177"Well, go ahead an' make an outfit if you know how. What's the best wood? Did the book tell you that?"
"The best wood is Spanish Yew."
"Don't know it."
"An' the next is Oregon Yew."
"Nope."
"Then Lancewood and Osage Orange."
'Try again."
"Well, Red Cedar, Apple tree, Hickory and Elm seem to be the only ones that grow around here."
"Hain't seen anyRedCedar, but the rest is easy."
"It has to be thoroughly seasoned winter-cut wood, and cut so as to have heart on one side and sap wood on the other."
"How's that?" and Sam pointed to a lot of half-round Hickory sticks on the rafters of the log house. "Those have been there a couple of years."
A good one of five feet long was selected and split and hewn with the axe till the boys had the two bow staves, five and one-half feet long and two inches square, with the line of the heart and sap wood down the middle of each.
Guided by his memory of that precious book and some English long bows that he had seen in a shop in town, Yan superintended the manufacture. Sam was apt with tools, and in time they finished two bows, five feet long and drawing possibly twenty-five pounds each. In the middle they were one and one-half inches wide and an inch thick (see page 183). This size they kept for nine inches each way, making an178eighteen-inch middle part that did not bend, but their two limbs were shaved down and scraped with glass till they bent evenly and were well within the boys' strength.
The string was the next difficulty. All the ordinary string they could get around the house proved too weak, never lasting more than two or three shots, till Si Lee, seeing their trouble, sent them to the cobbler's for a hank of unbleached linen thread and some shoemaker's wax. Of this thread he reeled enough for a strong cord tight around two pegs seven feet apart, then cutting it loose at one end he divided it equally in three parts, and, after slight waxing, he loosely plaited them together. At Yan's suggestion he then spliced a loop at one end, and with a fine waxed thread lashed six inches of the middle where the arrow fitted, as well as the splice of the loop. This last enabled them to unstring the bow when not in use (see page 183). "There," said he, "you won't break that." The finishing touch was thinly coating the bows with some varnish found among the paint supplies.
"Makes my old bow look purty sick," remarked Sam, as he held up the really fine new weapon in contrast with the wretched little hoop that had embodied his early ideas. "Now what do you know about arrers, mister?" as he tried his old arrow in the new bow.
"I know that that's no good," was the reply; "an' I can tell you that it's a deal harder to make an arrow179than a bow—that is, a good one."
"That's encouraging, considering the trouble we've had already."
"'Tisn't meant to be, but we ought to have a dozen arrows each."
"How do the Injuns make them?"
"Mostly they get straight sticks of the Arrow-wood; but I haven't seen any Arrow-wood here, and they're not so awfully straight. You see, an arrow must be straight or it'll fly crooked. 'Straight as an arrow' means the thing itself. We can do better than the Indians 'cause we have better tools. We can split them out of the solid wood."
"What wood? Some bloomin' foreign kind that no White-man never saw nor heard of before?"
"No sir-ree. There ain't anything better 'n White Pine for target and Ash or Hickory for hunting arrows. Which are we making?"
"I'm a hunter. Give me huntin' arrows every time. What's needed next?"
"Seasoned Ash twenty-five inches long, split to three-eighths of an inch thick, hot glue, and turkey-wing feathers."
"I'll get the feathers and let you do the rest," said Sam, producing a bundle of turkey-wings, laid away as stove-dusters, and then belied his own statement by getting a block of Ash and splitting it up, halving it each time till he had a pile of two dozen straight sticks about three-quarters of an inch thick.
Arrowwood
180Yan took one and began with his knife to whittle it down to proper size and shape, but Sam said, "I can do better than that," then took the lot to the workbench and set to work with a smoothing plane. Yan looked worried and finally said:
"Injuns didn't have planes."
"Nor jack-knives neither," was the retort.
That was true, and yet somehow Yan's ideal that he hankered after was the pre-Columbian Indian, the one who had no White-man's help or tools.
"It seems to me it'd be more Injun to make these with just what we get in the woods. The Injuns didn't have jack-knives, but they had sharp flints in the old days."
