“What’s the news, father?” asked John, when the protracted meal was at length finished. “Who’s dead? who’s married?”
“Are all well on the island?” interposed Charlie.
“All are first-rate on the island. Aunt Molly Bradish, good old soul! has gone to heaven. She was buried a week ago Tuesday. Nobody else has died that you are much acquainted with; but old Mrs. Yelf is very sick, and you must go and see her. She has talked about you ever since you have been gone, and will never forget the good turns you did her after her husband died.”
“How is Uncle Isaac, father?”
“Smart as a steel trap; has killed lots of birds, and last winter bears, deer, and three wolves; and the last time I rode by there, I saw a seal-skin stretched on the barn.”
“How is Fred?”
“First-rate.”
“Has he built a new store?”
“A real nice one.”
“And put a T on the wharf?”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you talk some, Charlie?” asked John. “You sit there just as mum!”
“He can’t get a word in edgewise,” said Mrs. Rhines, “you talk so fast yourself.”
“Well, then, I’ll hold my tongue.”
“There’s another hole bored in your great maple, Charlie,” said Mary.
“There is? Who bored it?”
“Guess.”
“Joe Bradish?”
“Guess again.”
“Sydney Chase?”
“Guess again. O, you’ll never guess! James Welch;” and she told him the story.
“I’ll name that spring ‘Quicksilver Spring.’”
“Father,” said Mary, “you haven’t told the boys who is married.”
“Indeed, their questions follow each other so fast, I lose my reckoning. Joe Griffin.”
“Joe!” cried John. “Where does he live?”
“Right on the shore, between Pleasant Point and Uncle Isaac’s, in a log house.”
“Then he’ll be close to me,” said Charlie.
“Yes, only two lots between. They say he’s raised the biggest crop of wheat that was ever raised in this town, and has got the handsomest crop of corn growing.”
“Then Sally mustered up courage to marry him?”
“Marry him!She may thank her stars she got him. Let them talk as much as they like about his being a harum-scarum fellow. There’s not a smarter, better-hearted fellow in this place, nor a man of better judgment. He showed a good deal more sense than our Ben, who, folks think, is all sense.”
“How, father?”
“Why, Ben built his house, and then set his fire, and liked to have burned up his house, baby, and all the lumber that went into his vessel, and did scorch his wife; but this harum-scarum fellow burnt his land over first, and put something in the ground to live on.”
“They say,” said Mrs. Rhines, “that they are the most affectionate pair that ever was. Joe thinks there is not her equal in the world.”
“That’s just what he ought to think, wife. I hope it will last, and not be with them as it was with Joe Gubtail and his Dorcas.”
“How was that?”
“Why, he said, when they were first married, he loved her so well he wanted to eat her up, and now he wishes he had.”
“I don’t think it will, for they have been fond of each other since they were children, and ought to be well acquainted.”
“You haven’t said anything about Flour, Captain Rhines,” said Charlie.
“O, he ain’t Flour any longer. He lives in a frame house on his own land, is Mr. Peterson, has money at interest, can read, write, and cipher, and is master-calker at Wiscasset.”
“Good! Won’t we go over and see him? Didn’t they cut up some rusties on Joe when he was married?”
“No.”
“I should have thought the boys would have done something to him to pay him up for all his tricks, for there’s hardly anybody in town but has something laid up against him.”
“So should I,” said John. “I should have thought they would have given him a house-warming, and paid up old scores.”
“I suppose there were good reasons why they didn’t.”
“What were they?”
“One was, that everybody loves and respects his wife; another, that Joe had been very quiet for a long time before he was married, and they didn’t quite like to stir him up again, for fear they might get the worst of it, get into a bear-trap, or he might fire a charge of peas or salt into them. Joe Griffin isn’t a very safe fellow to stir up.”
“I suppose,” said Charlie, “they thought as I did about the bear at Pleasant Cove—if you’ll let me alone I’ll let you alone.”
“That’s it.”
“Ican tell you some news,” said Mrs. Rhines.
“Let’s have it, mother.”
“Isaac has arrived.”
“Isaac Murch?”
“Yes.”
“And has come back mate,” said the captain.
“Where is he?”
“In Boston; but he’s coming home to stay some time. They’re going to heave the vessel out, recalk, and overhaul her thoroughly.”
“Where is Henry Griffin?”
“Gone to Liverpool in a snow out of Portland.”
The conversation was now interrupted by the entrance of Fred. While the boys were greeting and talking with him, Mrs. Rhines and the girls embraced the opportunity to clear away the table; and when this necessary duty was accomplished, all drew up, and formed a happy circle.
“Here we are, all together again,” said John, thrusting his chair between Charlie and Fred, and taking a hand of each, while Tige, who could bear “no rival near the throne,” put his nose in John’s lap.
“Now,” said Mrs. Rhines, “we have answered all your questions, and told you all the news, we should like to have you tell us some; and first, why did you come afoot? You wrote us you was coming by water. What has become of the boat, Charlie?”
“Sold her to Mr. Foss. Just before we were going to start, he offered me twenty-five dollars for her. I asked John what he thought about it. He said, sell her; ’twould be a great deal better fun to come through the woods, and camp out; that sailing was nothing new to us. So we put our things aboard a coaster, took our packs, and started.”
