle Walter; and all agreed that he should give a try. So the torches were held away, that they might not blind him; and clear eyes searched to spy them by a few broken beams of the moon.
"You'll have to cut the trees, or give 'em up," shouted Flaxman.
"It's dark as Egypt up in them thick leaves," said Colwell. "Skin your keenest eye, Uncle Walt, and then I guess you won't spy your game."
"Hold, boys! hold on, hold on!" cried Uncle Walter. "I spy one! Here, Colwell! you see that big limb, don't you? run a sharp look up that, and tell us what that black bunch is, eh?"
"'S a bear, 's a bear, give him gowdy!" cried Colwell; and Uncle Walter laid his best eye on his old queen's-arm, and fired. Rustle, rustle, went the leaves; a limb snapped; a growl exploded; a rattling wheeze ran shuddering on the still air; a shower of bark, scratched front the tree, clattered down on the leaves; and then a groan—then thrash—bound came a bear against the earth; and a torch at his nose gave Uncle Walter to cry, "Dead—he's dead's a nit! Now, Miss Moon, hang your lantern in t'other tree, and I'll bring down Bruin's wife to sleep by his side, I will."
"No, you've had fun enough for one night, Uncle Walt, and now letFabens try," said Colwell.
The gun was re-loaded, and soon the moonlight through the leaves betrayed the other bear; and after a little hesitation, Fabens took aim and fired. But his hand shook, and his shot was lost in the air; and Uncle Walter fired, and snap—crash—bound—came the other bear. The dogs rushed upon her, and flew back in full shriek. Then Fabens showed courage, and made up to her, before knowing the danger, and the wounded bear uttered a horrible growl, and gave him chase!
Terror was up in a moment, and leaped from heart to heart. Away bounded Fabens, and closely on his heels bounded the grim and open-mouthed bear. Over a rock he leaped, round a tree he ran, and the bear bounded after. Then came dogs and men, and were repulsed with shrieks and ejaculations. Then they renewed the attack; and as old Spanker caught her by the leg, and she turned upon the dog in fury, Colwell put a ball through her head, and the fearful chase was over.
"A narrow squeak for you, Fabens," said Wilson, "a very narrow squeak."
"Too narrow, I declare," said Uncle Walter. "I cannot stand that, I must set down. I thought Matthew was a gonner, and the fright takes the tuck out o' my old knees."
"I never was so scart afore," said Flaxman; and, "You'll not call me fool, if I sit down too," said Fabens, with white lips. "I am not used to this as you are. It is too rough, too rough for a new settler;" and down he threw himself by Uncle Walter; while the others, declaring two were enough for that night, gathered up the guns and axes, and, when the bears were dressed and hung up on trees, the company left the woods, declaring they would have a grand feast, and pay Fabens for his fright, if he would meet them at Mr. Waldron's the next evening.
Recovering a little from his fainting terror, Fabens joined their conversation, as they returned to their homes; and long before his eyes found the first wink of sleep, his mind wandered in perilous adventures, and in pleasant and unpleasant thoughts of the wild forest life. He would attend the supper at Mr. Waldron's; he would try to contribute his share of talk and enjoyment; but on another bear-hunt he resolved never to go.
[1] A barbarous way of killing pigeons caught in a net.
Morning returned; the day rolled away; and the appointed evening found the hunting party at Mr. Waldron's, and the sweet metheglin went round in flowing bowls; and all were jovial and ready with talk, and wit, and glee. The table was spread with luxuries. The savory viands smoked from multiplied motherly platters; and there were Indian bread, potato and turnip sauce, cranberry and wild plum sauce, a stack of wild honey in the snow-white comb, and cakes and pumpkin pies.
The bear's meat was discussed with fairness and spirit, and pronounced right fat and fine; and the supper, washed down before and after with metheglin of Aunt Polly's happiest mix, was taken with good relish.
"You get nothing better'n this on the Hudson, I reckon," said Uncle Walter to Fabens. "Give me a new country after all for elbow-room, a sharp appetite and a good pick o' game. I guess the Major wouldn't loathe such a bite as this."
"Aunt Polly for a supper of bear's meat, I say," added Colwell.
"Aunt Polly for the fixins too," added Wilson.