"Yan, you go ahead with a sharp stone. You'll find lots on the road if you take off your shoes and walk barefoot—awful sharp; an' I'll go ahead with the smoothing plane an' see who wins."
Yan was not satisfied, but he contented himself with promising that he would some day make some arrows of Arrow-wood shoots and now he would finish at least one with his knife. He did so, but Sam, in the meantime, made six much better ones with the smoothing plane.
"What about heads?" said he.
"I've been thinking," was the reply. "Of course the Indians used stone heads fastened on with sinew, but we haven't got the stuff to do that. Bought heads of iron with a ferrule for the end of the arrow are best, but we can't get them. Bone heads and horn heads will do. I made some fine ones once filing181bones into the shape, but they were awfully brittle; and I made some more of big nails cut off and set in with a lashing of fine wire around the end to stop the wood splitting. Some Indian arrows have no point but the stick sharpened after it's scorched to harden it."
Six Sample Arrows, Showing Different Feathers
"That sounds easy enough for me," said Sam; "let's make some of them that way."
So the arrows were made, six each with nail points filed sharp and lashed with broom wire. These were called "War arrows," and six each with fire-hardened wood points for hunting arrows.
"Now for the feathering," and Yan showed Sam how to split the midrib of a turkey feather and separate the vane.
"Le's see, you want twice twenty-four—that's forty-eight feathers."
"No," said Yan, "that's a poor feathering, two on each. We want three on each arrow—seventy-two strips in all, and mind you, we want all three that are on one arrow from the same side of the bird."
"I know. I'll bet it's bad luck to mix sides; arrows doesn't know which way to turn."
At this moment Si Lee came in. "How are ye gettin' on with the bows?"
"Waitin' for arrows now."
"How do ye put on the feathers?"
"White-men glue them on, and Injuns lash them on," replied Yan, quoting from memory from "that182book."
Ais a far-flying steel-pointed bobtail, very good in wind.Bis another very good arrow, with a horn point. This went even better thanAif there were no wind.Cis an Omaha war and deer arrow. Both heads and feathers are lashed on with sinew. The long tufts of down left on the feathers are to help in finding it again, as they are snow-white and wave in the breeze. The grooves on the shaft are to make the victim bleed more freely and be more easily tracked.Dis another Omaha arrow with a peculiar owner's mark of lines carved in the middle,Eis a bone-headed bird shaft made by the Indians of the Mackenzie River.Fis a war arrow made by Geronimo, the famous Apache chief. Its shaft is three joints of a straight cane. The tip is of hard wood, and on that is a fine quartz point; all being lashed together with sinew.
"Which is best?"
"Glued on flies better, but lashed on stands the weather better."
"Why not both?"
"Have no sinew."
"Let me show ye a trick. Where's yer glue an' linen thread?"
These were brought, whereupon Si added: "'Pears to me ye oughter put the feathers on last. Better cut the notch first."
"That's so; we nearly forgot."
"Younearly forgot, you mean. Don't dragmein the mud," said Sam, with owlish dignity. A small saw cut, cleaned up and widened with a penknife, proved the best; a notch one-fourth inch deep was quickly made in each arrow, and Si set aboutbothglueingandlashing on the feathers, but using wax-end instead of sinew.
Yan had marked the place for each feather so that none would strike the bow in passing (see Cut page 183). He first glued them on, then made a lashing for half an inch on the projecting ends of the feather-rib, and another behind, carrying this second lashing back to the beginning of the notch to guard against the wood splitting. When he had trimmed all loose ends and rolled the waxed thread well on the bench with a flat stick, the threads seemed to disappear and leave simply a smooth black ring.
183
The Archery Outfit
I. The five-foot bow as finished, with sections at the points shown.II. The bow "braced" or strung.III. The bow unstrung, showing the loop slipped down.IV. The loop that is used on the upper end of the bow.V. The timber hitch always used on the lower end or notch of the bow.VI. A turkey feather with split midrib, all ready to lash on.VII. End view of arrow, showing notch and arrangement of three feathers.VIII. Part of arrow, showing feathering and lashing.IX. Sanger hunting arrow with wooden point; 25 inches long.X. Sanger war arrow with nail point and extra long feathers; it also is 25 inches long.XI. Quiver with Indian design; 20 inches long.XII. The "bracer" or arm guard of heavy leather for left arm, with two laces to tie it on. It is six inches long.]
