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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e4ec4d3 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #50129 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/50129) diff --git a/old/50129-0.txt b/old/50129-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index f06a4b7..0000000 --- a/old/50129-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6126 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sam Lawson's Oldtown Fireside Stories, by -Harriet Beecher Stowe - -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 at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Sam Lawson's Oldtown Fireside Stories - With Illustrations - -Author: Harriet Beecher Stowe - -Release Date: October 4, 2015 [EBook #50129] -Last Updated: November 19, 2016 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SAM LAWSON'S OLDTOWN *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - - - -SAM LAWSON'S OLDTOWN FIRESIDE STORIES - -By Harriet Beecher Stowe - -With Illustrations - -Houghton, Mifflin And Company - -1881. - - - - -OLDTOWN FIRESIDE STORIES - - - - -THE GHOST IN THE MILL. - - -[Illustration: 9013] - -OME, Sam, tell us a story,” said I, as Hariet and I crept to his knees, -in the glow of the bright evening firelight; while Aunt Lois was -busily rattling the tea-things, and grandmamma, at the other end of the -fireplace, was quietly setting the heel of a blue-mixed yarn stocking. - -In those days we had no magazines and daily papers, each reeling off -a serial story. Once a week, “The Columbian Sentinel” came from Boston -with its slender stock of news and editorial; but all the multiform -devices--pictorial, narrative, and poetical--which keep the mind of -the present generation ablaze with excitement, had not then even an -existence. There was no theatre, no opera; there were in Oldtown no -parties or balls, except, perhaps, the annual election, or Thanksgiving -festival; and when winter came, and the sun went down at half-past four -o'clock, and left the long, dark hours of evening to be provided -for, the necessity of amusement became urgent. Hence, in those days, -chimney-corner story-telling became an art and an accomplishment. -Society then was full of traditions and narratives which had all the -uncertain glow and shifting mystery of the firelit hearth upon them. -They were told to sympathetic audiences, by the rising and falling light -of the solemn embers, with the hearth-crickets filling up every pause. - -[Illustration: 0015] - -Then the aged told their stories to the young,--tales of early life; -tales of war and adventure, of forest-days, of Indian captivities -and escapes, of bears and wild-cats and panthers, of rattlesnakes, of -witches and wizards, and strange and wonderful dreams and appearances -and providences. - -In those days of early Massachusetts, faith and credence were in the -very air. Two-thirds of New England was then dark, unbroken forests, -through whose tangled paths the mysterious winter wind groaned and -shrieked and howled with weird noises and unaccountable clamors. Along -the iron-bound shore, the stormful Atlantic raved and thundered, and -dashed its moaning waters, as if to deaden and deafen any voice that -might tell of the settled life of the old civilized world, and shut us -forever into the wilderness. A good story-teller, in those days, was -always sure of a warm seat at the hearthstone, and the delighted homage -of children; and in all Oldtown there was no better story-teller than -Sam Lawson. - -“Do, do, tell us a story,” said Harry, pressing upon him, and opening -very wide blue eyes, in which undoubting faith shone as in a mirror; -“and let it be something strange, and different from common.” - -“Wal, I know lots o' strange things,” said Sam, looking -mysteriously into the fire. “Why, I know things, that ef I should -tell,--why, people might say they wa'n't so; but then they _is so_ for -all that.” - -“Oh, _do_, do, tell us!” - -“Why, I should scare ye to death, mebbe,” said Sam doubtingly. - -“Oh, pooh! no, you wouldn't,” we both burst out at once. - -But Sam was possessed by a reticent spirit, and loved dearly to be wooed -and importuned; and so he only took up the great kitchen-tongs, and -smote on the hickory forestick, when it flew apart in the middle, and -scattered a shower of clear bright coals all over the hearth. - -“Mercy on us, Sam Lawson!” said Aunt Lois in an indignant voice, -spinning round from her dishwashing. - -“Don't you worry a grain, Miss Lois,” said Sam composedly. “I see that -are stick was e'en a'most in two, and I thought I'd jest settle it. I 'll -sweep up the coals now,” he added, vigorously applying a turkey-wing to -the purpose, as he knelt on the hearth, his spare, lean figure glowing -in the blaze of the firelight, and getting quite flashed with exertion. - -“There, now!” he said, when he had brushed over and under and between -the fire-irons, and pursued the retreating ashes so far into the red, -fiery citadel, that his finger-ends were burning and tingling, “that -'are's done now as well as Hepsy herself could 'a' done it. I allers -sweeps up the haarth: I think it's part o' the man's bisness when he -makes the fire. But Hepsy's so used to seein' me a-doin' on't, that she -don't see no kind o' merit in't. It's just as Parson Lothrop said in his -sermon,--folks allers overlook their common marcies”-- - -“But come, Sam, that story,” said Harry and I coaxingly, pressing upon -him, and pulling him down into his seat in the corner. - -“Lordy massy, these'ere young uns!” said Sam. - -“There's never no contentin' on 'em: ye tell 'em one story, and they -jest swallows it as a dog does a gob o' meat; and they're all ready for -another. What do ye want to hear now?” - -Now, the fact was, that Sam's stories had been told us so often, that -they were all arranged and ticketed in our minds. We knew every word in -them, and could set him right if he varied a hair from the usual track; -and still the interest in them was unabated. - -Still we shivered, and clung to his knee, at the mysterious parts, and -felt gentle, cold chills run down our spines at appropriate places. We -were always in the most receptive and sympathetic condition. To-night, -in particular, was one of those thundering stormy ones, when the winds -appeared to be holding a perfect mad carnival over my grandfather's -house. They yelled and squealed round the corners; they collected in -troops, and came tumbling and roaring down chimney; they shook and -rattled the buttery-door and the sinkroom-door and the cellar-door and -the chamber-door, with a constant undertone of squeak and clatter, as -if at every door were a cold, discontented spirit, tired of the chill -outside, and longing for the warmth and comfort within. - -“Wal, boys,” said Sam confidentially, “what 'll ye have?” - -“Tell us 'Come down, come down!'” we both shouted with one voice. This -was, in our mind, an “A No. 1” among Sam's stories. - -“Ye mus'n't be frightened now,” said Sam paternally. - -“Oh, no! we ar'n't frightened _ever_,” said we both in one breath. - -“Not when ye go down the cellar arter cider?” said Sam with severe -scrutiny. “Ef ye should be down cellar, and the candle should go out, -now?” - -“I ain't,” said I: “I ain't afraid of any thing. I never knew what it -was to be afraid in my life.” - -“Wal, then,” said Sam, “I 'll tell ye. This'ere's what Cap'n Eb Sawin -told me when I was a boy about your bigness, I reckon. - -“Cap'n Eb Sawin was a most respectable man. Your gran'ther knew him very -well; and he was a deacon in the church in Dedham afore he died. He was -at Lexington when the fust gun was fired agin the British. He was a -dreffle smart man, Cap'n Eb was, and driv team a good many years atween -here and Boston. He married Lois Peabody, that was cousin to your -gran'ther then. Lois was a rael sensible woman; and I've heard her tell -the story as he told her, and it was jest as he told it to me,--jest -exactly; and I shall never forget it if I live to be nine hundred years -old, like Mathuselah. - -“Ye see, along back in them times, there used to be a fellow come round -these'ere parts, spring and fall, a-peddlin' goods, with his pack on his -back; and his name was Jehiel Lommedieu. Nobody rightly knew where he -come from. He wasn't much of a talker; but the women rather liked him, -and kind o' liked to have him round. Women will like some fellows, when -men can't see no sort o' reason why they should; and they liked this'ere -Lommedieu, though he was kind o' mournful and thin and shad-bellied, and -hadn't nothin' to say for himself. But it got to be so, that the women -would count and calculate so many weeks afore 'twas time for Lommedieu -to be along; and they'd make up ginger-snaps and preserves and pies, and -make him stay to tea at the houses, and feed him up on the best there -was: and the story went round, that he was a-courtin' Phebe Ann Parker, -or Phebe Ann was a-courtin' him,--folks didn't rightly know which. -Wal, all of a sudden, Lommedieu stopped comin' round; and nobody knew -why,--only jest he didn't come. It turned out that Phebe Ann Parker had -got a letter from him, sayin' he'd be along afore Thanksgiving; but he -didn't come, neither afore nor at Thanksgiving time, nor arter, nor next -spring: and finally the women they gin up lookin' for him. Some said -he was dead; some said he was gone to Canada; and some said he hed gone -over to the Old Country. - -“Wal, as to Phebe Ann, she acted like a gal o' sense, and married 'Bijah -Moss, and thought no more 'bout it. She took the right view on't, and -said she was sartin that all things was ordered out for the best; and -it was jest as well folks couldn't always have their own way. And so, -in time, Lommedieu was gone out o' folks's minds, much as a last year's -apple-blossom. - -“It's relly affectin' to think how little these'ere folks is missed -that's so much sot by. There ain't nobody, ef they's ever so important, -but what the world gets to goin' on without 'em, pretty much as it did -with 'em, though there's some little flurry at fust. Wal, the last -thing that was in anybody's mind was, that they ever should hear from -Lommedieu agin. But there ain't nothin' but what has its time o' turnin' -up; and it seems his turn was to come. - -“Wal, ye see, 'twas the 19th o' March, when Cap'n Eb Sawin started with -a team for Boston. That day, there come on about the biggest -snow-storm that there'd been in them parts sence the oldest man could -remember.'Twas this'ere fine, siftin' snow, that drives in your face -like needles, with a wind to cut your nose off: it made teamin' pretty -tedious work. Cap'n Eb was about the toughest man in them parts. He'd -spent days in the woods a-loggin', and he'd been up to the deestrict o' -Maine a-lumberin', and was about up to any sort o' thing a man gen'ally -could be up to; but these'ere March winds sometimes does set on a fellow -so, that neither natur' nor grace can stan' 'em. The cap'n used to say, -he could stan' any wind that blew one way 't time for five minutes; but -come to winds that blew all four p'ints at the same minit,--why, they -flustered him. - -“Wal, that was the sort o' weather it was all day: and by sundown Cap'n -Eb he got clean bewildered, so that he lost his road; and, when night -came on, he didn't know nothin' where he was. Ye see the country was all -under drift, and the air so thick with snow, that he couldn't see a foot -afore him; and the fact was, he got off the Boston road without knowin' -it, and came out at a pair o' bars nigh upon Sherburn, where old Cack -Sparrock's mill is. - -“Your gran'ther used to know old Cack, boys. He was a drefful drinkin' -old crittur, that lived there all alone in the woods by himself -a-tendin' saw and grist mill. He wa'n't allers jest what he was then. -Time was that Cack was a pretty consid'ably likely young man, and his -wife was a very respectable woman,--Deacon Amos Petengall's dater from -Sherburn. - -“But ye see, the year arter his wife died, Cack he gin up goin' to -meetin' Sundays, and, all the tithing-men and selectmen could do, they -couldn't get him out to meetin'; and, when a man neglects means o' grace -and sanctuary privileges, there ain't no sayin' _what_ he 'll do next. -Why, boys, jist think on't!--an immortal crittur lyin' round loose -all day Sunday, and not puttin' on so much as a clean shirt, when -all 'spectable folks has on their best close, and is to meetin' -worshippin' the Lord! What can you spect to come of it, when he lies -idlin' round in his old week-day close, fishing, or some sich, but what -the Devil should be arter him at last, as he was arter old Cack?” - -Here Sam winked impressively to my grandfather in the opposite corner, -to call his attention to the moral which he was interweaving with his -narrative. - -“Wal, ye see, Cap'n Eb he told me, that when he come to them bars and -looked up, and saw the dark a-comin' down, and the storm a-thickenin' -up, he felt that things was gettin' pretty consid'able serious. There -was a dark piece o' woods on ahead of him inside the bars; and he knew, -come to get in there, the light would give out clean. So he jest thought -he'd take the hoss out o' the team, and go ahead a little, and see where -he was. So he driv his oxen up ag'in the fence, and took out the hoss, -and got on him, and pushed along through the woods, not rightly knowin' -where he was goin'. - -“Wal, afore long he see a light through the trees; and, sure enough, he -come out to Cack Sparrock's old mill. - -“It was a pretty consid'able gloomy sort of a place, that are old mill -was. There was a great fall of water that come rushin' down the rocks, -and fell in a deep pool; and it sounded sort o' wild and lonesome: but -Cap'n Eb he knocked on the door with his whip-handle, and got in. - -“There, to be sure, sot old Cack beside a great blazin' fire, with his -rum-jug at his elbow. He was a drefful fellow to drink, Cack was! For -all that, there was some good in him, for he was pleasant-spoken and -'bliging; and he made the cap'n welcome. - -“'Ye see, Cack,' said Cap'n Eb, 'I'm off my road, and got snowed up down -by your bars,' says he. - -“'Want ter know!' says Cack. 'Calculate you 'll jest have to camp down -here till mornin',' says he. - -“Wal, so old Cack he got out his tin lantern, and went with Cap'n Eb -back to the bars to help him fetch along his critturs. He told him he -could put 'em under the mill-shed. So they got the critturs up to the -shed, and got the cart under; and by that time the storm was awful. - -“But Cack he made a great roarin' fire, 'cause, ye see, Cack allers had -slab-wood a plenty from his mill; and a roarin' fire is jest so much -company. It sort o' keeps a fellow's spirits up, a good fire does. So -Cack he sot on his old teakettle, and made a swingeing lot o' toddy; and -he and Cap'n Eb were havin' a tol'able comfortable time there. Cack was -a pretty good hand to tell stories; and Cap'n Eb warn't no way backward -in that line, and kep' up his end pretty well: and pretty soon they was -a-roarin' and haw-hawin' inside about as loud as the storm outside; when -all of a sudden, 'bout midnight, there come a loud rap on the door. - -“'Lordy massy! what's that?' says Cack. Folks is rather startled allers -to be checked up sudden when they are a-carryin' on and laughin'; and -it was such an awful blowy night, it was a little scary to have a rap on -the door. - -“Wal, they waited a minit, and didn't hear nothin' but the wind -a-screechin' round the chimbley; and old Cack was jest goin' on with his -story, when the rap come ag'in, harder'n ever, as if it'd shook the door -open. - -“'Wal,' says old Cack, 'if 'tis the Devil, we'd jest as good's open, and -have it out with him to onst,' says he; and so he got up and opened the -door, and, sure enough, there was old Ketury there. Expect you've -heard your grandma tell about old Ketury. She used to come to meetin's -sometimes, and her husband was one o' the prayin' Indians; but Ketury -was one of the rael wild sort, and you couldn't no more convert _her_ -than you could convert a wild-cat or a painter [panther]. Lordy massy! -Ketury used to come to meetin', and sit there on them Indian benches; -and when the second bell was a-tollin', and when Parson Lothrop and his -wife was comin' up the broad aisle, and everybody in the house ris' up -and stood, Ketury would sit there, and look at 'em out o' the corner -o' her eyes; and folks used to say she rattled them necklaces o' -rattlesnakes' tails and wild-cat teeth, and sich like heathen trumpery, -and looked for all the world as if the spirit of the old Sarpent himself -was in her. I've seen her sit and look at Lady Lothrop out o' the corner -o' her eyes; and her old brown baggy neck would kind o' twist and work; -and her eyes they looked so, that 'twas enough to scare a body. For all -the world, she looked jest as if she was a-workin' up to spring at her. -Lady Lothrop was jest as kind to Ketury as she always was to every poor -crittur. She'd bow and smile as gracious to her when meetin' -was over, and she come down the aisle, passin' out o, meetin'; but -Ketury never took no notice. Ye see, Ketury's father was one o' them -great powwows down to Martha's Vineyard; and people used to say she was -set apart, when she was a child, to the sarvice o' the Devil: any way, -she never could be made nothin' of in a Christian way. She come down to -Parson Lothrop's study once or twice to be catechised; but he couldn't -get a word out o' her, and she kind o' seemed to sit scornful while he -was a-talkin'. Folks said, if it was in old times, Ketury wouldn't have -been allowed to go on so; but Parson Lothrop's so sort o' mild, he let -her take pretty much her own way. Everybody thought that Ketury was a -witch: at least, she knew consid'able more'n she ought to know, and so -they was kind o' 'fraid on her. Cap'n Eb says he never see a fellow seem -scareder than Cack did when he see Ketury a-standin' there. - -“Why, ye see, boys, she was as withered and wrinkled and brown as an old -frosted punkin-vine; and her little snaky eyes sparkled and snapped, and -it made yer head kind o' dizzy to look at 'em; and folks used to say that -anybody that Ketury got mad at was sure to get the worst of it fust or -last. And so, no matter what day or hour Ketury had a mind to rap at -anybody's door, folks gen 'lly thought it was best to let her in; but -then, they never thought her coming was for any good, for she was just -like the wind,--she came when the fit was on her, she staid jest so long -as it pleased her, and went when she got ready, and not before. Ketury -understood English, and could talk it well enough, but always seemed to -scorn it, and was allers mowin' and mutterin' to herself in Indian, and -winkin' and blinkin' as if she saw more folks round than you did, so -that she wa'n't no way pleasant company; and yet everybody took good -care to be polite to her. - -“So old Cack asked her to come in, and didn't make no question where she -come from, or what she come on; but he knew it was twelve good miles -from where she lived to his hut, and the snow was drifted above her -middle: and Cap'n Eb declared that there wa'n't no track, nor sign o' a -track, of anybody's coming through that snow next morning.” - -“How did she get there, then?” said I. - -“Didn't ye never see brown leaves a-ridin' on the wind? Well,' Cap'n Eb -he says, 'she came on the wind,' and I'm sure it was strong enough to -fetch her. But Cack he got her down into the warm corner, and he poured -her out a mug o' hot toddy, and give her: but ye see her bein' there -sort o' stopped the conversation; for she sot there a-rockin' back'ards -and for'ards, a-sippin her toddy, and a-mutterin', and lookin' up -chimbley. - -“Cap'n Eb says in all his born days he never hearn such screeches -and yells as the wind give over that chimbley; and old Cack got so -frightened, you could fairly hear his teeth chatter. - -“But Cap'n Eb he was a putty brave man, and he wa'n't goin' to have -conversation stopped by no woman, witch or no witch; and so, when he see -her mutterin', and lookin' up chimbley, he spoke up, and says he, 'Well, -Ketury, what do you see?' says he. 'Come, out with it; don't keep it to -yourself.' Ye see Cap'n Eb was a hearty fellow, and then he was a leetle -warmed up with the toddy. - -“Then he said he see an evil kind o' smile on Ketury's face, and she -rattled her necklace o' bones and snakes' tails; and her eyes seemed to -snap; and she looked up the chimbley, and called out, 'Come down, come -down! let's see who ye be.' - -“Then there was a scratchin' and a rumblin' and a groan; and a pair -of feet come down the chimbley, and stood right in the middle of -the haarth, the toes pi'ntin' out'rds, with shoes and silver buckles -a-shinin' in the firelight. Cap'n Eb says he never come so near bein' -scared in his life; and, as to old Cack, he jest wilted right down in -his chair. - -“Then old Ketury got up, and reached her stick up chimbley, and called -out louder, 'Come down, come down! let's see who ye be.' And, sure -enough, down came a pair o' legs, and j'ined right on to the feet: good -fair legs they was, with ribbed stockings and leather breeches. - -“'Wal, we're in for it now,' says Cap'n Eb. 'Go it, Ketury, and let's -have the rest on him.' - -“Ketury didn't seem to mind him: she stood there as stiff as a stake, -and kep' callin' out, 'Come down, come down! let's see who ye be.' And -then come down the body of a man with a brown coat and yellow vest, and -j'ined right on to the legs; but there wa'n't no arms to it. Then Ketury -shook her stick up chimbley, and called, '_Come down, come down!_' And -there came down a pair o' arms, and went on each side o' the body; and -there stood a man all finished, only there wa'n't no head on him. - -“'Wal, Ketury,' says Cap'n Eb, 'this 'ere's getting serious. I 'spec' you -must finish him up, and let's see what he wants of us.' - -“Then Ketury called out once more, louder'n ever, 'Come down, come down! -let's see who ye be.' And, sure enough, down comes a man's head, and -settled on the shoulders straight enough; and Cap'n Eb, the minit he sot -eyes on him, knew he was Jehiel Lommedieu. - -[Illustration: 0035] - -“Old Cack knew him too; and he fell flat on his face, and prayed the -Lord to have mercy on his soul: but Cap'n Eb he was for gettin' to the -bottom of matters, and not have his scare for nothin'; so he says to -him, 'What do you want, now you hev come?' - -“The man he didn't speak; he only sort o' moaned, and p'inted to the -chimbley. He seemed to try to speak, but couldn't; for ye see it isn't -often that his sort o' folks is permitted to speak: but just then there -came a screechin' blast o' wind, and blowed the door open, and blowed -the smoke and fire all out into the room, and there seemed to be a -whirlwind and darkness and moans and screeches; and, when it all cleared -up, Ketury and the man was both gone, and only old Cack lay on the -ground, rolling and moaning as if he'd die. - -“Wal, Cap'n Eb he picked him up, and built up the fire, and sort o' -comforted him up, 'cause the crittur was in distress o' mind that was -drefful. The awful Providence, ye see, had awakened him, and his sin had -been set home to his soul; and he was under such conviction, that it all -had to come out,--how old Cack's father had murdered poor Lommedieu for -his money, and Cack had been privy to it, and helped his father build -the body up in that very chimbley; and he said that he hadn't had -neither peace nor rest since then, and that was what had driv' him -away from ordinances; for ye know sinnin' will always make a man leave -prayin'. Wal, Cack didn't live but a day or two. Cap'n Eb he got the -minister o' Sherburn and one o' the selectmen down to see him; and they -took his deposition. He seemed railly quite penitent; and Parson Carryl -he prayed with him, and was faithful in settin' home the providence to -his soul: and so, at the eleventh hour, poor old Cack might have got -in; at least it looks a leetle like it. He was distressed to think he -couldn't live to be hung. He sort o' seemed to think, that if he was -fairly tried, and hung, it would make it all square. He made Parson -Carryl promise to have the old mill pulled down, and bury the body; and, -after he was dead, they did it. - -“Cap'n Eb he was one of a party o' eight that pulled down the chimbley; -and there, sure enough, was the skeleton of poor Lommedieu. - -“So there you see, boys, there can't be no iniquity so hid but what -it 'll come out. The wild Indians of the forest, and the stormy winds and -tempests, j'ined together to bring out this'ere.” - -“For my part,” said Aunt Lois sharply, “I never believed that story.” - -“Why, Lois,” said my grandmother, “Cap'n Eb Sawin was a regular -church-member, and a most respectable man.” - -“Law, mother! I don't doubt he thought so. I suppose he and Cack got -drinking toddy together, till he got asleep, and dreamed it. I wouldn't -believe such a thing if it did happen right before my face and eyes. I -should only think I was crazy, that's all.” - -“Come, Lois, if I was you, I wouldn't talk so like a Sadducee,” said -my grandmother. “What would become of all the accounts in Dr. Cotton -Mather's 'Magnilly' if folks were like you?” - -“Wal,” said Sam Lawson, drooping contemplatively over the coals, and -gazing into the fire, “there's a putty consid'able sight o' things in -this world that's true; and then ag'in there's a sight o' things that -ain't true. Now, my old gran'ther used to say, 'Boys, says he, 'if ye -want to lead a pleasant and prosperous life, ye must contrive allers -to keep jest the _happy medium_ between truth and falsehood.' Now, that -are's my doctrine.” - -Aunt Lois knit severely. - -“Boys,” said Sam, “don't you want ter go down with me and get a mug o' -cider?” - -Of course we did, and took down a basket to bring up some apples to -roast. - -“Boys,” says Sam mysteriously, while he was drawing the cider, “you jest -ask your Aunt Lois to tell you what she knows 'bout Ruth Sullivan.” - -“Why, what is it?” - -“Oh! you must ask _her_. These 'ere folks that's so kind o' toppin' -about sperits and sich, come sift 'em down, you gen 'lly find they knows -one story that kind o' puzzles 'em. Now you mind, and jist ask your Aunt -Lois about Ruth Sullivan.” - -[Illustration: 5040] - - - - -THE SULLIVAN LOOKING-GLASS - - -[Illustration: 9041] - -UNT LOIS,” said I, “what was that story about Ruth Sullivan?” - -Aunt Lois's quick black eyes gave a surprised flash; and she and my -grandmother looked at each other a minute significantly. - -“Who told you any thing about Ruth Sullivan,” she said sharply. - -“Nobody. Somebody said _you_ knew something about her,” said I. - -I was holding a skein of yarn for Aunt Lois; and she went on winding in -silence, putting the ball through loops and tangled places. - -“Little boys shouldn't ask questions,” she concluded at last -sententiously. “Little boys that ask too many questions get sent to -bed.” - -I knew that of old, and rather wondered at my own hardihood. - -Aunt Lois wound on in silence; but, looking in her face, I could see -plainly that I had started an exciting topic. - -“I should think,” pursued my grandmother in her corner, “that Ruth's -case might show you, Lois, that a good many things may happen,--more -than you believe.” - -“Oh, well, mother! Ruth's was a strange case; but I suppose there are -ways of accounting for it.” - -“You believed Ruth, didn't you?” - -“Oh, certainly, I believed Ruth! Why shouldn't I? Ruth was one of my -best friends, and as true a girl as lives: there wasn't any nonsense -about Ruth. She was one of the sort,” said Aunt Lois reflectively, “that -I'd as soon trust as myself: when she said a thing was so and so, I knew -it was so.” - -“Then, if you think Ruth's story was true,” pursued my grandmother, -“what's the reason you are always cavilling at things just 'cause you -can't understand how they came to be so?” - -Aunt Lois set her lips firmly, and wound with grim resolve. She was the -very impersonation of that obstinate rationalism that grew up at the -New-England fireside, close alongside of the most undoubting faith in -the supernatural. - -“I don't believe such things,” at last she snapped out, “and I don't -disbelieve them. I just let 'em alone. What do I know about 'em? Ruth -tells me a story; and I believe her. I know what she saw beforehand, -came true in a most remarkable way. Well, I'm sure I've no objection. -One thing may be true, or another, for all me; but, just because I -believe Ruth Sullivan, I'm not going to believe, right and left, all the -stories in Cotton Mather, and all that anybody can hawk up to tell. Not -I.” This whole conversation made me all the more curious to get at the -story thus dimly indicated; and so we beset Sam for information. - -“So your Aunt Lois wouldn't tell ye nothin',” said Sam. “Wanter know, -neow! sho!” - -“No: she said we must go to bed if we asked her.” - -“That 'are's a way folks has; but, ye see, boys,” said Sam, while a -droll confidential expression crossed the lack-lustre dolefulness of -his visage, “ye see, I put ye up to it, 'cause Miss Lois is so large and -commandin' in her ways, and so kind o' up and down in all her doin's, -that I like once and a while to sort o' gravel her; and I knowed enough -to know that that 'are question would git her in a tight place. - -“Ye see, yer Aunt Lois was knowin' to all this 'ere about Ruth, so -there wer'n't no gettin' away from it; and it's about as remarkable a -providence as any o' them of Mister Cotton Marther's 'Magnilly.' So if -you 'll come up in the barn-chamber this arternoon, where I've got a lot -o' flax to hatchel out, I 'll tell ye all about it.” - -So that afternoon beheld Sam arranged at full length on a pile of -top-tow in the barn-chamber, hatchelling by proxy by putting Harry and -myself to the service. - -“Wal, now, boys, it's kind o' refreshing to see how wal ye take hold,” - he observed. “Nothin' like bein' industrious while ye'r young: gret -sight better now than loafin off, down in them medders. - - “'In books and work and useful play - - Let my fust years be past: - - So shall I give for every day - - Some good account at last.'” - -“But, Sam, if we work for you, you must tell us that story about Ruth -Sullivan.” - -“Lordy massy! yis,--course I will. I've had the best kind o' chances -of knowin' all about that 'are. Wal, you see there was old Gineral -Sullivan, he lived in state and grande'r in the old Sullivan house out -to Roxberry. I been to Roxberry, and seen that 'are house o' Gineral -Sullivan's. There was one time that I was a consid'able spell lookin' -round in Roxberry, a kind o' seein' how things wuz there, and whether -or no there mightn't be some sort o' providential openin' or suthin'. I -used to stay with Aunt Polly Ginger. She was sister to Mehitable Ginger, -Gineral Sullivan's housekeeper, and hed the in and out o' the Sullivan -house, and kind o' kept the run o' how things went and came in it. Polly -she was a kind o' cousin o' my mother's, and allers glad to see me. Fact -was, I was putty handy round house; and she used to save up her broken -things and sich till I come round in the fall; and then I'd mend 'em up, -and put the clock right, and split her up a lot o' kindlings, and board -up the cellar-windows, and kind o' make her sort o' comfortable,--she -bein' a lone body, and no man round. As I said, it was sort o' -convenient to hev me; and so I jest got the run o' things in the -Sullivan house pretty much as ef I was one on 'em. Gineral Sullivan he -kept a grand house, I tell you. You see, he cum from the old country, -and felt sort o' lordly and grand; and they used to hev the gretest kind -o' doin's there to the Sullivan house. Ye ought ter a seen that 'are -house,--gret big front hall and gret wide stairs; none o' your steep -kind that breaks a feller's neck to get up and down, but gret broad -stairs with easy risers, so they used to say you could a cantered a pony -up that 'are stairway easy as not. Then there was gret wide rooms, and -sofys, and curtains, and gret curtained bedsteads that looked sort o' -like fortifications, and pictur's that was got in Italy and Rome and all -them 'are heathen places. Ye see, the Gineral was a drefful worldly -old critter, and was all for the pomps and the vanities. Lordy massy! -I wonder what the poor old critter thinks about it all now, when his -body's all gone to dust and ashes in the graveyard, and his soul's gone -to 'tarnity! Wal, that are ain't none o' my business; only it shows the -vanity o' riches in a kind o' strikin' light, and makes me content that -I never hed none.” - -“But, Sam, I hope General Sullivan wasn't a wicked man, _was_ he?” - -“Wal, I wouldn't say he was railly wickeder than the run; but he was -one o' these 'ere high-stepping, big-feeling fellers, that seem to be -a hevin' their portion in this life. Drefful proud he was; and he was -pretty much sot on this world, and kep' a sort o' court goin' on round -him. Wal, I don't jedge him nor nobody: folks that hes the world is apt -to get sot on it. Don't none on us do more than middlin' well.” - -“But, Sam, what about Ruth Sullivan?” - -“Ruth?--Oh, yis!--Ruth--. - -“Wal, ye see, the only crook in the old Gineral's lot was he didn't hev -no children. Mis' Sullivan, she was a beautiful woman, as handsome as a -pictur'; but she never had but one child; and he was a son who died when -he was a baby, and about broke her heart. And then this 'ere Ruth was -her sister's child, that was born about the same time; and, when the boy -died, they took Ruth home to sort o' fill his place, and kind o' comfort -up Mis' Sullivan. And then Ruth's father and mother died; and they -adopted her for their own, and brought her up. - -“Wal, she grew up to be amazin' handsome. Why, everybody said that she -was jest the light and glory of that 'are old Sullivan place, and worth -more'n all the pictur's and the silver and the jewels, and all there was -in the house; and she was jest so innercent and sweet, that you never -see nothing to beat it. Wal, your Aunt Lois she got acquainted with Ruth -one summer when she was up to Old Town a visitin' at Parson Lothrop's. -Your Aunt Lois was a gal then, and a pretty good-lookin' one too; and, -somehow or other, she took to Ruth, and Ruth took to her. And when Ruth -went home, they used to be a writin' backwards and forads; and I guess -the fact was, Ruth thought about as much of your Aunt Lois as she did o' -anybody. Ye see, your aunt was a kind o' strong up-and-down woman that -always knew certain jest what she did know; and Ruth, she was one o' -them gals that seems sort o' like a stray lamb or a dove that's sort o' -lost their way in the world, and wants some one to show 'em where to go -next. For, ye see, the fact was, the old Gineral and Madam, they -didn't agree very well. He wa'n't well pleased that she didn't have no -children; and she was sort o' jealous o' him 'cause she got hold o' some -sort of story about how he was to a married somebody else over there in -England: so she got sort o' riled up, jest as wimmen will, the best on -'em; and they was pretty apt to have spats, and one could give t'other -as good as they sent; and, by all accounts, they fit putty lively -sometimes. And, between the two, Ruth she was sort o' scared, and -fluttered like a dove that didn't know jest where to settle. Ye see, -there she was in that 'are great wide house, where they was a feastin' -and a prancin' and a dancin', and a goin' on like Ahashuerus and -Herodias and all them old Scriptur' days. There was a comin' and goin,' -and there was gret dinners and gret doin's, but no love; and, you know, -the Scriptur' says, 'Better is a dinner o' yarbs, where love is, than a -stalled ox, and hatred therewith.' - -“Wal, I don't orter say _hatred_, arter all. I kind o reckon, the old -Gineral did the best he could: the fact is, when a woman gits a kink -in her head agin a man, the best on us don't allers do jest the right -thing. - -“Any way, Ruth, she was sort o' forlorn, and didn't seem to take no -comfort in the goin's on. The Gineral he was mighty fond on her, -and proud on her; and there wa'n't nothin' too good for Ruth. He was -free-handed, the Gineral wuz. He dressed her up in silks and satins, and -she hed a maid to wait on her, and she hed sets o' pearl and dimond; and -Madam Sullivan she thought all the world on her, and kind o' worshipped -the ground she trod on. And yet Ruth was sort o' lonesome. - -“Ye see, Ruth wa'n't calculated for grande'r. Some folks ain't. - -“Why, that 'are summer she spent out to Old Town, she was jest as chirk -and chipper as a wren, a wearin' her little sun-bunnet, and goin' a -huckle-berryin' and a black-berryin' and diggin' sweet-flag, and gettin -cowslops and dandelions; and she hed a word for everybody. And everybody -liked Ruth, and wished her well. Wal, she was sent for her health; and -she got that, and more too: she got a sweetheart. - -“Ye see, there was a Cap'n Oliver a visitin' at the minister's that -summer,--a nice, handsome young man as ever was. He and Ruth and your -Aunt Lois, they was together a good deal; and they was a ramblin' and -a ridin' and a sailin': and so Ruth and the Capting went the way o' all -the airth, and fell dead in love with each other. Your Aunt Lois she -was knowing to it and all about it, 'cause Ruth she was jest one of them -that couldn't take a step without somebody to talk to. - -“Captain Oliver was of a good family in England; and so, when he made -bold to ask the old Gineral for Ruth, he didn't say him nay: and it was -agreed, as they was young, they should wait a year or two. If he and -she was of the same mind, he should be free to marry her. Jest right on -that, the Captain's regiment was ordered home, and he had to go; and, -the next they heard, it was sent off to India. And poor little Ruth she -kind o' drooped and pined; but she kept true, and wouldn't have nothin' -to say to nobody that came arter her, for there was lots and cords o' -fellows as did come arter her. Ye see, Ruth had a takin' way with her; -and then she had the name of bein' a great heiress, and that allers -draws fellers, as molasses does flies. - -“Wal, then the news came, that Captain Oliver was comin' home to -England, and the ship was took by the Algerenes, and he was gone into -slavery there among them heathen Mahomedans and what not. - -“Folks seemed to think it was all over with him, and Ruth might jest as -well give up fust as last. And the old Gineral he'd come to think she -might do better; and he kep' a introducin' one and another, and tryin' -to marry her off; but Ruth she wouldn't. She used to write sheets and -sheets to your Aunt Lois about it; and I think Aunt Lois she kep' her -grit up. Your Aunt Lois she'd a stuck by a man to the end o' time ef't -ben her case; and so she told Ruth. - -“Wal, then there was young Jeff Sullivan, the Gineral's nephew, he -turned up; and the Gineral he took a gret fancy to him. He was next heir -to the Gineral; but he'd ben a pretty rackety youngster in his young -days,--off to sea, and what not, and sowed a consid'able crop o' wild -oats. People said he'd been a pirating off there in South Ameriky. Lordy -massy! nobody rightly knew where he hed ben or where he hadn't: all was, -he turned up at last all alive, and chipper as a skunk blackbird. Wal, -of course he made his court to Ruth; and the Gineral, he rather backed -him up in it; but Ruth she wouldn't have nothin' to say to him. Wal, -he come and took up his lodgin' at the Gineral's; and he was jest as -slippery as an eel, and sort o' slid into every thing, that was a goin' -on in the house and about it. He was here, and he was there, and he -was everywhere, and a havin' his say about this and that; and he got -everybody putty much under his thumb. And they used to say, he wound the -Gineral round and round like a skein o' yarn; but he couldn't come it -round Ruth. - -“Wal, the Gineral said she shouldn't be forced; and Jeff, he was smooth -as satin, and said he'd be willing to wait as long as Jacob did for -Rachel. And so there he sot down, a watchin' as patient as a cat at a -mousehole; 'cause the Gineral he was thick-set and shortnecked, and drank -pretty free, and was one o' the sort that might pop off any time. - -“Wal, Mis' Sullivan, she beset the Gineral to make a provision for -Ruth; 'cause she told him very sensible, that he'd brought her up in -luxury, and that it wa'n't fair not to settle somethin' on her; and -so the Gineral he said he'd make a will, and part the property equally -between them. And he says to Jeff, that, if he played his part as -a young fellow oughter know how, it would all come to him in the -end; 'cause they hadn't heard nothing from Captain Oliver for three or -four years, and folks about settled it that he must, be dead. - -“Wal, the Gineral he got a letter about an estate that had come to him -in England; and he had to go over. Wal, livin' on the next estate, was -the very cousin of the Gineral's that he was to a married when they was -both young: the lands joined so that the grounds run together. What came -between them two nobody knows; but she never married, and there she was. -There was high words between the Gineral and Madam Sullivan about his -goin' over. She said there wa'n't no sort o' need on't, and he said -there was; and she said she hoped _she_ should be in her grave afore he -come back; and he said she might suit herself about that for all him. -That 'are was the story that the housekeeper told to Aunt Polly; and -Aunt Polly she told me. These 'ere squabbles somehow allers does kind o' -leak out one way or t'other. Anyhow, it was a house divided agin itself -at the Gineral's, when he was a fixin' out for the voyage. There was -Ruth a goin' fust to one, and then to t'other, and tryin' all she could -to keep peace beteen 'em; and there was this 'ere Master Slick Tongue -talkin' this way to one side, and that way to t'other, and the old -Gineral kind o' like a shuttle-cock atween 'em. - -“Wal, then, the night afore he sailed, the Gineral he hed his lawyer -up in his library there, a lookin' over all his papers and bonds and -things, and a witnessing his will; and Master Jeff was there, as lively -as a cricket, a goin' into all affairs, and offerin' to take precious -good care while he was gone; and the Gineral he had his papers and -letters out, a sortin' on 'em over, which was to be took to the old -country, and which was to be put in a trunk to go back to Lawyer -Dennis's office. - -“Wal, Abner Ginger, Polly's boy, he that was footman and waiter then -at the Gineral's, he told me, that, about eight o'clock that evening he -went up with hot water and lemons and sperits and sich, and he see the -gret green table in the library all strewed and covered with piles o' -papers; and there was tin boxes a standin' round; and the Gineral a -packin' a trunk, and young Master Jeff, as lively and helpful as a rat -that smells cheese. And then the Gineral he says, 'Abner,' says he, 'can -you write your name?'--'I should hope so, Gineral.' says Abner.--'Wal, -then, Abner,' says he, 'this is my last will; and I want you to witness -it,' and so Abner he put down his name opposite to a place with a wafer -and a seal; and then the Gineral, he says, 'Abner, you tell Ginger to -come here.' That, you see, was his housekeeper, my Aunt Polly's sister, -and a likely woman as ever was. And so they had her up, and she put -down her name to the will; and then Aunt Polly she was had up (she was -drinking tea there that night), and she put down her name. And all of -'em did it with good heart, 'cause it had got about among 'em that the -will was to provide for Miss Ruth; for everybody loved Ruth, ye see, and -there was consid'ble many stories kind o' goin' the rounds about Master -Jeff and his doin's. And they did say he sort o' kep' up the strife -atween the Gineral and my lady, and so they didn't think none too well -o' him; and, as he was next o' kin, and Miss Ruth wa'n't none o' the -Gineral's blood (ye see, she was Mis' Sullivan's sister's child), of -course there wouldn't nothin' go to Miss Ruth in way o' law, and so that -was why the signin' o' that 'are will was so much talked about -among 'em.” - -“Wal, you see, the Gineral he sailed the next day; and Jeff he staid by -to keep watch o' things. - -“Wal, the old Gineral he got over safe; for Miss Sullivan, she had a -letter from him all right. When he got away, his conscience sort o' -nagged him, and he was minded to be a good husband. At any rate, he -wrote a good loving letter to her, and sent his love to Ruth, and sent -over lots o' little keepsakes and things for her, and told her that he -left her under good protection, and wanted her to try and make up her -mind to marry Jeff, as that would keep the property together. - -“Wal, now there couldn't be no sort o' sugar sweeter than Jeff was to -them lone wimmen. Jeff was one o' the sort that could be all things to -all wimmen. He waited and he tended, and he was as humble as any snake -in the grass that ever ye see and the old lady, she clean fell in with -him, but Ruth, she seemed to have a regular spite agin him. And she that -war as gentle as a lamb, that never had so much as a hard thought of a -mortal critter, and wouldn't tread on a worm, she was so set agin Jeff, -that she wouldn't so much as touch his hand when she got out o' her -kerridge. - -“Wal, now comes the strange part o' my story: Ruth was one o' the kind -that _hes the gift o' seein'. She was born with a veil over her face!_” - -This mysterious piece of physiological information about Ruth was given -with a look and air that announced something very profound and awful; -and we both took up the inquiry, “Born with a veil over her face? How -should _that_ make her see?” - -“Wal, boys, how should I know? But the fact _is so_. There's those as is -wal known as lies the gift o' seein' what others can't see: they can -see through walls and houses; they can see people's hearts; they can -see what's to come. They don't know nothin' how 'tis, but this 'ere -knowledge comes to 'em: it's a gret gift; and that sort's born with the -veil over their faces. Ruth was o' these 'ere. Old Granny Badger she -was the knowingest old nuss in all these parts; and she was with Ruth's -mother when she was born, and she told Lady Lothrop all about it. Says -she, 'You may depend upon it that child 'll have the “_second-sight_,”' -says she. Oh, that 'are fact was wal known! Wal, that was the reason -why Jeff Sullivan couldn't come it round Ruth tho' he was silkier than -a milkweed-pod, and jest about as patient as a spider in his hole a -watchin' to got his grip on a fly. Ruth wouldn't argue with him, and she -wouldn't flout him; but she jest shut herself up in herself, and kept a -lookout on him; but she told your Aunt Lois jest what she thought about -him. - -“Wal, in about six months, come the news that the Gineral was dead. He -dropped right down in his tracks, dead with apoplexy, as if he had been -shot; and Lady Maxwell she writ a long letter to my lady and Ruth. Ye -see, he'd got to be Sir Thomas Sullivan over there; and he was a comin' -home to take 'em all over to England to live in grande'r. Wal, my Lady -Sullivan (she was then, ye see) she took it drefful hard. Ef they'd a -been the lovingest couple in the world, she couldn't a took it harder. -Aunt Polly, she said it was all 'cause she thought so much of him, that -she fit him so. There's women that thinks so much o' their husbands, -that they won't let 'em hev no peace o' their life; and I expect it war -so with her poor soul! Any way, she went right down smack when she heard -he was dead. She was abed, sick, when the news come; and she never spoke -nor smiled, jest turned her back to everybody, and kinder wilted and -wilted, and was dead in a week. And there was poor little Ruth left all -alone in the world, with neither kith nor kin but Jeff. - -“Wal, when the funeral was over, and the time app'inted to read the will -and settle up matters, there wa'n't no will to be found nowhere, high -nor low. - -“Lawyer Dean he flew round like a parched pea on a shovel. He said he -thought he could a gone in the darkest night, and put his hand on that -'ere will; but when he went where he thought it was, he found it warn't -there, and he knowed he'd kep' it under lock and key. What he thought -was the will turned out to be an old mortgage. Wal, there was an awful -row and a to-do about it, you may be sure. Ruth, she jist said nothin' -good or bad. And her not speakin' made Jeff a sight more uncomfortable -than ef she'd a hed it out with him. He told her it shouldn't make no -sort o' difference; that he should allers stand ready to give her all he -hed, if she'd only take him with it. And when it came to that she only -gin him a look, and went out o' the room. - -“Jeff he flared and flounced and talked, and went round and round a -rumpussin' among the papers, but no will was forthcoming high or low. -Wal, now here comes what's remarkable. Ruth she told this 'ere, all the -particulars, to yer Aunt Lois and Lady Lothrop. She said that the night -after the funeral she went up to her chamber. Ruth had the gret -front chamber, opposite to Mis' Sullivan's. I've been in it; it was a -monstrous big room, with outlandish furniture in it, that the Gineral -brought over from an old palace out to Italy. And there was a great big -lookin'-glass over the dressin'-table, that they said come from Venice, -that swung so that you could see the whole room in it. Wal, she was a -standin' front o' this, jist goin' to undress herself, a hearin' the -rain drip on the leaves and the wind a whishin' and whisperin' in the -old elm-trees, and jist a thinkin' over her lot, and what should she -do now, all alone in the world, when of a sudden she felt a kind o' -lightness in her head, and she thought she seemed to see somebody in the -glass a movin'. And she looked behind, and there wa'n't nobody there. -Then she looked forward in the glass, and saw a strange big room, that -she'd never seen before, with a long painted winder in it; and along -side o' this stood a tall cabinet with a good many drawers in it. And -she saw herself, and knew that it was herself, in this room, along with -another woman whose back was turned towards her. She saw herself speak -to this woman, and p'int to the cabinet. She saw the woman nod her head. -She saw herself go to the cabinet, and open the middle drawer, and take -out a bundle o' papers from the very back end on't. She saw her take out -a paper from the middle, and open it, and hold it up; and she knew that -there was the missin' will. Wal, it all overcome her so that she fainted -clean away. And her maid found her a lyin' front o' the dressin'-table -on the floor. - -“She was sick of a fever for a week or fortnight a'ter; and your Aunt -Lois she was down takin' care of her; and, as soon as she got able to be -moved, she was took out to Lady Lothrop's. Jeff he was jist as attentive -and good as he could be; but she wouldn't bear him near her room. If he -so much as set a foot on the stairs that led to it she'd know it, and -got so wild that he hed to be kept from comin' into the front o' the -house. But he was doin' his best to buy up good words from everybody. He -paid all the servants double; he kept every one in their places, and -did so well by 'em all that the gen'l word among 'em was that Miss Ruth -couldn't do better than to marry such a nice, open-handed gentleman. - -“Wal, Lady Lothrop she wrote to Lady Maxwell all that hed happened; and -Lady Maxwell, she sent over for Ruth to come over and be a companion for -her, and said she'd adopt her, and be as a mother to her. - -“Wal, then Ruth she went over with some gentlefolks that was goin' back -to England, and offered to see her safe and sound; and so she was set -down at Lady Maxwell's manor. It was a grand place, she said, and such -as she never see before,--like them old gentry places in England. And -Lady Maxwell she made much of her, and cosseted her up for the sake of -what the old Gineral had said about her. And Ruth she told her all her -story, and how she believed that the will was to be found somewhere, and -that she should be led to see it yet. - -“She told her, too, that she felt it in her that Cap'n Oliver wasn't -dead, and that he'd come back yet. And Lady Maxwell she took up for her -with might and main, and said she'd stand by her. But then, ye see, so -long as there warn't no will to be found, there warn't nothin' to be -done. Jeff was the next heir; and he'd got every thing, stock, and lot, -and the estate in England into the bargain. And folks was beginnin' to -think putty well of him, as folks allers does when a body is up in the -world, and hes houses and lands. Lordy massy! riches allers covers a -multitude o' sins. - -“Finally, when Ruth hed ben six months with her, one day Lady Maxwell -got to tellin' her all about her history, and what hed ben atween her -and her cousin, when they was young, and how they hed a quarrel and he -flung off to Ameriky, and all them things that it don't do folks no good -to remember when it's all over and can't be helped. But she was a lone -body, and it seemed to do her good to talk about it. - -“Finally, she says to Ruth, says she, 'I 'll show you a room in this -house you han't seen before. It was the room where we hed that quarrel,' -says she; 'and the last I saw of him was there, till he come back to -die,' says she. - -“So she took a gret key out of her bunch; and she led Ruth along a -long passage-way to the other end of the house, and opened on a great -library. And the minute Ruth came in, she threw up her hands and gin a -great cry. 'Oh!' says she, 'this is the room! and there is the window! -and there is the cabinet I and _there in that middle drawer at the back -end in a bundle of papers is the will!_ - -“And Lady Maxwell she said, quite dazed, 'Go look,' says she. And Ruth -went, jest as she seed herself do, and opened the drawer, and drew forth -from the back part a yellow pile of old letters. And in the middle of -those was the will, sure enough. Ruth drew it out, and opened it, and -showed it to her. - -“Wal, you see that will give Ruth the whole of the Gineral's property in -America, tho' it did leave the English estate to Jeff. - -“Wal, the end on't was like a story-book. - -“Jeff he made believe be mighty glad. And he said it must a ben that the -Gineral hed got flustered with the sperit and water, and put that -'ere will in among his letters that he was a doin' up to take back to -England. For it was in among Lady Maxwell's letters that she writ him -when they was young, and that he'd a kep' all these years and was a -takin' back to her. - -“Wal, Lawyer Dean said he was sure that Jeff made himself quite busy and -useful that night, a tyin' up the papers with red tape, and a packin' -the Gin-eral's trunk; and that, when Jeff gin him his bundle to lock up -in his box, he never mistrusted but what he'd got it all right. - -“Wal, you see it was jest one of them things that can't be known to the -jedgment-day. It might a ben an accident, and then agin it might not; -and folks settled it one way or t'other, 'cordin' to their 'pinion -o' Jeff; but ye see how 'mazin' handy for him it happened! Why, ef it -hadn't ben for the providence I've ben a tellin' about, there it might a -lain in them old letters, that Lady Maxwell said she never hed the heart -to look over! it never would a turned up in the world.” - -“Well,” said I, “what became of Ruth?” - -“Oh! Cap'n Oliver he came back all alive, and escaped from the -Algerines; and they was married in King's Chapel, and lived in the old -Sullivan House, in peace and prosperity. That's jest how the story was; -and now Aunt Lois can make what she's a mind ter out on't.” - -“And what became of Jeff?” - -“Oh! he started to go over to England, and the ship was wrecked off -the Irish coast, and that was the last of him. He never got to his -property.” - -“Good enough for him,” said both of us. - -“Wal, I don't know: 'twas pretty hard on Jeff. Mebbe he did, and mebbe -he didn't. I'm glad I warn't in his shoes, tho' I'd rather never hed -nothin'. This 'ere hastin' to be rich is sich a drefful temptation. - -“Wal, now, boys, ye've done a nice lot o' flax, and I guess we 'll go up -to yer grand'ther's cellar and git a mug o' cyder. Talkin' always gits -me dry.” - -[Illustration: 5068] - - - - -THE MINISTER'S HOUSEKEEPER - - -_Scene.--The shady side of a blueberry-pasture.--Sam Lawson with the -boys, picking blueberries.--Sam, loq._ - -[Illustration: 9069] - -AL, you see, boys, 'twas just here,--Parson Carryl's wife, she died along -in the forepart o' March: my cousin Huldy, she undertook to keep house -for him. The way on't was, that Huldy, she went to take care o' Mis' -Carryl in the fust on't, when she fust took sick. Huldy was a tailoress -by trade; but then she was one o' these 'ere facultised persons that has -a gift for most any thing, and that was how Mis' Carryl come to set sech -store by her, that, when she was sick, nothin' would do for her but she -must have Huldy round all the time: and the minister, he said he'd make -it good to her all the same, and she shouldn't lose nothin' by it. And -so Huldy, she staid with Mis' Carryl full three months afore she died, -and got to seein' to every thing pretty much round the place. - -“Wal, arter Mis' Carryl died, Parson Carryl, he'd got so kind o' used to -hevin' on her 'round, takin' care o' things, that he wanted her to stay -along a spell; and so Huldy, she staid along a spell, and poured out -his tea, and mended his close, and made pies and cakes, and cooked and -washed and ironed, and kep' every thing as neat as a pin. Huldy was a -drefful chipper sort o' gal; and work sort o' rolled off from her like -water off a duck's back. There warn't no gal in Sherburne that could -put sich a sight o' work through as Huldy; and yet, Sunday mornin', she -always come out in the singers' seat like one o' these 'ere June roses, -lookin' so fresh and smilin', and her voice was jest as clear and sweet -as a meadow lark's--Lordy massy! I 'member how she used to sing some o' -them 'are places where the treble and counter used to go together: her -voice kind o trembled a little, and it sort o' went thro' and thro' a -feller! tuck him right where he lived!” - -Here Sam leaned contemplatively back with his head in a clump of sweet -fern, and refreshed himself with a chew of young wintergreen. “This'ere -young wintergreen, boys, is jest like a feller's thoughts o' things that -happened when he was young: it comes up jest so fresh and tender every -year, the longest time you hev to live; and you can't help chawin' -on't tho' 'tis sort o' stingin'. I don't never get over likin' young -wintergreen.” - -“But about Huldah, Sam?” - -“Oh, yes! about Huldy. Lordy massy! when a feller is Indianin' round, -these 'ere pleasant summer days, a feller's thoughts gits like a flock -o' young partridges: they's up and down and everywhere; 'cause one place -is jest about as good as another, when they's all so kind o' comfortable -and nice. Wal, about Huldy,--as I was a sayin'. She was jest as -handsome a gal to look at as a feller could have; and I think a nice, -well-behaved young gal in the singers' seat of a Sunday is a means o' -grace: it's sort o' drawin' to the unregenerate, you know. - -“Why, boys, in them days, I've walked ten miles over to Sherburne of a -Sunday mornin', jest to play the bass-viol in the same singers' seat -with Huldy. She was very much respected, Huldy was; and, when she went -out to tailorin', she was allers bespoke six months ahead, and sent for -in waggins up and down for ten miles round; for the young fellers was -allers 'mazin' anxious to be sent after Huldy, and was quite free to -offer to go for her. Wal, after Mis' Carryl died, Huldy got to be sort -o' housekeeper at the minister's, and saw to every thing, and did every -thing: so that there warn't a pin out o' the way. - -“But you know how 'tis in parishes: there allers is women that thinks -the minister's affairs belongs to them, and they ought to have the -rulin' and guidin' of 'em; and, if a minister's wife dies, there's folks -that allers has their eyes open on providences,--lookin' out who's to be -the next one. - -“Now, there was Mis' Amaziah Pipperidge, a widder with snappin' black -eyes, and a hook nose,--kind o' like a hawk; and she was one o' them -up-and-down commandin' sort o' women, that feel that they have a call to -be seein' to every thing that goes on in the parish, and 'specially to -the minister. - -“Folks did say that Mis' Pipperidge sort o' sot her eye on the parson -for herself: wal, now that 'are might a been, or it might not. Some -folks thought it was a very suitable connection. You see she hed a good -property of her own, right nigh to the minister's lot, and was allers -kind o' active and busy; so, takin' one thing with another, I shouldn't -wonder if Mis' Pipperidge should a thought that Providence p'inted that -way. At any rate, she went up to Deakin Blodgett's wife, and they two -sort o' put their heads together a mournin' and condolin' about the way. -things was likely to go on at the minister's now Mis' Carryl was dead. -Ye see, the parson's wife, she was one of them women who hed their eyes -everywhere and on every thing. She was a little thin woman, but tough as -Inger rubber, and smart as a steel trap; and there warn't a hen laid an -egg, or cackled, but Mis' Carryl was right there to see about it; and -she hed the garden made in the spring, and the medders mowed in summer, -and the cider made, and the corn husked, and the apples got in the -fall; and the doctor, he hedn't nothin' to do but jest sit stock still a -meditatin' on Jerusalem and Jericho and them things that ministers think -about. But Lordy massy! he didn't know nothin' about where any thing he -eat or drunk or wore come from or went to: his wife jest led him 'round -in temporal things and took care on him like a baby. - -“Wal, to be sure, Mis' Carryl looked up to him in spirituals, and -thought all the world on him; for there warn't a smarter minister no -where 'round. Why, when he preached on decrees and election, they used -to come clear over from South Parish, and West Sherburne, and Old Town -to hear him; and there was sich a row o' waggins tied along by the -meetin'-house that the stables was all full, and all the hitchin'-posts -was full clean up to the tavern, so that folks said the doctor made the -town look like a gineral trainin'-day a Sunday. - -“He was gret on texts, the doctor was. When he hed a p'int to prove, -he'd jest go thro' the Bible, and drive all the texts ahead o' him like -a flock o' sheep; and then, if there was a text that seemed gin him, -why, he'd come out with his Greek and Hebrew, and kind o' chase it -'round a spell, jest as ye see a fellar chase a contrary bell-wether, -and make him jump the fence arter the rest. I tell you, there wa'n't no -text in the Bible that could stand agin the doctor when his blood was -up. The year arter the doctor was app'inted to preach the 'lection -sermon in Boston, he made such a figger that the Brattlestreet Church -sent a committee right down to see if they couldn't get him to Boston; -and then the Sherburne folks, they up and raised his salary; ye see, -there ain't nothin' wakes folks up like somebody else's wantin' what -you've got. Wal, that fall they made him a Doctor o' Divinity at -Cambridge College, and so they sot more by him than ever. Wal, you see, -the doctor, of course he felt kind o' lonesome and afflicted when Mis' -Carryl was gone; but railly and truly, Huldy was so up to every thing -about house, that the doctor didn't miss nothin' in a temporal way. -His shirt-bosoms was pleated finer than they ever was, and them ruffles -'round his wrists was kep' like the driven snow; and there warn't a -brack in his silk stockin's, and his shoe buckles was kep' polished up, -and his coats brushed; and then there warn't no bread and biscuit like -Huldy's; and her butter was like solid lumps o' gold; and there wern't -no pies to equal hers; and so the doctor never felt the loss o' Miss -Carryl at table. Then there was Huldy allers oppisite to him, with -her blue eyes and her cheeks like two fresh peaches. She was kind o' -pleasant to look at; and the more the doctor looked at her the better -he liked her; and so things seemed to be goin' on quite quiet and -comfortable ef it hadn't been that Mis' Pipperidge and Mis' Deakin -Blodgett and Mis' Sawin got their heads together a talkin' about things. - -“'Poor man,' says Mis' Pipperidge, 'what can that child that he's got -there do towards takin' the care of all that place? It takes a mature -woman,' she says, 'to tread in Mis' Carryl's shoes.' - -“'That it does,' said Mis' Blodgett; 'and, when things once get to -runnin' down hill, there ain't no stoppin' on 'em,' says she. - -“Then Mis' Sawin she took it up. (Ye see, Mis' Sawin used to go out to -dress-makin', and was sort o' jealous, 'cause folks sot more by Huldy -than they did by her). 'Well,' says she, 'Huldy Peters is well enough at -her trade. I never denied that, though I do say I never did believe in -her way o' makin' button-holes; and I must say, if 'twas the dearest -friend I hed, that I thought Huldy tryin' to fit Mis' Kittridge's -plumb-colored silk was a clear piece o' presumption; the silk was jist -spiled, so 'twarn't fit to come into the meetin'-house. I must say, -Huldy's a gal that's always too ventersome about takin' 'spon-sibilities -she don't know nothin' about.' - -“'Of course she don't,' said Mis' Deakin Blodgett. 'What does she know -about all the lookin' and see-in' to that there ought to be in guidin' -the minister's house. Huldy's well meanin', and she's good at her work, -and good in the singers' seat; but Lordy massy I she hain't got no -experience. Parson Carryl ought to have an experienced woman to -keep house for him. There's the spring house-cleanin' and the fall -house-cleanin' to be seen to, and the things to be put away from the -moths; and then the gettin' ready for the association and all the -ministers' meetin's; and the makin' the soap and the candles, and -settin' the hens and turkeys, watchin' the calves, and seein' after the -'hired men and the garden; and there that 'are blessed man jist sets -there at home as serene, and has nobody 'round but that 'are gal, and -don't even know how things must be a runnin' to waste!' - -“Wal, the upshot on't was, they fussed and fuzzled and wuzzled till -they'd drinked up all the tea in the teapot; and then they went down and -called on the parson, and wuzzled him all up talkin' about this, that, -and t'other that wanted lookin' to, and that it was no way to leave -every thing to a young chit like Huldy, and that he ought to be lookin' -about for an experienced woman. The parson he thanked 'em kindly, and -said he believed their motives was good, but he didn't go no further. -He didn't ask Mis' Pipperidge to come and stay there and help him, nor -nothin' o' that kind; but he said he'd attend to matters himself. The -fact was, the parson had got such a likin' for havin' Huldy 'round, that -he couldn't think o' such a thing as swappin' her off for the Widder -Pipperidge. - -“But he thought to himself, 'Huldy is a good girl; but I oughtn't to -be a leavin' every thing to her,--it's too hard on her. I ought to -be instructin' and guidin' and helpin' of her; 'cause 'tain't everybody -could be expected to know and do what Mis' Carryl did;' and so at it he -went; and Lordy massy! didn't Huldy hev a time on't when the minister -began to come out of his study, and want to tew 'round and see to -things? Huldy, you see, thought all the world of the minister, and she -was 'most afraid to laugh; but she told me she couldn't, for the life of -her, help it when his back was turned, for he wuzzled things up in the -most singular way. But Huldy she'd jest say 'Yes, sir,' and get him off -into his study, and go on her own way. - -“'Huldy,' says the minister one day, 'you ain't experienced out doors; -and, when you want to know any thing, you must come to me.' - -“'Yes, sir,' says Huldy. - -“'Now, Huldy,' says the parson,' you must be sure to save the -turkey-eggs, so that we can have a lot of turkeys for Thanksgiving.' - -“'Yes, sir,' says Huldy; and she opened the pantry-door, and showed -him a nice dishful she'd been a savin' up. Wal, the very next day the -parson's hen-turkey was found killed up to old Jim Scroggs's barn. Folks -said Scroggs killed it; though Scroggs, he stood to it he didn't: at -any rate, the Scroggses, they made a meal on't; and Huldy, she felt bad -about it 'cause she'd set her heart on raisin' the turkeys; and says -she, 'Oh, dear! I don't know what I shall do. I was just ready to set -her.' - -“'Do, Huldy?' says the parson: 'why, there's the other turkey, out there -by the door; and a fine bird, too, he is.' - -“Sure enough, there was the old tom-turkey a struttin' and a sidlin' and -a quitterin,' and a floutin' his tail-feathers in the sun, like a lively -young widower, all ready to begin life over agin. - -“'But,' says Huldy, 'you know _he_ can't set on eggs.' - -“'He can't? I'd like to know why,' says the parson. 'He _shall_ set on -eggs, and hatch 'em too.' - -“'O doctor!' says Huldy, all in a tremble; 'cause, you know, she -didn't want to contradict the minister, and she was afraid she should -laugh,--'I never heard that a tom-turkey would set on eggs.' - -“'Why, they ought to,' said the parson, getting quite 'arnest: 'what -else be they good for? you just bring out the eggs, now, and put 'em in -the nest, and I 'll make him set on 'em.' - -“So Huldy she thought there wern't no way to convince him but to let him -try: so she took the eggs out, and fixed 'em all nice in the nest; -and then she come back and found old Tom a skirmishin' with the parson -pretty lively, I tell ye. Ye see, old Tom he didn't take the idee at -all; and he flopped and gobbled, and fit the parson; and the parson's -wig got 'round so that his cue stuck straight out over his ear, but he'd -got his blood up. Ye see, the old doctor was used to carryin' his p'ints -o' doctrine; and he hadn't fit the Arminians and Socinians to be beat by -a tom-turkey; so finally he made a dive, and ketched him by the neck -in spite o' his floppin', and stroked him down, and put Huldy's apron -'round him. - -“'There, Huldy,' he says, quite red in the face, 'we've got him now;' -and he travelled off to the barn with him as lively as a cricket. - -“Huldy came behind jist chokin' with laugh, and afraid the minister -would look 'round and see her. - -“'Now, Huldy, we 'll crook his legs, and set him down,' says the parson, -when they got him to the nest: 'you see he is getting quiet, and he 'll -set there all right.' - -“And the parson, he sot him down; and old Tom he sot there solemn -enough, and held his head down all droopin', lookin' like a rail pious -old cock, as long as the parson sot by him. - -“'There: you see how still he sets,' says the parson to Huldy. - -[Illustration: 0083] - -“Huldy was 'most dyin' for fear she should laugh, 'I'm afraid he 'll get -up,' says she, 'when you do.' - -“'Oh, no, he won't!' says the parson, quite confident. 'There, there,' -says he, layin' his hands on him, as if pronouncin' a blessin'. But when -the parson riz up, old Tom he riz up too, and began to march over the -eggs. - -“'Stop, now!' says the parson. 'I 'll make him get down agin: hand me -that corn-basket; we 'll put that over him.' - -“So he crooked old Tom's legs, and got him down agin; and they put the -corn-basket over him, and then they both stood and waited. - -“'That 'll do the thing, Huldy,' said the parson. - -“'I don't know about it,' says Huldy. - -“'Oh, yes, it will, child! I understand,' says he. - -“Just as he spoke, the basket riz right up and stood, and they could see -old Tom's long legs. - -“'I 'll make him stay down, confound him,' says the parson; for, ye see, -parsons is men, like the rest on us, and the doctor had got his spunk -up. - -“'You jist hold him a minute, and I 'll get something that 'll make him -stay, I guess;' and out he went to the fence, and brought in a long, -thin, flat stone, and laid it on old Tom's back. - -“Old Tom he wilted down considerable under this, and looked railly as if -he was goin' to give in. He staid still there a good long spell, and -the minister and Huldy left him there and come up to the house; but -they hadn't more than got in the door before they see old Tom a hippin' -along, as high-steppin' as ever, say in' 'Talk! talk! and quitter! -quitter!' and struttin' and gobblin' as if he'd come through the Red -Sea, and got the victory. - -“'Oh, my eggs!' says Huldy. 'I'm afraid he's smashed 'em!' - -“And sure enough, there they was, smashed flat enough under the stone. - -“'I 'll have him killed,' said the parson: 'we won't have such a critter -'round.' - -“But the parson, he slep' on't, and then didn't do it: he only come -out next Sunday with a tip-top sermon on the ''Riginal Cuss' that was -pronounced on things in gineral, when Adam fell, and showed how every -thing was allowed to go contrary ever since. There was pig-weed, and -pusley, and Canady thistles, cut-worms, and bag-worms, and canker-worms, -to say nothin' of rattlesnakes. The doctor made it very impressive and -sort o' improvin'; but Huldy, she told me, goin' home, that she hardly -could keep from laughin' two or three times in the sermon when she -thought of old Tom a standin' up with the corn-basket on his back. - -“Wal, next week Huldy she jist borrowed the minister's horse -and side-saddle, and rode over to South Parish to her Aunt -Bascome's,--Widder Bascome's, you know, that lives there by the -trout-brook,--and got a lot o' turkey-eggs o' her, and come back and set -a hen on 'em, and said nothin'; and in good time there was as nice a lot -o' turkey-chicks as ever ye see. - -“Huldy never said a word to the minister about his experiment, and he -never said a word to her; but he sort o' kep' more to his books, and -didn't take it on him to advise so much. - -“But not long arter he took it into his head that Huldy ought to have a -pig to be a fattin' with the buttermilk. Mis' Pipperidge set him up to -it; and jist then old Tim Bigelow, out to Juniper Hill, told him if he'd -call over he'd give him a little pig. - -“So he sent for a man, and told him to build a pigpen right out by the -well, and have it all ready when he came home with his pig. - -“Huldy she said she wished he might put a curb round the well out there, -because in the dark, sometimes, a body might stumble into it; and the -parson, he told him he might do that. - -“Wal, old Aikin, the carpenter, he didn't come till most the middle of -the arternoon; and then he sort o' idled, so that he didn't get up the -well-curb till sun down; and then he went off and said he'd come and do -the pig-pen next day. - -“Wal, arter dark, Parson Carryl he driv into the yard, full chizel, with -his pig. He'd tied up his mouth to keep him from squeelin'; and he see -what he thought was the pig-pen,--he was rather near-sighted,--and so -he ran and threw piggy over; and down he dropped into the water, and -the minister put out his horse and pranced off into the house quite -delighted. - -[Illustration: 0089] - -“'There, Huldy, I've got you a nice little pig.' - -“'Dear me!' says Huldy: 'where have you put him?' - -“'Why, out there in the pig-pen, to be sure.' - -“'Oh, dear me!' says Huldy: 'that's the well-curb; there ain't no -pig-pen built,' says she. - -“'Lordy massy!' says the parson: 'then I've thrown the pig in the well!' - -“Wal, Huldy she worked and worked, and finally she fished piggy out in -the bucket, but he was dead as a door-nail; and she got him out o' the -way quietly, and didn't say much; and the parson, he took to a -great Hebrew book in his study; and says he, 'Huldy, I ain't much in -temporals,' says he. Huldy says she kind o' felt her heart go out to -him, he was so sort o' meek and helpless and larned; and says she, 'Wal, -Parson Carryl, don't trouble your head no more about it; I 'll see -to things;' and sure enough, a week arter there was a nice pen, all -ship-shape, and two little white pigs that Huldy bought with the money -for the butter she sold at the store. - -“'Wal, Huldy,' said the parson, 'you are a most amazin' child: you don't -say nothin', but you do more than most folks.' - -“Arter that the parson set sich store by Huldy that he come to her and -asked her about every thing, and it was amazin' how every thing she put -her hand to prospered. Huldy planted marigolds and larkspurs, pinks and -carnations, all up and down the path to the front door, and trained up -mornin' glories and scar-, let-runners round the windows. And she -was always a gettin' a root here, and a sprig there, and a seed from -somebody else: for Huldy was one o' them that has the gift, so that ef -you jist give 'em the leastest sprig of any thing they make a great -bush out of it right away; so that in six months Huldy had roses and -geraniums and lilies, sich as it would a took a gardener to raise. The -parson, he took no notice at fust; but when the yard was all ablaze with -flowers he used to come and stand in a kind o' maze at the front door, -and say, 'Beautiful, beautiful: why, Huldy, I never see any thing like -it.' And then when her work was done arternoons, Huldy would sit with -her sewin' in the porch, and sing and trill away till she'd draw the -meadow-larks and the bobolinks, and the orioles to answer her, and the -great big elm-tree overhead would get perfectly rackety with the -birds; and the parson, settin' there in his study, would git to kind o' -dreamin' about the angels, and golden harps, and the New Jerusalem; -but he wouldn't speak a word, 'cause Huldy she was jist like them -wood-thrushes, she never could sing so well when she thought folks was -hearin'. Folks noticed, about this time, that the parson's sermons got -to be like Aaron's rod, that budded and blossomed: there was things -in 'em about flowers and birds, and more 'special about the music o' -heaven. And Huldy she noticed, that ef there was a hymn run in her head -while she was 'round a workin' the minister was sure to give it out next -Sunday. You see, Huldy was jist like a bee: she always sung when she was -workin', and you could hear her trillin', now down in the corn-patch, -while she was pickin' the corn; and now in the buttery, while she was -workin' the butter; and now she'd go singin' down cellar, and then she'd -be singin' up over head, so that she seemed to fill a house chock full -o' music. - -“Huldy was so sort o' chipper and fair spoken, that she got the hired -men all under her thumb: they come to her and took her orders jist -as meek as so many calves; and she traded at the store, and kep' the -accounts, and she hed her eyes everywhere, and tied up all the ends so -tight that there want no get-tin' 'round her. She wouldn't let nobody -put nothin' off on Parson Carryl, 'cause he was a minister. Huldy was -allers up to anybody that wanted to make a hard bargain; and, afore he -knew jist what he was about, she'd got the best end of it, and everybody -said that Huldy was the most capable gal that they'd ever traded with. - -“Wal, come to the meetin' of the Association, Mis' Deakin Blodgett and -Mis' Pipperidge come callin' up to the parson's, all in a stew, and -offerin' their services to get the house ready; but the doctor, he jist -thanked 'em quite quiet, and turned 'em over to Huldy; and Huldy she -told 'em that she'd got every thing ready, and showed 'em her pantries, -and her cakes and her pies and her puddin's, and took 'em all over the -house; and they went peekin' and pokin', openin' cupboard-doors, and -lookin' into drawers; and they couldn't find so much as a thread out o' -the way, from garret to cellar, and so they went off quite discontented. -Arter that the women set a new trouble a brewin'. Then they begun to -talk that it was a year now since Mis' Carryl died; and it r'ally wasn't -proper such a young gal to be stayin' there, who everybody could see was -a settin' her cap for the minister. - -“Mis' Pipperidge said, that, so long as she looked on Huldy as the hired -gal, she hadn't thought much about it; but Huldy was railly takin' on -airs as an equal, and appearin' as mistress o' the house in a way that -would make talk if it went on. And Mis' Pipperidge she driv 'round up to -Deakin Abner Snow's, and down to Mis' 'Lijah Perry's, and asked them -if they wasn't afraid that the way the parson and Huldy was a goin' on -might make talk. And they said they hadn't thought on't before, but now, -come to think on't, they was sure it would; and they all went and talked -with somebody else, and asked them if they didn't think it would make -talk. So come Sunday, between meetin's there warn't nothin' else talked -about; and Huldy saw folks a noddin' and a winkin', and a lookin' arter -her, and she begun to feel drefful sort o' disagreeable. Finally Mis' -Sawin she says to her, 'My dear, didn't you, never think folk would talk -about you and the minister?' - -“'No: why should they?' says Huldy, quite innocent. - -“Wal, dear,' says she, 'I think it's a shame; but they say you're tryin' -to catch him, and that it's so bold and improper for you to be courtin' -of him right in his own house,--you know folks will talk,--I thought I'd -tell you 'cause I think so much of you,' says she. - -“Huldy was a gal of spirit, and she despised the talk, but it made her -drefful uncomfortable; and when she got home at night she sat down in -the mor-nin'-glory porch, quite quiet, and didn't sing a word. - -“The minister he had heard the same thing from one of his deakins that -day; and, when he saw Huldy so kind o' silent, he says to her, 'Why -don't you sing, my child?' - -“He hed a pleasant sort o' way with him, the minister had, and Huldy had -got to likin' to be with him, and it all come over her that perhaps -she ought to go away; and her throat kind o' filled up so she couldn't -hardly speak; and, says she, 'I can't sing to-night.' - -“Says he, 'You don't know how much good you're singin' has done me, nor -how much good _you_ have done me in all ways, Huldy. I wish I knew how -to show my gratitude.' - -“'O sir!' says Huldy, '_is_ it improper for me to be here?' - -“'No, dear,' says the minister, 'but ill-natured folks will talk; but -there is one way we can stop it, Huldy--if you will marry me. You 'll -make me very happy, and I 'll do all I can to make you happy. Will you?' - -“Wal, Huldy never told me jist what she said to the minister,--gals -never does give you the particulars of them 'are things jist as you'd -like 'em,--only I know the upshot and the hull on't was, that Huldy she -did a consid'able lot o' clear starchin' and ironin' the next two days; -and the Friday o' next week the minister and she rode over together -to Dr. Lothrop's in Old Town; and the doctor, he jist made 'em man and -wife, 'spite of envy of the Jews,' as the hymn says. Wal, you'd better -believe there was a starin' and a wonderin' next Sunday mornin' when the -second bell was a tollin', and the minister walked up the broad aisle -with Huldy, all in white, arm in arm with him, and he opened the -minister's pew, and handed her in as if she was a princess; for, you -see, Parson Carryl come of a good family, and was a born gentleman, and -had a sort o' grand way o' bein' polite to women-folks. Wal, I guess -there was a rus'lin' among the bunnets. Mis' Pipperidge gin a great -bounce, like corn poppin' on a shovel, and her eyes glared through her -glasses at Huldy as if they'd a sot her afire; and everybody in the -meetin' house was a starin', I tell _yew_. But they couldn't none of -'em say nothin' agin Huldy's looks; for there wa'n't a crimp nor a frill -about her that wa'n't jis' _so_; and her frock was white as the driven -snow, and she had her bunnet all trimmed up with white ribbins; and -all the fellows said the old doctor had stole a march, and got the -handsomest gal in the parish. - -“Wal, arter meetin' they all come 'round the parson and Huldy at the -door, shakin' hands and laughin'; for by that time they was about agreed -that they'd got to let putty well alone. - -“'Why, Parson Carryl,' says Mis' Deakin Blodgett, 'how you've come it -over us.' - -“'Yes,' says the parson, with a kind o' twinkle in his eye. 'I thought,' -says he, 'as folks wanted to talk about Huldy and me, I'd give 'em -somethin' wuth talkin' about.'” - -[Illustration: 5098] - - - - -THE WIDOW'S BANDBOX. - - -[Illustration: 9099] - -ORDY massy! Stick yer hat into the nor'east, Horace, and see 'f ye can't -stop out this 'ere wind. I'm e'eny most used up with it.” - -So spake Sam Lawson, contemplating mournfully a new broad-brimmed straw -hat in which my soul was rejoicing. - -It was the dripping end of a sour November afternoon, which closed up -a “spell o' weather” that had been steadily driving wind and rain for a -week past; and we boys sought the shelter and solace of his shop, and, -opening the door, let in the wind aforesaid. - -Sam had been all day in one of his periodical fits of desperate -industry. The smoke and sparks had been seen flying out of his -shop-chimney in a frantic manner; and the blows of his hammer had -resounded with a sort of feverish persistence, intermingled with a -doleful wailing of psalm-tunes of the most lugubrious description. - -These fits of industry on Sam's part were an affliction to us boys, -especially when they happened to come on Saturday: for Sam was as much a -part of our Saturday-afternoon calculations as if we had a regular deed -of property in him; and we had been all day hanging round his shop, -looking in from time to time, in the vague hope that he would propose -something to brighten up the dreary monotony of a holiday in which it -had been impossible to go anywhere or do any thing. - -“Sam, ain't you coming over to tell us some stories to-night?” - -“Bless your soul and body, boys! life ain't made to be spent tellin' -stories. Why, I shall hev to be up here workin' till arter twelve -o'clock,” said Sam, who was suddenly possessed with a spirit of the most -austere diligence. “Here I be up to my neck in work,--things kind o' -comin' in a heap together. - -“There's Mis' Cap'n Broad's andirons, she sent word she must have 'em -to-night; and there's Lady Lothrop, she wants her warmin'-pan right -off; they can't non' on 'em wait a minit longer. I've ben a drivin' and -workin' all day like a nigger-slave. Then there was Jeduth Pettybone, -he brought down them colts to-day, and I worked the biggest part o' the -mornin' shoein' on 'em; and then Jeduth he said he couldn't make change -to pay me, so there wa'n't nothin' comin' in for 't; and then Hepsy she -kep' a jawin' at me all dinner-time 'bout that. Why, I warn't to blame -now, was I? I can't make everybody do jest right and pay regular, can -I? So ye see it goes, boys, gettin' yer bread by the sweat o' your brow; -and sometimes sweatin' and not gettin' yer bread. That 'ere's what I call -the _cuss_, the 'riginal cuss, that come on man for hearkenin' to the -voice o' his wife,--that 'ere was what did it. It allers kind o' riles -me up with Mother Eve when I think on't. The women hain't no bisness to -fret as they do, 'cause they sot this 'ere state o' things goin' in the -fust place.” - -“But, Sam, Aunt Lois and Aunt Nabby are both going over to Mis' -Mehitabel's to tea. Now, you just come over and eat supper with us and -tell us a story, do.” - -“Gone out to tea, be they?” said Sam, relaxing his hammering, with a -brightening gleam stealing gradually across his lanky visage. “Wal, that -'ere looks like a providential openin', to be sure. Wal, I guess I 'll -come. What's the use o' never havin' a good time? Ef you work yourself -up into shoestrings you don't get no thanks for it, and things in this -world's 'bout as broad as they is long: the women 'll scold, turn 'em -which way ye will. A good mug o' cider and some cold victuals over to -the Deakin's 'll kind o' comfort a feller up; and your granny she's -sort o' merciful, she don't rub it into a fellow all the time like Miss -Lois.” - -“Now, let's see, boys,” said Sam, when a comfortable meal of pork and -beans had been disposed of, and a mug of cider was set down before the -fire to warm. “I s'pect ye 'll like to hear a Down-East story to-night.” - -Of course we did, and tumbled over each other in our eagerness to get -the nearest place to the narrator. - -Sam's method of telling a story was as leisurely as that of some modern -novel-writers. He would take his time for it, and proceed by easy -stages. It was like the course of a dreamy, slow-moving river through a -tangled meadow-flat,--not a rush nor a bush but was reflected in it; in -short, Sam gave his philosophy of matters and things in general as he -went along, and was especially careful to impress an edifying moral. - -“Wal, ye see, boys, ye know I was born down to Newport,--there where -it's all ships and shipping, and sich. My old mother she kep' a -boardin'-house for sailors down there. Wal, ye see, I rolled and tumbled -round the world pretty consid'able afore I got settled down here in -Oldtown. - -“Ye see, my mother she wanted to bind me out to a blacksmith, but I kind -o' sort o' didn't seem to take to it. It was kind o' hard work, and -boys is apt to want to take life easy. Wal, I used to run off to the -sea-shore, and lie stretched out on them rocks there, and look off on to -the water; and it did use to look so sort o' blue and peaceful, and the -ships come a sailin' in and out so sort o' easy and natural, that I felt -as if that are 'd be jest the easiest kind o' life a fellow could have. -All he had to do was to get aboard one o' them ships, and be off seekin' -his fortin at t'other end o' the rainbow, where gold grows on bushes and -there's valleys o' diamonds. - -“So, nothin' would do but I gin my old mother the slip; and away I went -to sea, with my duds tied up in a han'kercher. - -“I tell ye what, boys, ef ye want to find an easy life, don't ye never -go to sea. I tell ye, life on shipboard ain't what it looks to be on -shore. I hadn't been aboard more'n three hours afore I was the sickest -critter that ever ye did see; and I tell you, I didn't get no kind o' -compassion. Cap'ns and mates they allers thinks boys hain't no kind o' -business to have no bowels nor nothin', and they put it on 'em sick or -well. It's jest a kick here, and a cuff there, and a twitch by the ear -in t'other place; one a shovin' on 'em this way, and another hittin' on -'em a clip, and all growlin' from mornin' to night. I believe the way my -ears got so long was bein' hauled out o' my berth by 'em: that 'are's a -sailor's regular way o' wakin' up a boy. - -“Wal, by time I got to the Penobscot country, all I wanted to know was -how to get back agin. That 'are's jest the way folks go all their lives, -boys. It's all fuss, fuss, and stew, stew, till ye get somewhere; and -then it's fuss, fuss, and stew, stew, to get back agin; jump here and -scratch yer eyes out, and jump there and scratch 'em in agin,--that -'are's life'. - -“Wal, I kind o' poked round in Penobscot country till I got a berth on -'The Brilliant' that was lyin' at Camden, goin' to sail to Boston. - -“Ye see, 'The Brilliant' she was a tight little sloop in the government -service: 'twas in the war-times, ye see, and Commodore Tucker that is now -(he was Cap'n Tucker then), he had the command on her,--used to run up -and down all the coast takin' observations o' the British, and keepin' -his eye out on 'em and givin' on 'em a nip here and a clip there,' -cordin' as he got a good chance. Why, your grand'ther knew old Commodore -Tucker. It was he that took Dr. Franklin over Minister, to France, and -dodged all the British vessels, right in the middle o' the war I tell -you that 'are was like runnin' through the drops in a thunder-shower. He -got chased by the British ships pretty consid'able, but he was too spry -for 'em. Arter the war was over, Commodore Tucker took over John Adams, -our fust Minister to England. A drefful smart man the Commodore was, but -he most like to 'a' ben took in this'ere time I'm a tellin' ye about, -and all 'cause he was sort o' softhearted to the women. Tom Toothacre -told me the story. Tom he was the one that got me the berth on the ship. -Ye see, I used to know Tom at Newport; and once when he took sick there -my mother nussed him up, and that was why Tom was friends with me and -got me the berth, and kep' me warm in it too. Tom he was one of your -rael Maine boys, that's hatched out, so to speak, in water like ducks. -He was born away down there on Harpswell P'int; and they say, if ye -throw one o' them Harpswell babies into the sea, he 'll take to it -nateral, and swim like a cork: ef they hit their heads agin a rock -it only dents the rock, but don't hurt the baby. Tom he was a great -character on the ship. He could see further, and knew more 'bout wind -and water, than most folks: the officers took Tom's judgment, and the -men all went by his say. My mother she chalked a streak o' good luck for -me when she nussed up Tom. - -“Wal, we wus a lyin' at Camden there, one arter-noon, goin' to sail for -Boston that night. It was a sort o' soft, pleasant arternoon, kind -o' still, and there wa'n't nothin' a goin' on but jest the hens a -craw-crawin', and a histin' up one foot, and holdin' it a spell 'cause -they didn't know when to set it down, and the geese a sissin' and a -pickin' at the grass. Ye see, Camden wasn't nothin' of a place,--'twas -jest as if somebody had emptied out a pocketful o' houses and forgot -'em. There wer'n't nothin' a stirrin' or goin' on; and so we was all -took aback, when 'bout four o'clock in the arternoon there come a -boat alongside, with a tall, elegant lady in it, all dressed in deep -mournin'. She rared up sort o' princess-like, and come aboard our ship, -and wanted to speak to Cap 'll Tucker. Where she come from, or what she -wanted, or where she was goin' to, we none on us knew: she kep' her veil -down so we couldn't get sight o' her face. All was, she must see Cap'n -Tucker alone right away. - -“Wal, Cap'n Tucker he was like the generality o' cap'ns. He was up to -'bout every thing that any _man_ could do, but it was pretty easy for a -woman to come it over him. Ye see, cap'ns, they don't see women as men -do ashore. They don't have enough of 'em to get tired on 'em; and every -woman's an angel to a sea-cap'n. Anyway, the cap'n he took her into his -cabin, and he sot her a chair, and was her humble servant to command, -and what would she have of him? And we was all a winkin', and a nudgin' -each other, and a peekin' to see what was to come o' it. And she see -it; and so she asks, in a sort o' princess' way, to speak to the cap'n -alone; and so the doors was shut, and we was left to our own ideas, and -a wonderin' what it was all to be about. - -“Wal, you see, it come out arterwards all about what went on; and things -went this way. Jest as soon as the doors was shut, and she was left -alone with the cap'n, she busted out a cryin' and a sobbin'. lit to -break her heart. - -“Wal, the cap'n he tried to comfort her up: but no, she wouldn't be -comforted, but went on a weepin' and a wailin,' and a wringin' on her -hands, till the poor cap'n's heart was a'most broke; for the cap'n was -the tenderest-hearted critter that could be, and couldn't bear to see a -child or a woman in trouble noways. - -“'O cap'n!' said she, 'I'm the most unfortunate woman. I'm all alone -in the world,' says she, 'and I don't know what 'll become of me ef you -don't keep me,' says she. - -“Wal, the cap'n thought it was time to run up his colors; and so says -he, 'Ma'am, I'm a married man, and love my wife,' says he, 'and so I can -feel for all women in distress,' says he. - -“Oh, well, then!' says she, 'you can feel for me, and know how to pity -me. My dear husband's just died suddenly when he was up the river. He -was took with the fever in the woods. I nussed him day and night,' -says she; 'but he died there in a mis'able little hut far from home -and friends,' says she; 'and I've brought his body down with me, hopin' -Providence would open some way to get it back to our home in Boston. And -now, cap'n, you must help me.' - -“Then the cap'n see what she was up to: and he hated to do it, and tried -to cut her off o' askin'; but she wa'n't to be put off. - -“'Now, cap'n,' says she, 'ef you 'll take me and the body o' my husband -on board to-night, I'd be willin' to reward you to any amount. Money -would be no object to me,' says she. - -“Wal, you see, the cap'n he kind o' hated to do it; and he hemmed and -hawed, and he tried to 'pologize. He said 'twas a government vessel, and -he didn't know as he had a right to use it. He said sailors was apt to -be superstitious; and he didn't want 'em to know as there was a corpse -on board. - -“'Wal,' says she, 'why need they know?' For, you see, she was up to -every dodge; and she said she'd come along with it at dusk, in a box, -and have it just carried to a state-room, and he needn't tell nobody -what it was. - -“Wal, Cap'n Tucker he hung off; and he tried his best to persuade her -to have a funeral, all quiet, there at Camden. He promised to get a -minister, and 'tend to it, and wait a day till it was all over, and then -take her on to Boston free gratis. But 'twas all no go. She wouldn't -hear a word to 't. And she reeled off the talk to him by the yard. And, -when talk failed, she took to her water-works again, till finally the -cap'n said his resolution was clean washed away, and he jest give up -hook and line; and so 'twas all settled and arranged, that, when evening -come, she was to be alongside with her boat, and took aboard. - -“When she come out o' the cap'n's room to go off, I see Tom Toothacre a -watchin' on her. He stood there by the railin's a shavin' up a plug o' -baccy to put in his pipe. He didn't say a word; but he sort o' took the -measure o' that 'are woman with his eye, and kept a follerin' on her. - -“She had a fine sort o' lively look, carried her head up and shoulders -back, and stepped as if she had steel springs in her heels. - -“'Wal, Tom, what do ye say to her?' says Ben Bowdin. - -“'I don't _say_ nothin',' says Tom, and he lit his pipe; 'tain't _my_ -busness,' says he. - -“'Wal, what do you _think?