"Such fixins don't come afore every gang o' hungry hunters," added Flaxman. "Is't sage, or savory sprinkled on this meat? This plum sauce don't cly my appetite a bit; nor these fried scutlets; and I love to gnash my shovel-teeth on a clean comb o' honey; and honey, they say, is healin'."
"If you eat any more honey, Flaxman," said Wilson, "Uncle Mose 'll have to take you up. He'll make more'n he would to take up a bee-hive. But did ever anybody else get up a lusciouser pumpkin-pie? Aunt Polly always makes 'em deep enough to swim in; and she don't spare the maple sugar at all, nor the ginger, nor the shortnin' in the crust. And she crimps the edges so curious."
"How doyoulike a batin' like this, Fabens?" asked Colwell. "What makes you so mum? aint home-sick, be you?"
"I like it well, I assure you. I didn't think bear's meat was so fine," answered Fabens. "I am not homesick; I was just thinking how she chased me, and how narrowly I escaped."
"It was much as ever," said Teezle, "much as ever that the critter didn't mutton you. She skipped like a painter, and whet up her teeth for a whalin' bite. But don't think on it now. Here, who'll tell a good story, and cheer up Fabens a little? Uncle Walt, tell one of your painter stories. That 'll wean him of his fright."
"O, yes, tell a painter story," said Colwell.
"Yes, that's the thing," added Wilson.
"Fabens's run was only a jolly game o' gool, compared with your pull and squeeze with a painter," added Mr. Waldron.
"The one on the tree, that watched me half a day, cat-fashion? or the one that dogged me through the Owasco woods? or the one that chased me home to the chips?" asked Uncle Walter.
"Any one will answer to wean Fabens of his fright," said Teezle.
"Well, I'll tell the first that comes up in my mind," said Uncle Walter, "and may be another one still will come. Another bowl of metheglin, and then for the story." He took the metheglin and began. "It was the second year after we come here, and a day in November: the day after I finished husking. Huldah reckoned a wild turkey wouldn't go with a bad relish, and so I shouldered the old gun in the morning, and letting Bose follow slyly along behind, I put away out into the woods. I killed three or four pigeons, and a squirrel, and snipe; but on and on, and round, I ranged, afore I could get a single crack at a turkey. But a flock flew up at last, and one proud old Tom taking a tall maple in sight, and swinging his red gorget as if to dare a shot, I fired, and plump he come to the ground, while the rest flew away.
"Well, after all, this aint bad doings, thought I, and shouldered my game on my gun, and set my sails for home. I got a little puzzled about the pint o' compass; still I thought I was right, and putting ahead pretty good shin; when all at once Bose howled out, and the leaves rattled, and the ground rumbled, and up a shagbark walnut leapt a yellow painter like a cat, making the bark all fly again, and dashing her way to the tiptop limb o' the tree. Thinks I, my fellow, you wouldn't be very small game, and your yellow jacket wouldn't be bad for a winter wescot; so I took a close, quick aim and fired. Down tumbled the painter, with a hole through her liver 'n lights, and no time to breathe her last. It was a she painter, and I stripped off her hide in a hurry, slung it on my shoulder, and budged on again, as I reckoned, towards home.
"It was getting well on to night, and as it grew darkish in the woods, and the pint o' compass still pestered me, and I didn't know but my old head had got backside to, I confess I begun to feel a little skittish, and throwed away all my game but the turkey and painter skin, to lighten my load, and took a spryer step through the staddles. It wasn't the best o' walking, for logs were thick, and the grape-vines tript me some; and I had to nod and squirl for the staddles and limbs. I went, I should reckon, about three miles from where I shot and skinned the painter, and the last half-mile was clearer of logs and underwood; and let in a flash of sunshine now and then, and I thought I was coming to an opening.
"All at once I heard a halloo, and hauled up, and listened. I heard it again more distinct, and it sounded sharper 'n a halloo, and yet I reckoned somebody was calling. I bellowed back an answer, and an answer flew back like a woman calling. It was closer by than at first, and it trembled, and swelled in the screeching echo. I reckoned surely I warn't fur from home, and it was Huldah after me, calling. Away I shouted again; and back flew an answer full scream, and now it was a good 'eal nearer. It couldn't be Huldah. It sounded a little like her voice, but it screamed sharper than she ever did in a call or a scold. Louder, and sharper, and nearer come another singe-er of a scream, and I knew in a trice what it was. It was a painter; and the mate of the one I had killed!