185Thus the arrows were made and set away for the glue to dry.
Next day Yan painted Sam's red and blue, his own red and white, to distinguish them as well as guard them from the damp. There was now one more thing, and that was a quiver.
"Do the Injuns have them?" asked Sam, with a keen eye to orthodoxy when it promised to cut short the hard work.
"Well, I should say so; couldn't live without them."
"All right; hurry up. I'm spoiling for a hunt. What are they made of?"
"Oh, 'most anything."
"Haven't got it."
"You're too fast. But some use Birch bark, some use the skin of an animal, and some use canvas now when other stuff is scarce."
"That's us. You mind the stuff left off the teepee?"
"Do till we get better." So each made a sort of canvas bag shorter than the arrows. Yan painted an Indian device on each, and they were ready.
Omaha Bow Case and Quiver of Buckskin and Quillwork
"Now bring on your Bears," said the older boy, and feeling a sense of complete armament, they went out.
"See who can hit that tree." Both fired together and missed, but Sam's arrow struck another tree and split open.
"Guess we'd better get a soft target," he remarked. Then after discussion they got a large old corn sack full of hay, painted on it some rings around a bull's186eye (a Buffalo's eye, Sam called it) and set it up at twenty yards.
They were woefully disappointed at first in their shooting. It did seem a very easy mark, and it was disappointing to have the arrows fly some feet away to the left.
"Le's get in the barn and shoot at that," suggested Sam.
"We might hit it if we shut the door tight," was the optimistic reply. As well as needing practice, the boys had to learn several little rules about Archery. But Yan had some pencil notes from "that book" and some more in his brain that with much practice gradually taught him: To stand with his heel centres in line with the target; his right elbow in line with the arrow; his left hand fixed till the arrow struck; his right thumb always on the same place on his cheek when he fired, and the bow plumb.
They soon found that they needed guards for the left arm where the bow strings struck, and these they made out of the leg of an old boot (see Cut page 183), and an old glove to protect the fingers of the right hand when they practised very much. After they learned to obey the rules without thinking about them, the boys improved quickly and soon they were able to put all the arrows into the hay sack at twenty yards, increasing the distance later till they could make fair shooting at forty yards.
They were not a little surprised to find how much individuality the arrows had, although meant to be187exactly alike.
Sam had one that continued to warp until it was much bent, and the result was some of the most surprising curves in its flight. This he called the "Boomerang." Another, with a very small feather, travelled farther than any of the rest. This was the "Far-killer." His best arrow, one that he called "Sure-death," was a long-feathered Turkey shaft with a light head. It was very reliable on a calm day, but apt to swerve in the wind. Yet another, with a small feather, was correspondingly reliable on a windy day. This was "Wind-splitter."
The one Yan whittled with the knife was called the "Whittler," and sometimes the "Joker." It was a perpetual mystery, they never knew just what it would do next. His particular pet was one with a hollow around the point, which made a whistling sound when it flew, and was sometimes called the "Whistler" and sometimes the "Jabberwock," "which whiffled through the tulgy wood and burbled as it came."Correct Form In Shooting
The diagram at bottom is to show the centres of heels in line with target.
188
One hot day early in July they were enjoying themselves in the shallow bathing-hole of the creek, when Sam observed: "It's getting low. It goes dry every summer."
This was not pleasing to foresee, and Yan said, "Why can't we make a dam?"
"A little too much like work."
"Oh, pshaw! That'd be fun and we'd have a swimming-place for all summer, then. Come on; let's start now."
"Never heard of Injuns doing so much work."
"Well, we'll play Beaver while we do it. Come on, now; here's for a starter," and Yan carried a big stone to what seemed to him the narrowest place. Then he brought more, and worked with enthusiasm till he had a line of stones right across the creek bed.
Sam still sat naked on the bank, his knees to his chin and his arms around them. The war-paint was running down his chest in blue and red streaks.