“And you had rather go through all that thancome comfortably in the summer time, with a fair wind, in a good boat?”
“Yes, father; we had a first-rate time. I can tell you they are going ahead in Portland, building vessels at a great rate. Congress has granted money to finish the light on Portland Head, and it’s almost done.”
“They’ve got wagons and sleighs there,” said Charlie. “They don’t ride altogether on horseback as they do here. In one of these wagons a farmer can carry a whole ox, or three or four calves; carry a barrel of molasses, and two folks ride besides; or eight or ten bushels of potatoes, and whole firkins of butter. They don’t have to carry a little, stuck in saddle-bags.”
“I should be afraid they would upset,” said Mrs. Rhines.
“Father, they’ve got the biggest ox-wagons, that haul monstrous loads of boards, and the wheels have iron hoops on the rims. Our wheels are all wood.”
“You can’t expect such things, John, in new places. Portland is an old-settled place.”
“They’ve got a wagon with two horses, that carries the mails and passengers to Portsmouth, to meet the Boston stage. They’ve got chaises, lotsof them. All the ministers have them; and there’s a man, just come there from Newburyport, that’s going to make chaises.”
“Captain Rhines,” said Charlie, “there are big Spanish and English ships come there after spars.”
“It must be a great place,” said Mary.
“I guess it is. Everybody that lives there says it can’t help being a great place. They are expecting it will be an awful big place; and there’s a company getting up to build a wharf clear to the channel,—O, I don’t dare to tell how long!—with stores on it. They’re going to call it Union Wharf.”
“Father,” said John, “a man came there lately who wears loose breeches that come clear to his shoes. They call ’em pantaloons. Captain Starrett says it’s because he’s spindle-shanked, and wants to cover his legs up.”
In the course of the afternoon, Captain Rhines put the saddle on the horse, and sent Elizabeth over to Uncle Isaac’s; and when she returned, both he and his wife came with her.
“Charlie,” said Captain Rhines, “in the morning you and John must go and see old Mrs. Yelf.”
“O, sir, I can’t go anywhere or do anything till I see father and mother.”
“You must see her, because the poor old lady won’t live long, and she longs to see you. It will take but a few minutes to go over in the morning, and then John can set you on to the island.”
The next morning, after making their call upon Mrs. Yelf, greatly to the old lady’s satisfaction, they started for Elm Island.
Ben and Sally, having been informed by Captain Rhines of the time at which the boys would start, and of the manner in which they expected to come, were equally, with him, eagerly expecting their arrival.
Many times she left her work during the day, and went to the door to see if they were coming. During the period that had elapsed since the brief but glorious career of the West Wind, the old dugouts had either passed into oblivion, or were debased to mere tenders for the whaleboats, which were kept afloat at their moorings, or even used as cars (cages) to keep lobsters and clams alive in. Whaleboats had also increased in numbers, by reason of the impulse given to fishing, and were frequently seen going to and fro in good weather;and Bennie, who took every sail, it mattered not in what direction they were heading, for the Perseverance, Jr., kept his mother in a constant state of excitement by running into the house, and bawling out, “Marm, they’re coming! They’re most here!” Ben also frequently, in the course of the day, swept the horizon with his spy-glass. They expected the boys would land at Captain Rhines’s first, stop all night, and then John come over with Charlie. Accordingly he frequently inspected the cove, and the adjacent shores, and if he manifested less outward show of interest than his father, it must be attributed to his sluggish temperament, which was less easily roused, and the fact that he had more to occupy him, and was just at that time engaged with his hired man upon a job that interested him exceedingly. He was at work in his orchard.
When Ben declared that he would make cider yet on Elm Island, it was no idle boast. He had gone to work in the best possible way to accomplish his designs. He had, in the first place, burned the land over, the same season in which the growth was cut, and before it was dry, on purpose that the fire should not burn too deep, and consume the vegetable mould down to a barrensubsoil. The growth of wood was also of a kind that was rich in potash, an element in which the apple, of all the trees of the field, delights. Instead of waiting till he had taken several crops from the land, the stumps had decayed, and it was exhausted by many ploughings and plantings, he set out three hundred grafted trees, of choice fruit, that Mr. Welch had given him, right in the ashes, and among the stumps. Wherever a stump interfered with the regularity of the rows, he dug it up, otherwise set the tree close beside it, and the young tree fed upon its decaying roots. In addition to this, the soil was filled with the excrements of sea-fowl, that for centuries had bred upon the island, and it was abundantly supplied with lime from the shells of muscles, cockles, and bones of fish with which they fed their young.
The orchard was upon a southern exposure, sheltered by cliffs, forests, and rising ground from cold and blighting winds, and the bowlders, sprinkled here and there over the surface of the land, were granite. Enjoying all these advantages of soil and exposure, protected with jealous care from the encroachments of cattle, the trees grew more in one year than they would in one of our old exhausted fields in four. Ben, excessivelyproud of them, stimulated their growth by every means in his power, especially as he expected Mr. Welch to make him another visit before long, and wanted to show him what could be done on Elm Island, as he had expressed some doubts if apple trees would do anything so near the sea.