"I thought of my gun, but I hadn't re-loaded. I felt for aminition, and there was only one single charge left! Scream—yell, come the sound oftener and nearer, and there I was, as you may say, a-most destitute of all means of battle. I turned cold all over, and my hair stood up like a hedgehog's. But not a second was to be lost; for the scream shook the staddles, and rung and rolled. So I loaded my gun with the last little charge, and legged it like Jehu, as Aunt Polly says, for several rods; then throwed down my game and jumped as fur as I could any way spring out sideways from my track; and a few jumps took me about six rods from my painter skin and turkey; and there I waited on my last legs, with my gun cocked, and butcher-knife slung, and Bose at my feet for a battle.
"The sun was just sliding down west o' my aim; so I had the advantage of all the light there was, and a big sugar-maple for a cover and rest. It was all done in a jiffy, while yell-ety-yell, scream-ety-scream come the sound, and the wild old woods rung again, and shuddered and shook with the echo! A thousand thoughts darted through my head as if lightning had chased 'em. I thought of poor Huldah; how she would feel, and what she would do, and what would become of her, away off here in the wilderness, if I was killed. I thought of her, and wanted to see her, and bid her good-bye at least; and would a give money for that little comfort.
"But scream-ety-scream come the sound, and my flesh crawled all over as if in a nightmare, and I sweat like rain. Now the scream was continual, and I heard every bound the fury made! Now it stopped. It was back only half a mile, where I throwed down my squirrel and birds! Two minutes more would bring him afore me;—yes, one,—for on he bounded and yelled more dreadful than ever; and Bose cuddled closer to my feet, and brustled up his hair all over; showed me his sharp teeth were in, and give a look that said, 'Keep your gun ready, and I'll nab him as quick as you fire.'
"Them last yells fairly crazed me from top to toe, with courage; and now he jumped in full sight—over logs and through bushes, with head down, snuffing close on my track! Leap-ety-leap, he bounced to the skin and turkey; and O, such fiery eyes as then glared and blazed! and such yells as he give! Then up started the hair on his ridgy back, and thrash, thrash, to and fro, like a mad cat's, throbbed his tail! and he snuffed for my track again. I raised my old gun, and partly getting the scent, he turned his head upwards, and his eyes flashed fire in my face! But afore he could spring on me, I plumped a charge into his face and eyes, and dropped him, as Aunt Polly did the tory. Then Bose made a lunge on the critter; but he warn't dead yet, and in they grappled for life or death! Then dog's hair and painter's hair flew like flax in the brake, I tell you. And then there was growling and craunching, I reckon. I see Bose was going to be worsted, and I closed in to give him a lift. My sleeves were scratched off in a jiffy, and the skin striddled from my arms. And such flashes of fire from them blazing eyes, and such a growl as I got for my pains! I jumped back behind a tree; the painter jumped after me, and just missed my legs, tearing away my old leather breeches from the knees, where I patched 'em with a stocking the day afore. Then Bose sprung on the painter, and I closed in again; and just as the beast made for a bigger bite of me, as luck would have it, I stuck my old butcher-knife through his heart, and he fell down dead on my feet.
"When that was done, and I was safe, I felt pale, you may depend! I set down, and poor Bose laid his bloody head in my lap, and licked my hands, and whined for joy; and I was so thankful to the old fellow, I kissed him, I did, and cried like a baby.
"But it was getting dark, and more painters might come, or a pack of howling wolves be on me; so taking only my turkey and gun, I drawed a bee line homeward. I went about a mile, and heard wolves howl a good ways off; but now I knew I was pretty near home, and my fears left me; while soon my log shanty hove in sight, and Huldah met me on the edge of the clearing, and said, 'I begun to be concerned about you. What! only one turkey? Well, that is better'n none. The chores are all done, and supper is waiting.'"
"That was a narrow escape, indeed," said Fabens.
"That makes your bear-chase a clever game o' tag," said Wilson.