"Come on, here, you lazy freak, and work," cried Yan, and flung a handful of mud to emphasize the invite.
189"My festered knee's broke out again," was the reply.
At length Yan said, "I'm not going to do it all alone," and straightened up his back.
"Look a-here," was the answer. "I've been thinking. The cattle water here. The creek runs dry in summer, then the cattle has to go to the barnyard and drink at the trough—has to be pumped for, and hang round for hours after hoping some one will give them some oats, instead of hustling back to the woods to get fat. Now, two big logs across there would be more'n half the work. I guess we'll ask Da to lend us the team to put them logs across to make a drinking-pond for the cattle. Them cattle is awful on my mind. Didn't sleep all night thinking o' them. I just hate like pizen to see them walking all the way to the barn in hot weather for a drink—'tain't right." So Sam waited for a proper chance to "tackle" his father. It did not come that day, but at breakfast next morning Raften looked straight at Yan across the table, and evidently thinking hard about something, said:
"Yahn, this yer room is twenty foot by fifteen, how much ilecloth three foot wide will it call fur?"
"Thirty-three and one-third yards," Yan said at once.
Raften was staggered. Yan's manner was convincing, but to do all that in his head was the miracle. Various rude tests were applied and the general opinion prevailed that Yan was right.
190The farmer's face beamed with admiration for the first time. "Luk at that," he said to the table, "luk at that fur eddication. When'll you be able to do the like?" he said to Sam.
"Never," returned his son, with slow promptness. "Dentists don't have to figger on ilecloth."
"Say, Yan," said Sam aside, "guessyoubetter tackle Da about the dam. Kind o' sot up about ye this mornin'; your eddication has softened him some, an' it'll last till about noon, I jedge. Strike while the iron is hot."
So after breakfast Yan commenced:
"Mr. Raften, the creek's running dry. We want to make a pond for the cattle to drink, but we can't make a dam without two big logs across. Will you let us have the team a few minutes to place the logs?"
"It ain't fur a swimmin'-pond, is it, ye mean?" said Raften, with a twinkle in his eye.
"It would do for that as well," and Yan blushed.
"Sounds to me like Sam talking through Yan's face," added Raften, shrewdly taking in the situation. "I'll see fur meself."
Arrived at the camp, he asked: "Now, whayer's yer dam to be? Thar? That's no good. It's narrer but it'd be runnin' round both ends afore ye had any water to speak of. Thayer's a better place, a bit wider, but givin' a good pond. Whayer's yer logs? Thayer? What—my seasoning timber? Ye can't hev that. That's the sill fur the new barrn; nor that—it's seasonin' fur gate posts. Thayer's two191ye kin hev. I'll send the team, but don't let me ketch ye stealin' any o' my seasonin' timber or the fur'll fly."
With true Raften promptness the heavy team came, the two great logs were duly dragged across and left as Yan requested (four feet apart for the top of the dam).
Cross-section of dam
The boys now drove in a row of stakes against each log on the inner side, to form a crib, and were beginning to fill in the space with mud and stones. They were digging and filling it up level as they went. Clay was scarce and the work went slowly; the water, of course, rising as the wall arose, added to the difficulty. But presently Yan said:
"Hold on. New scheme. Let's open her and dig a deep trench on one side so all the water will go by, then leave a clay wall to it" [the trench] "and dig a deep hole on the other side of it. That will give us plenty of stuff for the dam and help to deepen the pond."
Construction of the Dam
Thus they worked. In a week the crib was full of packed clay and stone. Then came the grand finish —the closing of this sluiceway through the dam. It was not easy with the full head of water running, but they worked like beavers and finally got it stopped.
That night there was a heavy shower. Next day when they came near they heard a dull roar in the woods. They stopped and listened in doubt, then Yan exclaimed gleefully: "The dam! That's the192water running over the dam."
They both set off with a yell and ran their fastest. As soon as they came near they saw a great sheet of smooth water where the stony creek bottom had been and a steady current over the low place left as an overflow in the middle of the dam.
What a thrill of pleasure that was!