_' says Ben. Tom gin a hist to his trousers. - -“'My thoughts is my own,' says he; 'and I calculate to keep 'em to -myself,' says he. And then he jest walked to the side of the vessel, -and watched the woman a gettin' ashore. There was a queer kind o look in -Tom's eye. - -“Wal, the cap'n he was drefful sort o' oneasy arter she was gone. He had -a long talk in the cabin with Mr. More, the fust officer; and there was -a sort o' stir aboard as if somethin' was a goin' to happen, we couldn't -jest say what it was. - -“Sometimes it seems as if, when things is goin' to happen, a body kind -o' feels 'em comin' in the air. We boys was all that way: o' course we -didn't know nothin' 'bout what the woman wanted, or what she come for, -or whether she was comin' agin; 'n fact, we didn't know nothin' about it, -and yet we sort o' expected suthin' to come o' it; and suthin' did come, -sure enough. - -“Come on night, jest at dusk, we see a boat comin' alongside; and there, -sure enough, was the lady in it. - -“'There, she's comin' agin,' says I to Tom Tooth acre. - -“'Yes, and brought her baggage with her,' says Tom; and he p'inted down -to a long, narrow pine box that was in the boat beside her. - -“Jest then the cap'n called on Mr. More, and he called on Tom Toothacre; -and among 'em they lowered a tackle, and swung the box aboard, and put -it in the state-room right alongside the cap'n's cabin. - -“The lady she thanked the cap'n and Mr. More, and her voice was jest as -sweet as any nightingale; and she went into the state-room arter they -put the body in, and was gone ever so long with it. The cap'n and Mr. -More they stood a whisperin' to each other, and every once in a while -they'd kind o' nod at the door where the lady was. - -“Wal, by and by she come out with her han'ker-chief to her eyes, and -come on deck, and begun talkin' to the cap'n and Mr. More, and a wishin' -all kinds o' blessin's on their heads. - -“Wal, Tom Toothacre didn't say a word, good or bad; but he jest kep' -a lookin' at her, watchin' her as a cat watches a mouse. Finally we up -sail, and started with a fair breeze. The lady she kep' a walkin' up and -down, up and down, and every time she turned on her heel, I saw Tom a -lookin' arter her and kind o' noddin' to himself. - -“'What makes you look arter her so, Tom?' says I to him. - -“''Cause I think she _wants_ lookin' arter,' says Tom. 'What's more,' -says he, 'if the cap'n don't look sharp arter her the devil 'll have -us all afore mornin.' I tell ye, Sam, there's mischief under them -petticuts.' - -“'Why, what do ye think?' says I. - -“'Think! I don't think, I knows! That 'are's no gal, nor widder neither, -if my name's Tom Tooth-acre! Look at her walk; look at the way she turns -on her heel! I've been a watchin' on her. There ain't no woman livin' -with a step like that!' says he. - -“'Wal, who should the critter be, then?' says I. - -“'Wal,' says Tom, 'ef that 'are ain't a British naval officer, I lose -my bet. I've been used to the ways on 'em, and I knows their build and -their step.' - -“'And what do you suppose she's got in that long box?' says I. - -“'What has she got?' says Tom. 'Wal, folks might say none o' my bisness; -but I s'pects it 'll turn out some o' my bisness, and yourn too, if -he don't look sharp arter it,' says Tom. 'It's no good, that 'are box -ain't.' - -“'Why don't you speak to Mr. More?' says I. - -“'Wal, you see she's a chipperin' round and a-makin' herself agreeable -to both on 'em, you see; she don't mean to give nobody any chance for -a talk with 'em; but I've got my eye on her, for all that. You see I -hain't no sort o' disposition to sarve out a time on one o' them British -prison-ships,' says Tom Toothacre. 'It might be almighty handy for them -British to have “The Brilliant” for a coast-vessel,' says he; 'but, ye -see, it can't be spared jest yet. So, madam,' says he, 'I've got my eye -on you.' - -“Wal, Tom was as good as his word; for when Mr. More came towards him at -the wheel, Tom he up and says to him, 'Mr. More,' says he, that 'are big -box in the state-room yonder wants lookin' into.' - -“Tom was a sort o' privileged character, and had a way o' speakin' up -that the officers took in good part, 'cause they knew he was a fust-rate -hand. - -“Wal, Mr. More he looks mysterious; and says he, Tom, do the boys know -what's in that 'are box?' - -“'I bet they don't,' says Tom. 'If they had, you wouldn't a got 'em to -help it aboard.' - -“'Wal, you see, poor woman,' says Mr. More to Tom, 'she was so -distressed. She wanted to get her husband's body to Boston; and there -wa'n't no other way, and so the cap'n let it come aboard. He didn't want -the boys to suspect what it really was.' - -“'Husband's body be hanged!' said Tom. 'Guess that 'are corpse ain't -so dead but what there 'll be a resurrection afore mornin', if it ain't -looked arter,' says he. - -“'Why, what do you mean, Tom?' said Mr. More, all in a blue maze. - -“'I mean, that 'are gal that's ben a switchin' her petticuts up and down -our deck ain't no gal at all. That are's a British officer, Mr. More. -You give my duty to the cap'n, and tell him to look into his widder's -bandbox, and see what he 'll find there.' - -“Wal, the mate he went and had a talk with the cap'n; and they 'greed -between 'em that Mr. More was to hold her in talk while the cap'n went -and took observations in the state-room. - -“So, down the cap'n goes into the state-room to give a look at the box. -Wal, he finds the stateroom door all locked to be sure, and my lady had -the key in her pocket; but then the cap'n he had a master key to it; and -so he puts it in, and opens the door quite softly, and begins to take -observations. - -“Sure enough, he finds that the screws had been drawed from the top o' -the box, showin' that the widder had been a tinkerin' on't when they -thought she was a cryin' over it; and then, lookin' close, he sees a -bit o' twine goin' from a crack in the box out o' the winder, and up on -deck. - -“Wal, the cap'n he kind o' got in the sperit o' the thing; and he -thought he'd jest let the widder play her play out, and see what it -would come to. So he jest calls Tom Toothacre down to him and whispered -to him. 'Tom,' says he, 'you jest crawl under the berth in that 'are -state-room, and watch that 'are box.' And Tom said he would. - -“So Tom creeps under the berth, and lies there still as a mouse; and -the cap'n he slips out and turns the key in the door, so that when madam -comes down she shouldn't s'pect nothin'. - -“Putty soon, sure enough, Tom heard the lock rattle, and the young -widder come in; and then he heard a bit o' conversation between her and -the corpse. - -“'What time is it?' come in a kind o' hoarse whisper out o' the box. - -“'Well, 'bout nine o'clock,' says she. - -“'How long afore you 'll let me out?' says he. - -“'Oh! you must have patience,' says she, 'till they're all gone off to -sleep; when there ain't but one man up. I can knock him down,' says she, -'and then I 'll pull the string for you.' - -“'The devil you will, ma'am!' says Tom to himself, under the berth. - -“'Well, it's darned close here,' says the fellow in the box. He didn't -say darned, boys; but he said a wickeder word that I can't repeat, -noways,” said Sam, in a parenthesis: “these 'ere British officers was -drefful swearin' critters. - -“'You must have patience a while longer,' says the lady, 'till I pull -the string.' Tom Toothacre lay there on his back a laughin'. - -“'Is every thing goin' on right?' says the man in the box. - -“'All straight,' says she: 'there don't none of 'em suspect.' - -“'You bet,' says Tom Toothacre, under the berth; and he said he had the -greatest mind to catch the critter by the feet as she was a standin' -there, but somehow thought it would be better fun to see the thing -through 'cording as they'd planned it. - -“Wal, then she went off switchin' and mincin' up to the deck agin, and a -flirtin' with the cap'n; for you see 'twas 'greed to let 'em play their -play out. - -“Wal, Tom he lay there a waitin'; and he waited and waited and waited, -till he 'most got asleep; but finally he heard a stirrin' in the box, -as if the fellah was a gettin' up. Tom he jest crawled out still and -kerful, and stood up tight agin the wall. Putty soon he hears a grunt, -and he sees the top o' the box a risin' up, and a man jest gettin' out -on't mighty still. - -[Illustration: 0119] - -“Wal, Tom he waited till he got fairly out on to the floor, and had his -hand on the lock o' the door, when he jumps on him, and puts both arms -round him, and gin him a regular bear's hug. - -“'Why, what's this?' says the man. - -“'Guess ye 'll find out, darn ye,' says Tom Tooth-acre. 'So, ye wanted -our ship, did ye? Wal, ye jest can't have our ship,' says Tom, says he; -and I tell you he jest run that 'are fellow up stairs lickety-split, for -Tom was strong as a giant. - -“The fust thing they saw was Mr. More hed got the widder by both arms, -and was tying on 'em behind her. 'Ye see, madam, your game's up,' says -Mr. More, 'but we 'll give ye a free passage to Boston, tho',' says -he: 'we wanted a couple o' prisoners about these days, and you 'll do -nicely.' - -“The fellers they was putty chopfallen, to be sure, and the one in -women's clothes 'specially: 'cause when he was found out, he felt -foolish enough in his petticuts; but they was both took to Boston, and -given over as prisoners. - -“Ye see, come to look into matters, they found these two young fellows, -British officers, had formed a regular plot to take Cap'n Tucker's -vessel, and run it into Halifax; and ye see, Cap'n Tucker he was so -sort o' spry, and knew all the Maine coast so well, and was so 'cute at -dodgin' in and out all them little bays and creeks and places all 'long -shore, that he made the British considerable trouble, 'cause wherever -they didn't want him, that's where he was sure to be. - -“So they'd hatched up this 'ere plan. There was one or two British -sailors had been and shipped aboard 'The Brilliant' a week or two -aforehand, and 'twas suspected they was to have helped in the plot if -things had gone as they laid out; but I tell you, when the fellows see -which way the cat jumped, they took pretty good care to say that they -hadn't nothin' to do with it. Oh, no, by no manner o' means! Wal, o' -course, ye know, it couldn't be proved on 'em, and so we let it go. - -“But I tell you, Cap'n Tucker he felt pretty cheap about his widder. The -worst on't was, they do say Ma'am Tucker got hold of it; and you might -know if a woman got hold of a thing like that she'd use it as handy as a -cat would her claws. The women they can't no more help hittin' a fellow -a clip and a rap when they've fairly got him, than a cat when she's -ketched a mouse; and so I shouldn't wonder if the Commodore heard -something about his widder every time he went home from his v'yages the -longest day he had to live. I don't know nothin' 'bout it, ye know: I -only kind o' jedge by what looks, as human natur' goes. - -“But, Lordy massy! boys,' 't wa'n't nothin' to be 'shamed of in the -cap'n. Folks 'll have to answer for wus things at the last day than -tryin' to do a kindness to a poor widder, now, I tell _you_. It's better -to be took in doin' a good thing, than never try to do good; and it's my -settled opinion,” said Sam, taking up his mug of cider and caressing it -tenderly, “it's my humble opinion, that the best sort o' folks is the -easiest took in, 'specially by the women. I reely don't think I should a -done a bit better myself.” - -[Illustration: 5124] - - - - -CAPTAIN KIDD'S MONEY. - - -[Illustration: 9125] - -NE of our most favorite legendary resorts was the old barn. - -Sam Lawson preferred it on many accounts. It was quiet and retired, that -is to say, at such distance from his own house, that he could not -hear if Hepsy called ever so loudly, and farther off than it would be -convenient for that industrious and painstaking woman to follow him. -Then there was the soft fragrant cushion of hay, on which his length of -limb could be easily bestowed. - -Our barn had an upper loft with a swinging outer door that commanded -a view of the old mill, the waterfall, and the distant windings of the -river, with its grassy green banks, its graceful elm draperies, and its -white flocks of water-lilies; and then on this Saturday afternoon we had -Sam all to ourselves. It was a drowsy, dreamy October day, when the hens -were lazily “craw, crawing,” in a soft, conversational undertone with -each other, as they scratched and picked the hay-seed under the barn -windows. Below in the barn black Caesar sat quietly hatchelling flax, -sometimes gurgling and giggling to himself with an overflow of that -interior jollity with which he seemed to be always full. The African in -New England was a curious contrast to everybody around him in the joy -and satisfaction that he seemed to feel in the mere fact of being alive. -Every white person was glad or sorry for some appreciable cause in the -past, present, or future, which was capable of being definitely stated; -but black Caesar was in an eternal giggle and frizzle and simmer of -enjoyment for which he could give no earthly reason: he was an “embodied -joy,” like Shelley's skylark. - -“Jest hear him,” said Sam Lawson, looking pensively over the hay-mow, -and strewing hayseed down on his wool. “How that 'are critter seems to -tickle and laugh all the while 'bout nothin'. Lordy massy! he don't seem -never to consider that 'this life's a dream, an empty show.'” - -“Look here, Sam,” we broke in, anxious to cut short a threatened stream -of morality, “you promised to tell us about Capt. Kidd, and how you dug -for his money.” - -“Did I, now? Wal, boys, that 'are history o' Kidd's is a warnin' to -fellers. Why, Kidd had pious parents and Bible and sanctuary privileges -when he was a boy, and yet come to be hanged. It's all in this 'ere -song I'm a goin' to sing ye. Lordy massy! I wish I had my bass-viol -now.--Caesar,” he said, calling down from his perch, “can't you strike -the pitch o' 'Cap'n Kidd,' on your fiddle?” - -Caesar's fiddle was never far from him. It was, in fact, tucked away in -a nice little nook just over the manger; and he often caught an interval -from his work to scrape a dancing-tune on it, keeping time with his -heels, to our great delight. - -A most wailing minor-keyed tune was doled forth, which seemed quite -refreshing to Sam's pathetic vein, as he sang in his most lugubrious -tones,-- - - “'My name was Robert Kidd - - As I sailed, as I sailed, - - My name was Robert Kidd; - - God's laws I did forbid, - - And so wickedly I did, - - As I sailed, as I sailed.' - -“Now ye see, boys, he's a goin' to tell how he abused his religious -privileges; just hear now:-- - - “'My father taught me well, - - As I sailed, as I sailed; - - My father taught me well - - To shun the gates of hell, - - But yet I did rebel, - - As I sailed, as I sailed. - - - “'He put a Bible in my hand, - - As I sailed, as I sailed; - - He put a Bible in my hand, - - And I sunk it in the sand - - Before I left the strand, - - As I sailed, as I sailed.' - -“Did ye ever hear o' such a hardened, contrary critter, boys? It's awful -to think on. Wal, ye see that 'are's the way fellers allers begin the -ways o' sin, by turnin' their backs on the Bible and the advice o' pious -parents. Now hear what he come to:-- - - “'Then I murdered William More, - - As I sailed, as I sailed; - - I murdered William More, - - And left him in his gore, - - Not many leagues from shore, - - As I sailed, as I sailed. - - - “'To execution dock - - I must go, I must go. - - To execution dock, - - While thousands round me flock, - - To see me on the block, - - I must go, I must go. - -“There was a good deal more on't,” said Sam, pausing, “but I don't seem -to remember it; but it's real solemn and affectin'.” - -“Who was Capt. Kidd, Sam?” said I. - -“Wal, he was an officer in the British navy, and he got to bein' a -pirate: used to take ships and sink 'em, and murder the folks; and so -they say he got no end o' money,--gold and silver and precious stones, -as many as the wise men in the East. But ye see, what good did it all do -him? He couldn't use it, and dar'sn't keep it; so he used to bury it in -spots round here and there in the awfullest heathen way ye ever heard -of. Why, they say he allers used to kill one or two men or women or -children of his prisoners, and bury with it, so that their sperits might -keep watch on it ef anybody was to dig arter it. That 'are thing has -been tried and tried and tried, but no man nor mother's son on 'em ever -got a cent that dug. 'Twas tried here'n Oldtown; and they come pretty -nigh gettin' on't, but it gin 'em the slip. Ye see, boys, _it's the -Devil's money_, and he holds a pretty tight grip on't.”. - -“Well, how was it about digging for it? Tell us, did _you_ do it? Were -_you_ there? Did you see it? And why couldn't they get it?” we both -asked eagerly and in one breath. - -“Why, Lordy massy I boys, your questions tumbles over each other thick -as martins out o' a martin-box. Now, you jest be moderate and let alone, -and I 'll tell you all about it from the beginnin' to the end. I didn't -railly have no hand in't, though I was knowin' to 't, as I be to most -things that goes on round here; but my conscience wouldn't railly a let -me start on no sich undertakin'. - -“Wal, the one that fust sot the thing a goin' was old Mother Hokum, that -used to live up in that little tumble-down shed by the cranberry-pond up -beyond the spring pastur'. They had a putty bad name, them Hokums. How -they got a livin' nobody knew; for they didn't seem to pay no attention -to raisin' nothin' but childun, but the duce knows, there was plenty o' -them. Their old hut was like a rabbit-pen: there was a tow-head to every -crack and cranny. 'Member what old Caesar said once when the word come -to the store that old Hokum had got twins. 'S'pose de Lord knows best,' -says Caesar, 'but _I_ thought dere was Hokums enough afore.' Wal, even -poor workin' industrious folks like me finds it's hard gettin' along -when there's so many mouths to feed. Lordy massy! there don't never seem -to be no end on't, and so it ain't wonderful, come to think on't, ef -folks like them Hokums gets tempted to help along in ways that ain't -quite right. Anyhow, folks did use to think that old Hokum was too -sort o' familiar with their wood-piles 'long in the night, though they -couldn't never prove it on him; and when Mother Hokum come to houses -round to wash, folks use sometimes to miss pieces, here and there, -though they never could find 'em on her; then they was allers a gettin' -in debt here and a gettin' in debt there. Why, they got to owin' two -dollars to Joe Gidger for butcher's meat. Joe was sort o' good-natured -and let 'em have meat, 'cause Hokum he promised so fair to pay; but he -couldn't never get it out o' him. 'Member once Joe walked clear up to -the cranberry-pond arter that 'are two dollars; but Mother Hokum she see -him a comin' jest as he come past the juniper-bush on the corner. -She says to Hokum, 'Get into bed, old man, quick, and let me tell the -story,' says she. So she covered him up; and when Gidger come in she -come up to him, and says she, 'Why, Mr. Gidger, I'm jest ashamed to see -ye: why, Mr. Hokum was jest a comin' down to pay ye that 'are money last -week, but ye see he was took down with the small-pox'--Joe didn't hear -no more: he just turned round, and he streaked it out that 'are door -with his coat-tails flyin' out straight ahind him; and old Mother Hokum -she jest stood at the window holdin' her sides and laughin' fit to -split, to see him run. That 'are's jest a sample o' the ways them Hokums -cut up. - -“Wal, you see, boys, there's a queer kind o' rock down on the bank 'o the -river, that looks sort o' like a grave-stone. The biggest part on't -is sunk down under ground, and it's pretty well growed over with -blackberry-vines; but, when you scratch the bushes away, they used to -make out some queer marks on that 'are rock. They was sort o' lines and -crosses; and folks would have it that them was Kidd's private marks, and -that there was one o' the places where he hid his money. - -“Wal, there's no sayin' fairly how it come to be thought so; but fellers -used to say so, and they used sometimes to talk it over to the tahvern, -and kind o' wonder whether or no, if they should dig, they wouldn't come -to suthin'. - -“Wal, old Mother Hokum she heard on't, and she was a sort o' -enterprisin' old crittur: fact was, she had to be, 'cause the young -Hokums was jest like bag-worms, the more they growed the more they eat, -and I expect she found it pretty hard to fill their mouths; and so she -said ef there _was_ any thing under that 'are rock, they'd as good's -have it as the Devil; and so she didn't give old Hokum no peace o' his -life, but he must see what there was there. - -“Wal, I was with 'em the night they was a talkin' on't up. Ye see, Hokum -he got thirty-seven cents' worth o' lemons and sperit. I see him goin' -by as I was out a splittin' kindlin's; and says he, 'Sam, you jest -go 'long up to our house to-night,' says he: 'Toddy Whitney and Harry -Wiggin's comin' up, and we're goin' to have a little suthin' hot,' says -he; and he kind o' showed me the lemons and sperit. And I told him I -guessed I would go 'long. Wal, I kind o' wanted to see what they'd be up -to, ye know. - -“Wal, come to find out, they was a talkin' about Cap'n Kidd's treasures, -and layin' out how they should get it, and a settin' one another on with -gret stories about it. - -“'I've heard that there was whole chists full o gold guineas,' says one. - -“'And I've heard o' gold bracelets and ear-rings and finger-rings all -sparklin' with diamonds,' says another. - -“'Maybe it's old silver plate from some o' them old West Indian -grandees,' says another. - -“'Wal, whatever it is,' says Mother Hokum, 'I want to be into it,' says -she. - -“'Wal, Sam, won't you jine?' says they. - -“'Wal, boys,' says I, 'I kind a' don't feel jest like j'inin'. I sort -o' ain't clear about the rights on't: seems to me it's mighty nigh like -goin' to the Devil for money.' - -“'Wal,' says Mother Hokum, 'what if 'tis? Money's money, get it how ye -will; and the Devil's money 'll buy as much meat as any. I'd go to the -Devil, if he gave good money.' - -“'Wal, I guess I wouldn't,' says I. 'Don't you 'member the sermon Parson -Lothrop preached about hastin' to be rich, last sabba' day?' - -“'Parson Lothrop be hanged!' says she. 'Wal, now,' says she, 'I like -to see a parson with his silk stockin's and great gold-headed cane, a -lollopin' on his carriage behind his fat, prancin' hosses, comin' to -meetin' to preach to us poor folks not to want to be rich! How'd he like -it to have forty-'leven children, and nothin' to put onto 'em or into -'em, I wonder? Guess if Lady Lothrop had to rub and scrub, and wear -her fingers to the bone as I do, she'd want to be rich; and I guess the -parson, if he couldn't get a bellyful for a week, would be for diggin' -up Kidd's money, or doing 'most any thing else to make the pot bile.' - -“'Wal,' says I, 'I 'll kind o' go with ye, boys, and sort o' see how -things turn out; but I guess I won't take no shere in't,' says I. - -“Wal, they got it all planned out. They was to wait till the full moon, -and then they was to get Primus King to go with 'em and help do the -diggin'. Ye see, Hokum and Toddy Whitney and Wiggin are all putty softly -fellers, and hate dreffully to work; and I tell you the Kidd money ain't -to be got without a pretty tough piece o' diggin'. Why, it's jest like -diggin' a well to get at it. Now, Primus King was the master hand for -diggin' wells, and so they said they'd get him by givin' on him a shere. - -“Harry Wiggin he didn't want no nigger a sherin in it, he said; but -Toddy and Hokum they said that when there was such stiff diggin' to be -done, they didn't care if they did go in with a nigger. - -“Wal, Wiggin he said he hadn't no objection to havin' the nigger do the -diggin,' it was _alterin' the profits_ he objected to. - -“'Wal,' says Hokum, 'you can't get him without,' says he. 'Primus knows -too much,' says he: 'you can't fool him.' Finally they 'greed that -they was to give Primus twenty dollars, and shere the treasure 'mong -themselves. - -“Come to talk with Primus, he wouldn't stick in a spade, unless they'd -pay him aforehand. Ye see, Primus was up to 'em; he knowed about Gidger, -and there wa'n't none on 'em that was particular good pay; and so they -all jest hed to rake and scrape, and pay him down the twenty dollars -among 'em; and they 'greed for the fust full moon, at twelve o'clock at -night, the 9th of October. - -“Wal, ye see I had to tell Hepsy I was goin' out to watch. Wal, so I -was; but not jest in the way she took it: but, Lordy massy! a feller has -to tell his wife suthin' to keep her quiet, ye know, 'specially Hepsy. - -“Wal, wal, of all the moonlight nights that ever I did see, I never did -see one equal to that. Why, you could see the color o' every thing. I -'member I could see how the huckleberry-bushes on the rock was red as -blood when the moonlight shone through 'em; 'cause the leaves, you see, -had begun to turn. - -“Goin' on our way we got to talkin' about the sperits. - -“'I ain't afraid on 'em,' says Hokum. 'What harm can a sperit do me?' -says he. 'I don't care ef there's a dozen on 'em;' and he took a swig at -his bottle. - -“'Oh! there ain't no sperits,' says Harry Wiggin. 'That 'are talk's all -nonsense;' and he took a swig at _his_ bottle. - -“'Wal,' says Toddy, 'I don't know 'bout that 'are. Me and Ike Sanders -has seen the sperits in the Cap'n Brown house. We thought we'd jest have -a peek into the window one night; and there was a whole flock o' black -colts without no heads on come rushin' on us and knocked us flat.' - -“'I expect you'd been at the tahvern,' said Hokum. - -“'Wal, yes, we had; but them was sperits: we wa'n't drunk, now; we was -jest as sober as ever we was.' - -“'Wal, they won't get away my money,' says Primus, for I put it safe -away in Dinah's teapot afore I come out;' and then he showed all his -ivories from ear to ear. 'I think all this 'are's sort o' foolishness,' -says Primus. - -“'Wal,' says I, 'boys, I ain't a goin' to have no part or lot in this -'ere matter, but I 'll jest lay it off to you how it's to be done. Ef -Kidd's money is under this rock, there's _sperits_ that watch it, and -you mustn't give 'em no advantage. There mustn't be a word spoke from -the time ye get sight o' the treasure till ye get it safe up on to firm -ground,' says I. 'Ef ye do, it 'll vanish right out o' sight. I've talked -with them that has dug down to it and seen it; but they allers lost it, -'cause they'd call out and say suthin'; and the minute they spoke, away -it went.' - -“Wal, so they marked off the ground; and Primus he begun to dig, and the -rest kind o' sot round. It was so still it was kind o' solemn. Ye see, -it was past twelve o'clock, and every critter in Oldtown was asleep; -and there was two whippoorwills on the great Cap'n Brown elm-trees, that -kep' a answerin' each other back and forward sort o' solitary like; and -then every once in a while there'd come a sort o' strange whisper up -among the elm-tree leaves, jest as if there was talkin' goin' on; and -every time Primus struck his spade into the ground it sounded sort -o' holler, jest as if he'd been a diggin' a grave. 'It's kind o' -melancholy,' says I, 'to think o' them poor critters that had to be -killed and buried jest to keep this 'ere treasure. What awful things 'll -be brought to light in the judgment day! Them poor critters they loved -to live and hated to die as much as any on us; but no, they hed to die -jest to satisfy that critter's wicked will. I've heard them as thought -they could tell the Cap'n Kidd places by layin' their ear to the ground -at midnight, and they'd hear groans and wailin's.” - -“Why, Sam! were there really people who could tell where Kidd's money -was?” I here interposed. - -“'Oh, sartin! why, yis. There was Shebna Bascom, he was one. Shebna -could always tell what was under the earth. He'd cut a hazel-stick, and -hold it in his hand when folks was wantin' to know where to dig wells; -and that 'are stick would jest turn in his hand, and p'int down till it -would fairly grind the bark off; and ef you dug in that place you was -sure to find a spring. Oh, yis! Shebna he's told many where the Kidd -money was, and been with 'em when they dug for it; but the pester on't -was they allers lost it, 'cause they would some on 'em speak afore they -thought.” - -“But, Sam, what about this digging? Let's know what came of it,” said -we, as Sam appeared to lose his way in his story. - -“Wal, ye see, they dug down about five feet, when Primus he struck his -spade smack on something that chincked like iron. - -[Illustration: 0141] - -“Wal, then Hokum and Toddy Whitney was into the hole in a minute: they -made Primus get out, and they took the spade, 'cause they wanted to be -sure to come on it themselves. - -“Wal, they begun, and they dug and he scraped, and sure enough they come -to a gret iron pot as big as your granny's dinner-pot, with an iron bale -to it. - -“Wal, then they put down a rope, and he put the rope through the handle; -then Hokum and Toddy they clambered upon the bank, and all on 'em began -to draw up jest as still and silent as could be. They drawed and they -drawed, till they jest got it even with the ground, when Toddy spoke out -all in a tremble, 'There,' says he, _we've got it!_' And the minit he -spoke they was both struck by _suthin'_ that knocked 'em clean over; and -the rope give a crack like a pistol-shot, and broke short off; and the -pot went down, down, down, and they heard it goin', jink, jink, jink; -and it went way down into the earth, and the ground closed over it; and -then they heard the screechin'est laugh ye ever did hear.” - -“I want to know, Sam, did you see that pot?” I exclaimed at this part of -the story. - -“Wal, no, I didn't. Ye see, I jest happened to drop asleep while they -was diggin', I was so kind o' tired, and I didn't wake up till it was -all over. - -“I was waked up, 'cause there was consid'able of a scuffle; for Hokum -was so mad at Toddy for speakin', that he was a fistin' on him; and -old Primus he jest haw-hawed and laughed. 'Wal, I got _my_ money safe, -anyhow,' says he. - -“'Wal, come to,' says I. ''Tain't no use cryin' for spilt milk: -you've jest got to turn in now and fill up this 'ere hole, else the -selectmen 'll be down on ye.' - -“'Wal,' says Primus, 'I didn't engage to fill up no holes;' and he put -his spade on his shoulder and trudged off. - -“Wal, it was putty hard work, fillin' in that hole; but Hokum and Toddy -and Wiggin had to do it, 'cause they didn't want to have everybody a -laughin' at 'em; and I kind o' tried to set it home to 'em, showin' on -'em that 'twas all for the best. - -“'Ef you'd a been left to get that 'are money, there'd a come a cuss -with it,' says I. 'It shows the vanity o' hastin' to be rich.' - -“'Oh, you shet up!' says Hokum, says he. 'You never hasted to any -thing,' says he. Ye see, he was riled, that's why he spoke so.” - -“Sam,” said we, after maturely reflecting over the story, “what do you -suppose was in that pot?” - -“Lordy massy! boys: ye never will be done askin' questions. Why, how -should I know?” - - - - -“MIS' ELDERKIN'S PITCHER.” - - -[Illustration: 9146] - -E see, boys,” said Sam Lawson, as we were gathering young wintergreen on -a sunny hillside in June,--“ye see, folks don't allers know what their -marcies is when they sees 'em. Folks is kind o' blinded; and, when a -providence comes along, they don't seem to know how to take it, and -they growl and grumble about what turns out the best things that ever -happened to 'em in their lives. It's like Mis' Elderkin's pitcher.” - -“What about Mis' Elderkin's pitcher?” said both of us in one breath. - -“Didn't I never tell ye, now?” said Sam: “why, I wanter know?” - -No, we were sure he never had told us; and Sam as usual, began clearing -the ground by a thorough introduction, with statistical expositions. - -“Wal, ye see, Mis' Elderkin she lives now over to Sherburne in about the -handsomest house in Sherburne,--a high white house, with green blinds -and white pillars in front,--and she rides out in her own kerridge; and -Mr. Elderkin, he's a deakin in the church, and a colonel in the malitia, -and a s'lectman, and pretty much atop every thing there is goin' in -Sherburne, and it all come of that 'are pitcher.” - -“What pitcher?” we shouted in chorus. - -“Lordy massy! that 'are's jest what I'm a goin' to tell you about; but, -ye see, a feller's jest got to make a beginnin' to all things. - -“Mis' Elderkin she thinks she's a gret lady nowadays, I s'pose; but -I 'member when she was Miry Brown over here'n Oldtown, and I used to be -waitin' on her to singing-school. - -“Miry and I was putty good friends along in them days,--we was putty -consid'able kind o' intimate. Fact is, boys, there was times in them -days when I thought whether or no I wouldn't _take_ Miry myself,” said -Sam, his face growing luminous with the pleasing idea of his former -masculine attractions and privileges. “Yis,” he continued, “there was -a time when folks said I could a hed Miry ef I'd asked her; and I putty -much think so myself, but I didn't say nothin': marriage is allers kind -o'ventursome; an' Miry had such up-and-down kind o' ways, I was sort o' -fraid on't. - -“But Lordy massy! boys, you mustn't never tell Hepsy I said so, 'cause -she'd be mad enough to bite a shingle-nail in two. Not that she sets -so very gret by me neither; but then women's backs is allers up ef they -think anybody else could a hed you, whether they want you themselves or -not. - -“Ye see, Miry she was old Black Hoss John Brown's da'ter, and lived up -there in that 'are big brown house by the meetin'-house, that 'hes the -red hollyhock in the front yard. Miry was about the handsomest gal that -went into the singers' seat a Sunday. - -“I tell you she wa'n't none o' your milk-and-sugar gals neither,--she -was 'mazin' strong built. She was the strongest gal in her arms that -I ever see. Why, I've seen Miry take up a barrel o' flour, and lift it -right into the kitchen; and it would jest make the pink come into her -cheeks like two roses, but she never seemed to mind it a grain. She had -a good strong back of her own, and she was straight as a poplar, with -snappin' black eyes, and I tell you there was a snap to her tongue too. -Nobody never got ahead o' Miry; she'd give every fellow as good as he -sent, but for all that she was a gret favorite. - -“Miry was one o' your briery, scratchy gals, that seems to catch fellers -in thorns. She allers fit and flouted her beaux, and the more she fit -and flouted 'em the more they'd be arter her. There wa'n't a gal in all -Oldtown that led such a string o' fellers arter her; 'cause, you see, -she'd now and then throw 'em a good word over her shoulder, and then -they'd all fight who should get it, and she'd jest laugh to see 'em do -it. - -“Why, there was Tom Sawin, he was one o' her beaux, and Jim Moss, and -Ike Bacon; and there was a Boston boy, Tom Beacon, he came up from -Cambridge to rusticate with Parson Lothrop; he thought he must have his -say with Miry, but he got pretty well come up with. You see, he thought -'cause he was Boston born that he was kind o' aristocracy, and hed a -right jest to pick and choose 'mong country gals; but the way he got -come up with by Miry was too funny for any thing.” - -“Do tell us about it,” we said, as Sam made an artful pause, designed to -draw forth solicitation. - -“Wal, ye see, Tom Beacon he told Ike Bacon about it, and Ike he told me. -'Twas this way. Ye see, there was a quiltin' up to Mis' Cap'n Broad's, -and Tom Beacon he was there; and come to goin' home with the gals, Tom -he cut Ike out, and got Miry all to himself; and 'twas a putty long -piece of a walk from Mis' Cap'n Broad's up past the swamp and the stone -pastur' clear up to old Black Hoss John's. - -“Wal, Tom he was in high feather 'cause Miry took him, so that he didn't -reelly know how to behave; and so, as they was walkin' along past Parson -Lothrop's apple-orchard, Tom thought he'd try bein' familiar, and he -undertook to put his arm round Miry. Wal, if she didn't jest take that -little fellow by his two shoulders and whirl him over the fence into the -orchard quicker'n no time. 'Why,' says Tom, 'the fust I knew I was lyin' -on my back under the appletrees lookin' up at the stars.' Miry she jest -walked off home and said nothin' to nobody,--it wa'n't her way to talk -much about things; and, if it hedn't ben for Tom Beacon himself, nobody -need 'a' known nothin' about it. Tom was a little fellow, you see, and -'mazin' good-natured, and one o' the sort that couldn't keep nothin' to -himself; and so he let the cat out o' the bag himself. Wal, there didn't -nobody think the worse o' Miry. When fellers find a gal won't take saace -from no man, they kind o' respect her; and then fellers allers thinks ef -it hed ben _them_, now, things 'd 'a' been different. That's jest what -Jim Moss and Ike Bacon said: they said, why Tom Beacon was a fool not -to know better how to get along with Miry,--_they_ never had no trouble. -The fun of it was, that Tom Beacon himself was more crazy after her than -he was afore; and they say he made Miry a right up-and-down offer, and -Miry she jest wouldn't have him. - -“Wal, you see, that went agin old Black Hoss John's idees: old Black -Hoss was about as close as a nut and as contrairy as a pipperage-tree. -You ought to 'a' seen him. Why, his face was all a perfect crisscross o' -wrinkles. There wa'n't a spot where you could put a pin down that there -wa'n't a wrinkle; and they used to say that he held on to every cent -that went through his fingers till he'd pinched it into two. You -couldn't say that his god was his belly, for he hedn't none, no more'n -an old file: folks said that he'd starved himself till the moon'd shine -through him. - -“Old Black Hoss was awfully grouty about Miry's refusin' Tom Beacon, -'cause there was his houses and lots o' land in Boston. A drefful -worldly old critter Black Hoss John was: he was like the rich fool in -the gospel. Wal, he's dead and gone now, poor critter, and what good has -it all done him? It's as the Scriptur' says, 'He heapeth up riches, and -knoweth not who shall gather them.' - -“Miry hed a pretty hard row to hoe with old Black Hoss John. She was up -early and down late, and kep' every thing a goin'. She made the cheese -and made the butter, and between spells she braided herself handsome -straw bunnets, and fixed up her clothes; and somehow she worked it so -when she sold her butter and cheese that there was somethin' for -ribbins and flowers. You know the Scriptur' says, 'Can a maid forget her -ornaments?' Wal, Miry didn't. I 'member I used to lead the singin' -in them days, and Miry she used to sing counter, so we sot putty near -together in the singers' seats; and I used to think Sunday mornin's -when she come to meetin' in her white dress and her red cheeks, and her -bunnet all tipped off with laylock, that 'twas for all the world jest -like sunshine to have her come into the singers' seats. Them was the -days that I didn't improve my privileges, boys,” said Sam, sighing -deeply. “There was times that ef I'd a spoke, there's no knowin' what -mightn't 'a' happened, 'cause, you see, boys, I was better lookin' in -them days than I be now. Now you mind, boys, when you grow up, ef you -get to waitin' on a nice gal, and you're 'most a mind to speak up to her, -don't you go and put it off, 'cause, ef you do, you may live to repent -it. - -“Wal, you see, from the time that Bill Elderkin come and took the -academy, I could see plain enough that it was time for me to hang up -my fiddle. Bill he used to set in the singers' seats, too, and he -would have it that he sung tenor. He no more sung tenor than a -skunk-blackbird, but he made b'lieve he did, jest to git next to Miry -in the singers' seats. They used to set there in the seats a writin' -backward and forward to each other till they tore out all the leaves of -the hymn-books, and the singin'-books besides. Wal, I never thought that -the house o' the Lord was jest the place to be courtin' in, and I used -to get consid'able shocked at the way things went on atween 'em. Why, -they'd be a writin' all sermon-time; and I've seen him a lookin' at her -all through the long prayer in a way that wa'n't right, considerin' they -was both professors of religion. But then the fact was, old Black Hoss -John was to blame for it, 'cause he never let 'em have no chance to hum. -Ye see, old Black Hoss he was sot agin Elderkin 'cause he was poor. -You see, his mother, the old Widdah Elderkin, she was jest about the -poorest, peakedest old body over to Sherburne, and went out to days' -works; and Bill Elderkin he was all for books and larnin', and old Black -Hoss John he thought it was just shiftlessness: but Miry she thought -he was a genius; and she got it sot in her mind that he was goin' to be -President o' the United States, or some sich. - -“Wal, old Black Hoss he wa'n't none too polite to Miry's beaux in -gineral, but when Elderkin used to come to see her he was snarlier than -a saw: he hadn't a good word for him noways; and he'd rake up the -fire right before his face and eyes, and rattle about fastenin' up the -windows, and tramp up to bed, and call down the chamber-stairs to Miry -to go to bed, and was sort o' aggravatin' every way. - -“Wal, ef folks wants to get a gal set on havin' a man, that 'ere's the -way to go to work. Miry had a consid'able stiff will of her own; and, ef -she didn't care about Tom Beacon before, she hated him now; and, if she -liked Bill Elderkin before, she was clean gone over to him now. And -so she took to 'goin' to the Wednesday-evenin' lecture, and the -Friday-even-in' prayer-meetin', and the singin'-school, jest as regular -as a clock, and so did he; and arterwards they allers walked home the -longest way. Fathers may jest as well let their gals be courted in the -house, peaceable, 'cause, if they can't be courted there, they 'll find -places where they can be: it's jest human natur'. - -“Wal, come fall, Elderkin he went to college up to Brunswick; and then I -used to see the letters as regular up to the store every week, comin' in -from Brunswick, and old Black Hoss John he see 'em too, and got a way -of droppin' on 'em in his coat-pocket when he come up to the store, and -folks used to say that the letters that went into his coat-pocket didn't -get to Miry. Anyhow, Miry she says to me one day, says she, 'Sam, you're -up round the post-office a good deal,' says she. 'I wish, if you see any -letters for me, you'd jest bring 'em along.' I see right into it, and I -told her to be sure I would; and so I used to have the carryin' of great -thick letters every week. Wal, I was waitin' on Hepsy' along about them -times, and so Miry and I kind o' sympathized. Hepsy was a pretty gal, -and I thought it was all best as 'twas; any way, I knew I couldn't get -Miry, and I could get Hepsy, and that made all the difference in the -world. - -“Wal, that next winter old Black Hoss was took down with rheumatism, -and I tell you if Miry didn't have a time on't! He wa'n't noways -sweet-tempered when he was well; but come to be crooked up with the -rheumatis' and kep' awake nights, it seemed as if he was determined -there shouldn't nobody have no peace so long as he couldn't. - -“He'd get Miry up and down with him night after night a makin' her -heat flannels and vinegar, and then he'd jaw and scold so that she was -eenymost beat out. He wouldn't have nobody set up with him, though -there was offers made. No: he said Miry was his daughter, and 'twas her -bisness to take care on him. - -“Miry was clear worked down: folks kind o' pitied her. She was a strong -gal, but there's things that wears out the strongest. The worst -on't was, it hung on so. Old Black Hoss had a most amazin' sight o' -constitution. He'd go all down to death's door, and seem hardly to have -the breath o' life in him, and then up he'd come agin! These 'ere old -folks that nobody wants to have live allers hev such a sight o' wear -in 'em, they jest last and last; and it really did seem as if he'd wear -Miry out and get her into the grave fust, for she got a cough with bein' -up so much in the cold, and grew thin as a shadder. 'Member one time I -went up there to offer to watch jest in the spring o' the year, when the -laylocks was jest a buddin' out, and Miry she come and talked with me -over the fence; and the poor gal she fairly broke down, and sobbed as if -her heart would break, a tellin' me her trouble. - -“Wal, it reelly affected me more to have Miry give up so than most gals, -'cause she'd allers held her head up, and hed sich a sight o' grit and -resolution; but she told me all about it. - -“It seems old Black Hoss he wa'n't content with worryin' on her, -and gettin' on her up nights, but he kep' a hectorin' her about Bill -Elderkin, and wantin' on her to promise that she wouldn't hev Bill when -he was dead and gone; and Miry she wouldn't promise, and then the old -man said she shouldn't have a cent from him if she didn't, and so they -had it back and forth. Everybody in town was sayin' what a shame 'twas -that he should sarve her so; for though he hed other children, they was -married and gone, and there wa'n't none of them to do for him but jest -Miry. - -“Wal, he hung on till jest as the pinys in the front yard was beginnin' -to blow out, and then he began to feel he was a goin', and he sent for -Parson Lothrop to know what was to be done about his soul. - -“'Wal,' says Parson Lothrop, 'you must settle up all your worldly -affairs; you must be in peace and love with all mankind; and, if you've -wronged anybody, you must make it good to 'em.' - -“Old Black Hoss he bounced right over in his bed with his back to the -minister. - -“'The devil!' says he: ''twill take all I've got.' And he never spoke -another word, though Parson Lothrop he prayed with him, and did what he -could for him. - -“Wal, that night I sot up with him; and he went off 'tween two and three -in the mornin', and I laid him out regular. Of all the racks o' bone -I ever see, I never see a human critter so poor as he was. 'Twa'n't -nothin' but his awful will kep' his soul in his body so long, as it was. - -“We had the funeral in the meetin'-house a Sunday; and Parson Lothrop he -preached a sarmon on contentment on the text, 'We brought nothin' into -the world, and it's sartin we can carry nothin' out; and having food and -raiment, let us be therewith content.' Parson Lothrop he got round the -subject about as handsome as he could: he didn't say what a skinflint -old Black Hoss was, but he talked in a gineral way about the vanity o' -worryin' an' scrapin to heap up riches. Ye see, Parson Lothrop he could -say it all putty easy, too, 'cause since he married a rich wife he never -hed no occasion to worry about temporal matters. Folks allers -preaches better on the vanity o' riches when they's in tol'able easy -circumstances. Ye see, when folks is pestered and worried to pay their -bills, and don't know where the next dollar's to come from, it's a great -temptation to be kind o' valooin' riches, and mebbe envyin' those that's -got 'em; whereas when one's accounts all pays themselves, and the money -comes jest when its wanted regular, a body feels sort o' composed like, -and able to take the right view o' things, like Parson Lothrop. - -“Wal, arter sermon the relations all went over to the old house to hear -the will read; and, as I was kind o' friend with the family, I jest -slipped in along with the rest. - -“Squire Jones he had the will; and so when they all got sot round all -solemn, he broke the seals and unfolded it, cracklin' it a good while -afore he begun and it was so still you might a heard a pin drop when he -begun to read. Fust, there was the farm and stock, he left to his son -John Brown over in Sherburne. Then there was the household stuff and all -them things, spoons and dishes, and beds and kiver-lids, and so on, to -his da'ter Polly Blanchard. And then, last of all, he says, he left to -his da'ter Miry _the pitcher that was on the top o' the shelf in his -bed-room closet._ - -“That' 'are was an old cracked pitcher that Miry allers hed hated the -sight of, and spring and fall she used to beg her father to let her -throw it away; but no, he wouldn't let her touch it, and so it stood -gatherin' dust. - -“Some on 'em run and handed it down; and it seemed jest full o' -scourin'-sand and nothin' else, and they handed it to Miry. - -“Wal, Miry she was wrathy then. She didn't so much mind bein' left out -in the will, 'cause she expected that; but to have that 'are old pitcher -poked at her so sort o' scornful was more'n she could bear. - -“She took it and gin it a throw across the room with all her might; and -it hit agin the wall and broke into a thousand bits, when out rolled -hundreds of gold pieces; great gold eagles and guineas flew round -the kitchen jest as thick as dandelions in a meadow. I tell you, she -scrabbled them up pretty quick, and we all helped her. - -[Illustration: 0163] - -“Come to count 'em over, Miry had the best fortin of the whole, as -'twas right and proper she should. Miry she was a sensible gal, and -she invested her money well; and so, when Bill Elderkin got through his -law-studies, he found a wife that could make a nice beginnin' with him. -And that's the way, you see, they came to be doin' as well as they be. - -“So, boys, you jest mind and remember and allers see what there is in a -providence afore you quarrel with it, 'cause there's a good many things -in this world turns out like Mis' Elderkin's pitcher.” - - - - -THE GHOST IN THE CAP'N BROWN HOUSE. - - -[Illustration: 9165] - -OW, Sam, tell us certain true, is there any such things as ghosts?” - -“Be there ghosts?” said Sam, immediately translating into his vernacular -grammar: “wal, now, that are's jest the question, ye see.” - -“Well, grandma thinks there are, and Aunt Lois thinks it's all nonsense. -Why, Aunt Lois don't even believe the stories in Cotton Mather's -'Magnalia.'” - -“Wanter know?” said Sam, with a tone of slow, languid meditation. - -We were sitting on a bank of the Charles River, fishing. The soft -melancholy red of evening was fading off in streaks on the glassy water, -and the houses of Oldtown were beginning to loom through the gloom, -solemn and ghostly. There are times and tones and moods of nature that -make all the vulgar, daily real seem shadowy, vague, and supernatural, -as if the outlines of this hard material present were fading into the -invisible and unknown. So Oldtown, with its elm-trees, its great square -white houses, its meeting-house and tavern and blacksmith's shop and -mill, which at high noon seem as real and as commonplace as possible, at -this hour of the evening were dreamy and solemn. They rose up blurred, -indistinct, dark; here and there winking candles sent long lines of -light through the shadows, and little drops of unforeseen rain rippled -the sheeny darkness of the water. - -“Wal, you see, boys, in them things it's jest as well to mind your -granny. There's a consid'able sight o' gumption in grandmas. You look at -the folks that's allus tellin' you what they don't believe,--they don't -believe this, and they don't believe that,--and what sort o' folks is -they? Why, like yer Aunt Lois, sort o' stringy and dry. There ain't no -'sorption got out o' not believin' nothin'. - -“Lord a massy! we don't know nothin' 'bout them things. We hain't ben -there, and can't say that there ain't no ghosts and sich; can we, now?” - -We agreed to that fact, and sat a little closer to Sam in the gathering -gloom. - -“Tell us about the Cap'n Brown house, Sam.” - -“Ye didn't never go over the Cap'n Brown house?” - -No, we had not that advantage. - -“Wal, yer see, Cap'n Brown he made all his money to sea, in furrin -parts, and then come here to Oldtown to settle down. - -“Now, there ain't no knowin' 'bout these 'ere old ship-masters, where -they's ben, or what they's ben a doin', or how they got their money. Ask -me no questions, and I 'll tell ye no lies, is 'bout the best philosophy -for them. Wal, it didn't do no good to ask Cap'n Brown questions too -close, 'cause you didn't git no satisfaction. Nobody rightly knew 'bout -who his folks was, or where they come from; and, ef a body asked him, -he used to say that the very fust he know'd 'bout himself he was a young -man walkin' the streets in London. - -“But, yer see, boys, he hed money, and that is about all folks wanter -know when a man comes to settle down. And he bought that 'are place, and -built that 'are house. He built it all sea-cap'n fashion, so's to feel -as much at home as he could. The parlor was like a ship's cabin. The -table and chairs was fastened down to the floor, and the closets was -made with holes to set the casters and the decanters and bottles in, -jest's they be at sea; and there was stanchions to hold on by; and they -say that blowy nights the cap'n used to fire up pretty well with his -grog, till he hed about all he could carry, and then he'd set and hold -on, and hear the wind blow, and kind o' feel out to sea right there to -hum. There wasn't no Mis' Cap'n Brown, and there didn't seem likely to -be none. And whether there ever hed been one, nobody know'd. He hed an -old black Guinea nigger-woman, named Quassia, that did his work. She was -shaped pretty much like one o' these 'ere great crookneck-squashes. She -wa'n't no gret beauty, I can tell you; and she used to wear a gret red -turban and a yaller short gown and red petticoat, and a gret string o' -gold beads round her neck, and gret big gold hoops in her ears, made -right in the middle o' Africa among the heathen there. For all she -was black, she thought a heap o' herself, and was consid'able sort o' -predominative over the cap'n. Lordy massy! boys, it's alius so. Get a -man and a woman together,--any sort o' woman you're a mind to, don't -care who 'tis,--? and one way or another she gets the rule over him, and -he jest has to train to her fife. Some does it one way, and some does it -another; some does it by jawin', and some does it by 'kissin', and some -does it by faculty and contrivance; but one way or another they allers -does it. Old Cap'n Brown was a good stout, stocky kind o' John Bull sort -o' fellow, and a good judge o' sperits, and allers kep' the best in them -are cupboards o' his'n; but, fust and last, things in his house went -pretty much as old Quassia said. - -“Folks got to kind o' respectin' Quassia. She come to meetin' Sunday -regular, and sot all fixed up in red and yaller and green, with glass -beads and what not, lookin' for all the world like one o' them ugly -Indian idols; but she was well-behaved as any Christian. She was a -master hand at cookin'. Her bread and biscuits couldn't be beat, and -no couldn't her pies, and there wa'n't no such pound-cake as she made -nowhere. Wal, this 'ere story I'm a goin' to tell you was told me by -Cinthy Pendleton. There ain't a more respectable gal, old or young, than -Cinthy nowheres. She lives over to Sherburne now, and I hear tell she's -sot up a manty-makin' business; but then she used to do tailorin' in -Oldtown. She was a member o' the church, and a good Christian as ever -was. Wal, ye see, Quassia she got Cinthy to come up and spend a week to -the Cap'n Brown house, a doin' tailorin' and a fixin' over his close: -'twas along toward the fust o' March. Cinthy she sot by the fire in the -front' parlor with her goose and her press-board and her work: for there -wa'n't no company callin', and the snow was drifted four feet deep right -across the front door; so there wa'n't much danger o' any body comin' -in. And the cap'n he was a perlite man to wimmen; and Cinthy she liked -it jest as well not to have company, 'cause the cap'n he'd make himself -entertainin' tellin' on her sea-stories, and all about his adventures -among the Ammonites, and Perresites, and Jebusites, and all sorts o' -heathen people he'd been among. - -“Wal, that 'are week there come on the master snow-storm. Of all the -snow-storms that hed ben, that 'are was the beater; and I tell you the -wind blew as if 'twas the last chance it was ever goin' to hev. - -“Wal, it's kind o' scary like to be shet up in a lone house with all -natur' a kind o' breakin' out, and goin' on so, and the snow a comin' -down so thick ye can't see 'cross the street, and the wind a pipin' and -a squeelin' and a rumblin' and a tumblin' fust down this chimney and -then down that. I tell you, it sort o' sets a feller thinkin' o' the -three great things,--death, judgment, and etarnaty; and I don't care -who the folks is, nor how good they be, there's times when they must be -feelin' putty consid'able solemn. - -“Wal, Cinthy she said she kind o' felt so along, and she hed a sort o' -queer feelin' come over her as if there was somebody or somethin' round -the house more'n appeared. She said she sort o' felt it in the air; but -it seemed to her silly, and she tried to get over it. But two or three -times, she said, when it got to be dusk, she felt somebody go by her up -the stairs. The front entry wa'n't very light in the daytime, and in the -storm, come five o'clock, it was so dark that all you could see was jest -a gleam o' somethin', and two or three times when she started to go up -stairs she see a soft white suthin' that seemed goin' up before her, and -she stopped with her heart a beatin' like a trip-hammer, and she sort o' -saw it go up and along the entry to the cap'n's door, and then it seemed -to go right through, 'cause the door didn't open. - -“Wal, Cinthy says she to old Quassia, says she, 'Is there anybody lives -in this house but us?' - -“'Anybody lives here?' says Quassia: 'what you mean?' says she. - -“Says Ointhy, 'I thought somebody went past me on the stairs last night -and to-night.' - -“Lordy massy! how old Quassia did screech and laugh. 'Good Lord!' says -she, 'how foolish white folks is! Somebody went past you? Was 't the -capt'in?' - -“'No, it wa'n't the cap'n,' says she: 'it was somethin' soft and white, -and moved very still; it was like somethin' in the air,' says she. -Then Quassia she haw-hawed louder. Says she, 'It's hy-sterikes, Miss -Cinthy; that's all it is.' - -“Wal, Cinthy she was kind o ' 'shamed, but for all that she couldn't help -herself. Sometimes evenin's she'd be a settin' with the cap'n, and she'd -think she'd hear somebody a movin' in his room overhead; and she knowed -it wa'n't Quassia, 'cause Quassia was ironin' in the kitchen. She took -pains once or twice to find out that 'are. - -“Wal, ye see, the cap'n's room was the gret front upper chamber over the -parlor, and then right oppi-site to it was the gret spare chamber where -Cinthy slept. It was jest as grand as could be, with a gret four-post -mahogany bedstead and damask curtains brought over from England; but it -was cold enough to freeze a white bear solid,--the way spare chambers -allers is. Then there was the entry between, run straight through the -house: one side was old Quassia's room, and the other was a sort o' -storeroom, where the old cap'n kep' all sorts o' traps. - -“Wal, Cinthy she kep' a hevin' things happen and a seein' things, till -she didn't railly know what was in it. Once when she come into the -parlor jest at sundown, she was sure she see a white figure a vanishin' -out o' the door that went towards the side entry. She said it was so -dusk, that all she could see was jest this white figure, and it jest -went out still as a cat as she come in. - -“Wal, Cinthy didn't like to speak to the cap'n about it. She was a close -woman, putty prudent, Cinthy was. - -“But one night, 'bout the middle o' the week, this 'ere thing kind o' -come to a crisis. - -“Cinthy said she'd ben up putty late a sewin' and a finishin' off down -in the parlor; and the cap'n he sot up with her, and was consid'able -cheerful and entertainin', tellin' her all about things over in the -Bermudys, and off to Chiny and Japan, and round the world ginerally. The -storm that hed been a blowin' all the week was about as furious as ever; -and the cap'n he stirred up a mess o' flip, and hed it for her hot to -go to bed on. He was a good-natured critter, and allers had feelin's for -lone women; and I s'pose he knew 'twas sort o' desolate for Cinthy. - -“Wal, takin' the flip so right the last thing afore goin' to bed, she -went right off to sleep as sound as a nut, and slep' on till somewhere -about mornin', when she said somethin' waked her broad awake in a -minute. Her eyes flew wide open like a spring, and the storm hed gone -down and the moon come out; and there, standin' right in the moonlight -by her bed, was a woman jest as white as a sheet, with black hair -bangin' down to her waist, and the brightest, mourn fullest black eyes -you ever see. She stood there lookin' right at Cinthy; and Cinthy thinks -that was what waked her up; 'cause, you know, ef anybody stands and -looks steady at folks asleep it's apt to wake 'em. - -[Illustration: 0175] - -“Any way, Cinthy said she felt jest as ef she was turnin' to stone. She -couldn't move nor speak. She lay a minute, and then she shut her eyes, -and begun to say her prayers; and a minute after she opened 'em, and it -was gone. - -“Cinthy was a sensible gal, and one that allers hed her thoughts about -her; and she jest got up and put a shawl round her shoulders, and went -first and looked at the doors, and they was both on 'em locked jest as -she left 'em when she went to bed. Then she looked under the bed and in -the closet, and felt all round the room: where she couldn't see she felt -her way, and there wa'n't nothin' there. - -“Wal, next mornin' Cinthy got up and went home, and she kep' it to -herself a good while. Finally, one day when she was workin' to our house -she told Hepsy about it, and Hepsy she told me.” - -“Well, Sam,” we said, after a pause, in which we heard only the rustle -of leaves and the ticking of branches against each other, “what do you -suppose it was?” - -“Wal, there 'tis: you know jest as much about it as I do. Hepsy told -Cinthy it might 'a' ben a dream; so it might, but Cinthy she was sure it -wa'n't a dream, 'cause she remembers plain hearin' the old clock on the -stairs strike four while she had her eyes open lookin' at the woman; and -then she only shet 'em a minute, jest to say 'Now I lay me,' and opened -'em and she was gone. - -“Wal, Cinthy told Hepsy, and Hepsy she kep' it putty close. She didn't -tell it to nobody except Aunt Sally Dickerson and the Widder Bije Smith -and your Grandma Badger and the minister's wife; and they every one o' -'em 'greed it ought to be kep' close, 'cause it would make talk. Wal, -come spring somehow or other it seemed to 'a' got all over Old town. I -heard on't to the store and up to the tavern; and Jake Marshall he -says to me one day, 'What's this 'ere about the cap'n's house?' And the -Widder Loker she says to me, 'There's ben a ghost seen in the cap'n's -house;' and I heard on 't clear over to Needham and Sherburne. - -“Some o' the women they drew themselves up putty stiff and proper. Your -Aunt Lois was one on 'em. - -“'Ghost,' says she; 'don't tell me! Perhaps it would be best ef 'twas a -ghost,' says she. She didn't think there ought to be no sich doin's -in nobody's house; and your grandma she shet her up, and told her she -didn't oughter talk so.” - -“Talk how?” said I, interrupting Sam with wonder. “What did Aunt Lois -mean?” - -“Why, you see,” said Sam mysteriously, “there allers is folks in every -town that's jest like the Sadducees in old times: they won't believe in -angel nor sperit, no way you can fix it; and ef things is seen and done -in a house, why, they say, it's 'cause there's somebody there; there's -some sort o' deviltry or trick about it. - -“So the story got round that there was a woman kep' private in Cap'n -Brown's house, and that he brought her from furrin parts; and it growed -and growed, till there was all sorts o' ways o' tellin on 't. - -“Some said they'd seen her a settin' at an open winder. Some said that -moonlight nights they'd seen her a walkin' out in the back garden kind -o' in and out 'mong the bean-poles and squash-vines. - -“You see, it come on spring and summer; and the winders o' the Cap'n -Brown house stood open, and folks was all a watchin' on 'em day and -night. Aunt Sally Dickerson told the minister's wife that she'd seen in -plain daylight a woman a settin' at the chamber winder atween four and -five o'clock in the mornin',--jist a settin' a lookin' out and a doin' -nothin', like anybody else. She was very white and pale, and had black -eyes. - -“Some said that it was a nun the cap'n had brought away from a Roman -Catholic convent in Spain, and some said he'd got her out o' the -Inquisition. - -“Aunt Sally said she thought the minister ought to call and inquire why -she didn't come to meetin', and who she was, and all about her: 'cause, -you see, she said it might be all right enough ef folks only know'd jest -how things was; but ef they didn't, why, folks will talk.” - -“Well, did the minister do it?” - -“What, Parson Lothrop? Wal, no, he didn't. He made a call on the cap'n -in a regular way, and asked arter his health and all his family. But the -cap'n he seemed jest as jolly and chipper as a spring robin, and he gin' -the minister some o' his old Jamaiky; and the minister he come away and -said he didn't see nothin'; and no he didn't. Folks---never does see -nothin' when they aint' lookin' where 'tis. Fact is, Parson Lothrop -wa'n't fond o' interferin'; he was a master hand to slick things over. -Your grandma she used to mourn about it, 'cause she said he never gin no -p'int to the doctrines; but 'twas all of a piece, he kind o' took every -thing the smooth way. - -“But your grandma she believed in the ghost, and so did Lady Lothrop. I -was up to her house t'other day fixin' a door-knob, and says she, 'Sam -your wife told me a strange story about the Cap'n Brown house.' - -“'Yes, ma'am, she did,' says I. - -“'Well, what do you think of it?' says she. - -“'Wal, sometimes I think, and then agin I don't know,' says I. 'There's -Cinthy she's a member o' the church and a good pious gal,' says I. - -“'Yes, Sam,' says Lady Lothrop, says she; 'and Sam,' says she, 'it is -jest like something that happened once to my grandmother when she was -livin' in the old Province House in Bostin.' Says she, 'These 'ere -things is the mysteries of Providence, and it's jest as well not to have -'em too much talked about.' - -“'Jest so,' says I,--'jest so. That 'are's what every woman I've talked -with says; and I guess, fust and last, I've talked with twenty,--good, -safe church-members,--and they's every one o' opinion that this 'ere -oughtn't to be talked about. Why, over to the deakin's t'other night we -went it all over as much as two or three hours, and we concluded that -the best way was to keep quite still about it; and that's jest what they -say over to Needham and Sherburne. I've been all round a hushin' this -'ere up, and I hain't found but a few people that hedn't the particulars -one way or another.' This 'ere was what I says to Lady Lothrop. The -fact was, I never did see no report spread so, nor make sich sort o' -sarchin's o' heart, as this 'ere. It railly did beat all; 'cause, -ef 'twas a ghost, why there was the p'int proved, ye see. Cinthy's a -church-member, and she _see_ it, and got right up and sarched the room: -but then agin, ef 'twas a woman, why that 'are was kind o' awful; it -give cause, ye see, for thinkin' all sorts o' things. There was Cap'n -Brown, to be sure, he wa'n't a church-member; but yet he was as honest -and regular a man as any goin', as fur as any on us could see. To be -sure, nobody know'd where he come from, but that wa'n't no reason agin' -him: this 'ere might a ben a crazy sister, or some poor critter that he -took out o' the best o' motives; and the Scriptur' says, 'Charity hopeth -all things.' But then, ye see, folks will talk,--that 'are's the pester -o' all these things,--and they did some on 'em talk consid'able strong -about the cap'n; but somehow or other, there didn't nobody come to the -p'int o' facin' on him down, and sayin' square out, 'Cap'n Brown, have -you got a woman in your house, or hain't you? or is it a ghost, or what -is it?' Folks somehow never does come to that. Ye see, there was the -cap'n so respectable, a settin' up every Sunday there in his pew, with -his ruffles round his hands and his red broadcloth cloak and his cocked -hat. Why, folks' hearts sort o' failed 'em when it come to sayin' any -thing right to him. They thought and kind o' whispered round that the -minister or the deakins oughter do it: but Lordy massy! ministers, I -s'pose, has feelin's like the rest on us; they don't want to eat all the -hard cheeses that nobody else won't eat. Anyhow, there wasn't nothin' -said direct to the cap'n; and jest for want o' that all the folks in -Oldtown kep' a bilin' and a bilin' like a kettle o' soap, till it seemed -all the time as if they'd bile over. - -“Some o' the wimmen tried to get somethin' out o' Quassy. Lordy massy! -you might as well 'a' tried to get it out an old tom-turkey, that 'll -strut and gobble and quitter, and drag his wings on the ground, and fly -at you, but won't say nothin'. Quassy she screeched her queer sort o' -laugh; and she told 'em that they was a makin' fools o' themselves, and -that the cap'n's matters wa'n't none o' their bisness; and that was true -enough. As to goin' into Quassia's room, or into any o' the store-rooms -or closets she kep' the keys of, you might as well hev gone into a -lion's den. She kep' all her places locked up tight; and there was no -gettin' at nothin' in the Cap'n Brown house, else I believe some o' the -wim-men would 'a' sent a sarch-warrant.” - -“Well,” said I, “what came of it? Didn't anybody ever find out?” - -“Wal,” said Sam, “it come to an end sort o', and didn't come to an -end. It was jest this 'ere way. You see, along in October, jest in the -cider-makin' time, Abel Flint he was took down with dysentery and died. -You 'member the Flint house: it stood on a little rise o' ground -jest lookin' over towards the Brown house. Wal, there was Aunt Sally -Dickerson and the Widder Bije Smith, they set up with the corpse. He was -laid out in the back chamber, you see, over the milk-room and kitchen; -but there was cold victuals and sich in the front chamber, where the -watchers sot. Wal, now, Aunt Sally she told me that between three and -four o'clock she heard wheels a rumblin', and she went to the winder, -and it was clear starlight; and she see a coach come up to the Cap'n -Brown house; and she see the cap'n come out bringin' a woman all wrapped -in a cloak, and old Quassy came arter with her arms full o' bundles; and -he put her into the kerridge, and shet her in, and it driv off; and she -see old Quassy stand lookin' over the fence arter it. She tried to wake -up the widder, but 'twas towards mornin', and the widder allers was a -hard sleeper; so there wa'n't no witness but her.” - -“Well, then, it wasn't a ghost,” said I, “after all, and it _was_ a -woman.” - -“Wal, there 'tis, you see. Folks don't know that 'are yit, 'cause there -it's jest as broad as 'tis long. Now, look at it. There's Cinthy, she's -a good, pious gal: she locks her chamber-doors, both on 'em, and goes -to bed, and wakes up in the night, and there's a woman there. She jest -shets her eyes, and the woman's gone. She gits up and looks, and both -doors is locked jest as she left 'em. That 'ere woman wa'n't flesh and -blood now, no way,--not such flesh and blood as we knows on; but then -they say Cinthy might hev dreamed it! - -“Wal, now, look at it t'other way. There's Aunt Sally Dickerson; she's -a good woman and a church-member: wal, she sees a woman in a cloak -with all her bundles brought out o' Cap'n Brown's house, and put into -a kerridge, and driv off, atween three and four o'clock in the mornin'. -Wal, that 'ere shows there must 'a' ben a real live woman kep' there -privately, and so what Cinthy saw wasn't a ghost. - -“Wal, now, Cinthy says Aunt Sally might 'a' dreamed it,--that she got -her head so full o' stories about the Cap'n Brown house, and watched -it till she got asleep, and hed this 'ere dream; and, as there didn't -nobody else see it, it might 'a' ben, you know. Aunt Sally's clear she -didn't dream, and then agin Cinthy's clear _she_ didn't dream; but which -on 'em was awake, or which on 'em was asleep, is what ain't settled in -Oldtown yet.” - - - - -COLONEL EPH'S SHOE-BUCKLES. - - -[Illustration: 9188] - -ES, this 'ere's Tekawampait's grave,” said Sam Lawson, sitting leisurely -down on an ancient grass-grown mound, ornamented by a mossy black -slate-stone slab, with a rudely-carved cherub head and wings on top. - -“And who was Tekawampait?” - -“I wanter know, now, if your granny hain't told you who Tekawampait -was?” said Sam, pushing back his torn straw hat, and leaning against the -old slanting gravestone. - -“No, she never told us.” - -“Wal, ye see, Tekawampait he was the fust Christian Indian minister o' -the gospel there was in Old-town. He was a full-blooded Indian, but he -was as good a Christian as there was goin'; and he was settled here over -the church in Oldtown afore Parson Peabody; and Parson Peabody he come -afore Parson Lothrop; and a very good minister Teka-wampait was too. -Folks hes said that there couldn't nothin' be made o' Indians; that they -was nothin' but sort o' bears and tigers a walkin' round on their hind -legs, a seekin' whom they might devour; but Parson Eliot he didn't think -so. 'Christ died for them as wal as for me,' says he; 'and jest give -'em the gospel,' says he, 'and the rest 'll come along o' itself.' And so -he come here to Oldtown, and sot up a sort o' log-hut right on the spot -where the old Cap'n Brown house is now. Them two great elm-trees that's -a grown now each side o' the front gate was two little switches then, -that two Indians brought up over their shoulders, and planted there for -friendship trees, as they called 'em; and now look what trees they -be! He used to stand under that 'are big oak there, and preach to the -Indians, long before there was any meetin'-house to speak in here in -Oldtown. - -“Wal, now, I tell you, it took putty good courage in Parson Eliot to do -that 'are. I tell you, in them days it took putty consid'able faith to -see any thing in an Indian but jest a wild beast. Folks can't tell -by seein' on 'em now days what they was in the old times when all the -settlements was new, and the Indians was stark, starin' wild, a ravin' -and tarin' round in the woods, and a fightin' each other and a fightin' -the white folks. Lordy massy! the stories I've heard women tell in their -chimbley-corners about the things that used to happen when they was -little was enough to scare the very life out o' ye.” - -“Oh, do, do tell us some of them!” said Henry and I. - -“Lordy massy, boys: why, ye wouldn't sleep for a week. Why, ye don't -know. Why, the Indians in them days wa'n't like no critter ye ever did -see. They was jest the horridest, paintedest, screeehinest, cussedest -critters you ever heard on. They was jest as artful as sarpents, and -crueller than any tigers. Good Dr. Cotton Mather calls 'em divils, and -he was a meek, good man, Dr. Cotton was; but they cut up so in his days, -it's no wonder he thought they was divils, and not folks. Why, they kep' -the whole country in a broil for years and years. Nobody knowed when -they was safe; for they were so sly and cunnin', and always watchin' -behind fences and bushes, and ready when a body was a least thinkin' -on't to be down on 'em. I've heard Abiel Jones tell how his father's -house was burnt down at the time the Indians burnt Deerfield. About -every house in the settlement was burnt to the ground; and then another -time they burnt thirty-two houses in Springfield,--the minister's house -and all, with all his library (and books was sca'ce in them days); -but the Indians made a clean sweep on't. They burnt all the houses in -Wendham down to the ground; and they came down in Lancaster, and burnt -ever so many houses, and carried off forty or fifty people with 'em into -the woods. - -“There was Mr. Rolandson, the minister, they burnt his house, and -carried off Mis' Rolandson and all the children. There was Jerushy -Pierce used to work in his family and do washin' and chores, she's told -me about it. Jerushy she was away to her uncle's that night, so she -wa'n't took. Ye see, the Lancaster folks had been afeard the Indians'd -be down on 'em, and so Parson Rolandson he'd gone on to Boston to get -help for 'em; and when he come back the mischief was all done. Jerushy -said in all her life she never see nothin' so pitiful as that 'are poor -man's face when she met him, jest as he come to the place where the -house stood. At fust he didn't say a word, she said, but he looked kind -o' dazed. Then he sort o' put his hand to his forehead, and says he, -'My God, my God, help me!' Then he tried to ask her about it, but he -couldn't but jest speak. 'Jerushy,' says he, 'can't you tell me,--where -be they?' 'Wal,' says Jerushy, 'they've been carried off.' And with -that he fell right down and moaned and groaned. 'Oh!' says he, I'd rather -heard that they were at peace with the Lord.' And then he'd wring his -hands: 'What shall I do? What shall I do?' - -“Wal, 'twa'n't long after this that the Indians was down on Medford, and -burnt half the houses in town, and killed fifty or sixty people there. -Then they came down on Northampton, but got driv' back; but then they -burnt up five houses, and killed four or five of the folks afore they -got the better of 'em there. Then they burnt all the houses in Groton, -meetin'-house and all; and the pisen critters they hollared and -triumphed over the people, and called out to 'em, 'What will you do for -a house to pray in now? we've burnt your meetin'-house.' The fightin' -was goin' on all over the country at the same time. The Indians set -Marlborough afire, and it was all blazin' at once, the same day that -some others of 'em was down on Springfield, and the same day Cap'n -Pierce, with forty-nine white men and twenty-six Christian Indians, got -drawn into an ambush, and every one of 'em killed. Then a few days after -this they burnt forty houses at Rehoboth, and a little while after they -burnt thirty more at Providence. And then when good Cap'n Wadsworth went -with seventy men to help the people in Sudbury, the Indians came pourin' -round 'em in the woods like so many wolves, and killed all but four or -five on 'em; and those poor fellows had better hev been killed, for the -cruel critters jest tormented 'em to death, and mocked and jeered at -their screeches and screams like so many divils. Then they went and -broke loose on Andover; and they was so cruel they couldn't even let the -dumb critters alone. They cut out the tongues of oxen and cows, and left -'em bleedin', and some they fastened up in barns and burnt alive. There -wa'n't no sort o' diviltry they wa'n't up to. Why, it got to be so in -them days that folks couldn't go to bed in peace without startin' every -time they turned over for fear o' the Indians. Ef they heard a noise in -the night, or ef the wind squealed and howled, as the wind will, they'd -think sure enough there was that horrid yell a comin' down chimbley. - -“There was Delily Severence; she says to me, speakin' about them times, -says she, 'Why, Mr. Lawson, you've no idee! Why, that 'are screech,' -says she, 'wa'n't like no other noise in heaven above, or earth beneath, -or water under the earth,' says she. 'When it started ye out o' bed -between two or three o'clock in the mornin', and all your children -a cryin', and the Indians a screechin' and yellin' and a tossin' up -firebrands, fust at one window and then at another, why,' says she, 'Mr. -Lawson, it was more like hell upon earth than any thing I ever heard -on.' - -“Ye see, they come down on Delily's house when she was but jest up arter -her third baby. That 'are woman hed a handsome head o' hair as ever -ye see, black as a crow's wing; and it turned jest as white as a -table-cloth, with nothin' but the fright o' that night.” - -“What did they do with her?” - -“Oh! they took her and her poor little gal and boy, that wa'n't no older -than you be, and went off with 'em to Canada. The troubles them poor -critters went through! Her husband he was away that night; and well he -was, else they'd a tied him to a tree and stuck pine slivers into him -and sot 'em afire, and cut gret pieces out'o his flesh, and filled the -places with hot coals and ashes, and all sich kind o' things they did to -them men prisoners, when they catched 'em. Delily was thankful enough -he was away; but they took her and the children off through the ice -and snow, jest half clothed and shiverin'; and when her baby cried -and worried, as it nat'rally would, the old Indian jest took it by its -heels, and dashed its brains out agin a tree, and threw it into the -crotch of a tree, and left it dangling there; and then they would mock -and laugh at her, and mimic her baby's crying, and try every way they -could to aggravate her. They used to beat and torment her children right -before her eyes, and pull their hair out, and make believe that they -was goin' to burn 'em alive, jest for nothin' but to frighten and worry -her.” - -“I wonder,” said I, “she ever got back alive.” - -“Wal, the wimmen in them times hed a sight o' wear in 'em. They was -resolute, strong, hard-workin' wimmen. They could all tackle a hoss, -or load and fire a gun. They was brought up hard, and they was used to -troubles and dangers. It's jest as folks gets used to things how they -takes 'em. In them days folks was brought up to spect trouble; they -didn't look for no less. Why, in them days the men allers took their -guns into the field when they went to hoe corn, and took their guns with -'em to meetin' Sundays; and the wimmen they kep' a gun loaded where -they knew where to find it; and when trouble come it was jest what they -spected, and they was put even with it. That's the sort o' wimmen they -was. Wal, Delily and her children was brought safe through at last, but -they hed a hard time on't.” - -“Tell us some more stories about Indians, Sam,” we said, with the usual -hungry impatience of boys for a story. - -“Wal, let me see,” said Sam, with his hat pushed back and his eyes fixed -dreamily on the top of Eliot's oak, which was now yellow with the sunset -glory,--“let me see. I hain't never told ye about Col. Eph Miller, hev -I?” - -“No, indeed. What about him?” - -“Wal, he was took prisoner by the Indians; and they was goin' to roast -him alive arter their fashion, and he gin 'em the slip.” - -“Do tell us all about it.” - -“Wal, you see, Deliverance Scranton over to Sherburne, she's Col. Eph's -daughter; and she used to hear her father tell about that, and she's -told me time and agin about it. It was this way,--You see, there hedn't -ben no alarm about Indians for some time, and folks hed got to feelin' -kind o' easy, as folks will. When there don't nothin' happen for a good -while, and it keeps a goin' on so, why, you think finally there won't -nothin' happen; and so it was with Col. Eph and his wife. She told -Deliverance that the day before she reely hed forgot all about that -there was any Indians in the country; and she'd been out after spruce -and wintergreen and hemlock, and got over her brass kettle to bile for -beer; and the child'n they brought in lots o' wild grapes that they -gathered out in the woods; and they said when they came home that they -thought they see an Indian a lyin' all along squirmin' through the -bushes, and peekin' out at 'em like a snake, but they wa'n't quite sure. -Faith, the oldest gal, she was sure she see him quite plain; but 'Bijah -(he was Col. Eph's oldest boy) he wa'n't so sure. - -“Anyway, they didn't think no more about it, and that night they hed -prayers and went off to bed. - -“Arterwards, Col. Eph he said he remembered the passage o' Scriptur' he -read that night; it was, 'The race is not to the swift nor the battle -to the strong.' He didn't notice it much when he read it; but he allers -spoke of it arterwards as a remarkable providence that that 'are passage -should have come jest so that night. - -“Wal, atween twelve and one o'clock they was waked up by the most awful -screechin' that ever you heard, as if twenty thousand devils was -upon 'em. Mis' Miller she was out o' bed in a minit, all standin'. 'O -husband, husband, the Indians are on us!' says she; and sure enough -they was. The children, 'Bijah and Faith come a runnin' in. 'O father, -father! what shall we do?' - -“Col. Eph was a man that allers knew in a minit what to do, and he kep' -quite cool. 'My dear,' says he to his wife, 'you take the children, and -jest run with 'em right out the buttery-door through the high corn, and -run as fast as you can over to your father Stebbins', and tell him to -rouse the town; and Bije,' says he to the boy, 'you jest get into the -belfry window, and ring the bell with all your might,' says he. 