"That's a good ending for a hunting-feast," said Mr. Waldron; and the company drew back from the table, and thanking Aunt Polly for her fine supper, they all went away to their homes.
A delightful ride of a single day, and most of the distance on the rail-way, will carry us now through a grand succession of waving harvests and verdant woods, of swarming hamlets and splendid towns, from the Cayuga to the Hudson, and set us down in Cloverdale, whose lovely homes nestle like a brood of milk-white doves in the covert of the Rensselaer hills. And then performing a journey of thought a little more rapid and long, we return to the time of our story, recalling the year and season, and admit another character to our scene.
We find it a pleasant afternoon for a walk. The blue Indian summer opens blandly around, and imbibing beauty and gladness through every sense and pore, we walk a good while, and then turn our steps to the mansion of the Masons; enjoy a free talk and a cozy cup of tea, and get a glance at Julia Wilmer.
The Masons have a lower and narrower mansion than they mean to have in a very few years; and their family grows, and crowds it too much; but it has a neat appearance, and the elms and maples in front, and the apples and peaches on the sides and rear, give it pleasant shades and delicious comforts. And the moral and mental scenery within, has many lights, and verdures and fruits.
The Masons are very good people. They are honest and industrious; they often relieve distress; and they have a few fine volumes on the dresser that most of them know by heart. The principal fault that any one finds with the Masons is, that they are too exacting in a bargain, too grasping for money and lands, and expect and demand, too much of their servants.
Julia Wilmer loves them, for they took her when an orphan, gave her a comfortable home, and reared her to womanhood with virtue, intelligence and hope.
And we see that Julia carries a crimson face, and smiling look; although she stoops considerably, and her long arms and loping gait, make her appear to many, ungainly; she is ruddy as a rareripe peach, and smiles from her forehead and eyes, and face and mouth.
But a feeling of sadness agitates our heart as we glance at Julia's history. Orphanage presents, in the brightest relief, one of the saddest sights that our weeping eyes behold; and hers was especially sad. Her father, mother and two sisters were all carried off to the grave in the space of one week, which she was spending abroad with a poor relative; and she was left without the comfort of a parting word or kiss, and cast upon the world at a tender and almost helpless age, with no provision for her welfare. Her poor sobbing heart came well nigh breaking, and though her pitiful condition, and her sweet and attracting manners, ensured her much sympathy, and many friends; yet none could think to offer her a home, and take the place of her family, but the Masons, of whom we speak. They took her home at last, and gave her shelter from the storms. They engaged to rear her to womanhood, and shield her from harm and need. They were always kind to her, and she never received a harsh word or look from them. They cultured her fine sense, and gave her a knowledge of books and things. They trained her against deceptions. They gave her entire person, the reason, the will, affections and form, as finished an education, as one often found at that day among intelligent farmers.
And yet they did not do right by Julia. She was large of her age, and all the more tender for being large; and they tasked her too severely, and exacted too much of her. She performed boy's work too often; she was dropping potatoes or pulling weeds, or spreading hay in the field, when she ought to have been sewing or doing house-work; she milked too many cows; she carried too many pails of sap in the sugar bush; she gleaned too much wheat; she sewed on hard sewing too long at a time; she spun too much wool and flax, and turned too many cheeses. The consequence was, that while she retained much of a superabundant cheerfulness, she was stoop-shouldered, and looked narrow over the chest; her form was less elastic, and her hands were hard and homely.
But if Matthew Fabens had searched the wide world over, he would not have found a better bride than she. He had known her from a child, and could well appreciate her intelligence and worth. He chose her in a love, whose affiance was sanctioned in heaven; and after three years' absence in the Lake Country, he and Julia met again at his father's house.
The joy of that home, at that meeting, you may well imagine, was hearty and high. The young people feared it was too much to enjoy long. The old people wept and smiled, and pressed and fondled their son in childish delight, and asked if it could be he, or did they not dream? and how he had been, and if he still set his heart on his western home. They rejoiced till midnight, and hurried each other with questions, and wearied each other with talk.