"Last in's a dirty sucker."
"Look out for my bad knee," was the response.
The rest of the race was a mixture of stripping and sprinting and the boys splashed in together.
Five feet deep in the deep hole, a hundred yards long, and all their own doing.
"Now, wasn't it worth it?" asked Yan, who had had much difficulty in keeping Sam steadily at play that looked so very much like work.
"Wonder how that got here? I thought I left that in the teepee?" and Sam pointed to a log that he used for a seat in the teepee, but now it was lodged in the overflow.
Yan was a good swimmer, and as they played and splashed, Sam said: "Now I know who you are. You can't hide it from me no longer. I suspicioned it when you were working on the dam. You're that tarnal Redskin they call 'Little Beaver.'"
"I've been watching you," retorted Yan, "and it seems to me I've run up against that copper-coloured scallawag—'Young-Man-Afraid-of-a-Shovel.'"
193
The dam was a great success
"No, you don't," said Sam. "Nor I ain't 'Bald- Eagle-Settin'-on-a-Rock-with-his-Tail-Hangin'-over-the195-Edge,'nuther. In fact, I don't keer to be recognized just now. Ain't it a relief to think the cattle don't have to take that walk any more?"
Sam was evidently trying to turn the subject, but Yan would not be balked. "I heard Si call you 'Woodpecker' the other day."
"Yep. I got that at school. When I was a kid to hum I heerd Ma talk about me be-a-u-tifulgoldenhair, but when I got big enough to go to school I learned that it was onlyred, an' they called me the 'Red-headed Woodpecker.' I tried to lick them, but lots of them could lick me an' rubbed it in wuss. When I seen fightin' didn't work, I let on to like it, but it was too late then. Mostly it's just 'Woodpecker' for short. I don't know as it ever lost me any sleep."
Half an hour later, as they sat by the fire that Yan made with rubbing-sticks, he said, "Say, Woodpecker, I want to tell you a story." Sam grimaced, pulled his ears forward, and made ostentatious preparations to listen.
"There was once an Indian squaw taken prisoner by some other tribe way up north. They marched her 500 miles away, but one night she escaped and set out, not on the home trail, for she knew they would follow that way and kill her, but to one side. She didn't know the country and got lost. She had no weapons but a knife, and no food but berries. Well, she travelled fast for several days till a rainstorm came, then she felt safe, for she knew her enemies could not trail her now. But winter was196near and she could not get home before it came. So she set to work right where she was.
"She made a wigwam of Birch bark and a fire with rubbing-sticks, using the lace of her moccasin for a bow-string. She made snares of the inner bark of the Willow and of Spruce roots, and deadfalls, too, for Rabbits. She was starving sometimes, at first, but she ate the buds and inner bark of Birch trees till she found a place where there were lots of Rabbits. And when she caught some she used every scrap of them. She made a fishing-line of the sinews, and a hook of the bones and teeth lashed together with sinew and Spruce gum.
"She made a cloak of Rabbit skins, sewed with needles of Rabbit bone and thread of Rabbit sinew, and a lot of dishes of Birch bark sewed with Spruce roots.
"She put in the whole winter there alone, and when the spring came she was found by Samuel Hearne, the great traveller. Her precious knife was worn down, but she was fat and happy and ready to set out for her own people."
"Well, I say that's mighty inter-est-in'," said Sam—he had listened attentively—"an' I'd like nothin' better than to try it myself if I had a gun an' there was lots of game."
"Pooh, who wouldn't?"
"Mighty few—an' there's mighty few whocould.""I could."
197"What, make everything with just a knife? I'd like to see you make a teepee," then adding earnestly, "Sam, we've been kind o' playing Injuns; now let's do it properly. Let's make everything out of what we find in the woods."
"Guess we'll have to visit the Sanger Witch again. She knows all about plants."
"We'll be the Sanger Indians. We can both be Chiefs," said Yan, not wishing to propose himself as Chief or caring to accept Sam as his superior. "I'm Little Beaver. Now what are you?"
"Bloody-Thundercloud-in-the-Afternoon."
"No, try again. Make it something you can draw, so you can make your totem, and make it short."