'And -I 'll stay and fight 'em off till the folks come.' - -“All this while the Indians was a yellin' and screechin' and a wavin' -fire-brands front of the house. Col. Eph he stood a lookin' through a -hole in the shutter and a sightin' his gun while he was a talkin'. He -see that they'd been a pilin' up a great pile o' dry wood agin the door. -But the fust Indian that came up to put fire to't was shot right down -while he was a speakin'. - -“Wal, Mis' Miller and Faith and Bije wa'n't long a dressin', you may -believe; and they jest put on dark cloaks, and they jest streaked it -out through the buttery-door! There was thick pole-beans quite up to the -buttery-door, and then a field o' high corn, so that they was hid, and -the way they run wasn't slow, I tell you. - -“But Col. Eph he hed to stop so to load that they got the pile o' brush -afire, though he shot down three or four on 'em, and that was some -comfort. But the long and the short o' the matter was, that they driv -the door in at last, and came a whoopin' and yellin' into the house. - -“Wal, they took Col. Eph, and then went search-in' round to find -somebody else; but jest then the meetin'-house bell begun to ring, and -that scart 'em, and they took Col. Eph and made off with him. He hedn't -but jest time to get into his clothes and get his shoes on, when they -hurried him off. They didn't do nothin' to him jest then, you see, these -Indians was so cur'ous. If a man made a good fight, and killed three or -four on 'em afore they could take him, they sot great store by him, and -called him a brave man. And so they was 'mazin' careful of Col. Eph, and -treated him quite polite for Indians; but he knew the ways on 'em well -enough to know what it was all for. They wanted a real brave man to -burn alive and stick slivers into and torment, and Col. Eph was jest the -pattern for 'em, and his fight-in' so brave made him all the better for -what they wanted. - -“Wal, he was in hopes the town would be roused in time for some of 'em -to come arter him; but the Indians got the start of 'em, and got 'way -off in the woods afore people hed fairly come together and found out -what the matter was. There was Col. Eph's house a blazin' and a lightin' -up all the country for miles round; and the colonel he said it come -ruther hard on him to be lighted on his way through the woods by such a -bonfire. - -“Wal, by mornin' they come to one o' their camps, and there they hed -a great rejoicin' over him. They was going to hev a great feast, and -a good time a burnin' on him; and they tied him to a tree, and sot an -Indian to watch him while they went out to cut pine knots and slivers to -do him with. - -“Wal, as I said, Col. Eph was a brave man, and a man that always kep' -his thoughts about him; and so he kep' a workin' and a workin' with the -withs that was round his hands, and a prayin' in his heart to the Lord, -till he got his right hand free. Wal, he didn't make no move, but kep' -a loosenin' and a loosenin' little by little, keepin' his eye on the -Indian who sot there on the ground by him. - -“Now, Col. Eph hed slipped his feet into his Sunday shoes that stood -there by the bed and hed great silver shoe-buckles; and there was a -providence in his doin' so, for, ye see, Indians are 'mazin' fond o' -shiny things. - -[Illustration: 0203] - -“And the old Indian he was took with the shine o' these shoe-buckles, and -he thought he might as well hev 'em as anybody; so he jest laid down his -tommyhawk, and got down on his knees, and was workin' away as earnest -as could be to get off the buckles, and Col. Eph he jest made a dart -forward and picked up the tommyhawk, and split open the Indian's skull -with one blow: then he cut the withs that was round his legs, and in a -minute he was off on the run with the tommyhawk in his hand. There was -three Indians give chase to him, but Col. Eph he kep' ahead of 'em. He -said while he was a runnin' he was cryin,' and callin' on the Lord with -all his might, and the words come into his mind he read at prayers -the night afore, 'The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the -strong.' - -“At last he see the Indians gained on him; and he faced round suddenly, -and struck the nighest one smack on the head with his tommyhawk. Then -when the next one come up he cut him down too; and the third one, when -he see both the others cut down, and Col. Eph comin' full blaze towards -him with his tommyhawk a swingin', he jest turned and run for dear life. -Then Col. Eph he turned and cut for the settlement. He run, and he run, -and he run, he didn't well know how long, till, finally, he was clear -tuckered out, and he jest dropped down under a tree and slept; and he -lay there all the rest of that day, and all night, and never woke till -the next day about sundown. - -“Then he woke up, and found he was close by home, and John Stebbins, his -wife's father, and a whole party, was out lookin' for him. - -“Old Col. Eph used to tell the story as long as he lived, and the tears -used to run down his cheeks when he told it. - -“'There's a providence in every thing,' he used to say, 'even down to -shoe-buckles. Ef my Sunday shoes hadn't happened to 'a' set there so -I could 'a' slipped into 'em, I couldn't 'a' killed that Indian, and I -shouldn't 'a' been here to-day.' Wal, boys, he was in the right on't. -Some seem to think the Lord don't look out only for gret things, but, ye -see, little things is kind o' hinges that gret ones turns on. They say, -take care o' pennies, and dollars 'll take care o' themselves. It's jest -so in every thing; and, ef the Lord don't look arter little things, he -ain't so gret as they say, anyway. - -“Wal, wal,” said Sam in conclusion, “now, who'd 'a' thought that anybody -could 'a' made any thing out o' Indians? Yet there 'twas. All them -Martha Vineyard Indians turned Christians, and there was Indian -preachers and Indian teachers; and they reely did settle down, and get -to be quite like folks. But I tell you, boys, it took faith to start -with.” - - - - -THE BULL-FIGHT. - - -[Illustration: 9207] - -T was Saturday afternoon,--time of blessed memory to boys,--and we were -free for a ramble after huckleberries; and, with our pails in hand, were -making the best of our way to a noted spot where that fruit was most -abundant. - -Sam was with us, his long legs striding over the ground at a rate that -kept us on a brisk trot, though he himself was only lounging leisurely, -with his usual air of contemplation. - -“Look 'ere, boys,” he suddenly said, pausing and resting his elbow on -the top of a rail-fence, “we shall jest hev to go back and go round by -Deakin Blodgett's barn.” - -“Why so?” we both burst forth in eager tones. - -“Wal, don't ye see the deakin's turned in his bull into this 'ere lot?” - -“Who cares?” said I. “I ain't afraid.” - -“Nor I,” said Harry. “Look at him: he looks mild enough: he won't hurt -us.” - -“Not as you knows on,” said Sam; “and then, agin, you don't -know,--nobody never knows, what one o' them 'ere critters will do: -they's jest the most contrary critters; and ef you think they're goin' -to do one way they're sure to do t'other. I could tell ye a story now -that'd jest make yer har stan' on eend.” Of course we wanted to have our -hair stand on end, and beset Sam for the story; but he hung off. - -“Lordy massy! boys, jest let's wait till ye've got yer huckleberries: -yer granny won't like it ef ye don't bring her none, and Hepsy she 'll -be in my har,--what's left on't,” said Sam, taking off his old torn hat, -and rubbing the loose shock of brash and grizzled hair. - -So we turned and made a _detour_, leaving the bull on the right, though -we longed amazingly to have a bout with him, for the fun of the thing, -and mentally resolved to try it when our mentor was not round. - -It all comes back to me again,--the image of that huckleberry-pasture, -interwoven with fragrance of sweet-fern, and the ground under our feet -embroidered with star-moss and wintergreen, or foamy patches of mossy -frost-work, that crushed and crackled delightfully beneath our feet. -Every now and then a tall, straight fire-lily--black, spotted in its -centre--rose like a little jet of flame; and we gathered it -eagerly, though the fierce August sun wilted it in our hands. The -huckleberry-bushes, bending under their purple weight, we gathered in -large armfuls, and took them under the shadow of the pine-trees, that we -might strip them at our leisure, without being scorched by the intense -glare of the sun. Armful after armful we carried and deposited in the -shade, and then sat down to the task of picking them off into our pails. -It was one of those New-England days hotter than the tropics, Not a -breath of air was stirring, not a bird sang a note, not a sound was -heard, except the drowsy grating of the locusts. - -“Well, now, Sam, now tell us that story about the bull.” - -“Lordy massy, how hot 'tis!” said Sam, lying back, and resting on the -roots of a tree, with his hands folded under his head. “I'm all in a -drip of sweat.” - -“Well, Sam, we 'll pick off your berries, if you 'll talk.” - -“Wall, wall, be kerful yer don't git no green ones in among 'em, else -Hepsy 'll be down on me. She's drefful partikelar, she is. Every thing -has to be jest so. Ef it ain't, you 'll hear on't. Lordy massy I boys, -she's always telling me I don't do nothin' for the support of the -family. I leave it to you if I didn't ketch her a nice mess o' fish a -Tuesday. I tell her folks can't expect to roll in money, and allers to -have every thing jess 'z they want it. We brought nothin' into the world -with us, and it's sartain we ken carry nothin' out; and, having food -and raiment, we ought to be content. We have ben better off'n we be now. -Why, boys, I've seen the time that I've spent thirty-seven cents a week -for nutmegs; but Hepsy hain't no gratitude: such folks hez to be brought -down. Take care, now, yer ain't a-putting green ones in; be yer?” - -“Sam, we sha'n't put in any at all, if you don't tell us that story.” - -“Lordy massy! you young ones, there ain't never no contentin' yer, ef a -fellow was to talk to the millennium. Wonder now if there is going to -be any millennium. Wish I'd waited, and been born in them days, 'spect -things would a sorter come along easier. Wall, I shall git through some -way, I s'pose.” - -“Sam,” said I, sitting back, “we're putting all our berries into your -pail; and, if you don't begin to tell us a story, we won't do it.” - -“Lordy massy! boys, I'm kind o' collectin' my idees. Ye have to talk -a while to git a-goin', everybody does. Wal, about this 'ere story. Ye -'member that old brown house, up on the hill there, that we saw when we -come round the corner? That 'are was where old Mump Moss used to live. -Old Mump was consid'able of a nice man: he took in Ike Sanders, Mis' -Moss's sister's boy, to help him on the farm, and did by him pretty much -ez, he did by his own. Bill Moss, Mump's boy, he was a con-trairy kind -o' critter, and he was allers a-hectorin' Ike. He was allers puttin' -off the heaviest end of every thing on to him. He'd shirk his work, and -git it off on to Ike every way he could. And he allers threw it up at -him that he was eatin' his father's bread; and he watched every mouthful -he ate, as if he hated to see it go down. Wal, ye see, for all that. -Ike he growed up tall and strong, and a real handsome young feller; and -everybody liked him. And Bill he was so gritty and contrairy, that his -own mother and sisters couldn't stan' him; and he was allers a-flingin' -it up at 'em that they liked Ike more'n they did him. Finally his mother -she said to him one day, 'Why shouldn't I,' sez she, 'when Ike's allers -pleasant to me, and doin' every thing he ken fur me, and you don't do -nothin' but scold.' That 'are, you see, was a kind o' home-thrust, and -Bill he didn't like Ike a bit the better for that. He did every thing he -could to plague him, and hector him, and sarcumvent him, and set people -agin him. - -“Wal, ye see, 'twas the old story about Jacob and Laban over agin. Every -thing that Ike put his hand to kind o' prospered. Everybody liked him, -everybody hed a good word for him, everybody helped grease his wheels. -Wal, come time when he was twenty-one, old Mump he gin him a settin' -out. He gin him a freedom suit o' clothes, and he gin him a good cow, -and Mis' Moss she knit him up a lot o' stockings, and the gals they made -him up his shirts. Then, Ike he got a place with Squire Wells, and got -good wages; and he bought a little bit o' land, with a house on it, on -Squire Wells's place, and took a mortgage on't, to work off. He used -to work his own land, late at night and early in the mornin', over and -above givin' good days' works to the squire; and the old squire he sot -all the world by him, and said he hedn't hed sich a man to work since he -didn't know when. - -“Wal, a body might ha' thought that when Bill had a got him out o' the -house, he might ha' ben satisfied, but he wasn't. He was an ugly fellow, -Bill Moss was; and a body would ha' thought that every thing good that -happened to Ike was jest so much took from him. Come to be young men, -growed up together, and waitin' on the gals round, Ike he was pretty apt -to cut Bill out. Yer see, though Bill was goin' to have the farm, and -all old Mump's money, he warn't pleasant-spoken; and so, when the gals -got a chance, they'd allers rather go with Ike than him. Finally, there -was Delily Sawin, she was about the handsomest girl there was round, -and she hed all the fellers arter her; and her way was to speak 'em all -fair, and keep 'em all sort o' waitin' and hopin', till she got ready -to make her mind up. She'd entertain Bill Saturday night, and she'd tell -Ike he might come Sunday night; and so Ike he was well pleased, and Bill -he growled. - -“Wal, there come along a gret cattle-show. Squire Wells he got it up: it -was to be the gretest kind of a time, and Squire Wells he give money fur -prizes. There was to be a prize on the best cow, and the best bull, and -the best ox, and the best horse, and the biggest punkins and squashes -and beets, and there was a prize for the best loaf o' bread, and the -best pair o' stockin's, and the handsomest bed-quilt, and the rest -o' women's work. Wal, yer see, there was a gret to-do about the -cattle-show; and the wagons they came in from all around,--ten miles; -and the gals all dressed up in their best bunnits, and they had a ball -in the evenin'. Wal, ye see, it so happened that Bill and Ike each on -'em sent a bull to the cattle-show; and Ike's bull took the prize. That -put the cap-sheaf on for Bill. He was jest about as much riled as a -feller could be; and that evenin' Delily she danced with Ike twice as -many times ez she did with him. Wal, Bill he got it round among the -fellers that the jedges hed been partial; and he said, if them bulls was -put together, his bull would whip Ike's all to thunder. Wal, the fellers -thought 'twould be kind o' fun to try 'em, and they put Ike up to it. -And finally 'twas agreed that Ike's bull should be driv over to old -Mump's; and the Monday after the cattle-show, they should let 'em out -into the meadow together and see which was the strongest. So there was -a Sunday the bulls they were both put up together in the same barn; and -the 'greement was, they wasn't to be looked at nor touched till the time -come to turn 'em out. - -“Come Sunday mornin', they got up the wagon to go to meetin'; and Mis' -Moss and the gals and old Mump, they was all ready; and the old yaller -dog he was standrn' waitin' by the wagon, and Bill warn't nowhere to be -found. So they sent one o' the girls up chamber to see what'd got -him; and there he was a-lyin' on the bed, and said he'd got a drefful -headache, and didn't think he could go to meetin'. Wal, the second -bell was a-tollin', and they had to drive off without him: they never -mistrusted but what 'twas jest so. Wal, yer see, boys, 'twas that 'are -kind o' Sunday headache that sort o' gets better when the folks is all -fairly into meetin'. So, when the wagon was fairly out o' sight, Bill he -thought he'd jest go and have a peek at them bulls. Wal, he looked -and he peeked, and finally he thought they looked so sort o' innocent -'twouldn't do no harm to jest let 'em have a little run in the cow-yard -aforehand. He kind o' wanted to see how they was likely to cut up. Now, -ye see, the mischief about bulls is, that a body never knows what they's -goin' to do, 'cause whatever notion takes 'em allers comes into their -heads so kind o' suddin, and it's jest a word and a blow with 'em. Wal, -fust he let out his bull, and then he went in and let out Ike's. Wal, -the very fust thing that critter did he run up to Bill's bull, full -tilt, and jest gin one rip with his horns right in the side of him, and -knocked him over and killed him. Didn't die right off, but he was done -for; and Bill he gin a the old feller turned right round, and come at -_him_. I tell you, Bill he turned and made a straight coattail, rippin' -and peelin' it towards the house, and the bull tearin' on right arter -him. Into the kitchen he went, and he hedn't no time to shut the door, -and the bull arter him; and into the keepin'-room, and the bull arter -him there. And he hedn't but jest time to git up the chamber-stairs, -when he heard the old feller roarin' and tearin' round there like all -natur. Fust he went to the lookin'-glass, and smashed that all to -pieces. Then he histed the table over, and he rattled and smashed the -chairs round, and made such a roaring and noise, ye'd ha' thought there -was seven devils there; and in the midst of it Bill he looked out of the -window, and see the wagon a-comin' back; and 'Lordy massy!' he thought -to himself, 'the bull 'll kill every one on 'em,' and he run to the -window and yelled and shouted, and they saw him, and thought the house -must be afire. - -[Illustration: 0217] - -“Finally, he bethought him of old Mump's gun, and he run round and got -it, and poked it through a crack of the chamber-door, and fired off -bang! and shot him dead, jest as Mis' Moss and the girls was comin' into -the kitchen-door. - -“Wal, there was, to be sure, the 'bomination o' desolation when they -come in and found every thing all up in a heap and broke to pieces, and -the old critter a-kickin' and bleedin' all over the carpet, and Bill -as pale as his shirt-tail on the chamber-stairs. They had an awful mess -on't; and there was the two bulls dead and to be took care uv. - -“'Wal, Bill,” said his father, “'I hope yer satisfied now. All that comes -o' stayin' to home from meetin', and keepin' temporal things in yer head -all day Sunday. You've lost your own bull, you've got Ike's to pay for, -and ye 'll have the laugh on yer all round the country.' - -“'I expect, father, we ken corn the meat,' says Mis' Moss, 'and maybe -the hide 'll sell for something,' sez she; for she felt kind o' tender -for Bill, and didn't want to bear down too hard on him. - -“Wal, the story got round, and everybody was a-throwin' it up at Bill; -and Delily, in partikelar, hectored him about it till he wished the -bulls had been in the Red Sea afore he'd ever seen one on 'em. Wal, it -really driv him out o' town, and he went off out West to settle, and -nobody missed him much; and Ike he married Delily, and they grew from -better to better, till now they own jest about as pretty a farm as -there is round. Yer remember that white house with green blinds, that we -passed when we was goin' to the trout-brook? Wal, that 'ere's the one.” - -[Illustration: 5221] - - - - -HOW TO FIGHT THE DEVIL - - -[Illustration: 9222] - -OOK here, boys,” said Sam, “don't you want to go with me up to the -Devil's Den this arternoon?” - -“Where is the Devil's Den,” said I, with a little awe. - -“Wal, it's a longer tramp than I've ever took ye. It's clear up past the -pickerel pond, and beyond old Skunk John's pasture-lot. It's a 'mazin' -good place for raspberries; shouldn't wonder if we should get two, three -quarts there. Great rocks there higher'n yer head; kinder solemn, 'tis.” - -This was a delightful and seductive account, and we arranged for a walk -that very afternoon. - -In almost every New-England village the personality of Satan has been -acknowledged by calling by his name some particular rock or cave, or -other natural object whose singularity would seem to suggest a more than -mortal occupancy. “The Devil's Punchbowl,” “The Devil's Wash-bowl,” “The -Devil's Kettle,” “The Devil's Pulpit,” and “The Devil's Den,” have been -designations that marked places or objects of some striking natural -peculiarity. Often these are found in the midst of the most beautiful -and romantic scenery, and the sinister name seems to have no effect in -lessening its attractions. To me, the very idea of going to the Devil's -Den was full of a pleasing horror. When a boy, I always lived in the -shadowy edge of that line which divides spirit land from mortal life, -and it was my delight to walk among its half lights and shadows. The old -graveyard where, side by side, mouldered the remains of Indian sachems -and the ancients of English blood, was my favorite haunt. I loved to -sit on the graves while the evening mists arose from them, and to fancy -cloudy forms waving and beckoning. To me, this spirit land was my -only refuge from the dry details of a hard, prosaic life. The -schoolroom--with its hard seats rudely fashioned from slabs of -rough wood, with its clumsy desks, hacked and ink-stained, with its -unintelligible textbooks and its unsympathetic teacher--was to me -a prison out of whose weary windows I watched the pomp and glory of -nature,--the free birds singing, the clouds sailing, the trees waving -and whispering,--and longed, as earnestly as ever did the Psalmist, to -flee far away, and wander in the wilderness. - -Hence, no joy of after life--nothing that the world has now to give--can -equal that joyous sense of freedom and full possession which came over -me on Saturday afternoons, when I started off on a tramp with the -world all before me,--the mighty, unexplored world of mysteries and -possibilities, bounded only by the horizon. Ignorant alike of all -science, neither botanist nor naturalist, I was studying at firsthand -all that lore out of which science is made. Every plant and flower had a -familiar face to me, and said something to my imagination. I knew where -each was to be found, its time of coming and going, and met them year -after year as returning friends. - -So it was with joyous freedom that we boys ram bled off with Sam this -afternoon, intent to find the Devil's Den. It was a ledge of granite -rocks rising in the midst of a grove of pines and white birches. The -ground was yellow and slippery with the fallen needles of the pines of -other days, and the glistening white stems of the birches shone through -the shadows like ivory pillars. Underneath the great granite ledges, all -sorts of roots and plants grappled and kept foothold; and whole armies -of wild raspberries matured their fruit, rounder and juicier for growing -in the shade. - -In one place yawned a great rift, or cavern, as if the rocks had been -violently twisted and wrenched apart, and a mighty bowlder lodging in -the rift had roofed it over, making a cavern of most seductive darkness -and depth. This was the Devil's Den; and after we had picked our pail -full of berries, we sat down there to rest. - -“Sam, do you suppose the Devil ever was here?” said I. “What do they -call this his den for?” - -“Massy, child! that 'are was in old witch times. There used to be witch -meetins' held here, and awful doins'; they used to have witch sabba' -days and witch sacraments, and sell their souls to the old boy.” - -“What should they want to do that for?” - -“Wal, sure enough; what was it for? I can't make out that the Devil ever -gin 'em any thing, any on 'em. They warn't no richer, nor didn't get no -more'n this world than the rest; and they was took and hung; and then ef -they went to torment after that, they hed a pretty bad bargain on't, I -say.” - -“Well, people don't do such things any more, do they?” said I. - -“No,” said Sam. “Since the gret fuss and row-de-dow about it, it's kind -o' died out; but there's those, I s'pose, that hez dealins' with the old -boy. Folks du say that old Ketury was a witch, and that, ef't ben in old -times, she'd a hed her neck stretched; but she lived and died in peace.” - -“But do you think,” said I, now proposing the question that lay nearest -my heart, “that the Devil can hurt us?” - -“That depends consid'able on how you take him,” said Sam. “Ye see, come -to a straight out-an'-out fight with him, he 'll git the better on yer.” - -“But,” said I, “Christian did fight Apollyon, and got him down too.” - -I had no more doubt in those days that this was an historic fact than I -had of the existence of Romulus and Remus and the wolf. - -“Wal, that 'ere warn't jest like real things: they say that 'ere's an -allegory. But I 'll tell ye how old Sarah Bunganuck fit the Devil, -when he 'peared to her. Ye see, old Sarah she was one of the converted -Injuns, and a good old critter she was too; worked hard, and got her -livin' honest. She made baskets, and she made brooms, and she used to -pick young wintergreen and tie it up in bunches, and dig sassafras -and ginsing to make beer; and she got her a little bit o' land, right -alongside o' Old Black Hoss John's white-birch wood-lot. - -“Now, I've heerd some o' these 'ere modern ministers that come down from -Cambridge college, and are larnt about every thing in creation, they -say there ain't no devil, and the reason on't is, 'cause there can't be -none. These 'ere fellers is so sort o' green!--they don't mean no harm, -but they don't know nothin' about nobody that does. If they'd ha' known -old Black Hoss John, they'd ha' been putty sure there was a devil. He -was jest the crossest, ugliest critter that ever ye see, and he was ugly -jest for the sake o' ugliness. He couldn't bear to let the boys pick -huckleberries in his paster lots, when he didn't pick 'em himself; and -he was allers jawin' me 'cause I would go trout-fishin' in one o' his -pasters. Jest ez if the trout that swims warn't, the Lord's, and jest ez -much mine as his. He grudged every critter every thing; and if he'd ha' -hed his will and way, every bird would ha' fell down dead that picked -up a worm on his grounds. He was jest as nippin' as a black frost. Old -Black Hoss didn't git drunk in a regerlar way, like Uncle Eph and Toddy -Whitney, and the rest o' them boys. But he jest sot at home, a-soakin' -on cider, till he was crosser'n a bear with a sore head. Old Black Hoss -hed a special spite agin old Sarah. He said she was an old witch and an -old thief, and that she stole things off'n his grounds, when everybody -knew that she was a regerlar church-member, and as decent an old critter -as there was goin'. As to her stealin', she didn't do nothin' but pick -huckleberries and grapes, and git chesnuts and wannuts, and butternuts, -and them 'ere wild things that's the Lord's, grow on whose land they -will, and is free to all. I've hearn 'em tell that, over in the old -country, the poor was kept under so, that they couldn't shoot a bird, -nor ketch a fish, nor gather no nuts, nor do nothin' to keep from -starvin', 'cause the quality folks they thought they owned every -thing, 'way-down to the middle of the earth and clear up to the stars. We -never hed no sech doin's this side of the water, thank the Lord! We've -allers been free to have the chesnuts and the wannuts and the grapes and -the huckleberries and the strawberries, ef we could git 'em, and ketch -fish when and where we was a mind to. Lordy massy! your grandthur's -old Cesar, he used to call the pond his pork-pot. He'd jest go down and -throw in a line and ketch his dinner. Wal, Old Black Hoss he know'd the -law was so, and he couldn't do nothin' agin her by law; but he sarved -her out every mean trick he could think of. He used to go and stan' -and lean over her garden-gate and jaw at her an hour at a time; but old -Sarah she had the Injun in her; she didn't run to talk much: she used -to jest keep on with her weedin and her work, jest's if he warn't there, -and that made Old Black Hoss madder'n ever; and he thought he'd try and -frighten her off'n the ground, by makin' on her believe he was the Devil. -So one time, when he'd been killin' a beef critter, they took off the -skin with the horns and all on; and Old Black Hoss he says to Toddy and -Eph and Loker, 'You jest come up tonight, and see how I 'll frighten old -Sarah Bunganuck.' - -“Wal, Toddy and Eph and Loker, they hedn't no better to do, and they -thought they'd jest go round and see. Ye see 'twas a moonlight -night, and old Sarah--she was an industrious critter--she was cuttin' -white-birch brush for brooms in the paster-lot. - -“Wal, Old Black Hoss he wrapped the critter's skin round him, with the -horns on his head, and come and stood by the fence, and begun to roar -and make a noise. - -[Illustration: 0223] - -“Old Sarah she kept right on with her work, cuttin' her brush and -pilin' on't up, and jest let him roar. Wal, Old Black Hoss felt putty -foolish, 'specially ez the fellers were waitin' to see how she took it. -So he calls out in a grum voice,-- - -“'Woman, don't yer know who I be?” - -“'No,' says she quite quiet, 'I don't know who yer be.' - -“'Wal, I'm the Devil,' sez he. - -“'Ye be?' says old Sarah. 'Poor old critter, how I pity ye!' and she -never gin him another word, but jest bundled up her broom-stuff, and -took it on her back and walked off, and Old Black Hoss he stood there -mighty foolish with his skin and horns; and so he had the laugh agin -him, 'cause Eph and Loker they went and told the story down to the -tavern, and he felt awful cheap to think old Sarah had got the upper -hands on him. - -“Wal, ye see, boys, that 'ere's jest the way to fight the Devil. Jest -keep straight on with what ye're doin', and don't ye mind him, and he -can't do nothin' to ye.” - -[Illustration: 5233] - - - - -LAUGHIN' IN MEETIN' - - -[Illustration: 9234] - -E were in disgrace, we boys; and the reason of it was this: we had -laughed out in meeting-time! To be sure, the occasion was a trying one, -even to more disciplined nerves. Parson Lothrop had exchanged pulpits -with Parson Summeral, of North Wearem. Now, Parson Summeral was a man -in the very outset likely to provoke the risibles of unspiritualized -juveniles. He was a thin, wiry, frisky little man, in a powdered white -wig, black tights, and silk stockings, with bright knee-buckles and -shoe-buckles; with round, dark, snapping eyes; and a curious, high, -cracked, squeaking voice, the very first tones of which made all the -children stare and giggle. The news that Parson Summeral was going to -preach in our village spread abroad among us as a prelude to something -funny. It had a flavor like the charm of circus-acting; and, on the -Sunday morning of our story, we went to the house of God in a very -hilarious state, all ready to set off in a laugh on the slightest -provocation. - -The occasion was not long wanting. Parson Lo-throp had a favorite dog -yclept Trip, whose behavior in meeting was notoriously far from that -edifying pattern which befits a minister's dog on Sundays. Trip was -a nervous dog, and a dog that never could be taught to conceal his -emotions or to respect conventionalities. If any thing about the -performance in the singers' seat did not please him, he was apt to -express himself in a lugubrious howl. If the sermon was longer than -suited him, he would gape with such a loud creak of his jaws as would -arouse everybody's attention. If the flies disturbed his afternoon's -nap, he would give sudden snarls or snaps; or, if anything troubled his -dreams, he would bark out in his sleep in a manner not only to dispel -his own slumbers, but those of certain worthy deacons and old ladies, -whose sanctuary repose was thereby sorely broken and troubled. For all -these reasons, Madame Lo-throp had been forced, as a general thing, to -deny Trip the usual sanctuary privileges of good family dogs in that -age, and shut him up on Sundays to private meditation. Trip, of course, -was only the more set on attendance, and would hide behind doors, jump -out of windows, sneak through by-ways and alleys, and lie hid till the -second bell had done tolling, when suddenly he would appear in the broad -aisle, innocent and happy, and take his seat as composedly as any member -of the congregation. - -Imagine us youngsters on the _qui vive_ with excitement at seeing Parson -Summeral frisk up into the pulpit with all the vivacity of a black -grasshopper. We looked at each other, and giggled very cautiously, with -due respect to Aunt Lois's sharp observation. - -At first, there was only a mild, quiet simmering of giggle, compressed -decorously within the bounds of propriety; and we pursed our muscles up -with stringent resolution, whenever we caught the apprehensive eye of -our elders. - -But when, directly after the closing notes of the tolling second bell, -Master Trip walked gravely up the front aisle, and, seating himself -squarely in front of the pulpit, raised his nose with a critical air -toward the scene of the forthcoming performance, it was too much for us: -the repression was almost convulsive. Trip wore an alert, attentive air, -befitting a sound, orthodox dog, who smells a possible heresy, and deems -it his duty to watch the performances narrowly. - -Evidently he felt called upon to see who and what were to occupy that -pulpit in his master's absence. - -Up rose Parson Summeral; and up went Trip's nose, vibrating with intense -attention. - -The parson began in his high-cracked voice to intone the hymn,-- - - “Sing to the Lord aloud,” - -when Trip broke into a dismal howl. - -The parson went on to give directions to the deacon, in the same -voice in which he had been reading, so that the whole effect of the -performance was somewhat as follows:-- - - “'Sing to the Lord aloud.' - -“(Please to turn out that dog),-- - - “'And make a joyful noise.,” - -The dog was turned out, and the choir did their best to make a joyful -noise; but we boys were upset for the day, delivered over to the -temptations of Satan, and plunged in waves and billows of hysterical -giggle, from which neither winks nor frowns from Aunt Lois, nor the -awful fear of the tithing-man, nor the comforting bits of fennel and -orange-peel passed us by grandmother, could recover us. - -Everybody felt, to be sure, that here was a trial that called for some -indulgence. Hard faces, even among the stoniest saints, betrayed a -transient quiver of the risible muscles; old ladies put up their fans; -youths and maidens in the singers' seat laughed outright; and, for the -moment, a general snicker among the children was pardoned. But I was one -of that luckless kind, whose nerves, once set in vibration, could not be -composed. When the reign of gravity and decorum had returned, Harry and -I sat by each other, shaking with suppressed laughter. Every thing in -the subsequent exercises took a funny turn; and in the long prayer, when -everybody else was still and decorous, the whole scene came over me with -such overpowering force, that I exploded with laughter, and had to -be taken out of meeting and marched home by Aunt Lois, as a convicted -criminal. What especially moved her indignation was, that, the more she -rebuked and upbraided, the more I laughed, till the tears rolled down -my cheeks; which Aunt Lois construed into wilful disrespect to her -authority, and resented accordingly. - -By Sunday evening, as we gathered around the fire, the re-action from -undue gayety to sobriety had taken place; and we were in a pensive and -penitent state. Grandmother was gracious and forgiving; but Aunt Lois -still preserved that frosty air of reprobation which she held to be a -salutary means of quickening our consciences for the future. It was, -therefore, with unusual delight that we saw our old friend Sam come in, -and sit himself quietly down on the block in the chimney corner. With -Sam we felt assured of indulgence and patronage; for, though always -rigidly moral and instructive in his turn of mind, he had that -fellow-feeling for transgressors which is characteristic of the -loose-jointed, easy-going style of his individuality. - -“Lordy massy, boys--yis,” said Sam virtuously, in view of some of Aunt -Lois's thrusts, “ye ought never to laugh nor cut up in meetin'; that -'are's so: but then there is times when the best on us gets took down. -We gets took unawares, ye see,--even ministers does. Yis, natur' will -git the upper hand afore they know it.” - -“Why, Sam, _ministers_ don't ever laugh in meetin'! do they?” - -We put the question with wide eyes. Such a supposition bordered on -profanity, we thought: it was approaching the sin of Uzzah, who unwarily -touched the ark of the Lord. - -“Laws, yes. Why, heven't you never heard how there was a council held to -try Parson Morrel for laughin' out in prayer-time?” - -“Laughing in prayer-time!” we both repeated, with uplifted hands and -eyes. - -My grandfather's mild face became luminous with a suppressed smile, -which brightened it as the moon does a cloud; but he said nothing. - -“Yes, yes,” said my grandmother, “that affair did make a dreadful -scandal in the time on't! But Parson Morrel was a good man; and I'm glad -the council wasn't hard on him.” - -“Wal,” said Sam Lawson, “after all, it was more Ike Babbit's fault than -'twas anybody's. Ye see, Ike he was allers for gettin' what he could -out o' the town; and he would feed his sheep on the meetin'-house -green. Somehow or other, Ike's fences allers contrived to give out, come -Sunday, and up would come his sheep; and Ike was too pious to drive 'em -back Sunday, and so there they was. He was talked to enough about it: -'cause, ye see, to hev sheep and lambs a ba-a-in' and a blatin' -all prayer and sermon time wa'n't the thing. 'Member that 'are old -meet-in'-house up to the North End, down under Blueberry Hill, the land -sort o' sloped down, so as a body hed to come into the meetin'-house -steppin' down instead o' up. - -“Fact was, they said 'twas put there 'cause the land wa'n't good for -nothin' else; and the folks thought puttin' a meetin'-house on't would -be a clear savin'. But Parson Morrel he didn't like it, and was free to -tell 'em his mind on't,--that 'twas like bringin' the lame and the blind -to the Lord's sarvice; but there 'twas. - -“There wa'n't a better minister, nor no one more set by in all the -State, than Parson Morrel. His doctrines was right up and down, good and -sharp; and he give saints and sinners their meat in due season; and for -consolin' and comfortin' widders and orphans, Parson Morrel hedn't his -match. The women sot lots by him; and he was allus' ready to take tea -round, and make things pleasant and comfortable; and he hed a good story -for every one, and a word for the children, and maybe an apple or a -cookey in his pocket for 'em. Wal, you know there an't no pleasin' -everybody; and ef Gabriel himself, right down out o' heaven, was to come -and be a minister, I expect there'd be a pickin' at his wings, and sort -o' fault-findin'. Now, Aunt Jerushy Scran and Aunt Polly Hokun they sed -Parson Morrel wa'n't solemn enough. Ye see, there's them that thinks -that a minister ought to be jest like the town hearse, so that ye think -of death, judgment, and eternity, and nothin' else, when ye see him -round; and ef they see a man rosy and chipper, and hevin' a pretty nice, -sociable sort of a time, why they say he an't spiritooal minded. But, in -my times, I've seen ministers the most awakenin' kind in the pulpit -that was the liveliest when they was out on't. There is a time to laugh, -Scriptur' says; tho' some folks never seem to remember that 'are.” - -“But, Sam, how came you to say it was Ike Babbit's fault? What was it -about the sheep?” - -“Oh, wal, yis! I'm a comin' to that 'are. It was all about them sheep. -I expect they was the instrument the Devil sot to work to tempt Parson -Morrel to laugh in prayer-time. - -“Ye see, there was old Dick, Ike's bell-wether, was the fightin'est old -crittur that ever yer see. Why, Dick would butt at his own shadder; -and everybody said it was a shame the old crittur should be left to -run loose, 'cause he run at the children, and scared the women half out -their wits. Wal, I used to live out in that parish in them days. And -Lem Sudoc and I used to go out sparkin' Sunday nights, to see the Larkin -gals; and we had to go right 'cross the lot where Dick was: so we used -to go and stand at the fence, and call. And Dick would see us, and put -down his head, and run at us full chisel, and come bunt agin the fence; -and then I'd ketch him by the horns, and hold him while Lem run and got -over the fence t'other side the lot; and then I'd let go: and Lem would -holler, and shake a stick at him, and away he'd go full butt at Lem; and -Lem would ketch his horns, and hold him till I came over,--that was -the way we managed Dick; but, I tell you, ef he come sudden up behind -a fellow, he'd give him a butt in the small of his back that would make -him run on all fours one while. He was a great rogue,--Dick was. Wal, -that summer, I remember they hed old Deacon Titkins for tithing-man; and -I tell you he give it to the boys lively. There wa'n't no sleepin' nor -no playin'; for the deacon hed eyes like a gimblet, and he was quick as -a cat, and the youngsters hed to look out for themselves. It did really -seem as if the deacon was like them four beasts in the Revelations that -was full o' eyes behind and before; for which ever way he was standin', -if you gave only a wink, he was down on you, and hit you a tap with his -stick. I know once Lem Sudoc jist wrote two words in the psalm-book and -passed to Kesiah Larkin; and the deacon give him such a tap that Lem -grew red as a beet, and vowed he'd be up with him some day for that. - -“Well, Lordy Massy, folks that is so chipper and high steppin' has to -hev their come downs; and the deacon he hed to hev his. - -“That 'are Sunday,--I 'member it now jest as well as if 'twas -yesterday,--the parson he give us his gre't sermon, reconcilin' decrees -and free agency: everybody said that 'are sermon was a masterpiece. -He preached it up to Cambridge at Commencement, that year. Wal, it so -happened it was one o' them bilin' hot days that come in August, when -you can fairly hear the huckleberries a sizzlin', and cookin' on the -bushes, and the locust keeps a gratin' like a red-hot saw. Wal, such -times, decrees or no decrees, the best on us will get sleepy. The old -meetin'-house stood right down at the foot of a hill that kep' off all -the wind; and the sun blazed away at them gre't west winders: and there -was pretty sleepy times there. Wal, the deacon, he flew round a spell, -and woke up the children, and tapped the boys on the head, and kep' -every thing straight as he could, till the sermon was most through, when -he railly got most tuckered out; and he took a chair, and he sot down -in the door right opposite the minister, and fairly got asleep himself, -jest as the minister got up to make the last prayer. - -“Wal, Parson Morrel hed a way o' prayin' with his eyes open. Folks said -it wa'n't the best way: but it was Parson Morrel's way, anyhow; and so, -as he was prayin', he couldn't help seein' that Deacon Tit-kins was a -noddin' and a bobbin' out toward the place where old Dick was feedin' -with the sheep, front o' the meetin'-house door. - -“Lem and me we was sittin' where we could look out; and we jest sees old -Dick stop feedin' and look at the deacon. The deacon hed a little round -head as smooth as an apple, with a nice powdered wig on it: and he sot -there makin' bobs and bows; and Dick begun to think it was suthin sort -o' pussonal. Lem and me was sittin' jest where we could look out and see -the hull picter; and Lem was fit to split. - -“'Good, now,' says he: 'that crittur 'll pay the deacon off lively, -pretty soon.' - -“The deacon bobbed his head a spell; and old Dick he shook his horns, -and stamped at him sort o' threat-nin'. Finally the deacon he give a -great bow, and brought his head right down at him; and old Dick he sot -out full tilt and come down on him ker chunk, and knocked him head over -heels into the broad aisle: and his wig flew one way and he t'other; and -Dick made a lunge at it, as it flew, and carried it off on his horns. - -[Illustration: 0247] - -“Wal, you may believe, that broke up the meetin' for one while: for -Parson Morrel laughed out; and all the gals and boys they stomped and -roared. And the old deacon he got up and begun rubbin' his shins, 'cause -he didn't see the joke on't. - -“'You don't orter laugh,' says he: 'it's no laughin' matter; it's a -solemn thing,' says he. 'I might hev been sent into 'tarnity by that -darned crittur,' says he. Then they all roared and haw-hawed the more, -to see the deacon dancin' round with his little shiny head, so smooth a -fly would trip up on't. 'I believe, my soul, you'd laugh to see me in my -grave,' says he. - -“Wal, the truth on't was, 'twas jist one of them bustin' up times that -natur has, when there an't nothin' for it but to give in: 'twas jest -like the ice breakin' up in the Charles River,--it all come at once, -and no whoa to't. Sunday or no Sunday, sin or no sin, the most on 'em -laughed till they cried, and couldn't help it. - -“But the deacon, he went home feelin' pretty sore about it. Lem Sudoc, -he picked up his wig, and handed it to him. Says he, 'Old Dick was -playin' tithin'-man, wa'n't he, deacon? Teach you to make allowance for -other folks that get sleepy.' - -“Then Miss Titkins she went over to Aunt Jerushy Scran's and Aunt Polly -Hokum's; and they hed a pot o' tea over it, and 'greed it was awful of -Parson Morrel to set sich an example, and suthin' hed got to be done -about it. Miss Hokum said she allers knew that Parson Morrel hedn't no -spiritooality; and now it hed broke out into open sin, and led all the -rest of 'em into it; and Miss Titkins, she said such a man wa'n't fit -to preach; and Miss Hokum said she couldn't never hear him agin: and the -next Sunday the deacon and his wife they hitched up and driv eight miles -over to Parson Lothrop's and took Aunt Polly on the back seat. - -“Wal, the thing growed and growed, till it seemed as if there wa'n't -nothin' else talked about, 'cause Aunt Polly and Miss Titkins and -Jerushy Scran they didn't do nothin' but talk about it; and that sot -everybody else a-talkin'. - -“Finally, it was 'greed they must hev a council to settle the hash. So -all the wimmen they went to choppin' mince, and makin' up pumpkin -pies and cranberry tarts, andb'ilin' doughnuts,--gettin' ready for the -ministers and delegates; 'cause councils always eats powerful: and they -hed quite a stir, like a gineral trainin'. The hosses they was hitched -all up and down the stalls, a-stompin' and switchin' their tails; -and all the wimmen was a-talkin'; and they hed up everybody round for -witnesses. And finally Parson Morrel he says, 'Brethren,' says he, 'jest -let me tell you the story jest as it happened; and, if you don't every -one of you laugh as hard as I did, why, then, I 'll give up.' - -“The parson he was a master-hand at settin' off a story; and, afore he'd -done, he got 'em all in sich a roar they didn't know where to leave off. -Finally, they give sentence that there hedn't no temptation took him but -such as is common to man; but they advised him afterwards allers to pray -with his eyes shet; and the parson he confessed he orter 'a done it, and -meant to do better in future: and so they settled it. - -“So, boys,” said Sam, who always drew a moral, “ye see, it larns you, -you must take care what ye look at, ef ye want to keep from laughin' in -meetin'”. - -[Illustration: 5252] - - - - -TOM TOOTHACHE'S GHOST STORY. - - -[Illustration: 9253] - -HAT is it about that old house in Sherbourne?” said Aunt Nabby to Sam -Lawson, as he sat drooping over the coals of a great fire one October -evening. - -Aunt Lois was gone to Boston on a visit; and, the smart spice of -her scepticism being absent, we felt the more freedom to start our -story-teller on one of his legends. - -Aunt Nabby sat trotting her knitting-needles on a blue-mixed yarn -stocking. Grandmamma was knitting in unison at the other side of the -fire. Grandfather sat studying “The Boston Courier.” The wind outside -was sighing in fitful wails, creaking the pantry-doors, occasionally -puffing in a vicious gust down the broad throat of the chimney. It was -a drizzly, sleety evening; and the wet lilac-bushes now and then rattled -and splashed against the window as the wind moaned and whispered through -them. - -We boys had made preparation for a comfortable evening. We had enticed -Sam to the chimney-corner, and drawn him a mug of cider. We had set down -a row of apples to roast on the hearth, which even now were giving faint -sighs and sputters as their plump sides burst in the genial heat. The -big oak back-log simmered and bubbled, and distilled large drops down -amid the ashes; and the great hickory forestick had just burned out into -solid bright coals, faintly skimmed over with white ashes. The whole -area of the big chimney was full of a sleepy warmth and brightness just -calculated to call forth fancies and visions. It only wanted somebody -now to set Sam off; and Aunt Nabby broached the ever-interesting subject -of haunted houses. - -“Wal, now, Miss Badger,” said Sam, “I ben over there, and walked round -that are house consid'able; and I talked with Granny Hokum and Aunt -Polly, and they've putty much come to the conclusion that they 'll hev to -move out on't. Ye see these 'ere noises, they keep 'em awake nights; and -Aunt Polly, she gets 'stericky; and Hannah Jane, she says, ef they stay -in the house, _she_ can't live with 'em no longer. And what can them -lone women do without Hannah Jane? Why, Hannah Jane, she says these two -months past she's seen a woman, regular, walking up and down the front -hall between twelve and one o'clock at night; and it's jist the image -and body of old Ma'am Tillotson, Parson Hokum's mother, that everybody -know'd was a thunderin' kind o' woman, that kep' every thing in a muss -while she was alive. What the old crittur's up to now there ain't no -knowin'. Some folks seems to think it's a sign Granny Hokum's time's -comin'. But Lordy massy! says she to me, says she, 'Why, Sam, I don't -know nothin' what I've done, that Ma'am Tillotson should be set loose -on me.' Anyway they've all got so narvy, that Jed Hokum has ben up from -Needham, and is goin' to cart 'em all over to live with him. Jed, -he's for hushin' on't up, 'cause he says it brings a bad name on the -property. - -“Wal, I talked with Jed about it; and says I to Jed, says I, 'Now, -ef you 'll take my advice, jist you give that are old house a regular -overhaulin', and paint it over with tew coats o' paint, and that are 'll -clear 'em out, if any thing will. Ghosts is like bedbugs,--they can't -stan' fresh paint,' says I. 'They allers clear out. I've seen it tried -on a ship that got haunted.'” - -“Why, Sam, do ships get haunted?” - -“To be sure they do!--haunted the wust kind. Why, I could tell ye a -story'd make your har rise on e'end, only I'm 'fraid of frightening boys -when they're jist going to bed.” - -“Oh! you can't frighten Horace,” said my grandmother. “He will go and -sit out there in the graveyard till nine o'clock nights, spite of all I -tell him.” - -“Do tell, Sam!” we urged. “What was it about the ship?” - -Sam lifted his mug of cider, deliberately turned it round and round in -his hands, eyed it affectionately, took a long drink, and set it down in -front of him on the hearth, and began:-- - -“Ye 'member I telled you how I went to sea down East, when I was a boy, -'long with Tom Toothacre. Wal, Tom, he reeled off a yarn one night -that was 'bout the toughest I ever hed the pullin' on. And it come all -straight, too, from Tom. 'Twa'n't none o' yer hearsay: 'twas what he -seen with his own eyes. Now, there wa'n't no nonsense 'bout Tom, not a -bit on't; and he wa'n't afeard o' the divil himse'f; and he ginally saw -through things about as straight as things could be seen through. -This 'ere happened when Tom was mate o' 'The Albatross,' and they was -a-runnin' up to the Banks for a fare o' fish. 'The Albatross' was as -handsome a craft as ever ye see; and Cap'n Sim Witherspoon, he was -skipper--a rail nice likely man he was. I heard Tom tell this 'ere one -night to the boys on 'The Brilliant,' when they was all a-settin' -round the stove in the cabin one foggy night that we was to anchor in -Frenchman's Bay, and all kind o' lavin' off loose. - -“Tom, he said they was having a famous run up to the Banks. There was a -spankin' southerly, that blew 'em along like all natur'; and they was -hevin' the best kind of a time, when this 'ere southerly brought a pesky -fog down on 'em, and it grew thicker than hasty-puddin'. Ye see, -that are's the pester o' these 'ere southerlies: they's the biggest -fog-breeders there is goin'. And so, putty soon, you couldn't see half -ship's length afore you. - -“Wal, they all was down to supper, except Dan Sawyer at the wheel, when -there come sich a crash as if heaven and earth was a-splittin', and then -a scrapin' and thump bumpin' under the ship, and gin 'em sich a h'ist -that the pot o' beans went rollin', and brought up jam ag'in the -bulk-head; and the fellers was keeled over,--men and pork and beans -kinder permiscus. - -“'The divil!' says Tom Toothacre, 'we've run down somebody. Look out, up -there!' - -“Dan, he shoved the helm hard down, and put her up to the wind, and sung -out, 'Lordy massy! we've struck her right amidships!' - -“'Struck what?' they all yelled, and tumbled up on deck. - -“'Why, a little schooner,' says Dan. 'Didn't see her till we was right -on her. She's gone down tack and sheet. Look! there's part o' the wreck -a-floating off: don't ye see?' - -“Wal, they didn't see, 'cause it was so thick you couldn't hardly see -your hand afore your face. But they put about, and sent out a boat, and -kind o' sarched round; but, Lordy massy! ye might as well looked for a -drop of water in the Atlantic Ocean. Whoever they was, it was all done -gone and over with 'em for this life, poor critturs! - -“Tom says they felt confoundedly about it; but what could they do? Lordy -massy! what can any on us do? There's places where folks jest lets go -'cause they hes to. Things ain't as they want 'em, and they can't alter -'em. Sailors ain't so rough as they look: they'z feelin' critturs, come -to put things right to 'em. And there wasn't one on 'em who wouldn't 'a' -worked all night for a chance o' saving some o' them poor fellows. But -there 'twas, and 'twa'n't no use trying. - -“Wal, so they sailed on; and by'm by the wind kind o' chopped round -no'theast, and then come round east, and sot in for one of them regular -east blows and drizzles that takes the starch out o' fellers more'n a -regular storm. So they concluded they might as well put into a little -bay there, and come to anchor. - -“So they sot an anchor-watch, and all turned in. - -“Wal, now comes the particular curus part o' Tom's story: and it more -curus 'cause Tom was one that wouldn't 'a' believed no other man that -had told it. Tom was one o' your sort of philosophers. He was fer -lookin' into things, and wa'n't in no hurry 'bout believin'; so that -this 'un was more 'markablfe on account of it's bein' Tom that seen it -than ef it had ben others. - -“Tom says that night he hed a pesky toothache that sort o' kep' -grumblin' and jumpin' so he couldn't go to sleep; and he lay in his -bunk, a-turnin' this way and that, till long past twelve o clock. - -“Tom had a'thwart-ship bunk where he could see into every bunk on board, -except Bob Coffin's; and Bob was on the anchor-watch. Wal, he lay there, -tryin' to go to sleep, hearin' the men snorin' like bull-frogs in a -swamp, and watchin' the lantern a-swingin' back and forward; and the -sou'westers and pea-jackets were kinder throwin' their long shadders -up and down as the vessel sort o' rolled and pitched,--for there was a -heavy swell on,--and then he'd hear Bob Coffin tramp, tramp, trampin' -overhead,--for Bob had a pretty heavy foot of his own,--and all sort -o' mixed up together with Tom's toothache, so he couldn't get to sleep. -Finally, Tom, he bit off a great chaw o' 'baccy, and got it well sot in -his cheek, and kind o' turned over to lie on't, and ease the pain. Wal, -he says he laid a spell, and dropped off in a sort o' doze, when he woke -in sich a chill his teeth chattered, and the pain come on like a 'knife, -and he bounced over, thinking the fire had gone out in the stove. - -“Wal, sure enough, he see a man a-crouchin' over the stove, with -his back to him, a-stretchin' out his hands to warm 'em. He had on a -sou'wester and a pea-jacket, with a red tippet round his neck; and his -clothes was drippin' as if he'd just come in from a rain. - -“'What the divil!' says Tom. And he riz right up, and rubbed his eyes. -'Bill Bridges,' says he, 'what shine be you up to now?' For Bill was a -master oneasy crittur, and allers a-gettin' up and walkin' nights; and -Tom, he thought it was Bill. But in a minute he looked over, and there, -sure enough, was Bill, fast asleep in his bunk, mouth wide open, snoring -like a Jericho ram's-horn. Tom looked round, and counted every man in -his bunk, and then says he, 'Who the devil is this? for there's Bob -Coffin on deck, and the rest is all here.' - -“Wal, Tom wa'n't a man to be put under too easy. He hed his thoughts -about him allers; and the fust he thought in every pinch was what to do. -So he sot considerin' a minute, sort o' winkin' his eyes to be sure he -saw straight, when, sure enough, there come another man backin' down the -companion-way. - -“'Wal, there's Bob Coffin, anyhow,' says Tom to himself. But no, the -other man, he turned: Tom see his face; and, sure as you live, it was -the face of a dead corpse. Its eyes was sot, and it jest came as still -across the cabin, and sot down by the stove, and kind o' shivered, and -put out its hands as if it was gettin' warm. - -“Tom said that there was a cold air round in the cabin, as if an iceberg -was comin' near, and he felt cold chills running down his back; but he -jumped out of his bunk, and took a step forward. 'Speak!' says he. 'Who -be you? and what do you want?' - -“They never spoke, nor looked up, but kept kind o' shivering and -crouching over the stove. - -“'Wal,' says Tom, 'I 'll see who you be, anyhow.' And he walked right -up to the last man that come in, and reached out to catch hold of his -coat-collar; but his hand jest went through him like moonshine, and in -a minute he all faded away; and when he turned round the other one was -gone too. Tom stood there, looking this way and that; but there warn't -nothing but the old stove, and the lantern swingin', and the men all -snorin' round in their bunks. Tom, he sung out to Bob Coffin. 'Hullo, -up there!' says he. But Bob never answered, and Tom, he went up, and -found Bob down on his knees, his teeth a-chatterin' like a bag o' nails, -trying to say his prayers; and all he could think of was, 'Now I lay -me,' and he kep' going that over and over. Ye see, boys, Bob was a -drefful wicked, swearin' crittur, and hadn't said no prayers since he -was tew years old, and it didn't come natural to him. Tom give a grip on -his collar, and shook him. 'Hold yer yawp,' said he. 'What you howlin' -about? What's up?' - -“'Oh, Lordy massy!' says Bob, 'we're sent for,--all on us,--there's been -two on 'em: both on 'em went right by me!' - -“Wal, Tom, he hed his own thoughts; but he was bound to get to the -bottom of things, anyway. Ef 'twas the devil, well and good--he -wanted to know it. Tom jest wanted to hev the matter settled one way or -t'other: so he got Bob sort o' stroked down, and made him tell what he -saw. - -“Bob, he stood to it that he was a-standin' right for'ard, a-leanin' on -the windlass, and kind o' hummin' a tune, when he looked down, and see -a sort o' queer light in the fog; and he went and took a look over the -bows, when up came a man's head in a sort of sou'wester, and then a pair -of hands, and catched at the bob-stay; and then the hull figger of a man -riz right out o' the water, and clim up on the martingale till he could -reach the jib-stay with his hands, and then he swung himself right up -onto the bowsprit, and stepped aboard, and went past Bob, right aft, -and down into the cabin. And he hadn't more'n got down, afore he turned -round, and there was another comin' in over the bowsprit, and he went -by him, and down below: so there was two on 'em, jest as Tom had seen in -the cabin. - -“Tom he studied on it a spell, and finally says he, 'Bob, let you and me -keep this 'ere to ourselves, and see ef it 'll come again. Ef it don't, -well and good: ef it does--why, we 'll see about it.' - -“But Tom he told Cap'n Witherspoon, and the Cap'n he agreed to keep an -eye out the next night. But there warn't nothing said to the rest o' the -men. - -“Wal, the next night they put Bill Bridges on the watch. The fog had -lifted, and they had a fair wind, and was going on steady. The men all -turned in, and went fast asleep, except Cap'n Witherspoon, Tom, and Bob -Coffin. Wal, sure enough, 'twixt twelve and one o'clock, the same thing -came over, only there war four men 'stead o' two. They come in jes' so -over the bowsprit, and they looked neither to right nor left, but dim -down stairs, and sot down, and crouched and shivered over the stove -jist like the others. Wal, Bill Bridges, he came tearin' down like a -wild-cat, frightened half out o' his wits, screechin' 'Lord, have mercy! -we're all goin' to the devil!' And then they all vanished. - -“'Now, Cap'n, what's to be done?' says Tom. 'Ef these 'ere fellows is to -take passage, we can't do nothin' with the boys: that's clear.' - -“Wal, so it turned out; for, come next night, there was six on 'em come -in, and the story got round, and the boys was all on eend. There wa'n't -no doin' nothin' with 'em. Ye see, it's allers jest so. Not but what -dead folks is jest as 'spectable as they was afore they's dead. These -might 'a' been as good fellers as any aboard; but it's human natur'. The -minute a feller's dead, why, you sort o' don't know 'bout him; and it's -kind o' skeery hevin' on him round; and so 'twan't no wonder the boys -didn't feel as if they could go on with the vy'ge, ef these 'ere fellers -was all to take passage. Come to look, too, there war consid'able of a -leak stove in the vessel; and the boys, they all stood to it, ef they -went farther, that they'd all go to the bottom. For, ye see, once the -story got a-goin', every one on 'em saw a new thing every night. One -on 'em saw the bait-mill a-grindin', without no hands to grind it; and -another saw fellers up aloft, workin' in the sails. Wal, the fact war, -they jest had to put about,--run back to Castine. - -“Wal, the owners, they hushed up things the best they could; and they -put the vessel on the stocks, and worked her over, and put a new coat o' -paint on her, and called her 'The Betsey Ann;' and she went a good vy'ge -to the Banks, and brought home the biggest fare o' fish that had been -for a long time; and she's made good vy'ges ever since; and that jest -proves what I've been a-saying,--that there's nothin' to drive out -ghosts like fresh paint.” - - - - -THE PARSON'S HORSE-RACE. - - -[Illustration: 9268] - -AL, now, this 'ere does beat all! I wouldn't 'a' thought it o' the -deacon. - -So spoke Sam Lawson, drooping in a discouraged, contemplative attitude -in front of an equally discouraged looking horse, that had just been -brought to him by the Widow Simpkins for medical treatment. Among Sam's -many accomplishments he was reckoned in the neighborhood an oracle in -all matters of this kind, especially by women, whose helplessness in -meeting such emergencies found unfailing solace under his compassionate -willingness to attend to any business that did not strictly belong to -him, and from which no pecuniary return was to be expected. - -The Widow Simpkins had bought this horse of Deacon Atkins, apparently -a fairly well-appointed brute, and capable as he was good-looking. A -short, easy drive, when the deacon held the reins, had shown off his -points to advantage; and the widow's small stock of ready savings had -come forth freely in payment for what she thought was a bargain. When, -soon after coming into possession, she discovered that her horse, if -driven with any haste, panted in a fearful manner, and that he appeared -to be growing lame, she waxed wroth, and went to the deacon in anger, to -be met only with the smooth reminder that the animal was all right when -she took him; that she had seen him tried herself. The widow was of a -nature somewhat spicy, and expressed herself warmly: “It's a cheat and a -shame, and I 'll take the law on ye!” - -“What law will you take?” said the unmoved deacon. “Wasn't it a fair -bargain?” - -“I 'll take the law of God,” said the widow with impotent indignation; -and she departed to pour her cares and trials into the ever ready ear of -Sam. Having assumed the care of the animal, he now sat contemplating it -in a sort of trance of melancholy reflection. - -“Why, boys!” he broke out, “why didn't she come to me afore she bought -this crittur? Why, I knew all about him! That 'are crittur was jest -ruined a year ago last summer, when Tom, the deacon's boy there, come -home from college. Tom driv him over to Sherburn and back that 'are hot -Fourth of July. 'Member it, 'cause I saw the crittur when he come home. -I sot up with Tom takin' care of him all night. That 'are crittur had -the thumps all night, and he hain't never been good for nothin' since. -I telled the deacon he was a gone hoss then, and wouldn't never be -good for nothin'. The deacon, he took off his shoes, and let him run to -pastur' all summer, and he's ben a-feedin' and nussin' on him up; and -now he's put him off on the widder. I wouldn't 'a' thought it o' the -deacon! Why, this hoss 'll never be no good to her! That 'are's a used-up -crittur, any fool may see! He 'll mabbe do for about a quarter of an hour -on a smooth road; but come to drive him as a body wants to drive, why, -he blows like my bellowsis; and the deacon knew it--must 'a' known it!” - -“Why, Sam!” we exclaimed, “ain't the deacon a good man?” - -“Wal, now, there's where the shoe pinches! In a gin'al way the deacon -_is_ a good man--he's con-sid'able more than middlin' good: gin'ally -he adorns his perfession. On most p'ints I don't hev nothin' agin the -deacon; and this 'ere ain't a bit like him. But there 'tis! Come to -hosses, there's where the unsanctified natur' comes out. Folks will -cheat about hosses when they won't about 'most nothin' else.” And Sam -leaned back on his cold forge, now empty of coal, and seemed to deliver -himself to a mournful train of general reflection. “Yes, hosses does -seem to be sort o' unregenerate critturs,” he broke out: “there's -suthin' about hosses that deceives the very elect. The best o' folks -gets tripped up when they come to deal in hosses.” - -“Why, Sam, is there any thing bad in horses?” we interjected timidly. - -“'Tain't the hosses, boys,” said Sam with solemnity. “Lordy massy! the -hosses is all right enough! Hosses is scriptural animals. Elijah went up -to heaven in a chari't with hosses; and then all them lots o' hosses in -the Ravelations,--black and white and red, and all sorts o' colors. That -'are shows hosses goes to heaven; but it's more'n the folks that hev 'em -is likely to, ef they don't look out. - -“Ministers, now,” continued Sam in a soliloquizing vein--“folks allers -thinks it's suthin' sort o' shaky in a minister to hev much to do with -hosses,--sure to get 'em into trouble. There was old Parson Williams -of North Billriky got into a drefful mess about a hoss. Lordy massy! he -warn't to blame, neither; but he got into the dreffulest scrape you ever -heard on--come nigh to unsettlin' him.” - -“O Sam! tell us all about it,” we boys shouted, delighted with the -prospect of a story. - -“Wal, wait now till I get off this crittur's shoes, and we 'll take him -up to pastur', and then we can kind o' set by the river, and fish. Hepsy -wanted a mess o' fish for supper, and I was cal'latin' to git some for -her. You boys go and be digging bait, and git yer lines.” - -And so, as we were sitting tranquilly beside the Charles River, watching -our lines, Sam's narrative began:-- - -“Ye see, boys, Parson Williams--he's dead now, but when I was a boy he -was one of the gret men round here. He writ books. He writ a tract -agin the Armenians, and put 'em down; and he writ a big book on the -millennium (I've got that 'are book now); and he was a smart preacher. -Folks said he had invitations to settle in Boston, and there ain't no -doubt he might 'a' hed a Boston parish ef he'd 'a' ben a mind ter -take it; but he'd got a good settlement and a handsome farm in North -Billriky, and didn't care to move: thought, I s'pose, that 'twas better -to be number one in a little place than number two in a big un. Anyway, -he carried all before him where he was. - -“Parson Williams was a tall, straight, personable man; come of good -family--father and grand'ther before him all ministers. He was putty up -and down, and commandin' in his ways, and things had to go putty much -as he said. He was a good deal sot by, Parson Williams was, and his wife -was a Derby,--one o' them rich Salem Derbys,--and brought him a lot -o' money; and so they lived putty easy and comfortable so fur as this -world's goods goes. Well, now, the parson wan't reely what you call -worldly-minded; but then he was one o' them folks that _knows what's -good_ in temporals as well as sperituals, and allers liked to hev the -best that there was goin'; and he allers had an eye to a good boss. - -“Now, there was Parson Adams and Parson Scranton, and most of the other -ministers: they didn't know and didn't care what hoss they hed; jest -jogged round with these 'ere poundin', potbellied, sleepy critturs -that ministers mostly hes,--good enough to crawl round to funerals and -ministers' meetin's and associations and sich; but Parson Williams, he -allers would hev a hoss as was a hoss. He looked out for _blood_; -and, when these 'ere Vermont fellers would come down with a drove, the -parson, he hed his eyes open, and knew what was what. Couldn't none of -'em cheat him on hoss flesh. And so one time when Zach Buel was down -with a drove, the doctor, he bought the best hoss in the lot. Zach said -he never see a parson afore that he couldn't cheat; but he said the -doctor reely knew as much as he did, and got the very one he'd meant to -'a' kept for himself. - -“This 'ere hoss was a peeler, I 'll tell you! They'd called him -Tamerlane, from some heathen feller or other: the boys called him Tam, -for short. Tam was a gret character. All the fellers for miles round -knew the doctor's Tam, and used to come clear over from the other -parishes to see him. - -“Wal, this 'ere sot up Cuff's back high, I tell you! Cuff was the -doctor's nigger man, and he was nat 'lly a drefful proud crittur. The way -he would swell and strut and brag about the doctor and his folks and -his things! The doctor used to give Cuff his cast-off clothes; and Cuff -would prance round in 'em, and seem to think he was a doctor of divinity -himself, and had the charge of all natur'. - -“Well, Cuff he reely made an idol o' that 'are hoss,--a reg'lar graven -image, and bowed down and worshipped him. He didn't think nothin' was -too good for him. He washed and brushed and curried him, and rubbed -him down till he shone like a lady's satin dress; and he took pride -in ridin' and drivin' him, 'cause it was what the doctor wouldn't let -nobody else do but himself. You see, Tam warn't no lady's hoss. Miss -Williams was 'fraid as death of him; and the parson, he hed to git her a -sort o' low-sperited crittur that she could drive herself. But he liked -to drive Tam; and he liked to go round the country on his back, and a -fine figure of a man he was on him too. He didn't let nobody else back -him, or handle the reins, but Cuff; and Cuff was drefful set up about -it, and he swelled and bragged about that ar boss all round the country. -Nobody couldn't put in a word 'bout any other hoss, without Cuff's -feathers would be all up, stiff as a tom-turkey's tail; and that's how -Cuff got the doctor into trouble. - -“Ye see, there nat 'lly was others that thought they'd got horses, and -didn't want to be crowed over. There was Bill Atkins out to the west -parish, and Ike Sanders, that kep' a stable up to Pequot Holler: they -was down a-lookin' at the parson's hoss, and a-bettin' on their'n, and -a-darin' Cuff to race with 'em. - -“Wal, Cuff, he couldn't stan' it, and, when the doctor's back was -turned, he'd be off on the sly, and they'd hev their race; and Tam, he -beat 'em all. Tam, ye see, boys, was a hoss that couldn't and wouldn't -hev a hoss ahead of him--he jest _wouldn't!_ Ef he dropped down dead in -his tracks the next minit, he _would_ be ahead; and he allers got ahead. -And so his name got up, and fellers kep' comin' to try their horses; -and Cuff'd take Tam out to race with fust one and then another till this -'ere got to be a reg'lar thing, and begun to be talked about. - -“Folks sort o' wondered if the doctor knew; but Cuff was sly as a -weasel, and allers had a story ready for every turn. Cuff was one of -them fellers that could talk a bird off a bush,--master hand he was to -slick things over! - -“There was folks as said they believed the doctor was knowin' to it, and -that he felt a sort o' carnal pride sech as a minister oughtn't fer to -hev, and so shet his eyes to what was a-goin' on. Aunt Sally Nickerson -said she was sure on't.'Twas all talked over down to old Miss Bummiger's -funeral, and Aunt Sally, she said the church ought to look into't. But -everybody knew Aunt Sally: she was allers watchin' for folks' haltin's, -and settin' on herself up to jedge her neighbors. - -“Wal, I never believed nothin' agin Parson Williams: it was all Cuff's -contrivances. But the fact was, the fellers all got their blood up, and -there was hoss-racin' in all the parishes; and it got so they'd even -race hosses a Sunday. - -“Wal, of course they never got the doctor's hoss out a Sunday. Cuff -wouldn't 'a', durst to do that, Lordy massy, no! He was allers there -in church, settin' up in the doctor's clothes, rollin' up his eyes, -and lookin' as pious as ef he never thought o' racin' hosses. He was an -awful solemn-lookin' nigger in church, Cuff was. - -“But there was a lot o' them fellers up to Pequot Holler--Bill Atkins, -and Ike Sanders, and Tom Peters, and them Hokum boys--used to go out -arter meetin' Sunday arternoon, and race hosses. Ye see, it was jest -close to the State-line, and, if the s'lectmen was to come down on 'em, -they could jest whip over the line, and they couldn't take 'em. - -“Wal, it got to be a great scandal. The fellers talked about it up to -the tavern, and the deacons and the tithingman, they took it up and went -to Parson Williams about it; and the parson he told 'em jest to keep -still, not let the fellers know that they was bein' watched, and next -Sunday he and the tithingman and the constable, they'd ride over, and -catch 'em in the very act. - -“So next Sunday arternoon Parson Williams and Deacon Popkins and Ben -Bradley (he was constable that year), they got on to their hosses, and -rode over to Pequot Holler. The doctor's blood was up, and he meant to -come down on 'em strong; for that was his way of doin' in his parish. -And they was in a sort o' day o'-jedgment frame o' mind, and jogged along -solemn as a hearse, till, come to rise the hill above the holler, they -see three or four fellers with their hosses gittin' ready to race; and -the parson says he, 'Let's come on quiet, and get behind these bushes, -and we 'll see what they're up to, and catch 'em in the act.' - -“But the mischief on't was, that Ike Sanders see 'em comin', and he -knowed Tam in a minit,--Ike knowed Tam of old,--and he jest tipped the -wink to the rest. 'Wait, boys,' says he: 'let 'em git close up, and -then I 'll give the word, and the doctor's hoss will be racin' ahead like -thunder.' - -“Wal, so the doctor and his folks, they drew up behind the bushes, and -stood there innocent as could be, and saw 'em gittin' ready to start. -Tam, he begun to snuffle and paw; but the doctor never mistrusted -what he was up to till Ike sung out, 'Go it, boys!' and the hosses all -started, when, sure as you live, boys! Tam give one fly, and was over -the bushes, and in among 'em, goin' it like chain-lightnin' ahead of 'em -all. - -“Deacon Popkins and Ben Bradley jest stood and held their breath to see -em all goin' it so like thunder; and the doctor, he was took so sudden -it was all he could do to jest hold on anyway: so away he went, and -trees and bushes and fences streaked by him like ribbins. His hat flew -off behind him, and his wig arter, and got catched in a barberry-bush; -but Lordy massy! he couldn't stop to think o' them. He jest leaned down, -and caught Tam round the neck, and held on for dear life till they come -to the stopping-place. - -“Wal, Tam was ahead of them all, sure enough, and was snorting and -snuffling as if he'd got the very old boy in him, and was up to racing -some more on the spot. - -“That 'ere Ike Sanders was the impudentest feller that ever you see, and -he roared and rawhawed at the doctor. 'Good for you, parson!' says he. -'You beat us all holler,' says he. 'Takes a parson for that, don't it, -boys?' he said. And then he and Ike and Ton; and the two Hokum boys, -they jest roared, and danced round like wild critturs. Wal, now, only -think on't, boys, what a situation that 'are was for a minister,--a -man that had come out with the best of motives to put a stop to -sabbath-breakin' I There he was all rumpled up and dusty, and his wig -hangin' in the bushes, and these 'ere ungodly fellers gettin' the laugh -on him, and all acause o' that 'are hoss. There's times, boys, when -ministers must be tempted to swear if there ain't preventin' grace, and -this was one o' them times to Parson Williams. They say he got red in -the face, and looked as if he should bust, but he didn't say nothin': he -scorned to answer. The sons o' Zeruiah was too hard for him, and he let -'em hev their say. But when they'd got through, and Ben had brought him -his hat and wig, and brushed and settled him ag'in, the parson, he says, -'Well, boys, ye've had your say and your laugh; but I warn you now -I won't have this thing going on here any more,' says he: 'so mind -yourselves.' - -“Wal, the boys see that the doctor's blood was up, and they rode off -pretty quiet; and I believe they never raced no more in that spot. - -“But there ain't no tellin' the talk this 'ere thing made. Folks will -talk, you know; and there warn't a house in all Billriky, nor in the -south parish nor centre, where it warn't had over and discussed. There -was the deacon, and Ben Bradley was there, to witness and show jest how -the thing was, and that the doctor was jest in the way of his duty; but -folks said it made a great scandal; that a minister hadn't no business -to hev that kind o' hoss, and that he'd give the enemy occasion to speak -reproachfully. It reely did seem as if Tam's sins was imputed to the -doctor; and folks said he ought to sell Tam right away, and get a sober -minister's hoss. - -“But others said it was Cuff that had got Tam into bad ways, and they -do say that Cuff had to catch it pretty lively when the doctor come to -settle with him. Cuff thought his time had come, sure enough, and was -so scairt that he turned blacker'n ever: he got enough to cure him o' -hoss-racin' for one while. But Cuff got over it arter a while, and so -did the doctor. Lordy massy! there ain't nothin' lasts forever! Wait -long enough, and 'most every thing blows over. So it turned out about the -doctor. There was a rumpus and a fuss, and folks talked and talked, and -advised; everybody had their say: but the doctor kep' right straight on, -and kep' his hoss all the same. - -“The ministers, they took it up in the association; but, come to tell -the story, it sot 'em all a-laughin', so they couldn't be very hard on -the doctor. - -“The doctor felt sort o' streaked at fust when they told the story on -him; he didn't jest like it: but he got used to it, and finally, when -he was twitted on't, he'd sort o' smile, and say, 'Anyway, Tam beat 'em: -that's one comfort.'” - - - - -OLDTOWN FIRESIDE TALKS OF THE REVOLUTION. - - -[Illustration: 9284] - -HE sacred work of preparation for Thanksgiving was at hand. Our kitchen -was fragrant with the smell of cinnamon, cloves, and allspice which we -boys were daily set to pound in the great lignum-vitae mortar. Daily the -great oven flamed without cessation; and the splitting of oven-wood kept -us youngsters so busy, that we scarce had a moment to play: yet we -did it with a cheerful mind, inspired by the general aroma of coming -festivity abroad in the house. - -Behold us this evening around the kitchen-fire, which crackled and -roared up the wide chimney, brightening with its fluttering radiance the -farthest corner of the ample room. A tub of rosy-cheeked apples, another -of golden quinces, and a bushel-basket filled with ruby cranberries, -stood in the midst of the circle. All hands were busy. Grandmother in -one corner was superintending us boys as we peeled and quartered the -fruit,--an operation in which grandfather took a helping hand; Aunt Lois -was busily looking over and sorting cranberries, when a knock at the -door announced a visitor. - -“Well, now, I s'pose that's Sam Lawson, of course,” snapped Aunt Lois. - - -Aunt Lois generally spoke with a snap; but about Thanksgiving time it -had a cheery ring, like the snapping of our brisk kitchen-fire. - -“Good-evenin', Miss Badger and Miss Lois,” said Sam. “I see yer winders -so bright, I couldn't help wantin' to come in and help ye pare apples, -or suthin'.” - -We boys made haste to give Sam the warmest welcome, and warmest place -in the chimney-corner, and to accommodate him with a tin pan full of -quinces, and a knife, when he was soon settled among us. - -“Wal, this 'ere does look cheerful,--looks like Thanksgiving,” he began. -“Wal, Lordy massy! we've got a great deal to be thankful for in this -'ere land o' privileges; hain't we, deacon? I was a-comin' 'round by -Mis' Lothrop's to-day; and her Dinah, she told me the Doctor was gettin' -a great sermon out on the hundred and twenty-fourth Psalm: 'If it had -not been the Lord who was on our side when men rose up against us, then -they had swallowed us up.' He's a-goin' to show all our deliverances -in the war. I expect it 'll be a whale of a sermon, 'cause, when our -minister sets out to do a thing, he mos' generally does it up to the -handle. Tell ye what, boys, you must listen with all your ears: you 'll -never know what times them was if you don't--you don't know what liberty -cost us all. There's your gran'ther, now, he could tell ye: he 'members -when he went off to Lexington with his gun on his shoulders.” - -“Why, grandfather! did _you_ go?” we both exclaimed with wide eyes. - -“Well, boys,” said my grandfather, “'tain't worth talkin' about what I -did. I was in my mill that day, minding my business, when brother Con, -he burst in, and says he, 'Look here, Bill, the regulars are goin' up to -Concord to destroy our stores, and we must all go. Come, get your gun.' -Well, I said I was a miller, and millers were exempt from duty; but -Con wouldn't let me alone. 'Get down your gun,' says he. 'Suppose we're -going to let them British fellers walk over us?' says he. Well, Con -always had his way of me; and I got my gun, and we started out through -the woods over to Concord. We lived at Weston then, ye see. Well, when -we got on the brow of the hill, we looked over, and, sure enough, there -on burying-ground hill was the British regulars. The hill was all alive -with 'em, marching here and there in their scarlet coats like so many -bees out of a hive. - -“'Con,' says I, 'jest look there. What are you going to do?' - -“'Shoot some of 'em, I know,' says Con. - -“And so we ran along, hiding behind trees and bushes and stone walls, -till we got near enough to get a shot at 'em. You see, they broke up -into companies, and went here and there about town, looking for the -stores; and then, as we got a chance here and there, we marked our men, -and popped, and then we'd run, and take aim somewhere else.” - -“Wal, now, that are wa'n't the hull on't,” said Sam. “Why, there -was hundreds of fellers doin' just the same all round: it was jest -pop-pop-pop! from every barn, and every bush, and clump o' trees, all -along the way. Men was picked off all the time; and they couldn't -see who did it, and it made 'em mad as fury. Why, I 'member Mis' Tom -Bigelow, she that was Sary Jones, told me how they sot her mother's -house afire and burnt it down, 'cause their nigger man Caesar popped at -'em out o' the buttery window. They didn't tell him to; but Caesar, he -was full of fight, like all the rest on 'em. Lordy massy! the niggers -went for suthin' in them times! Their blood was up as quick as -anybody's. Why, there was old Pompey Lovejoy lived over by Pomp's pond -in Andover, he hitched up his wagon, and driv over with two barrels o' -cider and some tin dippers, and was round all day givin' drinks o' cider -to our men when they got het and thirsty and tired. It was a pretty warm -day for April, that was. Pomp has told me the story many a time. 'Twas -all the cider he had; but cider goes for suthin', as well as gunpowder -in its place, and Pomp's cider come jest right that day.” - -“But grandfather,” said I, “what happened to you over there?” - -“Well, you see,” said grandfather placidly, “I wasn't killed; but I come -pretty nigh it. You see, they sent into Boston for re-enforcements; and, -by the time we got to Lexington, Earl Percy was marching out with fresh -troops and cannon. Con and I were standing on the meetin'-house steps, -when there come a terrible bang, and something struck right over our -heads, and went into the meetin'-house. 'Why, Bill!' says Con, 'what's -that?'--'They've got cannon: that's what that is,' says I. 'Let's run -'round the other side.' So we did; but just as we got round there, there -come another bang, and a ball crashed right through the meetin'-house, -and come out of the pulpit window. Well, we saw there was no staying -there: so we run then, and got into a little clump of trees behind a -stone wall; and there we saw 'em go by,--Earl Percy on his horse, and -all his troops, ever so grand. He went on up to Concord. Fact is, if it -hadn't been for him and his men, those regulars would all have been cut -off: they wouldn't one of 'em have got back, for the whole country was -up and fighting. The militia came pouring in from Weston and Acton and -Billriky,--all the towns round. Then their Col. Smith was wounded, and -a good many others, and lots of 'em killed, and our minute-men coming -on 'em before and behind, and all around. But ye see, we couldn't stand -regular troops and cannon; and so, when they come on, we had to give -back. Earl Percy came up, and formed a hollow square, and they marched -into it, and so gave 'em time to rest.” - -“Wal, there was need enough on't,” said Sam. “The regulars had been -hectored and picked, and driv 'round so from piller to post, that they -was dog tired. Jimmy Irwin, he was a little chap then; but he telled -me how he see the men jest threw 'emselves down on the ground, their -tongues trailing out o' their mouths like hunting-dogs. You see, they -had about two hundred wounded, and twenty eight or nine was taken -prisoners, and sixty-four killed outright: so Lord Percy had his hands -full o' takin' care o' the mess they'd got up.” - -“Yes,” said my grandfather, “there were dead men lying all around the -road as we came back. There, boys!” he said, pointing to a gun and -powder-horn over the chimney, “we picked up these when we were coming -home. We found them on a poor fellow who lay there dead in the road: -there's some blood of his on it to this day. We couldn't help feeling it -was most too bad too.” - -“Poor fellow! he wa'n't to blame,” said my grand-mother. “Soldiers have -to go as they're bid. War's an awful thing.” - -“Then they shouldn't have begun it,” interposed Aunt Lois. “'They that -take the sword shall perish by the sword.'” - -“Well, grandpapa,” said I, “what were the stores they went up to get?” - -“They were stores laid up to enable us to go to war, and they were -'round in different places. There were two twenty-four-pounders that -they spiked, and they threw about five hundred pounds of ball into the -river or wells, and broke up sixty barrels of flour, and scattered it -about.” - -“Wal,” said Sam triumphantly, “there was one lot they didn't get. Cap'n -Tim Wheeler had about the biggest lot o' wheat, and rye-flour, and -corn-meal stored up in his barn, with some barrels of his own. So when -this 'ere fine jay-bird of an officer came to him all so grand, and told -him to open his barn and let him look in, the cap'n, he took his key, -and walked right out, and opened the barndoor; and the officer was -tickled to pieces. He thought he'd got such a haul! - -“'If you please, sir,' says the cap'n, 'I'm a miller, and got my living -by grinding grain. I'm a poor man. You can see my mill out there. I -grind up a lot o' grain in the winter, and get it ready to sell in the -spring. Some's wheat, and some's rye, and some's corn-meal; and this -wheat is mine, and this rye is mine, and this corn-meal is mine;' and, -when he spoke, he put his hand on his own barrels. - -“'Oh! if this is your private property,' says the officer, 'we sha'n't -touch that: we don't meddle with private property.' And so he turned on -his heel, and the cap'n, he locked up his barn.” - -“Was that telling the truth?” said I. - -“Wal, you see it was true what he said,” said Sam. “Them bar'ls he laid -his hands on was hisn.” - -“But Aunt Lois told me yesterday it was as bad to act a lie as to speak -one,” said I. - -“Well, so I did,” said Aunt Lois. “The truth is the truth, and I 'll -stick to it.” - -“But, Aunt Lois, would you have told him, and let him break up all those -barrels?” - -“No, I shouldn't,” said Aunt Lois. “I should have done just as Cap'n Tim -did; but I should have done _wrong_. Right is right, and wrong is wrong, -even if I can't come up to it always.” - -“What would you have done, grandfather?” said I. - -My grandfather's mild face slowly irradiated, as when moonbeams pass -over a rock. - -“Well, boys,” he said, “I don't think I should have let him break up -those barrels. If it was wrong to do as Cap'n Wheeler did, I think most -likely I should 'a' done it. I don't suppose I'm any better than he -was.” - -“Well, at any rate,” said Aunt Lois, “what folks' do in war time is no -rule for ordinary times: every thing is upset then. There ain't any of -the things they do in war time that are according to gospel teaching; -but, if you boys were to do just as Cap'n Wheeler did, I should say you -lied by speaking the truth.” - -“Well, well,” said my grandmother, “those were dreadful times. Thank the -Lord that they are past and gone, and we don't have such awful cases of -conscience as we did then. I never could quite see how we did right to -resist the king at all.” - -“Why, the Bible says, 'Resist the devil,'” said Aunt Lois. - -A general laugh followed this sally. - -“I always heard,” said my grandfather, by way of changing the subject, -“that they meant to have taken Mr. Adams and Mr. Hancock and hung 'em.” - -“Wal, to be sure they did,” said Sam Lawson. “I know all about that are. -Sapphira Clark, up to Lexington, she told me all about that are, one day -when I was to her house puttin' down her best parlor carpet. Sapphira -wa'n't but ten or eleven years old when the war broke out; but she -remembered all about it. Ye see, Mr. Hancock and Mr. Adams was a-staying -hid up at their house. Her father, Mr. Jonas Clark, was minister of -Lexington; and he kep' 'em quite private, and didn't let nobody know -they was there. Wal, Sapphira said they was all a-settin' at supper, -when her father, he heard a great rapping at the front-door; and her -father got up and went and opened it; and she looked after him into the -entry, and could just see a man in a scarlet uniform standing at the -door, and she heard him ask, 'Are Sam Adams and John Hancock here?' -And her father answered, 'Oh, hush! Don't mention those names -here.'