He was now engaged in burning the weeds and brush, which had been previously cut and piled up, intending to scatter the ashes around the roots of the young trees. He was also removing the stumps, a sharp drought proving very favorable to his operations. There were a few pine stumps on the piece, which, when not too near an apple tree, were set on fire, and completely exterminated, the fire following the roots into the dry soil, and living there sometimes for weeks.
The greater proportion of the stumps were rock-maple, beech, birch, and oak. The roots of these had become a little tender, and by chopping off some of the larger ones, could be upset and wrenched from the soil with oxen, aided by a pry, to which the great strength of Ben, supplemented by that of Yelf, was applied. Setting cattle for a severe pull, and making them do all they know how, seems to consist in something more than practice. It is a gift, and it was one that Ben possessed in perfection.
When a lad, before he went to sea, he was considered the best teamster in town, except Uncle Isaac. It was the same with Charlie, who had not been accustomed to cattle till he came to the island, while John Rhines, who had all his life been used to driving oxen, evinced neither inclination nor capacity for it. As for Robert Yelf, he couldn’t, to save his life, make four cattle pull together, and always, when he got stuck, took off the leading cattle. Those who do possess this gift, like to exercise it: there is to them a strange fascination in driving oxen, so dull and stupid a business to others. It was thus with Ben; no music was so sweet to him as the singing of the links of a chain and the creaking of the bows in the yoke as the cattle settled themselves for a severe pull, their bellies almost touching the ground. He had a noble team,—six oxen,—the smallest ox in the team girthing seven feet three inches, fat and willing. He had them so perfectly trained, that after attaching them to the stump, and placing them for a twitch, he and Yelf would apply their strength to the pry, Ben would speak to the oxen, rip, tear, snap would go the great roots, out would come the stump, taking with it earth, stones, and bushes, while Bennie wouldscream, “Get up, Star, you old villain!” pounding on the ground with his stick, till he was red in the face, the baby sitting in his little cart, would crow, and Sailor bark in concert.
It is often that friends, for whom we have been persistently watching, surprise us after all, when we least expect them; it was so in the present instance. Ben was so much occupied in his work that day (and having been disappointed), that after taking a look in the morning, he had not again inspected the bay.
As for Sally, after having cooked up a lot of niceties to welcome the boys, and running to the door to look the greatest part of the time for three or four days, she concluded that something had delayed them at Portland, and there was no telling when to look for them.
Since the stump-pulling had commenced, and the fires been started, Bennie, having changed his playground from the green before the front door, which commanded a full view of the bay, to the orchard, was busily employed roasting clams by a fire made under a pine stump; Sailor was helping him, the cat patiently waiting for her share of the repast, the baby asleep in the cradle, and Sally busy getting dinner. Aidedby all these circumstances, the boys entered the cove unperceived, and with all the caution of whalemen approaching a slumbering whale.
“What a splendid wharf!” whispered Charlie to John, as silently they crept along the footpath to the house, expecting every moment to hear an alarm. The hop-vine had covered half the roof, and reached the chimney in one broad belt of green, the honeysuckle hung in fragrant festoons around the door and windows; Charlie gave John a punch, and pointed to them, which was answered by a nod.
The doors were all open, for it was a warm day. Slipping off their shoes, they passed on to the kitchen. Sally was frying fish in the Dutch oven, and talking to herself all the while.
“I don’t see what has got those boys: they ought to have been here a week ago. Here I, and all of us, have been watching, and I have been cooking, to have something nice for them when they come. There are the custards, that John likes so well, as sour as swill; the cake all mouldy, and the chicken pie soon will be. Charlie likes warm biscuit so well, I thought we should see them when they got to the other shore, and then I should have time to bake some, and havethem piping hot when they get here; now I don’t know what to do. There’s that mongrel goose, the first one we have ever killed, Charlie thought so much of them, and took so much pains to raise them, I did mean he should help eat the first one. O dear, I wish I hadn’t killed it; but now it’s killed and cooked we must eat it, or it will spoil; Charlie ain’t here, nor like to be.”
“Yes, he is, you good old soul you.”
With a scream of delight Sally flung herself on his neck.
“How you started me, you roguish boy, you and John too. Why boys, where have you been? We’ve been looking more than a week, with all the eyes in our heads, and you’ve come at last, just as we had given up.”
“What boat is that at the mooring, mother?”
“One your father built the year after you went away.”
“I’m right glad, for I’ve sold mine in Portland, and was afraid I shouldn’t have any to sail in. Whose scow is that?”
“Ours; your father and Robert built it.”
“Where is father?”
“Out in the orchard, pulling up stumps.”
“Come, John, let’s go and surprise them.”
In this they were disappointed. Sailor espied them, and gave the alarm.
“Why, how you’ve grown, you dear child!” cried Charlie, catching Bennie up in his arms, who came running to meet them.
“I should think somebody else had grown too,” said Ben, taking them both up, setting Charlie astride one of the near oxen’s back, with the child in his arms; “but I believe John has grown the most,” putting his arm around him, with an appearance of great affection.
“What a noble team you’ve got, Ben; are these the same cattle you had when we went away?”