"What's the smartest animal there is?"
"I—I—suppose the Wolverine."
"What! Smarter'n a Fox?"
"The books say so."
"Kin he lick a Beaver?"
"Well, I should say so."
"Well, that's me."
"No, you don't. I'm not going around with a fellow that licks me. It don't fit you as well as 'Woodpecker,' anyhow. I always getyouwhen I want a nice tree spoiled or pecked into holes," retorted Yan, magnanimously ignoring the personal reason for the name.
"Tain t as bad asbeavering," answered Sam.
Beavering
"Beavering" was a word with a history. Axes and timber were the biggest things in the lives of the Sangerites. Skill with the axe was the highest accomplishment.198The old settlers used to make everything in the house out of wood, and with the axe for the only tool. It was even said that some of them used to "edge her up a bit" and shave with her on Sundays. When a father was setting his son up in life he gave him simply a good axe. The axe was the grand essential of life and work, and was supposed to be a whole outfit. Skill with the axe was general. Every man and boy was more or less expert, and did not know how expert he was till a real "greeny" came among them. There is a right way to cut for each kind of grain, and a certain proper way of felling a tree to throw it in any given direction with the minimum of labour. All these things are second nature to the Sangerite. A Beaver is credited with a haphazard way of gnawing round and round a tree till somehow it tumbles, and when a chopper deviates in the least from the correct form, the exact right cut in the exact right place, he is said to be "beavering"; therefore, while "working like a Beaver" is high praise, "beavering" a tree is a term of unmeasured reproach, and Sam's final gibe had point and force that none but a Sangerite could possibly have appreciated.
199
The Sanger Witch hated the Shanty-man's axeAnd wildfire, too, they tell,But the hate that she had for the Sporting manWas wuss nor her hate of Hell!
—Cracked Jimmie's Ballad of Sanger.
Yan took his earliest opportunity to revisit the Sanger Witch.
"Better leave me out," advised Sam, when he heard of it. "She'd never look at you if I went. You look too blame healthy."
So Yan went alone, and he was glad of it. Fond as he was of Sam, his voluble tongue and ready wit left Yan more or less in the shade, made him look sober and dull, and what was worse, continually turned the conversation just as it was approaching some subject that was of deepest interest to him.
As he was leaving, Sam called out, "Say, Yan, if you want to stay there to dinner it'll be all right— we'll know why you hain't turned up." Then he stuck his tongue in his cheek, closed one eye and went to the barn with his usual expression of inscrutable melancholy.
Yan carried his note-book—he used it more and more, also his sketching materials. On the road he200gathered a handful of flowers and herbs. His reception by the old woman was very different this time.
"Come in, come in, God bless ye, an' hoo air ye, an' how is yer father an' mother—come in an' set down, an' how is that spalpeen, Sam Raften?"
"Sam's all right now," said Yan with a blush.
"All right! Av coorse he's all right. I knowed I'd fix him all right, an' he knowed it, an' his Ma knowed it when she let him come. Did she say onything about it?"
"No, Granny, not a word."
"The dhirty hussy! Saved the boy's life in sphite of their robbin' me an' she ain't human enough to say 'thank ye'—the dhirty hussy! May God forgive her as I do," said the old woman with evident and implacable enmity.
"Fwhat hev ye got thayer? Hivin be praised, they can't kill them all off. They kin cut down the trees, but the flowers comes ivery year, me little beauties—me little beauties!" Yan spread them out. She picked up an Arum and went on. "Now, that's Sorry-plant, only some calls it Injun Turnip, an' I hear the childer call it Jack-in-the-Pulpit. Don't ye never put the root o' that near yer tongue. It'll sure burn ye like fire. First thing whin they gits howld av a greeny the bhise throis to make him boite that same. Shure he niver does it twicet. The Injuns b'ile the pizen out o' the root an' ates it; shure it's better'n starvin'."
Sorry Plant, Jack-in-a-Pulpit
201Golden Seal (Hydrastis canadensis), the plant she had used for Sam's knee, was duly recognized and praised, its wonderful golden root, "the best goold iver came out av the ground," was described with its impression of the seal of the Wise King.