--'Then,' says the man, 'I come to tell you the British troops -will be along by sunrise; and, if they are in your house, they'd better -escape right away.'” - -“That must have been Col. Paul Revere,” said Aunt Lois. “He went all -through the country, from Boston to Concord, rousing up people, and -telling 'em to be ready.” - -“Well, what did Mr. Adams and Hancock do?” - -“Wal, they got ready right away, and slipped quietly out the back-door, -and made their way over to Burlington, and staid in the minister's house -over there out of the way of the battle.” - -“What would the British have done with 'em, if they had caught them?” - said I. - -“Hung 'em--high as Haman,” said my Aunt Lois sententiously. “That's -what they'd have done. That's what they'd 'a' done to them, and to Gen. -Washington, and lots more, if they'd had their way.” - -“Oh, yes!” said grandfather, “they were mighty high-stepping at first. -They thought they had only to come over and show themselves, and they -could walk through the land, and hang and burn and slay just whom they'd -a mind to.” - -“Wal, they found 'twas like jumping into a hornets' nest,” said Sam -Lawson. “They found that out at Lexington and Bunker Hill.” - -“Brother Con was in those trenches at Bunker Hill,” said grandfather. -“There they dug away at the breastworks, with the bom'-shells firing -round 'em. They didn't mind them more than if they'd been hickory-nuts. -They kep' fellows ready to pour water on 'em as they fell.” - -“Well, I never want to feel again as I did that day,” said grandmother. -“I was in Boston, visiting cousin Jemima Russel, and we were all out on -the roof of the house. The roofs everywhere were all alive with people -looking through spy-glasses; and we could hear the firing, but couldn't -tell how the day was going. And then they set Charlestown on fire; and -the blaze and smoke and flame rose up, and there was such a snapping and -crackling, and we could hear roofs and timbers falling, and see people -running this way and that with their children--women scared half to -death a-flying; and we knew all the time there was cousin Jane Wilkinson -in that town sick in bed, with a baby only a few days old. It's a wonder -how Jane ever lived through it; but they did get her through alive, and -her baby too. That burning Charlestown settled to fight it through: it -was so mean and cruel needless.” - -“Yes,” said my grandfather, “that day settled the question that we would -be free and independent, or die; and, though our men had to retreat, -yet it was as good as a defeat to the British. They lost ten hundred and -fifty-four in point with a good many. They determined then killed and -wounded, and we only four hundred and fifty-three; and our men learned -that they could fight as well as the British. Congress went right to -work to raise an army, and appointed Gen. Washington commander. Your -gran'ther Stowe, boys, was orderly of the day when Gen. Washington took -the command at Cambridge.” - -“Wal,” said Sam, “I was in Cambridge that day and saw it all. Ye see, -the army was drawn up under the big elm there; and Ike Newel and I, we -clim up into a tree, and got a place where we could look down and see. -I wa'n't but ten year old then; but, if ever a mortal man looked like -the angel of the Lord, the gineral looked like it that day.” - -“Some said that there was trouble about having Gen. Ward give up the -command to a Southern man,” said my grandfather. “Gen. Ward was a brave -man and very popular; but everybody was satisfied when they came to know -Gen. Washington.” - -“There couldn't no minister have seemed more godly than he did that -day,” said Sam. “He read out of the hymn-book the hundred and first -Psalm.” - -“What is that psalm?” said I. - -“Laws, boys! I know it by heart,” said Sam, “I was so impressed hearin' -on him read it. I can say it to you:-- - - '”Mercy and judgment are my song, - - And since they both to thee belong, - - My gracious God, my righteous King, - - To thee my songs and vows I bring. - - If I am raised to bear the sword, - - I 'll take my counsels from thy word. - - Thy justice and thy heavenly grace - - Shall be the pattern of my ways. - - I 'll search the land, and raise the just - - To posts of honor, wealth, and trust: - - The men who work thy righteous will - - Shall be my friends and favorites still. - - The impious crew, the factious band, - - Shall hold their peace, or quit the land; - - And all who break the public rest, - - Where I have power, shall be suppressed.'” - -“And he did it too,” remarked Aunt Lois. - -“He trusted in the Lord, and the Lord brought him to honor,” said my -grandmother. “When he took the army, every thing was agin' us: it didn't -seem possible we should succeed.” - -“Wal, he was awful put to it sometimes,” said Sam Lawson. “I 'member -Uncle David Morse was a-tellin' me 'bout that are time down in New York -when the' Massachusetts and Connecticut boys all broke and run.” - -“Massachusetts boys run? How came that Sam?” said I. - -“Wal, you see, sometimes fellows will get a-runnin'; and it jest goes -from one to another like fire, and ye can't stop it. It was after the -battle of Long Island, when our men had been fighting day after day, and -had to retreat. A good many were wounded, and a good many of 'em were -sick and half-sick; and they'd got sort o' tired and discouraged. - -“Well, Lord Howe and the British came to make a landing at Kipp's Bay -round by New York; and the troops set to guard the landing began to run, -and the Massachusetts and Connecticut men were sent to help 'em. Uncle -David says that the fellows that run spread the panic among 'em; and -they looked ahead, and saw an ox-drag on top of a hill they was to pass, -and they thought 'twas a cannon pintin' right at 'em; and the boys, they -jest broke and run,--cut right across the road, and cleared over the -fence, and streaked it off cross-lots and up hill like a flock o' sheep. -Uncle David, he run too; but he'd been sick o' dysentary, and was so -weak he couldn't climb the fence: so he stopped and looked back, and -saw Gineral Washington cantering up behind 'em, shouting, and waving -his sword, looking like a flamin' fire. Oh, he was thunderin' mad, the -gineral was! And, when he see the fellows skittering off cross-lots, he -jest slammed his hat down on the ground, and give up. 'Great heavens!' -says he, 'are these the men I've got to fight this battle with?' - -“Wal, Uncle David, he picked up the gineral's hat, and come up and made -his bow, and said, 'Gineral, here's your hat.' - -“'Thank you, sir!' said the gineral. 'I'm glad to see one brave fellow -that can stand his ground. _You_ didn't run.' - -“Uncle David said he felt pretty cheap, 'cause he know'd in his own -heart that he would 'a' run, only he was too weak to git over the fence; -but he didn't tell the gineral that, I bet He put the compliment in his -pocket, and said nothing; for now the gineral's aides came riding up -full drive, and told him they must be off out of the field in a minute, -or the British would have 'em, and so one on 'em took Uncle David up -behind him, and away they cantered. It was a pretty close shave too: the -British was only a few rods behind 'em. - -“Oh, dear, if they had caught him!” said I. “Only think!” - -“Well, they would have hung him; but we should have had another in his -place,” said Aunt Lois. “The war wouldn't 'a' stopped.” - -“Well, 'twas to be as 'twas,” said my grandmother. “The Lord had respect -to the prayers of our fathers, and he'd decreed that America should be -free.” - -“Yes,” said Sam: “Parson Badger said in one o' his sermons, that men -always was safe when they was goin' in the line o' God's decrees: I -guess that are was about it. But, massy! is that are the nine o'clock -bell? I must make haste home, or I dun' know what Hetty 'll say to me.” - - - - -A STUDENT'S SEA STORY. - - -[Illustration: 9303] - -MONG the pleasantest of my recollections of old Bowdoin is the salt-air -flavor of its sea experiences. The site of Brunswick is a sandy plain, -on which the college buildings seem to have been dropped for the good -old Yankee economic reason of using land for public buildings that could -not be used for any thing else. The soil was a fathomless depth of -dry, sharp, barren sand, out of whose bosom nothing but pitch-pines -and blueberry-bushes emerged, or ever could emerge without superhuman -efforts of cultivation. But these sandy plains, these pine forests, were -neighbors to the great, lively, musical blue ocean, whose life-giving -presence made itself seen, heard, and felt every hour of the day and -night. The beautiful peculiarity of the Maine coast, where the sea -interpenetrates the land in picturesque fiords and lakes, brought a -constant romantic element into the landscape. White-winged ships from -India or China came gliding into the forest recesses bringing news from -strange lands, and tidings of wild adventure, into secluded farmhouses, -that, for the most part, seemed to be dreaming in woodland solitude. In -the early days of my college life the shipping interest of Maine gave it -an outlook into all the countries of the earth. Ships and ship-building -and ship-launching were the drift of the popular thought; and the very -minds of the people by this commerce had apparently - - “Suffered a sea change - - Into something rare and strange.” - -There was a quaintness, shrewdness, and vivacity of lonely solitude -about these men, (half skipper, half farmer!) that half skip was piquant -and enlivening. - -It was in the auspicious period of approaching Thanksgiving that my chum -and I resolved to antedate for a few days our vacation, and take passage -on the little sloop “Brilliant,” that lay courtesying and teetering on -the bright waters of Maquoit Bay, loading up to make her Thanksgiving -trip to Boston. - -It was a bright Indian-summer afternoon that saw us all on board the -little craft. She was laden deep with dainties and rarities for the -festal appetites of Boston nabobs,--loads of those mealy potatoes -for which the fields of Maine were justly famed, barrels of ruby -cranberries, boxes of solid golden butter (ventures of a thrifty -housemother emulous to gather kindred gold in the Boston market). Then -there were dressed chickens, turkeys, and geese, all going the same -way, on the same errand; and there were sides and saddles of that choice -mutton for which the sea islands of Maine were as famous as the South -Downs of England. - -Every thing in such a stowage was suggestive of good cheer. The little -craft itself had a sociable, friendly, domestic air. The captain and -mate were cousins: the men were all neighbors, sons of families who had -grown up together. There was a kindly home flavor in the very stowage of -the cargo. Here were Melissa's cranberries, and by many a joke and wink -we were apprised that the mate had a tender interest in that venture. -There was Widder Toothacre's butter, concerning which there were various -comments and speculations, but which was handled and cared for with the -consideration the Maine sailor-boy always gives to “the widder.” There -was a private keg of very choice eggs, over which the name of Lucindy -Ann was breathed by a bright-eyed, lively youngster, who had promised -to bring her back the change, and as to the precise particulars of this -change many a witticism was expended. - -Our mode of living on the “Brilliant” was of the simplest and most -primitive kind. On each side the staircase that led down to the cabin, -hooped strongly to the partition, was a barrel, which on the one side -contained salt beef, and on the other salt pork. A piece out of each -barrel, delivered regularly to the cook, formed the foundation of our -daily meals; and sea-biscuit and potatoes, with the sauce of salt-water -appetites, made this a feast for a king. I make no mention here of -gingerbread and doughnuts, and such like ornamental accessories, which -were not wanting, nor of nuts and sweet cider, which were to be had for -the asking. At meal-times a swing-shelf, which at other seasons hung -flat against the wall, was propped up, and our meals were eaten thereon -in joyous satisfaction. - -A joyous, rollicking set we were, and the whole expedition was a -frolic of the first water. One of the drollest features of these little -impromptu voyages often was the woe-begone aspect of some unsuspecting -land-lubber, who had been beguiled into thinking that he would like -a trip to Boston by seeing the pretty “Brilliant” courtesying in the -smooth waters of Maquoit, and so had embarked, in innocent ignorance of -the physiological resets of such enterprises. - -I remember the first morning out. As we were driving ahead, under a -stiff breeze, I came on deck, and found the respectable Deacon Muggins, -who in his Sunday coat had serenely embarked the day before, now -desolately clinging to the railing, very white about the gills, and -contemplating the sea with a most suggestive expression of disgust and -horror. - -“Why, deacon, good-morning! How are you? Splendid morning!” said I -maliciously. - -He drew a deep breath, surveyed me with a mixture of indignation and -despair, and then gave vent to his feelings: “Tell ye what: there was -one darned old fool up to Brunswick yesterday! but he ain't there now: -he's _here_.” The deacon, in the weekly prayer-meeting at Brunswick, -used to talk of the necessity of being “emptied of self:” he seemed to -be in the way of it in the most literal manner at the present moment. -In a few minutes he was extended on the deck, the most utterly limp and -dejected of deacons, and vowing with energy, if he ever got out o' this -'ere, you wouldn't catch him again. Of course, my chum and I were not -seasick. We were prosperous young sophomores in Bowdoin College, and -would have scorned to acknowledge such a weakness. In fact, we were -in that happy state of self-opinion where we surveyed every thing -in creation, as birds do, from above, and were disposed to patronize -everybody we met, with a pleasing conviction that there was nothing -worth knowing, but what we were likely to know, or worth doing, but what -we could do. - -Capt. Stanwood liked us, and we liked him: we patronized him, and he was -quietly amused at our patronage, and returned it in kind. He was a -good specimen of the sea-captain in those early days in Maine: a man in -middle life, tall, thin, wiry, and active, full of resource and shrewd -mother-wit; a man very confident in his opinions, because his knowledge -was all got at first-hand,--the result of a careful use of his own five -senses. From his childhood he had followed the seas, and, as he grew -older, made voyages to Archangel, to Messina, to the West Indies, and -finally round the Horn; and, having carried a very sharp and careful -pair of eyes, he had acquired not only a snug competency of worldly -goods, but a large stock of facts and inductions, which stood him in -stead of an education. He was master of a thriving farm at Harpswell, -and, being tethered somewhat by love of wife and children, was mostly -stationary there, yet solaced himself by running a little schooner to -Boston, and driving a thriving bit of trade by the means. With that -reverence for learning' which never deserts the New-Englander, he liked -us the better for being collegians, and amiably conceded that there were -things quite worth knowing taught “up to Brunswick there,” though he -delighted now and then to show his superiority in talking about what he -knew better than we. - -Jim Larned, the mate, was a lusty youngster, a sister's son whom he had -taken in training in the way he should go. Jim had already made a -voyage to Liverpool and the East Indies, and felt himself also quite an -authority in his own way. - -The evenings were raw and cool; and we generally gathered round the -cabin stove, cracking walnuts, smoking, and telling stories, and having -a jolly time generally. It is but due to those old days to say that a -most respectable Puritan flavor penetrated even the recesses of those -coasters,--a sort of gentle Bible and psalm-book aroma, so that there -was not a word or a joke among the men to annoy the susceptibilities -even of a deacon. Our deacon, somewhat consoled and amended, lay serene -in his berth, rather enjoying the yarns that we were spinning. The web, -of course, was many-colored,--of quaint and strange and wonderful; -and, as the night wore on, it was dyed in certain weird tints of the -supernatural. - -“Well,” said Jim Larned, “folks may say what they're a mind to: there -are things that there's no sort o' way o' 'countin' for,--things you've -jist got to say. Well, here's suthin' to work that I don't know nothin' -about; and, come to question any man up sharp, you 'll find he's seen -_one_ thing o' that sort' himself; and this 'ere I'm going to tell's -_my_ story:-- - -“Four years ago I went down to aunt Jerushy's at Fair Haven. Her -husband's in the oysterin' business, and I used to go out with him -considerable. Well, there was Bill Jones there,--a real bright fellow, -one of your open-handed, lively fellows,--and he took a fancy to me, and -I to him, and he and I struck up a friendship. He run an oyster-smack -to New York, and did a considerable good business for a young man. Well, -Bill had a fellow on his smack that I never looks of. He was from the -Malays, or foreign crittur, or other; spoke broken English; had eyes -set kind o' edgeways 'n his head: homely as sin he was, and I always -mistrusted him. 'Bill,' I used to say, 'you look out for that fellow: -don't you trust him. If I was you, I'd ship him off short metre.' But -Bill, he only laughed. 'Why,' says he, 'I can get double work for the -same pay out o' that fellow; and what do I care if he ain't handsome?' -I remember how chipper an' cheery Bill looked when he was sayin' that, -just as he was going down to New York with his load o' oysters. Well, -the next night I was sound asleep in aunt Jerusha's front-chamber that -opens towards the Sound, and I was waked right clear out o' sleep by -Bill's voice screaming to me. I got up and run to the window, and looked -liked the some out, and I heard it again, plain as any thing: 'Jim, Jim! -Help, help!' It wasn't a common cry, neither: it was screeched out, as -if somebody was murdering him. I tell you, it rung through my head for -weeks afterwards.” - -“Well, what came of it?” said my chum, as the narrator made a pause, and -we all looked at him in silence. - -“Well, as nigh as we can make it out, that very night poor Bill _was_ -murdered by that very Malay feller: leastways, his body was found in his -boat. He'd been stabbed, and all his money and watch and things taken, -and this Malay was gone nobody knew where. That's all that was ever -known about it.” - -“But surely,” said my chum, who was of a very literal and rationalistic -turn of mind, “it couldn't have been his voice you heard: he must have -been down to the other end of the Sound, close by New York, by that -time.” - -“Well,” said the mate, “all I know is, that I was waked out of sleep by -Bill's voice calling my name, screaming in a real agony. It went through -me like lightning; and then I find he was murdered that night. Now, I -don't know any thing about it. I know I heard him calling me; I know -he was murdered: but _how_ it was, or _what_ it was, or _why_ it was, I -don't know.” - -“These 'ere college boys can tell ye,” said the captain. “Of course, -they've got into sophomore year, and there ain't nothing in heaven or -earth that they don't know.” - -“No,” said I, “I say with Hamlet, 'There are more things in heaven and -earth, Horatio, than are dreamed of in your philosophy.'” - -“Well,” said my chum, with the air of a philosopher, “what shakes -my faith in all supernatural stories is, that I can't see any use or -purpose in them.” - -“Wal, if there couldn't nothin' happen nor be except what _you_ could -see a use in, there wouldn't _much_ happen nor be,” quoth the captain. - -A laugh went round at the expense of my friend. - -“Wal, now, I 'll tell ye what, boys,” piped the thin voice of the deacon, -“folks mustn't be too presumptuous: there is providences permitted that -we don't see no use in; but they do happen,--yes, they do. Now, what Jim -Larned's been a-tell-in' is a good deal like what happened to me once, -when I was up to Umbagog, in the lumberin' business.” - -“Halloo!” called out Jim, “here's the deacon's story! I told you every -man had one.--Give it to us, deacon! Speak out, and don't be bashful!” - -“Wal, really, it ain't what I like to talk about,” said the deacon, in a -quavering, uncertain voice; “but I don't know but I may as well, though. - -“It was that winter I was up to Umbagog. I was clerk, and kep' -the 'counts and books, and all that; and Tom Huly,--he was surveyor and -marker,--he was there with me, and we chummed together. And there -was Jack Cutter; he was jest out o' college: he was there practising -surveyin' with him. We three had a kind o' pine-board sort o' shanty, -built out on a plain near by the camp: it had a fire-place, and two -windows, and our bunks, and each of us had our tables and books and -things. - -“Well, Huly, he started with a party of three or four to go up through -the woods to look out a new tract. It was two or three days' journey -through the woods; and jest about that time the Indians up there was -getting sort o' uneasy, and we all thought mabbe 'twas sort o' risky: -howsomdever, Tom had gone off in high spirits, and told us to be sure -and take care of his books and papers. Tom had a lot of books, and -thought every thing of 'em, and was sort o' particular and nice about -his papers. His table sot up one side, by the winder, where he could see -to read and write. Well, he'd been gone four days, when one night--it -was a bright 'moonlight night--Jack and I were sitting by the fire, -reading, and between nine and ten o'clock there came a strong, regular -knock on the window over by Tom's table. We were sitting with our backs -to the window. 'Halloo!' says Jack, 'who's that?' We both jumped up, and -went to the window and looked out, and see there warn't nobody there. - -“'This is curus,' said I. - -“'Some of the boys trying to trick us,' says he. 'Let's keep watch: -perhaps they 'll do it again,' says he. - -“We sot down by the fire, and 'fore long it came again. - -“Then Jack and I both cut out the door, and run round the house,--he one -way, and I the other. It was light as day, and nothin' for anybody to -hide behind, and there warn't a critter in sight. Well, we come in and -sot down, and looked at each other kind o' puzzled, when it come agin, -harder'n ever; and Jack looked to the window, and got as white as a -sheet. - -“'For the Lord's sake, do look!' says he. And you may believe me or not; -but I tell you it's a solemn fact: Tom's books was movin',--jest as if -somebody was pickin' 'em up, and putting 'em down again, jest as I've -seen him do a hundred times. - -“'Jack,' says I, 'something's happened to Tom.' - -“Wal, there had. That very night Tom was murdered by the Indians. We put -down the date, and a week arter the news came.” - -“Come now, captain,” said I, breaking the pause that followed the -deacon's story, “give us your story. You've been all over the world, in -all times and all weathers, and you ain't a man to be taken in. Did you -ever see any thing of this sort?” - -“Well, now, boys, since you put it straight at me, I don't care if I say -I have,--on these 'ere very waters we're a-sailin' over now, on board -this very schooner, in this very cabin.” - -This was bringing matters close home. We felt an agreeable shiver, and -looked over our shoulders: the deacon, in his berth, raised up on his -elbow, and ejaculated, “Dew tell! ye don't say so!” - -“Tell us about it, captain,” we both insisted. “We 'll take your word for -most any thing.” - -“Well, it happened about five years ago. It's goin' on now eight years -ago that my father died. He sailed out of Gloucester: had his house -there; and, after he died, mother, she jest kep' on in the old place. -I went down at first to see her fixed up about right, and after that -I went now and then, and now and then I sent money. Well, it was about -Thanksgiving time, as it is now, and I'd ben down to Boston, and was -coming back pretty well loaded with the things I'd been buying in Boston -for Thanksgiving at home,--raisins and sugar, and all sorts of West Ingy -goods, for the folks in Harpswell. Well, I meant to have gone down to -Gloucester to see mother; but I had so many ways to run, and so much to -do, I was afraid I wouldn't be back on time; and so I didn't see her. - -“Well, we was driving back with a good stiff breeze, and we'd got past -Cape Ann, and I'd gone down and turned in, and was fast asleep in my -berth. It was past midnight: every one on the schooner asleep, except -the mate, who was up on the watch. I was sleepin' as sound as ever I -slept in my life,--not a dream, nor a feelin', no more'n if I had been -dead,--when suddenly I waked square up. My eyes flew open like a spring, -with my mind clear and wide awake, and, sure as I ever see any thing, I -see my father standing right in the middle of the cabin, looking right -at me. I rose right up in my berth, and says I,-- - -“'Father, is that you?' - -“'Yes,' says he, 'it is me.' - -“'Father,' says I, 'what do you come for?' - -“'Sam,' says he, 'do you go right back to Gloucester, and take your -mother home with you, and keep her there as long as she lives.' - -“And says I, 'Father, I will.' And as I said this he faded out and was -gone. I got right up, and run up on deck, and called out, ''Bout ship!' -Mr. More--he was my mate then--stared at me as if he didn't believe his -ears. ''Bout ship!' says I. 'I'm going to Gloucester.' - -“Well, he put the ship about, and then came to me, and says, 'What the -devil does this mean? We're way past Cape Ann. It's forty miles right -back to Gloucester.' - -“'Can't help it,' I said. 'To Gloucester I must go as quick as wind and -water will carry me. I've thought of matters there that I _must_ attend -to, no matter what happens.' - -“Well, Ben More and I were good friends always; but I tell you all that -day he watched me, in a curious kind of way, to see if I weren't took -with a fever, or suthin; and the men, they whispered and talked among -themselves. You see, they all had their own reasons for wanting to be -back to Thanksgiving, and it was hard on 'em. - -“Well, it was just about sun up we got into Gloucester, and I went -ashore. And there was mother, looking pretty poorly, jest making her -fire, and getting on her kettle. When she saw me, she held up her hands, -and burst out crying,-- - -“'Why, Sam, the Lord must 'a' sent you! I've time, and I've felt as if I -couldn't hold our much longer.' - -“'Well,' says I, 'mother, pack up your things, and come right aboard the -sloop; for I've come to take you home, and take care of you: so put up -your things.' - -“Well, I took hold and helped her, and we put ben sick and all alone, -having a drefful hard things together lively, and packed up her -trunks, and tied up the bed and pillows and bedclothes, and took her -rocking-chair and bureau and tables and chairs down to the sloop. And -when I came down, bringing her and all her things, Ben More seemed to -see what I was after; but how or why the idea came into my head I never -told him. There's things that a man feels shy of tellin',' and I didn't -want to talk about it. - -“Well, when we was all aboard, the wind sprung up fair and steady, and -we went on at a right spanking pace; and the fellows said the Harpswell -girls had got hold of our rope, and was pulling us with all their might; -and we came in all right the very day before Thanksgiving. And my wife -was as glad to see mother as if she'd expected her, and fixed up the -front-chamber for her, with a stove in't, and plenty of kindlings. And -the children was all so glad to see grandma, and we had the best kind of -a Thanksgiving!” - -“Well,” said I, “nobody could say there wasn't any use in _that_ -spirit's coming (if spirit it was): it had a most practical purpose.” - -“Well,” said the captain, “I've been all round the world, in all sorts -of countries, seen all sorts of queer, strange things, and seen so many -things that I never could have believed if I hadn't seen 'em, that I -never say I won't believe this or that. If I see a thing right straight -under my eyes, I don't say it couldn't 'a' ben there 'cause -college-folks say there ain't no such things.” - -“How do you know it wasn't all a dream?” said my chum. - -“How do I know?' Cause I was broad awake, and I gen 'lly know when I'm -awake and when I'm asleep. I think Mr. More found me pretty wide awake.” - -It was now time to turn in, and we slept soundly while the “Brilliant” - ploughed her way. By daybreak the dome of the State House was in sight. - -“I've settled the captain's story,” said my chum to me. “It can all be -accounted for on the theory of cerebral hallucination.” - -“All right,” said I; “but it answered the purpose beautifully for the -old mother.” - - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sam Lawson's Oldtown Fireside Stories, by -Harriet Beecher Stowe - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SAM LAWSON'S OLDTOWN *** - -***** This file should be named 50129-0.txt or 50129-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/1/2/50129/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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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 at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Sam Lawson's Oldtown Fireside Stories - With Illustrations - -Author: Harriet Beecher Stowe - -Release Date: October 4, 2015 [EBook #50129] -Last Updated: November 19, 2016 - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SAM LAWSON'S OLDTOWN *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - -</pre> - - <div style="height: 8em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - SAM LAWSON'S OLDTOWN FIRESIDE STORIES - </h1> - <h2> - By Harriet Beecher Stowe - </h2> - <h3> - With Illustrations - </h3> - <h4> - Houghton, Mifflin And Company - </h4> - <h5> - 1881 - </h5> - <div class="fig" style="width:65%;"> - <img src="images/0001.jpg" alt="0015m " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0001.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <div class="fig" style="width:65%;"> - <img src="images/0008.jpg" alt="0015m " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0008.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <div class="fig" style="width:65%;"> - <img src="images/0009.jpg" alt="0015m " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0009.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>CONTENTS</b> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>OLDTOWN FIRESIDE STORIES</b> </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> THE GHOST IN THE MILL. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> THE SULLIVAN LOOKING-GLASS </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> THE MINISTER'S HOUSEKEEPER </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> THE WIDOW'S BANDBOX. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> CAPTAIN KIDD'S MONEY. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> “MIS' ELDERKIN'S PITCHER.” </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> THE GHOST IN THE CAP'N BROWN HOUSE. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> COLONEL EPH'S SHOE-BUCKLES. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> THE BULL-FIGHT. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> HOW TO FIGHT THE DEVIL </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> LAUGHIN' IN MEETIN' </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> TOM TOOTHACHE'S GHOST STORY. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> THE PARSON'S HORSE-RACE. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> OLDTOWN FIRESIDE TALKS OF THE REVOLUTION. </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> A STUDENT'S SEA STORY. </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - OLDTOWN FIRESIDE STORIES - </h1> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE GHOST IN THE MILL. - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> - <img src="images/9013.jpg" alt="9013 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9013.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - OME, Sam, tell us a story,” said I, as Hariet and I crept to his knees, in - the glow of the bright evening firelight; while Aunt Lois was busily - rattling the tea-things, and grandmamma, at the other end of the - fireplace, was quietly setting the heel of a blue-mixed yarn stocking. - </p> - <p> - In those days we had no magazines and daily papers, each reeling off a - serial story. Once a week, “The Columbian Sentinel” came from Boston with - its slender stock of news and editorial; but all the multiform devices—pictorial, - narrative, and poetical—which keep the mind of the present - generation ablaze with excitement, had not then even an existence. There - was no theatre, no opera; there were in Oldtown no parties or balls, - except, perhaps, the annual election, or Thanksgiving festival; and when - winter came, and the sun went down at half-past four o'clock, and left the - long, dark hours of evening to be provided for, the necessity of amusement - became urgent. Hence, in those days, chimney-corner story-telling became - an art and an accomplishment. Society then was full of traditions and - narratives which had all the uncertain glow and shifting mystery of the - firelit hearth upon them. They were told to sympathetic audiences, by the - rising and falling light of the solemn embers, with the hearth-crickets - filling up every pause. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:65%;"> - <img src="images/0015.jpg" alt="0015m " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0015.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - Then the aged told their stories to the young,—tales of early life; - tales of war and adventure, of forest-days, of Indian captivities and - escapes, of bears and wild-cats and panthers, of rattlesnakes, of witches - and wizards, and strange and wonderful dreams and appearances and - providences. - </p> - <p> - In those days of early Massachusetts, faith and credence were in the very - air. Two-thirds of New England was then dark, unbroken forests, through - whose tangled paths the mysterious winter wind groaned and shrieked and - howled with weird noises and unaccountable clamors. Along the iron-bound - shore, the stormful Atlantic raved and thundered, and dashed its moaning - waters, as if to deaden and deafen any voice that might tell of the - settled life of the old civilized world, and shut us forever into the - wilderness. A good story-teller, in those days, was always sure of a warm - seat at the hearthstone, and the delighted homage of children; and in all - Oldtown there was no better story-teller than Sam Lawson. - </p> - <p> - “Do, do, tell us a story,” said Harry, pressing upon him, and opening very - wide blue eyes, in which undoubting faith shone as in a mirror; “and let - it be something strange, and different from common.” - </p> - <p> - “Wal, I know lots o' strange things,” said Sam, looking mysteriously into - the fire. “Why, I know things, that ef I should tell,—why, people - might say they wa'n't so; but then they <i>is so</i> for all that.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, <i>do</i>, do, tell us!” - </p> - <p> - “Why, I should scare ye to death, mebbe,” said Sam doubtingly. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, pooh! no, you wouldn't,” we both burst out at once. - </p> - <p> - But Sam was possessed by a reticent spirit, and loved dearly to be wooed - and importuned; and so he only took up the great kitchen-tongs, and smote - on the hickory forestick, when it flew apart in the middle, and scattered - a shower of clear bright coals all over the hearth. - </p> - <p> - “Mercy on us, Sam Lawson!” said Aunt Lois in an indignant voice, spinning - round from her dishwashing. - </p> - <p> - “Don't you worry a grain, Miss Lois,” said Sam composedly. “I see that are - stick was e'en a'most in two, and I thought I'd jest settle it. I 'll - sweep up the coals now,” he added, vigorously applying a turkey-wing to - the purpose, as he knelt on the hearth, his spare, lean figure glowing in - the blaze of the firelight, and getting quite flashed with exertion. - </p> - <p> - “There, now!” he said, when he had brushed over and under and between the - fire-irons, and pursued the retreating ashes so far into the red, fiery - citadel, that his finger-ends were burning and tingling, “that 'are's done - now as well as Hepsy herself could 'a' done it. I allers sweeps up the - haarth: I think it's part o' the man's bisness when he makes the fire. But - Hepsy's so used to seein' me a-doin' on't, that she don't see no kind o' - merit in't. It's just as Parson Lothrop said in his sermon,—folks - allers overlook their common marcies”— - </p> - <p> - “But come, Sam, that story,” said Harry and I coaxingly, pressing upon - him, and pulling him down into his seat in the corner. - </p> - <p> - “Lordy massy, these'ere young uns!” said Sam. - </p> - <p> - “There's never no contentin' on 'em: ye tell 'em one story, and they jest - swallows it as a dog does a gob o' meat; and they're all ready for - another. What do ye want to hear now?” - </p> - <p> - Now, the fact was, that Sam's stories had been told us so often, that they - were all arranged and ticketed in our minds. We knew every word in them, - and could set him right if he varied a hair from the usual track; and - still the interest in them was unabated. - </p> - <p> - Still we shivered, and clung to his knee, at the mysterious parts, and - felt gentle, cold chills run down our spines at appropriate places. We - were always in the most receptive and sympathetic condition. To-night, in - particular, was one of those thundering stormy ones, when the winds - appeared to be holding a perfect mad carnival over my grandfather's house. - They yelled and squealed round the corners; they collected in troops, and - came tumbling and roaring down chimney; they shook and rattled the - buttery-door and the sinkroom-door and the cellar-door and the - chamber-door, with a constant undertone of squeak and clatter, as if at - every door were a cold, discontented spirit, tired of the chill outside, - and longing for the warmth and comfort within. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, boys,” said Sam confidentially, “what 'll ye have?” - </p> - <p> - “Tell us 'Come down, come down!'” we both shouted with one voice. This - was, in our mind, an “A No. 1” among Sam's stories. - </p> - <p> - “Ye mus'n't be frightened now,” said Sam paternally. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no! we ar'n't frightened <i>ever</i>,” said we both in one breath. - </p> - <p> - “Not when ye go down the cellar arter cider?” said Sam with severe - scrutiny. “Ef ye should be down cellar, and the candle should go out, - now?” - </p> - <p> - “I ain't,” said I: “I ain't afraid of any thing. I never knew what it was - to be afraid in my life.” - </p> - <p> - “Wal, then,” said Sam, “I 'll tell ye. This'ere's what Cap'n Eb Sawin told - me when I was a boy about your bigness, I reckon. - </p> - <p> - “Cap'n Eb Sawin was a most respectable man. Your gran'ther knew him very - well; and he was a deacon in the church in Dedham afore he died. He was at - Lexington when the fust gun was fired agin the British. He was a dreffle - smart man, Cap'n Eb was, and driv team a good many years atween here and - Boston. He married Lois Peabody, that was cousin to your gran'ther then. - Lois was a rael sensible woman; and I've heard her tell the story as he - told her, and it was jest as he told it to me,—jest exactly; and I - shall never forget it if I live to be nine hundred years old, like - Mathuselah. - </p> - <p> - “Ye see, along back in them times, there used to be a fellow come round - these'ere parts, spring and fall, a-peddlin' goods, with his pack on his - back; and his name was Jehiel Lommedieu. Nobody rightly knew where he come - from. He wasn't much of a talker; but the women rather liked him, and kind - o' liked to have him round. Women will like some fellows, when men can't - see no sort o' reason why they should; and they liked this'ere Lommedieu, - though he was kind o' mournful and thin and shad-bellied, and hadn't - nothin' to say for himself. But it got to be so, that the women would - count and calculate so many weeks afore 'twas time for Lommedieu to be - along; and they'd make up ginger-snaps and preserves and pies, and make - him stay to tea at the houses, and feed him up on the best there was: and - the story went round, that he was a-courtin' Phebe Ann Parker, or Phebe - Ann was a-courtin' him,—folks didn't rightly know which. Wal, all of - a sudden, Lommedieu stopped comin' round; and nobody knew why,—only - jest he didn't come. It turned out that Phebe Ann Parker had got a letter - from him, sayin' he'd be along afore Thanksgiving; but he didn't come, - neither afore nor at Thanksgiving time, nor arter, nor next spring: and - finally the women they gin up lookin' for him. Some said he was dead; some - said he was gone to Canada; and some said he hed gone over to the Old - Country. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, as to Phebe Ann, she acted like a gal o' sense, and married 'Bijah - Moss, and thought no more 'bout it. She took the right view on't, and said - she was sartin that all things was ordered out for the best; and it was - jest as well folks couldn't always have their own way. And so, in time, - Lommedieu was gone out o' folks's minds, much as a last year's - apple-blossom. - </p> - <p> - “It's relly affectin' to think how little these'ere folks is missed that's - so much sot by. There ain't nobody, ef they's ever so important, but what - the world gets to goin' on without 'em, pretty much as it did with 'em, - though there's some little flurry at fust. Wal, the last thing that was in - anybody's mind was, that they ever should hear from Lommedieu agin. But - there ain't nothin' but what has its time o' turnin' up; and it seems his - turn was to come. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, ye see, 'twas the 19th o' March, when Cap'n Eb Sawin started with a - team for Boston. That day, there come on about the biggest snow-storm that - there'd been in them parts sence the oldest man could remember.'Twas - this'ere fine, siftin' snow, that drives in your face like needles, with a - wind to cut your nose off: it made teamin' pretty tedious work. Cap'n Eb - was about the toughest man in them parts. He'd spent days in the woods - a-loggin', and he'd been up to the deestrict o' Maine a-lumberin', and was - about up to any sort o' thing a man gen'ally could be up to; but these'ere - March winds sometimes does set on a fellow so, that neither natur' nor - grace can stan' 'em. The cap'n used to say, he could stan' any wind that - blew one way 't time for five minutes; but come to winds that blew all - four p'ints at the same minit,—why, they flustered him. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, that was the sort o' weather it was all day: and by sundown Cap'n Eb - he got clean bewildered, so that he lost his road; and, when night came - on, he didn't know nothin' where he was. Ye see the country was all under - drift, and the air so thick with snow, that he couldn't see a foot afore - him; and the fact was, he got off the Boston road without knowin' it, and - came out at a pair o' bars nigh upon Sherburn, where old Cack Sparrock's - mill is. - </p> - <p> - “Your gran'ther used to know old Cack, boys. He was a drefful drinkin' old - crittur, that lived there all alone in the woods by himself a-tendin' saw - and grist mill. He wa'n't allers jest what he was then. Time was that Cack - was a pretty consid'ably likely young man, and his wife was a very - respectable woman,—Deacon Amos Petengall's dater from Sherburn. - </p> - <p> - “But ye see, the year arter his wife died, Cack he gin up goin' to meetin' - Sundays, and, all the tithing-men and selectmen could do, they couldn't - get him out to meetin'; and, when a man neglects means o' grace and - sanctuary privileges, there ain't no sayin' <i>what</i> he 'll do next. - Why, boys, jist think on't!—an immortal crittur lyin' round loose - all day Sunday, and not puttin' on so much as a clean shirt, when all - 'spectable folks has on their best close, and is to meetin' worshippin' - the Lord! What can you spect to come of it, when he lies idlin' round in - his old week-day close, fishing, or some sich, but what the Devil should - be arter him at last, as he was arter old Cack?” - </p> - <p> - Here Sam winked impressively to my grandfather in the opposite corner, to - call his attention to the moral which he was interweaving with his - narrative. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, ye see, Cap'n Eb he told me, that when he come to them bars and - looked up, and saw the dark a-comin' down, and the storm a-thickenin' up, - he felt that things was gettin' pretty consid'able serious. There was a - dark piece o' woods on ahead of him inside the bars; and he knew, come to - get in there, the light would give out clean. So he jest thought he'd take - the hoss out o' the team, and go ahead a little, and see where he was. So - he driv his oxen up ag'in the fence, and took out the hoss, and got on - him, and pushed along through the woods, not rightly knowin' where he was - goin'. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, afore long he see a light through the trees; and, sure enough, he - come out to Cack Sparrock's old mill. - </p> - <p> - “It was a pretty consid'able gloomy sort of a place, that are old mill - was. There was a great fall of water that come rushin' down the rocks, and - fell in a deep pool; and it sounded sort o' wild and lonesome: but Cap'n - Eb he knocked on the door with his whip-handle, and got in. - </p> - <p> - “There, to be sure, sot old Cack beside a great blazin' fire, with his - rum-jug at his elbow. He was a drefful fellow to drink, Cack was! For all - that, there was some good in him, for he was pleasant-spoken and 'bliging; - and he made the cap'n welcome. - </p> - <p> - “'Ye see, Cack,' said Cap'n Eb, 'I'm off my road, and got snowed up down - by your bars,' says he. - </p> - <p> - “'Want ter know!' says Cack. 'Calculate you 'll jest have to camp down - here till mornin',' says he. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, so old Cack he got out his tin lantern, and went with Cap'n Eb back - to the bars to help him fetch along his critturs. He told him he could put - 'em under the mill-shed. So they got the critturs up to the shed, and got - the cart under; and by that time the storm was awful. - </p> - <p> - “But Cack he made a great roarin' fire, 'cause, ye see, Cack allers had - slab-wood a plenty from his mill; and a roarin' fire is jest so much - company. It sort o' keeps a fellow's spirits up, a good fire does. So Cack - he sot on his old teakettle, and made a swingeing lot o' toddy; and he and - Cap'n Eb were havin' a tol'able comfortable time there. Cack was a pretty - good hand to tell stories; and Cap'n Eb warn't no way backward in that - line, and kep' up his end pretty well: and pretty soon they was a-roarin' - and haw-hawin' inside about as loud as the storm outside; when all of a - sudden, 'bout midnight, there come a loud rap on the door. - </p> - <p> - “'Lordy massy! what's that?' says Cack. Folks is rather startled allers to - be checked up sudden when they are a-carryin' on and laughin'; and it was - such an awful blowy night, it was a little scary to have a rap on the - door. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, they waited a minit, and didn't hear nothin' but the wind - a-screechin' round the chimbley; and old Cack was jest goin' on with his - story, when the rap come ag'in, harder'n ever, as if it'd shook the door - open. - </p> - <p> - “'Wal,' says old Cack, 'if 'tis the Devil, we'd jest as good's open, and - have it out with him to onst,' says he; and so he got up and opened the - door, and, sure enough, there was old Ketury there. Expect you've heard - your grandma tell about old Ketury. She used to come to meetin's - sometimes, and her husband was one o' the prayin' Indians; but Ketury was - one of the rael wild sort, and you couldn't no more convert <i>her</i> - than you could convert a wild-cat or a painter [panther]. Lordy massy! - Ketury used to come to meetin', and sit there on them Indian benches; and - when the second bell was a-tollin', and when Parson Lothrop and his wife - was comin' up the broad aisle, and everybody in the house ris' up and - stood, Ketury would sit there, and look at 'em out o' the corner o' her - eyes; and folks used to say she rattled them necklaces o' rattlesnakes' - tails and wild-cat teeth, and sich like heathen trumpery, and looked for - all the world as if the spirit of the old Sarpent himself was in her. I've - seen her sit and look at Lady Lothrop out o' the corner o' her eyes; and - her old brown baggy neck would kind o' twist and work; and her eyes they - looked so, that 'twas enough to scare a body. For all the world, she - looked jest as if she was a-workin' up to spring at her. Lady Lothrop was - jest as kind to Ketury as she always was to every poor crittur. She'd bow - and smile as gracious to her when meetin' was over, and she come down the - aisle, passin' out o, meetin'; but Ketury never took no notice. Ye see, - Ketury's father was one o' them great powwows down to Martha's Vineyard; - and people used to say she was set apart, when she was a child, to the - sarvice o' the Devil: any way, she never could be made nothin' of in a - Christian way. She come down to Parson Lothrop's study once or twice to be - catechised; but he couldn't get a word out o' her, and she kind o' seemed - to sit scornful while he was a-talkin'. Folks said, if it was in old - times, Ketury wouldn't have been allowed to go on so; but Parson Lothrop's - so sort o' mild, he let her take pretty much her own way. Everybody - thought that Ketury was a witch: at least, she knew consid'able more'n she - ought to know, and so they was kind o' 'fraid on her. Cap'n Eb says he - never see a fellow seem scareder than Cack did when he see Ketury - a-standin' there. - </p> - <p> - “Why, ye see, boys, she was as withered and wrinkled and brown as an old - frosted punkin-vine; and her little snaky eyes sparkled and snapped, and - it made yer head kind o' dizzy to look at 'em; and folks used to say that - anybody that Ketury got mad at was sure to get the worst of it fust or - last. And so, no matter what day or hour Ketury had a mind to rap at - anybody's door, folks gen 'lly thought it was best to let her in; but - then, they never thought her coming was for any good, for she was just - like the wind,—she came when the fit was on her, she staid jest so - long as it pleased her, and went when she got ready, and not before. - Ketury understood English, and could talk it well enough, but always - seemed to scorn it, and was allers mowin' and mutterin' to herself in - Indian, and winkin' and blinkin' as if she saw more folks round than you - did, so that she wa'n't no way pleasant company; and yet everybody took - good care to be polite to her. - </p> - <p> - “So old Cack asked her to come in, and didn't make no question where she - come from, or what she come on; but he knew it was twelve good miles from - where she lived to his hut, and the snow was drifted above her middle: and - Cap'n Eb declared that there wa'n't no track, nor sign o' a track, of - anybody's coming through that snow next morning.” - </p> - <p> - “How did she get there, then?” said I. - </p> - <p> - “Didn't ye never see brown leaves a-ridin' on the wind? Well,' Cap'n Eb he - says, 'she came on the wind,' and I'm sure it was strong enough to fetch - her. But Cack he got her down into the warm corner, and he poured her out - a mug o' hot toddy, and give her: but ye see her bein' there sort o' - stopped the conversation; for she sot there a-rockin' back'ards and - for'ards, a-sippin her toddy, and a-mutterin', and lookin' up chimbley. - </p> - <p> - “Cap'n Eb says in all his born days he never hearn such screeches and - yells as the wind give over that chimbley; and old Cack got so frightened, - you could fairly hear his teeth chatter. - </p> - <p> - “But Cap'n Eb he was a putty brave man, and he wa'n't goin' to have - conversation stopped by no woman, witch or no witch; and so, when he see - her mutterin', and lookin' up chimbley, he spoke up, and says he, 'Well, - Ketury, what do you see?' says he. 'Come, out with it; don't keep it to - yourself.' Ye see Cap'n Eb was a hearty fellow, and then he was a leetle - warmed up with the toddy. - </p> - <p> - “Then he said he see an evil kind o' smile on Ketury's face, and she - rattled her necklace o' bones and snakes' tails; and her eyes seemed to - snap; and she looked up the chimbley, and called out, 'Come down, come - down! let's see who ye be.' - </p> - <p> - “Then there was a scratchin' and a rumblin' and a groan; and a pair of - feet come down the chimbley, and stood right in the middle of the haarth, - the toes pi'ntin' out'rds, with shoes and silver buckles a-shinin' in the - firelight. Cap'n Eb says he never come so near bein' scared in his life; - and, as to old Cack, he jest wilted right down in his chair. - </p> - <p> - “Then old Ketury got up, and reached her stick up chimbley, and called out - louder, 'Come down, come down! let's see who ye be.' And, sure enough, - down came a pair o' legs, and j'ined right on to the feet: good fair legs - they was, with ribbed stockings and leather breeches. - </p> - <p> - “'Wal, we're in for it now,' says Cap'n Eb. 'Go it, Ketury, and let's have - the rest on him.' - </p> - <p> - “Ketury didn't seem to mind him: she stood there as stiff as a stake, and - kep' callin' out, 'Come down, come down! let's see who ye be.' And then - come down the body of a man with a brown coat and yellow vest, and j'ined - right on to the legs; but there wa'n't no arms to it. Then Ketury shook - her stick up chimbley, and called, '<i>Come down, come down!</i>' And - there came down a pair o' arms, and went on each side o' the body; and - there stood a man all finished, only there wa'n't no head on him. - </p> - <p> - “'Wal, Ketury,' says Cap'n Eb, 'this 'ere's getting serious. I 'spec' you - must finish him up, and let's see what he wants of us.' - </p> - <p> - “Then Ketury called out once more, louder'n ever, 'Come down, come down! - let's see who ye be.' And, sure enough, down comes a man's head, and - settled on the shoulders straight enough; and Cap'n Eb, the minit he sot - eyes on him, knew he was Jehiel Lommedieu. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0003" id="linkimage-0003"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:65%;"> - <img src="images/0035.jpg" alt="0035m " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0035.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - “Old Cack knew him too; and he fell flat on his face, and prayed the Lord - to have mercy on his soul: but Cap'n Eb he was for gettin' to the bottom - of matters, and not have his scare for nothin'; so he says to him, 'What - do you want, now you hev come?' - </p> - <p> - “The man he didn't speak; he only sort o' moaned, and p'inted to the - chimbley. He seemed to try to speak, but couldn't; for ye see it isn't - often that his sort o' folks is permitted to speak: but just then there - came a screechin' blast o' wind, and blowed the door open, and blowed the - smoke and fire all out into the room, and there seemed to be a whirlwind - and darkness and moans and screeches; and, when it all cleared up, Ketury - and the man was both gone, and only old Cack lay on the ground, rolling - and moaning as if he'd die. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, Cap'n Eb he picked him up, and built up the fire, and sort o' - comforted him up, 'cause the crittur was in distress o' mind that was - drefful. The awful Providence, ye see, had awakened him, and his sin had - been set home to his soul; and he was under such conviction, that it all - had to come out,—how old Cack's father had murdered poor Lommedieu - for his money, and Cack had been privy to it, and helped his father build - the body up in that very chimbley; and he said that he hadn't had neither - peace nor rest since then, and that was what had driv' him away from - ordinances; for ye know sinnin' will always make a man leave prayin'. Wal, - Cack didn't live but a day or two. Cap'n Eb he got the minister o' - Sherburn and one o' the selectmen down to see him; and they took his - deposition. He seemed railly quite penitent; and Parson Carryl he prayed - with him, and was faithful in settin' home the providence to his soul: and - so, at the eleventh hour, poor old Cack might have got in; at least it - looks a leetle like it. He was distressed to think he couldn't live to be - hung. He sort o' seemed to think, that if he was fairly tried, and hung, - it would make it all square. He made Parson Carryl promise to have the old - mill pulled down, and bury the body; and, after he was dead, they did it. - </p> - <p> - “Cap'n Eb he was one of a party o' eight that pulled down the chimbley; - and there, sure enough, was the skeleton of poor Lommedieu. - </p> - <p> - “So there you see, boys, there can't be no iniquity so hid but what it 'll - come out. The wild Indians of the forest, and the stormy winds and - tempests, j'ined together to bring out this'ere.” - </p> - <p> - “For my part,” said Aunt Lois sharply, “I never believed that story.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, Lois,” said my grandmother, “Cap'n Eb Sawin was a regular - church-member, and a most respectable man.” - </p> - <p> - “Law, mother! I don't doubt he thought so. I suppose he and Cack got - drinking toddy together, till he got asleep, and dreamed it. I wouldn't - believe such a thing if it did happen right before my face and eyes. I - should only think I was crazy, that's all.” - </p> - <p> - “Come, Lois, if I was you, I wouldn't talk so like a Sadducee,” said my - grandmother. “What would become of all the accounts in Dr. Cotton Mather's - 'Magnilly' if folks were like you?” - </p> - <p> - “Wal,” said Sam Lawson, drooping contemplatively over the coals, and - gazing into the fire, “there's a putty consid'able sight o' things in this - world that's true; and then ag'in there's a sight o' things that ain't - true. Now, my old gran'ther used to say, 'Boys, says he, 'if ye want to - lead a pleasant and prosperous life, ye must contrive allers to keep jest - the <i>happy medium</i> between truth and falsehood.' Now, that are's my - doctrine.” - </p> - <p> - Aunt Lois knit severely. - </p> - <p> - “Boys,” said Sam, “don't you want ter go down with me and get a mug o' - cider?” - </p> - <p> - Of course we did, and took down a basket to bring up some apples to roast. - </p> - <p> - “Boys,” says Sam mysteriously, while he was drawing the cider, “you jest - ask your Aunt Lois to tell you what she knows 'bout Ruth Sullivan.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, what is it?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! you must ask <i>her</i>. These 'ere folks that's so kind o' toppin' - about sperits and sich, come sift 'em down, you gen 'lly find they knows - one story that kind o' puzzles 'em. Now you mind, and jist ask your Aunt - Lois about Ruth Sullivan.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0004" id="linkimage-0004"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:20%;"> - <img src="images/5040.jpg" alt="5040 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/5040.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE SULLIVAN LOOKING-GLASS - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0005" id="linkimage-0005"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> - <img src="images/9041.jpg" alt="9041 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9041.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - UNT LOIS,” said I, “what was that story about Ruth Sullivan?” - </p> - <p> - Aunt Lois's quick black eyes gave a surprised flash; and she and my - grandmother looked at each other a minute significantly. - </p> - <p> - “Who told you any thing about Ruth Sullivan,” she said sharply. - </p> - <p> - “Nobody. Somebody said <i>you</i> knew something about her,” said I. - </p> - <p> - I was holding a skein of yarn for Aunt Lois; and she went on winding in - silence, putting the ball through loops and tangled places. - </p> - <p> - “Little boys shouldn't ask questions,” she concluded at last - sententiously. “Little boys that ask too many questions get sent to bed.” - </p> - <p> - I knew that of old, and rather wondered at my own hardihood. - </p> - <p> - Aunt Lois wound on in silence; but, looking in her face, I could see - plainly that I had started an exciting topic. - </p> - <p> - “I should think,” pursued my grandmother in her corner, “that Ruth's case - might show you, Lois, that a good many things may happen,—more than - you believe.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, well, mother! Ruth's was a strange case; but I suppose there are ways - of accounting for it.” - </p> - <p> - “You believed Ruth, didn't you?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, certainly, I believed Ruth! Why shouldn't I? Ruth was one of my best - friends, and as true a girl as lives: there wasn't any nonsense about - Ruth. She was one of the sort,” said Aunt Lois reflectively, “that I'd as - soon trust as myself: when she said a thing was so and so, I knew it was - so.” - </p> - <p> - “Then, if you think Ruth's story was true,” pursued my grandmother, - “what's the reason you are always cavilling at things just 'cause you - can't understand how they came to be so?” - </p> - <p> - Aunt Lois set her lips firmly, and wound with grim resolve. She was the - very impersonation of that obstinate rationalism that grew up at the - New-England fireside, close alongside of the most undoubting faith in the - supernatural. - </p> - <p> - “I don't believe such things,” at last she snapped out, “and I don't - disbelieve them. I just let 'em alone. What do I know about 'em? Ruth - tells me a story; and I believe her. I know what she saw beforehand, came - true in a most remarkable way. Well, I'm sure I've no objection. One thing - may be true, or another, for all me; but, just because I believe Ruth - Sullivan, I'm not going to believe, right and left, all the stories in - Cotton Mather, and all that anybody can hawk up to tell. Not I.” This - whole conversation made me all the more curious to get at the story thus - dimly indicated; and so we beset Sam for information. - </p> - <p> - “So your Aunt Lois wouldn't tell ye nothin',” said Sam. “Wanter know, - neow! sho!” - </p> - <p> - “No: she said we must go to bed if we asked her.” - </p> - <p> - “That 'are's a way folks has; but, ye see, boys,” said Sam, while a droll - confidential expression crossed the lack-lustre dolefulness of his visage, - “ye see, I put ye up to it, 'cause Miss Lois is so large and commandin' in - her ways, and so kind o' up and down in all her doin's, that I like once - and a while to sort o' gravel her; and I knowed enough to know that that - 'are question would git her in a tight place. - </p> - <p> - “Ye see, yer Aunt Lois was knowin' to all this 'ere about Ruth, so there - wer'n't no gettin' away from it; and it's about as remarkable a providence - as any o' them of Mister Cotton Marther's 'Magnilly.' So if you 'll come - up in the barn-chamber this arternoon, where I've got a lot o' flax to - hatchel out, I 'll tell ye all about it.” - </p> - <p> - So that afternoon beheld Sam arranged at full length on a pile of top-tow - in the barn-chamber, hatchelling by proxy by putting Harry and myself to - the service. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, now, boys, it's kind o' refreshing to see how wal ye take hold,” he - observed. “Nothin' like bein' industrious while ye'r young: gret sight - better now than loafin off, down in them medders. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “'In books and work and useful play - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Let my fust years be past: - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - So shall I give for every day - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Some good account at last.'” - </p> - <p> - “But, Sam, if we work for you, you must tell us that story about Ruth - Sullivan.” - </p> - <p> - “Lordy massy! yis,—course I will. I've had the best kind o' chances - of knowin' all about that 'are. Wal, you see there was old Gineral - Sullivan, he lived in state and grande'r in the old Sullivan house out to - Roxberry. I been to Roxberry, and seen that 'are house o' Gineral - Sullivan's. There was one time that I was a consid'able spell lookin' - round in Roxberry, a kind o' seein' how things wuz there, and whether or - no there mightn't be some sort o' providential openin' or suthin'. I used - to stay with Aunt Polly Ginger. She was sister to Mehitable Ginger, - Gineral Sullivan's housekeeper, and hed the in and out o' the Sullivan - house, and kind o' kept the run o' how things went and came in it. Polly - she was a kind o' cousin o' my mother's, and allers glad to see me. Fact - was, I was putty handy round house; and she used to save up her broken - things and sich till I come round in the fall; and then I'd mend 'em up, - and put the clock right, and split her up a lot o' kindlings, and board up - the cellar-windows, and kind o' make her sort o' comfortable,—she - bein' a lone body, and no man round. As I said, it was sort o' convenient - to hev me; and so I jest got the run o' things in the Sullivan house - pretty much as ef I was one on 'em. Gineral Sullivan he kept a grand - house, I tell you. You see, he cum from the old country, and felt sort o' - lordly and grand; and they used to hev the gretest kind o' doin's there to - the Sullivan house. Ye ought ter a seen that 'are house,—gret big - front hall and gret wide stairs; none o' your steep kind that breaks a - feller's neck to get up and down, but gret broad stairs with easy risers, - so they used to say you could a cantered a pony up that 'are stairway easy - as not. Then there was gret wide rooms, and sofys, and curtains, and gret - curtained bedsteads that looked sort o' like fortifications, and pictur's - that was got in Italy and Rome and all them 'are heathen places. Ye see, - the Gineral was a drefful worldly old critter, and was all for the pomps - and the vanities. Lordy massy! I wonder what the poor old critter thinks - about it all now, when his body's all gone to dust and ashes in the - graveyard, and his soul's gone to 'tarnity! Wal, that are ain't none o' my - business; only it shows the vanity o' riches in a kind o' strikin' light, - and makes me content that I never hed none.” - </p> - <p> - “But, Sam, I hope General Sullivan wasn't a wicked man, <i>was</i> he?” - </p> - <p> - “Wal, I wouldn't say he was railly wickeder than the run; but he was one - o' these 'ere high-stepping, big-feeling fellers, that seem to be a hevin' - their portion in this life. Drefful proud he was; and he was pretty much - sot on this world, and kep' a sort o' court goin' on round him. Wal, I - don't jedge him nor nobody: folks that hes the world is apt to get sot on - it. Don't none on us do more than middlin' well.” - </p> - <p> - “But, Sam, what about Ruth Sullivan?” - </p> - <p> - “Ruth?—Oh, yis!—Ruth—. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, ye see, the only crook in the old Gineral's lot was he didn't hev no - children. Mis' Sullivan, she was a beautiful woman, as handsome as a - pictur'; but she never had but one child; and he was a son who died when - he was a baby, and about broke her heart. And then this 'ere Ruth was her - sister's child, that was born about the same time; and, when the boy died, - they took Ruth home to sort o' fill his place, and kind o' comfort up Mis' - Sullivan. And then Ruth's father and mother died; and they adopted her for - their own, and brought her up. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, she grew up to be amazin' handsome. Why, everybody said that she was - jest the light and glory of that 'are old Sullivan place, and worth more'n - all the pictur's and the silver and the jewels, and all there was in the - house; and she was jest so innercent and sweet, that you never see nothing - to beat it. Wal, your Aunt Lois she got acquainted with Ruth one summer - when she was up to Old Town a visitin' at Parson Lothrop's. Your Aunt Lois - was a gal then, and a pretty good-lookin' one too; and, somehow or other, - she took to Ruth, and Ruth took to her. And when Ruth went home, they used - to be a writin' backwards and forads; and I guess the fact was, Ruth - thought about as much of your Aunt Lois as she did o' anybody. Ye see, - your aunt was a kind o' strong up-and-down woman that always knew certain - jest what she did know; and Ruth, she was one o' them gals that seems sort - o' like a stray lamb or a dove that's sort o' lost their way in the world, - and wants some one to show 'em where to go next. For, ye see, the fact - was, the old Gineral and Madam, they didn't agree very well. He wa'n't - well pleased that she didn't have no children; and she was sort o' jealous - o' him 'cause she got hold o' some sort of story about how he was to a - married somebody else over there in England: so she got sort o' riled up, - jest as wimmen will, the best on 'em; and they was pretty apt to have - spats, and one could give t'other as good as they sent; and, by all - accounts, they fit putty lively sometimes. And, between the two, Ruth she - was sort o' scared, and fluttered like a dove that didn't know jest where - to settle. Ye see, there she was in that 'are great wide house, where they - was a feastin' and a prancin' and a dancin', and a goin' on like - Ahashuerus and Herodias and all them old Scriptur' days. There was a - comin' and goin,' and there was gret dinners and gret doin's, but no love; - and, you know, the Scriptur' says, 'Better is a dinner o' yarbs, where - love is, than a stalled ox, and hatred therewith.' - </p> - <p> - “Wal, I don't orter say <i>hatred</i>, arter all. I kind o reckon, the old - Gineral did the best he could: the fact is, when a woman gits a kink in - her head agin a man, the best on us don't allers do jest the right thing. - </p> - <p> - “Any way, Ruth, she was sort o' forlorn, and didn't seem to take no - comfort in the goin's on. The Gineral he was mighty fond on her, and proud - on her; and there wa'n't nothin' too good for Ruth. He was free-handed, - the Gineral wuz. He dressed her up in silks and satins, and she hed a maid - to wait on her, and she hed sets o' pearl and dimond; and Madam Sullivan - she thought all the world on her, and kind o' worshipped the ground she - trod on. And yet Ruth was sort o' lonesome. - </p> - <p> - “Ye see, Ruth wa'n't calculated for grande'r. Some folks ain't. - </p> - <p> - “Why, that 'are summer she spent out to Old Town, she was jest as chirk - and chipper as a wren, a wearin' her little sun-bunnet, and goin' a - huckle-berryin' and a black-berryin' and diggin' sweet-flag, and gettin - cowslops and dandelions; and she hed a word for everybody. And everybody - liked Ruth, and wished her well. Wal, she was sent for her health; and she - got that, and more too: she got a sweetheart. - </p> - <p> - “Ye see, there was a Cap'n Oliver a visitin' at the minister's that - summer,—a nice, handsome young man as ever was. He and Ruth and your - Aunt Lois, they was together a good deal; and they was a ramblin' and a - ridin' and a sailin': and so Ruth and the Capting went the way o' all the - airth, and fell dead in love with each other. Your Aunt Lois she was - knowing to it and all about it, 'cause Ruth she was jest one of them that - couldn't take a step without somebody to talk to. - </p> - <p> - “Captain Oliver was of a good family in England; and so, when he made bold - to ask the old Gineral for Ruth, he didn't say him nay: and it was agreed, - as they was young, they should wait a year or two. If he and she was of - the same mind, he should be free to marry her. Jest right on that, the - Captain's regiment was ordered home, and he had to go; and, the next they - heard, it was sent off to India. And poor little Ruth she kind o' drooped - and pined; but she kept true, and wouldn't have nothin' to say to nobody - that came arter her, for there was lots and cords o' fellows as did come - arter her. Ye see, Ruth had a takin' way with her; and then she had the - name of bein' a great heiress, and that allers draws fellers, as molasses - does flies. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, then the news came, that Captain Oliver was comin' home to England, - and the ship was took by the Algerenes, and he was gone into slavery there - among them heathen Mahomedans and what not. - </p> - <p> - “Folks seemed to think it was all over with him, and Ruth might jest as - well give up fust as last. And the old Gineral he'd come to think she - might do better; and he kep' a introducin' one and another, and tryin' to - marry her off; but Ruth she wouldn't. She used to write sheets and sheets - to your Aunt Lois about it; and I think Aunt Lois she kep' her grit up. - Your Aunt Lois she'd a stuck by a man to the end o' time ef't ben her - case; and so she told Ruth. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, then there was young Jeff Sullivan, the Gineral's nephew, he turned - up; and the Gineral he took a gret fancy to him. He was next heir to the - Gineral; but he'd ben a pretty rackety youngster in his young days,—off - to sea, and what not, and sowed a consid'able crop o' wild oats. People - said he'd been a pirating off there in South Ameriky. Lordy massy! nobody - rightly knew where he hed ben or where he hadn't: all was, he turned up at - last all alive, and chipper as a skunk blackbird. Wal, of course he made - his court to Ruth; and the Gineral, he rather backed him up in it; but - Ruth she wouldn't have nothin' to say to him. Wal, he come and took up his - lodgin' at the Gineral's; and he was jest as slippery as an eel, and sort - o' slid into every thing, that was a goin' on in the house and about it. - He was here, and he was there, and he was everywhere, and a havin' his say - about this and that; and he got everybody putty much under his thumb. And - they used to say, he wound the Gineral round and round like a skein o' - yarn; but he couldn't come it round Ruth. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, the Gineral said she shouldn't be forced; and Jeff, he was smooth as - satin, and said he'd be willing to wait as long as Jacob did for Rachel. - And so there he sot down, a watchin' as patient as a cat at a - mousehole; 'cause the Gineral he was thick-set and shortnecked, and drank - pretty free, and was one o' the sort that might pop off any time. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, Mis' Sullivan, she beset the Gineral to make a provision for - Ruth; 'cause she told him very sensible, that he'd brought her up in - luxury, and that it wa'n't fair not to settle somethin' on her; and so the - Gineral he said he'd make a will, and part the property equally between - them. And he says to Jeff, that, if he played his part as a young fellow - oughter know how, it would all come to him in the end; 'cause they hadn't - heard nothing from Captain Oliver for three or four years, and folks about - settled it that he must, be dead. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, the Gineral he got a letter about an estate that had come to him in - England; and he had to go over. Wal, livin' on the next estate, was the - very cousin of the Gineral's that he was to a married when they was both - young: the lands joined so that the grounds run together. What came - between them two nobody knows; but she never married, and there she was. - There was high words between the Gineral and Madam Sullivan about his - goin' over. She said there wa'n't no sort o' need on't, and he said there - was; and she said she hoped <i>she</i> should be in her grave afore he - come back; and he said she might suit herself about that for all him. That - 'are was the story that the housekeeper told to Aunt Polly; and Aunt Polly - she told me. These 'ere squabbles somehow allers does kind o' leak out one - way or t'other. Anyhow, it was a house divided agin itself at the - Gineral's, when he was a fixin' out for the voyage. There was Ruth a goin' - fust to one, and then to t'other, and tryin' all she could to keep peace - beteen 'em; and there was this 'ere Master Slick Tongue talkin' this way - to one side, and that way to t'other, and the old Gineral kind o' like a - shuttle-cock atween 'em. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, then, the night afore he sailed, the Gineral he hed his lawyer up in - his library there, a lookin' over all his papers and bonds and things, and - a witnessing his will; and Master Jeff was there, as lively as a cricket, - a goin' into all affairs, and offerin' to take precious good care while he - was gone; and the Gineral he had his papers and letters out, a sortin' on - 'em over, which was to be took to the old country, and which was to be put - in a trunk to go back to Lawyer Dennis's office. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, Abner Ginger, Polly's boy, he that was footman and waiter then at - the Gineral's, he told me, that, about eight o'clock that evening he went - up with hot water and lemons and sperits and sich, and he see the gret - green table in the library all strewed and covered with piles o' papers; - and there was tin boxes a standin' round; and the Gineral a packin' a - trunk, and young Master Jeff, as lively and helpful as a rat that smells - cheese. And then the Gineral he says, 'Abner,' says he, 'can you write - your name?'—'I should hope so, Gineral.' says Abner.—'Wal, - then, Abner,' says he, 'this is my last will; and I want you to witness - it,' and so Abner he put down his name opposite to a place with a wafer - and a seal; and then the Gineral, he says, 'Abner, you tell Ginger to come - here.' That, you see, was his housekeeper, my Aunt Polly's sister, and a - likely woman as ever was. And so they had her up, and she put down her - name to the will; and then Aunt Polly she was had up (she was drinking tea - there that night), and she put down her name. And all of 'em did it with - good heart, 'cause it had got about among 'em that the will was to provide - for Miss Ruth; for everybody loved Ruth, ye see, and there was consid'ble - many stories kind o' goin' the rounds about Master Jeff and his doin's. - And they did say he sort o' kep' up the strife atween the Gineral and my - lady, and so they didn't think none too well o' him; and, as he was next - o' kin, and Miss Ruth wa'n't none o' the Gineral's blood (ye see, she was - Mis' Sullivan's sister's child), of course there wouldn't nothin' go to - Miss Ruth in way o' law, and so that was why the signin' o' that 'are will - was so much talked about among 'em.” - </p> - <p> - “Wal, you see, the Gineral he sailed the next day; and Jeff he staid by to - keep watch o' things. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, the old Gineral he got over safe; for Miss Sullivan, she had a - letter from him all right. When he got away, his conscience sort o' nagged - him, and he was minded to be a good husband. At any rate, he wrote a good - loving letter to her, and sent his love to Ruth, and sent over lots o' - little keepsakes and things for her, and told her that he left her under - good protection, and wanted her to try and make up her mind to marry Jeff, - as that would keep the property together. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, now there couldn't be no sort o' sugar sweeter than Jeff was to them - lone wimmen. Jeff was one o' the sort that could be all things to all - wimmen. He waited and he tended, and he was as humble as any snake in the - grass that ever ye see and the old lady, she clean fell in with him, but - Ruth, she seemed to have a regular spite agin him. And she that war as - gentle as a lamb, that never had so much as a hard thought of a mortal - critter, and wouldn't tread on a worm, she was so set agin Jeff, that she - wouldn't so much as touch his hand when she got out o' her kerridge. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, now comes the strange part o' my story: Ruth was one o' the kind - that <i>hes the gift o' seein'. She was born with a veil over her face!</i>” - </p> - <p> - This mysterious piece of physiological information about Ruth was given - with a look and air that announced something very profound and awful; and - we both took up the inquiry, “Born with a veil over her face? How should - <i>that</i> make her see?” - </p> - <p> - “Wal, boys, how should I know? But the fact <i>is so</i>. There's those as - is wal known as lies the gift o' seein' what others can't see: they can - see through walls and houses; they can see people's hearts; they can see - what's to come. They don't know nothin' how 'tis, but this 'ere knowledge - comes to 'em: it's a gret gift; and that sort's born with the veil over - their faces. Ruth was o' these 'ere. Old Granny Badger she was the - knowingest old nuss in all these parts; and she was with Ruth's mother - when she was born, and she told Lady Lothrop all about it. Says she, 'You - may depend upon it that child 'll have the “<i>second-sight</i>,”' says - she. Oh, that 'are fact was wal known! Wal, that was the reason why Jeff - Sullivan couldn't come it round Ruth tho' he was silkier than a - milkweed-pod, and jest about as patient as a spider in his hole a watchin' - to got his grip on a fly. Ruth wouldn't argue with him, and she wouldn't - flout him; but she jest shut herself up in herself, and kept a lookout on - him; but she told your Aunt Lois jest what she thought about him. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, in about six months, come the news that the Gineral was dead. He - dropped right down in his tracks, dead with apoplexy, as if he had been - shot; and Lady Maxwell she writ a long letter to my lady and Ruth. Ye see, - he'd got to be Sir Thomas Sullivan over there; and he was a comin' home to - take 'em all over to England to live in grande'r. Wal, my Lady Sullivan - (she was then, ye see) she took it drefful hard. Ef they'd a been the - lovingest couple in the world, she couldn't a took it harder. Aunt Polly, - she said it was all 'cause she thought so much of him, that she fit him - so. There's women that thinks so much o' their husbands, that they won't - let 'em hev no peace o' their life; and I expect it war so with her poor - soul! Any way, she went right down smack when she heard he was dead. She - was abed, sick, when the news come; and she never spoke nor smiled, jest - turned her back to everybody, and kinder wilted and wilted, and was dead - in a week. And there was poor little Ruth left all alone in the world, - with neither kith nor kin but Jeff. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, when the funeral was over, and the time app'inted to read the will - and settle up matters, there wa'n't no will to be found nowhere, high nor - low. - </p> - <p> - “Lawyer Dean he flew round like a parched pea on a shovel. He said he - thought he could a gone in the darkest night, and put his hand on that - 'ere will; but when he went where he thought it was, he found it warn't - there, and he knowed he'd kep' it under lock and key. What he thought was - the will turned out to be an old mortgage. Wal, there was an awful row and - a to-do about it, you may be sure. Ruth, she jist said nothin' good or - bad. And her not speakin' made Jeff a sight more uncomfortable than ef - she'd a hed it out with him. He told her it shouldn't make no sort o' - difference; that he should allers stand ready to give her all he hed, if - she'd only take him with it. And when it came to that she only gin him a - look, and went out o' the room. - </p> - <p> - “Jeff he flared and flounced and talked, and went round and round a - rumpussin' among the papers, but no will was forthcoming high or low. Wal, - now here comes what's remarkable. Ruth she told this 'ere, all the - particulars, to yer Aunt Lois and Lady Lothrop. She said that the night - after the funeral she went up to her chamber. Ruth had the gret front - chamber, opposite to Mis' Sullivan's. I've been in it; it was a monstrous - big room, with outlandish furniture in it, that the Gineral brought over - from an old palace out to Italy. And there was a great big lookin'-glass - over the dressin'-table, that they said come from Venice, that swung so - that you could see the whole room in it. Wal, she was a standin' front o' - this, jist goin' to undress herself, a hearin' the rain drip on the leaves - and the wind a whishin' and whisperin' in the old elm-trees, and jist a - thinkin' over her lot, and what should she do now, all alone in the world, - when of a sudden she felt a kind o' lightness in her head, and she thought - she seemed to see somebody in the glass a movin'. And she looked behind, - and there wa'n't nobody there. Then she looked forward in the glass, and - saw a strange big room, that she'd never seen before, with a long painted - winder in it; and along side o' this stood a tall cabinet with a good many - drawers in it. And she saw herself, and knew that it was herself, in this - room, along with another woman whose back was turned towards her. She saw - herself speak to this woman, and p'int to the cabinet. She saw the woman - nod her head. She saw herself go to the cabinet, and open the middle - drawer, and take out a bundle o' papers from the very back end on't. She - saw her take out a paper from the middle, and open it, and hold it up; and - she knew that there was the missin' will. Wal, it all overcome her so that - she fainted clean away. And her maid found her a lyin' front o' the - dressin'-table on the floor. - </p> - <p> - “She was sick of a fever for a week or fortnight a'ter; and your Aunt Lois - she was down takin' care of her; and, as soon as she got able to be moved, - she was took out to Lady Lothrop's. Jeff he was jist as attentive and good - as he could be; but she wouldn't bear him near her room. If he so much as - set a foot on the stairs that led to it she'd know it, and got so wild - that he hed to be kept from comin' into the front o' the house. But he was - doin' his best to buy up good words from everybody. He paid all the - servants double; he kept every one in their places, and did so well by 'em - all that the gen'l word among 'em was that Miss Ruth couldn't do better - than to marry such a nice, open-handed gentleman. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, Lady Lothrop she wrote to Lady Maxwell all that hed happened; and - Lady Maxwell, she sent over for Ruth to come over and be a companion for - her, and said she'd adopt her, and be as a mother to her. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, then Ruth she went over with some gentlefolks that was goin' back to - England, and offered to see her safe and sound; and so she was set down at - Lady Maxwell's manor. It was a grand place, she said, and such as she - never see before,—like them old gentry places in England. And Lady - Maxwell she made much of her, and cosseted her up for the sake of what the - old Gineral had said about her. And Ruth she told her all her story, and - how she believed that the will was to be found somewhere, and that she - should be led to see it yet. - </p> - <p> - “She told her, too, that she felt it in her that Cap'n Oliver wasn't dead, - and that he'd come back yet. And Lady Maxwell she took up for her with - might and main, and said she'd stand by her. But then, ye see, so long as - there warn't no will to be found, there warn't nothin' to be done. Jeff - was the next heir; and he'd got every thing, stock, and lot, and the - estate in England into the bargain. And folks was beginnin' to think putty - well of him, as folks allers does when a body is up in the world, and hes - houses and lands. Lordy massy! riches allers covers a multitude o' sins. - </p> - <p> - “Finally, when Ruth hed ben six months with her, one day Lady Maxwell got - to tellin' her all about her history, and what hed ben atween her and her - cousin, when they was young, and how they hed a quarrel and he flung off - to Ameriky, and all them things that it don't do folks no good to remember - when it's all over and can't be helped. But she was a lone body, and it - seemed to do her good to talk about it. - </p> - <p> - “Finally, she says to Ruth, says she, 'I 'll show you a room in this house - you han't seen before. It was the room where we hed that quarrel,' says - she; 'and the last I saw of him was there, till he come back to die,' says - she. - </p> - <p> - “So she took a gret key out of her bunch; and she led Ruth along a long - passage-way to the other end of the house, and opened on a great library. - And the minute Ruth came in, she threw up her hands and gin a great cry. - 'Oh!' says she, 'this is the room! and there is the window! and there is - the cabinet I and <i>there in that middle drawer at the back end in a - bundle of papers is the will!</i> - </p> - <p> - “And Lady Maxwell she said, quite dazed, 'Go look,' says she. And Ruth - went, jest as she seed herself do, and opened the drawer, and drew forth - from the back part a yellow pile of old letters. And in the middle of - those was the will, sure enough. Ruth drew it out, and opened it, and - showed it to her. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, you see that will give Ruth the whole of the Gineral's property in - America, tho' it did leave the English estate to Jeff. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, the end on't was like a story-book. - </p> - <p> - “Jeff he made believe be mighty glad. And he said it must a ben that the - Gineral hed got flustered with the sperit and water, and put that 'ere - will in among his letters that he was a doin' up to take back to England. - For it was in among Lady Maxwell's letters that she writ him when they was - young, and that he'd a kep' all these years and was a takin' back to her. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, Lawyer Dean said he was sure that Jeff made himself quite busy and - useful that night, a tyin' up the papers with red tape, and a packin' the - Gin-eral's trunk; and that, when Jeff gin him his bundle to lock up in his - box, he never mistrusted but what he'd got it all right. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, you see it was jest one of them things that can't be known to the - jedgment-day. It might a ben an accident, and then agin it might not; and - folks settled it one way or t'other, 'cordin' to their 'pinion o' Jeff; - but ye see how 'mazin' handy for him it happened! Why, ef it hadn't ben - for the providence I've ben a tellin' about, there it might a lain in them - old letters, that Lady Maxwell said she never hed the heart to look over! - it never would a turned up in the world.” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said I, “what became of Ruth?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! Cap'n Oliver he came back all alive, and escaped from the Algerines; - and they was married in King's Chapel, and lived in the old Sullivan - House, in peace and prosperity. That's jest how the story was; and now - Aunt Lois can make what she's a mind ter out on't.” - </p> - <p> - “And what became of Jeff?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! he started to go over to England, and the ship was wrecked off the - Irish coast, and that was the last of him. He never got to his property.” - </p> - <p> - “Good enough for him,” said both of us. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, I don't know: 'twas pretty hard on Jeff. Mebbe he did, and mebbe he - didn't. I'm glad I warn't in his shoes, tho' I'd rather never hed nothin'. - This 'ere hastin' to be rich is sich a drefful temptation. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, now, boys, ye've done a nice lot o' flax, and I guess we 'll go up - to yer grand'ther's cellar and git a mug o' cyder. Talkin' always gits me - dry.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0006" id="linkimage-0006"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:20%;"> - <img src="images/5068.jpg" alt="5068 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/5068.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE MINISTER'S HOUSEKEEPER - </h2> - <p> - <i>Scene.—The shady side of a blueberry-pasture.—Sam Lawson - with the boys, picking blueberries.—Sam, loq.</i> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0007" id="linkimage-0007"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> - <img src="images/9069.jpg" alt="9069 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9069.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - AL, you see, boys, 'twas just here,—Parson Carryl's wife, she died - along in the forepart o' March: my cousin Huldy, she undertook to keep - house for him. The way on't was, that Huldy, she went to take care o' Mis' - Carryl in the fust on't, when she fust took sick. Huldy was a tailoress by - trade; but then she was one o' these 'ere facultised persons that has a - gift for most any thing, and that was how Mis' Carryl come to set sech - store by her, that, when she was sick, nothin' would do for her but she - must have Huldy round all the time: and the minister, he said he'd make it - good to her all the same, and she shouldn't lose nothin' by it. And so - Huldy, she staid with Mis' Carryl full three months afore she died, and - got to seein' to every thing pretty much round the place. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, arter Mis' Carryl died, Parson Carryl, he'd got so kind o' used to - hevin' on her 'round, takin' care o' things, that he wanted her to stay - along a spell; and so Huldy, she staid along a spell, and poured out his - tea, and mended his close, and made pies and cakes, and cooked and washed - and ironed, and kep' every thing as neat as a pin. Huldy was a drefful - chipper sort o' gal; and work sort o' rolled off from her like water off a - duck's back. There warn't no gal in Sherburne that could put sich a sight - o' work through as Huldy; and yet, Sunday mornin', she always come out in - the singers' seat like one o' these 'ere June roses, lookin' so fresh and - smilin', and her voice was jest as clear and sweet as a meadow lark's—Lordy - massy! I 'member how she used to sing some o' them 'are places where the - treble and counter used to go together: her voice kind o trembled a - little, and it sort o' went thro' and thro' a feller! tuck him right where - he lived!” - </p> - <p> - Here Sam leaned contemplatively back with his head in a clump of sweet - fern, and refreshed himself with a chew of young wintergreen. “This'ere - young wintergreen, boys, is jest like a feller's thoughts o' things that - happened when he was young: it comes up jest so fresh and tender every - year, the longest time you hev to live; and you can't help chawin' on't - tho' 'tis sort o' stingin'. I don't never get over likin' young - wintergreen.” - </p> - <p> - “But about Huldah, Sam?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes! about Huldy. Lordy massy! when a feller is Indianin' round, - these 'ere pleasant summer days, a feller's thoughts gits like a flock o' - young partridges: they's up and down and everywhere; 'cause one place is - jest about as good as another, when they's all so kind o' comfortable and - nice. Wal, about Huldy,—as I was a sayin'. She was jest as handsome - a gal to look at as a feller could have; and I think a nice, well-behaved - young gal in the singers' seat of a Sunday is a means o' grace: it's sort - o' drawin' to the unregenerate, you know. - </p> - <p> - “Why, boys, in them days, I've walked ten miles over to Sherburne of a - Sunday mornin', jest to play the bass-viol in the same singers' seat with - Huldy. She was very much respected, Huldy was; and, when she went out to - tailorin', she was allers bespoke six months ahead, and sent for in - waggins up and down for ten miles round; for the young fellers was allers - 'mazin' anxious to be sent after Huldy, and was quite free to offer to go - for her. Wal, after Mis' Carryl died, Huldy got to be sort o' housekeeper - at the minister's, and saw to every thing, and did every thing: so that - there warn't a pin out o' the way. - </p> - <p> - “But you know how 'tis in parishes: there allers is women that thinks the - minister's affairs belongs to them, and they ought to have the rulin' and - guidin' of 'em; and, if a minister's wife dies, there's folks that allers - has their eyes open on providences,—lookin' out who's to be the next - one. - </p> - <p> - “Now, there was Mis' Amaziah Pipperidge, a widder with snappin' black - eyes, and a hook nose,—kind o' like a hawk; and she was one o' them - up-and-down commandin' sort o' women, that feel that they have a call to - be seein' to every thing that goes on in the parish, and 'specially to the - minister. - </p> - <p> - “Folks did say that Mis' Pipperidge sort o' sot her eye on the parson for - herself: wal, now that 'are might a been, or it might not. Some folks - thought it was a very suitable connection. You see she hed a good property - of her own, right nigh to the minister's lot, and was allers kind o' - active and busy; so, takin' one thing with another, I shouldn't wonder if - Mis' Pipperidge should a thought that Providence p'inted that way. At any - rate, she went up to Deakin Blodgett's wife, and they two sort o' put - their heads together a mournin' and condolin' about the way. things was - likely to go on at the minister's now Mis' Carryl was dead. Ye see, the - parson's wife, she was one of them women who hed their eyes everywhere and - on every thing. She was a little thin woman, but tough as Inger rubber, - and smart as a steel trap; and there warn't a hen laid an egg, or cackled, - but Mis' Carryl was right there to see about it; and she hed the garden - made in the spring, and the medders mowed in summer, and the cider made, - and the corn husked, and the apples got in the fall; and the doctor, he - hedn't nothin' to do but jest sit stock still a meditatin' on Jerusalem - and Jericho and them things that ministers think about. But Lordy massy! - he didn't know nothin' about where any thing he eat or drunk or wore come - from or went to: his wife jest led him 'round in temporal things and took - care on him like a baby. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, to be sure, Mis' Carryl looked up to him in spirituals, and thought - all the world on him; for there warn't a smarter minister no where 'round. - Why, when he preached on decrees and election, they used to come clear - over from South Parish, and West Sherburne, and Old Town to hear him; and - there was sich a row o' waggins tied along by the meetin'-house that the - stables was all full, and all the hitchin'-posts was full clean up to the - tavern, so that folks said the doctor made the town look like a gineral - trainin'-day a Sunday. - </p> - <p> - “He was gret on texts, the doctor was. When he hed a p'int to prove, he'd - jest go thro' the Bible, and drive all the texts ahead o' him like a flock - o' sheep; and then, if there was a text that seemed gin him, why, he'd - come out with his Greek and Hebrew, and kind o' chase it 'round a spell, - jest as ye see a fellar chase a contrary bell-wether, and make him jump - the fence arter the rest. I tell you, there wa'n't no text in the Bible - that could stand agin the doctor when his blood was up. The year arter the - doctor was app'inted to preach the 'lection sermon in Boston, he made such - a figger that the Brattlestreet Church sent a committee right down to see - if they couldn't get him to Boston; and then the Sherburne folks, they up - and raised his salary; ye see, there ain't nothin' wakes folks up like - somebody else's wantin' what you've got. Wal, that fall they made him a - Doctor o' Divinity at Cambridge College, and so they sot more by him than - ever. Wal, you see, the doctor, of course he felt kind o' lonesome and - afflicted when Mis' Carryl was gone; but railly and truly, Huldy was so up - to every thing about house, that the doctor didn't miss nothin' in a - temporal way. His shirt-bosoms was pleated finer than they ever was, and - them ruffles 'round his wrists was kep' like the driven snow; and there - warn't a brack in his silk stockin's, and his shoe buckles was kep' - polished up, and his coats brushed; and then there warn't no bread and - biscuit like Huldy's; and her butter was like solid lumps o' gold; and - there wern't no pies to equal hers; and so the doctor never felt the loss - o' Miss Carryl at table. Then there was Huldy allers oppisite to him, with - her blue eyes and her cheeks like two fresh peaches. She was kind o' - pleasant to look at; and the more the doctor looked at her the better he - liked her; and so things seemed to be goin' on quite quiet and comfortable - ef it hadn't been that Mis' Pipperidge and Mis' Deakin Blodgett and Mis' - Sawin got their heads together a talkin' about things. - </p> - <p> - “'Poor man,' says Mis' Pipperidge, 'what can that child that he's got - there do towards takin' the care of all that place? It takes a mature - woman,' she says, 'to tread in Mis' Carryl's shoes.' - </p> - <p> - “'That it does,' said Mis' Blodgett; 'and, when things once get to runnin' - down hill, there ain't no stoppin' on 'em,' says she. - </p> - <p> - “Then Mis' Sawin she took it up. (Ye see, Mis' Sawin used to go out to - dress-makin', and was sort o' jealous, 'cause folks sot more by Huldy than - they did by her). 'Well,' says she, 'Huldy Peters is well enough at her - trade. I never denied that, though I do say I never did believe in her way - o' makin' button-holes; and I must say, if 'twas the dearest friend I hed, - that I thought Huldy tryin' to fit Mis' Kittridge's plumb-colored silk was - a clear piece o' presumption; the silk was jist spiled, so 'twarn't fit to - come into the meetin'-house. I must say, Huldy's a gal that's always too - ventersome about takin' 'spon-sibilities she don't know nothin' about.' - </p> - <p> - “'Of course she don't,' said Mis' Deakin Blodgett. 'What does she know - about all the lookin' and see-in' to that there ought to be in guidin' the - minister's house. Huldy's well meanin', and she's good at her work, and - good in the singers' seat; but Lordy massy I she hain't got no experience. - Parson Carryl ought to have an experienced woman to keep house for him. - There's the spring house-cleanin' and the fall house-cleanin' to be seen - to, and the things to be put away from the moths; and then the gettin' - ready for the association and all the ministers' meetin's; and the makin' - the soap and the candles, and settin' the hens and turkeys, watchin' the - calves, and seein' after the 'hired men and the garden; and there that - 'are blessed man jist sets there at home as serene, and has nobody 'round - but that 'are gal, and don't even know how things must be a runnin' to - waste!' - </p> - <p> - “Wal, the upshot on't was, they fussed and fuzzled and wuzzled till they'd - drinked up all the tea in the teapot; and then they went down and called - on the parson, and wuzzled him all up talkin' about this, that, and - t'other that wanted lookin' to, and that it was no way to leave every - thing to a young chit like Huldy, and that he ought to be lookin' about - for an experienced woman. The parson he thanked 'em kindly, and said he - believed their motives was good, but he didn't go no further. He didn't - ask Mis' Pipperidge to come and stay there and help him, nor nothin' o' - that kind; but he said he'd attend to matters himself. The fact was, the - parson had got such a likin' for havin' Huldy 'round, that he couldn't - think o' such a thing as swappin' her off for the Widder Pipperidge. - </p> - <p> - “But he thought to himself, 'Huldy is a good girl; but I oughtn't to be a - leavin' every thing to her,—it's too hard on her. I ought to be - instructin' and guidin' and helpin' of her; 'cause 'tain't everybody could - be expected to know and do what Mis' Carryl did;' and so at it he went; - and Lordy massy! didn't Huldy hev a time on't when the minister began to - come out of his study, and want to tew 'round and see to things? Huldy, - you see, thought all the world of the minister, and she was 'most afraid - to laugh; but she told me she couldn't, for the life of her, help it when - his back was turned, for he wuzzled things up in the most singular way. - But Huldy she'd jest say 'Yes, sir,' and get him off into his study, and - go on her own way. - </p> - <p> - “'Huldy,' says the minister one day, 'you ain't experienced out doors; - and, when you want to know any thing, you must come to me.' - </p> - <p> - “'Yes, sir,' says Huldy. - </p> - <p> - “'Now, Huldy,' says the parson,' you must be sure to save the turkey-eggs, - so that we can have a lot of turkeys for Thanksgiving.' - </p> - <p> - “'Yes, sir,' says Huldy; and she opened the pantry-door, and showed him a - nice dishful she'd been a savin' up. Wal, the very next day the parson's - hen-turkey was found killed up to old Jim Scroggs's barn. Folks said - Scroggs killed it; though Scroggs, he stood to it he didn't: at any rate, - the Scroggses, they made a meal on't; and Huldy, she felt bad about it - 'cause she'd set her heart on raisin' the turkeys; and says she, 'Oh, - dear! I don't know what I shall do. I was just ready to set her.' - </p> - <p> - “'Do, Huldy?' says the parson: 'why, there's the other turkey, out there - by the door; and a fine bird, too, he is.' - </p> - <p> - “Sure enough, there was the old tom-turkey a struttin' and a sidlin' and a - quitterin,' and a floutin' his tail-feathers in the sun, like a lively - young widower, all ready to begin life over agin. - </p> - <p> - “'But,' says Huldy, 'you know <i>he</i> can't set on eggs.' - </p> - <p> - “'He can't? I'd like to know why,' says the parson. 'He <i>shall</i> set - on eggs, and hatch 'em too.' - </p> - <p> - “'O doctor!' says Huldy, all in a tremble; 'cause, you know, she didn't - want to contradict the minister, and she was afraid she should laugh,—'I - never heard that a tom-turkey would set on eggs.' - </p> - <p> - “'Why, they ought to,' said the parson, getting quite 'arnest: 'what else - be they good for? you just bring out the eggs, now, and put 'em in the - nest, and I 'll make him set on 'em.' - </p> - <p> - “So Huldy she thought there wern't no way to convince him but to let him - try: so she took the eggs out, and fixed 'em all nice in the nest; and - then she come back and found old Tom a skirmishin' with the parson pretty - lively, I tell ye. Ye see, old Tom he didn't take the idee at all; and he - flopped and gobbled, and fit the parson; and the parson's wig got 'round - so that his cue stuck straight out over his ear, but he'd got his blood - up. Ye see, the old doctor was used to carryin' his p'ints o' doctrine; - and he hadn't fit the Arminians and Socinians to be beat by a tom-turkey; - so finally he made a dive, and ketched him by the neck in spite o' his - floppin', and stroked him down, and put Huldy's apron 'round him. - </p> - <p> - “'There, Huldy,' he says, quite red in the face, 'we've got him now;' and - he travelled off to the barn with him as lively as a cricket. - </p> - <p> - “Huldy came behind jist chokin' with laugh, and afraid the minister would - look 'round and see her. - </p> - <p> - “'Now, Huldy, we 'll crook his legs, and set him down,' says the parson, - when they got him to the nest: 'you see he is getting quiet, and he 'll - set there all right.' - </p> - <p> - “And the parson, he sot him down; and old Tom he sot there solemn enough, - and held his head down all droopin', lookin' like a rail pious old cock, - as long as the parson sot by him. - </p> - <p> - “'There: you see how still he sets,' says the parson to Huldy. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0008" id="linkimage-0008"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:65%;"> - <img src="images/0083.jpg" alt="0083m " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0083.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - “Huldy was 'most dyin' for fear she should laugh, 'I'm afraid he 'll get - up,' says she, 'when you do.' - </p> - <p> - “'Oh, no, he won't!' says the parson, quite confident. 'There, there,' - says he, layin' his hands on him, as if pronouncin' a blessin'. But when - the parson riz up, old Tom he riz up too, and began to march over the - eggs. - </p> - <p> - “'Stop, now!' says the parson. 'I 'll make him get down agin: hand me that - corn-basket; we 'll put that over him.' - </p> - <p> - “So he crooked old Tom's legs, and got him down agin; and they put the - corn-basket over him, and then they both stood and waited. - </p> - <p> - “'That 'll do the thing, Huldy,' said the parson. - </p> - <p> - “'I don't know about it,' says Huldy. - </p> - <p> - “'Oh, yes, it will, child! I understand,' says he. - </p> - <p> - “Just as he spoke, the basket riz right up and stood, and they could see - old Tom's long legs. - </p> - <p> - “'I 'll make him stay down, confound him,' says the parson; for, ye see, - parsons is men, like the rest on us, and the doctor had got his spunk up. - </p> - <p> - “'You jist hold him a minute, and I 'll get something that 'll make him - stay, I guess;' and out he went to the fence, and brought in a long, thin, - flat stone, and laid it on old Tom's back. - </p> - <p> - “Old Tom he wilted down considerable under this, and looked railly as if - he was goin' to give in. He staid still there a good long spell, and the - minister and Huldy left him there and come up to the house; but they - hadn't more than got in the door before they see old Tom a hippin' along, - as high-steppin' as ever, say in' 'Talk! talk! and quitter! quitter!' and - struttin' and gobblin' as if he'd come through the Red Sea, and got the - victory. - </p> - <p> - “'Oh, my eggs!' says Huldy. 'I'm afraid he's smashed 'em!' - </p> - <p> - “And sure enough, there they was, smashed flat enough under the stone. - </p> - <p> - “'I 'll have him killed,' said the parson: 'we won't have such a critter - 'round.' - </p> - <p> - “But the parson, he slep' on't, and then didn't do it: he only come out - next Sunday with a tip-top sermon on the ''Riginal Cuss' that was - pronounced on things in gineral, when Adam fell, and showed how every - thing was allowed to go contrary ever since. There was pig-weed, and - pusley, and Canady thistles, cut-worms, and bag-worms, and canker-worms, - to say nothin' of rattlesnakes. The doctor made it very impressive and - sort o' improvin'; but Huldy, she told me, goin' home, that she hardly - could keep from laughin' two or three times in the sermon when she thought - of old Tom a standin' up with the corn-basket on his back. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, next week Huldy she jist borrowed the minister's horse and - side-saddle, and rode over to South Parish to her Aunt Bascome's,—Widder - Bascome's, you know, that lives there by the trout-brook,—and got a - lot o' turkey-eggs o' her, and come back and set a hen on 'em, and said - nothin'; and in good time there was as nice a lot o' turkey-chicks as ever - ye see. - </p> - <p> - “Huldy never said a word to the minister about his experiment, and he - never said a word to her; but he sort o' kep' more to his books, and - didn't take it on him to advise so much. - </p> - <p> - “But not long arter he took it into his head that Huldy ought to have a - pig to be a fattin' with the buttermilk. Mis' Pipperidge set him up to it; - and jist then old Tim Bigelow, out to Juniper Hill, told him if he'd call - over he'd give him a little pig. - </p> - <p> - “So he sent for a man, and told him to build a pigpen right out by the - well, and have it all ready when he came home with his pig. - </p> - <p> - “Huldy she said she wished he might put a curb round the well out there, - because in the dark, sometimes, a body might stumble into it; and the - parson, he told him he might do that. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, old Aikin, the carpenter, he didn't come till most the middle of the - arternoon; and then he sort o' idled, so that he didn't get up the - well-curb till sun down; and then he went off and said he'd come and do - the pig-pen next day. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, arter dark, Parson Carryl he driv into the yard, full chizel, with - his pig. He'd tied up his mouth to keep him from squeelin'; and he see - what he thought was the pig-pen,—he was rather near-sighted,—and - so he ran and threw piggy over; and down he dropped into the water, and - the minister put out his horse and pranced off into the house quite - delighted. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0009" id="linkimage-0009"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:65%;"> - <img src="images/0089.jpg" alt="0089m " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0089.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - “'There, Huldy, I've got you a nice little pig.' - </p> - <p> - “'Dear me!' says Huldy: 'where have you put him?' - </p> - <p> - “'Why, out there in the pig-pen, to be sure.' - </p> - <p> - “'Oh, dear me!' says Huldy: 'that's the well-curb; there ain't no pig-pen - built,' says she. - </p> - <p> - “'Lordy massy!' says the parson: 'then I've thrown the pig in the well!' - </p> - <p> - “Wal, Huldy she worked and worked, and finally she fished piggy out in the - bucket, but he was dead as a door-nail; and she got him out o' the way - quietly, and didn't say much; and the parson, he took to a great Hebrew - book in his study; and says he, 'Huldy, I ain't much in temporals,' says - he. Huldy says she kind o' felt her heart go out to him, he was so sort o' - meek and helpless and larned; and says she, 'Wal, Parson Carryl, don't - trouble your head no more about it; I 'll see to things;' and sure enough, - a week arter there was a nice pen, all ship-shape, and two little white - pigs that Huldy bought with the money for the butter she sold at the - store. - </p> - <p> - “'Wal, Huldy,' said the parson, 'you are a most amazin' child: you don't - say nothin', but you do more than most folks.' - </p> - <p> - “Arter that the parson set sich store by Huldy that he come to her and - asked her about every thing, and it was amazin' how every thing she put - her hand to prospered. Huldy planted marigolds and larkspurs, pinks and - carnations, all up and down the path to the front door, and trained up - mornin' glories and scar-, let-runners round the windows. And she was - always a gettin' a root here, and a sprig there, and a seed from somebody - else: for Huldy was one o' them that has the gift, so that ef you jist - give 'em the leastest sprig of any thing they make a great bush out of it - right away; so that in six months Huldy had roses and geraniums and - lilies, sich as it would a took a gardener to raise. The parson, he took - no notice at fust; but when the yard was all ablaze with flowers he used - to come and stand in a kind o' maze at the front door, and say, - 'Beautiful, beautiful: why, Huldy, I never see any thing like it.' And - then when her work was done arternoons, Huldy would sit with her sewin' in - the porch, and sing and trill away till she'd draw the meadow-larks and - the bobolinks, and the orioles to answer her, and the great big elm-tree - overhead would get perfectly rackety with the birds; and the parson, - settin' there in his study, would git to kind o' dreamin' about the - angels, and golden harps, and the New Jerusalem; but he wouldn't speak a - word, 'cause Huldy she was jist like them wood-thrushes, she never could - sing so well when she thought folks was hearin'. Folks noticed, about this - time, that the parson's sermons got to be like Aaron's rod, that budded - and blossomed: there was things in 'em about flowers and birds, and more - 'special about the music o' heaven. And Huldy she noticed, that ef there - was a hymn run in her head while she was 'round a workin' the minister was - sure to give it out next Sunday. You see, Huldy was jist like a bee: she - always sung when she was workin', and you could hear her trillin', now - down in the corn-patch, while she was pickin' the corn; and now in the - buttery, while she was workin' the butter; and now she'd go singin' down - cellar, and then she'd be singin' up over head, so that she seemed to fill - a house chock full o' music. - </p> - <p> - “Huldy was so sort o' chipper and fair spoken, that she got the hired men - all under her thumb: they come to her and took her orders jist as meek as - so many calves; and she traded at the store, and kep' the accounts, and - she hed her eyes everywhere, and tied up all the ends so tight that there - want no get-tin' 'round her. She wouldn't let nobody put nothin' off on - Parson Carryl, 'cause he was a minister. Huldy was allers up to anybody - that wanted to make a hard bargain; and, afore he knew jist what he was - about, she'd got the best end of it, and everybody said that Huldy was the - most capable gal that they'd ever traded with. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, come to the meetin' of the Association, Mis' Deakin Blodgett and - Mis' Pipperidge come callin' up to the parson's, all in a stew, and - offerin' their services to get the house ready; but the doctor, he jist - thanked 'em quite quiet, and turned 'em over to Huldy; and Huldy she told - 'em that she'd got every thing ready, and showed 'em her pantries, and her - cakes and her pies and her puddin's, and took 'em all over the house; and - they went peekin' and pokin', openin' cupboard-doors, and lookin' into - drawers; and they couldn't find so much as a thread out o' the way, from - garret to cellar, and so they went off quite discontented. Arter that the - women set a new trouble a brewin'. Then they begun to talk that it was a - year now since Mis' Carryl died; and it r'ally wasn't proper such a young - gal to be stayin' there, who everybody could see was a settin' her cap for - the minister. - </p> - <p> - “Mis' Pipperidge said, that, so long as she looked on Huldy as the hired - gal, she hadn't thought much about it; but Huldy was railly takin' on airs - as an equal, and appearin' as mistress o' the house in a way that would - make talk if it went on. And Mis' Pipperidge she driv 'round up to Deakin - Abner Snow's, and down to Mis' 'Lijah Perry's, and asked them if they - wasn't afraid that the way the parson and Huldy was a goin' on might make - talk. And they said they hadn't thought on't before, but now, come to - think on't, they was sure it would; and they all went and talked with - somebody else, and asked them if they didn't think it would make talk. So - come Sunday, between meetin's there warn't nothin' else talked about; and - Huldy saw folks a noddin' and a winkin', and a lookin' arter her, and she - begun to feel drefful sort o' disagreeable. Finally Mis' Sawin she says to - her, 'My dear, didn't you, never think folk would talk about you and the - minister?' - </p> - <p> - “'No: why should they?' says Huldy, quite innocent. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, dear,' says she, 'I think it's a shame; but they say you're tryin' - to catch him, and that it's so bold and improper for you to be courtin' of - him right in his own house,—you know folks will talk,—I - thought I'd tell you 'cause I think so much of you,' says she. - </p> - <p> - “Huldy was a gal of spirit, and she despised the talk, but it made her - drefful uncomfortable; and when she got home at night she sat down in the - mor-nin'-glory porch, quite quiet, and didn't sing a word. - </p> - <p> - “The minister he had heard the same thing from one of his deakins that - day; and, when he saw Huldy so kind o' silent, he says to her, 'Why don't - you sing, my child?' - </p> - <p> - “He hed a pleasant sort o' way with him, the minister had, and Huldy had - got to likin' to be with him, and it all come over her that perhaps she - ought to go away; and her throat kind o' filled up so she couldn't hardly - speak; and, says she, 'I can't sing to-night.' - </p> - <p> - “Says he, 'You don't know how much good you're singin' has done me, nor - how much good <i>you</i> have done me in all ways, Huldy. I wish I knew - how to show my gratitude.' - </p> - <p> - “'O sir!' says Huldy, '<i>is</i> it improper for me to be here?' - </p> - <p> - “'No, dear,' says the minister, 'but ill-natured folks will talk; but - there is one way we can stop it, Huldy—if you will marry me. You 'll - make me very happy, and I 'll do all I can to make you happy. Will you?' - </p> - <p> - “Wal, Huldy never told me jist what she said to the minister,—gals - never does give you the particulars of them 'are things jist as you'd like - 'em,—only I know the upshot and the hull on't was, that Huldy she - did a consid'able lot o' clear starchin' and ironin' the next two days; - and the Friday o' next week the minister and she rode over together to Dr. - Lothrop's in Old Town; and the doctor, he jist made 'em man and wife, - 'spite of envy of the Jews,' as the hymn says. Wal, you'd better believe - there was a starin' and a wonderin' next Sunday mornin' when the second - bell was a tollin', and the minister walked up the broad aisle with Huldy, - all in white, arm in arm with him, and he opened the minister's pew, and - handed her in as if she was a princess; for, you see, Parson Carryl come - of a good family, and was a born gentleman, and had a sort o' grand way o' - bein' polite to women-folks. Wal, I guess there was a rus'lin' among the - bunnets. Mis' Pipperidge gin a great bounce, like corn poppin' on a - shovel, and her eyes glared through her glasses at Huldy as if they'd a - sot her afire; and everybody in the meetin' house was a starin', I tell <i>yew</i>. - But they couldn't none of 'em say nothin' agin Huldy's looks; for there - wa'n't a crimp nor a frill about her that wa'n't jis' <i>so</i>; and her - frock was white as the driven snow, and she had her bunnet all trimmed up - with white ribbins; and all the fellows said the old doctor had stole a - march, and got the handsomest gal in the parish. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, arter meetin' they all come 'round the parson and Huldy at the door, - shakin' hands and laughin'; for by that time they was about agreed that - they'd got to let putty well alone. - </p> - <p> - “'Why, Parson Carryl,' says Mis' Deakin Blodgett, 'how you've come it over - us.' - </p> - <p> - “'Yes,' says the parson, with a kind o' twinkle in his eye. 'I thought,' - says he, 'as folks wanted to talk about Huldy and me, I'd give 'em - somethin' wuth talkin' about.'” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0010" id="linkimage-0010"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:20%;"> - <img src="images/5098.jpg" alt="5098 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/5098.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE WIDOW'S BANDBOX. - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0011" id="linkimage-0011"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> - <img src="images/9099.jpg" alt="9099 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9099.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - ORDY massy! Stick yer hat into the nor'east, Horace, and see 'f ye can't - stop out this 'ere wind. I'm e'eny most used up with it.” - </p> - <p> - So spake Sam Lawson, contemplating mournfully a new broad-brimmed straw - hat in which my soul was rejoicing. - </p> - <p> - It was the dripping end of a sour November afternoon, which closed up a - “spell o' weather” that had been steadily driving wind and rain for a week - past; and we boys sought the shelter and solace of his shop, and, opening - the door, let in the wind aforesaid. - </p> - <p> - Sam had been all day in one of his periodical fits of desperate industry. - The smoke and sparks had been seen flying out of his shop-chimney in a - frantic manner; and the blows of his hammer had resounded with a sort of - feverish persistence, intermingled with a doleful wailing of psalm-tunes - of the most lugubrious description. - </p> - <p> - These fits of industry on Sam's part were an affliction to us boys, - especially when they happened to come on Saturday: for Sam was as much a - part of our Saturday-afternoon calculations as if we had a regular deed of - property in him; and we had been all day hanging round his shop, looking - in from time to time, in the vague hope that he would propose something to - brighten up the dreary monotony of a holiday in which it had been - impossible to go anywhere or do any thing. - </p> - <p> - “Sam, ain't you coming over to tell us some stories to-night?” - </p> - <p> - “Bless your soul and body, boys! life ain't made to be spent tellin' - stories. Why, I shall hev to be up here workin' till arter twelve - o'clock,” said Sam, who was suddenly possessed with a spirit of the most - austere diligence. “Here I be up to my neck in work,—things kind o' - comin' in a heap together. - </p> - <p> - “There's Mis' Cap'n Broad's andirons, she sent word she must have 'em - to-night; and there's Lady Lothrop, she wants her warmin'-pan right off; - they can't non' on 'em wait a minit longer. I've ben a drivin' and workin' - all day like a nigger-slave. Then there was Jeduth Pettybone, he brought - down them colts to-day, and I worked the biggest part o' the mornin' - shoein' on 'em; and then Jeduth he said he couldn't make change to pay me, - so there wa'n't nothin' comin' in for 't; and then Hepsy she kep' a jawin' - at me all dinner-time 'bout that. Why, I warn't to blame now, was I? I - can't make everybody do jest right and pay regular, can I? So ye see it - goes, boys, gettin' yer bread by the sweat o' your brow; and sometimes - sweatin' and not gettin' yer bread. That 'ere's what I call the <i>cuss</i>, - the 'riginal cuss, that come on man for hearkenin' to the voice o' his - wife,—that 'ere was what did it. It allers kind o' riles me up with - Mother Eve when I think on't. The women hain't no bisness to fret as they - do, 'cause they sot this 'ere state o' things goin' in the fust place.” - </p> - <p> - “But, Sam, Aunt Lois and Aunt Nabby are both going over to Mis' - Mehitabel's to tea. Now, you just come over and eat supper with us and - tell us a story, do.” - </p> - <p> - “Gone out to tea, be they?” said Sam, relaxing his hammering, with a - brightening gleam stealing gradually across his lanky visage. “Wal, that - 'ere looks like a providential openin', to be sure. Wal, I guess I 'll - come. What's the use o' never havin' a good time? Ef you work yourself up - into shoestrings you don't get no thanks for it, and things in this - world's 'bout as broad as they is long: the women 'll scold, turn 'em - which way ye will. A good mug o' cider and some cold victuals over to the - Deakin's 'll kind o' comfort a feller up; and your granny she's sort o' - merciful, she don't rub it into a fellow all the time like Miss Lois.” - </p> - <p> - “Now, let's see, boys,” said Sam, when a comfortable meal of pork and - beans had been disposed of, and a mug of cider was set down before the - fire to warm. “I s'pect ye 'll like to hear a Down-East story to-night.” - </p> - <p> - Of course we did, and tumbled over each other in our eagerness to get the - nearest place to the narrator. - </p> - <p> - Sam's method of telling a story was as leisurely as that of some modern - novel-writers. He would take his time for it, and proceed by easy stages. - It was like the course of a dreamy, slow-moving river through a tangled - meadow-flat,—not a rush nor a bush but was reflected in it; in - short, Sam gave his philosophy of matters and things in general as he went - along, and was especially careful to impress an edifying moral. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, ye see, boys, ye know I was born down to Newport,—there where - it's all ships and shipping, and sich. My old mother she kep' a - boardin'-house for sailors down there. Wal, ye see, I rolled and tumbled - round the world pretty consid'able afore I got settled down here in - Oldtown. - </p> - <p> - “Ye see, my mother she wanted to bind me out to a blacksmith, but I kind - o' sort o' didn't seem to take to it. It was kind o' hard work, and boys - is apt to want to take life easy. Wal, I used to run off to the sea-shore, - and lie stretched out on them rocks there, and look off on to the water; - and it did use to look so sort o' blue and peaceful, and the ships come a - sailin' in and out so sort o' easy and natural, that I felt as if that are - 'd be jest the easiest kind o' life a fellow could have. All he had to do - was to get aboard one o' them ships, and be off seekin' his fortin at - t'other end o' the rainbow, where gold grows on bushes and there's valleys - o' diamonds. - </p> - <p> - “So, nothin' would do but I gin my old mother the slip; and away I went to - sea, with my duds tied up in a han'kercher. - </p> - <p> - “I tell ye what, boys, ef ye want to find an easy life, don't ye never go - to sea. I tell ye, life on shipboard ain't what it looks to be on shore. I - hadn't been aboard more'n three hours afore I was the sickest critter that - ever ye did see; and I tell you, I didn't get no kind o' compassion. - Cap'ns and mates they allers thinks boys hain't no kind o' business to - have no bowels nor nothin', and they put it on 'em sick or well. It's jest - a kick here, and a cuff there, and a twitch by the ear in t'other place; - one a shovin' on 'em this way, and another hittin' on 'em a clip, and all - growlin' from mornin' to night. I believe the way my ears got so long was - bein' hauled out o' my berth by 'em: that 'are's a sailor's regular way o' - wakin' up a boy. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, by time I got to the Penobscot country, all I wanted to know was how - to get back agin. That 'are's jest the way folks go all their lives, boys. - It's all fuss, fuss, and stew, stew, till ye get somewhere; and then it's - fuss, fuss, and stew, stew, to get back agin; jump here and scratch yer - eyes out, and jump there and scratch 'em in agin,—that 'are's life'. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, I kind o' poked round in Penobscot country till I got a berth on - 'The Brilliant' that was lyin' at Camden, goin' to sail to Boston. - </p> - <p> - “Ye see, 'The Brilliant' she was a tight little sloop in the government - service: 'twas in the war-times, ye see, and Commodore Tucker that is now - (he was Cap'n Tucker then), he had the command on her,—used to run - up and down all the coast takin' observations o' the British, and keepin' - his eye out on 'em and givin' on 'em a nip here and a clip there,' cordin' - as he got a good chance. Why, your grand'ther knew old Commodore Tucker. - It was he that took Dr. Franklin over Minister, to France, and dodged all - the British vessels, right in the middle o' the war I tell you that 'are - was like runnin' through the drops in a thunder-shower. He got chased by - the British ships pretty consid'able, but he was too spry for 'em. Arter - the war was over, Commodore Tucker took over John Adams, our fust Minister - to England. A drefful smart man the Commodore was, but he most like to 'a' - ben took in this'ere time I'm a tellin' ye about, and all 'cause he was - sort o' softhearted to the women. Tom Toothacre told me the story. Tom he - was the one that got me the berth on the ship. Ye see, I used to know Tom - at Newport; and once when he took sick there my mother nussed him up, and - that was why Tom was friends with me and got me the berth, and kep' me - warm in it too. Tom he was one of your rael Maine boys, that's hatched - out, so to speak, in water like ducks. He was born away down there on - Harpswell P'int; and they say, if ye throw one o' them Harpswell babies - into the sea, he 'll take to it nateral, and swim like a cork: ef they hit - their heads agin a rock it only dents the rock, but don't hurt the baby. - Tom he was a great character on the ship. He could see further, and knew - more 'bout wind and water, than most folks: the officers took Tom's - judgment, and the men all went by his say. My mother she chalked a streak - o' good luck for me when she nussed up Tom. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, we wus a lyin' at Camden there, one arter-noon, goin' to sail for - Boston that night. It was a sort o' soft, pleasant arternoon, kind o' - still, and there wa'n't nothin' a goin' on but jest the hens a - craw-crawin', and a histin' up one foot, and holdin' it a spell 'cause - they didn't know when to set it down, and the geese a sissin' and a - pickin' at the grass. Ye see, Camden wasn't nothin' of a place,—'twas - jest as if somebody had emptied out a pocketful o' houses and forgot 'em. - There wer'n't nothin' a stirrin' or goin' on; and so we was all took - aback, when 'bout four o'clock in the arternoon there come a boat - alongside, with a tall, elegant lady in it, all dressed in deep mournin'. - She rared up sort o' princess-like, and come aboard our ship, and wanted - to speak to Cap 'll Tucker. Where she come from, or what she wanted, or - where she was goin' to, we none on us knew: she kep' her veil down so we - couldn't get sight o' her face. All was, she must see Cap'n Tucker alone - right away. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, Cap'n Tucker he was like the generality o' cap'ns. He was up to - 'bout every thing that any <i>man</i> could do, but it was pretty easy for - a woman to come it over him. Ye see, cap'ns, they don't see women as men - do ashore. They don't have enough of 'em to get tired on 'em; and every - woman's an angel to a sea-cap'n. Anyway, the cap'n he took her into his - cabin, and he sot her a chair, and was her humble servant to command, and - what would she have of him? And we was all a winkin', and a nudgin' each - other, and a peekin' to see what was to come o' it. And she see it; and so - she asks, in a sort o' princess' way, to speak to the cap'n alone; and so - the doors was shut, and we was left to our own ideas, and a wonderin' what - it was all to be about. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, you see, it come out arterwards all about what went on; and things - went this way. Jest as soon as the doors was shut, and she was left alone - with the cap'n, she busted out a cryin' and a sobbin'. lit to break her - heart. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, the cap'n he tried to comfort her up: but no, she wouldn't be - comforted, but went on a weepin' and a wailin,' and a wringin' on her - hands, till the poor cap'n's heart was a'most broke; for the cap'n was the - tenderest-hearted critter that could be, and couldn't bear to see a child - or a woman in trouble noways. - </p> - <p> - “'O cap'n!' said she, 'I'm the most unfortunate woman. I'm all alone in - the world,' says she, 'and I don't know what 'll become of me ef you don't - keep me,' says she. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, the cap'n thought it was time to run up his colors; and so says he, - 'Ma'am, I'm a married man, and love my wife,' says he, 'and so I can feel - for all women in distress,' says he. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, well, then!' says she, 'you can feel for me, and know how to pity me. - My dear husband's just died suddenly when he was up the river. He was took - with the fever in the woods. I nussed him day and night,' says she; 'but - he died there in a mis'able little hut far from home and friends,' says - she; 'and I've brought his body down with me, hopin' Providence would open - some way to get it back to our home in Boston. And now, cap'n, you must - help me.' - </p> - <p> - “Then the cap'n see what she was up to: and he hated to do it, and tried - to cut her off o' askin'; but she wa'n't to be put off. - </p> - <p> - “'Now, cap'n,' says she, 'ef you 'll take me and the body o' my husband on - board to-night, I'd be willin' to reward you to any amount. Money would be - no object to me,' says she. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, you see, the cap'n he kind o' hated to do it; and he hemmed and - hawed, and he tried to 'pologize. He said 'twas a government vessel, and - he didn't know as he had a right to use it. He said sailors was apt to be - superstitious; and he didn't want 'em to know as there was a corpse on - board. - </p> - <p> - “'Wal,' says she, 'why need they know?' For, you see, she was up to every - dodge; and she said she'd come along with it at dusk, in a box, and have - it just carried to a state-room, and he needn't tell nobody what it was. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, Cap'n Tucker he hung off; and he tried his best to persuade her to - have a funeral, all quiet, there at Camden. He promised to get a minister, - and 'tend to it, and wait a day till it was all over, and then take her on - to Boston free gratis. But 'twas all no go. She wouldn't hear a word to - 't. And she reeled off the talk to him by the yard. And, when talk failed, - she took to her water-works again, till finally the cap'n said his - resolution was clean washed away, and he jest give up hook and line; and - so 'twas all settled and arranged, that, when evening come, she was to be - alongside with her boat, and took aboard. - </p> - <p> - “When she come out o' the cap'n's room to go off, I see Tom Toothacre a - watchin' on her. He stood there by the railin's a shavin' up a plug o' - baccy to put in his pipe. He didn't say a word; but he sort o' took the - measure o' that 'are woman with his eye, and kept a follerin' on her. - </p> - <p> - “She had a fine sort o' lively look, carried her head up and shoulders - back, and stepped as if she had steel springs in her heels. - </p> - <p> - “'Wal, Tom, what do ye say to her?' says Ben Bowdin. - </p> - <p> - “'I don't <i>say</i> nothin',' says Tom, and he lit his pipe; 'tain't <i>my</i> - busness,' says he. - </p> - <p> - “'Wal, what do you <i>think?</i>' says Ben. Tom gin a hist to his - trousers. - </p> - <p> - “'My thoughts is my own,' says he; 'and I calculate to keep 'em to - myself,' says he. And then he jest walked to the side of the vessel, and - watched the woman a gettin' ashore. There was a queer kind o look in Tom's - eye. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, the cap'n he was drefful sort o' oneasy arter she was gone. He had a - long talk in the cabin with Mr. More, the fust officer; and there was a - sort o' stir aboard as if somethin' was a goin' to happen, we couldn't - jest say what it was. - </p> - <p> - “Sometimes it seems as if, when things is goin' to happen, a body kind o' - feels 'em comin' in the air. We boys was all that way: o' course we didn't - know nothin' 'bout what the woman wanted, or what she come for, or whether - she was comin' agin; 'n fact, we didn't know nothin' about it, and yet we - sort o' expected suthin' to come o' it; and suthin' did come, sure enough. - </p> - <p> - “Come on night, jest at dusk, we see a boat comin' alongside; and there, - sure enough, was the lady in it. - </p> - <p> - “'There, she's comin' agin,' says I to Tom Tooth acre. - </p> - <p> - “'Yes, and brought her baggage with her,' says Tom; and he p'inted down to - a long, narrow pine box that was in the boat beside her. - </p> - <p> - “Jest then the cap'n called on Mr. More, and he called on Tom Toothacre; - and among 'em they lowered a tackle, and swung the box aboard, and put it - in the state-room right alongside the cap'n's cabin. - </p> - <p> - “The lady she thanked the cap'n and Mr. More, and her voice was jest as - sweet as any nightingale; and she went into the state-room arter they put - the body in, and was gone ever so long with it. The cap'n and Mr. More - they stood a whisperin' to each other, and every once in a while they'd - kind o' nod at the door where the lady was. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, by and by she come out with her han'ker-chief to her eyes, and come - on deck, and begun talkin' to the cap'n and Mr. More, and a wishin' all - kinds o' blessin's on their heads. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, Tom Toothacre didn't say a word, good or bad; but he jest kep' a - lookin' at her, watchin' her as a cat watches a mouse. Finally we up sail, - and started with a fair breeze. The lady she kep' a walkin' up and down, - up and down, and every time she turned on her heel, I saw Tom a lookin' - arter her and kind o' noddin' to himself. - </p> - <p> - “'What makes you look arter her so, Tom?' says I to him. - </p> - <p> - “''Cause I think she <i>wants</i> lookin' arter,' says Tom. 'What's more,' - says he, 'if the cap'n don't look sharp arter her the devil 'll have us - all afore mornin.' I tell ye, Sam, there's mischief under them petticuts.' - </p> - <p> - “'Why, what do ye think?' says I. - </p> - <p> - “'Think! I don't think, I knows! That 'are's no gal, nor widder neither, - if my name's Tom Tooth-acre! Look at her walk; look at the way she turns - on her heel! I've been a watchin' on her. There ain't no woman livin' with - a step like that!' says he. - </p> - <p> - “'Wal, who should the critter be, then?' says I. - </p> - <p> - “'Wal,' says Tom, 'ef that 'are ain't a British naval officer, I lose my - bet. I've been used to the ways on 'em, and I knows their build and their - step.' - </p> - <p> - “'And what do you suppose she's got in that long box?' says I. - </p> - <p> - “'What has she got?' says Tom. 'Wal, folks might say none o' my bisness; - but I s'pects it 'll turn out some o' my bisness, and yourn too, if he - don't look sharp arter it,' says Tom. 'It's no good, that 'are box ain't.' - </p> - <p> - “'Why don't you speak to Mr. More?' says I. - </p> - <p> - “'Wal, you see she's a chipperin' round and a-makin' herself agreeable to - both on 'em, you see; she don't mean to give nobody any chance for a talk - with 'em; but I've got my eye on her, for all that. You see I hain't no - sort o' disposition to sarve out a time on one o' them British - prison-ships,' says Tom Toothacre. 'It might be almighty handy for them - British to have “The Brilliant” for a coast-vessel,' says he; 'but, ye - see, it can't be spared jest yet. So, madam,' says he, 'I've got my eye on - you.' - </p> - <p> - “Wal, Tom was as good as his word; for when Mr. More came towards him at - the wheel, Tom he up and says to him, 'Mr. More,' says he, that 'are big - box in the state-room yonder wants lookin' into.' - </p> - <p> - “Tom was a sort o' privileged character, and had a way o' speakin' up that - the officers took in good part, 'cause they knew he was a fust-rate hand. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, Mr. More he looks mysterious; and says he, Tom, do the boys know - what's in that 'are box?' - </p> - <p> - “'I bet they don't,' says Tom. 'If they had, you wouldn't a got 'em to - help it aboard.' - </p> - <p> - “'Wal, you see, poor woman,' says Mr. More to Tom, 'she was so distressed. - She wanted to get her husband's body to Boston; and there wa'n't no other - way, and so the cap'n let it come aboard. He didn't want the boys to - suspect what it really was.' - </p> - <p> - “'Husband's body be hanged!' said Tom. 'Guess that 'are corpse ain't so - dead but what there 'll be a resurrection afore mornin', if it ain't - looked arter,' says he. - </p> - <p> - “'Why, what do you mean, Tom?' said Mr. More, all in a blue maze. - </p> - <p> - “'I mean, that 'are gal that's ben a switchin' her petticuts up and down - our deck ain't no gal at all. That are's a British officer, Mr. More. You - give my duty to the cap'n, and tell him to look into his widder's bandbox, - and see what he 'll find there.' - </p> - <p> - “Wal, the mate he went and had a talk with the cap'n; and they 'greed - between 'em that Mr. More was to hold her in talk while the cap'n went and - took observations in the state-room. - </p> - <p> - “So, down the cap'n goes into the state-room to give a look at the box. - Wal, he finds the stateroom door all locked to be sure, and my lady had - the key in her pocket; but then the cap'n he had a master key to it; and - so he puts it in, and opens the door quite softly, and begins to take - observations. - </p> - <p> - “Sure enough, he finds that the screws had been drawed from the top o' the - box, showin' that the widder had been a tinkerin' on't when they thought - she was a cryin' over it; and then, lookin' close, he sees a bit o' twine - goin' from a crack in the box out o' the winder, and up on deck. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, the cap'n he kind o' got in the sperit o' the thing; and he thought - he'd jest let the widder play her play out, and see what it would come to. - So he jest calls Tom Toothacre down to him and whispered to him. 'Tom,' - says he, 'you jest crawl under the berth in that 'are state-room, and - watch that 'are box.' And Tom said he would. - </p> - <p> - “So Tom creeps under the berth, and lies there still as a mouse; and the - cap'n he slips out and turns the key in the door, so that when madam comes - down she shouldn't s'pect nothin'. - </p> - <p> - “Putty soon, sure enough, Tom heard the lock rattle, and the young widder - come in; and then he heard a bit o' conversation between her and the - corpse. - </p> - <p> - “'What time is it?' come in a kind o' hoarse whisper out o' the box. - </p> - <p> - “'Well, 'bout nine o'clock,' says she. - </p> - <p> - “'How long afore you 'll let me out?' says he. - </p> - <p> - “'Oh! you must have patience,' says she, 'till they're all gone off to - sleep; when there ain't but one man up. I can knock him down,' says she, - 'and then I 'll pull the string for you.' - </p> - <p> - “'The devil you will, ma'am!' says Tom to himself, under the berth. - </p> - <p> - “'Well, it's darned close here,' says the fellow in the box. He didn't say - darned, boys; but he said a wickeder word that I can't repeat, noways,” - said Sam, in a parenthesis: “these 'ere British officers was drefful - swearin' critters. - </p> - <p> - “'You must have patience a while longer,' says the lady, 'till I pull the - string.' Tom Toothacre lay there on his back a laughin'. - </p> - <p> - “'Is every thing goin' on right?' says the man in the box. - </p> - <p> - “'All straight,' says she: 'there don't none of 'em suspect.' - </p> - <p> - “'You bet,' says Tom Toothacre, under the berth; and he said he had the - greatest mind to catch the critter by the feet as she was a standin' - there, but somehow thought it would be better fun to see the thing through - 'cording as they'd planned it. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, then she went off switchin' and mincin' up to the deck agin, and a - flirtin' with the cap'n; for you see 'twas 'greed to let 'em play their - play out. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, Tom he lay there a waitin'; and he waited and waited and waited, - till he 'most got asleep; but finally he heard a stirrin' in the box, as - if the fellah was a gettin' up. Tom he jest crawled out still and kerful, - and stood up tight agin the wall. Putty soon he hears a grunt, and he sees - the top o' the box a risin' up, and a man jest gettin' out on't mighty - still. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0012" id="linkimage-0012"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:65%;"> - <img src="images/0119.jpg" alt="0119m " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0119.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - “Wal, Tom he waited till he got fairly out on to the floor, and had his - hand on the lock o' the door, when he jumps on him, and puts both arms - round him, and gin him a regular bear's hug. - </p> - <p> - “'Why, what's this?' says the man. - </p> - <p> - “'Guess ye 'll find out, darn ye,' says Tom Tooth-acre. 'So, ye wanted our - ship, did ye? Wal, ye jest can't have our ship,' says Tom, says he; and I - tell you he jest run that 'are fellow up stairs lickety-split, for Tom was - strong as a giant. - </p> - <p> - “The fust thing they saw was Mr. More hed got the widder by both arms, and - was tying on 'em behind her. 'Ye see, madam, your game's up,' says Mr. - More, 'but we 'll give ye a free passage to Boston, tho',' says he: 'we - wanted a couple o' prisoners about these days, and you 'll do nicely.' - </p> - <p> - “The fellers they was putty chopfallen, to be sure, and the one in women's - clothes 'specially: 'cause when he was found out, he felt foolish enough - in his petticuts; but they was both took to Boston, and given over as - prisoners. - </p> - <p> - “Ye see, come to look into matters, they found these two young fellows, - British officers, had formed a regular plot to take Cap'n Tucker's vessel, - and run it into Halifax; and ye see, Cap'n Tucker he was so sort o' spry, - and knew all the Maine coast so well, and was so 'cute at dodgin' in and - out all them little bays and creeks and places all 'long shore, that he - made the British considerable trouble, 'cause wherever they didn't want - him, that's where he was sure to be. - </p> - <p> - “So they'd hatched up this 'ere plan. There was one or two British sailors - had been and shipped aboard 'The Brilliant' a week or two aforehand, and - 'twas suspected they was to have helped in the plot if things had gone as - they laid out; but I tell you, when the fellows see which way the cat - jumped, they took pretty good care to say that they hadn't nothin' to do - with it. Oh, no, by no manner o' means! Wal, o' course, ye know, it - couldn't be proved on 'em, and so we let it go. - </p> - <p> - “But I tell you, Cap'n Tucker he felt pretty cheap about his widder. The - worst on't was, they do say Ma'am Tucker got hold of it; and you might - know if a woman got hold of a thing like that she'd use it as handy as a - cat would her claws. The women they can't no more help hittin' a fellow a - clip and a rap when they've fairly got him, than a cat when she's ketched - a mouse; and so I shouldn't wonder if the Commodore heard something about - his widder every time he went home from his v'yages the longest day he had - to live. I don't know nothin' 'bout it, ye know: I only kind o' jedge by - what looks, as human natur' goes. - </p> - <p> - “But, Lordy massy! boys,' 't wa'n't nothin' to be 'shamed of in the cap'n. - Folks 'll have to answer for wus things at the last day than tryin' to do - a kindness to a poor widder, now, I tell <i>you</i>. It's better to be - took in doin' a good thing, than never try to do good; and it's my settled - opinion,” said Sam, taking up his mug of cider and caressing it tenderly, - “it's my humble opinion, that the best sort o' folks is the easiest took - in, 'specially by the women. I reely don't think I should a done a bit - better myself.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0013" id="linkimage-0013"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:20%;"> - <img src="images/5124.jpg" alt="5124 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/5124.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CAPTAIN KIDD'S MONEY. - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0014" id="linkimage-0014"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> - <img src="images/9125.jpg" alt="9125 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9125.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - NE of our most favorite legendary resorts was the old barn. - </p> - <p> - Sam Lawson preferred it on many accounts. It was quiet and retired, that - is to say, at such distance from his own house, that he could not hear if - Hepsy called ever so loudly, and farther off than it would be convenient - for that industrious and painstaking woman to follow him. Then there was - the soft fragrant cushion of hay, on which his length of limb could be - easily bestowed. - </p> - <p> - Our barn had an upper loft with a swinging outer door that commanded a - view of the old mill, the waterfall, and the distant windings of the - river, with its grassy green banks, its graceful elm draperies, and its - white flocks of water-lilies; and then on this Saturday afternoon we had - Sam all to ourselves. It was a drowsy, dreamy October day, when the hens - were lazily “craw, crawing,” in a soft, conversational undertone with each - other, as they scratched and picked the hay-seed under the barn windows. - Below in the barn black Cæsar sat quietly hatchelling flax, sometimes - gurgling and giggling to himself with an overflow of that interior jollity - with which he seemed to be always full. The African in New England was a - curious contrast to everybody around him in the joy and satisfaction that - he seemed to feel in the mere fact of being alive. Every white person was - glad or sorry for some appreciable cause in the past, present, or future, - which was capable of being definitely stated; but black Cæsar was in an - eternal giggle and frizzle and simmer of enjoyment for which he could give - no earthly reason: he was an “embodied joy,” like Shelley's skylark. - </p> - <p> - “Jest hear him,” said Sam Lawson, looking pensively over the hay-mow, and - strewing hayseed down on his wool. “How that 'are critter seems to tickle - and laugh all the while 'bout nothin'. Lordy massy! he don't seem never to - consider that 'this life's a dream, an empty show.'” - </p> - <p> - “Look here, Sam,” we broke in, anxious to cut short a threatened stream of - morality, “you promised to tell us about Capt. Kidd, and how you dug for - his money.” - </p> - <p> - “Did I, now? Wal, boys, that 'are history o' Kidd's is a warnin' to - fellers. Why, Kidd had pious parents and Bible and sanctuary privileges - when he was a boy, and yet come to be hanged. It's all in this 'ere song - I'm a goin' to sing ye. Lordy massy! I wish I had my bass-viol now.—Cæsar,” - he said, calling down from his perch, “can't you strike the pitch o' - 'Cap'n Kidd,' on your fiddle?” - </p> - <p> - Cæsar's fiddle was never far from him. It was, in fact, tucked away in a - nice little nook just over the manger; and he often caught an interval - from his work to scrape a dancing-tune on it, keeping time with his heels, - to our great delight. - </p> - <p> - A most wailing minor-keyed tune was doled forth, which seemed quite - refreshing to Sam's pathetic vein, as he sang in his most lugubrious - tones,— - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - “'My name was Robert Kidd - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - As I sailed, as I sailed, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - My name was Robert Kidd; - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - God's laws I did forbid, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - And so wickedly I did, - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - As I sailed, as I sailed.' - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - “Now ye see, boys, he's a goin' to tell how he abused his religious - privileges; just hear now:— - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - “'My father taught me well, - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - As I sailed, as I sailed; - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - My father taught me well - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - To shun the gates of hell, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - But yet I did rebel, - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - As I sailed, as I sailed. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - “'He put a Bible in my hand, - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - As I sailed, as I sailed; - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - He put a Bible in my hand, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - And I sunk it in the sand - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Before I left the strand, - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - As I sailed, as I sailed.' - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - “Did ye ever hear o' such a hardened, contrary critter, boys? It's awful - to think on. Wal, ye see that 'are's the way fellers allers begin the ways - o' sin, by turnin' their backs on the Bible and the advice o' pious - parents. Now hear what he come to:— - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - “'Then I murdered William More, - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - As I sailed, as I sailed; - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - I murdered William More, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - And left him in his gore, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Not many leagues from shore, - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - As I sailed, as I sailed. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - “'To execution dock - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - I must go, I must go. - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - To execution dock, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - While thousands round me flock, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - To see me on the block, - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - I must go, I must go. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - “There was a good deal more on't,” said Sam, pausing, “but I don't seem to - remember it; but it's real solemn and affectin'.” - </p> - <p> - “Who was Capt. Kidd, Sam?” said I. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, he was an officer in the British navy, and he got to bein' a pirate: - used to take ships and sink 'em, and murder the folks; and so they say he - got no end o' money,—gold and silver and precious stones, as many as - the wise men in the East. But ye see, what good did it all do him? He - couldn't use it, and dar'sn't keep it; so he used to bury it in spots - round here and there in the awfullest heathen way ye ever heard of. Why, - they say he allers used to kill one or two men or women or children of his - prisoners, and bury with it, so that their sperits might keep watch on it - ef anybody was to dig arter it. That 'are thing has been tried and tried - and tried, but no man nor mother's son on 'em ever got a cent that dug. - 'Twas tried here'n Oldtown; and they come pretty nigh gettin' on't, but it - gin 'em the slip. Ye see, boys, <i>it's the Devil's money</i>, and he - holds a pretty tight grip on't.”. - </p> - <p> - “Well, how was it about digging for it? Tell us, did <i>you</i> do it? - Were <i>you</i> there? Did you see it? And why couldn't they get it?” we - both asked eagerly and in one breath. - </p> - <p> - “Why, Lordy massy I boys, your questions tumbles over each other thick as - martins out o' a martin-box. Now, you jest be moderate and let alone, and - I 'll tell you all about it from the beginnin' to the end. I didn't railly - have no hand in't, though I was knowin' to 't, as I be to most things that - goes on round here; but my conscience wouldn't railly a let me start on no - sich undertakin'. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, the one that fust sot the thing a goin' was old Mother Hokum, that - used to live up in that little tumble-down shed by the cranberry-pond up - beyond the spring pastur'. They had a putty bad name, them Hokums. How - they got a livin' nobody knew; for they didn't seem to pay no attention to - raisin' nothin' but childun, but the duce knows, there was plenty o' them. - Their old hut was like a rabbit-pen: there was a tow-head to every crack - and cranny. 'Member what old Cæsar said once when the word come to the - store that old Hokum had got twins. 'S'pose de Lord knows best,' says - Cæsar, 'but <i>I</i> thought dere was Hokums enough afore.' Wal, even poor - workin' industrious folks like me finds it's hard gettin' along when - there's so many mouths to feed. Lordy massy! there don't never seem to be - no end on't, and so it ain't wonderful, come to think on't, ef folks like - them Hokums gets tempted to help along in ways that ain't quite right. - Anyhow, folks did use to think that old Hokum was too sort o' familiar - with their wood-piles 'long in the night, though they couldn't never prove - it on him; and when Mother Hokum come to houses round to wash, folks use - sometimes to miss pieces, here and there, though they never could find 'em - on her; then they was allers a gettin' in debt here and a gettin' in debt - there. Why, they got to owin' two dollars to Joe Gidger for butcher's - meat. Joe was sort o' good-natured and let 'em have meat, 'cause Hokum he - promised so fair to pay; but he couldn't never get it out o' him. 'Member - once Joe walked clear up to the cranberry-pond arter that 'are two - dollars; but Mother Hokum she see him a comin' jest as he come past the - juniper-bush on the corner. She says to Hokum, 'Get into bed, old man, - quick, and let me tell the story,' says she. So she covered him up; and - when Gidger come in she come up to him, and says she, 'Why, Mr. Gidger, - I'm jest ashamed to see ye: why, Mr. Hokum was jest a comin' down to pay - ye that 'are money last week, but ye see he was took down with the - small-pox'—Joe didn't hear no more: he just turned round, and he - streaked it out that 'are door with his coat-tails flyin' out straight - ahind him; and old Mother Hokum she jest stood at the window holdin' her - sides and laughin' fit to split, to see him run. That 'are's jest a sample - o' the ways them Hokums cut up. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, you see, boys, there's a queer kind o' rock down on the bank 'o the - river, that looks sort o' like a grave-stone. The biggest part on't is - sunk down under ground, and it's pretty well growed over with - blackberry-vines; but, when you scratch the bushes away, they used to make - out some queer marks on that 'are rock. They was sort o' lines and - crosses; and folks would have it that them was Kidd's private marks, and - that there was one o' the places where he hid his money. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, there's no sayin' fairly how it come to be thought so; but fellers - used to say so, and they used sometimes to talk it over to the tahvern, - and kind o' wonder whether or no, if they should dig, they wouldn't come - to suthin'. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, old Mother Hokum she heard on't, and she was a sort o' enterprisin' - old crittur: fact was, she had to be, 'cause the young Hokums was jest - like bag-worms, the more they growed the more they eat, and I expect she - found it pretty hard to fill their mouths; and so she said ef there <i>was</i> - any thing under that 'are rock, they'd as good's have it as the Devil; and - so she didn't give old Hokum no peace o' his life, but he must see what - there was there. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, I was with 'em the night they was a talkin' on't up. Ye see, Hokum - he got thirty-seven cents' worth o' lemons and sperit. I see him goin' by - as I was out a splittin' kindlin's; and says he, 'Sam, you jest go 'long - up to our house to-night,' says he: 'Toddy Whitney and Harry Wiggin's - comin' up, and we're goin' to have a little suthin' hot,' says he; and he - kind o' showed me the lemons and sperit. And I told him I guessed I would - go 'long. Wal, I kind o' wanted to see what they'd be up to, ye know. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, come to find out, they was a talkin' about Cap'n Kidd's treasures, - and layin' out how they should get it, and a settin' one another on with - gret stories about it. - </p> - <p> - “'I've heard that there was whole chists full o gold guineas,' says one. - </p> - <p> - “'And I've heard o' gold bracelets and ear-rings and finger-rings all - sparklin' with diamonds,' says another. - </p> - <p> - “'Maybe it's old silver plate from some o' them old West Indian grandees,' - says another. - </p> - <p> - “'Wal, whatever it is,' says Mother Hokum, 'I want to be into it,' says - she. - </p> - <p> - “'Wal, Sam, won't you jine?' says they. - </p> - <p> - “'Wal, boys,' says I, 'I kind a' don't feel jest like j'inin'. I sort o' - ain't clear about the rights on't: seems to me it's mighty nigh like goin' - to the Devil for money.' - </p> - <p> - “'Wal,' says Mother Hokum, 'what if 'tis? Money's money, get it how ye - will; and the Devil's money 'll buy as much meat as any. I'd go to the - Devil, if he gave good money.' - </p> - <p> - “'Wal, I guess I wouldn't,' says I. 'Don't you 'member the sermon Parson - Lothrop preached about hastin' to be rich, last sabba' day?' - </p> - <p> - “'Parson Lothrop be hanged!' says she. 'Wal, now,' says she, 'I like to - see a parson with his silk stockin's and great gold-headed cane, a - lollopin' on his carriage behind his fat, prancin' hosses, comin' to - meetin' to preach to us poor folks not to want to be rich! How'd he like - it to have forty-'leven children, and nothin' to put onto 'em or into 'em, - I wonder? Guess if Lady Lothrop had to rub and scrub, and wear her fingers - to the bone as I do, she'd want to be rich; and I guess the parson, if he - couldn't get a bellyful for a week, would be for diggin' up Kidd's money, - or doing 'most any thing else to make the pot bile.' - </p> - <p> - “'Wal,' says I, 'I 'll kind o' go with ye, boys, and sort o' see how - things turn out; but I guess I won't take no shere in't,' says I. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, they got it all planned out. They was to wait till the full moon, - and then they was to get Primus King to go with 'em and help do the - diggin'. Ye see, Hokum and Toddy Whitney and Wiggin are all putty softly - fellers, and hate dreffully to work; and I tell you the Kidd money ain't - to be got without a pretty tough piece o' diggin'. Why, it's jest like - diggin' a well to get at it. Now, Primus King was the master hand for - diggin' wells, and so they said they'd get him by givin' on him a shere. - </p> - <p> - “Harry Wiggin he didn't want no nigger a sherin in it, he said; but Toddy - and Hokum they said that when there was such stiff diggin' to be done, - they didn't care if they did go in with a nigger. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, Wiggin he said he hadn't no objection to havin' the nigger do the - diggin,' it was <i>alterin' the profits</i> he objected to. - </p> - <p> - “'Wal,' says Hokum, 'you can't get him without,' says he. 'Primus knows - too much,' says he: 'you can't fool him.' Finally they 'greed that they - was to give Primus twenty dollars, and shere the treasure 'mong - themselves. - </p> - <p> - “Come to talk with Primus, he wouldn't stick in a spade, unless they'd pay - him aforehand. Ye see, Primus was up to 'em; he knowed about Gidger, and - there wa'n't none on 'em that was particular good pay; and so they all - jest hed to rake and scrape, and pay him down the twenty dollars among - 'em; and they 'greed for the fust full moon, at twelve o'clock at night, - the 9th of October. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, ye see I had to tell Hepsy I was goin' out to watch. Wal, so I was; - but not jest in the way she took it: but, Lordy massy! a feller has to - tell his wife suthin' to keep her quiet, ye know, 'specially Hepsy. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, wal, of all the moonlight nights that ever I did see, I never did - see one equal to that. Why, you could see the color o' every thing. I - 'member I could see how the huckleberry-bushes on the rock was red as - blood when the moonlight shone through 'em; 'cause the leaves, you see, - had begun to turn. - </p> - <p> - “Goin' on our way we got to talkin' about the sperits. - </p> - <p> - “'I ain't afraid on 'em,' says Hokum. 'What harm can a sperit do me?' says - he. 'I don't care ef there's a dozen on 'em;' and he took a swig at his - bottle. - </p> - <p> - “'Oh! there ain't no sperits,' says Harry Wiggin. 'That 'are talk's all - nonsense;' and he took a swig at <i>his</i> bottle. - </p> - <p> - “'Wal,' says Toddy, 'I don't know 'bout that 'are. Me and Ike Sanders has - seen the sperits in the Cap'n Brown house. We thought we'd jest have a - peek into the window one night; and there was a whole flock o' black colts - without no heads on come rushin' on us and knocked us flat.' - </p> - <p> - “'I expect you'd been at the tahvern,' said Hokum. - </p> - <p> - “'Wal, yes, we had; but them was sperits: we wa'n't drunk, now; we was - jest as sober as ever we was.' - </p> - <p> - “'Wal, they won't get away my money,' says Primus, for I put it safe away - in Dinah's teapot afore I come out;' and then he showed all his ivories - from ear to ear. 'I think all this 'are's sort o' foolishness,' says - Primus. - </p> - <p> - “'Wal,' says I, 'boys, I ain't a goin' to have no part or lot in this 'ere - matter, but I 'll jest lay it off to you how it's to be done. Ef Kidd's - money is under this rock, there's <i>sperits</i> that watch it, and you - mustn't give 'em no advantage. There mustn't be a word spoke from the time - ye get sight o' the treasure till ye get it safe up on to firm ground,' - says I. 'Ef ye do, it 'll vanish right out o' sight. I've talked with them - that has dug down to it and seen it; but they allers lost it, 'cause - they'd call out and say suthin'; and the minute they spoke, away it went.' - </p> - <p> - “Wal, so they marked off the ground; and Primus he begun to dig, and the - rest kind o' sot round. It was so still it was kind o' solemn. Ye see, it - was past twelve o'clock, and every critter in Oldtown was asleep; and - there was two whippoorwills on the great Cap'n Brown elm-trees, that kep' - a answerin' each other back and forward sort o' solitary like; and then - every once in a while there'd come a sort o' strange whisper up among the - elm-tree leaves, jest as if there was talkin' goin' on; and every time - Primus struck his spade into the ground it sounded sort o' holler, jest as - if he'd been a diggin' a grave. 'It's kind o' melancholy,' says I, 'to - think o' them poor critters that had to be killed and buried jest to keep - this 'ere treasure. What awful things 'll be brought to light in the - judgment day! Them poor critters they loved to live and hated to die as - much as any on us; but no, they hed to die jest to satisfy that critter's - wicked will. I've heard them as thought they could tell the Cap'n Kidd - places by layin' their ear to the ground at midnight, and they'd hear - groans and wailin's.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, Sam! were there really people who could tell where Kidd's money - was?” I here interposed. - </p> - <p> - “'Oh, sartin! why, yis. There was Shebna Bascom, he was one. Shebna could - always tell what was under the earth. He'd cut a hazel-stick, and hold it - in his hand when folks was wantin' to know where to dig wells; and that - 'are stick would jest turn in his hand, and p'int down till it would - fairly grind the bark off; and ef you dug in that place you was sure to - find a spring. Oh, yis! Shebna he's told many where the Kidd money was, - and been with 'em when they dug for it; but the pester on't was they - allers lost it, 'cause they would some on 'em speak afore they thought.” - </p> - <p> - “But, Sam, what about this digging? Let's know what came of it,” said we, - as Sam appeared to lose his way in his story. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, ye see, they dug down about five feet, when Primus he struck his - spade smack on something that chincked like iron. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0015" id="linkimage-0015"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:65%;"> - <img src="images/0141.jpg" alt="0141m " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0141.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - “Wal, then Hokum and Toddy Whitney was into the hole in a minute: they - made Primus get out, and they took the spade, 'cause they wanted to be - sure to come on it themselves. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, they begun, and they dug and he scraped, and sure enough they come - to a gret iron pot as big as your granny's dinner-pot, with an iron bale - to it. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, then they put down a rope, and he put the rope through the handle; - then Hokum and Toddy they clambered upon the bank, and all on 'em began to - draw up jest as still and silent as could be. They drawed and they drawed, - till they jest got it even with the ground, when Toddy spoke out all in a - tremble, 'There,' says he, <i>we've got it!</i>' And the minit he spoke - they was both struck by <i>suthin''</i> that knocked 'em clean over; and - the rope give a crack like a pistol-shot, and broke short off; and the pot - went down, down, down, and they heard it goin', jink, jink, jink; and it - went way down into the earth, and the ground closed over it; and then they - heard the screechin'est laugh ye ever did hear.” - </p> - <p> - “I want to know, Sam, did you see that pot?” I exclaimed at this part of - the story. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, no, I didn't. Ye see, I jest happened to drop asleep while they was - diggin', I was so kind o' tired, and I didn't wake up till it was all - over. - </p> - <p> - “I was waked up, 'cause there was consid'able of a scuffle; for Hokum was - so mad at Toddy for speakin', that he was a fistin' on him; and old Primus - he jest haw-hawed and laughed. 'Wal, I got <i>my</i> money safe, anyhow,' - says he. - </p> - <p> - “'Wal, come to,' says I. ''Tain't no use cryin' for spilt milk: you've - jest got to turn in now and fill up this 'ere hole, else the selectmen 'll - be down on ye.' - </p> - <p> - “'Wal,' says Primus, 'I didn't engage to fill up no holes;' and he put his - spade on his shoulder and trudged off. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, it was putty hard work, fillin' in that hole; but Hokum and Toddy - and Wiggin had to do it, 'cause they didn't want to have everybody a - laughin' at 'em; and I kind o' tried to set it home to 'em, showin' on 'em - that 'twas all for the best. - </p> - <p> - “'Ef you'd a been left to get that 'are money, there'd a come a cuss with - it,' says I. 'It shows the vanity o' hastin' to be rich.' - </p> - <p> - “'Oh, you shet up!' says Hokum, says he. 'You never hasted to any thing,' - says he. Ye see, he was riled, that's why he spoke so.” - </p> - <p> - “Sam,” said we, after maturely reflecting over the story, “what do you - suppose was in that pot?” - </p> - <p> - “Lordy massy! boys: ye never will be done askin' questions. Why, how - should I know?” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - “MIS' ELDERKIN'S PITCHER.” - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0016" id="linkimage-0016"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> - <img src="images/9146.jpg" alt="9146 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9146.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - E see, boys,” said Sam Lawson, as we were gathering young wintergreen on a - sunny hillside in June,—“ye see, folks don't allers know what their - marcies is when they sees 'em. Folks is kind o' blinded; and, when a - providence comes along, they don't seem to know how to take it, and they - growl and grumble about what turns out the best things that ever happened - to 'em in their lives. It's like Mis' Elderkin's pitcher.” - </p> - <p> - “What about Mis' Elderkin's pitcher?” said both of us in one breath. - </p> - <p> - “Didn't I never tell ye, now?” said Sam: “why, I wanter know?” - </p> - <p> - No, we were sure he never had told us; and Sam as usual, began clearing - the ground by a thorough introduction, with statistical expositions. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, ye see, Mis' Elderkin she lives now over to Sherburne in about the - handsomest house in Sherburne,—a high white house, with green blinds - and white pillars in front,—and she rides out in her own kerridge; - and Mr. Elderkin, he's a deakin in the church, and a colonel in the - malitia, and a s'lectman, and pretty much atop every thing there is goin' - in Sherburne, and it all come of that 'are pitcher.” - </p> - <p> - “What pitcher?” we shouted in chorus. - </p> - <p> - “Lordy massy! that 'are's jest what I'm a goin' to tell you about; but, ye - see, a feller's jest got to make a beginnin' to all things. - </p> - <p> - “Mis' Elderkin she thinks she's a gret lady nowadays, I s'pose; but I - 'member when she was Miry Brown over here'n Oldtown, and I used to be - waitin' on her to singing-school. - </p> - <p> - “Miry and I was putty good friends along in them days,—we was putty - consid'able kind o' intimate. Fact is, boys, there was times in them days - when I thought whether or no I wouldn't <i>take</i> Miry myself,” said - Sam, his face growing luminous with the pleasing idea of his former - masculine attractions and privileges. “Yis,” he continued, “there was a - time when folks said I could a hed Miry ef I'd asked her; and I putty much - think so myself, but I didn't say nothin': marriage is allers kind - o'ventursome; an' Miry had such up-and-down kind o' ways, I was sort o' - fraid on't. - </p> - <p> - “But Lordy massy! boys, you mustn't never tell Hepsy I said so, 'cause - she'd be mad enough to bite a shingle-nail in two. Not that she sets so - very gret by me neither; but then women's backs is allers up ef they think - anybody else could a hed you, whether they want you themselves or not. - </p> - <p> - “Ye see, Miry she was old Black Hoss John Brown's da'ter, and lived up - there in that 'are big brown house by the meetin'-house, that 'hes the red - hollyhock in the front yard. Miry was about the handsomest gal that went - into the singers' seat a Sunday. - </p> - <p> - “I tell you she wa'n't none o' your milk-and-sugar gals neither,—she - was 'mazin' strong built. She was the strongest gal in her arms that I - ever see. Why, I've seen Miry take up a barrel o' flour, and lift it right - into the kitchen; and it would jest make the pink come into her cheeks - like two roses, but she never seemed to mind it a grain. She had a good - strong back of her own, and she was straight as a poplar, with snappin' - black eyes, and I tell you there was a snap to her tongue too. Nobody - never got ahead o' Miry; she'd give every fellow as good as he sent, but - for all that she was a gret favorite. - </p> - <p> - “Miry was one o' your briery, scratchy gals, that seems to catch fellers - in thorns. She allers fit and flouted her beaux, and the more she fit and - flouted 'em the more they'd be arter her. There wa'n't a gal in all - Oldtown that led such a string o' fellers arter her; 'cause, you see, - she'd now and then throw 'em a good word over her shoulder, and then - they'd all fight who should get it, and she'd jest laugh to see 'em do it. - </p> - <p> - “Why, there was Tom Sawin, he was one o' her beaux, and Jim Moss, and Ike - Bacon; and there was a Boston boy, Tom Beacon, he came up from Cambridge - to rusticate with Parson Lothrop; he thought he must have his say with - Miry, but he got pretty well come up with. You see, he thought 'cause he - was Boston born that he was kind o' aristocracy, and hed a right jest to - pick and choose 'mong country gals; but the way he got come up with by - Miry was too funny for any thing.” - </p> - <p> - “Do tell us about it,” we said, as Sam made an artful pause, designed to - draw forth solicitation. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, ye see, Tom Beacon he told Ike Bacon about it, and Ike he told me. - 'Twas this way. Ye see, there was a quiltin' up to Mis' Cap'n Broad's, and - Tom Beacon he was there; and come to goin' home with the gals, Tom he cut - Ike out, and got Miry all to himself; and 'twas a putty long piece of a - walk from Mis' Cap'n Broad's up past the swamp and the stone pastur' clear - up to old Black Hoss John's. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, Tom he was in high feather 'cause Miry took him, so that he didn't - reelly know how to behave; and so, as they was walkin' along past Parson - Lothrop's apple-orchard, Tom thought he'd try bein' familiar, and he - undertook to put his arm round Miry. Wal, if she didn't jest take that - little fellow by his two shoulders and whirl him over the fence into the - orchard quicker'n no time. 'Why,' says Tom, 'the fust I knew I was lyin' - on my back under the appletrees lookin' up at the stars.' Miry she jest - walked off home and said nothin' to nobody,—it wa'n't her way to - talk much about things; and, if it hedn't ben for Tom Beacon himself, - nobody need 'a' known nothin' about it. Tom was a little fellow, you see, - and 'mazin' good-natured, and one o' the sort that couldn't keep nothin' - to himself; and so he let the cat out o' the bag himself. Wal, there - didn't nobody think the worse o' Miry. When fellers find a gal won't take - saace from no man, they kind o' respect her; and then fellers allers - thinks ef it hed ben <i>them</i>, now, things 'd 'a' been different. - That's jest what Jim Moss and Ike Bacon said: they said, why Tom Beacon - was a fool not to know better how to get along with Miry,—<i>they</i> - never had no trouble. The fun of it was, that Tom Beacon himself was more - crazy after her than he was afore; and they say he made Miry a right - up-and-down offer, and Miry she jest wouldn't have him. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, you see, that went agin old Black Hoss John's idees: old Black Hoss - was about as close as a nut and as contrairy as a pipperage-tree. You - ought to 'a' seen him. Why, his face was all a perfect crisscross o' - wrinkles. There wa'n't a spot where you could put a pin down that there - wa'n't a wrinkle; and they used to say that he held on to every cent that - went through his fingers till he'd pinched it into two. You couldn't say - that his god was his belly, for he hedn't none, no more'n an old file: - folks said that he'd starved himself till the moon'd shine through him. - </p> - <p> - “Old Black Hoss was awfully grouty about Miry's refusin' Tom Beacon, - 'cause there was his houses and lots o' land in Boston. A drefful worldly - old critter Black Hoss John was: he was like the rich fool in the gospel. - Wal, he's dead and gone now, poor critter, and what good has it all done - him? It's as the Scriptur' says, 'He heapeth up riches, and knoweth not - who shall gather them.' - </p> - <p> - “Miry hed a pretty hard row to hoe with old Black Hoss John. She was up - early and down late, and kep' every thing a goin'. She made the cheese and - made the butter, and between spells she braided herself handsome straw - bunnets, and fixed up her clothes; and somehow she worked it so when she - sold her butter and cheese that there was somethin' for ribbins and - flowers. You know the Scriptur' says, 'Can a maid forget her ornaments?' - Wal, Miry didn't. I 'member I used to lead the singin' in them days, and - Miry she used to sing counter, so we sot putty near together in the - singers' seats; and I used to think Sunday mornin's when she come to - meetin' in her white dress and her red cheeks, and her bunnet all tipped - off with laylock, that 'twas for all the world jest like sunshine to have - her come into the singers' seats. Them was the days that I didn't improve - my privileges, boys,” said Sam, sighing deeply. “There was times that ef - I'd a spoke, there's no knowin' what mightn't 'a' happened, 'cause, you - see, boys, I was better lookin' in them days than I be now. Now you mind, - boys, when you grow up, ef you get to waitin' on a nice gal, and you're - 'most a mind to speak up to her, don't you go and put it off, 'cause, ef - you do, you may live to repent it. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, you see, from the time that Bill Elderkin come and took the academy, - I could see plain enough that it was time for me to hang up my fiddle. - Bill he used to set in the singers' seats, too, and he would have it that - he sung tenor. He no more sung tenor than a skunk-blackbird, but he made - b'lieve he did, jest to git next to Miry in the singers' seats. They used - to set there in the seats a writin' backward and forward to each other - till they tore out all the leaves of the hymn-books, and the singin'-books - besides. Wal, I never thought that the house o' the Lord was jest the - place to be courtin' in, and I used to get consid'able shocked at the way - things went on atween 'em. Why, they'd be a writin' all sermon-time; and - I've seen him a lookin' at her all through the long prayer in a way that - wa'n't right, considerin' they was both professors of religion. But then - the fact was, old Black Hoss John was to blame for it, 'cause he never let - 'em have no chance to hum. Ye see, old Black Hoss he was sot agin Elderkin - 'cause he was poor. You see, his mother, the old Widdah Elderkin, she was - jest about the poorest, peakedest old body over to Sherburne, and went out - to days' works; and Bill Elderkin he was all for books and larnin', and - old Black Hoss John he thought it was just shiftlessness: but Miry she - thought he was a genius; and she got it sot in her mind that he was goin' - to be President o' the United States, or some sich. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, old Black Hoss he wa'n't none too polite to Miry's beaux in gineral, - but when Elderkin used to come to see her he was snarlier than a saw: he - hadn't a good word for him noways; and he'd rake up the fire right before - his face and eyes, and rattle about fastenin' up the windows, and tramp up - to bed, and call down the chamber-stairs to Miry to go to bed, and was - sort o' aggravatin' every way. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, ef folks wants to get a gal set on havin' a man, that 'ere's the way - to go to work. Miry had a consid'able stiff will of her own; and, ef she - didn't care about Tom Beacon before, she hated him now; and, if she liked - Bill Elderkin before, she was clean gone over to him now. And so she took - to 'goin' to the Wednesday-evenin' lecture, and the Friday-even-in' - prayer-meetin', and the singin'-school, jest as regular as a clock, and so - did he; and arterwards they allers walked home the longest way. Fathers - may jest as well let their gals be courted in the house, peaceable, - 'cause, if they can't be courted there, they 'll find places where they - can be: it's jest human natur'. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, come fall, Elderkin he went to college up to Brunswick; and then I - used to see the letters as regular up to the store every week, comin' in - from Brunswick, and old Black Hoss John he see 'em too, and got a way of - droppin' on 'em in his coat-pocket when he come up to the store, and folks - used to say that the letters that went into his coat-pocket didn't get to - Miry. Anyhow, Miry she says to me one day, says she, 'Sam, you're up round - the post-office a good deal,' says she. 'I wish, if you see any letters - for me, you'd jest bring 'em along.' I see right into it, and I told her - to be sure I would; and so I used to have the carryin' of great thick - letters every week. Wal, I was waitin' on Hepsy' along about them times, - and so Miry and I kind o' sympathized. Hepsy was a pretty gal, and I - thought it was all best as 'twas; any way, I knew I couldn't get Miry, and - I could get Hepsy, and that made all the difference in the world. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, that next winter old Black Hoss was took down with rheumatism, and I - tell you if Miry didn't have a time on't! He wa'n't noways sweet-tempered - when he was well; but come to be crooked up with the rheumatis' and kep' - awake nights, it seemed as if he was determined there shouldn't nobody - have no peace so long as he couldn't. - </p> - <p> - “He'd get Miry up and down with him night after night a makin' her heat - flannels and vinegar, and then he'd jaw and scold so that she was eenymost - beat out. He wouldn't have nobody set up with him, though there was offers - made. No: he said Miry was his daughter, and 'twas her bisness to take - care on him. - </p> - <p> - “Miry was clear worked down: folks kind o' pitied her. She was a strong - gal, but there's things that wears out the strongest. The worst on't was, - it hung on so. Old Black Hoss had a most amazin' sight o' constitution. - He'd go all down to death's door, and seem hardly to have the breath o' - life in him, and then up he'd come agin! These 'ere old folks that nobody - wants to have live allers hev such a sight o' wear in 'em, they jest last - and last; and it really did seem as if he'd wear Miry out and get her into - the grave fust, for she got a cough with bein' up so much in the cold, and - grew thin as a shadder. 'Member one time I went up there to offer to watch - jest in the spring o' the year, when the laylocks was jest a buddin' out, - and Miry she come and talked with me over the fence; and the poor gal she - fairly broke down, and sobbed as if her heart would break, a tellin' me - her trouble. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, it reelly affected me more to have Miry give up so than most gals, - 'cause she'd allers held her head up, and hed sich a sight o' grit and - resolution; but she told me all about it. - </p> - <p> - “It seems old Black Hoss he wa'n't content with worryin' on her, and - gettin' on her up nights, but he kep' a hectorin' her about Bill Elderkin, - and wantin' on her to promise that she wouldn't hev Bill when he was dead - and gone; and Miry she wouldn't promise, and then the old man said she - shouldn't have a cent from him if she didn't, and so they had it back and - forth. Everybody in town was sayin' what a shame 'twas that he should - sarve her so; for though he hed other children, they was married and gone, - and there wa'n't none of them to do for him but jest Miry. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, he hung on till jest as the pinys in the front yard was beginnin' to - blow out, and then he began to feel he was a goin', and he sent for Parson - Lothrop to know what was to be done about his soul. - </p> - <p> - “'Wal,' says Parson Lothrop, 'you must settle up all your worldly affairs; - you must be in peace and love with all mankind; and, if you've wronged - anybody, you must make it good to 'em.' - </p> - <p> - “Old Black Hoss he bounced right over in his bed with his back to the - minister. - </p> - <p> - “'The devil!' says he: ''twill take all I've got.' And he never spoke - another word, though Parson Lothrop he prayed with him, and did what he - could for him. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, that night I sot up with him; and he went off 'tween two and three - in the mornin', and I laid him out regular. Of all the racks o' bone I - ever see, I never see a human critter so poor as he was. 'Twa'n't nothin' - but his awful will kep' his soul in his body so long, as it was. - </p> - <p> - “We had the funeral in the meetin'-house a Sunday; and Parson Lothrop he - preached a sarmon on contentment on the text, 'We brought nothin' into the - world, and it's sartin we can carry nothin' out; and having food and - raiment, let us be therewith content.' Parson Lothrop he got round the - subject about as handsome as he could: he didn't say what a skinflint old - Black Hoss was, but he talked in a gineral way about the vanity o' - worryin' an' scrapin to heap up riches. Ye see, Parson Lothrop he could - say it all putty easy, too, 'cause since he married a rich wife he never - hed no occasion to worry about temporal matters. Folks allers preaches - better on the vanity o' riches when they's in tol'able easy circumstances. - Ye see, when folks is pestered and worried to pay their bills, and don't - know where the next dollar's to come from, it's a great temptation to be - kind o' valooin' riches, and mebbe envyin' those that's got 'em; whereas - when one's accounts all pays themselves, and the money comes jest when its - wanted regular, a body feels sort o' composed like, and able to take the - right view o' things, like Parson Lothrop. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, arter sermon the relations all went over to the old house to hear - the will read; and, as I was kind o' friend with the family, I jest - slipped in along with the rest. - </p> - <p> - “Squire Jones he had the will; and so when they all got sot round all - solemn, he broke the seals and unfolded it, cracklin' it a good while - afore he begun and it was so still you might a heard a pin drop when he - begun to read. Fust, there was the farm and stock, he left to his son John - Brown over in Sherburne. Then there was the household stuff and all them - things, spoons and dishes, and beds and kiver-lids, and so on, to his - da'ter Polly Blanchard. And then, last of all, he says, he left to his - da'ter Miry <i>the pitcher that was on the top o' the shelf in his - bed-room closet.</i> - </p> - <p> - “That' 'are was an old cracked pitcher that Miry allers hed hated the - sight of, and spring and fall she used to beg her father to let her throw - it away; but no, he wouldn't let her touch it, and so it stood gatherin' - dust. - </p> - <p> - “Some on 'em run and handed it down; and it seemed jest full o' - scourin'-sand and nothin' else, and they handed it to Miry. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, Miry she was wrathy then. She didn't so much mind bein' left out in - the will, 'cause she expected that; but to have that 'are old pitcher - poked at her so sort o' scornful was more'n she could bear. - </p> - <p> - “She took it and gin it a throw across the room with all her might; and it - hit agin the wall and broke into a thousand bits, when out rolled hundreds - of gold pieces; great gold eagles and guineas flew round the kitchen jest - as thick as dandelions in a meadow. I tell you, she scrabbled them up - pretty quick, and we all helped her. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0017" id="linkimage-0017"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:65%;"> - <img src="images/0163.jpg" alt="0163m " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0163.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - “Come to count 'em over, Miry had the best fortin of the whole, as 'twas - right and proper she should. Miry she was a sensible gal, and she invested - her money well; and so, when Bill Elderkin got through his law-studies, he - found a wife that could make a nice beginnin' with him. And that's the - way, you see, they came to be doin' as well as they be. - </p> - <p> - “So, boys, you jest mind and remember and allers see what there is in a - providence afore you quarrel with it, 'cause there's a good many things in - this world turns out like Mis' Elderkin's pitcher.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE GHOST IN THE CAP'N BROWN HOUSE. - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0018" id="linkimage-0018"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> - <img src="images/9165.jpg" alt="9165 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9165.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - OW, Sam, tell us certain true, is there any such things as ghosts?” - </p> - <p> - “Be there ghosts?” said Sam, immediately translating into his vernacular - grammar: “wal, now, that are's jest the question, ye see.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, grandma thinks there are, and Aunt Lois thinks it's all nonsense. - Why, Aunt Lois don't even believe the stories in Cotton Mather's - 'Magnalia.'” - </p> - <p> - “Wanter know?” said Sam, with a tone of slow, languid meditation. - </p> - <p> - We were sitting on a bank of the Charles River, fishing. The soft - melancholy red of evening was fading off in streaks on the glassy water, - and the houses of Oldtown were beginning to loom through the gloom, solemn - and ghostly. There are times and tones and moods of nature that make all - the vulgar, daily real seem shadowy, vague, and supernatural, as if the - outlines of this hard material present were fading into the invisible and - unknown. So Oldtown, with its elm-trees, its great square white houses, - its meeting-house and tavern and blacksmith's shop and mill, which at high - noon seem as real and as commonplace as possible, at this hour of the - evening were dreamy and solemn. They rose up blurred, indistinct, dark; - here and there winking candles sent long lines of light through the - shadows, and little drops of unforeseen rain rippled the sheeny darkness - of the water. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, you see, boys, in them things it's jest as well to mind your granny. - There's a consid'able sight o' gumption in grandmas. You look at the folks - that's allus tellin' you what they don't believe,—they don't believe - this, and they don't believe that,—and what sort o' folks is they? - Why, like yer Aunt Lois, sort o' stringy and dry. There ain't no 'sorption - got out o' not believin' nothin'. - </p> - <p> - “Lord a massy! we don't know nothin' 'bout them things. We hain't ben - there, and can't say that there ain't no ghosts and sich; can we, now?” - </p> - <p> - We agreed to that fact, and sat a little closer to Sam in the gathering - gloom. - </p> - <p> - “Tell us about the Cap'n Brown house, Sam.” - </p> - <p> - “Ye didn't never go over the Cap'n Brown house?” - </p> - <p> - No, we had not that advantage. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, yer see, Cap'n Brown he made all his money to sea, in furrin parts, - and then come here to Oldtown to settle down. - </p> - <p> - “Now, there ain't no knowin' 'bout these 'ere old ship-masters, where - they's ben, or what they's ben a doin', or how they got their money. Ask - me no questions, and I 'll tell ye no lies, is 'bout the best philosophy - for them. Wal, it didn't do no good to ask Cap'n Brown questions too - close, 'cause you didn't git no satisfaction. Nobody rightly knew 'bout - who his folks was, or where they come from; and, ef a body asked him, he - used to say that the very fust he know'd 'bout himself he was a young man - walkin' the streets in London. - </p> - <p> - “But, yer see, boys, he hed money, and that is about all folks wanter know - when a man comes to settle down. And he bought that 'are place, and built - that 'are house. He built it all sea-cap'n fashion, so's to feel as much - at home as he could. The parlor was like a ship's cabin. The table and - chairs was fastened down to the floor, and the closets was made with holes - to set the casters and the decanters and bottles in, jest's they be at - sea; and there was stanchions to hold on by; and they say that blowy - nights the cap'n used to fire up pretty well with his grog, till he hed - about all he could carry, and then he'd set and hold on, and hear the wind - blow, and kind o' feel out to sea right there to hum. There wasn't no Mis' - Cap'n Brown, and there didn't seem likely to be none. And whether there - ever hed been one, nobody know'd. He hed an old black Guinea nigger-woman, - named Quassia, that did his work. She was shaped pretty much like one o' - these 'ere great crookneck-squashes. She wa'n't no gret beauty, I can tell - you; and she used to wear a gret red turban and a yaller short gown and - red petticoat, and a gret string o' gold beads round her neck, and gret - big gold hoops in her ears, made right in the middle o' Africa among the - heathen there. For all she was black, she thought a heap o' herself, and - was consid'able sort o' predominative over the cap'n. Lordy massy! boys, - it's alius so. Get a man and a woman together,—any sort o' woman - you're a mind to, don't care who 'tis,—? and one way or another she - gets the rule over him, and he jest has to train to her fife. Some does it - one way, and some does it another; some does it by jawin', and some does - it by 'kissin', and some does it by faculty and contrivance; but one way - or another they allers does it. Old Cap'n Brown was a good stout, stocky - kind o' John Bull sort o' fellow, and a good judge o' sperits, and allers - kep' the best in them are cupboards o' his'n; but, fust and last, things - in his house went pretty much as old Quassia said. - </p> - <p> - “Folks got to kind o' respectin' Quassia. She come to meetin' Sunday - regular, and sot all fixed up in red and yaller and green, with glass - beads and what not, lookin' for all the world like one o' them ugly Indian - idols; but she was well-behaved as any Christian. She was a master hand at - cookin'. Her bread and biscuits couldn't be beat, and no couldn't her - pies, and there wa'n't no such pound-cake as she made nowhere. Wal, this - 'ere story I'm a goin' to tell you was told me by Cinthy Pendleton. There - ain't a more respectable gal, old or young, than Cinthy nowheres. She - lives over to Sherburne now, and I hear tell she's sot up a manty-makin' - business; but then she used to do tailorin' in Oldtown. She was a member - o' the church, and a good Christian as ever was. Wal, ye see, Quassia she - got Cinthy to come up and spend a week to the Cap'n Brown house, a doin' - tailorin' and a fixin' over his close: 'twas along toward the fust o' - March. Cinthy she sot by the fire in the front' parlor with her goose and - her press-board and her work: for there wa'n't no company callin', and the - snow was drifted four feet deep right across the front door; so there - wa'n't much danger o' any body comin' in. And the cap'n he was a perlite - man to wimmen; and Cinthy she liked it jest as well not to have company, - 'cause the cap'n he'd make himself entertainin' tellin' on her - sea-stories, and all about his adventures among the Ammonites, and - Perresites, and Jebusites, and all sorts o' heathen people he'd been - among. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, that 'are week there come on the master snow-storm. Of all the - snow-storms that hed ben, that 'are was the beater; and I tell you the - wind blew as if 'twas the last chance it was ever goin' to hev. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, it's kind o' scary like to be shet up in a lone house with all - natur' a kind o' breakin' out, and goin' on so, and the snow a comin' down - so thick ye can't see 'cross the street, and the wind a pipin' and a - squeelin' and a rumblin' and a tumblin' fust down this chimney and then - down that. I tell you, it sort o' sets a feller thinkin' o' the three - great things,—death, judgment, and etarnaty; and I don't care who - the folks is, nor how good they be, there's times when they must be - feelin' putty consid'able solemn. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, Cinthy she said she kind o' felt so along, and she hed a sort o' - queer feelin' come over her as if there was somebody or somethin' round - the house more'n appeared. She said she sort o' felt it in the air; but it - seemed to her silly, and she tried to get over it. But two or three times, - she said, when it got to be dusk, she felt somebody go by her up the - stairs. The front entry wa'n't very light in the daytime, and in the - storm, come five o'clock, it was so dark that all you could see was jest a - gleam o' somethin', and two or three times when she started to go up - stairs she see a soft white suthin' that seemed goin' up before her, and - she stopped with her heart a beatin' like a trip-hammer, and she sort o' - saw it go up and along the entry to the cap'n's door, and then it seemed - to go right through, 'cause the door didn't open. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, Cinthy says she to old Quassia, says she, 'Is there anybody lives in - this house but us?' - </p> - <p> - “'Anybody lives here?' says Quassia: 'what you mean?' says she. - </p> - <p> - “Says Ointhy, 'I thought somebody went past me on the stairs last night - and to-night.' - </p> - <p> - “Lordy massy! how old Quassia did screech and laugh. 'Good Lord!' says - she, 'how foolish white folks is! Somebody went past you? Was 't the - capt'in?' - </p> - <p> - “'No, it wa'n't the cap'n,' says she: 'it was somethin' soft and white, - and moved very still; it was like somethin' in the air,' says she. Then - Quassia she haw-hawed louder. Says she, 'It's hy-sterikes, Miss Cinthy; - that's all it is.' - </p> - <p> - “Wal, Cinthy she was kind o ' 'shamed, but for all that she couldn't help - herself. Sometimes evenin's she'd be a settin' with the cap'n, and she'd - think she'd hear somebody a movin' in his room overhead; and she knowed it - wa'n't Quassia, 'cause Quassia was ironin' in the kitchen. She took pains - once or twice to find out that 'are. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, ye see, the cap'n's room was the gret front upper chamber over the - parlor, and then right oppi-site to it was the gret spare chamber where - Cinthy slept. It was jest as grand as could be, with a gret four-post - mahogany bedstead and damask curtains brought over from England; but it - was cold enough to freeze a white bear solid,—the way spare chambers - allers is. Then there was the entry between, run straight through the - house: one side was old Quassia's room, and the other was a sort o' - storeroom, where the old cap'n kep' all sorts o' traps. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, Cinthy she kep' a hevin' things happen and a seein' things, till she - didn't railly know what was in it. Once when she come into the parlor jest - at sundown, she was sure she see a white figure a vanishin' out o' the - door that went towards the side entry. She said it was so dusk, that all - she could see was jest this white figure, and it jest went out still as a - cat as she come in. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, Cinthy didn't like to speak to the cap'n about it. She was a close - woman, putty prudent, Cinthy was. - </p> - <p> - “But one night, 'bout the middle o' the week, this 'ere thing kind o' come - to a crisis. - </p> - <p> - “Cinthy said she'd ben up putty late a sewin' and a finishin' off down in - the parlor; and the cap'n he sot up with her, and was consid'able cheerful - and entertainin', tellin' her all about things over in the Bermudys, and - off to Chiny and Japan, and round the world ginerally. The storm that hed - been a blowin' all the week was about as furious as ever; and the cap'n he - stirred up a mess o' flip, and hed it for her hot to go to bed on. He was - a good-natured critter, and allers had feelin's for lone women; and I - s'pose he knew 'twas sort o' desolate for Cinthy. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, takin' the flip so right the last thing afore goin' to bed, she went - right off to sleep as sound as a nut, and slep' on till somewhere about - mornin', when she said somethin' waked her broad awake in a minute. Her - eyes flew wide open like a spring, and the storm hed gone down and the - moon come out; and there, standin' right in the moonlight by her bed, was - a woman jest as white as a sheet, with black hair bangin' down to her - waist, and the brightest, mourn fullest black eyes you ever see. She stood - there lookin' right at Cinthy; and Cinthy thinks that was what waked her - up; 'cause, you know, ef anybody stands and looks steady at folks asleep - it's apt to wake 'em. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0019" id="linkimage-0019"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:65%;"> - <img src="images/0175.jpg" alt="0175m " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0175.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - “Any way, Cinthy said she felt jest as ef she was turnin' to stone. She - couldn't move nor speak. She lay a minute, and then she shut her eyes, and - begun to say her prayers; and a minute after she opened 'em, and it was - gone. - </p> - <p> - “Cinthy was a sensible gal, and one that allers hed her thoughts about - her; and she jest got up and put a shawl round her shoulders, and went - first and looked at the doors, and they was both on 'em locked jest as she - left 'em when she went to bed. Then she looked under the bed and in the - closet, and felt all round the room: where she couldn't see she felt her - way, and there wa'n't nothin' there. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, next mornin' Cinthy got up and went home, and she kep' it to herself - a good while. Finally, one day when she was workin' to our house she told - Hepsy about it, and Hepsy she told me.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, Sam,” we said, after a pause, in which we heard only the rustle of - leaves and the ticking of branches against each other, “what do you - suppose it was?” - </p> - <p> - “Wal, there 'tis: you know jest as much about it as I do. Hepsy told - Cinthy it might 'a' ben a dream; so it might, but Cinthy she was sure it - wa'n't a dream, 'cause she remembers plain hearin' the old clock on the - stairs strike four while she had her eyes open lookin' at the woman; and - then she only shet 'em a minute, jest to say 'Now I lay me,' and opened - 'em and she was gone. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, Cinthy told Hepsy, and Hepsy she kep' it putty close. She didn't - tell it to nobody except Aunt Sally Dickerson and the Widder Bije Smith - and your Grandma Badger and the minister's wife; and they every one o' 'em - 'greed it ought to be kep' close, 'cause it would make talk. Wal, come - spring somehow or other it seemed to 'a' got all over Old town. I heard - on't to the store and up to the tavern; and Jake Marshall he says to me - one day, 'What's this 'ere about the cap'n's house?' And the Widder Loker - she says to me, 'There's ben a ghost seen in the cap'n's house;' and I - heard on 't clear over to Needham and Sherburne. - </p> - <p> - “Some o' the women they drew themselves up putty stiff and proper. Your - Aunt Lois was one on 'em. - </p> - <p> - “'Ghost,' says she; 'don't tell me! Perhaps it would be best ef 'twas a - ghost,' says she. She didn't think there ought to be no sich doin's in - nobody's house; and your grandma she shet her up, and told her she didn't - oughter talk so.” - </p> - <p> - “Talk how?” said I, interrupting Sam with wonder. “What did Aunt Lois - mean?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, you see,” said Sam mysteriously, “there allers is folks in every - town that's jest like the Sadducees in old times: they won't believe in - angel nor sperit, no way you can fix it; and ef things is seen and done in - a house, why, they say, it's 'cause there's somebody there; there's some - sort o' deviltry or trick about it. - </p> - <p> - “So the story got round that there was a woman kep' private in Cap'n - Brown's house, and that he brought her from furrin parts; and it growed - and growed, till there was all sorts o' ways o' tellin on 't. - </p> - <p> - “Some said they'd seen her a settin' at an open winder. Some said that - moonlight nights they'd seen her a walkin' out in the back garden kind o' - in and out 'mong the bean-poles and squash-vines. - </p> - <p> - “You see, it come on spring and summer; and the winders o' the Cap'n Brown - house stood open, and folks was all a watchin' on 'em day and night. Aunt - Sally Dickerson told the minister's wife that she'd seen in plain daylight - a woman a settin' at the chamber winder atween four and five o'clock in - the mornin',—jist a settin' a lookin' out and a doin' nothin', like - anybody else. She was very white and pale, and had black eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Some said that it was a nun the cap'n had brought away from a Roman - Catholic convent in Spain, and some said he'd got her out o' the - Inquisition. - </p> - <p> - “Aunt Sally said she thought the minister ought to call and inquire why - she didn't come to meetin', and who she was, and all about her: 'cause, - you see, she said it might be all right enough ef folks only know'd jest - how things was; but ef they didn't, why, folks will talk.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, did the minister do it?” - </p> - <p> - “What, Parson Lothrop? Wal, no, he didn't. He made a call on the cap'n in - a regular way, and asked arter his health and all his family. But the - cap'n he seemed jest as jolly and chipper as a spring robin, and he gin' - the minister some o' his old Jamaiky; and the minister he come away and - said he didn't see nothin'; and no he didn't. Folks—-never does see - nothin' when they aint' lookin' where 'tis. Fact is, Parson Lothrop wa'n't - fond o' interferin'; he was a master hand to slick things over. Your - grandma she used to mourn about it, 'cause she said he never gin no p'int - to the doctrines; but 'twas all of a piece, he kind o' took every thing - the smooth way. - </p> - <p> - “But your grandma she believed in the ghost, and so did Lady Lothrop. I - was up to her house t'other day fixin' a door-knob, and says she, 'Sam - your wife told me a strange story about the Cap'n Brown house.' - </p> - <p> - “'Yes, ma'am, she did,' says I. - </p> - <p> - “'Well, what do you think of it?' says she. - </p> - <p> - “'Wal, sometimes I think, and then agin I don't know,' says I. 'There's - Cinthy she's a member o' the church and a good pious gal,' says I. - </p> - <p> - “'Yes, Sam,' says Lady Lothrop, says she; 'and Sam,' says she, 'it is jest - like something that happened once to my grandmother when she was livin' in - the old Province House in Bostin.' Says she, 'These 'ere things is the - mysteries of Providence, and it's jest as well not to have 'em too much - talked about.' - </p> - <p> - “'Jest so,' says I,—'jest so. That 'are's what every woman I've - talked with says; and I guess, fust and last, I've talked with twenty,—good, - safe church-members,—and they's every one o' opinion that this 'ere - oughtn't to be talked about. Why, over to the deakin's t'other night we - went it all over as much as two or three hours, and we concluded that the - best way was to keep quite still about it; and that's jest what they say - over to Needham and Sherburne. I've been all round a hushin' this 'ere up, - and I hain't found but a few people that hedn't the particulars one way or - another.' This 'ere was what I says to Lady Lothrop. The fact was, I never - did see no report spread so, nor make sich sort o' sarchin's o' heart, as - this 'ere. It railly did beat all; 'cause, ef 'twas a ghost, why there was - the p'int proved, ye see. Cinthy's a church-member, and she <i>see</i> it, - and got right up and sarched the room: but then agin, ef 'twas a woman, - why that 'are was kind o' awful; it give cause, ye see, for thinkin' all - sorts o' things. There was Cap'n Brown, to be sure, he wa'n't a - church-member; but yet he was as honest and regular a man as any goin', as - fur as any on us could see. To be sure, nobody know'd where he come from, - but that wa'n't no reason agin' him: this 'ere might a ben a crazy sister, - or some poor critter that he took out o' the best o' motives; and the - Scriptur' says, 'Charity hopeth all things.' But then, ye see, folks will - talk,—that 'are's the pester o' all these things,—and they did - some on 'em talk consid'able strong about the cap'n; but somehow or other, - there didn't nobody come to the p'int o' facin' on him down, and sayin' - square out, 'Cap'n Brown, have you got a woman in your house, or hain't - you? or is it a ghost, or what is it?' Folks somehow never does come to - that. Ye see, there was the cap'n so respectable, a settin' up every - Sunday there in his pew, with his ruffles round his hands and his red - broadcloth cloak and his cocked hat. Why, folks' hearts sort o' failed 'em - when it come to sayin' any thing right to him. They thought and kind o' - whispered round that the minister or the deakins oughter do it: but Lordy - massy! ministers, I s'pose, has feelin's like the rest on us; they don't - want to eat all the hard cheeses that nobody else won't eat. Anyhow, there - wasn't nothin' said direct to the cap'n; and jest for want o' that all the - folks in Oldtown kep' a bilin' and a bilin' like a kettle o' soap, till it - seemed all the time as if they'd bile over. - </p> - <p> - “Some o' the wimmen tried to get somethin' out o' Quassy. Lordy massy! you - might as well 'a' tried to get it out an old tom-turkey, that 'll strut - and gobble and quitter, and drag his wings on the ground, and fly at you, - but won't say nothin'. Quassy she screeched her queer sort o' laugh; and - she told 'em that they was a makin' fools o' themselves, and that the - cap'n's matters wa'n't none o' their bisness; and that was true enough. As - to goin' into Quassia's room, or into any o' the store-rooms or closets - she kep' the keys of, you might as well hev gone into a lion's den. She - kep' all her places locked up tight; and there was no gettin' at nothin' - in the Cap'n Brown house, else I believe some o' the wim-men would 'a' - sent a sarch-warrant.” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said I, “what came of it? Didn't anybody ever find out?” - </p> - <p> - “Wal,” said Sam, “it come to an end sort o', and didn't come to an end. It - was jest this 'ere way. You see, along in October, jest in the - cider-makin' time, Abel Flint he was took down with dysentery and died. - You 'member the Flint house: it stood on a little rise o' ground jest - lookin' over towards the Brown house. Wal, there was Aunt Sally Dickerson - and the Widder Bije Smith, they set up with the corpse. He was laid out in - the back chamber, you see, over the milk-room and kitchen; but there was - cold victuals and sich in the front chamber, where the watchers sot. Wal, - now, Aunt Sally she told me that between three and four o'clock she heard - wheels a rumblin', and she went to the winder, and it was clear starlight; - and she see a coach come up to the Cap'n Brown house; and she see the - cap'n come out bringin' a woman all wrapped in a cloak, and old Quassy - came arter with her arms full o' bundles; and he put her into the - kerridge, and shet her in, and it driv off; and she see old Quassy stand - lookin' over the fence arter it. She tried to wake up the widder, but - 'twas towards mornin', and the widder allers was a hard sleeper; so there - wa'n't no witness but her.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, it wasn't a ghost,” said I, “after all, and it <i>was</i> a - woman.” - </p> - <p> - “Wal, there 'tis, you see. Folks don't know that 'are yit, 'cause there - it's jest as broad as 'tis long. Now, look at it. There's Cinthy, she's a - good, pious gal: she locks her chamber-doors, both on 'em, and goes to - bed, and wakes up in the night, and there's a woman there. She jest shets - her eyes, and the woman's gone. She gits up and looks, and both doors is - locked jest as she left 'em. That 'ere woman wa'n't flesh and blood now, - no way,—not such flesh and blood as we knows on; but then they say - Cinthy might hev dreamed it! - </p> - <p> - “Wal, now, look at it t'other way. There's Aunt Sally Dickerson; she's a - good woman and a church-member: wal, she sees a woman in a cloak with all - her bundles brought out o' Cap'n Brown's house, and put into a kerridge, - and driv off, atween three and four o'clock in the mornin'. Wal, that 'ere - shows there must 'a' ben a real live woman kep' there privately, and so - what Cinthy saw wasn't a ghost. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, now, Cinthy says Aunt Sally might 'a' dreamed it,—that she got - her head so full o' stories about the Cap'n Brown house, and watched it - till she got asleep, and hed this 'ere dream; and, as there didn't nobody - else see it, it might 'a' ben, you know. Aunt Sally's clear she didn't - dream, and then agin Cinthy's clear <i>she</i> didn't dream; but which on - 'em was awake, or which on 'em was asleep, is what ain't settled in - Oldtown yet.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - COLONEL EPH'S SHOE-BUCKLES. - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0020" id="linkimage-0020"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> - <img src="images/9188.jpg" alt="9188 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9188.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - ES, this 'ere's Tekawampait's grave,” said Sam Lawson, sitting leisurely - down on an ancient grass-grown mound, ornamented by a mossy black - slate-stone slab, with a rudely-carved cherub head and wings on top. - </p> - <p> - “And who was Tekawampait?” - </p> - <p> - “I wanter know, now, if your granny hain't told you who Tekawampait was?” - said Sam, pushing back his torn straw hat, and leaning against the old - slanting gravestone. - </p> - <p> - “No, she never told us.” - </p> - <p> - “Wal, ye see, Tekawampait he was the fust Christian Indian minister o' the - gospel there was in Old-town. He was a full-blooded Indian, but he was as - good a Christian as there was goin'; and he was settled here over the - church in Oldtown afore Parson Peabody; and Parson Peabody he come afore - Parson Lothrop; and a very good minister Teka-wampait was too. Folks hes - said that there couldn't nothin' be made o' Indians; that they was nothin' - but sort o' bears and tigers a walkin' round on their hind legs, a seekin' - whom they might devour; but Parson Eliot he didn't think so. 'Christ died - for them as wal as for me,' says he; 'and jest give 'em the gospel,' says - he, 'and the rest 'll come along o' itself.' And so he come here to - Oldtown, and sot up a sort o' log-hut right on the spot where the old - Cap'n Brown house is now. Them two great elm-trees that's a grown now each - side o' the front gate was two little switches then, that two Indians - brought up over their shoulders, and planted there for friendship trees, - as they called 'em; and now look what trees they be! He used to stand - under that 'are big oak there, and preach to the Indians, long before - there was any meetin'-house to speak in here in Oldtown. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, now, I tell you, it took putty good courage in Parson Eliot to do - that 'are. I tell you, in them days it took putty consid'able faith to see - any thing in an Indian but jest a wild beast. Folks can't tell by seein' - on 'em now days what they was in the old times when all the settlements - was new, and the Indians was stark, starin' wild, a ravin' and tarin' - round in the woods, and a fightin' each other and a fightin' the white - folks. Lordy massy! the stories I've heard women tell in their - chimbley-corners about the things that used to happen when they was little - was enough to scare the very life out o' ye.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, do, do tell us some of them!” said Henry and I. - </p> - <p> - “Lordy massy, boys: why, ye wouldn't sleep for a week. Why, ye don't know. - Why, the Indians in them days wa'n't like no critter ye ever did see. They - was jest the horridest, paintedest, screeehinest, cussedest critters you - ever heard on. They was jest as artful as sarpents, and crueller than any - tigers. Good Dr. Cotton Mather calls 'em divils, and he was a meek, good - man, Dr. Cotton was; but they cut up so in his days, it's no wonder he - thought they was divils, and not folks. Why, they kep' the whole country - in a broil for years and years. Nobody knowed when they was safe; for they - were so sly and cunnin', and always watchin' behind fences and bushes, and - ready when a body was a least thinkin' on't to be down on 'em. I've heard - Abiel Jones tell how his father's house was burnt down at the time the - Indians burnt Deerfield. About every house in the settlement was burnt to - the ground; and then another time they burnt thirty-two houses in - Springfield,—the minister's house and all, with all his library (and - books was sca'ce in them days); but the Indians made a clean sweep on't. - They burnt all the houses in Wendham down to the ground; and they came - down in Lancaster, and burnt ever so many houses, and carried off forty or - fifty people with 'em into the woods. - </p> - <p> - “There was Mr. Rolandson, the minister, they burnt his house, and carried - off Mis' Rolandson and all the children. There was Jerushy Pierce used to - work in his family and do washin' and chores, she's told me about it. - Jerushy she was away to her uncle's that night, so she wa'n't took. Ye - see, the Lancaster folks had been afeard the Indians'd be down on 'em, and - so Parson Rolandson he'd gone on to Boston to get help for 'em; and when - he come back the mischief was all done. Jerushy said in all her life she - never see nothin' so pitiful as that 'are poor man's face when she met - him, jest as he come to the place where the house stood. At fust he didn't - say a word, she said, but he looked kind o' dazed. Then he sort o' put his - hand to his forehead, and says he, 'My God, my God, help me!' Then he - tried to ask her about it, but he couldn't but jest speak. 'Jerushy,' says - he, 'can't you tell me,—where be they?' 'Wal,' says Jerushy, - 'they've been carried off.' And with that he fell right down and moaned - and groaned. 'Oh!' says he, I'd rather heard that they were at peace with - the Lord.' And then he'd wring his hands: 'What shall I do? What shall I - do?' - </p> - <p> - “Wal, 'twa'n't long after this that the Indians was down on Medford, and - burnt half the houses in town, and killed fifty or sixty people there. - Then they came down on Northampton, but got driv' back; but then they - burnt up five houses, and killed four or five of the folks afore they got - the better of 'em there. Then they burnt all the houses in Groton, - meetin'-house and all; and the pisen critters they hollared and triumphed - over the people, and called out to 'em, 'What will you do for a house to - pray in now? we've burnt your meetin'-house.' The fightin' was goin' on - all over the country at the same time. The Indians set Marlborough afire, - and it was all blazin' at once, the same day that some others of 'em was - down on Springfield, and the same day Cap'n Pierce, with forty-nine white - men and twenty-six Christian Indians, got drawn into an ambush, and every - one of 'em killed. Then a few days after this they burnt forty houses at - Rehoboth, and a little while after they burnt thirty more at Providence. - And then when good Cap'n Wadsworth went with seventy men to help the - people in Sudbury, the Indians came pourin' round 'em in the woods like so - many wolves, and killed all but four or five on 'em; and those poor - fellows had better hev been killed, for the cruel critters jest tormented - 'em to death, and mocked and jeered at their screeches and screams like so - many divils. Then they went and broke loose on Andover; and they was so - cruel they couldn't even let the dumb critters alone. They cut out the - tongues of oxen and cows, and left 'em bleedin', and some they fastened up - in barns and burnt alive. There wa'n't no sort o' diviltry they wa'n't up - to. Why, it got to be so in them days that folks couldn't go to bed in - peace without startin' every time they turned over for fear o' the - Indians. Ef they heard a noise in the night, or ef the wind squealed and - howled, as the wind will, they'd think sure enough there was that horrid - yell a comin' down chimbley. - </p> - <p> - “There was Delily Severence; she says to me, speakin' about them times, - says she, 'Why, Mr. Lawson, you've no idee! Why, that 'are screech,' says - she, 'wa'n't like no other noise in heaven above, or earth beneath, or - water under the earth,' says she. 'When it started ye out o' bed between - two or three o'clock in the mornin', and all your children a cryin', and - the Indians a screechin' and yellin' and a tossin' up firebrands, fust at - one window and then at another, why,' says she, 'Mr. Lawson, it was more - like hell upon earth than any thing I ever heard on.' - </p> - <p> - “Ye see, they come down on Delily's house when she was but jest up arter - her third baby. That 'are woman hed a handsome head o' hair as ever ye - see, black as a crow's wing; and it turned jest as white as a table-cloth, - with nothin' but the fright o' that night.” - </p> - <p> - “What did they do with her?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! they took her and her poor little gal and boy, that wa'n't no older - than you be, and went off with 'em to Canada. The troubles them poor - critters went through! Her husband he was away that night; and well he - was, else they'd a tied him to a tree and stuck pine slivers into him and - sot 'em afire, and cut gret pieces out'o his flesh, and filled the places - with hot coals and ashes, and all sich kind o' things they did to them men - prisoners, when they catched 'em. Delily was thankful enough he was away; - but they took her and the children off through the ice and snow, jest half - clothed and shiverin'; and when her baby cried and worried, as it - nat'rally would, the old Indian jest took it by its heels, and dashed its - brains out agin a tree, and threw it into the crotch of a tree, and left - it dangling there; and then they would mock and laugh at her, and mimic - her baby's crying, and try every way they could to aggravate her. They - used to beat and torment her children right before her eyes, and pull - their hair out, and make believe that they was goin' to burn 'em alive, - jest for nothin' but to frighten and worry her.” - </p> - <p> - “I wonder,” said I, “she ever got back alive.” - </p> - <p> - “Wal, the wimmen in them times hed a sight o' wear in 'em. They was - resolute, strong, hard-workin' wimmen. They could all tackle a hoss, or - load and fire a gun. They was brought up hard, and they was used to - troubles and dangers. It's jest as folks gets used to things how they - takes 'em. In them days folks was brought up to spect trouble; they didn't - look for no less. Why, in them days the men allers took their guns into - the field when they went to hoe corn, and took their guns with 'em to - meetin' Sundays; and the wimmen they kep' a gun loaded where they knew - where to find it; and when trouble come it was jest what they spected, and - they was put even with it. That's the sort o' wimmen they was. Wal, Delily - and her children was brought safe through at last, but they hed a hard - time on't.” - </p> - <p> - “Tell us some more stories about Indians, Sam,” we said, with the usual - hungry impatience of boys for a story. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, let me see,” said Sam, with his hat pushed back and his eyes fixed - dreamily on the top of Eliot's oak, which was now yellow with the sunset - glory,—“let me see. I hain't never told ye about Col. Eph Miller, - hev I?” - </p> - <p> - “No, indeed. What about him?” - </p> - <p> - “Wal, he was took prisoner by the Indians; and they was goin' to roast him - alive arter their fashion, and he gin 'em the slip.” - </p> - <p> - “Do tell us all about it.” - </p> - <p> - “Wal, you see, Deliverance Scranton over to Sherburne, she's Col. Eph's - daughter; and she used to hear her father tell about that, and she's told - me time and agin about it. It was this way,—You see, there hedn't - ben no alarm about Indians for some time, and folks hed got to feelin' - kind o' easy, as folks will. When there don't nothin' happen for a good - while, and it keeps a goin' on so, why, you think finally there won't - nothin' happen; and so it was with Col. Eph and his wife. She told - Deliverance that the day before she reely hed forgot all about that there - was any Indians in the country; and she'd been out after spruce and - wintergreen and hemlock, and got over her brass kettle to bile for beer; - and the child'n they brought in lots o' wild grapes that they gathered out - in the woods; and they said when they came home that they thought they see - an Indian a lyin' all along squirmin' through the bushes, and peekin' out - at 'em like a snake, but they wa'n't quite sure. Faith, the oldest gal, - she was sure she see him quite plain; but 'Bijah (he was Col. Eph's oldest - boy) he wa'n't so sure. - </p> - <p> - “Anyway, they didn't think no more about it, and that night they hed - prayers and went off to bed. - </p> - <p> - “Arterwards, Col. Eph he said he remembered the passage o' Scriptur' he - read that night; it was, 'The race is not to the swift nor the battle to - the strong.' He didn't notice it much when he read it; but he allers spoke - of it arterwards as a remarkable providence that that 'are passage should - have come jest so that night. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, atween twelve and one o'clock they was waked up by the most awful - screechin' that ever you heard, as if twenty thousand devils was upon 'em. - Mis' Miller she was out o' bed in a minit, all standin'. 'O husband, - husband, the Indians are on us!' says she; and sure enough they was. The - children, 'Bijah and Faith come a runnin' in. 'O father, father! what - shall we do?' - </p> - <p> - “Col. Eph was a man that allers knew in a minit what to do, and he kep' - quite cool. 'My dear,' says he to his wife, 'you take the children, and - jest run with 'em right out the buttery-door through the high corn, and - run as fast as you can over to your father Stebbins', and tell him to - rouse the town; and Bije,' says he to the boy, 'you jest get into the - belfry window, and ring the bell with all your might,' says he. 'And I 'll - stay and fight 'em off till the folks come.' - </p> - <p> - “All this while the Indians was a yellin' and screechin' and a wavin' - fire-brands front of the house. Col. Eph he stood a lookin' through a hole - in the shutter and a sightin' his gun while he was a talkin'. He see that - they'd been a pilin' up a great pile o' dry wood agin the door. But the - fust Indian that came up to put fire to't was shot right down while he was - a speakin'. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, Mis' Miller and Faith and Bije wa'n't long a dressin', you may - believe; and they jest put on dark cloaks, and they jest streaked it out - through the buttery-door! There was thick pole-beans quite up to the - buttery-door, and then a field o' high corn, so that they was hid, and the - way they run wasn't slow, I tell you. - </p> - <p> - “But Col. Eph he hed to stop so to load that they got the pile o' brush - afire, though he shot down three or four on 'em, and that was some - comfort. But the long and the short o' the matter was, that they driv the - door in at last, and came a whoopin' and yellin' into the house. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, they took Col. Eph, and then went search-in' round to find somebody - else; but jest then the meetin'-house bell begun to ring, and that scart - 'em, and they took Col. Eph and made off with him. He hedn't but jest time - to get into his clothes and get his shoes on, when they hurried him off. - They didn't do nothin' to him jest then, you see, these Indians was so - cur'ous. If a man made a good fight, and killed three or four on 'em afore - they could take him, they sot great store by him, and called him a brave - man. And so they was 'mazin' careful of Col. Eph, and treated him quite - polite for Indians; but he knew the ways on 'em well enough to know what - it was all for. They wanted a real brave man to burn alive and stick - slivers into and torment, and Col. Eph was jest the pattern for 'em, and - his fight-in' so brave made him all the better for what they wanted. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, he was in hopes the town would be roused in time for some of 'em to - come arter him; but the Indians got the start of 'em, and got 'way off in - the woods afore people hed fairly come together and found out what the - matter was. There was Col. Eph's house a blazin' and a lightin' up all the - country for miles round; and the colonel he said it come ruther hard on - him to be lighted on his way through the woods by such a bonfire. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, by mornin' they come to one o' their camps, and there they hed a - great rejoicin' over him. They was going to hev a great feast, and a good - time a burnin' on him; and they tied him to a tree, and sot an Indian to - watch him while they went out to cut pine knots and slivers to do him - with. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, as I said, Col. Eph was a brave man, and a man that always kep' his - thoughts about him; and so he kep' a workin' and a workin' with the withs - that was round his hands, and a prayin' in his heart to the Lord, till he - got his right hand free. Wal, he didn't make no move, but kep' a loosenin' - and a loosenin' little by little, keepin' his eye on the Indian who sot - there on the ground by him. - </p> - <p> - “Now, Col. Eph hed slipped his feet into his Sunday shoes that stood there - by the bed and hed great silver shoe-buckles; and there was a providence - in his doin' so, for, ye see, Indians are 'mazin' fond o' shiny things. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0021" id="linkimage-0021"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:65%;"> - <img src="images/0203.jpg" alt="0203m " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0203.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - “And the old Indian he was took with the shine o' these shoe-buckles, and - he thought he might as well hev 'em as anybody; so he jest laid down his - tommyhawk, and got down on his knees, and was workin' away as earnest as - could be to get off the buckles, and Col. Eph he jest made a dart forward - and picked up the tommyhawk, and split open the Indian's skull with one - blow: then he cut the withs that was round his legs, and in a minute he - was off on the run with the tommyhawk in his hand. There was three Indians - give chase to him, but Col. Eph he kep' ahead of 'em. He said while he was - a runnin' he was cryin,' and callin' on the Lord with all his might, and - the words come into his mind he read at prayers the night afore, 'The race - is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong.' - </p> - <p> - “At last he see the Indians gained on him; and he faced round suddenly, - and struck the nighest one smack on the head with his tommyhawk. Then when - the next one come up he cut him down too; and the third one, when he see - both the others cut down, and Col. Eph comin' full blaze towards him with - his tommyhawk a swingin', he jest turned and run for dear life. Then Col. - Eph he turned and cut for the settlement. He run, and he run, and he run, - he didn't well know how long, till, finally, he was clear tuckered out, - and he jest dropped down under a tree and slept; and he lay there all the - rest of that day, and all night, and never woke till the next day about - sundown. - </p> - <p> - “Then he woke up, and found he was close by home, and John Stebbins, his - wife's father, and a whole party, was out lookin' for him. - </p> - <p> - “Old Col. Eph used to tell the story as long as he lived, and the tears - used to run down his cheeks when he told it. - </p> - <p> - “'There's a providence in every thing,' he used to say, 'even down to - shoe-buckles. Ef my Sunday shoes hadn't happened to 'a' set there so I - could 'a' slipped into 'em, I couldn't 'a' killed that Indian, and I - shouldn't 'a' been here to-day.' Wal, boys, he was in the right on't. Some - seem to think the Lord don't look out only for gret things, but, ye see, - little things is kind o' hinges that gret ones turns on. They say, take - care o' pennies, and dollars 'll take care o' themselves. It's jest so in - every thing; and, ef the Lord don't look arter little things, he ain't so - gret as they say, anyway. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, wal,” said Sam in conclusion, “now, who'd 'a' thought that anybody - could 'a' made any thing out o' Indians? Yet there 'twas. All them Martha - Vineyard Indians turned Christians, and there was Indian preachers and - Indian teachers; and they reely did settle down, and get to be quite like - folks. But I tell you, boys, it took faith to start with.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE BULL-FIGHT. - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0022" id="linkimage-0022"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> - <img src="images/9207.jpg" alt="9207 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9207.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - T was Saturday afternoon,—time of blessed memory to boys,—and - we were free for a ramble after huckleberries; and, with our pails in - hand, were making the best of our way to a noted spot where that fruit was - most abundant. - </p> - <p> - Sam was with us, his long legs striding over the ground at a rate that - kept us on a brisk trot, though he himself was only lounging leisurely, - with his usual air of contemplation. - </p> - <p> - “Look 'ere, boys,” he suddenly said, pausing and resting his elbow on the - top of a rail-fence, “we shall jest hev to go back and go round by Deakin - Blodgett's barn.” - </p> - <p> - “Why so?” we both burst forth in eager tones. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, don't ye see the deakin's turned in his bull into this 'ere lot?” - </p> - <p> - “Who cares?” said I. “I ain't afraid.” - </p> - <p> - “Nor I,” said Harry. “Look at him: he looks mild enough: he won't hurt - us.” - </p> - <p> - “Not as you knows on,” said Sam; “and then, agin, you don't know,—nobody - never knows, what one o' them 'ere critters will do: they's jest the most - contrary critters; and ef you think they're goin' to do one way they're - sure to do t'other. I could tell ye a story now that'd jest make yer har - stan' on eend.” Of course we wanted to have our hair stand on end, and - beset Sam for the story; but he hung off. - </p> - <p> - “Lordy massy! boys, jest let's wait till ye've got yer huckleberries: yer - granny won't like it ef ye don't bring her none, and Hepsy she 'll be in - my har,—what's left on't,” said Sam, taking off his old torn hat, - and rubbing the loose shock of brash and grizzled hair. - </p> - <p> - So we turned and made a <i>détour</i>, leaving the bull on the right, - though we longed amazingly to have a bout with him, for the fun of the - thing, and mentally resolved to try it when our mentor was not round. - </p> - <p> - It all comes back to me again,—the image of that - huckleberry-pasture, interwoven with fragrance of sweet-fern, and the - ground under our feet embroidered with star-moss and wintergreen, or foamy - patches of mossy frost-work, that crushed and crackled delightfully - beneath our feet. Every now and then a tall, straight fire-lily—black, - spotted in its centre—rose like a little jet of flame; and we - gathered it eagerly, though the fierce August sun wilted it in our hands. - The huckleberry-bushes, bending under their purple weight, we gathered in - large armfuls, and took them under the shadow of the pine-trees, that we - might strip them at our leisure, without being scorched by the intense - glare of the sun. Armful after armful we carried and deposited in the - shade, and then sat down to the task of picking them off into our pails. - It was one of those New-England days hotter than the tropics, Not a breath - of air was stirring, not a bird sang a note, not a sound was heard, except - the drowsy grating of the locusts. - </p> - <p> - “Well, now, Sam, now tell us that story about the bull.” - </p> - <p> - “Lordy massy, how hot 'tis!” said Sam, lying back, and resting on the - roots of a tree, with his hands folded under his head. “I'm all in a drip - of sweat.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, Sam, we 'll pick off your berries, if you 'll talk.” - </p> - <p> - “Wall, wall, be kerful yer don't git no green ones in among 'em, else - Hepsy 'll be down on me. She's drefful partikelar, she is. Every thing has - to be jest so. Ef it ain't, you 'll hear on't. Lordy massy I boys, she's - always telling me I don't do nothin' for the support of the family. I - leave it to you if I didn't ketch her a nice mess o' fish a Tuesday. I - tell her folks can't expect to roll in money, and allers to have every - thing jess 'z they want it. We brought nothin' into the world with us, and - it's sartain we ken carry nothin' out; and, having food and raiment, we - ought to be content. We have ben better off'n we be now. Why, boys, I've - seen the time that I've spent thirty-seven cents a week for nutmegs; but - Hepsy hain't no gratitude: such folks hez to be brought down. Take care, - now, yer ain't a-putting green ones in; be yer?” - </p> - <p> - “Sam, we sha'n't put in any at all, if you don't tell us that story.” - </p> - <p> - “Lordy massy! you young ones, there ain't never no contentin' yer, ef a - fellow was to talk to the millennium. Wonder now if there is going to be - any millennium. Wish I'd waited, and been born in them days, 'spect things - would a sorter come along easier. Wall, I shall git through some way, I - s'pose.” - </p> - <p> - “Sam,” said I, sitting back, “we're putting all our berries into your - pail; and, if you don't begin to tell us a story, we won't do it.” - </p> - <p> - “Lordy massy! boys, I'm kind o' collectin' my idees. Ye have to talk a - while to git a-goin', everybody does. Wal, about this 'ere story. Ye - 'member that old brown house, up on the hill there, that we saw when we - come round the corner? That 'are was where old Mump Moss used to live. Old - Mump was consid'able of a nice man: he took in Ike Sanders, Mis' Moss's - sister's boy, to help him on the farm, and did by him pretty much ez, he - did by his own. Bill Moss, Mump's boy, he was a con-trairy kind o' - critter, and he was allers a-hectorin' Ike. He was allers puttin' off the - heaviest end of every thing on to him. He'd shirk his work, and git it off - on to Ike every way he could. And he allers threw it up at him that he was - eatin' his father's bread; and he watched every mouthful he ate, as if he - hated to see it go down. Wal, ye see, for all that. Ike he growed up tall - and strong, and a real handsome young feller; and everybody liked him. And - Bill he was so gritty and contrairy, that his own mother and sisters - couldn't stan' him; and he was allers a-flingin' it up at 'em that they - liked Ike more'n they did him. Finally his mother she said to him one day, - 'Why shouldn't I,' sez she, 'when Ike's allers pleasant to me, and doin' - every thing he ken fur me, and you don't do nothin' but scold.' That 'are, - you see, was a kind o' home-thrust, and Bill he didn't like Ike a bit the - better for that. He did every thing he could to plague him, and hector - him, and sarcumvent him, and set people agin him. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, ye see, 'twas the old story about Jacob and Laban over agin. Every - thing that Ike put his hand to kind o' prospered. Everybody liked him, - everybody hed a good word for him, everybody helped grease his wheels. - Wal, come time when he was twenty-one, old Mump he gin him a settin' out. - He gin him a freedom suit o' clothes, and he gin him a good cow, and Mis' - Moss she knit him up a lot o' stockings, and the gals they made him up his - shirts. Then, Ike he got a place with Squire Wells, and got good wages; - and he bought a little bit o' land, with a house on it, on Squire Wells's - place, and took a mortgage on't, to work off. He used to work his own - land, late at night and early in the mornin', over and above givin' good - days' works to the squire; and the old squire he sot all the world by him, - and said he hedn't hed sich a man to work since he didn't know when. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, a body might ha' thought that when Bill had a got him out o' the - house, he might ha' ben satisfied, but he wasn't. He was an ugly fellow, - Bill Moss was; and a body would ha' thought that every thing good that - happened to Ike was jest so much took from him. Come to be young men, - growed up together, and waitin' on the gals round, Ike he was pretty apt - to cut Bill out. Yer see, though Bill was goin' to have the farm, and all - old Mump's money, he warn't pleasant-spoken; and so, when the gals got a - chance, they'd allers rather go with Ike than him. Finally, there was - Delily Sawin, she was about the handsomest girl there was round, and she - hed all the fellers arter her; and her way was to speak 'em all fair, and - keep 'em all sort o' waitin' and hopin', till she got ready to make her - mind up. She'd entertain Bill Saturday night, and she'd tell Ike he might - come Sunday night; and so Ike he was well pleased, and Bill he growled. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, there come along a gret cattle-show. Squire Wells he got it up: it - was to be the gretest kind of a time, and Squire Wells he give money fur - prizes. There was to be a prize on the best cow, and the best bull, and - the best ox, and the best horse, and the biggest punkins and squashes and - beets, and there was a prize for the best loaf o' bread, and the best pair - o' stockin's, and the handsomest bed-quilt, and the rest o' women's work. - Wal, yer see, there was a gret to-do about the cattle-show; and the wagons - they came in from all around,—ten miles; and the gals all dressed up - in their best bunnits, and they had a ball in the evenin'. Wal, ye see, it - so happened that Bill and Ike each on 'em sent a bull to the cattle-show; - and Ike's bull took the prize. That put the cap-sheaf on for Bill. He was - jest about as much riled as a feller could be; and that evenin' Delily she - danced with Ike twice as many times ez she did with him. Wal, Bill he got - it round among the fellers that the jedges hed been partial; and he said, - if them bulls was put together, his bull would whip Ike's all to thunder. - Wal, the fellers thought 'twould be kind o' fun to try 'em, and they put - Ike up to it. And finally 'twas agreed that Ike's bull should be driv over - to old Mump's; and the Monday after the cattle-show, they should let 'em - out into the meadow together and see which was the strongest. So there was - a Sunday the bulls they were both put up together in the same barn; and - the 'greement was, they wasn't to be looked at nor touched till the time - come to turn 'em out. - </p> - <p> - “Come Sunday mornin', they got up the wagon to go to meetin'; and Mis' - Moss and the gals and old Mump, they was all ready; and the old yaller dog - he was standrn' waitin' by the wagon, and Bill warn't nowhere to be found. - So they sent one o' the girls up chamber to see what'd got him; and there - he was a-lyin' on the bed, and said he'd got a drefful headache, and - didn't think he could go to meetin'. Wal, the second bell was a-tollin', - and they had to drive off without him: they never mistrusted but what - 'twas jest so. Wal, yer see, boys, 'twas that 'are kind o' Sunday headache - that sort o' gets better when the folks is all fairly into meetin'. So, - when the wagon was fairly out o' sight, Bill he thought he'd jest go and - have a peek at them bulls. Wal, he looked and he peeked, and finally he - thought they looked so sort o' innocent 'twouldn't do no harm to jest let - 'em have a little run in the cow-yard aforehand. He kind o' wanted to see - how they was likely to cut up. Now, ye see, the mischief about bulls is, - that a body never knows what they's goin' to do, 'cause whatever notion - takes 'em allers comes into their heads so kind o' suddin, and it's jest a - word and a blow with 'em. Wal, fust he let out his bull, and then he went - in and let out Ike's. Wal, the very fust thing that critter did he run up - to Bill's bull, full tilt, and jest gin one rip with his horns right in - the side of him, and knocked him over and killed him. Didn't die right - off, but he was done for; and Bill he gin a the old feller turned right - round, and come at <i>him</i>. I tell you, Bill he turned and made a - straight coattail, rippin' and peelin' it towards the house, and the bull - tearin' on right arter him. Into the kitchen he went, and he hedn't no - time to shut the door, and the bull arter him; and into the keepin'-room, - and the bull arter him there. And he hedn't but jest time to git up the - chamber-stairs, when he heard the old feller roarin' and tearin' round - there like all natur. Fust he went to the lookin'-glass, and smashed that - all to pieces. Then he histed the table over, and he rattled and smashed - the chairs round, and made such a roaring and noise, ye'd ha' thought - there was seven devils there; and in the midst of it Bill he looked out of - the window, and see the wagon a-comin' back; and 'Lordy massy!' he thought - to himself, 'the bull 'll kill every one on 'em,' and he run to the window - and yelled and shouted, and they saw him, and thought the house must be - afire. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0023" id="linkimage-0023"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:65%;"> - <img src="images/0217.jpg" alt="0217m " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0217.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - “Finally, he bethought him of old Mump's gun, and he run round and got it, - and poked it through a crack of the chamber-door, and fired off bang! and - shot him dead, jest as Mis' Moss and the girls was comin' into the - kitchen-door. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, there was, to be sure, the 'bomination o' desolation when they come - in and found every thing all up in a heap and broke to pieces, and the old - critter a-kickin' and bleedin' all over the carpet, and Bill as pale as - his shirt-tail on the chamber-stairs. They had an awful mess on't; and - there was the two bulls dead and to be took care uv. - </p> - <p> - “'Wal, Bill,” said his father, “'I hope yer satisfied now. All that comes - o' stayin' to home from meetin', and keepin' temporal things in yer head - all day Sunday. You've lost your own bull, you've got Ike's to pay for, - and ye 'll have the laugh on yer all round the country.' - </p> - <p> - “'I expect, father, we ken corn the meat,' says Mis' Moss, 'and maybe the - hide 'll sell for something,' sez she; for she felt kind o' tender for - Bill, and didn't want to bear down too hard on him. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, the story got round, and everybody was a-throwin' it up at Bill; and - Delily, in partikelar, hectored him about it till he wished the bulls had - been in the Red Sea afore he'd ever seen one on 'em. Wal, it really driv - him out o' town, and he went off out West to settle, and nobody missed him - much; and Ike he married Delily, and they grew from better to better, till - now they own jest about as pretty a farm as there is round. Yer remember - that white house with green blinds, that we passed when we was goin' to - the trout-brook? Wal, that 'ere's the one.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0024" id="linkimage-0024"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:20%;"> - <img src="images/5221.jpg" alt="5221 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/5221.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - HOW TO FIGHT THE DEVIL - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0025" id="linkimage-0025"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> - <img src="images/9222.jpg" alt="9222 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9222.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - OOK here, boys,” said Sam, “don't you want to go with me up to the Devil's - Den this arternoon?” - </p> - <p> - “Where is the Devil's Den,” said I, with a little awe. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, it's a longer tramp than I've ever took ye. It's clear up past the - pickerel pond, and beyond old Skunk John's pasture-lot. It's a 'mazin' - good place for raspberries; shouldn't wonder if we should get two, three - quarts there. Great rocks there higher'n yer head; kinder solemn, 'tis.” - </p> - <p> - This was a delightful and seductive account, and we arranged for a walk - that very afternoon. - </p> - <p> - In almost every New-England village the personality of Satan has been - acknowledged by calling by his name some particular rock or cave, or other - natural object whose singularity would seem to suggest a more than mortal - occupancy. “The Devil's Punchbowl,” “The Devil's Wash-bowl,” “The Devil's - Kettle,” “The Devil's Pulpit,” and “The Devil's Den,” have been - designations that marked places or objects of some striking natural - peculiarity. Often these are found in the midst of the most beautiful and - romantic scenery, and the sinister name seems to have no effect in - lessening its attractions. To me, the very idea of going to the Devil's - Den was full of a pleasing horror. When a boy, I always lived in the - shadowy edge of that line which divides spirit land from mortal life, and - it was my delight to walk among its half lights and shadows. The old - graveyard where, side by side, mouldered the remains of Indian sachems and - the ancients of English blood, was my favorite haunt. I loved to sit on - the graves while the evening mists arose from them, and to fancy cloudy - forms waving and beckoning. To me, this spirit land was my only refuge - from the dry details of a hard, prosaic life. The schoolroom—with - its hard seats rudely fashioned from slabs of rough wood, with its clumsy - desks, hacked and ink-stained, with its unintelligible textbooks and its - unsympathetic teacher—was to me a prison out of whose weary windows - I watched the pomp and glory of nature,—the free birds singing, the - clouds sailing, the trees waving and whispering,—and longed, as - earnestly as ever did the Psalmist, to flee far away, and wander in the - wilderness. - </p> - <p> - Hence, no joy of after life—nothing that the world has now to give—can - equal that joyous sense of freedom and full possession which came over me - on Saturday afternoons, when I started off on a tramp with the world all - before me,—the mighty, unexplored world of mysteries and - possibilities, bounded only by the horizon. Ignorant alike of all science, - neither botanist nor naturalist, I was studying at firsthand all that lore - out of which science is made. Every plant and flower had a familiar face - to me, and said something to my imagination. I knew where each was to be - found, its time of coming and going, and met them year after year as - returning friends. - </p> - <p> - So it was with joyous freedom that we boys ram bled off with Sam this - afternoon, intent to find the Devil's Den. It was a ledge of granite rocks - rising in the midst of a grove of pines and white birches. The ground was - yellow and slippery with the fallen needles of the pines of other days, - and the glistening white stems of the birches shone through the shadows - like ivory pillars. Underneath the great granite ledges, all sorts of - roots and plants grappled and kept foothold; and whole armies of wild - raspberries matured their fruit, rounder and juicier for growing in the - shade. - </p> - <p> - In one place yawned a great rift, or cavern, as if the rocks had been - violently twisted and wrenched apart, and a mighty bowlder lodging in the - rift had roofed it over, making a cavern of most seductive darkness and - depth. This was the Devil's Den; and after we had picked our pail full of - berries, we sat down there to rest. - </p> - <p> - “Sam, do you suppose the Devil ever was here?” said I. “What do they call - this his den for?” - </p> - <p> - “Massy, child! that 'are was in old witch times. There used to be witch - meetins' held here, and awful doins'; they used to have witch sabba' days - and witch sacraments, and sell their souls to the old boy.” - </p> - <p> - “What should they want to do that for?” - </p> - <p> - “Wal, sure enough; what was it for? I can't make out that the Devil ever - gin 'em any thing, any on 'em. They warn't no richer, nor didn't get no - more'n this world than the rest; and they was took and hung; and then ef - they went to torment after that, they hed a pretty bad bargain on't, I - say.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, people don't do such things any more, do they?” said I. - </p> - <p> - “No,” said Sam. “Since the gret fuss and row-de-dow about it, it's kind o' - died out; but there's those, I s'pose, that hez dealins' with the old boy. - Folks du say that old Ketury was a witch, and that, ef't ben in old times, - she'd a hed her neck stretched; but she lived and died in peace.” - </p> - <p> - “But do you think,” said I, now proposing the question that lay nearest my - heart, “that the Devil can hurt us?” - </p> - <p> - “That depends consid'able on how you take him,” said Sam. “Ye see, come to - a straight out-an'-out fight with him, he 'll git the better on yer.” - </p> - <p> - “But,” said I, “Christian did fight Apollyon, and got him down too.” - </p> - <p> - I had no more doubt in those days that this was an historic fact than I - had of the existence of Romulus and Remus and the wolf. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, that 'ere warn't jest like real things: they say that 'ere's an - allegory. But I 'll tell ye how old Sarah Bunganuck fit the Devil, when he - 'peared to her. Ye see, old Sarah she was one of the converted Injuns, and - a good old critter she was too; worked hard, and got her livin' honest. - She made baskets, and she made brooms, and she used to pick young - wintergreen and tie it up in bunches, and dig sassafras and ginsing to - make beer; and she got her a little bit o' land, right alongside o' Old - Black Hoss John's white-birch wood-lot. - </p> - <p> - “Now, I've heerd some o' these 'ere modern ministers that come down from - Cambridge college, and are larnt about every thing in creation, they say - there ain't no devil, and the reason on't is, 'cause there can't be none. - These 'ere fellers is so sort o' green!—they don't mean no harm, but - they don't know nothin' about nobody that does. If they'd ha' known old - Black Hoss John, they'd ha' been putty sure there was a devil. He was jest - the crossest, ugliest critter that ever ye see, and he was ugly jest for - the sake o' ugliness. He couldn't bear to let the boys pick huckleberries - in his paster lots, when he didn't pick 'em himself; and he was allers - jawin' me 'cause I would go trout-fishin' in one o' his pasters. Jest ez - if the trout that swims warn't, the Lord's, and jest ez much mine as his. - He grudged every critter every thing; and if he'd ha' hed his will and - way, every bird would ha' fell down dead that picked up a worm on his - grounds. He was jest as nippin' as a black frost. Old Black Hoss didn't - git drunk in a regerlar way, like Uncle Eph and Toddy Whitney, and the - rest o' them boys. But he jest sot at home, a-soakin' on cider, till he - was crosser'n a bear with a sore head. Old Black Hoss hed a special spite - agin old Sarah. He said she was an old witch and an old thief, and that - she stole things off'n his grounds, when everybody knew that she was a - regerlar church-member, and as decent an old critter as there was goin'. - As to her stealin', she didn't do nothin' but pick huckleberries and - grapes, and git chesnuts and wannuts, and butternuts, and them 'ere wild - things that's the Lord's, grow on whose land they will, and is free to - all. I've hearn 'em tell that, over in the old country, the poor was kept - under so, that they couldn't shoot a bird, nor ketch a fish, nor gather no - nuts, nor do nothin' to keep from starvin', 'cause the quality folks they - thought they owned every thing, 'way-down to the middle of the earth and - clear up to the stars. We never hed no sech doin's this side of the water, - thank the Lord! We've allers been free to have the chesnuts and the - wannuts and the grapes and the huckleberries and the strawberries, ef we - could git 'em, and ketch fish when and where we was a mind to. Lordy - massy! your grandthur's old Cesar, he used to call the pond his pork-pot. - He'd jest go down and throw in a line and ketch his dinner. Wal, Old Black - Hoss he know'd the law was so, and he couldn't do nothin' agin her by law; - but he sarved her out every mean trick he could think of. He used to go - and stan' and lean over her garden-gate and jaw at her an hour at a time; - but old Sarah she had the Injun in her; she didn't run to talk much: she - used to jest keep on with her weedin and her work, jest's if he warn't - there, and that made Old Black Hoss madder'n ever; and he thought he'd try - and frighten her off'n the ground, by makin' on her believe he was the - Devil. So one time, when he'd been killin' a beef critter, they took off - the skin with the horns and all on; and Old Black Hoss he says to Toddy - and Eph and Loker, 'You jest come up tonight, and see how I 'll frighten - old Sarah Bunganuck.' - </p> - <p> - “Wal, Toddy and Eph and Loker, they hedn't no better to do, and they - thought they'd jest go round and see. Ye see 'twas a moonlight night, and - old Sarah—she was an industrious critter—she was cuttin' - white-birch brush for brooms in the paster-lot. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, Old Black Hoss he wrapped the critter's skin round him, with the - horns on his head, and come and stood by the fence, and begun to roar and - make a noise. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0026" id="linkimage-0026"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:65%;"> - <img src="images/0223.jpg" alt="0223m " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0223.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - “Old Sarah she kept right on with her work, cuttin' her brush and pilin' - on't up, and jest let him roar. Wal, Old Black Hoss felt putty - foolish, 'specially ez the fellers were waitin' to see how she took it. So - he calls out in a grum voice,— - </p> - <p> - “'Woman, don't yer know who I be?” - </p> - <p> - “'No,' says she quite quiet, 'I don't know who yer be.' - </p> - <p> - “'Wal, I'm the Devil,' sez he. - </p> - <p> - “'Ye be?' says old Sarah. 'Poor old critter, how I pity ye!' and she never - gin him another word, but jest bundled up her broom-stuff, and took it on - her back and walked off, and Old Black Hoss he stood there mighty foolish - with his skin and horns; and so he had the laugh agin him, 'cause Eph and - Loker they went and told the story down to the tavern, and he felt awful - cheap to think old Sarah had got the upper hands on him. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, ye see, boys, that 'ere's jest the way to fight the Devil. Jest keep - straight on with what ye're doin', and don't ye mind him, and he can't do - nothin' to ye.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0027" id="linkimage-0027"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:20%;"> - <img src="images/5233.jpg" alt="5233 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/5233.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - LAUGHIN' IN MEETIN' - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0028" id="linkimage-0028"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> - <img src="images/9234.jpg" alt="9234 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9234.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - E were in disgrace, we boys; and the reason of it was this: we had laughed - out in meeting-time! To be sure, the occasion was a trying one, even to - more disciplined nerves. Parson Lothrop had exchanged pulpits with Parson - Summeral, of North Wearem. Now, Parson Summeral was a man in the very - outset likely to provoke the risibles of unspiritualized juveniles. He was - a thin, wiry, frisky little man, in a powdered white wig, black tights, - and silk stockings, with bright knee-buckles and shoe-buckles; with round, - dark, snapping eyes; and a curious, high, cracked, squeaking voice, the - very first tones of which made all the children stare and giggle. The news - that Parson Summeral was going to preach in our village spread abroad - among us as a prelude to something funny. It had a flavor like the charm - of circus-acting; and, on the Sunday morning of our story, we went to the - house of God in a very hilarious state, all ready to set off in a laugh on - the slightest provocation. - </p> - <p> - The occasion was not long wanting. Parson Lo-throp had a favorite dog - yclept Trip, whose behavior in meeting was notoriously far from that - edifying pattern which befits a minister's dog on Sundays. Trip was a - nervous dog, and a dog that never could be taught to conceal his emotions - or to respect conventionalities. If any thing about the performance in the - singers' seat did not please him, he was apt to express himself in a - lugubrious howl. If the sermon was longer than suited him, he would gape - with such a loud creak of his jaws as would arouse everybody's attention. - If the flies disturbed his afternoon's nap, he would give sudden snarls or - snaps; or, if anything troubled his dreams, he would bark out in his sleep - in a manner not only to dispel his own slumbers, but those of certain - worthy deacons and old ladies, whose sanctuary repose was thereby sorely - broken and troubled. For all these reasons, Madame Lo-throp had been - forced, as a general thing, to deny Trip the usual sanctuary privileges of - good family dogs in that age, and shut him up on Sundays to private - meditation. Trip, of course, was only the more set on attendance, and - would hide behind doors, jump out of windows, sneak through by-ways and - alleys, and lie hid till the second bell had done tolling, when suddenly - he would appear in the broad aisle, innocent and happy, and take his seat - as composedly as any member of the congregation. - </p> - <p> - Imagine us youngsters on the <i>qui vive</i> with excitement at seeing - Parson Summeral frisk up into the pulpit with all the vivacity of a black - grasshopper. We looked at each other, and giggled very cautiously, with - due respect to Aunt Lois's sharp observation. - </p> - <p> - At first, there was only a mild, quiet simmering of giggle, compressed - decorously within the bounds of propriety; and we pursed our muscles up - with stringent resolution, whenever we caught the apprehensive eye of our - elders. - </p> - <p> - But when, directly after the closing notes of the tolling second bell, - Master Trip walked gravely up the front aisle, and, seating himself - squarely in front of the pulpit, raised his nose with a critical air - toward the scene of the forthcoming performance, it was too much for us: - the repression was almost convulsive. Trip wore an alert, attentive air, - befitting a sound, orthodox dog, who smells a possible heresy, and deems - it his duty to watch the performances narrowly. - </p> - <p> - Evidently he felt called upon to see who and what were to occupy that - pulpit in his master's absence. - </p> - <p> - Up rose Parson Summeral; and up went Trip's nose, vibrating with intense - attention. - </p> - <p> - The parson began in his high-cracked voice to intone the hymn,— - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - “Sing to the Lord aloud,” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - when Trip broke into a dismal howl. - </p> - <p> - The parson went on to give directions to the deacon, in the same voice in - which he had been reading, so that the whole effect of the performance was - somewhat as follows:— - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - “'Sing to the Lord aloud.' - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - “(Please to turn out that dog),— - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - “'And make a joyful noise.,” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - The dog was turned out, and the choir did their best to make a joyful - noise; but we boys were upset for the day, delivered over to the - temptations of Satan, and plunged in waves and billows of hysterical - giggle, from which neither winks nor frowns from Aunt Lois, nor the awful - fear of the tithing-man, nor the comforting bits of fennel and orange-peel - passed us by grandmother, could recover us. - </p> - <p> - Everybody felt, to be sure, that here was a trial that called for some - indulgence. Hard faces, even among the stoniest saints, betrayed a - transient quiver of the risible muscles; old ladies put up their fans; - youths and maidens in the singers' seat laughed outright; and, for the - moment, a general snicker among the children was pardoned. But I was one - of that luckless kind, whose nerves, once set in vibration, could not be - composed. When the reign of gravity and decorum had returned, Harry and I - sat by each other, shaking with suppressed laughter. Every thing in the - subsequent exercises took a funny turn; and in the long prayer, when - everybody else was still and decorous, the whole scene came over me with - such overpowering force, that I exploded with laughter, and had to be - taken out of meeting and marched home by Aunt Lois, as a convicted - criminal. What especially moved her indignation was, that, the more she - rebuked and upbraided, the more I laughed, till the tears rolled down my - cheeks; which Aunt Lois construed into wilful disrespect to her authority, - and resented accordingly. - </p> - <p> - By Sunday evening, as we gathered around the fire, the re-action from - undue gayety to sobriety had taken place; and we were in a pensive and - penitent state. Grandmother was gracious and forgiving; but Aunt Lois - still preserved that frosty air of reprobation which she held to be a - salutary means of quickening our consciences for the future. It was, - therefore, with unusual delight that we saw our old friend Sam come in, - and sit himself quietly down on the block in the chimney corner. With Sam - we felt assured of indulgence and patronage; for, though always rigidly - moral and instructive in his turn of mind, he had that fellow-feeling for - transgressors which is characteristic of the loose-jointed, easy-going - style of his individuality. - </p> - <p> - “Lordy massy, boys—yis,” said Sam virtuously, in view of some of - Aunt Lois's thrusts, “ye ought never to laugh nor cut up in meetin'; that - 'are's so: but then there is times when the best on us gets took down. We - gets took unawares, ye see,—even ministers does. Yis, natur' will - git the upper hand afore they know it.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, Sam, <i>ministers</i> don't ever laugh in meetin'! do they?” - </p> - <p> - We put the question with wide eyes. Such a supposition bordered on - profanity, we thought: it was approaching the sin of Uzzah, who unwarily - touched the ark of the Lord. - </p> - <p> - “Laws, yes. Why, heven't you never heard how there was a council held to - try Parson Morrel for laughin' out in prayer-time?” - </p> - <p> - “Laughing in prayer-time!” we both repeated, with uplifted hands and eyes. - </p> - <p> - My grandfather's mild face became luminous with a suppressed smile, which - brightened it as the moon does a cloud; but he said nothing. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, yes,” said my grandmother, “that affair did make a dreadful scandal - in the time on't! But Parson Morrel was a good man; and I'm glad the - council wasn't hard on him.” - </p> - <p> - “Wal,” said Sam Lawson, “after all, it was more Ike Babbit's fault than - 'twas anybody's. Ye see, Ike he was allers for gettin' what he could out - o' the town; and he would feed his sheep on the meetin'-house green. - Somehow or other, Ike's fences allers contrived to give out, come Sunday, - and up would come his sheep; and Ike was too pious to drive 'em back - Sunday, and so there they was. He was talked to enough about it: 'cause, - ye see, to hev sheep and lambs a ba-a-in' and a blatin' all prayer and - sermon time wa'n't the thing. 'Member that 'are old meet-in'-house up to - the North End, down under Blueberry Hill, the land sort o' sloped down, so - as a body hed to come into the meetin'-house steppin' down instead o' up. - </p> - <p> - “Fact was, they said 'twas put there 'cause the land wa'n't good for - nothin' else; and the folks thought puttin' a meetin'-house on't would be - a clear savin'. But Parson Morrel he didn't like it, and was free to tell - 'em his mind on't,—that 'twas like bringin' the lame and the blind - to the Lord's sarvice; but there 'twas. - </p> - <p> - “There wa'n't a better minister, nor no one more set by in all the State, - than Parson Morrel. His doctrines was right up and down, good and sharp; - and he give saints and sinners their meat in due season; and for consolin' - and comfortin' widders and orphans, Parson Morrel hedn't his match. The - women sot lots by him; and he was allus' ready to take tea round, and make - things pleasant and comfortable; and he hed a good story for every one, - and a word for the children, and maybe an apple or a cookey in his pocket - for 'em. Wal, you know there an't no pleasin' everybody; and ef Gabriel - himself, right down out o' heaven, was to come and be a minister, I expect - there'd be a pickin' at his wings, and sort o' fault-findin'. Now, Aunt - Jerushy Scran and Aunt Polly Hokun they sed Parson Morrel wa'n't solemn - enough. Ye see, there's them that thinks that a minister ought to be jest - like the town hearse, so that ye think of death, judgment, and eternity, - and nothin' else, when ye see him round; and ef they see a man rosy and - chipper, and hevin' a pretty nice, sociable sort of a time, why they say - he an't spiritooal minded. But, in my times, I've seen ministers the most - awakenin' kind in the pulpit that was the liveliest when they was out - on't. There is a time to laugh, Scriptur' says; tho' some folks never seem - to remember that 'are.” - </p> - <p> - “But, Sam, how came you to say it was Ike Babbit's fault? What was it - about the sheep?