“Yes, all but them sparked ones on forward; they are twins, and are seven feet and a half. I went clear to North Yarmouth after them, and I never have dared to tell how much I gave for them. I’ve never asked them to do anything yet, but what they’ve done it: that yoke ain’t fit for them, it’s too narrow between the bow holes, and hauls upon their necks. Charlie you must make me one.”
“I will, father, I’ll make one that will fit them. But how these apple trees have grown, I couldn’t have believed it possible.”
“Ah, Charlie, what do you think now aboutmaking cider on Elm Island? In three years more some of these largest apple trees will begin to bear, and one of these in the garden, that Uncle Isaac gave you, blossomed last spring.”
“Mother says dinner is ready.”
“How does the goose go, Charlie?” asked Sally, when they were well entered upon the repast.
“Never tasted anything better in my life,” said he, speaking with his mouth full.
“I must go now,” said John, when the meal was ended; “I promised father I wouldn’t stop.”
“No, you won’t go,” said Sally, “till after supper. I baked some custards for you, and kept them till they were sour. You can’t go till I bake some more; so it’s no use to talk.”
“We’ll have supper early,” said Ben, “and you can get home before dark.”
They spent the time till supper in social chat, and in looking at the crops and improvements that had been made on the island.
Charlie found the swallows had multiplied amazingly, the eaves and rafters of the barn being filled with long rows of nests.
“What a master slat of fowl” said both the boys.
“I shouldn’t think you ever killed any,” said Charlie.
“We haven’t many,” replied Ben; “we’ve been saving them till you came.”
“Well Charlie,” said he, as they stood at the shore looking after John, as he departed, “I suppose Elm Island seems rather a dull place, and a small affair, after being in such a great place as Portland.”
“Portland!” cried Charlie, in high disdain, “I wouldn’t give a gravel stone on this beach for Portland, and all there is in it.”
“Nor I either. I suppose to-morrow you’ll want to go over and see Joe and Uncle Isaac, and go to Pleasant Cove.”
“Not till that orchard is done. I want to drive those oxen. O, father, won’t we have a good time burning the stumps, putting the ashes round the trees, making it look neat and nice, and picking up all the stones?”
“I see,” replied Ben, “you have brought back the same heart you carried away.”
“Why, father, how could I go right off, when you have got so much to do, and it is such a nice time to do it? Besides, I haven’t seen the maple, nor been up in the big pine; and I’ve only just looked over the fowl, and haven’t taken particular notice of any of them, nor of thebirds; then there’s a leg gone out of mother’s wash-bench, a latch off the kitchen door, a square of glass broke in the buttery, and that yoke to be made, and the piece must be cut and put to season. You must have a better goad, father; it’s a shame to drive such a team with a beech limb. There’s a tough little white-oak butt, as blue as a whetstone, in the shop, that Uncle Isaac gave me: I’ll make a goad of that. Then I mean to make a pair of cart wheels, such as I saw in Portland, on the Saccarappa teams, and John says he’ll put tires on them. Why shouldn’t we have things on Elm Island as well as they up there.”
“If you’re going to do all that, or half of it, you wont get off the island this month.”
“I don’t know as I shall do it all now, but I’ll begin, and I’ll make the goad before it’s time to go to work to-morrow. Come, father, let us go and split up the butt before dark.”
They took the small oak butt, set it on end, Charlie held the axe to the end of it, Ben struck the pole of the axe with a piece of wood, and they split it in halves, saved one half for axe handles, and split the other up fine for goads. Charlie was up betimes in the morning, made a beautiful goad, scraped it with glass, then rubbed it with dogfishskin, oiled it, and put a brad in it. It was tough as leather. He made another for Bennie, Jr. Proudly the little chap strutted beside Charlie with his goad, kindled fires, heaped the brush and roots on them, roasted clams, baked potatoes in an oven Charlie made for him, and blessed his stars that Charlie had come.
Before two days Charlie had cut down an elm, roughed out a yoke, bored the bow-holes, and put it up in the smoke-hole to season, to be smoothed by and by. He counted sixteen partridges among the yellow birches, but by Ben’s advice abstained from killing any till they should have increased in numbers.
“Let them alone, and give them a chance to lay and breed another spring and summer,” said Ben, “and then we can shoot as many as we want to eat, and they will hold their own.”
When Ben, Jr. received his goad, made as smooth as glass and fish-skin could render it, oiled with linseed oil to give it a handsome color and make it more pliable, he was highly gratified. The youngster, however, soon ascertained that in one very important respect it was deficient: there was no brad in it.
The discovery was by no means satisfactory; a goad without a brad, was no goad at all, and he teased Charlie till he put in one of considerable length, as sharp as a needle, but told him he must not stick it into the oxen. It unfortunately happened that this was just the thing Bennie wanted to do, and wanted the brad for. Charlie stuck it into the oxen, and he flattered himself that he could perform equally well. While his father and Yelf were at the pry, he strutted alongside of Charlie, leaping up and down when it came to a severe pull, very red in theface, smiting on the ground, and screaming, “Gee Turk! back Buck! her Spark up, you old villain.”