"Thim's Mandrakes, an' they're moighty late, an' ye shure gotthimin the woods. Some calls it May Apples, an' more calls it Kingroot. The Injuns use it fur their bowels, an' it has cured many a horse of pole evil that I seen meself.
"An' Blue Cohosh, only I call that Spazzum-root. Thayer ain't nothin' like it fur spazzums—took like tay; only fur that the Injun women wouldn't live in all their thrubles, but that's something that don't consarn ye. Luk now, how the laves is all spread out like wan wid spazzums. Glory be to the Saints and the Blessed Virgin, everything is done fur us on airth an' plain marked, if we'd only take the thruble to luk.
"Now luk at thot," said she, clawing over the bundle and picking out a yellow Cypripedium, "that's Moccasin-plant wid the Injuns, but mercy on 'em fur bloind, miserable haythens. They don't know nothin' an' don't want to larn it. That's Umbil, or Sterrick-root. It's powerful good fur sterricks. Luk at it! See the face av a woman in sterricks wid her hayer flyin' an' her jaw a-droppin'. I moind the toime Larry's little gurrl didn't want to go to her 'place' an' hed sterricks. They jest sent fur me an' I brung along a Sterrick-root. First, I sez, sez I, 'Get me some b'ilin' wather,' an' I made tay an' give it to her b'ilin' hot. As share as Oi'm a livin' corpse,202the very first spoonful fetched her all right. Oh, but it's God's own gift, an' it's be His blessin' we know how to use it. An' it don't do to just go an' dig it when ye want it. It has to be grubbed when the flower ain't thayer. Ye see, the strength ain't in both places to oncet. It's ayther in the flower or in the root, so when the flower is thayer the root's no more good than an ould straw. Ye hes to Hunt fur it in spring or in fall, just when the divil himself wouldn't know whayer to find it.
"An' fwhat hev ye thayer? Good land! if it ain't Skunk's Cabbage! Ye sure come up by the Bend. That's the on'y place whayer that grows."
"Yes," replied Yan; "that's just where I got it. But hold on, Granny, I want to sketch all those and note down their names and what you say about them."
"Shure, you'd hev a big book when I wuz through," said the old woman with pride, as she lit her pipe, striking the match on what would have been the leg of her pants had she been a man.
"An' shure ye don't need to write down what they're good fur, fur the good Lord done that Himself long ago. Luk here, now. That's Cohosh, fur spazzums, an' luks like it; that's Moccasin, fur Highsterricks, an' luks like it; wall, thar's Skunk-root fur both, an' don't it luk like the two o' thim thigither?"
Yan feebly agreed, but had much difficulty in seeing what the plant had in common with the others.
"An' luk here! Thayer ye got Lowbelier, that some calls Injun tobaccer. Ye found this by the203crick, an' it's a little airly—ahead o' toime. That's the shtuff to make ye throw up when ye want to. Luk, ain't that lafe the livin' shape of a shtummick?
Stickweed, or Cleavers
"Thayer's the Highbelier; it's a high hairb, an' it's moighty foine fur the bowels when ye drink the dry root.
"Spicewood" [Spicebush,Lindera benzoin], "or Fayverbush, them twigs is great fur tay—that cures shakes and fayver. Shure an' it shakes ivery toime the wind blows.
"That's Clayvers," she said, picking up a Galium. "Now fwhat wud ye think that wuz fur to cure?"
"I don't know. What is it?"
"Luk now, an' see how it's wrote in it plain as prent—yes, an' a sight plainer, fur I can read them an' I can't read a wurrud in a book. Now fwhat is that loike?" said she, holding up the double seed-pod.
"A brain and spinal column," said Yan.