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, wal, yis! I'm a comin' to that 'are. It was all about them sheep. I - expect they was the instrument the Devil sot to work to tempt Parson - Morrel to laugh in prayer-time. - </p> - <p> - “Ye see, there was old Dick, Ike's bell-wether, was the fightin'est old - crittur that ever yer see. Why, Dick would butt at his own shadder; and - everybody said it was a shame the old crittur should be left to run loose, - 'cause he run at the children, and scared the women half out their wits. - Wal, I used to live out in that parish in them days. And Lem Sudoc and I - used to go out sparkin' Sunday nights, to see the Larkin gals; and we had - to go right 'cross the lot where Dick was: so we used to go and stand at - the fence, and call. And Dick would see us, and put down his head, and run - at us full chisel, and come bunt agin the fence; and then I'd ketch him by - the horns, and hold him while Lem run and got over the fence t'other side - the lot; and then I'd let go: and Lem would holler, and shake a stick at - him, and away he'd go full butt at Lem; and Lem would ketch his horns, and - hold him till I came over,—that was the way we managed Dick; but, I - tell you, ef he come sudden up behind a fellow, he'd give him a butt in - the small of his back that would make him run on all fours one while. He - was a great rogue,—Dick was. Wal, that summer, I remember they hed - old Deacon Titkins for tithing-man; and I tell you he give it to the boys - lively. There wa'n't no sleepin' nor no playin'; for the deacon hed eyes - like a gimblet, and he was quick as a cat, and the youngsters hed to look - out for themselves. It did really seem as if the deacon was like them four - beasts in the Revelations that was full o' eyes behind and before; for - which ever way he was standin', if you gave only a wink, he was down on - you, and hit you a tap with his stick. I know once Lem Sudoc jist wrote - two words in the psalm-book and passed to Kesiah Larkin; and the deacon - give him such a tap that Lem grew red as a beet, and vowed he'd be up with - him some day for that. - </p> - <p> - “Well, Lordy Massy, folks that is so chipper and high steppin' has to hev - their come downs; and the deacon he hed to hev his. - </p> - <p> - “That 'are Sunday,—I 'member it now jest as well as if 'twas - yesterday,—the parson he give us his gre't sermon, reconcilin' - decrees and free agency: everybody said that 'are sermon was a - masterpiece. He preached it up to Cambridge at Commencement, that year. - Wal, it so happened it was one o' them bilin' hot days that come in - August, when you can fairly hear the huckleberries a sizzlin', and cookin' - on the bushes, and the locust keeps a gratin' like a red-hot saw. Wal, - such times, decrees or no decrees, the best on us will get sleepy. The old - meetin'-house stood right down at the foot of a hill that kep' off all the - wind; and the sun blazed away at them gre't west winders: and there was - pretty sleepy times there. Wal, the deacon, he flew round a spell, and - woke up the children, and tapped the boys on the head, and kep' every - thing straight as he could, till the sermon was most through, when he - railly got most tuckered out; and he took a chair, and he sot down in the - door right opposite the minister, and fairly got asleep himself, jest as - the minister got up to make the last prayer. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, Parson Morrel hed a way o' prayin' with his eyes open. Folks said it - wa'n't the best way: but it was Parson Morrel's way, anyhow; and so, as he - was prayin', he couldn't help seein' that Deacon Tit-kins was a noddin' - and a bobbin' out toward the place where old Dick was feedin' with the - sheep, front o' the meetin'-house door. - </p> - <p> - “Lem and me we was sittin' where we could look out; and we jest sees old - Dick stop feedin' and look at the deacon. The deacon hed a little round - head as smooth as an apple, with a nice powdered wig on it: and he sot - there makin' bobs and bows; and Dick begun to think it was suthin sort o' - pussonal. Lem and me was sittin' jest where we could look out and see the - hull picter; and Lem was fit to split. - </p> - <p> - “'Good, now,' says he: 'that crittur 'll pay the deacon off lively, pretty - soon.' - </p> - <p> - “The deacon bobbed his head a spell; and old Dick he shook his horns, and - stamped at him sort o' threat-nin'. Finally the deacon he give a great - bow, and brought his head right down at him; and old Dick he sot out full - tilt and come down on him ker chunk, and knocked him head over heels into - the broad aisle: and his wig flew one way and he t'other; and Dick made a - lunge at it, as it flew, and carried it off on his horns. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0029" id="linkimage-0029"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:65%;"> - <img src="images/0247.jpg" alt="0247m " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0247.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - “Wal, you may believe, that broke up the meetin' for one while: for Parson - Morrel laughed out; and all the gals and boys they stomped and roared. And - the old deacon he got up and begun rubbin' his shins, 'cause he didn't see - the joke on't. - </p> - <p> - “'You don't orter laugh,' says he: 'it's no laughin' matter; it's a solemn - thing,' says he. 'I might hev been sent into 'tarnity by that darned - crittur,' says he. Then they all roared and haw-hawed the more, to see the - deacon dancin' round with his little shiny head, so smooth a fly would - trip up on't. 'I believe, my soul, you'd laugh to see me in my grave,' - says he. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, the truth on't was, 'twas jist one of them bustin' up times that - natur has, when there an't nothin' for it but to give in: 'twas jest like - the ice breakin' up in the Charles River,—it all come at once, and - no whoa to't. Sunday or no Sunday, sin or no sin, the most on 'em laughed - till they cried, and couldn't help it. - </p> - <p> - “But the deacon, he went home feelin' pretty sore about it. Lem Sudoc, he - picked up his wig, and handed it to him. Says he, 'Old Dick was playin' - tithin'-man, wa'n't he, deacon? Teach you to make allowance for other - folks that get sleepy.' - </p> - <p> - “Then Miss Titkins she went over to Aunt Jerushy Scran's and Aunt Polly - Hokum's; and they hed a pot o' tea over it, and 'greed it was awful of - Parson Morrel to set sich an example, and suthin' hed got to be done about - it. Miss Hokum said she allers knew that Parson Morrel hedn't no - spiritooality; and now it hed broke out into open sin, and led all the - rest of 'em into it; and Miss Titkins, she said such a man wa'n't fit to - preach; and Miss Hokum said she couldn't never hear him agin: and the next - Sunday the deacon and his wife they hitched up and driv eight miles over - to Parson Lothrop's and took Aunt Polly on the back seat. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, the thing growed and growed, till it seemed as if there wa'n't - nothin' else talked about, 'cause Aunt Polly and Miss Titkins and Jerushy - Scran they didn't do nothin' but talk about it; and that sot everybody - else a-talkin'. - </p> - <p> - “Finally, it was 'greed they must hev a council to settle the hash. So all - the wimmen they went to choppin' mince, and makin' up pumpkin pies and - cranberry tarts, andb'ilin' doughnuts,—gettin' ready for the - ministers and delegates; 'cause councils always eats powerful: and they - hed quite a stir, like a gineral trainin'. The hosses they was hitched all - up and down the stalls, a-stompin' and switchin' their tails; and all the - wimmen was a-talkin'; and they hed up everybody round for witnesses. And - finally Parson Morrel he says, 'Brethren,' says he, 'jest let me tell you - the story jest as it happened; and, if you don't every one of you laugh as - hard as I did, why, then, I 'll give up.' - </p> - <p> - “The parson he was a master-hand at settin' off a story; and, afore he'd - done, he got 'em all in sich a roar they didn't know where to leave off. - Finally, they give sentence that there hedn't no temptation took him but - such as is common to man; but they advised him afterwards allers to pray - with his eyes shet; and the parson he confessed he orter 'a done it, and - meant to do better in future: and so they settled it. - </p> - <p> - “So, boys,” said Sam, who always drew a moral, “ye see, it larns you, you - must take care what ye look at, ef ye want to keep from laughin' in - meetin'”. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0030" id="linkimage-0030"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:20%;"> - <img src="images/5252.jpg" alt="5252 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/5252.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - TOM TOOTHACHE'S GHOST STORY. - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0031" id="linkimage-0031"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> - <img src="images/9253.jpg" alt="9253 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9253.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - HAT is it about that old house in Sherbourne?” said Aunt Nabby to Sam - Lawson, as he sat drooping over the coals of a great fire one October - evening. - </p> - <p> - Aunt Lois was gone to Boston on a visit; and, the smart spice of her - scepticism being absent, we felt the more freedom to start our - story-teller on one of his legends. - </p> - <p> - Aunt Nabby sat trotting her knitting-needles on a blue-mixed yarn - stocking. Grandmamma was knitting in unison at the other side of the fire. - Grandfather sat studying “The Boston Courier.” The wind outside was - sighing in fitful wails, creaking the pantry-doors, occasionally puffing - in a vicious gust down the broad throat of the chimney. It was a drizzly, - sleety evening; and the wet lilac-bushes now and then rattled and splashed - against the window as the wind moaned and whispered through them. - </p> - <p> - We boys had made preparation for a comfortable evening. We had enticed Sam - to the chimney-corner, and drawn him a mug of cider. We had set down a row - of apples to roast on the hearth, which even now were giving faint sighs - and sputters as their plump sides burst in the genial heat. The big oak - back-log simmered and bubbled, and distilled large drops down amid the - ashes; and the great hickory forestick had just burned out into solid - bright coals, faintly skimmed over with white ashes. The whole area of the - big chimney was full of a sleepy warmth and brightness just calculated to - call forth fancies and visions. It only wanted somebody now to set Sam - off; and Aunt Nabby broached the ever-interesting subject of haunted - houses. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, now, Miss Badger,” said Sam, “I ben over there, and walked round - that are house consid'able; and I talked with Granny Hokum and Aunt Polly, - and they've putty much come to the conclusion that they 'll hev to move - out on't. Ye see these 'ere noises, they keep 'em awake nights; and Aunt - Polly, she gets 'stericky; and Hannah Jane, she says, ef they stay in the - house, <i>she</i> can't live with 'em no longer. And what can them lone - women do without Hannah Jane? Why, Hannah Jane, she says these two months - past she's seen a woman, regular, walking up and down the front hall - between twelve and one o'clock at night; and it's jist the image and body - of old Ma'am Tillotson, Parson Hokum's mother, that everybody know'd was a - thunderin' kind o' woman, that kep' every thing in a muss while she was - alive. What the old crittur's up to now there ain't no knowin'. Some folks - seems to think it's a sign Granny Hokum's time's comin'. But Lordy massy! - says she to me, says she, 'Why, Sam, I don't know nothin' what I've done, - that Ma'am Tillotson should be set loose on me.' Anyway they've all got so - narvy, that Jed Hokum has ben up from Needham, and is goin' to cart 'em - all over to live with him. Jed, he's for hushin' on't up, 'cause he says - it brings a bad name on the property. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, I talked with Jed about it; and says I to Jed, says I, 'Now, ef you - 'll take my advice, jist you give that are old house a regular - overhaulin', and paint it over with tew coats o' paint, and that are 'll - clear 'em out, if any thing will. Ghosts is like bedbugs,—they can't - stan' fresh paint,' says I. 'They allers clear out. I've seen it tried on - a ship that got haunted.'” - </p> - <p> - “Why, Sam, do ships get haunted?” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure they do!—haunted the wust kind. Why, I could tell ye a - story'd make your har rise on e'end, only I'm 'fraid of frightening boys - when they're jist going to bed.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh! you can't frighten Horace,” said my grandmother. “He will go and sit - out there in the graveyard till nine o'clock nights, spite of all I tell - him.” - </p> - <p> - “Do tell, Sam!” we urged. “What was it about the ship?” - </p> - <p> - Sam lifted his mug of cider, deliberately turned it round and round in his - hands, eyed it affectionately, took a long drink, and set it down in front - of him on the hearth, and began:— - </p> - <p> - “Ye 'member I telled you how I went to sea down East, when I was a boy, - 'long with Tom Toothacre. Wal, Tom, he reeled off a yarn one night that - was 'bout the toughest I ever hed the pullin' on. And it come all - straight, too, from Tom. 'Twa'n't none o' yer hearsay: 'twas what he seen - with his own eyes. Now, there wa'n't no nonsense 'bout Tom, not a bit - on't; and he wa'n't afeard o' the divil himse'f; and he ginally saw - through things about as straight as things could be seen through. This - 'ere happened when Tom was mate o' 'The Albatross,' and they was a-runnin' - up to the Banks for a fare o' fish. 'The Albatross' was as handsome a - craft as ever ye see; and Cap'n Sim Witherspoon, he was skipper—a - rail nice likely man he was. I heard Tom tell this 'ere one night to the - boys on 'The Brilliant,' when they was all a-settin' round the stove in - the cabin one foggy night that we was to anchor in Frenchman's Bay, and - all kind o' lavin' off loose. - </p> - <p> - “Tom, he said they was having a famous run up to the Banks. There was a - spankin' southerly, that blew 'em along like all natur'; and they was - hevin' the best kind of a time, when this 'ere southerly brought a pesky - fog down on 'em, and it grew thicker than hasty-puddin'. Ye see, that - are's the pester o' these 'ere southerlies: they's the biggest - fog-breeders there is goin'. And so, putty soon, you couldn't see half - ship's length afore you. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, they all was down to supper, except Dan Sawyer at the wheel, when - there come sich a crash as if heaven and earth was a-splittin', and then a - scrapin' and thump bumpin' under the ship, and gin 'em sich a h'ist that - the pot o' beans went rollin', and brought up jam ag'in the bulk-head; and - the fellers was keeled over,—men and pork and beans kinder - permiscus. - </p> - <p> - “'The divil!' says Tom Toothacre, 'we've run down somebody. Look out, up - there!' - </p> - <p> - “Dan, he shoved the helm hard down, and put her up to the wind, and sung - out, 'Lordy massy! we've struck her right amidships!' - </p> - <p> - “'Struck what?' they all yelled, and tumbled up on deck. - </p> - <p> - “'Why, a little schooner,' says Dan. 'Didn't see her till we was right on - her. She's gone down tack and sheet. Look! there's part o' the wreck - a-floating off: don't ye see?' - </p> - <p> - “Wal, they didn't see, 'cause it was so thick you couldn't hardly see your - hand afore your face. But they put about, and sent out a boat, and kind o' - sarched round; but, Lordy massy! ye might as well looked for a drop of - water in the Atlantic Ocean. Whoever they was, it was all done gone and - over with 'em for this life, poor critturs! - </p> - <p> - “Tom says they felt confoundedly about it; but what could they do? Lordy - massy! what can any on us do? There's places where folks jest lets go - 'cause they hes to. Things ain't as they want 'em, and they can't alter - 'em. Sailors ain't so rough as they look: they'z feelin' critturs, come to - put things right to 'em. And there wasn't one on 'em who wouldn't 'a' - worked all night for a chance o' saving some o' them poor fellows. But - there 'twas, and 'twa'n't no use trying. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, so they sailed on; and by'm by the wind kind o' chopped round - no'theast, and then come round east, and sot in for one of them regular - east blows and drizzles that takes the starch out o' fellers more'n a - regular storm. So they concluded they might as well put into a little bay - there, and come to anchor. - </p> - <p> - “So they sot an anchor-watch, and all turned in. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, now comes the particular curus part o' Tom's story: and it more - curus 'cause Tom was one that wouldn't 'a' believed no other man that had - told it. Tom was one o' your sort of philosophers. He was fer lookin' into - things, and wa'n't in no hurry 'bout believin'; so that this 'un was more - 'markablfe on account of it's bein' Tom that seen it than ef it had ben - others. - </p> - <p> - “Tom says that night he hed a pesky toothache that sort o' kep' grumblin' - and jumpin' so he couldn't go to sleep; and he lay in his bunk, a-turnin' - this way and that, till long past twelve o clock. - </p> - <p> - “Tom had a'thwart-ship bunk where he could see into every bunk on board, - except Bob Coffin's; and Bob was on the anchor-watch. Wal, he lay there, - tryin' to go to sleep, hearin' the men snorin' like bull-frogs in a swamp, - and watchin' the lantern a-swingin' back and forward; and the sou'westers - and pea-jackets were kinder throwin' their long shadders up and down as - the vessel sort o' rolled and pitched,—for there was a heavy swell - on,—and then he'd hear Bob Coffin tramp, tramp, trampin' overhead,—for - Bob had a pretty heavy foot of his own,—and all sort o' mixed up - together with Tom's toothache, so he couldn't get to sleep. Finally, Tom, - he bit off a great chaw o' 'baccy, and got it well sot in his cheek, and - kind o' turned over to lie on't, and ease the pain. Wal, he says he laid a - spell, and dropped off in a sort o' doze, when he woke in sich a chill his - teeth chattered, and the pain come on like a 'knife, and he bounced over, - thinking the fire had gone out in the stove. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, sure enough, he see a man a-crouchin' over the stove, with his back - to him, a-stretchin' out his hands to warm 'em. He had on a sou'wester and - a pea-jacket, with a red tippet round his neck; and his clothes was - drippin' as if he'd just come in from a rain. - </p> - <p> - “'What the divil!' says Tom. And he riz right up, and rubbed his eyes. - 'Bill Bridges,' says he, 'what shine be you up to now?' For Bill was a - master oneasy crittur, and allers a-gettin' up and walkin' nights; and - Tom, he thought it was Bill. But in a minute he looked over, and there, - sure enough, was Bill, fast asleep in his bunk, mouth wide open, snoring - like a Jericho ram's-horn. Tom looked round, and counted every man in his - bunk, and then says he, 'Who the devil is this? for there's Bob Coffin on - deck, and the rest is all here.' - </p> - <p> - “Wal, Tom wa'n't a man to be put under too easy. He hed his thoughts about - him allers; and the fust he thought in every pinch was what to do. So he - sot considerin' a minute, sort o' winkin' his eyes to be sure he saw - straight, when, sure enough, there come another man backin' down the - companion-way. - </p> - <p> - “'Wal, there's Bob Coffin, anyhow,' says Tom to himself. But no, the other - man, he turned: Tom see his face; and, sure as you live, it was the face - of a dead corpse. Its eyes was sot, and it jest came as still across the - cabin, and sot down by the stove, and kind o' shivered, and put out its - hands as if it was gettin' warm. - </p> - <p> - “Tom said that there was a cold air round in the cabin, as if an iceberg - was comin' near, and he felt cold chills running down his back; but he - jumped out of his bunk, and took a step forward. 'Speak!' says he. 'Who be - you? and what do you want?' - </p> - <p> - “They never spoke, nor looked up, but kept kind o' shivering and crouching - over the stove. - </p> - <p> - “'Wal,' says Tom, 'I 'll see who you be, anyhow.' And he walked right up - to the last man that come in, and reached out to catch hold of his - coat-collar; but his hand jest went through him like moonshine, and in a - minute he all faded away; and when he turned round the other one was gone - too. Tom stood there, looking this way and that; but there warn't nothing - but the old stove, and the lantern swingin', and the men all snorin' round - in their bunks. Tom, he sung out to Bob Coffin. 'Hullo, up there!' says - he. But Bob never answered, and Tom, he went up, and found Bob down on his - knees, his teeth a-chatterin' like a bag o' nails, trying to say his - prayers; and all he could think of was, 'Now I lay me,' and he kep' going - that over and over. Ye see, boys, Bob was a drefful wicked, swearin' - crittur, and hadn't said no prayers since he was tew years old, and it - didn't come natural to him. Tom give a grip on his collar, and shook him. - 'Hold yer yawp,' said he. 'What you howlin' about? What's up?' - </p> - <p> - “'Oh, Lordy massy!' says Bob, 'we're sent for,—all on us,—there's - been two on 'em: both on 'em went right by me!' - </p> - <p> - “Wal, Tom, he hed his own thoughts; but he was bound to get to the bottom - of things, anyway. Ef 'twas the devil, well and good—he wanted to - know it. Tom jest wanted to hev the matter settled one way or t'other: so - he got Bob sort o' stroked down, and made him tell what he saw. - </p> - <p> - “Bob, he stood to it that he was a-standin' right for'ard, a-leanin' on - the windlass, and kind o' hummin' a tune, when he looked down, and see a - sort o' queer light in the fog; and he went and took a look over the bows, - when up came a man's head in a sort of sou'wester, and then a pair of - hands, and catched at the bob-stay; and then the hull figger of a man riz - right out o' the water, and clim up on the martingale till he could reach - the jib-stay with his hands, and then he swung himself right up onto the - bowsprit, and stepped aboard, and went past Bob, right aft, and down into - the cabin. And he hadn't more'n got down, afore he turned round, and there - was another comin' in over the bowsprit, and he went by him, and down - below: so there was two on 'em, jest as Tom had seen in the cabin. - </p> - <p> - “Tom he studied on it a spell, and finally says he, 'Bob, let you and me - keep this 'ere to ourselves, and see ef it 'll come again. Ef it don't, - well and good: ef it does—why, we 'll see about it.' - </p> - <p> - “But Tom he told Cap'n Witherspoon, and the Cap'n he agreed to keep an eye - out the next night. But there warn't nothing said to the rest o' the men. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, the next night they put Bill Bridges on the watch. The fog had - lifted, and they had a fair wind, and was going on steady. The men all - turned in, and went fast asleep, except Cap'n Witherspoon, Tom, and Bob - Coffin. Wal, sure enough, 'twixt twelve and one o'clock, the same thing - came over, only there war four men 'stead o' two. They come in jes' so - over the bowsprit, and they looked neither to right nor left, but dim down - stairs, and sot down, and crouched and shivered over the stove jist like - the others. Wal, Bill Bridges, he came tearin' down like a wild-cat, - frightened half out o' his wits, screechin' 'Lord, have mercy! we're all - goin' to the devil!' And then they all vanished. - </p> - <p> - “'Now, Cap'n, what's to be done?' says Tom. 'Ef these 'ere fellows is to - take passage, we can't do nothin' with the boys: that's clear.' - </p> - <p> - “Wal, so it turned out; for, come next night, there was six on 'em come - in, and the story got round, and the boys was all on eend. There wa'n't no - doin' nothin' with 'em. Ye see, it's allers jest so. Not but what dead - folks is jest as 'spectable as they was afore they's dead. These might 'a' - been as good fellers as any aboard; but it's human natur'. The minute a - feller's dead, why, you sort o' don't know 'bout him; and it's kind o' - skeery hevin' on him round; and so 'twan't no wonder the boys didn't feel - as if they could go on with the vy'ge, ef these 'ere fellers was all to - take passage. Come to look, too, there war consid'able of a leak stove in - the vessel; and the boys, they all stood to it, ef they went farther, that - they'd all go to the bottom. For, ye see, once the story got a-goin', - every one on 'em saw a new thing every night. One on 'em saw the bait-mill - a-grindin', without no hands to grind it; and another saw fellers up - aloft, workin' in the sails. Wal, the fact war, they jest had to put - about,—run back to Castine. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, the owners, they hushed up things the best they could; and they put - the vessel on the stocks, and worked her over, and put a new coat o' paint - on her, and called her 'The Betsey Ann;' and she went a good vy'ge to the - Banks, and brought home the biggest fare o' fish that had been for a long - time; and she's made good vy'ges ever since; and that jest proves what - I've been a-saying,—that there's nothin' to drive out ghosts like - fresh paint.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - THE PARSON'S HORSE-RACE. - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0032" id="linkimage-0032"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> - <img src="images/9268.jpg" alt="9268 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9268.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - AL, now, this 'ere does beat all! I wouldn't 'a' thought it o' the deacon. - </p> - <p> - So spoke Sam Lawson, drooping in a discouraged, contemplative attitude in - front of an equally discouraged looking horse, that had just been brought - to him by the Widow Simpkins for medical treatment. Among Sam's many - accomplishments he was reckoned in the neighborhood an oracle in all - matters of this kind, especially by women, whose helplessness in meeting - such emergencies found unfailing solace under his compassionate - willingness to attend to any business that did not strictly belong to him, - and from which no pecuniary return was to be expected. - </p> - <p> - The Widow Simpkins had bought this horse of Deacon Atkins, apparently a - fairly well-appointed brute, and capable as he was good-looking. A short, - easy drive, when the deacon held the reins, had shown off his points to - advantage; and the widow's small stock of ready savings had come forth - freely in payment for what she thought was a bargain. When, soon after - coming into possession, she discovered that her horse, if driven with any - haste, panted in a fearful manner, and that he appeared to be growing - lame, she waxed wroth, and went to the deacon in anger, to be met only - with the smooth reminder that the animal was all right when she took him; - that she had seen him tried herself. The widow was of a nature somewhat - spicy, and expressed herself warmly: “It's a cheat and a shame, and I 'll - take the law on ye!” - </p> - <p> - “What law will you take?” said the unmoved deacon. “Wasn't it a fair - bargain?” - </p> - <p> - “I 'll take the law of God,” said the widow with impotent indignation; and - she departed to pour her cares and trials into the ever ready ear of Sam. - Having assumed the care of the animal, he now sat contemplating it in a - sort of trance of melancholy reflection. - </p> - <p> - “Why, boys!” he broke out, “why didn't she come to me afore she bought - this crittur? Why, I knew all about him! That 'are crittur was jest ruined - a year ago last summer, when Tom, the deacon's boy there, come home from - college. Tom driv him over to Sherburn and back that 'are hot Fourth of - July. 'Member it, 'cause I saw the crittur when he come home. I sot up - with Tom takin' care of him all night. That 'are crittur had the thumps - all night, and he hain't never been good for nothin' since. I telled the - deacon he was a gone hoss then, and wouldn't never be good for nothin'. - The deacon, he took off his shoes, and let him run to pastur' all summer, - and he's ben a-feedin' and nussin' on him up; and now he's put him off on - the widder. I wouldn't 'a' thought it o' the deacon! Why, this hoss 'll - never be no good to her! That 'are's a used-up crittur, any fool may see! - He 'll mabbe do for about a quarter of an hour on a smooth road; but come - to drive him as a body wants to drive, why, he blows like my bellowsis; - and the deacon knew it—must 'a' known it!” - </p> - <p> - “Why, Sam!” we exclaimed, “ain't the deacon a good man?” - </p> - <p> - “Wal, now, there's where the shoe pinches! In a gin'al way the deacon <i>is</i> - a good man—he's con-sid'able more than middlin' good: gin'ally he - adorns his perfession. On most p'ints I don't hev nothin' agin the deacon; - and this 'ere ain't a bit like him. But there 'tis! Come to hosses, - there's where the unsanctified natur' comes out. Folks will cheat about - hosses when they won't about 'most nothin' else.” And Sam leaned back on - his cold forge, now empty of coal, and seemed to deliver himself to a - mournful train of general reflection. “Yes, hosses does seem to be sort o' - unregenerate critturs,” he broke out: “there's suthin' about hosses that - deceives the very elect. The best o' folks gets tripped up when they come - to deal in hosses.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, Sam, is there any thing bad in horses?” we interjected timidly. - </p> - <p> - “'Tain't the hosses, boys,” said Sam with solemnity. “Lordy massy! the - hosses is all right enough! Hosses is scriptural animals. Elijah went up - to heaven in a chari't with hosses; and then all them lots o' hosses in - the Ravelations,—black and white and red, and all sorts o' colors. - That 'are shows hosses goes to heaven; but it's more'n the folks that hev - 'em is likely to, ef they don't look out. - </p> - <p> - “Ministers, now,” continued Sam in a soliloquizing vein—“folks - allers thinks it's suthin' sort o' shaky in a minister to hev much to do - with hosses,—sure to get 'em into trouble. There was old Parson - Williams of North Billriky got into a drefful mess about a hoss. Lordy - massy! he warn't to blame, neither; but he got into the dreffulest scrape - you ever heard on—come nigh to unsettlin' him.” - </p> - <p> - “O Sam! tell us all about it,” we boys shouted, delighted with the - prospect of a story. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, wait now till I get off this crittur's shoes, and we 'll take him up - to pastur', and then we can kind o' set by the river, and fish. Hepsy - wanted a mess o' fish for supper, and I was cal'latin' to git some for - her. You boys go and be digging bait, and git yer lines.” - </p> - <p> - And so, as we were sitting tranquilly beside the Charles River, watching - our lines, Sam's narrative began:— - </p> - <p> - “Ye see, boys, Parson Williams—he's dead now, but when I was a boy - he was one of the gret men round here. He writ books. He writ a tract agin - the Armenians, and put 'em down; and he writ a big book on the millennium - (I've got that 'are book now); and he was a smart preacher. Folks said he - had invitations to settle in Boston, and there ain't no doubt he might 'a' - hed a Boston parish ef he'd 'a' ben a mind ter take it; but he'd got a - good settlement and a handsome farm in North Billriky, and didn't care to - move: thought, I s'pose, that 'twas better to be number one in a little - place than number two in a big un. Anyway, he carried all before him where - he was. - </p> - <p> - “Parson Williams was a tall, straight, personable man; come of good family—father - and grand'ther before him all ministers. He was putty up and down, and - commandin' in his ways, and things had to go putty much as he said. He was - a good deal sot by, Parson Williams was, and his wife was a Derby,—one - o' them rich Salem Derbys,—and brought him a lot o' money; and so - they lived putty easy and comfortable so fur as this world's goods goes. - Well, now, the parson wan't reely what you call worldly-minded; but then - he was one o' them folks that <i>knows what's good</i> in temporals as - well as sperituals, and allers liked to hev the best that there was goin'; - and he allers had an eye to a good boss. - </p> - <p> - “Now, there was Parson Adams and Parson Scranton, and most of the other - ministers: they didn't know and didn't care what hoss they hed; jest - jogged round with these 'ere poundin', potbellied, sleepy critturs that - ministers mostly hes,—good enough to crawl round to funerals and - ministers' meetin's and associations and sich; but Parson Williams, he - allers would hev a hoss as was a hoss. He looked out for <i>blood</i>; - and, when these 'ere Vermont fellers would come down with a drove, the - parson, he hed his eyes open, and knew what was what. Couldn't none of 'em - cheat him on hoss flesh. And so one time when Zach Buel was down with a - drove, the doctor, he bought the best hoss in the lot. Zach said he never - see a parson afore that he couldn't cheat; but he said the doctor reely - knew as much as he did, and got the very one he'd meant to 'a' kept for - himself. - </p> - <p> - “This 'ere hoss was a peeler, I 'll tell you! They'd called him Tamerlane, - from some heathen feller or other: the boys called him Tam, for short. Tam - was a gret character. All the fellers for miles round knew the doctor's - Tam, and used to come clear over from the other parishes to see him. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, this 'ere sot up Cuff's back high, I tell you! Cuff was the doctor's - nigger man, and he was nat 'lly a drefful proud crittur. The way he would - swell and strut and brag about the doctor and his folks and his things! - The doctor used to give Cuff his cast-off clothes; and Cuff would prance - round in 'em, and seem to think he was a doctor of divinity himself, and - had the charge of all natur'. - </p> - <p> - “Well, Cuff he reely made an idol o' that 'are hoss,—a reg'lar - graven image, and bowed down and worshipped him. He didn't think nothin' - was too good for him. He washed and brushed and curried him, and rubbed - him down till he shone like a lady's satin dress; and he took pride in - ridin' and drivin' him, 'cause it was what the doctor wouldn't let nobody - else do but himself. You see, Tam warn't no lady's hoss. Miss Williams was - 'fraid as death of him; and the parson, he hed to git her a sort o' - low-sperited crittur that she could drive herself. But he liked to drive - Tam; and he liked to go round the country on his back, and a fine figure - of a man he was on him too. He didn't let nobody else back him, or handle - the reins, but Cuff; and Cuff was drefful set up about it, and he swelled - and bragged about that ar boss all round the country. Nobody couldn't put - in a word 'bout any other hoss, without Cuff's feathers would be all up, - stiff as a tom-turkey's tail; and that's how Cuff got the doctor into - trouble. - </p> - <p> - “Ye see, there nat 'lly was others that thought they'd got horses, and - didn't want to be crowed over. There was Bill Atkins out to the west - parish, and Ike Sanders, that kep' a stable up to Pequot Holler: they was - down a-lookin' at the parson's hoss, and a-bettin' on their'n, and - a-darin' Cuff to race with 'em. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, Cuff, he couldn't stan' it, and, when the doctor's back was turned, - he'd be off on the sly, and they'd hev their race; and Tam, he beat 'em - all. Tam, ye see, boys, was a hoss that couldn't and wouldn't hev a hoss - ahead of him—he jest <i>wouldn't!</i> Ef he dropped down dead in his - tracks the next minit, he <i>would</i> be ahead; and he allers got ahead. - And so his name got up, and fellers kep' comin' to try their horses; and - Cuff'd take Tam out to race with fust one and then another till this 'ere - got to be a reg'lar thing, and begun to be talked about. - </p> - <p> - “Folks sort o' wondered if the doctor knew; but Cuff was sly as a weasel, - and allers had a story ready for every turn. Cuff was one of them fellers - that could talk a bird off a bush,—master hand he was to slick - things over! - </p> - <p> - “There was folks as said they believed the doctor was knowin' to it, and - that he felt a sort o' carnal pride sech as a minister oughtn't fer to - hev, and so shet his eyes to what was a-goin' on. Aunt Sally Nickerson - said she was sure on't.'Twas all talked over down to old Miss Bummiger's - funeral, and Aunt Sally, she said the church ought to look into't. But - everybody knew Aunt Sally: she was allers watchin' for folks' haltin's, - and settin' on herself up to jedge her neighbors. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, I never believed nothin' agin Parson Williams: it was all Cuff's - contrivances. But the fact was, the fellers all got their blood up, and - there was hoss-racin' in all the parishes; and it got so they'd even race - hosses a Sunday. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, of course they never got the doctor's hoss out a Sunday. Cuff - wouldn't 'a', durst to do that, Lordy massy, no! He was allers there in - church, settin' up in the doctor's clothes, rollin' up his eyes, and - lookin' as pious as ef he never thought o' racin' hosses. He was an awful - solemn-lookin' nigger in church, Cuff was. - </p> - <p> - “But there was a lot o' them fellers up to Pequot Holler—Bill - Atkins, and Ike Sanders, and Tom Peters, and them Hokum boys—used to - go out arter meetin' Sunday arternoon, and race hosses. Ye see, it was - jest close to the State-line, and, if the s'lectmen was to come down on - 'em, they could jest whip over the line, and they couldn't take 'em. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, it got to be a great scandal. The fellers talked about it up to the - tavern, and the deacons and the tithingman, they took it up and went to - Parson Williams about it; and the parson he told 'em jest to keep still, - not let the fellers know that they was bein' watched, and next Sunday he - and the tithingman and the constable, they'd ride over, and catch 'em in - the very act. - </p> - <p> - “So next Sunday arternoon Parson Williams and Deacon Popkins and Ben - Bradley (he was constable that year), they got on to their hosses, and - rode over to Pequot Holler. The doctor's blood was up, and he meant to - come down on 'em strong; for that was his way of doin' in his parish. And - they was in a sort o' day o'-jedgment frame o' mind, and jogged along - solemn as a hearse, till, come to rise the hill above the holler, they see - three or four fellers with their hosses gittin' ready to race; and the - parson says he, 'Let's come on quiet, and get behind these bushes, and we - 'll see what they're up to, and catch 'em in the act.' - </p> - <p> - “But the mischief on't was, that Ike Sanders see 'em comin', and he knowed - Tam in a minit,—Ike knowed Tam of old,—and he jest tipped the - wink to the rest. 'Wait, boys,' says he: 'let 'em git close up, and then I - 'll give the word, and the doctor's hoss will be racin' ahead like - thunder.' - </p> - <p> - “Wal, so the doctor and his folks, they drew up behind the bushes, and - stood there innocent as could be, and saw 'em gittin' ready to start. Tam, - he begun to snuffle and paw; but the doctor never mistrusted what he was - up to till Ike sung out, 'Go it, boys!' and the hosses all started, when, - sure as you live, boys! Tam give one fly, and was over the bushes, and in - among 'em, goin' it like chain-lightnin' ahead of 'em all. - </p> - <p> - “Deacon Popkins and Ben Bradley jest stood and held their breath to see em - all goin' it so like thunder; and the doctor, he was took so sudden it was - all he could do to jest hold on anyway: so away he went, and trees and - bushes and fences streaked by him like ribbins. His hat flew off behind - him, and his wig arter, and got catched in a barberry-bush; but Lordy - massy! he couldn't stop to think o' them. He jest leaned down, and caught - Tam round the neck, and held on for dear life till they come to the - stopping-place. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, Tam was ahead of them all, sure enough, and was snorting and - snuffling as if he'd got the very old boy in him, and was up to racing - some more on the spot. - </p> - <p> - “That 'ere Ike Sanders was the impudentest feller that ever you see, and - he roared and rawhawed at the doctor. 'Good for you, parson!' says he. - 'You beat us all holler,' says he. 'Takes a parson for that, don't it, - boys?' he said. And then he and Ike and Ton; and the two Hokum boys, they - jest roared, and danced round like wild critturs. Wal, now, only think - on't, boys, what a situation that 'are was for a minister,—a man - that had come out with the best of motives to put a stop to - sabbath-breakin' I There he was all rumpled up and dusty, and his wig - hangin' in the bushes, and these 'ere ungodly fellers gettin' the laugh on - him, and all acause o' that 'are hoss. There's times, boys, when ministers - must be tempted to swear if there ain't preventin' grace, and this was one - o' them times to Parson Williams. They say he got red in the face, and - looked as if he should bust, but he didn't say nothin': he scorned to - answer. The sons o' Zeruiah was too hard for him, and he let 'em hev their - say. But when they'd got through, and Ben had brought him his hat and wig, - and brushed and settled him ag'in, the parson, he says, 'Well, boys, ye've - had your say and your laugh; but I warn you now I won't have this thing - going on here any more,' says he: 'so mind yourselves.' - </p> - <p> - “Wal, the boys see that the doctor's blood was up, and they rode off - pretty quiet; and I believe they never raced no more in that spot. - </p> - <p> - “But there ain't no tellin' the talk this 'ere thing made. Folks will - talk, you know; and there warn't a house in all Billriky, nor in the south - parish nor centre, where it warn't had over and discussed. There was the - deacon, and Ben Bradley was there, to witness and show jest how the thing - was, and that the doctor was jest in the way of his duty; but folks said - it made a great scandal; that a minister hadn't no business to hev that - kind o' hoss, and that he'd give the enemy occasion to speak - reproachfully. It reely did seem as if Tam's sins was imputed to the - doctor; and folks said he ought to sell Tam right away, and get a sober - minister's hoss. - </p> - <p> - “But others said it was Cuff that had got Tam into bad ways, and they do - say that Cuff had to catch it pretty lively when the doctor come to settle - with him. Cuff thought his time had come, sure enough, and was so scairt - that he turned blacker'n ever: he got enough to cure him o' hoss-racin' - for one while. But Cuff got over it arter a while, and so did the doctor. - Lordy massy! there ain't nothin' lasts forever! Wait long enough, and - 'most every thing blows over. So it turned out about the doctor. There was - a rumpus and a fuss, and folks talked and talked, and advised; everybody - had their say: but the doctor kep' right straight on, and kep' his hoss - all the same. - </p> - <p> - “The ministers, they took it up in the association; but, come to tell the - story, it sot 'em all a-laughin', so they couldn't be very hard on the - doctor. - </p> - <p> - “The doctor felt sort o' streaked at fust when they told the story on him; - he didn't jest like it: but he got used to it, and finally, when he was - twitted on't, he'd sort o' smile, and say, 'Anyway, Tam beat 'em: that's - one comfort.'” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - OLDTOWN FIRESIDE TALKS OF THE REVOLUTION. - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0033" id="linkimage-0033"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> - <img src="images/9284.jpg" alt="9284 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9284.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - HE sacred work of preparation for Thanksgiving was at hand. Our kitchen - was fragrant with the smell of cinnamon, cloves, and allspice which we - boys were daily set to pound in the great lignum-vitæ mortar. Daily the - great oven flamed without cessation; and the splitting of oven-wood kept - us youngsters so busy, that we scarce had a moment to play: yet we did it - with a cheerful mind, inspired by the general aroma of coming festivity - abroad in the house. - </p> - <p> - Behold us this evening around the kitchen-fire, which crackled and roared - up the wide chimney, brightening with its fluttering radiance the farthest - corner of the ample room. A tub of rosy-cheeked apples, another of golden - quinces, and a bushel-basket filled with ruby cranberries, stood in the - midst of the circle. All hands were busy. Grandmother in one corner was - superintending us boys as we peeled and quartered the fruit,—an - operation in which grandfather took a helping hand; Aunt Lois was busily - looking over and sorting cranberries, when a knock at the door announced a - visitor. - </p> - <p> - “Well, now, I s'pose that's Sam Lawson, of course,” snapped Aunt Lois. - </p> - <p> - Aunt Lois generally spoke with a snap; but about Thanksgiving time it had - a cheery ring, like the snapping of our brisk kitchen-fire. - </p> - <p> - “Good-evenin', Miss Badger and Miss Lois,” said Sam. “I see yer winders so - bright, I couldn't help wantin' to come in and help ye pare apples, or - suthin'.” - </p> - <p> - We boys made haste to give Sam the warmest welcome, and warmest place in - the chimney-corner, and to accommodate him with a tin pan full of quinces, - and a knife, when he was soon settled among us. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, this 'ere does look cheerful,—looks like Thanksgiving,” he - began. “Wal, Lordy massy! we've got a great deal to be thankful for in - this 'ere land o' privileges; hain't we, deacon? I was a-comin' 'round by - Mis' Lothrop's to-day; and her Dinah, she told me the Doctor was gettin' a - great sermon out on the hundred and twenty-fourth Psalm: 'If it had not - been the Lord who was on our side when men rose up against us, then they - had swallowed us up.' He's a-goin' to show all our deliverances in the - war. I expect it 'll be a whale of a sermon, 'cause, when our minister - sets out to do a thing, he mos' generally does it up to the handle. Tell - ye what, boys, you must listen with all your ears: you 'll never know what - times them was if you don't—you don't know what liberty cost us all. - There's your gran'ther, now, he could tell ye: he 'members when he went - off to Lexington with his gun on his shoulders.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, grandfather! did <i>you</i> go?” we both exclaimed with wide eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Well, boys,” said my grandfather, “'tain't worth talkin' about what I - did. I was in my mill that day, minding my business, when brother Con, he - burst in, and says he, 'Look here, Bill, the regulars are goin' up to - Concord to destroy our stores, and we must all go. Come, get your gun.' - Well, I said I was a miller, and millers were exempt from duty; but Con - wouldn't let me alone. 'Get down your gun,' says he. 'Suppose we're going - to let them British fellers walk over us?' says he. Well, Con always had - his way of me; and I got my gun, and we started out through the woods over - to Concord. We lived at Weston then, ye see. Well, when we got on the brow - of the hill, we looked over, and, sure enough, there on burying-ground - hill was the British regulars. The hill was all alive with 'em, marching - here and there in their scarlet coats like so many bees out of a hive. - </p> - <p> - “'Con,' says I, 'jest look there. What are you going to do?' - </p> - <p> - “'Shoot some of 'em, I know,' says Con. - </p> - <p> - “And so we ran along, hiding behind trees and bushes and stone walls, till - we got near enough to get a shot at 'em. You see, they broke up into - companies, and went here and there about town, looking for the stores; and - then, as we got a chance here and there, we marked our men, and popped, - and then we'd run, and take aim somewhere else.” - </p> - <p> - “Wal, now, that are wa'n't the hull on't,” said Sam. “Why, there was - hundreds of fellers doin' just the same all round: it was jest - pop-pop-pop! from every barn, and every bush, and clump o' trees, all - along the way. Men was picked off all the time; and they couldn't see who - did it, and it made 'em mad as fury. Why, I 'member Mis' Tom Bigelow, she - that was Sary Jones, told me how they sot her mother's house afire and - burnt it down, 'cause their nigger man Cæsar popped at 'em out o' the - buttery window. They didn't tell him to; but Cæsar, he was full of fight, - like all the rest on 'em. Lordy massy! the niggers went for suthin' in - them times! Their blood was up as quick as anybody's. Why, there was old - Pompey Lovejoy lived over by Pomp's pond in Andover, he hitched up his - wagon, and driv over with two barrels o' cider and some tin dippers, and - was round all day givin' drinks o' cider to our men when they got het and - thirsty and tired. It was a pretty warm day for April, that was. Pomp has - told me the story many a time. 'Twas all the cider he had; but cider goes - for suthin', as well as gunpowder in its place, and Pomp's cider come jest - right that day.” - </p> - <p> - “But grandfather,” said I, “what happened to you over there?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, you see,” said grandfather placidly, “I wasn't killed; but I come - pretty nigh it. You see, they sent into Boston for re-enforcements; and, - by the time we got to Lexington, Earl Percy was marching out with fresh - troops and cannon. Con and I were standing on the meetin'-house steps, - when there come a terrible bang, and something struck right over our - heads, and went into the meetin'-house. 'Why, Bill!' says Con, 'what's - that?'—'They've got cannon: that's what that is,' says I. 'Let's run - 'round the other side.' So we did; but just as we got round there, there - come another bang, and a ball crashed right through the meetin'-house, and - come out of the pulpit window. Well, we saw there was no staying there: so - we run then, and got into a little clump of trees behind a stone wall; and - there we saw 'em go by,—Earl Percy on his horse, and all his troops, - ever so grand. He went on up to Concord. Fact is, if it hadn't been for - him and his men, those regulars would all have been cut off: they wouldn't - one of 'em have got back, for the whole country was up and fighting. The - militia came pouring in from Weston and Acton and Billriky,—all the - towns round. Then their Col. Smith was wounded, and a good many others, - and lots of 'em killed, and our minute-men coming on 'em before and - behind, and all around. But ye see, we couldn't stand regular troops and - cannon; and so, when they come on, we had to give back. Earl Percy came - up, and formed a hollow square, and they marched into it, and so gave 'em - time to rest.” - </p> - <p> - “Wal, there was need enough on't,” said Sam. “The regulars had been - hectored and picked, and driv 'round so from piller to post, that they was - dog tired. Jimmy Irwin, he was a little chap then; but he telled me how he - see the men jest threw 'emselves down on the ground, their tongues - trailing out o' their mouths like hunting-dogs. You see, they had about - two hundred wounded, and twenty eight or nine was taken prisoners, and - sixty-four killed outright: so Lord Percy had his hands full o' takin' - care o' the mess they'd got up.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said my grandfather, “there were dead men lying all around the road - as we came back. There, boys!” he said, pointing to a gun and powder-horn - over the chimney, “we picked up these when we were coming home. We found - them on a poor fellow who lay there dead in the road: there's some blood - of his on it to this day. We couldn't help feeling it was most too bad - too.” - </p> - <p> - “Poor fellow! he wa'n't to blame,” said my grand-mother. “Soldiers have to - go as they're bid. War's an awful thing.” - </p> - <p> - “Then they shouldn't have begun it,” interposed Aunt Lois. “'They that - take the sword shall perish by the sword.'” - </p> - <p> - “Well, grandpapa,” said I, “what were the stores they went up to get?” - </p> - <p> - “They were stores laid up to enable us to go to war, and they were 'round - in different places. There were two twenty-four-pounders that they spiked, - and they threw about five hundred pounds of ball into the river or wells, - and broke up sixty barrels of flour, and scattered it about.” - </p> - <p> - “Wal,” said Sam triumphantly, “there was one lot they didn't get. Cap'n - Tim Wheeler had about the biggest lot o' wheat, and rye-flour, and - corn-meal stored up in his barn, with some barrels of his own. So when - this 'ere fine jay-bird of an officer came to him all so grand, and told - him to open his barn and let him look in, the cap'n, he took his key, and - walked right out, and opened the barndoor; and the officer was tickled to - pieces. He thought he'd got such a haul! - </p> - <p> - “'If you please, sir,' says the cap'n, 'I'm a miller, and got my living by - grinding grain. I'm a poor man. You can see my mill out there. I grind up - a lot o' grain in the winter, and get it ready to sell in the spring. - Some's wheat, and some's rye, and some's corn-meal; and this wheat is - mine, and this rye is mine, and this corn-meal is mine;' and, when he - spoke, he put his hand on his own barrels. - </p> - <p> - “'Oh! if this is your private property,' says the officer, 'we sha'n't - touch that: we don't meddle with private property.' And so he turned on - his heel, and the cap'n, he locked up his barn.” - </p> - <p> - “Was that telling the truth?” said I. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, you see it was true what he said,” said Sam. “Them bar'ls he laid - his hands on was hisn.” - </p> - <p> - “But Aunt Lois told me yesterday it was as bad to act a lie as to speak - one,” said I. - </p> - <p> - “Well, so I did,” said Aunt Lois. “The truth is the truth, and I 'll stick - to it.” - </p> - <p> - “But, Aunt Lois, would you have told him, and let him break up all those - barrels?” - </p> - <p> - “No, I shouldn't,” said Aunt Lois. “I should have done just as Cap'n Tim - did; but I should have done <i>wrong</i>. Right is right, and wrong is - wrong, even if I can't come up to it always.” - </p> - <p> - “What would you have done, grandfather?” said I. - </p> - <p> - My grandfather's mild face slowly irradiated, as when moonbeams pass over - a rock. - </p> - <p> - “Well, boys,” he said, “I don't think I should have let him break up those - barrels. If it was wrong to do as Cap'n Wheeler did, I think most likely I - should 'a' done it. I don't suppose I'm any better than he was.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, at any rate,” said Aunt Lois, “what folks' do in war time is no - rule for ordinary times: every thing is upset then. There ain't any of the - things they do in war time that are according to gospel teaching; but, if - you boys were to do just as Cap'n Wheeler did, I should say you lied by - speaking the truth.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, well,” said my grandmother, “those were dreadful times. Thank the - Lord that they are past and gone, and we don't have such awful cases of - conscience as we did then. I never could quite see how we did right to - resist the king at all.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, the Bible says, 'Resist the devil,'” said Aunt Lois. - </p> - <p> - A general laugh followed this sally. - </p> - <p> - “I always heard,” said my grandfather, by way of changing the subject, - “that they meant to have taken Mr. Adams and Mr. Hancock and hung 'em.” - </p> - <p> - “Wal, to be sure they did,” said Sam Lawson. “I know all about that are. - Sapphira Clark, up to Lexington, she told me all about that are, one day - when I was to her house puttin' down her best parlor carpet. Sapphira - wa'n't but ten or eleven years old when the war broke out; but she - remembered all about it. Ye see, Mr. Hancock and Mr. Adams was a-staying - hid up at their house. Her father, Mr. Jonas Clark, was minister of - Lexington; and he kep' 'em quite private, and didn't let nobody know they - was there. Wal, Sapphira said they was all a-settin' at supper, when her - father, he heard a great rapping at the front-door; and her father got up - and went and opened it; and she looked after him into the entry, and could - just see a man in a scarlet uniform standing at the door, and she heard - him ask, 'Are Sam Adams and John Hancock here?' And her father answered, - 'Oh, hush! Don't mention those names here.'—'Then,' says the man, 'I - come to tell you the British troops will be along by sunrise; and, if they - are in your house, they'd better escape right away.'” - </p> - <p> - “That must have been Col. Paul Revere,” said Aunt Lois. “He went all - through the country, from Boston to Concord, rousing up people, and - telling 'em to be ready.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, what did Mr. Adams and Hancock do?” - </p> - <p> - “Wal, they got ready right away, and slipped quietly out the back-door, - and made their way over to Burlington, and staid in the minister's house - over there out of the way of the battle.” - </p> - <p> - “What would the British have done with 'em, if they had caught them?” said - I. - </p> - <p> - “Hung 'em—high as Haman,” said my Aunt Lois sententiously. “That's - what they'd have done. That's what they'd 'a' done to them, and to Gen. - Washington, and lots more, if they'd had their way.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes!” said grandfather, “they were mighty high-stepping at first. - They thought they had only to come over and show themselves, and they - could walk through the land, and hang and burn and slay just whom they'd a - mind to.” - </p> - <p> - “Wal, they found 'twas like jumping into a hornets' nest,” said Sam - Lawson. “They found that out at Lexington and Bunker Hill.” - </p> - <p> - “Brother Con was in those trenches at Bunker Hill,” said grandfather. - “There they dug away at the breastworks, with the bom'-shells firing round - 'em. They didn't mind them more than if they'd been hickory-nuts. They - kep' fellows ready to pour water on 'em as they fell.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I never want to feel again as I did that day,” said grandmother. “I - was in Boston, visiting cousin Jemima Russel, and we were all out on the - roof of the house. The roofs everywhere were all alive with people looking - through spy-glasses; and we could hear the firing, but couldn't tell how - the day was going. And then they set Charlestown on fire; and the blaze - and smoke and flame rose up, and there was such a snapping and crackling, - and we could hear roofs and timbers falling, and see people running this - way and that with their children—women scared half to death - a-flying; and we knew all the time there was cousin Jane Wilkinson in that - town sick in bed, with a baby only a few days old. It's a wonder how Jane - ever lived through it; but they did get her through alive, and her baby - too. That burning Charlestown settled to fight it through: it was so mean - and cruel needless.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said my grandfather, “that day settled the question that we would - be free and independent, or die; and, though our men had to retreat, yet - it was as good as a defeat to the British. They lost ten hundred and - fifty-four in point with a good many. They determined then killed and - wounded, and we only four hundred and fifty-three; and our men learned - that they could fight as well as the British. Congress went right to work - to raise an army, and appointed Gen. Washington commander. Your gran'ther - Stowe, boys, was orderly of the day when Gen. Washington took the command - at Cambridge.” - </p> - <p> - “Wal,” said Sam, “I was in Cambridge that day and saw it all. Ye see, the - army was drawn up under the big elm there; and Ike Newel and I, we clim up - into a tree, and got a place where we could look down and see. I wa'n't - but ten year old then; but, if ever a mortal man looked like the angel of - the Lord, the gineral looked like it that day.” - </p> - <p> - “Some said that there was trouble about having Gen. Ward give up the - command to a Southern man,” said my grandfather. “Gen. Ward was a brave - man and very popular; but everybody was satisfied when they came to know - Gen. Washington.” - </p> - <p> - “There couldn't no minister have seemed more godly than he did that day,” - said Sam. “He read out of the hymn-book the hundred and first Psalm.” - </p> - <p> - “What is that psalm?” said I. - </p> - <p> - “Laws, boys! I know it by heart,” said Sam, “I was so impressed hearin' on - him read it. I can say it to you:— - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - '“Mercy and judgment are my song, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - And since they both to thee belong, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - My gracious God, my righteous King, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - To thee my songs and vows I bring. - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - If I am raised to bear the sword, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - I 'll take my counsels from thy word. - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Thy justice and thy heavenly grace - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Shall be the pattern of my ways. - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - I 'll search the land, and raise the just - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - To posts of honor, wealth, and trust: - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - The men who work thy righteous will - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Shall be my friends and favorites still. - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - The impious crew, the factious band, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Shall hold their peace, or quit the land; - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - And all who break the public rest, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Where I have power, shall be suppressed.'” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - “And he did it too,” remarked Aunt Lois. - </p> - <p> - “He trusted in the Lord, and the Lord brought him to honor,” said my - grandmother. “When he took the army, every thing was agin' us: it didn't - seem possible we should succeed.” - </p> - <p> - “Wal, he was awful put to it sometimes,” said Sam Lawson. “I 'member Uncle - David Morse was a-tellin' me 'bout that are time down in New York when - the' Massachusetts and Connecticut boys all broke and run.” - </p> - <p> - “Massachusetts boys run? How came that Sam?” said I. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, you see, sometimes fellows will get a-runnin'; and it jest goes from - one to another like fire, and ye can't stop it. It was after the battle of - Long Island, when our men had been fighting day after day, and had to - retreat. A good many were wounded, and a good many of 'em were sick and - half-sick; and they'd got sort o' tired and discouraged. - </p> - <p> - “Well, Lord Howe and the British came to make a landing at Kipp's Bay - round by New York; and the troops set to guard the landing began to run, - and the Massachusetts and Connecticut men were sent to help 'em. Uncle - David says that the fellows that run spread the panic among 'em; and they - looked ahead, and saw an ox-drag on top of a hill they was to pass, and - they thought 'twas a cannon pintin' right at 'em; and the boys, they jest - broke and run,—cut right across the road, and cleared over the - fence, and streaked it off cross-lots and up hill like a flock o' sheep. - Uncle David, he run too; but he'd been sick o' dysentary, and was so weak - he couldn't climb the fence: so he stopped and looked back, and saw - Gineral Washington cantering up behind 'em, shouting, and waving his - sword, looking like a flamin' fire. Oh, he was thunderin' mad, the gineral - was! And, when he see the fellows skittering off cross-lots, he jest - slammed his hat down on the ground, and give up. 'Great heavens!' says he, - 'are these the men I've got to fight this battle with?' - </p> - <p> - “Wal, Uncle David, he picked up the gineral's hat, and come up and made - his bow, and said, 'Gineral, here's your hat.' - </p> - <p> - “'Thank you, sir!' said the gineral. 'I'm glad to see one brave fellow - that can stand his ground. <i>You</i> didn't run.' - </p> - <p> - “Uncle David said he felt pretty cheap, 'cause he know'd in his own heart - that he would 'a' run, only he was too weak to git over the fence; but he - didn't tell the gineral that, I bet He put the compliment in his pocket, - and said nothing; for now the gineral's aides came riding up full drive, - and told him they must be off out of the field in a minute, or the British - would have 'em, and so one on 'em took Uncle David up behind him, and away - they cantered. It was a pretty close shave too: the British was only a few - rods behind 'em. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, dear, if they had caught him!” said I. “Only think!” - </p> - <p> - “Well, they would have hung him; but we should have had another in his - place,” said Aunt Lois. “The war wouldn't 'a' stopped.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, 'twas to be as 'twas,” said my grandmother. “The Lord had respect - to the prayers of our fathers, and he'd decreed that America should be - free.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Sam: “Parson Badger said in one o' his sermons, that men - always was safe when they was goin' in the line o' God's decrees: I guess - that are was about it. But, massy! is that are the nine o'clock bell? I - must make haste home, or I dun' know what Hetty 'll say to me.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - A STUDENT'S SEA STORY. - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0034" id="linkimage-0034"> </a> - </p> - <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;"> - <img src="images/9303.jpg" alt="9303 " width="100%" /><br /><a - href="images/9303.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </div> - <p> - MONG the pleasantest of my recollections of old Bowdoin is the salt-air - flavor of its sea experiences. The site of Brunswick is a sandy plain, on - which the college buildings seem to have been dropped for the good old - Yankee economic reason of using land for public buildings that could not - be used for any thing else. The soil was a fathomless depth of dry, sharp, - barren sand, out of whose bosom nothing but pitch-pines and - blueberry-bushes emerged, or ever could emerge without superhuman efforts - of cultivation. But these sandy plains, these pine forests, were neighbors - to the great, lively, musical blue ocean, whose life-giving presence made - itself seen, heard, and felt every hour of the day and night. The - beautiful peculiarity of the Maine coast, where the sea interpenetrates - the land in picturesque fiords and lakes, brought a constant romantic - element into the landscape. White-winged ships from India or China came - gliding into the forest recesses bringing news from strange lands, and - tidings of wild adventure, into secluded farmhouses, that, for the most - part, seemed to be dreaming in woodland solitude. In the early days of my - college life the shipping interest of Maine gave it an outlook into all - the countries of the earth. Ships and ship-building and ship-launching - were the drift of the popular thought; and the very minds of the people by - this commerce had apparently - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - “Suffered a sea change - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Into something rare and strange.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - There was a quaintness, shrewdness, and vivacity of lonely solitude about - these men, (half skipper, half farmer!) that half skip was piquant and - enlivening. - </p> - <p> - It was in the auspicious period of approaching Thanksgiving that my chum - and I resolved to antedate for a few days our vacation, and take passage - on the little sloop “Brilliant,” that lay courtesying and teetering on the - bright waters of Maquoit Bay, loading up to make her Thanksgiving trip to - Boston. - </p> - <p> - It was a bright Indian-summer afternoon that saw us all on board the - little craft. She was laden deep with dainties and rarities for the festal - appetites of Boston nabobs,—loads of those mealy potatoes for which - the fields of Maine were justly famed, barrels of ruby cranberries, boxes - of solid golden butter (ventures of a thrifty housemother emulous to - gather kindred gold in the Boston market). Then there were dressed - chickens, turkeys, and geese, all going the same way, on the same errand; - and there were sides and saddles of that choice mutton for which the sea - islands of Maine were as famous as the South Downs of England. - </p> - <p> - Every thing in such a stowage was suggestive of good cheer. The little - craft itself had a sociable, friendly, domestic air. The captain and mate - were cousins: the men were all neighbors, sons of families who had grown - up together. There was a kindly home flavor in the very stowage of the - cargo. Here were Melissa's cranberries, and by many a joke and wink we - were apprised that the mate had a tender interest in that venture. There - was Widder Toothacre's butter, concerning which there were various - comments and speculations, but which was handled and cared for with the - consideration the Maine sailor-boy always gives to “the widder.” There was - a private keg of very choice eggs, over which the name of Lucindy Ann was - breathed by a bright-eyed, lively youngster, who had promised to bring her - back the change, and as to the precise particulars of this change many a - witticism was expended. - </p> - <p> - Our mode of living on the “Brilliant” was of the simplest and most - primitive kind. On each side the staircase that led down to the cabin, - hooped strongly to the partition, was a barrel, which on the one side - contained salt beef, and on the other salt pork. A piece out of each - barrel, delivered regularly to the cook, formed the foundation of our - daily meals; and sea-biscuit and potatoes, with the sauce of salt-water - appetites, made this a feast for a king. I make no mention here of - gingerbread and doughnuts, and such like ornamental accessories, which - were not wanting, nor of nuts and sweet cider, which were to be had for - the asking. At meal-times a swing-shelf, which at other seasons hung flat - against the wall, was propped up, and our meals were eaten thereon in - joyous satisfaction. - </p> - <p> - A joyous, rollicking set we were, and the whole expedition was a frolic of - the first water. One of the drollest features of these little impromptu - voyages often was the woe-begone aspect of some unsuspecting land-lubber, - who had been beguiled into thinking that he would like a trip to Boston by - seeing the pretty “Brilliant” courtesying in the smooth waters of Maquoit, - and so had embarked, in innocent ignorance of the physiological resets of - such enterprises. - </p> - <p> - I remember the first morning out. As we were driving ahead, under a stiff - breeze, I came on deck, and found the respectable Deacon Muggins, who in - his Sunday coat had serenely embarked the day before, now desolately - clinging to the railing, very white about the gills, and contemplating the - sea with a most suggestive expression of disgust and horror. - </p> - <p> - “Why, deacon, good-morning! How are you? Splendid morning!” said I - maliciously. - </p> - <p> - He drew a deep breath, surveyed me with a mixture of indignation and - despair, and then gave vent to his feelings: “Tell ye what: there was one - darned old fool up to Brunswick yesterday! but he ain't there now: he's <i>here</i>.” - The deacon, in the weekly prayer-meeting at Brunswick, used to talk of the - necessity of being “emptied of self:” he seemed to be in the way of it in - the most literal manner at the present moment. In a few minutes he was - extended on the deck, the most utterly limp and dejected of deacons, and - vowing with energy, if he ever got out o' this 'ere, you wouldn't catch - him again. Of course, my chum and I were not seasick. We were prosperous - young sophomores in Bowdoin College, and would have scorned to acknowledge - such a weakness. In fact, we were in that happy state of self-opinion - where we surveyed every thing in creation, as birds do, from above, and - were disposed to patronize everybody we met, with a pleasing conviction - that there was nothing worth knowing, but what we were likely to know, or - worth doing, but what we could do. - </p> - <p> - Capt. Stanwood liked us, and we liked him: we patronized him, and he was - quietly amused at our patronage, and returned it in kind. He was a good - specimen of the sea-captain in those early days in Maine: a man in middle - life, tall, thin, wiry, and active, full of resource and shrewd - mother-wit; a man very confident in his opinions, because his knowledge - was all got at first-hand,—the result of a careful use of his own - five senses. From his childhood he had followed the seas, and, as he grew - older, made voyages to Archangel, to Messina, to the West Indies, and - finally round the Horn; and, having carried a very sharp and careful pair - of eyes, he had acquired not only a snug competency of worldly goods, but - a large stock of facts and inductions, which stood him in stead of an - education. He was master of a thriving farm at Harpswell, and, being - tethered somewhat by love of wife and children, was mostly stationary - there, yet solaced himself by running a little schooner to Boston, and - driving a thriving bit of trade by the means. With that reverence for - learning' which never deserts the New-Englander, he liked us the better - for being collegians, and amiably conceded that there were things quite - worth knowing taught “up to Brunswick there,” though he delighted now and - then to show his superiority in talking about what he knew better than we. - </p> - <p> - Jim Larned, the mate, was a lusty youngster, a sister's son whom he had - taken in training in the way he should go. Jim had already made a voyage - to Liverpool and the East Indies, and felt himself also quite an authority - in his own way. - </p> - <p> - The evenings were raw and cool; and we generally gathered round the cabin - stove, cracking walnuts, smoking, and telling stories, and having a jolly - time generally. It is but due to those old days to say that a most - respectable Puritan flavor penetrated even the recesses of those coasters,—a - sort of gentle Bible and psalm-book aroma, so that there was not a word or - a joke among the men to annoy the susceptibilities even of a deacon. Our - deacon, somewhat consoled and amended, lay serene in his berth, rather - enjoying the yarns that we were spinning. The web, of course, was - many-colored,—of quaint and strange and wonderful; and, as the night - wore on, it was dyed in certain weird tints of the supernatural. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said Jim Larned, “folks may say what they're a mind to: there are - things that there's no sort o' way o' 'countin' for,—things you've - jist got to say. Well, here's suthin' to work that I don't know nothin' - about; and, come to question any man up sharp, you 'll find he's seen <i>one</i> - thing o' that sort' himself; and this 'ere I'm going to tell's <i>my</i> - story:— - </p> - <p> - “Four years ago I went down to aunt Jerushy's at Fair Haven. Her husband's - in the oysterin' business, and I used to go out with him considerable. - Well, there was Bill Jones there,—a real bright fellow, one of your - open-handed, lively fellows,—and he took a fancy to me, and I to - him, and he and I struck up a friendship. He run an oyster-smack to New - York, and did a considerable good business for a young man. Well, Bill had - a fellow on his smack that I never looks of. He was from the Malays, or - foreign crittur, or other; spoke broken English; had eyes set kind o' - edgeways 'n his head: homely as sin he was, and I always mistrusted him. - 'Bill,' I used to say, 'you look out for that fellow: don't you trust him. - If I was you, I'd ship him off short metre.' But Bill, he only laughed. - 'Why,' says he, 'I can get double work for the same pay out o' that - fellow; and what do I care if he ain't handsome?' I remember how chipper - an' cheery Bill looked when he was sayin' that, just as he was going down - to New York with his load o' oysters. Well, the next night I was sound - asleep in aunt Jerusha's front-chamber that opens towards the Sound, and I - was waked right clear out o' sleep by Bill's voice screaming to me. I got - up and run to the window, and looked liked the some out, and I heard it - again, plain as any thing: 'Jim, Jim! Help, help!' It wasn't a common cry, - neither: it was screeched out, as if somebody was murdering him. I tell - you, it rung through my head for weeks afterwards.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, what came of it?” said my chum, as the narrator made a pause, and - we all looked at him in silence. - </p> - <p> - “Well, as nigh as we can make it out, that very night poor Bill <i>was</i> - murdered by that very Malay feller: leastways, his body was found in his - boat. He'd been stabbed, and all his money and watch and things taken, and - this Malay was gone nobody knew where. That's all that was ever known - about it.” - </p> - <p> - “But surely,” said my chum, who was of a very literal and rationalistic - turn of mind, “it couldn't have been his voice you heard: he must have - been down to the other end of the Sound, close by New York, by that time.” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said the mate, “all I know is, that I was waked out of sleep by - Bill's voice calling my name, screaming in a real agony. It went through - me like lightning; and then I find he was murdered that night. Now, I - don't know any thing about it. I know I heard him calling me; I know he - was murdered: but <i>how</i> it was, or <i>what</i> it was, or <i>why</i> - it was, I don't know.” - </p> - <p> - “These 'ere college boys can tell ye,” said the captain. “Of course, - they've got into sophomore year, and there ain't nothing in heaven or - earth that they don't know.” - </p> - <p> - “No,” said I, “I say with Hamlet, 'There are more things in heaven and - earth, Horatio, than are dreamed of in your philosophy.'” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said my chum, with the air of a philosopher, “what shakes my faith - in all supernatural stories is, that I can't see any use or purpose in - them.” - </p> - <p> - “Wal, if there couldn't nothin' happen nor be except what <i>you</i> could - see a use in, there wouldn't <i>much</i> happen nor be,” quoth the - captain. - </p> - <p> - A laugh went round at the expense of my friend. - </p> - <p> - “Wal, now, I 'll tell ye what, boys,” piped the thin voice of the deacon, - “folks mustn't be too presumptuous: there is providences permitted that we - don't see no use in; but they do happen,—yes, they do. Now, what Jim - Larned's been a-tell-in' is a good deal like what happened to me once, - when I was up to Umbagog, in the lumberin' business.” - </p> - <p> - “Halloo!” called out Jim, “here's the deacon's story! I told you every man - had one.—Give it to us, deacon! Speak out, and don't be bashful!” - </p> - <p> - “Wal, really, it ain't what I like to talk about,” said the deacon, in a - quavering, uncertain voice; “but I don't know but I may as well, though. - </p> - <p> - “It was that winter I was up to Umbagog. I was clerk, and kep' the 'counts - and books, and all that; and Tom Huly,—he was surveyor and marker,—he - was there with me, and we chummed together. And there was Jack Cutter; he - was jest out o' college: he was there practising surveyin' with him. We - three had a kind o' pine-board sort o' shanty, built out on a plain near - by the camp: it had a fire-place, and two windows, and our bunks, and each - of us had our tables and books and things. - </p> - <p> - “Well, Huly, he started with a party of three or four to go up through the - woods to look out a new tract. It was two or three days' journey through - the woods; and jest about that time the Indians up there was getting sort - o' uneasy, and we all thought mabbe 'twas sort o' risky: howsomdever, Tom - had gone off in high spirits, and told us to be sure and take care of his - books and papers. Tom had a lot of books, and thought every thing of 'em, - and was sort o' particular and nice about his papers. His table sot up one - side, by the winder, where he could see to read and write. Well, he'd been - gone four days, when one night—it was a bright 'moonlight night—Jack - and I were sitting by the fire, reading, and between nine and ten o'clock - there came a strong, regular knock on the window over by Tom's table. We - were sitting with our backs to the window. 'Halloo!' says Jack, 'who's - that?' We both jumped up, and went to the window and looked out, and see - there warn't nobody there. - </p> - <p> - “'This is curus,' said I. - </p> - <p> - “'Some of the boys trying to trick us,' says he. 'Let's keep watch: - perhaps they 'll do it again,' says he. - </p> - <p> - “We sot down by the fire, and 'fore long it came again. - </p> - <p> - “Then Jack and I both cut out the door, and run round the house,—he - one way, and I the other. It was light as day, and nothin' for anybody to - hide behind, and there warn't a critter in sight. Well, we come in and sot - down, and looked at each other kind o' puzzled, when it come agin, - harder'n ever; and Jack looked to the window, and got as white as a sheet. - </p> - <p> - “'For the Lord's sake, do look!' says he. And you may believe me or not; - but I tell you it's a solemn fact: Tom's books was movin',—jest as - if somebody was pickin' 'em up, and putting 'em down again, jest as I've - seen him do a hundred times. - </p> - <p> - “'Jack,' says I, 'something's happened to Tom.' - </p> - <p> - “Wal, there had. That very night Tom was murdered by the Indians. We put - down the date, and a week arter the news came.” - </p> - <p> - “Come now, captain,” said I, breaking the pause that followed the deacon's - story, “give us your story. You've been all over the world, in all times - and all weathers, and you ain't a man to be taken in. Did you ever see any - thing of this sort?” - </p> - <p> - “Well, now, boys, since you put it straight at me, I don't care if I say I - have,—on these 'ere very waters we're a-sailin' over now, on board - this very schooner, in this very cabin.” - </p> - <p> - This was bringing matters close home. We felt an agreeable shiver, and - looked over our shoulders: the deacon, in his berth, raised up on his - elbow, and ejaculated, “Dew tell! ye don't say so!” - </p> - <p> - “Tell us about it, captain,” we both insisted. “We 'll take your word for - most any thing.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, it happened about five years ago. It's goin' on now eight years ago - that my father died. He sailed out of Gloucester: had his house there; - and, after he died, mother, she jest kep' on in the old place. I went down - at first to see her fixed up about right, and after that I went now and - then, and now and then I sent money. Well, it was about Thanksgiving time, - as it is now, and I'd ben down to Boston, and was coming back pretty well - loaded with the things I'd been buying in Boston for Thanksgiving at home,—raisins - and sugar, and all sorts of West Ingy goods, for the folks in Harpswell. - Well, I meant to have gone down to Gloucester to see mother; but I had so - many ways to run, and so much to do, I was afraid I wouldn't be back on - time; and so I didn't see her. - </p> - <p> - “Well, we was driving back with a good stiff breeze, and we'd got past - Cape Ann, and I'd gone down and turned in, and was fast asleep in my - berth. It was past midnight: every one on the schooner asleep, except the - mate, who was up on the watch. I was sleepin' as sound as ever I slept in - my life,—not a dream, nor a feelin', no more'n if I had been dead,—when - suddenly I waked square up. My eyes flew open like a spring, with my mind - clear and wide awake, and, sure as I ever see any thing, I see my father - standing right in the middle of the cabin, looking right at me. I rose - right up in my berth, and says I,— - </p> - <p> - “'Father, is that you?' - </p> - <p> - “'Yes,' says he, 'it is me.' - </p> - <p> - “'Father,' says I, 'what do you come for?' - </p> - <p> - “'Sam,' says he, 'do you go right back to Gloucester, and take your mother - home with you, and keep her there as long as she lives.' - </p> - <p> - “And says I, 'Father, I will.' And as I said this he faded out and was - gone. I got right up, and run up on deck, and called out, ''Bout ship!' - Mr. More—he was my mate then—stared at me as if he didn't - believe his ears. ''Bout ship!' says I. 'I'm going to Gloucester.' - </p> - <p> - “Well, he put the ship about, and then came to me, and says, 'What the - devil does this mean? We're way past Cape Ann. It's forty miles right back - to Gloucester.' - </p> - <p> - “'Can't help it,' I said. 'To Gloucester I must go as quick as wind and - water will carry me. I've thought of matters there that I <i>must</i> - attend to, no matter what happens.' - </p> - <p> - “Well, Ben More and I were good friends always; but I tell you all that - day he watched me, in a curious kind of way, to see if I weren't took with - a fever, or suthin; and the men, they whispered and talked among - themselves. You see, they all had their own reasons for wanting to be back - to Thanksgiving, and it was hard on 'em. - </p> - <p> - “Well, it was just about sun up we got into Gloucester, and I went ashore. - And there was mother, looking pretty poorly, jest making her fire, and - getting on her kettle. When she saw me, she held up her hands, and burst - out crying,— - </p> - <p> - “'Why, Sam, the Lord must 'a' sent you! I've time, and I've felt as if I - couldn't hold our much longer.' - </p> - <p> - “'Well,' says I, 'mother, pack up your things, and come right aboard the - sloop; for I've come to take you home, and take care of you: so put up - your things.' - </p> - <p> - “Well, I took hold and helped her, and we put ben sick and all alone, - having a drefful hard things together lively, and packed up her trunks, - and tied up the bed and pillows and bedclothes, and took her rocking-chair - and bureau and tables and chairs down to the sloop. And when I came down, - bringing her and all her things, Ben More seemed to see what I was after; - but how or why the idea came into my head I never told him. There's things - that a man feels shy of tellin',' and I didn't want to talk about it. - </p> - <p> - “Well, when we was all aboard, the wind sprung up fair and steady, and we - went on at a right spanking pace; and the fellows said the Harpswell girls - had got hold of our rope, and was pulling us with all their might; and we - came in all right the very day before Thanksgiving. And my wife was as - glad to see mother as if she'd expected her, and fixed up the - front-chamber for her, with a stove in't, and plenty of kindlings. And the - children was all so glad to see grandma, and we had the best kind of a - Thanksgiving!” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said I, “nobody could say there wasn't any use in <i>that</i> - spirit's coming (if spirit it was): it had a most practical purpose.” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said the captain, “I've been all round the world, in all sorts of - countries, seen all sorts of queer, strange things, and seen so many - things that I never could have believed if I hadn't seen 'em, that I never - say I won't believe this or that. If I see a thing right straight under my - eyes, I don't say it couldn't 'a' ben there 'cause college-folks say there - ain't no such things.” - </p> - <p> - “How do you know it wasn't all a dream?” said my chum. - </p> - <p> - “How do I know?' Cause I was broad awake, and I gen 'lly know when I'm - awake and when I'm asleep. I think Mr. More found me pretty wide awake.” - </p> - <p> - It was now time to turn in, and we slept soundly while the “Brilliant” - ploughed her way. By daybreak the dome of the State House was in sight. - </p> - <p> - “I've settled the captain's story,” said my chum to me. “It can all be - accounted for on the theory of cerebral hallucination.” - </p> - <p> - “All right,” said I; “but it answered the purpose beautifully for the old - mother.” - </p> - <div style="height: 6em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sam Lawson's Oldtown Fireside Stories, by -Harriet Beecher Stowe - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SAM LAWSON'S OLDTOWN *** - -***** This file should be named 50129-h.htm or 50129-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/0/1/2/50129/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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-<pre>
-
-The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sam Lawson's Oldtown Fireside Stories, by
-Harriet Beecher Stowe
-
-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 at
-www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
-to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
-
-
-
-Title: Sam Lawson's Oldtown Fireside Stories
- With Illustrations
-
-Author: Harriet Beecher Stowe
-
-Release Date: October 4, 2015 [EBook #50129]
-Last Updated: November 19, 2016
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SAM LAWSON'S OLDTOWN ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by David Widger from page images generously
-provided by the Internet Archive
-
-
-
-
-
-
-</pre>
-
- <div style="height: 8em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h1>
- SAM LAWSON'S OLDTOWN FIRESIDE STORIES
- </h1>
- <h2>
- By Harriet Beecher Stowe
- </h2>
- <h3>
- With Illustrations
- </h3>
- <h4>
- Houghton, Mifflin And Company
- </h4>
- <h5>
- 1881
- </h5>
- <div class="fig" style="width:65%;">
- <img src="images/0001.jpg" alt="0015m " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0001.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <div class="fig" style="width:65%;">
- <img src="images/0008.jpg" alt="0015m " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0008.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <div class="fig" style="width:65%;">
- <img src="images/0009.jpg" alt="0015m " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0009.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CONTENTS</b>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>OLDTOWN FIRESIDE STORIES</b> </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> THE GHOST IN THE MILL. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> THE SULLIVAN LOOKING-GLASS </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> THE MINISTER'S HOUSEKEEPER </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> THE WIDOW'S BANDBOX. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> CAPTAIN KIDD'S MONEY. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> “MIS' ELDERKIN'S PITCHER.” </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> THE GHOST IN THE CAP'N BROWN HOUSE. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> COLONEL EPH'S SHOE-BUCKLES. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> THE BULL-FIGHT. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> HOW TO FIGHT THE DEVIL </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> LAUGHIN' IN MEETIN' </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> TOM TOOTHACHE'S GHOST STORY. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> THE PARSON'S HORSE-RACE. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> OLDTOWN FIRESIDE TALKS OF THE REVOLUTION. </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> A STUDENT'S SEA STORY. </a>
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h1>
- OLDTOWN FIRESIDE STORIES
- </h1>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- THE GHOST IN THE MILL.