For a while he amused himself by sticking the brad into chips and flinging them to a distance, or impaling wood-worms and grasshoppers; but these amusements soon ceased to be exciting. The little Mischief longed, but didn’tquite dare, to try it on the oxen; he at length determined to do or die. Watching his opportunity when Charlie’s back was turned, he set his teeth, went close to old Turk, shut both eyes, and jabbed the brad into his thigh the whole length, with such good will that the blood followed the steel. All around the scene of labor were great stumps which had been torn from the ground, some of the pines ten or fifteen feet in circumference, sitting on their edges, the sharp points of their roots protruding in all directions. The enraged ox administered a kick that sent Bennie through a thorn bush, in amongst the jagged roots of a pine stump, where he was wedged in fast, screaming piteously. There was, indeed, abundant cause for lamentation; the thorns had torn his hands and the side of his face, the point of a pine root had gone through his upper lip, and the skin was scraped from his thigh.
Notwithstanding his fright and wounds, though the blood was running from his lip and hands, he resolutely refused to be carried to his mother till he obtained his goad, thoroughly convinced that it was a real one, and effectual, clung like birdlime to the instrument of his misfortunes. The next day being rainy, Charlie went to work in the shop upon a pair of cart wheels, and during the rest of the week continued to work on them.
When Saturday evening came, Sally said to him, “Now, Charlie, not another stroke of work shall you do till you’ve been to see Uncle Isaac, Joe Griffin, and the rest of your friends. Here you’ve been away going on two years, and come home for a visit, and stick right down to work the very next day. It’s too bad. Uncle Isaac will think you don’t care anything about him. I should think you’d want to go to Pleasant Cove.”
“So I do, mother; but you know father has been alone a great part of the time, and I wanted to help fix the orchard, get the stuff sawed out for the wheels, and then I’m going to get Uncle Isaac to help me make them.”
“Well, when we go over to meeting to-morrow,I shall leave you, and you must stay till we come over the next Lord’s day, and see all hands.”
“I will, mother.”
John and Charlie went over to Uncle Isaac’s and staid two days and nights. There they learned that Isaac, his nephew, was expected that week. From there they went to Joe Griffin’s. His farm was situated on a ridge of excellent land that rose gradually from the water, the summit being covered with a mixed growth, in which beech largely predominated, succeeded on the declivity by rock maple, ash, and yellow birch. In front of the house was a cove, with a point on the south-west side, which sheltered it from winds blowing from that direction, but was exposed to the north and north-west winds. The house itself stood within a stone’s throw of the shore, in the middle of a clearing of about six acres. It was a log house, of the rudest kind, as Joe thought it very likely he might burn it up before he got done setting fires. Rude as was its appearance, the whole scene presented to the eye an aspect of comfort and plenty. The burn had a noble log fence around it; a magnificent piece of corn completely surrounded the house and logbarn, growing to the very threshold, leaving only a footpath by which to reach the house; on the other side, the lot had been sown with wheat, which was now cut, and large stooks were scattered over the field.
As the boys approached, they paused in admiration.
“I have seen a good many pieces of corn planted on a burn, but I never saw anything that would begin with that.”
“Look at the grain,” said Charlie, “don’t that look rich? Well, they’ll have enough to eat, that’s certain.”
Entering the house, they found Mrs. Griffin at the loom, weaving, and received a most cordial welcome. The house had but two rooms, but the roof being sharp, and the house large on the ground, there was room to put beds in the garret. Skeins of linen and woollen yarn, hanging up all around the room, attested Sally’s capabilities.
“Where is Joe?” asked Charlie.
“In the woods, on the back end of the lot, falling trees. He goes into the woods as soon as he can see, and stays as long as he can see.”
“He must make an awful hole in the woods in a week,” said John.
“Have you got any pasture?”
“No; but the cow does first-rate on browse, and what grass grows on open spots in the woods. Now Joe gives her cornstalks, she does better than our cows ever did at home in the best pasture.”
“Have you got a pig?” asked Charlie.
“Yes, a real nice one. Come, go look at him. We’ve had milk enough for him till lately. Now Joe has to buy potatoes for him; but we shall have corn enough of our own by and by.”
“That you will,” said John. “I don’t see how you get your cow into the barn. You can’t drive her through this cornfield; it’s all around the barn.”
“We don’t. I go out in the woods to milk. We’ve got a cow-yard there; and when it rains Joe milks.”
“You have real nice times—don’t you, Sally?”
“I guess we do, John. We work hard, but we are well and strong: work don’t hurt us, and we’ve enough to eat. Our place is paid for. There ain’t a man in the world has a right to ask Joe for a dollar, and there never was a woman had abetterhusband. We are just as happy as the days are long.”
After seeing the pig and hens, the boys said they must go and find Joe.
“Well, go right to the end of the corn, and you’ll hear his axe. Do you like coot stew, boys?”
“Don’t we!” said Charlie; “and haven’t had one since we left home.”
“Then you shall have one for supper. Joe shot some coots this morning.”
The boys proceeded through the woods, guided by the sound of the axe, and soon perceived their friend through the trees busily at work. Creeping cautiously on their hands and knees, they succeeded in approaching within a stone’s throw, and concealing themselves behind the roots of an upturned tree, observed his movements. For a long distance in front of him were trees cut partly through, the white chips covering the ground all around their roots. He was now at work upon an enormous red oak, with long, branching limbs. Having finished his scarf on the side next to some partially cut trees, and which had taken the tree nearly off, he wiped the sweat from his brow, and with an upward glance at the sun, leaned upon his axe-handle.