"Och, choild, I hev better eyes than ye. Shure them's two kidneys, an' that's fwhat Clayver tay will cure better'n all the docthers in the wurruld, an' ye hev to know just how. Ye see, kidney thruble is a koind o' fayver; it's hatin', so ye make yer Clayver tay incoldwather; if ye make it o' warrum wather it just makes ye wuss an' acts loike didly pizen. Thayer's Sweatplant, or Boneset" [Eupatorium perfoliatum], "that's the thing to sweat ye. Wanst Oi sane a feller jest dyin' o' dry hoide, wuz all hoidebound, an' the docthers throid an' throid an' couldn't204help wan bit, till I guv his mother some Boneset leaves to make tay, an' he sweat buckets before he'd more'n smelt av it, an' the docthers thought they done it theirsilves!" and she cackled gleefully.
"Thayer's Goldthread fur cankermouth, an' Pipsissewa that cures fayver an' rheumatiz, too. It always grows where folks gits them disayses. Luk at the flower just blotched red an' white loike fayver blotches—an' Spearmint, that saves ye if ya pizen yerself with Spaszum-root, an' shure it grows right next it in the woods!
"Thayer's Wormseed fur wurrums—see the 'ittle wurrum on the leaves" [Chenopodium] "an' that thayer is Pleurisy root, an' thayer! well, thayer's the foinestPipsissewa, or Prince's Pinehairb that iver God made to grow—that's Cure all. Some things cures wan thing and some cures another, but when ye don't know just what to take, ye make tay o' that root an' ye can't go wrong. It was an Injun larned me that. The poor miserable baste of a haythen hed some larnin', an' the minit he showed me I knowed it was so, fur ivery lafe wuz three in wan an' wan in three, an' had the sign o' the blessed crass in the middle as plain as that biler settin' on the stove."
Thus she chattered away, smoking her short pipe, expectorating on the top of the hot stove, but with true feminine delicacy she was careful each time to wipe her mouth on the back of her skinny arm.
"An' that's what's called Catnip; sure Oi moind well the day Oi furst larned about that. It warn't a Injun205nor a docther nor a man at all, at all, that larned me that. It was that ould black Cat, an' may the saints stand bechuxt me an' his grane eyes! Bejabers, sometimes he scares me wid his knowin' ways, but I hev nothin' agin him except that he kills the wee burruds. He koind o' measled all wan winter an' lay around the stove. Whiniver the dooer was open he'd go an' luk out an' then come back an' meow an' wheen an' lay down—an' so he kep' on, gittin' waker an' worser, till the snow wuz gone an' grass come up, an' still he'd go a-lukin' toward the ayst, especially nights. Then thayer come up a plant I had never sane, right thayer, an' he'd luk at it an' luk at it loike he wanted it but didn't dar to. Thar was some foine trays out thayer in thim days afore the ould baste cut thim down, an' wan av thim hed a big limb, so—an' another so—an' when the moon come up full at jest the right time the shaddy made the sign av the crass an' loighted on me dooer, an' after it was past it didn't make no crass. Well, bejabers, the full moon come up at last an' she made the sign of the shaddy crass, an' the ould Cat goes out an' watches an' watches loike he wanted to an' didn't dar to, till that crass drapped fayer onto the hairbs, an' Tom he jumped then an' ateCatnipan' ate, an' from that day he was a well Cat; an' that's how Oi larned Catnip, an' it set me moind aisy, too, fur no Cat that's possesst 'll iver ate inunder the shaddy av the crass."
Yan was scribbling away, but had given up any attempt to make sketches or even notes beyond the206names of the plants.
"Shure, choild, put them papers wid the names on the hairbs an' savethem; that wuz fwhat Docther Carmartin done whin Oi was larnin' him. Thayer, now, that's it," she added, as Yan took the hint and began slipping on each stalk a paper label with its name.
"That's a curious broom," said Yan, as his eye fell on the symbol of order and cleanliness, making strange reflections on itself.
"Yes; sure, that's a Baitche broom. Larry makes 'em."
"Larry?"
"Yes, me bhoy." [Larry was nearly sixty.] "He makes thim of Blue Baitche."
"How?" asked Yan, picking it up and examining it with intense interest.
"Whoi, shure, by whittlin'. Larry's a howly terror to whittle, an' he gets a Blue Baitche sapling 'bout three inches thick an' starts a-whittlin" long slivers, but laves them on the sthick at wan end till thayer all round loike that."