"It looks pleasant as ever in Cloverdale," said Matthew. "Home is home, after all. The old hills looked so good, I wanted to kiss 'em, when they hove in sight. Nothing appears altered; the old church looks good as ever; and the old elm-tree seemed to know me, and welcome me back with its waving limbs; and the house here—every room is just as I left it; and the water from the well tastes as cold and sweet; and I cannot see but you all look about as you did, when I went away. I knew father would hold his age; but I expected mother would look a little older. Julia, if she's altered at all, her hair is more of a chestnut, her cheeks are rounder, and a little more ruddy, and she is straighter than she was. But none of you can tell how I feel to see you all once more, and sit down under this old roof again. Home is home, after all!"
"You'll hate to go back again, won't you, Matthew?" asked Major Fabens.
"I shall grieve to leave you and mother again, but I am not quite ready to have you go on with me this time. I want to do more to my farm; I want to build an addition to my log-house for you, and prepare a little more to make you comfortable. Yes, I shall always feel sad to leave Cloverdale, though I like the Waldron Settlement quite as well."
"Think you can get a living, and build up a manhood there then, do you?"
"A good living, I am sure I can get; I hope I may build up a manhood. I like the country well; it is a rich soil, and very easy to cultivate. My cornfield is as mellow as a bed of ashes this year; I had a fine field of red-chaff wheat, with full heads, a plump berry, and straw as bright as a dollar; and I wish I could have brought down some of my big pumpkins and melons."
"I think I shall like it pretty well, if I live to get there; I love a new country; it gives you more space to breathe in. The air is sweeter, the woods are grander, the grass is greener, crops are more perfect, neighbors are freer-hearted, and a man prospers faster there. You have good neighbors, and I hear that you have some good times in the settlement. Think you will like a home in the wild, wild woods, Julia?"
"I think I shall. Cousin John lives where it is quite new, and I am delighted to go there. I know I shall like it on the Cayuga. I will be in my joy, setting my table for a hunting party, or a harvest feast."
"I know you will all like it, and when we all get there, if Heaven smiles, my joy will be complete."
They retired, and attempted to sleep; the morning came, and Matthew rose and completed the circuit of his calls and visits. A week flew away, and his visiting was done, and Julia Wilmer was Julia Fabens, and with the blessings of fond parents, they departed for their far forest home.
The journey was long and difficult for Julia to undertake. They could not then journey as now, on the rapid railway, winding green valleys, ascending great hills, and gliding through cities and towns, with as gentle a whirl, and as jocund a clack as if spinning skeins of silk. They mounted the tardy wagon, and rattled and jounced along behind a loitering team. But Julia had fortitude and spirit, to meet fatigues and discouragements bravely. Her early experience now furnished the fruits that could most refresh her heart; the fruits of courage, hope, and self-assistance. She expected the journey of life would not always be smooth, and she hoped it would not have more to buffet her joy, or jostle, or weary, than the road to the Waldron Settlement.
They came to the land of lakes. Emerging from a dense forest, on the last morning of the journey, they welcomed the light of an opening, and the sweet Skaneateles glowed upon their eyes. They were moving along its foot, and it glimmered and waved like a lake of quicksilver, in reply to the smiles of a splendid sky.
"Is this your Cayuga? How lovely!—What! are we in the settlement so soon?" asked Julia, with joy flashing from her eyes, and hope rekindling on her cheeks.
"No, we are near the settlement," said Matthew. "This is the Skaneateles. Have courage, my dear. I have brought you over a long, rough way. You are weary, I know, but have courage now. We shall reach home to-night."
They refreshed themselves with luncheon from their basket, and cool, sweet water from the lake, and rode on a few hours longer, and another lake saluted them with a bright smile of welcome.
"Then, this is your Cayuga?"
"No, this is the Owasco; but we have not far to go. Cheer up, Julia, cheer up, now, and prepare your dainty eyes for a peep at the loveliest Eden."
They rode awhile longer, and another lake burst in beauty on their gaze. "I know that is it, and here we come to the settlement. I declare it is a lovely spot, worth coming to see! What waters, and woods, and fields! I shall love this place, I know I shall. Ho! there comes Uncle Walter to meet us now!"
And Uncle Walter was followed by Aunt Huldah, and Matthew and Julia were heartily shaken, questioned and kissed, and led into the house, and served to hospitalities, that would flatter and refresh the proudest mortal's heart.