It was evident to the boys that Joe had beenchopping trees partly off during the whole afternoon, and was about to fall the monster oak on them, in order to make a drive; and as he knew by the sun it was not far from supper-time, this was the last he intended to cut before supper. He had evidently done a hard day’s work. The sweat was dropping from his nose, and his clothes were saturated. Nevertheless, a smile passed over his features, as he stood with a foot on one of the great spur roots of his victim, leaning forward upon the axe-handle, evidently in a very happy frame of mind.
“He’s thinking about that piece of corn,” whispered Charlie, “and what a nice farm he’ll have when he gets these trees out of the way.”
“Didn’t you see him looking at the sun? He’s glad it’s most supper-time, when he can see Sally.”
Joe now resumed his work, and taking hold of the end of his axe-handle with both hands, delivered long, swinging blows, with the precision and rapidity of some engine, while the great chips fell from the scarf, and accumulated in a pile around the roots.
“I told you he wanted to see Sally. Only see that axe go in! How true he strikes, and what a long-winded creature he is!”
“Won’t that make a smashing when it falls? Such a big tree, and such long limbs! There it goes! I can see the top quiver!”
Crack! snap! Joe ceased to strike as the enormous bulk tottered for a moment in the air, then falling upon the trees adjoining, which were cut nearly off, bore them down in an instant, these in their turn falling upon others. Beneath this tremendous aggregate of forces, the forest fell with a roar and crash, as though uprooted by a whirlwind, the air was filled with branches and leaves, and when the tumult had subsided, a long, broad path was cut through the dense forest, with here and there a mutilated stub standing upright amid the desolation. As the last tree touched the earth, a loud cheer, mingled with the sound of cracking timber and rending branches. Turning suddenly around, Joe confronted John and Charlie.
“How are you, old slayer of trees?” cried Charlie.
“First-rate, my little boat-builder,” replied Joe, taking both his hands; “and how are you, John?”
“Well and hearty.”
“I’m right glad to see you, boys, and take itreal kind in you to come clear up here to visit me. When did you get home?”
“Last week,” said Charlie. “We came over to Uncle Isaac’s, and from there here. You’ve got a real nice place, Joe. How much land have you?”
“Two hundred acres. It is well watered and timbered. There’s pine on the back part, as there is on your’n, and all these lots. Did you see my corn?”
“Yes, we’ve been to the house, and came right through it. I never saw such corn before!” said John.
“That’s what everybody says, and the wheat is as good as the corn. If the frost holds off, and the bears don’t eat it up, I shall have a lot of corn; but right here in the woods the frost is apt to strike early.”
“Been cutting up any shines lately, Joe?” asked John.
“Not a shine. I’m an old, steady, married man.”
The horn was now heard.
“Come, boys, there’s supper.”
It was only five o’clock. It was the farmers’ custom in those days to have supper at five or half past, and then work till night. Sally had provideda bountiful supper—a coot stew, flapjacks, with maple sirup and custards.
“Did you make this sirup, Joe?” asked Charlie.
“Yes, or rather, Sally did, and sugar enough to last a year. I tapped the trees, and fixed a kettle in the woods, and she made it while I was clearing land long before the house was built. She said if I was going to have corn to begin with, she would have sugar, and you see she’s got it.”
After supper the boys prepared to take leave.
“Go!” cried Joe; “you ain’t a going to do any such thing. You’re going to stay a week. What did you come for—just to aggravate a fellow? It is like showing a horse an ear of corn out of the garret window.”
“But we want to go and see Flour, and Fred, and lots of folks,” said John.
“Flour’s over to Wiscasset: besides, you mustn’t call him Flour; he’s Peterson, now.”
“But you want to be clearing land, and we shall only hinder you.”
“I tell you youcan’t, norshan’tgo; so say no more about it. I want you to help me make a bear-trap to-night, and shoot some pigeons in the morning on the stubble.”
“Then I’m sure I shan’t stir a step,” cried Charlie.
“Nor I, either,” said John.
“I thought I should bring you to your senses. Have you seen the pig?”
“Yes; he’s a beauty!”
“Well, you haven’t seen the garden.”
“A garden on a burn! Who ever heard of such a thing?” said Charlie.
“You don’t know everything, if you have been to Portland, and worked in a ship-yard. Come ‘long o’ me.”
He led them to the south side of the log barn, and there they beheld a sight that astonished them not a little. Right among the stumps were growing, in the greatest imaginable luxuriance, beans, peas (second crop), squashes, cucumbers, potatoes, cabbages, watermelons, and flat-turnips. The peas and squash-vines had completely covered the stumps, and large squashes were hanging from them, and lying between the great forked roots of the trees in all directions.
“Didn’t take many sticks for the peas,” said Joe, “stumps are so thick. What do you think of that for a cowcumber?” pointing to a very large one. “Just see the watermillions!” taking up one as large as a large pumpkin. “All this kind of truck grows first-rate on a burn—squashes, turnips, peas, and especially watermillions. But come, ifwe are going to set that bear-trap, it’s time we were at it.”
When they arrived at the place Joe had selected, he cut a large log, three feet in diameter and about fifteen feet long, rolled another of the same length and size on top of it, then set two large stakes at each end where the two logs were to touch each other, driving them down with his axe. These were to keep the top log from rolling off the under one. They now lifted the top log up. It was as much as the three could lift, and John held it with a handspike, while Joe and Charlie set the trap, which was done in this manner: A round stick was laid across the bottom log, and a sharpened stake set under the upper one, the end of it resting on this round stick, and the bait fastened to the round stick. The moment the bear pulled the bait towards him, it caused the round stick to roll, and down came the great log on his head.
“I could have set it more ticklish,” said Joe, “but I was afraid the wind would spring it; and these plaguy coons, that eat whatever a bear eats, will do it.”
It is evident, that as the trap is now arranged, the bear might approach on the side, pull the bait out, and spring the trap without being caught.In order to prevent this, a row of strong stakes is set in the ground on the side where the bait is, forming a pen enclosing the bait placed upon the end of the round stick, which projects into the pen; thus the bear, in order to reach the bait, must crawl between and across the logs, and by pulling the bait, brings down the top log upon him.
“Charlie, I’ve forgot the bait,” said Joe. “Run up to the house, and ask Sally to give you the quarter of lamb Uncle Isaac gave me. Don’t you think the wolves killed ten sheep last night for him and the Pettigrews!”
“How did they get at them?”
“There hadn’t been any wolves round for some time, and they left them out of the fold. Uncle Isaac sent the meat of one to me.”
It may be well to inform our readers that in those days sheep were folded every night, to protect them from the wolves. A log pen was built on a piece of land where some one of the neighbors intended to plant corn the next year, and a number of flocks of sheep were driven in every night. After a while the pen was moved to another spot, and the land was thus thoroughly enriched.
The next year, the sheep were folded upon anotherperson’s land. Sometimes, as in the present instance, through neglect, or not being able to find them, they were left out, and fell a prey to the wolves, who not only killed what sheep they wanted to eat, but would bite the throats and suck the blood of all they could get at.
When Charlie came with the meat, Joe fastened it to the round stick, taking several turns with the rope around the stick, in order that it might roll when the bear pulled the meat towards him.
“Now,” said Joe, “all that’s wanting is the bear, and there’s just time enough before dark to set a spring-gun. Did you know I’ve got Ben’s big gun over here?”
“No.”
“I have. He said I might have it a while if I would make a handsome stock to it. It’s just the thing for bears. Come, go with me and get it, right in my shop. You haven’t seen my work-shop yet.”
“Have you got a work-shop?”
“To be sure I have. Not quite so nice as yours on the island, but it answers the purpose very well.”
Joe led the way to the house. On the side of it he had built a lean-to of logs, quite large, and in it a stone fireplace, with a chimney of sticks ofwood, filled in with clay; but he had an excellent set of tools, of the kind used in that day, and a bench. Here Joe worked for others, not for himself, and made yokes, harrows, ploughs, and other utensils for his neighbors, who did not possess the tools, or the gift to use them, and received his pay in labor or provisions, and a little money.
In his proceedings was realized the proverb, “The shoemaker’s wife and the blacksmith’s mare always go bare;” for while he made all kinds of conveniences for others, he had none for himself, but intended to have them all by and by, when the land was cleared, the place stocked, and he built a frame house.
“Look here, Charlie,” said Joe, showing him a piece of wild cherry-tree wood, in which the veins were very much diversified, “won’t that be handsome when it is worked off and polished? I mean to make a stock of that for the old gun, that will come to a fellow’s face like a duck’s bill in the mud; but the old one is just as good for me to knock round in the dirt, and set for bears.”
Joe threw the gun on his shoulder, and they started for the cornfield. He had planted the corn somewhat regularly in rows, though they were often broken by stumps.
He showed the boys a gap in the fence, where a bear had come in a few nights before.
“Why don’t you stop it up?” asked Charlie.
“What would be the use of that? You can’t fence against a bear. You might as well fence against a cat. Besides, when a bear has come into a field once, he will most always take the same road next time, and I’m going to plant my battery on that calculation.”
It so happened that the gap in the fence through which the bear had made his entrance on previous nights ranged between two rows of corn. In the centre, between these rows, Joe drove two stout stakes into the ground, and splitting their ends with the axe, forced the gun, heavily loaded with ball and shot, into the splits, the muzzle directed towards the gap in the fence. At the breech of the gun, near to, and a little behind the trigger, he placed a crotch, in which he laid a stick, one end of it resting in the ground before the trigger, to the other end he fastened a stout cod-line, thus forming a lever purchase. This line was conducted by crotches driven into the ground directly in front of the gun, then ran across the row back again, and was fastened to the stake which supported the muzzle of the gun. If the bear trodupon or leaned against this line, he would discharge the piece, shoot himself, and thus his blood be upon his own head. If he came through the gap, or along between the rows, he could not well help stepping on the line.
“There ain’t much likelihood of shooting a bear with a spring-gun,” said Joe, when he had made his preparations. “They have got to come right before it. If he don’t come through this gap to-morrow night, I’ll put some bait before the gun to tole him.”
They now returned to the house.
“It must be nice to have bears!” said Charlie. “What a good time I might have if I was on my place, making traps, setting guns, and hunting!”
“It ain’t so very nice,” said Joe, “to work hard, and raise a piece of corn, then just as it is in the milk, and growing as fast as it can, have a whole army of bears and coons waiting to destroy it the moment you shut your eyes.”
The boys, when they retired, thought they should certainly hear the gun if it went off in the night; but instead of this, they slept so soundly they did not wake till Joe called at sunrise.
“Has the gun gone off?” cried Charlie, almost before his eyes were open.
“Don’t know. Didn’t hear it. Didn’t calculate to.”
“Is there any bear in the trap?” cried John.
“Haven’t been to see.”
The boys were quickly dressed, and all three were on their way to the cornfield.
“It’s sprung! Hurrah! The trap’s sprung!” shouted Charlie, standing on tiptoe, and looking ahead.
The boys broke into a run, leaving Joe, more cool and probably less sanguine, to follow at his leisure. When at length he reached the spot, he found them standing with blank faces before the trap, in which was the head and shoulders of a coon, the remaining portion of the body having been eaten off.
“You mean, miserable little rat you!” exclaimed Charlie. “Nobody wanted you. What business had you to get into a bear-trap?”
“What do you suppose eat the coon?” asked John. “Foxes?”
“Foxes? no,” replied Joe. “A bear. Look at that corn,” pointing to a place where the bear, after eating the corn, had broken down the stalks, eaten some ears, bitten others, and apparently lain down and wallowed.
“Look there,” said Charlie, taking up a stalk of corn that was bloody; “that was the first one he bit, and some of the coon’s blood is on it.”
“He hasn’t done much hurt,” said Joe; “didn’t get in till most morning, or he would have done more; he’ll be sure to come back again, as he got part of a bellyful, and didn’t get enough.”
They now went to the place where they had set the gun.
“It’s gone,” screamed the boys, who had gone ahead; “there’s no gun here.”
When Joe came to the place, he found the gun gone, the stakes that had held it upset, the crotches torn from the ground, and the cod-line wound around the hills of corn, which was trampled down in all directions.
“Here’s the gun,” cried John; “it’s gone off.”
“Here’s blood,” said Charlie, who had gone to the gap in the fence; “here’s blood all over this log, where he bled getting over.”
“Look here,” said John, holding up the gun; “only look at the stock.”
“That’s where he bit it,” said Joe; “he was mad, and so he bit the thing that hurt him.”
“I don’t blame him,” said Charlie, “if he got all that buck shot and those balls in him.”
“I guess he’s hurt bad; he’s got some of ’em in him.”
“Let’s go right after him this minute: we’ll have him.”
“Not so fast, my boy; we’ll have some breakfast first; we may have to follow him miles.”
Breakfast was soon despatched. Joe loaded up the big gun, gave John his own rifle, and Charlie an old Queen’s arm that belonged to Henry.
“There’s been two of ’em in the corn, I know as well as I want to,” said Joe. They were able to track him by the blood and a peculiar mark like a scratch on the leaves, and wherever the ground was soft.
“He must have one leg broke or hurt,” said Joe: “see there! every little while he drags it.”
Thus they followed for hours, sometimes losing the track, and then, after a long search, finding it again, which consumed a great deal of time. The trail led them in the direction of Charlie’s place.
“It’s one of your bears, Charlie; they are breachy. I wish you would keep them at home out of my corn.”
“You must put them in pound, Joe.”
Pursuing till they came to the brook, they lost the track altogether. Thinking he might have gone into the brook, they followed along the banks on each side to the pond, hoping to regain his track when he left the water, but without success. They were now hungry and discouraged,—it was the middle of the afternoon,—and were about to abandon the search and return, but sat down under a short, butted, scrubby hemlock to rest and consult.
“If we only had Tige,” said John, “he would take us right to him.”
For the last hour they had seen no blood, and Joe reckoned that the blood had clotted in the wounds, or he had stuffed them with moss.
“We shall have to give him up; he’s got into his den,” said Joe.
“Why couldn’t we go home and get Tige on the track, and start, early in the morning?”
While they were conversing, a drop of blood fell on the back of Charlie’s hand. Looking up, he saw the bear in the tree right over his head.
Worn out with fatigue and loss of blood, and unable to reach his den, with the last efforts of remaining strength he had crawled up the tree,with the design of ascending to the thick top, and escaping the notice of his pursuers; but having tangled the cod-line, to which the stake which supported the muzzle of the gun was attached, round one of his hind legs, he had dragged it after him, and catching it in the lower limbs, he, being exhausted, was brought to an anchor. The exertion of climbing the tree had made the wound bleed afresh.
“Good afternoon, friend,” said Joe, who was greatly elated at this unlooked-for success; “see what you did,”—holding up the long gun, and showing the bear the marks of his own teeth on the stock. “Who do you think is to pay for that, eh? Don’t you wish you’d kept out of my corn?”
“See how guilty he looks,” said John, pointing to the creature, who lay with his fore paws on a large branch, gravely regarding his foes with the stoicism of an Indian at the stake.
“Come, boys, which of you want to shoot him?”
They both were silent.
“John does,” said Charlie, at length.
“Charlie does,” replied John.
“Both of you do. Well, both of you fire at him.”