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;">
- <img src="images/9013.jpg" alt="9013 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9013.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- OME, Sam, tell us a story,” said I, as Hariet and I crept to his knees, in
- the glow of the bright evening firelight; while Aunt Lois was busily
- rattling the tea-things, and grandmamma, at the other end of the
- fireplace, was quietly setting the heel of a blue-mixed yarn stocking.
- </p>
- <p>
- In those days we had no magazines and daily papers, each reeling off a
- serial story. Once a week, “The Columbian Sentinel” came from Boston with
- its slender stock of news and editorial; but all the multiform devices—pictorial,
- narrative, and poetical—which keep the mind of the present
- generation ablaze with excitement, had not then even an existence. There
- was no theatre, no opera; there were in Oldtown no parties or balls,
- except, perhaps, the annual election, or Thanksgiving festival; and when
- winter came, and the sun went down at half-past four o'clock, and left the
- long, dark hours of evening to be provided for, the necessity of amusement
- became urgent. Hence, in those days, chimney-corner story-telling became
- an art and an accomplishment. Society then was full of traditions and
- narratives which had all the uncertain glow and shifting mystery of the
- firelit hearth upon them. They were told to sympathetic audiences, by the
- rising and falling light of the solemn embers, with the hearth-crickets
- filling up every pause.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:65%;">
- <img src="images/0015.jpg" alt="0015m " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0015.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- Then the aged told their stories to the young,—tales of early life;
- tales of war and adventure, of forest-days, of Indian captivities and
- escapes, of bears and wild-cats and panthers, of rattlesnakes, of witches
- and wizards, and strange and wonderful dreams and appearances and
- providences.
- </p>
- <p>
- In those days of early Massachusetts, faith and credence were in the very
- air. Two-thirds of New England was then dark, unbroken forests, through
- whose tangled paths the mysterious winter wind groaned and shrieked and
- howled with weird noises and unaccountable clamors. Along the iron-bound
- shore, the stormful Atlantic raved and thundered, and dashed its moaning
- waters, as if to deaden and deafen any voice that might tell of the
- settled life of the old civilized world, and shut us forever into the
- wilderness. A good story-teller, in those days, was always sure of a warm
- seat at the hearthstone, and the delighted homage of children; and in all
- Oldtown there was no better story-teller than Sam Lawson.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do, do, tell us a story,” said Harry, pressing upon him, and opening very
- wide blue eyes, in which undoubting faith shone as in a mirror; “and let
- it be something strange, and different from common.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, I know lots o' strange things,” said Sam, looking mysteriously into
- the fire. “Why, I know things, that ef I should tell,—why, people
- might say they wa'n't so; but then they <i>is so</i> for all that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, <i>do</i>, do, tell us!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, I should scare ye to death, mebbe,” said Sam doubtingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, pooh! no, you wouldn't,” we both burst out at once.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Sam was possessed by a reticent spirit, and loved dearly to be wooed
- and importuned; and so he only took up the great kitchen-tongs, and smote
- on the hickory forestick, when it flew apart in the middle, and scattered
- a shower of clear bright coals all over the hearth.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mercy on us, Sam Lawson!” said Aunt Lois in an indignant voice, spinning
- round from her dishwashing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don't you worry a grain, Miss Lois,” said Sam composedly. “I see that are
- stick was e'en a'most in two, and I thought I'd jest settle it. I 'll
- sweep up the coals now,” he added, vigorously applying a turkey-wing to
- the purpose, as he knelt on the hearth, his spare, lean figure glowing in
- the blaze of the firelight, and getting quite flashed with exertion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There, now!” he said, when he had brushed over and under and between the
- fire-irons, and pursued the retreating ashes so far into the red, fiery
- citadel, that his finger-ends were burning and tingling, “that 'are's done
- now as well as Hepsy herself could 'a' done it. I allers sweeps up the
- haarth: I think it's part o' the man's bisness when he makes the fire. But
- Hepsy's so used to seein' me a-doin' on't, that she don't see no kind o'
- merit in't. It's just as Parson Lothrop said in his sermon,—folks
- allers overlook their common marcies”—
- </p>
- <p>
- “But come, Sam, that story,” said Harry and I coaxingly, pressing upon
- him, and pulling him down into his seat in the corner.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lordy massy, these'ere young uns!” said Sam.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There's never no contentin' on 'em: ye tell 'em one story, and they jest
- swallows it as a dog does a gob o' meat; and they're all ready for
- another. What do ye want to hear now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Now, the fact was, that Sam's stories had been told us so often, that they
- were all arranged and ticketed in our minds. We knew every word in them,
- and could set him right if he varied a hair from the usual track; and
- still the interest in them was unabated.
- </p>
- <p>
- Still we shivered, and clung to his knee, at the mysterious parts, and
- felt gentle, cold chills run down our spines at appropriate places. We
- were always in the most receptive and sympathetic condition. To-night, in
- particular, was one of those thundering stormy ones, when the winds
- appeared to be holding a perfect mad carnival over my grandfather's house.
- They yelled and squealed round the corners; they collected in troops, and
- came tumbling and roaring down chimney; they shook and rattled the
- buttery-door and the sinkroom-door and the cellar-door and the
- chamber-door, with a constant undertone of squeak and clatter, as if at
- every door were a cold, discontented spirit, tired of the chill outside,
- and longing for the warmth and comfort within.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, boys,” said Sam confidentially, “what 'll ye have?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell us 'Come down, come down!'” we both shouted with one voice. This
- was, in our mind, an “A No. 1” among Sam's stories.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ye mus'n't be frightened now,” said Sam paternally.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, no! we ar'n't frightened <i>ever</i>,” said we both in one breath.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not when ye go down the cellar arter cider?” said Sam with severe
- scrutiny. “Ef ye should be down cellar, and the candle should go out,
- now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I ain't,” said I: “I ain't afraid of any thing. I never knew what it was
- to be afraid in my life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, then,” said Sam, “I 'll tell ye. This'ere's what Cap'n Eb Sawin told
- me when I was a boy about your bigness, I reckon.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Cap'n Eb Sawin was a most respectable man. Your gran'ther knew him very
- well; and he was a deacon in the church in Dedham afore he died. He was at
- Lexington when the fust gun was fired agin the British. He was a dreffle
- smart man, Cap'n Eb was, and driv team a good many years atween here and
- Boston. He married Lois Peabody, that was cousin to your gran'ther then.
- Lois was a rael sensible woman; and I've heard her tell the story as he
- told her, and it was jest as he told it to me,—jest exactly; and I
- shall never forget it if I live to be nine hundred years old, like
- Mathuselah.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ye see, along back in them times, there used to be a fellow come round
- these'ere parts, spring and fall, a-peddlin' goods, with his pack on his
- back; and his name was Jehiel Lommedieu. Nobody rightly knew where he come
- from. He wasn't much of a talker; but the women rather liked him, and kind
- o' liked to have him round. Women will like some fellows, when men can't
- see no sort o' reason why they should; and they liked this'ere Lommedieu,
- though he was kind o' mournful and thin and shad-bellied, and hadn't
- nothin' to say for himself. But it got to be so, that the women would
- count and calculate so many weeks afore 'twas time for Lommedieu to be
- along; and they'd make up ginger-snaps and preserves and pies, and make
- him stay to tea at the houses, and feed him up on the best there was: and
- the story went round, that he was a-courtin' Phebe Ann Parker, or Phebe
- Ann was a-courtin' him,—folks didn't rightly know which. Wal, all of
- a sudden, Lommedieu stopped comin' round; and nobody knew why,—only
- jest he didn't come. It turned out that Phebe Ann Parker had got a letter
- from him, sayin' he'd be along afore Thanksgiving; but he didn't come,
- neither afore nor at Thanksgiving time, nor arter, nor next spring: and
- finally the women they gin up lookin' for him. Some said he was dead; some
- said he was gone to Canada; and some said he hed gone over to the Old
- Country.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, as to Phebe Ann, she acted like a gal o' sense, and married 'Bijah
- Moss, and thought no more 'bout it. She took the right view on't, and said
- she was sartin that all things was ordered out for the best; and it was
- jest as well folks couldn't always have their own way. And so, in time,
- Lommedieu was gone out o' folks's minds, much as a last year's
- apple-blossom.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It's relly affectin' to think how little these'ere folks is missed that's
- so much sot by. There ain't nobody, ef they's ever so important, but what
- the world gets to goin' on without 'em, pretty much as it did with 'em,
- though there's some little flurry at fust. Wal, the last thing that was in
- anybody's mind was, that they ever should hear from Lommedieu agin. But
- there ain't nothin' but what has its time o' turnin' up; and it seems his
- turn was to come.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, ye see, 'twas the 19th o' March, when Cap'n Eb Sawin started with a
- team for Boston. That day, there come on about the biggest snow-storm that
- there'd been in them parts sence the oldest man could remember.'Twas
- this'ere fine, siftin' snow, that drives in your face like needles, with a
- wind to cut your nose off: it made teamin' pretty tedious work. Cap'n Eb
- was about the toughest man in them parts. He'd spent days in the woods
- a-loggin', and he'd been up to the deestrict o' Maine a-lumberin', and was
- about up to any sort o' thing a man gen'ally could be up to; but these'ere
- March winds sometimes does set on a fellow so, that neither natur' nor
- grace can stan' 'em. The cap'n used to say, he could stan' any wind that
- blew one way 't time for five minutes; but come to winds that blew all
- four p'ints at the same minit,—why, they flustered him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, that was the sort o' weather it was all day: and by sundown Cap'n Eb
- he got clean bewildered, so that he lost his road; and, when night came
- on, he didn't know nothin' where he was. Ye see the country was all under
- drift, and the air so thick with snow, that he couldn't see a foot afore
- him; and the fact was, he got off the Boston road without knowin' it, and
- came out at a pair o' bars nigh upon Sherburn, where old Cack Sparrock's
- mill is.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your gran'ther used to know old Cack, boys. He was a drefful drinkin' old
- crittur, that lived there all alone in the woods by himself a-tendin' saw
- and grist mill. He wa'n't allers jest what he was then. Time was that Cack
- was a pretty consid'ably likely young man, and his wife was a very
- respectable woman,—Deacon Amos Petengall's dater from Sherburn.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But ye see, the year arter his wife died, Cack he gin up goin' to meetin'
- Sundays, and, all the tithing-men and selectmen could do, they couldn't
- get him out to meetin'; and, when a man neglects means o' grace and
- sanctuary privileges, there ain't no sayin' <i>what</i> he 'll do next.
- Why, boys, jist think on't!—an immortal crittur lyin' round loose
- all day Sunday, and not puttin' on so much as a clean shirt, when all
- 'spectable folks has on their best close, and is to meetin' worshippin'
- the Lord! What can you spect to come of it, when he lies idlin' round in
- his old week-day close, fishing, or some sich, but what the Devil should
- be arter him at last, as he was arter old Cack?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Here Sam winked impressively to my grandfather in the opposite corner, to
- call his attention to the moral which he was interweaving with his
- narrative.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, ye see, Cap'n Eb he told me, that when he come to them bars and
- looked up, and saw the dark a-comin' down, and the storm a-thickenin' up,
- he felt that things was gettin' pretty consid'able serious. There was a
- dark piece o' woods on ahead of him inside the bars; and he knew, come to
- get in there, the light would give out clean. So he jest thought he'd take
- the hoss out o' the team, and go ahead a little, and see where he was. So
- he driv his oxen up ag'in the fence, and took out the hoss, and got on
- him, and pushed along through the woods, not rightly knowin' where he was
- goin'.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, afore long he see a light through the trees; and, sure enough, he
- come out to Cack Sparrock's old mill.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was a pretty consid'able gloomy sort of a place, that are old mill
- was. There was a great fall of water that come rushin' down the rocks, and
- fell in a deep pool; and it sounded sort o' wild and lonesome: but Cap'n
- Eb he knocked on the door with his whip-handle, and got in.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There, to be sure, sot old Cack beside a great blazin' fire, with his
- rum-jug at his elbow. He was a drefful fellow to drink, Cack was! For all
- that, there was some good in him, for he was pleasant-spoken and 'bliging;
- and he made the cap'n welcome.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Ye see, Cack,' said Cap'n Eb, 'I'm off my road, and got snowed up down
- by your bars,' says he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Want ter know!' says Cack. 'Calculate you 'll jest have to camp down
- here till mornin',' says he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, so old Cack he got out his tin lantern, and went with Cap'n Eb back
- to the bars to help him fetch along his critturs. He told him he could put
- 'em under the mill-shed. So they got the critturs up to the shed, and got
- the cart under; and by that time the storm was awful.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But Cack he made a great roarin' fire, 'cause, ye see, Cack allers had
- slab-wood a plenty from his mill; and a roarin' fire is jest so much
- company. It sort o' keeps a fellow's spirits up, a good fire does. So Cack
- he sot on his old teakettle, and made a swingeing lot o' toddy; and he and
- Cap'n Eb were havin' a tol'able comfortable time there. Cack was a pretty
- good hand to tell stories; and Cap'n Eb warn't no way backward in that
- line, and kep' up his end pretty well: and pretty soon they was a-roarin'
- and haw-hawin' inside about as loud as the storm outside; when all of a
- sudden, 'bout midnight, there come a loud rap on the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Lordy massy! what's that?' says Cack. Folks is rather startled allers to
- be checked up sudden when they are a-carryin' on and laughin'; and it was
- such an awful blowy night, it was a little scary to have a rap on the
- door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, they waited a minit, and didn't hear nothin' but the wind
- a-screechin' round the chimbley; and old Cack was jest goin' on with his
- story, when the rap come ag'in, harder'n ever, as if it'd shook the door
- open.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Wal,' says old Cack, 'if 'tis the Devil, we'd jest as good's open, and
- have it out with him to onst,' says he; and so he got up and opened the
- door, and, sure enough, there was old Ketury there. Expect you've heard
- your grandma tell about old Ketury. She used to come to meetin's
- sometimes, and her husband was one o' the prayin' Indians; but Ketury was
- one of the rael wild sort, and you couldn't no more convert <i>her</i>
- than you could convert a wild-cat or a painter [panther]. Lordy massy!
- Ketury used to come to meetin', and sit there on them Indian benches; and
- when the second bell was a-tollin', and when Parson Lothrop and his wife
- was comin' up the broad aisle, and everybody in the house ris' up and
- stood, Ketury would sit there, and look at 'em out o' the corner o' her
- eyes; and folks used to say she rattled them necklaces o' rattlesnakes'
- tails and wild-cat teeth, and sich like heathen trumpery, and looked for
- all the world as if the spirit of the old Sarpent himself was in her. I've
- seen her sit and look at Lady Lothrop out o' the corner o' her eyes; and
- her old brown baggy neck would kind o' twist and work; and her eyes they
- looked so, that 'twas enough to scare a body. For all the world, she
- looked jest as if she was a-workin' up to spring at her. Lady Lothrop was
- jest as kind to Ketury as she always was to every poor crittur. She'd bow
- and smile as gracious to her when meetin' was over, and she come down the
- aisle, passin' out o, meetin'; but Ketury never took no notice. Ye see,
- Ketury's father was one o' them great powwows down to Martha's Vineyard;
- and people used to say she was set apart, when she was a child, to the
- sarvice o' the Devil: any way, she never could be made nothin' of in a
- Christian way. She come down to Parson Lothrop's study once or twice to be
- catechised; but he couldn't get a word out o' her, and she kind o' seemed
- to sit scornful while he was a-talkin'. Folks said, if it was in old
- times, Ketury wouldn't have been allowed to go on so; but Parson Lothrop's
- so sort o' mild, he let her take pretty much her own way. Everybody
- thought that Ketury was a witch: at least, she knew consid'able more'n she
- ought to know, and so they was kind o' 'fraid on her. Cap'n Eb says he
- never see a fellow seem scareder than Cack did when he see Ketury
- a-standin' there.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, ye see, boys, she was as withered and wrinkled and brown as an old
- frosted punkin-vine; and her little snaky eyes sparkled and snapped, and
- it made yer head kind o' dizzy to look at 'em; and folks used to say that
- anybody that Ketury got mad at was sure to get the worst of it fust or
- last. And so, no matter what day or hour Ketury had a mind to rap at
- anybody's door, folks gen 'lly thought it was best to let her in; but
- then, they never thought her coming was for any good, for she was just
- like the wind,—she came when the fit was on her, she staid jest so
- long as it pleased her, and went when she got ready, and not before.
- Ketury understood English, and could talk it well enough, but always
- seemed to scorn it, and was allers mowin' and mutterin' to herself in
- Indian, and winkin' and blinkin' as if she saw more folks round than you
- did, so that she wa'n't no way pleasant company; and yet everybody took
- good care to be polite to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So old Cack asked her to come in, and didn't make no question where she
- come from, or what she come on; but he knew it was twelve good miles from
- where she lived to his hut, and the snow was drifted above her middle: and
- Cap'n Eb declared that there wa'n't no track, nor sign o' a track, of
- anybody's coming through that snow next morning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How did she get there, then?” said I.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Didn't ye never see brown leaves a-ridin' on the wind? Well,' Cap'n Eb he
- says, 'she came on the wind,' and I'm sure it was strong enough to fetch
- her. But Cack he got her down into the warm corner, and he poured her out
- a mug o' hot toddy, and give her: but ye see her bein' there sort o'
- stopped the conversation; for she sot there a-rockin' back'ards and
- for'ards, a-sippin her toddy, and a-mutterin', and lookin' up chimbley.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Cap'n Eb says in all his born days he never hearn such screeches and
- yells as the wind give over that chimbley; and old Cack got so frightened,
- you could fairly hear his teeth chatter.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But Cap'n Eb he was a putty brave man, and he wa'n't goin' to have
- conversation stopped by no woman, witch or no witch; and so, when he see
- her mutterin', and lookin' up chimbley, he spoke up, and says he, 'Well,
- Ketury, what do you see?' says he. 'Come, out with it; don't keep it to
- yourself.' Ye see Cap'n Eb was a hearty fellow, and then he was a leetle
- warmed up with the toddy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then he said he see an evil kind o' smile on Ketury's face, and she
- rattled her necklace o' bones and snakes' tails; and her eyes seemed to
- snap; and she looked up the chimbley, and called out, 'Come down, come
- down! let's see who ye be.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then there was a scratchin' and a rumblin' and a groan; and a pair of
- feet come down the chimbley, and stood right in the middle of the haarth,
- the toes pi'ntin' out'rds, with shoes and silver buckles a-shinin' in the
- firelight. Cap'n Eb says he never come so near bein' scared in his life;
- and, as to old Cack, he jest wilted right down in his chair.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then old Ketury got up, and reached her stick up chimbley, and called out
- louder, 'Come down, come down! let's see who ye be.' And, sure enough,
- down came a pair o' legs, and j'ined right on to the feet: good fair legs
- they was, with ribbed stockings and leather breeches.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Wal, we're in for it now,' says Cap'n Eb. 'Go it, Ketury, and let's have
- the rest on him.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ketury didn't seem to mind him: she stood there as stiff as a stake, and
- kep' callin' out, 'Come down, come down! let's see who ye be.' And then
- come down the body of a man with a brown coat and yellow vest, and j'ined
- right on to the legs; but there wa'n't no arms to it. Then Ketury shook
- her stick up chimbley, and called, '<i>Come down, come down!</i>' And
- there came down a pair o' arms, and went on each side o' the body; and
- there stood a man all finished, only there wa'n't no head on him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Wal, Ketury,' says Cap'n Eb, 'this 'ere's getting serious. I 'spec' you
- must finish him up, and let's see what he wants of us.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then Ketury called out once more, louder'n ever, 'Come down, come down!
- let's see who ye be.' And, sure enough, down comes a man's head, and
- settled on the shoulders straight enough; and Cap'n Eb, the minit he sot
- eyes on him, knew he was Jehiel Lommedieu.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0003" id="linkimage-0003"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:65%;">
- <img src="images/0035.jpg" alt="0035m " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0035.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- “Old Cack knew him too; and he fell flat on his face, and prayed the Lord
- to have mercy on his soul: but Cap'n Eb he was for gettin' to the bottom
- of matters, and not have his scare for nothin'; so he says to him, 'What
- do you want, now you hev come?'
- </p>
- <p>
- “The man he didn't speak; he only sort o' moaned, and p'inted to the
- chimbley. He seemed to try to speak, but couldn't; for ye see it isn't
- often that his sort o' folks is permitted to speak: but just then there
- came a screechin' blast o' wind, and blowed the door open, and blowed the
- smoke and fire all out into the room, and there seemed to be a whirlwind
- and darkness and moans and screeches; and, when it all cleared up, Ketury
- and the man was both gone, and only old Cack lay on the ground, rolling
- and moaning as if he'd die.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, Cap'n Eb he picked him up, and built up the fire, and sort o'
- comforted him up, 'cause the crittur was in distress o' mind that was
- drefful. The awful Providence, ye see, had awakened him, and his sin had
- been set home to his soul; and he was under such conviction, that it all
- had to come out,—how old Cack's father had murdered poor Lommedieu
- for his money, and Cack had been privy to it, and helped his father build
- the body up in that very chimbley; and he said that he hadn't had neither
- peace nor rest since then, and that was what had driv' him away from
- ordinances; for ye know sinnin' will always make a man leave prayin'. Wal,
- Cack didn't live but a day or two. Cap'n Eb he got the minister o'
- Sherburn and one o' the selectmen down to see him; and they took his
- deposition. He seemed railly quite penitent; and Parson Carryl he prayed
- with him, and was faithful in settin' home the providence to his soul: and
- so, at the eleventh hour, poor old Cack might have got in; at least it
- looks a leetle like it. He was distressed to think he couldn't live to be
- hung. He sort o' seemed to think, that if he was fairly tried, and hung,
- it would make it all square. He made Parson Carryl promise to have the old
- mill pulled down, and bury the body; and, after he was dead, they did it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Cap'n Eb he was one of a party o' eight that pulled down the chimbley;
- and there, sure enough, was the skeleton of poor Lommedieu.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So there you see, boys, there can't be no iniquity so hid but what it 'll
- come out. The wild Indians of the forest, and the stormy winds and
- tempests, j'ined together to bring out this'ere.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For my part,” said Aunt Lois sharply, “I never believed that story.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, Lois,” said my grandmother, “Cap'n Eb Sawin was a regular
- church-member, and a most respectable man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Law, mother! I don't doubt he thought so. I suppose he and Cack got
- drinking toddy together, till he got asleep, and dreamed it. I wouldn't
- believe such a thing if it did happen right before my face and eyes. I
- should only think I was crazy, that's all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come, Lois, if I was you, I wouldn't talk so like a Sadducee,” said my
- grandmother. “What would become of all the accounts in Dr. Cotton Mather's
- 'Magnilly' if folks were like you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal,” said Sam Lawson, drooping contemplatively over the coals, and
- gazing into the fire, “there's a putty consid'able sight o' things in this
- world that's true; and then ag'in there's a sight o' things that ain't
- true. Now, my old gran'ther used to say, 'Boys, says he, 'if ye want to
- lead a pleasant and prosperous life, ye must contrive allers to keep jest
- the <i>happy medium</i> between truth and falsehood.' Now, that are's my
- doctrine.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Aunt Lois knit severely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Boys,” said Sam, “don't you want ter go down with me and get a mug o'
- cider?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Of course we did, and took down a basket to bring up some apples to roast.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Boys,” says Sam mysteriously, while he was drawing the cider, “you jest
- ask your Aunt Lois to tell you what she knows 'bout Ruth Sullivan.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, what is it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh! you must ask <i>her</i>. These 'ere folks that's so kind o' toppin'
- about sperits and sich, come sift 'em down, you gen 'lly find they knows
- one story that kind o' puzzles 'em. Now you mind, and jist ask your Aunt
- Lois about Ruth Sullivan.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0004" id="linkimage-0004"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:20%;">
- <img src="images/5040.jpg" alt="5040 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/5040.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- THE SULLIVAN LOOKING-GLASS
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0005" id="linkimage-0005"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;">
- <img src="images/9041.jpg" alt="9041 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9041.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- UNT LOIS,” said I, “what was that story about Ruth Sullivan?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Aunt Lois's quick black eyes gave a surprised flash; and she and my
- grandmother looked at each other a minute significantly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who told you any thing about Ruth Sullivan,” she said sharply.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nobody. Somebody said <i>you</i> knew something about her,” said I.
- </p>
- <p>
- I was holding a skein of yarn for Aunt Lois; and she went on winding in
- silence, putting the ball through loops and tangled places.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Little boys shouldn't ask questions,” she concluded at last
- sententiously. “Little boys that ask too many questions get sent to bed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- I knew that of old, and rather wondered at my own hardihood.
- </p>
- <p>
- Aunt Lois wound on in silence; but, looking in her face, I could see
- plainly that I had started an exciting topic.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should think,” pursued my grandmother in her corner, “that Ruth's case
- might show you, Lois, that a good many things may happen,—more than
- you believe.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, well, mother! Ruth's was a strange case; but I suppose there are ways
- of accounting for it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You believed Ruth, didn't you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, certainly, I believed Ruth! Why shouldn't I? Ruth was one of my best
- friends, and as true a girl as lives: there wasn't any nonsense about
- Ruth. She was one of the sort,” said Aunt Lois reflectively, “that I'd as
- soon trust as myself: when she said a thing was so and so, I knew it was
- so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then, if you think Ruth's story was true,” pursued my grandmother,
- “what's the reason you are always cavilling at things just 'cause you
- can't understand how they came to be so?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Aunt Lois set her lips firmly, and wound with grim resolve. She was the
- very impersonation of that obstinate rationalism that grew up at the
- New-England fireside, close alongside of the most undoubting faith in the
- supernatural.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don't believe such things,” at last she snapped out, “and I don't
- disbelieve them. I just let 'em alone. What do I know about 'em? Ruth
- tells me a story; and I believe her. I know what she saw beforehand, came
- true in a most remarkable way. Well, I'm sure I've no objection. One thing
- may be true, or another, for all me; but, just because I believe Ruth
- Sullivan, I'm not going to believe, right and left, all the stories in
- Cotton Mather, and all that anybody can hawk up to tell. Not I.” This
- whole conversation made me all the more curious to get at the story thus
- dimly indicated; and so we beset Sam for information.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So your Aunt Lois wouldn't tell ye nothin',” said Sam. “Wanter know,
- neow! sho!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No: she said we must go to bed if we asked her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That 'are's a way folks has; but, ye see, boys,” said Sam, while a droll
- confidential expression crossed the lack-lustre dolefulness of his visage,
- “ye see, I put ye up to it, 'cause Miss Lois is so large and commandin' in
- her ways, and so kind o' up and down in all her doin's, that I like once
- and a while to sort o' gravel her; and I knowed enough to know that that
- 'are question would git her in a tight place.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ye see, yer Aunt Lois was knowin' to all this 'ere about Ruth, so there
- wer'n't no gettin' away from it; and it's about as remarkable a providence
- as any o' them of Mister Cotton Marther's 'Magnilly.' So if you 'll come
- up in the barn-chamber this arternoon, where I've got a lot o' flax to
- hatchel out, I 'll tell ye all about it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- So that afternoon beheld Sam arranged at full length on a pile of top-tow
- in the barn-chamber, hatchelling by proxy by putting Harry and myself to
- the service.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, now, boys, it's kind o' refreshing to see how wal ye take hold,” he
- observed. “Nothin' like bein' industrious while ye'r young: gret sight
- better now than loafin off, down in them medders.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- “'In books and work and useful play
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Let my fust years be past:
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- So shall I give for every day
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Some good account at last.'”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But, Sam, if we work for you, you must tell us that story about Ruth
- Sullivan.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lordy massy! yis,—course I will. I've had the best kind o' chances
- of knowin' all about that 'are. Wal, you see there was old Gineral
- Sullivan, he lived in state and grande'r in the old Sullivan house out to
- Roxberry. I been to Roxberry, and seen that 'are house o' Gineral
- Sullivan's. There was one time that I was a consid'able spell lookin'
- round in Roxberry, a kind o' seein' how things wuz there, and whether or
- no there mightn't be some sort o' providential openin' or suthin'. I used
- to stay with Aunt Polly Ginger. She was sister to Mehitable Ginger,
- Gineral Sullivan's housekeeper, and hed the in and out o' the Sullivan
- house, and kind o' kept the run o' how things went and came in it. Polly
- she was a kind o' cousin o' my mother's, and allers glad to see me. Fact
- was, I was putty handy round house; and she used to save up her broken
- things and sich till I come round in the fall; and then I'd mend 'em up,
- and put the clock right, and split her up a lot o' kindlings, and board up
- the cellar-windows, and kind o' make her sort o' comfortable,—she
- bein' a lone body, and no man round. As I said, it was sort o' convenient
- to hev me; and so I jest got the run o' things in the Sullivan house
- pretty much as ef I was one on 'em. Gineral Sullivan he kept a grand
- house, I tell you. You see, he cum from the old country, and felt sort o'
- lordly and grand; and they used to hev the gretest kind o' doin's there to
- the Sullivan house. Ye ought ter a seen that 'are house,—gret big
- front hall and gret wide stairs; none o' your steep kind that breaks a
- feller's neck to get up and down, but gret broad stairs with easy risers,
- so they used to say you could a cantered a pony up that 'are stairway easy
- as not. Then there was gret wide rooms, and sofys, and curtains, and gret
- curtained bedsteads that looked sort o' like fortifications, and pictur's
- that was got in Italy and Rome and all them 'are heathen places. Ye see,
- the Gineral was a drefful worldly old critter, and was all for the pomps
- and the vanities. Lordy massy! I wonder what the poor old critter thinks
- about it all now, when his body's all gone to dust and ashes in the
- graveyard, and his soul's gone to 'tarnity! Wal, that are ain't none o' my
- business; only it shows the vanity o' riches in a kind o' strikin' light,
- and makes me content that I never hed none.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But, Sam, I hope General Sullivan wasn't a wicked man, <i>was</i> he?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, I wouldn't say he was railly wickeder than the run; but he was one
- o' these 'ere high-stepping, big-feeling fellers, that seem to be a hevin'
- their portion in this life. Drefful proud he was; and he was pretty much
- sot on this world, and kep' a sort o' court goin' on round him. Wal, I
- don't jedge him nor nobody: folks that hes the world is apt to get sot on
- it. Don't none on us do more than middlin' well.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But, Sam, what about Ruth Sullivan?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ruth?—Oh, yis!—Ruth—.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, ye see, the only crook in the old Gineral's lot was he didn't hev no
- children. Mis' Sullivan, she was a beautiful woman, as handsome as a
- pictur'; but she never had but one child; and he was a son who died when
- he was a baby, and about broke her heart. And then this 'ere Ruth was her
- sister's child, that was born about the same time; and, when the boy died,
- they took Ruth home to sort o' fill his place, and kind o' comfort up Mis'
- Sullivan. And then Ruth's father and mother died; and they adopted her for
- their own, and brought her up.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, she grew up to be amazin' handsome. Why, everybody said that she was
- jest the light and glory of that 'are old Sullivan place, and worth more'n
- all the pictur's and the silver and the jewels, and all there was in the
- house; and she was jest so innercent and sweet, that you never see nothing
- to beat it. Wal, your Aunt Lois she got acquainted with Ruth one summer
- when she was up to Old Town a visitin' at Parson Lothrop's. Your Aunt Lois
- was a gal then, and a pretty good-lookin' one too; and, somehow or other,
- she took to Ruth, and Ruth took to her. And when Ruth went home, they used
- to be a writin' backwards and forads; and I guess the fact was, Ruth
- thought about as much of your Aunt Lois as she did o' anybody. Ye see,
- your aunt was a kind o' strong up-and-down woman that always knew certain
- jest what she did know; and Ruth, she was one o' them gals that seems sort
- o' like a stray lamb or a dove that's sort o' lost their way in the world,
- and wants some one to show 'em where to go next. For, ye see, the fact
- was, the old Gineral and Madam, they didn't agree very well. He wa'n't
- well pleased that she didn't have no children; and she was sort o' jealous
- o' him 'cause she got hold o' some sort of story about how he was to a
- married somebody else over there in England: so she got sort o' riled up,
- jest as wimmen will, the best on 'em; and they was pretty apt to have
- spats, and one could give t'other as good as they sent; and, by all
- accounts, they fit putty lively sometimes. And, between the two, Ruth she
- was sort o' scared, and fluttered like a dove that didn't know jest where
- to settle. Ye see, there she was in that 'are great wide house, where they
- was a feastin' and a prancin' and a dancin', and a goin' on like
- Ahashuerus and Herodias and all them old Scriptur' days. There was a
- comin' and goin,' and there was gret dinners and gret doin's, but no love;
- and, you know, the Scriptur' says, 'Better is a dinner o' yarbs, where
- love is, than a stalled ox, and hatred therewith.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, I don't orter say <i>hatred</i>, arter all. I kind o reckon, the old
- Gineral did the best he could: the fact is, when a woman gits a kink in
- her head agin a man, the best on us don't allers do jest the right thing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Any way, Ruth, she was sort o' forlorn, and didn't seem to take no
- comfort in the goin's on. The Gineral he was mighty fond on her, and proud
- on her; and there wa'n't nothin' too good for Ruth. He was free-handed,
- the Gineral wuz. He dressed her up in silks and satins, and she hed a maid
- to wait on her, and she hed sets o' pearl and dimond; and Madam Sullivan
- she thought all the world on her, and kind o' worshipped the ground she
- trod on. And yet Ruth was sort o' lonesome.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ye see, Ruth wa'n't calculated for grande'r. Some folks ain't.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, that 'are summer she spent out to Old Town, she was jest as chirk
- and chipper as a wren, a wearin' her little sun-bunnet, and goin' a
- huckle-berryin' and a black-berryin' and diggin' sweet-flag, and gettin
- cowslops and dandelions; and she hed a word for everybody. And everybody
- liked Ruth, and wished her well. Wal, she was sent for her health; and she
- got that, and more too: she got a sweetheart.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ye see, there was a Cap'n Oliver a visitin' at the minister's that
- summer,—a nice, handsome young man as ever was. He and Ruth and your
- Aunt Lois, they was together a good deal; and they was a ramblin' and a
- ridin' and a sailin': and so Ruth and the Capting went the way o' all the
- airth, and fell dead in love with each other. Your Aunt Lois she was
- knowing to it and all about it, 'cause Ruth she was jest one of them that
- couldn't take a step without somebody to talk to.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Captain Oliver was of a good family in England; and so, when he made bold
- to ask the old Gineral for Ruth, he didn't say him nay: and it was agreed,
- as they was young, they should wait a year or two. If he and she was of
- the same mind, he should be free to marry her. Jest right on that, the
- Captain's regiment was ordered home, and he had to go; and, the next they
- heard, it was sent off to India. And poor little Ruth she kind o' drooped
- and pined; but she kept true, and wouldn't have nothin' to say to nobody
- that came arter her, for there was lots and cords o' fellows as did come
- arter her. Ye see, Ruth had a takin' way with her; and then she had the
- name of bein' a great heiress, and that allers draws fellers, as molasses
- does flies.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, then the news came, that Captain Oliver was comin' home to England,
- and the ship was took by the Algerenes, and he was gone into slavery there
- among them heathen Mahomedans and what not.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Folks seemed to think it was all over with him, and Ruth might jest as
- well give up fust as last. And the old Gineral he'd come to think she
- might do better; and he kep' a introducin' one and another, and tryin' to
- marry her off; but Ruth she wouldn't. She used to write sheets and sheets
- to your Aunt Lois about it; and I think Aunt Lois she kep' her grit up.
- Your Aunt Lois she'd a stuck by a man to the end o' time ef't ben her
- case; and so she told Ruth.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, then there was young Jeff Sullivan, the Gineral's nephew, he turned
- up; and the Gineral he took a gret fancy to him. He was next heir to the
- Gineral; but he'd ben a pretty rackety youngster in his young days,—off
- to sea, and what not, and sowed a consid'able crop o' wild oats. People
- said he'd been a pirating off there in South Ameriky. Lordy massy! nobody
- rightly knew where he hed ben or where he hadn't: all was, he turned up at
- last all alive, and chipper as a skunk blackbird. Wal, of course he made
- his court to Ruth; and the Gineral, he rather backed him up in it; but
- Ruth she wouldn't have nothin' to say to him. Wal, he come and took up his
- lodgin' at the Gineral's; and he was jest as slippery as an eel, and sort
- o' slid into every thing, that was a goin' on in the house and about it.
- He was here, and he was there, and he was everywhere, and a havin' his say
- about this and that; and he got everybody putty much under his thumb. And
- they used to say, he wound the Gineral round and round like a skein o'
- yarn; but he couldn't come it round Ruth.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, the Gineral said she shouldn't be forced; and Jeff, he was smooth as
- satin, and said he'd be willing to wait as long as Jacob did for Rachel.
- And so there he sot down, a watchin' as patient as a cat at a
- mousehole; 'cause the Gineral he was thick-set and shortnecked, and drank
- pretty free, and was one o' the sort that might pop off any time.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, Mis' Sullivan, she beset the Gineral to make a provision for
- Ruth; 'cause she told him very sensible, that he'd brought her up in
- luxury, and that it wa'n't fair not to settle somethin' on her; and so the
- Gineral he said he'd make a will, and part the property equally between
- them. And he says to Jeff, that, if he played his part as a young fellow
- oughter know how, it would all come to him in the end; 'cause they hadn't
- heard nothing from Captain Oliver for three or four years, and folks about
- settled it that he must, be dead.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, the Gineral he got a letter about an estate that had come to him in
- England; and he had to go over. Wal, livin' on the next estate, was the
- very cousin of the Gineral's that he was to a married when they was both
- young: the lands joined so that the grounds run together. What came
- between them two nobody knows; but she never married, and there she was.
- There was high words between the Gineral and Madam Sullivan about his
- goin' over. She said there wa'n't no sort o' need on't, and he said there
- was; and she said she hoped <i>she</i> should be in her grave afore he
- come back; and he said she might suit herself about that for all him. That
- 'are was the story that the housekeeper told to Aunt Polly; and Aunt Polly
- she told me. These 'ere squabbles somehow allers does kind o' leak out one
- way or t'other. Anyhow, it was a house divided agin itself at the
- Gineral's, when he was a fixin' out for the voyage. There was Ruth a goin'
- fust to one, and then to t'other, and tryin' all she could to keep peace
- beteen 'em; and there was this 'ere Master Slick Tongue talkin' this way
- to one side, and that way to t'other, and the old Gineral kind o' like a
- shuttle-cock atween 'em.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, then, the night afore he sailed, the Gineral he hed his lawyer up in
- his library there, a lookin' over all his papers and bonds and things, and
- a witnessing his will; and Master Jeff was there, as lively as a cricket,
- a goin' into all affairs, and offerin' to take precious good care while he
- was gone; and the Gineral he had his papers and letters out, a sortin' on
- 'em over, which was to be took to the old country, and which was to be put
- in a trunk to go back to Lawyer Dennis's office.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, Abner Ginger, Polly's boy, he that was footman and waiter then at
- the Gineral's, he told me, that, about eight o'clock that evening he went
- up with hot water and lemons and sperits and sich, and he see the gret
- green table in the library all strewed and covered with piles o' papers;
- and there was tin boxes a standin' round; and the Gineral a packin' a
- trunk, and young Master Jeff, as lively and helpful as a rat that smells
- cheese. And then the Gineral he says, 'Abner,' says he, 'can you write
- your name?'—'I should hope so, Gineral.' says Abner.—'Wal,
- then, Abner,' says he, 'this is my last will; and I want you to witness
- it,' and so Abner he put down his name opposite to a place with a wafer
- and a seal; and then the Gineral, he says, 'Abner, you tell Ginger to come
- here.' That, you see, was his housekeeper, my Aunt Polly's sister, and a
- likely woman as ever was. And so they had her up, and she put down her
- name to the will; and then Aunt Polly she was had up (she was drinking tea
- there that night), and she put down her name. And all of 'em did it with
- good heart, 'cause it had got about among 'em that the will was to provide
- for Miss Ruth; for everybody loved Ruth, ye see, and there was consid'ble
- many stories kind o' goin' the rounds about Master Jeff and his doin's.
- And they did say he sort o' kep' up the strife atween the Gineral and my
- lady, and so they didn't think none too well o' him; and, as he was next
- o' kin, and Miss Ruth wa'n't none o' the Gineral's blood (ye see, she was
- Mis' Sullivan's sister's child), of course there wouldn't nothin' go to
- Miss Ruth in way o' law, and so that was why the signin' o' that 'are will
- was so much talked about among 'em.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, you see, the Gineral he sailed the next day; and Jeff he staid by to
- keep watch o' things.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, the old Gineral he got over safe; for Miss Sullivan, she had a
- letter from him all right. When he got away, his conscience sort o' nagged
- him, and he was minded to be a good husband. At any rate, he wrote a good
- loving letter to her, and sent his love to Ruth, and sent over lots o'
- little keepsakes and things for her, and told her that he left her under
- good protection, and wanted her to try and make up her mind to marry Jeff,
- as that would keep the property together.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, now there couldn't be no sort o' sugar sweeter than Jeff was to them
- lone wimmen. Jeff was one o' the sort that could be all things to all
- wimmen. He waited and he tended, and he was as humble as any snake in the
- grass that ever ye see and the old lady, she clean fell in with him, but
- Ruth, she seemed to have a regular spite agin him. And she that war as
- gentle as a lamb, that never had so much as a hard thought of a mortal
- critter, and wouldn't tread on a worm, she was so set agin Jeff, that she
- wouldn't so much as touch his hand when she got out o' her kerridge.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, now comes the strange part o' my story: Ruth was one o' the kind
- that <i>hes the gift o' seein'. She was born with a veil over her face!</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- This mysterious piece of physiological information about Ruth was given
- with a look and air that announced something very profound and awful; and
- we both took up the inquiry, “Born with a veil over her face? How should
- <i>that</i> make her see?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, boys, how should I know? But the fact <i>is so</i>. There's those as
- is wal known as lies the gift o' seein' what others can't see: they can
- see through walls and houses; they can see people's hearts; they can see
- what's to come. They don't know nothin' how 'tis, but this 'ere knowledge
- comes to 'em: it's a gret gift; and that sort's born with the veil over
- their faces. Ruth was o' these 'ere. Old Granny Badger she was the
- knowingest old nuss in all these parts; and she was with Ruth's mother
- when she was born, and she told Lady Lothrop all about it. Says she, 'You
- may depend upon it that child 'll have the “<i>second-sight</i>,”' says
- she. Oh, that 'are fact was wal known! Wal, that was the reason why Jeff
- Sullivan couldn't come it round Ruth tho' he was silkier than a
- milkweed-pod, and jest about as patient as a spider in his hole a watchin'
- to got his grip on a fly. Ruth wouldn't argue with him, and she wouldn't
- flout him; but she jest shut herself up in herself, and kept a lookout on
- him; but she told your Aunt Lois jest what she thought about him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, in about six months, come the news that the Gineral was dead. He
- dropped right down in his tracks, dead with apoplexy, as if he had been
- shot; and Lady Maxwell she writ a long letter to my lady and Ruth. Ye see,
- he'd got to be Sir Thomas Sullivan over there; and he was a comin' home to
- take 'em all over to England to live in grande'r. Wal, my Lady Sullivan
- (she was then, ye see) she took it drefful hard. Ef they'd a been the
- lovingest couple in the world, she couldn't a took it harder. Aunt Polly,
- she said it was all 'cause she thought so much of him, that she fit him
- so. There's women that thinks so much o' their husbands, that they won't
- let 'em hev no peace o' their life; and I expect it war so with her poor
- soul! Any way, she went right down smack when she heard he was dead. She
- was abed, sick, when the news come; and she never spoke nor smiled, jest
- turned her back to everybody, and kinder wilted and wilted, and was dead
- in a week. And there was poor little Ruth left all alone in the world,
- with neither kith nor kin but Jeff.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, when the funeral was over, and the time app'inted to read the will
- and settle up matters, there wa'n't no will to be found nowhere, high nor
- low.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lawyer Dean he flew round like a parched pea on a shovel. He said he
- thought he could a gone in the darkest night, and put his hand on that
- 'ere will; but when he went where he thought it was, he found it warn't
- there, and he knowed he'd kep' it under lock and key. What he thought was
- the will turned out to be an old mortgage. Wal, there was an awful row and
- a to-do about it, you may be sure. Ruth, she jist said nothin' good or
- bad. And her not speakin' made Jeff a sight more uncomfortable than ef
- she'd a hed it out with him. He told her it shouldn't make no sort o'
- difference; that he should allers stand ready to give her all he hed, if
- she'd only take him with it. And when it came to that she only gin him a
- look, and went out o' the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Jeff he flared and flounced and talked, and went round and round a
- rumpussin' among the papers, but no will was forthcoming high or low. Wal,
- now here comes what's remarkable. Ruth she told this 'ere, all the
- particulars, to yer Aunt Lois and Lady Lothrop. She said that the night
- after the funeral she went up to her chamber. Ruth had the gret front
- chamber, opposite to Mis' Sullivan's. I've been in it; it was a monstrous
- big room, with outlandish furniture in it, that the Gineral brought over
- from an old palace out to Italy. And there was a great big lookin'-glass
- over the dressin'-table, that they said come from Venice, that swung so
- that you could see the whole room in it. Wal, she was a standin' front o'
- this, jist goin' to undress herself, a hearin' the rain drip on the leaves
- and the wind a whishin' and whisperin' in the old elm-trees, and jist a
- thinkin' over her lot, and what should she do now, all alone in the world,
- when of a sudden she felt a kind o' lightness in her head, and she thought
- she seemed to see somebody in the glass a movin'. And she looked behind,
- and there wa'n't nobody there. Then she looked forward in the glass, and
- saw a strange big room, that she'd never seen before, with a long painted
- winder in it; and along side o' this stood a tall cabinet with a good many
- drawers in it. And she saw herself, and knew that it was herself, in this
- room, along with another woman whose back was turned towards her. She saw
- herself speak to this woman, and p'int to the cabinet. She saw the woman
- nod her head. She saw herself go to the cabinet, and open the middle
- drawer, and take out a bundle o' papers from the very back end on't. She
- saw her take out a paper from the middle, and open it, and hold it up; and
- she knew that there was the missin' will. Wal, it all overcome her so that
- she fainted clean away. And her maid found her a lyin' front o' the
- dressin'-table on the floor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She was sick of a fever for a week or fortnight a'ter; and your Aunt Lois
- she was down takin' care of her; and, as soon as she got able to be moved,
- she was took out to Lady Lothrop's. Jeff he was jist as attentive and good
- as he could be; but she wouldn't bear him near her room. If he so much as
- set a foot on the stairs that led to it she'd know it, and got so wild
- that he hed to be kept from comin' into the front o' the house. But he was
- doin' his best to buy up good words from everybody. He paid all the
- servants double; he kept every one in their places, and did so well by 'em
- all that the gen'l word among 'em was that Miss Ruth couldn't do better
- than to marry such a nice, open-handed gentleman.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, Lady Lothrop she wrote to Lady Maxwell all that hed happened; and
- Lady Maxwell, she sent over for Ruth to come over and be a companion for
- her, and said she'd adopt her, and be as a mother to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, then Ruth she went over with some gentlefolks that was goin' back to
- England, and offered to see her safe and sound; and so she was set down at
- Lady Maxwell's manor. It was a grand place, she said, and such as she
- never see before,—like them old gentry places in England. And Lady
- Maxwell she made much of her, and cosseted her up for the sake of what the
- old Gineral had said about her. And Ruth she told her all her story, and
- how she believed that the will was to be found somewhere, and that she
- should be led to see it yet.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She told her, too, that she felt it in her that Cap'n Oliver wasn't dead,
- and that he'd come back yet. And Lady Maxwell she took up for her with
- might and main, and said she'd stand by her. But then, ye see, so long as
- there warn't no will to be found, there warn't nothin' to be done. Jeff
- was the next heir; and he'd got every thing, stock, and lot, and the
- estate in England into the bargain. And folks was beginnin' to think putty
- well of him, as folks allers does when a body is up in the world, and hes
- houses and lands. Lordy massy! riches allers covers a multitude o' sins.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Finally, when Ruth hed ben six months with her, one day Lady Maxwell got
- to tellin' her all about her history, and what hed ben atween her and her
- cousin, when they was young, and how they hed a quarrel and he flung off
- to Ameriky, and all them things that it don't do folks no good to remember
- when it's all over and can't be helped. But she was a lone body, and it
- seemed to do her good to talk about it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Finally, she says to Ruth, says she, 'I 'll show you a room in this house
- you han't seen before. It was the room where we hed that quarrel,' says
- she; 'and the last I saw of him was there, till he come back to die,' says
- she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So she took a gret key out of her bunch; and she led Ruth along a long
- passage-way to the other end of the house, and opened on a great library.
- And the minute Ruth came in, she threw up her hands and gin a great cry.
- 'Oh!' says she, 'this is the room! and there is the window! and there is
- the cabinet I and <i>there in that middle drawer at the back end in a
- bundle of papers is the will!</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- “And Lady Maxwell she said, quite dazed, 'Go look,' says she. And Ruth
- went, jest as she seed herself do, and opened the drawer, and drew forth
- from the back part a yellow pile of old letters. And in the middle of
- those was the will, sure enough. Ruth drew it out, and opened it, and
- showed it to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, you see that will give Ruth the whole of the Gineral's property in
- America, tho' it did leave the English estate to Jeff.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, the end on't was like a story-book.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Jeff he made believe be mighty glad. And he said it must a ben that the
- Gineral hed got flustered with the sperit and water, and put that 'ere
- will in among his letters that he was a doin' up to take back to England.
- For it was in among Lady Maxwell's letters that she writ him when they was
- young, and that he'd a kep' all these years and was a takin' back to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, Lawyer Dean said he was sure that Jeff made himself quite busy and
- useful that night, a tyin' up the papers with red tape, and a packin' the
- Gin-eral's trunk; and that, when Jeff gin him his bundle to lock up in his
- box, he never mistrusted but what he'd got it all right.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, you see it was jest one of them things that can't be known to the
- jedgment-day. It might a ben an accident, and then agin it might not; and
- folks settled it one way or t'other, 'cordin' to their 'pinion o' Jeff;
- but ye see how 'mazin' handy for him it happened! Why, ef it hadn't ben
- for the providence I've ben a tellin' about, there it might a lain in them
- old letters, that Lady Maxwell said she never hed the heart to look over!
- it never would a turned up in the world.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” said I, “what became of Ruth?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh! Cap'n Oliver he came back all alive, and escaped from the Algerines;
- and they was married in King's Chapel, and lived in the old Sullivan
- House, in peace and prosperity. That's jest how the story was; and now
- Aunt Lois can make what she's a mind ter out on't.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And what became of Jeff?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh! he started to go over to England, and the ship was wrecked off the
- Irish coast, and that was the last of him. He never got to his property.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good enough for him,” said both of us.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, I don't know: 'twas pretty hard on Jeff. Mebbe he did, and mebbe he
- didn't. I'm glad I warn't in his shoes, tho' I'd rather never hed nothin'.
- This 'ere hastin' to be rich is sich a drefful temptation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, now, boys, ye've done a nice lot o' flax, and I guess we 'll go up
- to yer grand'ther's cellar and git a mug o' cyder. Talkin' always gits me
- dry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0006" id="linkimage-0006"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:20%;">
- <img src="images/5068.jpg" alt="5068 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/5068.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- THE MINISTER'S HOUSEKEEPER
- </h2>
- <p>
- <i>Scene.—The shady side of a blueberry-pasture.—Sam Lawson
- with the boys, picking blueberries.—Sam, loq.</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0007" id="linkimage-0007"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;">
- <img src="images/9069.jpg" alt="9069 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9069.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- AL, you see, boys, 'twas just here,—Parson Carryl's wife, she died
- along in the forepart o' March: my cousin Huldy, she undertook to keep
- house for him. The way on't was, that Huldy, she went to take care o' Mis'
- Carryl in the fust on't, when she fust took sick. Huldy was a tailoress by
- trade; but then she was one o' these 'ere facultised persons that has a
- gift for most any thing, and that was how Mis' Carryl come to set sech
- store by her, that, when she was sick, nothin' would do for her but she
- must have Huldy round all the time: and the minister, he said he'd make it
- good to her all the same, and she shouldn't lose nothin' by it. And so
- Huldy, she staid with Mis' Carryl full three months afore she died, and
- got to seein' to every thing pretty much round the place.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, arter Mis' Carryl died, Parson Carryl, he'd got so kind o' used to
- hevin' on her 'round, takin' care o' things, that he wanted her to stay
- along a spell; and so Huldy, she staid along a spell, and poured out his
- tea, and mended his close, and made pies and cakes, and cooked and washed
- and ironed, and kep' every thing as neat as a pin. Huldy was a drefful
- chipper sort o' gal; and work sort o' rolled off from her like water off a
- duck's back. There warn't no gal in Sherburne that could put sich a sight
- o' work through as Huldy; and yet, Sunday mornin', she always come out in
- the singers' seat like one o' these 'ere June roses, lookin' so fresh and
- smilin', and her voice was jest as clear and sweet as a meadow lark's—Lordy
- massy! I 'member how she used to sing some o' them 'are places where the
- treble and counter used to go together: her voice kind o trembled a
- little, and it sort o' went thro' and thro' a feller! tuck him right where
- he lived!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Here Sam leaned contemplatively back with his head in a clump of sweet
- fern, and refreshed himself with a chew of young wintergreen. “This'ere
- young wintergreen, boys, is jest like a feller's thoughts o' things that
- happened when he was young: it comes up jest so fresh and tender every
- year, the longest time you hev to live; and you can't help chawin' on't
- tho' 'tis sort o' stingin'. I don't never get over likin' young
- wintergreen.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But about Huldah, Sam?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes! about Huldy. Lordy massy! when a feller is Indianin' round,
- these 'ere pleasant summer days, a feller's thoughts gits like a flock o'
- young partridges: they's up and down and everywhere; 'cause one place is
- jest about as good as another, when they's all so kind o' comfortable and
- nice. Wal, about Huldy,—as I was a sayin'. She was jest as handsome
- a gal to look at as a feller could have; and I think a nice, well-behaved
- young gal in the singers' seat of a Sunday is a means o' grace: it's sort
- o' drawin' to the unregenerate, you know.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, boys, in them days, I've walked ten miles over to Sherburne of a
- Sunday mornin', jest to play the bass-viol in the same singers' seat with
- Huldy. She was very much respected, Huldy was; and, when she went out to
- tailorin', she was allers bespoke six months ahead, and sent for in
- waggins up and down for ten miles round; for the young fellers was allers
- 'mazin' anxious to be sent after Huldy, and was quite free to offer to go
- for her. Wal, after Mis' Carryl died, Huldy got to be sort o' housekeeper
- at the minister's, and saw to every thing, and did every thing: so that
- there warn't a pin out o' the way.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you know how 'tis in parishes: there allers is women that thinks the
- minister's affairs belongs to them, and they ought to have the rulin' and
- guidin' of 'em; and, if a minister's wife dies, there's folks that allers
- has their eyes open on providences,—lookin' out who's to be the next
- one.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now, there was Mis' Amaziah Pipperidge, a widder with snappin' black
- eyes, and a hook nose,—kind o' like a hawk; and she was one o' them
- up-and-down commandin' sort o' women, that feel that they have a call to
- be seein' to every thing that goes on in the parish, and 'specially to the
- minister.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Folks did say that Mis' Pipperidge sort o' sot her eye on the parson for
- herself: wal, now that 'are might a been, or it might not. Some folks
- thought it was a very suitable connection. You see she hed a good property
- of her own, right nigh to the minister's lot, and was allers kind o'
- active and busy; so, takin' one thing with another, I shouldn't wonder if
- Mis' Pipperidge should a thought that Providence p'inted that way. At any
- rate, she went up to Deakin Blodgett's wife, and they two sort o' put
- their heads together a mournin' and condolin' about the way. things was
- likely to go on at the minister's now Mis' Carryl was dead. Ye see, the
- parson's wife, she was one of them women who hed their eyes everywhere and
- on every thing. She was a little thin woman, but tough as Inger rubber,
- and smart as a steel trap; and there warn't a hen laid an egg, or cackled,
- but Mis' Carryl was right there to see about it; and she hed the garden
- made in the spring, and the medders mowed in summer, and the cider made,
- and the corn husked, and the apples got in the fall; and the doctor, he
- hedn't nothin' to do but jest sit stock still a meditatin' on Jerusalem
- and Jericho and them things that ministers think about. But Lordy massy!
- he didn't know nothin' about where any thing he eat or drunk or wore come
- from or went to: his wife jest led him 'round in temporal things and took
- care on him like a baby.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, to be sure, Mis' Carryl looked up to him in spirituals, and thought
- all the world on him; for there warn't a smarter minister no where 'round.
- Why, when he preached on decrees and election, they used to come clear
- over from South Parish, and West Sherburne, and Old Town to hear him; and
- there was sich a row o' waggins tied along by the meetin'-house that the
- stables was all full, and all the hitchin'-posts was full clean up to the
- tavern, so that folks said the doctor made the town look like a gineral
- trainin'-day a Sunday.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He was gret on texts, the doctor was. When he hed a p'int to prove, he'd
- jest go thro' the Bible, and drive all the texts ahead o' him like a flock
- o' sheep; and then, if there was a text that seemed gin him, why, he'd
- come out with his Greek and Hebrew, and kind o' chase it 'round a spell,
- jest as ye see a fellar chase a contrary bell-wether, and make him jump
- the fence arter the rest. I tell you, there wa'n't no text in the Bible
- that could stand agin the doctor when his blood was up. The year arter the
- doctor was app'inted to preach the 'lection sermon in Boston, he made such
- a figger that the Brattlestreet Church sent a committee right down to see
- if they couldn't get him to Boston; and then the Sherburne folks, they up
- and raised his salary; ye see, there ain't nothin' wakes folks up like
- somebody else's wantin' what you've got. Wal, that fall they made him a
- Doctor o' Divinity at Cambridge College, and so they sot more by him than
- ever. Wal, you see, the doctor, of course he felt kind o' lonesome and
- afflicted when Mis' Carryl was gone; but railly and truly, Huldy was so up
- to every thing about house, that the doctor didn't miss nothin' in a
- temporal way. His shirt-bosoms was pleated finer than they ever was, and
- them ruffles 'round his wrists was kep' like the driven snow; and there
- warn't a brack in his silk stockin's, and his shoe buckles was kep'
- polished up, and his coats brushed; and then there warn't no bread and
- biscuit like Huldy's; and her butter was like solid lumps o' gold; and
- there wern't no pies to equal hers; and so the doctor never felt the loss
- o' Miss Carryl at table. Then there was Huldy allers oppisite to him, with
- her blue eyes and her cheeks like two fresh peaches. She was kind o'
- pleasant to look at; and the more the doctor looked at her the better he
- liked her; and so things seemed to be goin' on quite quiet and comfortable
- ef it hadn't been that Mis' Pipperidge and Mis' Deakin Blodgett and Mis'
- Sawin got their heads together a talkin' about things.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Poor man,' says Mis' Pipperidge, 'what can that child that he's got
- there do towards takin' the care of all that place? It takes a mature
- woman,' she says, 'to tread in Mis' Carryl's shoes.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'That it does,' said Mis' Blodgett; 'and, when things once get to runnin'
- down hill, there ain't no stoppin' on 'em,' says she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then Mis' Sawin she took it up. (Ye see, Mis' Sawin used to go out to
- dress-makin', and was sort o' jealous, 'cause folks sot more by Huldy than
- they did by her). 'Well,' says she, 'Huldy Peters is well enough at her
- trade. I never denied that, though I do say I never did believe in her way
- o' makin' button-holes; and I must say, if 'twas the dearest friend I hed,
- that I thought Huldy tryin' to fit Mis' Kittridge's plumb-colored silk was
- a clear piece o' presumption; the silk was jist spiled, so 'twarn't fit to
- come into the meetin'-house. I must say, Huldy's a gal that's always too
- ventersome about takin' 'spon-sibilities she don't know nothin' about.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Of course she don't,' said Mis' Deakin Blodgett. 'What does she know
- about all the lookin' and see-in' to that there ought to be in guidin' the
- minister's house. Huldy's well meanin', and she's good at her work, and
- good in the singers' seat; but Lordy massy I she hain't got no experience.
- Parson Carryl ought to have an experienced woman to keep house for him.
- There's the spring house-cleanin' and the fall house-cleanin' to be seen
- to, and the things to be put away from the moths; and then the gettin'
- ready for the association and all the ministers' meetin's; and the makin'
- the soap and the candles, and settin' the hens and turkeys, watchin' the
- calves, and seein' after the 'hired men and the garden; and there that
- 'are blessed man jist sets there at home as serene, and has nobody 'round
- but that 'are gal, and don't even know how things must be a runnin' to
- waste!'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, the upshot on't was, they fussed and fuzzled and wuzzled till they'd
- drinked up all the tea in the teapot; and then they went down and called
- on the parson, and wuzzled him all up talkin' about this, that, and
- t'other that wanted lookin' to, and that it was no way to leave every
- thing to a young chit like Huldy, and that he ought to be lookin' about
- for an experienced woman. The parson he thanked 'em kindly, and said he
- believed their motives was good, but he didn't go no further. He didn't
- ask Mis' Pipperidge to come and stay there and help him, nor nothin' o'
- that kind; but he said he'd attend to matters himself. The fact was, the
- parson had got such a likin' for havin' Huldy 'round, that he couldn't
- think o' such a thing as swappin' her off for the Widder Pipperidge.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But he thought to himself, 'Huldy is a good girl; but I oughtn't to be a
- leavin' every thing to her,—it's too hard on her. I ought to be
- instructin' and guidin' and helpin' of her; 'cause 'tain't everybody could
- be expected to know and do what Mis' Carryl did;' and so at it he went;
- and Lordy massy! didn't Huldy hev a time on't when the minister began to
- come out of his study, and want to tew 'round and see to things? Huldy,
- you see, thought all the world of the minister, and she was 'most afraid
- to laugh; but she told me she couldn't, for the life of her, help it when
- his back was turned, for he wuzzled things up in the most singular way.
- But Huldy she'd jest say 'Yes, sir,' and get him off into his study, and
- go on her own way.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Huldy,' says the minister one day, 'you ain't experienced out doors;
- and, when you want to know any thing, you must come to me.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Yes, sir,' says Huldy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Now, Huldy,' says the parson,' you must be sure to save the turkey-eggs,
- so that we can have a lot of turkeys for Thanksgiving.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Yes, sir,' says Huldy; and she opened the pantry-door, and showed him a
- nice dishful she'd been a savin' up. Wal, the very next day the parson's
- hen-turkey was found killed up to old Jim Scroggs's barn. Folks said
- Scroggs killed it; though Scroggs, he stood to it he didn't: at any rate,
- the Scroggses, they made a meal on't; and Huldy, she felt bad about it
- 'cause she'd set her heart on raisin' the turkeys; and says she, 'Oh,
- dear! I don't know what I shall do. I was just ready to set her.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Do, Huldy?' says the parson: 'why, there's the other turkey, out there
- by the door; and a fine bird, too, he is.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sure enough, there was the old tom-turkey a struttin' and a sidlin' and a
- quitterin,' and a floutin' his tail-feathers in the sun, like a lively
- young widower, all ready to begin life over agin.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'But,' says Huldy, 'you know <i>he</i> can't set on eggs.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'He can't? I'd like to know why,' says the parson. 'He <i>shall</i> set
- on eggs, and hatch 'em too.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'O doctor!' says Huldy, all in a tremble; 'cause, you know, she didn't
- want to contradict the minister, and she was afraid she should laugh,—'I
- never heard that a tom-turkey would set on eggs.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Why, they ought to,' said the parson, getting quite 'arnest: 'what else
- be they good for? you just bring out the eggs, now, and put 'em in the
- nest, and I 'll make him set on 'em.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “So Huldy she thought there wern't no way to convince him but to let him
- try: so she took the eggs out, and fixed 'em all nice in the nest; and
- then she come back and found old Tom a skirmishin' with the parson pretty
- lively, I tell ye. Ye see, old Tom he didn't take the idee at all; and he
- flopped and gobbled, and fit the parson; and the parson's wig got 'round
- so that his cue stuck straight out over his ear, but he'd got his blood
- up. Ye see, the old doctor was used to carryin' his p'ints o' doctrine;
- and he hadn't fit the Arminians and Socinians to be beat by a tom-turkey;
- so finally he made a dive, and ketched him by the neck in spite o' his
- floppin', and stroked him down, and put Huldy's apron 'round him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'There, Huldy,' he says, quite red in the face, 'we've got him now;' and
- he travelled off to the barn with him as lively as a cricket.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Huldy came behind jist chokin' with laugh, and afraid the minister would
- look 'round and see her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Now, Huldy, we 'll crook his legs, and set him down,' says the parson,
- when they got him to the nest: 'you see he is getting quiet, and he 'll
- set there all right.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “And the parson, he sot him down; and old Tom he sot there solemn enough,
- and held his head down all droopin', lookin' like a rail pious old cock,
- as long as the parson sot by him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'There: you see how still he sets,' says the parson to Huldy.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0008" id="linkimage-0008"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:65%;">
- <img src="images/0083.jpg" alt="0083m " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0083.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- “Huldy was 'most dyin' for fear she should laugh, 'I'm afraid he 'll get
- up,' says she, 'when you do.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Oh, no, he won't!' says the parson, quite confident. 'There, there,'
- says he, layin' his hands on him, as if pronouncin' a blessin'. But when
- the parson riz up, old Tom he riz up too, and began to march over the
- eggs.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Stop, now!' says the parson. 'I 'll make him get down agin: hand me that
- corn-basket; we 'll put that over him.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “So he crooked old Tom's legs, and got him down agin; and they put the
- corn-basket over him, and then they both stood and waited.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'That 'll do the thing, Huldy,' said the parson.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'I don't know about it,' says Huldy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Oh, yes, it will, child! I understand,' says he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Just as he spoke, the basket riz right up and stood, and they could see
- old Tom's long legs.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'I 'll make him stay down, confound him,' says the parson; for, ye see,
- parsons is men, like the rest on us, and the doctor had got his spunk up.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'You jist hold him a minute, and I 'll get something that 'll make him
- stay, I guess;' and out he went to the fence, and brought in a long, thin,
- flat stone, and laid it on old Tom's back.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Old Tom he wilted down considerable under this, and looked railly as if
- he was goin' to give in. He staid still there a good long spell, and the
- minister and Huldy left him there and come up to the house; but they
- hadn't more than got in the door before they see old Tom a hippin' along,
- as high-steppin' as ever, say in' 'Talk! talk! and quitter! quitter!' and
- struttin' and gobblin' as if he'd come through the Red Sea, and got the
- victory.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Oh, my eggs!' says Huldy. 'I'm afraid he's smashed 'em!'
- </p>
- <p>
- “And sure enough, there they was, smashed flat enough under the stone.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'I 'll have him killed,' said the parson: 'we won't have such a critter
- 'round.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “But the parson, he slep' on't, and then didn't do it: he only come out
- next Sunday with a tip-top sermon on the ''Riginal Cuss' that was
- pronounced on things in gineral, when Adam fell, and showed how every
- thing was allowed to go contrary ever since. There was pig-weed, and
- pusley, and Canady thistles, cut-worms, and bag-worms, and canker-worms,
- to say nothin' of rattlesnakes. The doctor made it very impressive and
- sort o' improvin'; but Huldy, she told me, goin' home, that she hardly
- could keep from laughin' two or three times in the sermon when she thought
- of old Tom a standin' up with the corn-basket on his back.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, next week Huldy she jist borrowed the minister's horse and
- side-saddle, and rode over to South Parish to her Aunt Bascome's,—Widder
- Bascome's, you know, that lives there by the trout-brook,—and got a
- lot o' turkey-eggs o' her, and come back and set a hen on 'em, and said
- nothin'; and in good time there was as nice a lot o' turkey-chicks as ever
- ye see.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Huldy never said a word to the minister about his experiment, and he
- never said a word to her; but he sort o' kep' more to his books, and
- didn't take it on him to advise so much.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But not long arter he took it into his head that Huldy ought to have a
- pig to be a fattin' with the buttermilk. Mis' Pipperidge set him up to it;
- and jist then old Tim Bigelow, out to Juniper Hill, told him if he'd call
- over he'd give him a little pig.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So he sent for a man, and told him to build a pigpen right out by the
- well, and have it all ready when he came home with his pig.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Huldy she said she wished he might put a curb round the well out there,
- because in the dark, sometimes, a body might stumble into it; and the
- parson, he told him he might do that.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, old Aikin, the carpenter, he didn't come till most the middle of the
- arternoon; and then he sort o' idled, so that he didn't get up the
- well-curb till sun down; and then he went off and said he'd come and do
- the pig-pen next day.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, arter dark, Parson Carryl he driv into the yard, full chizel, with
- his pig. He'd tied up his mouth to keep him from squeelin'; and he see
- what he thought was the pig-pen,—he was rather near-sighted,—and
- so he ran and threw piggy over; and down he dropped into the water, and
- the minister put out his horse and pranced off into the house quite
- delighted.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0009" id="linkimage-0009"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:65%;">
- <img src="images/0089.jpg" alt="0089m " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0089.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- “'There, Huldy, I've got you a nice little pig.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Dear me!' says Huldy: 'where have you put him?'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Why, out there in the pig-pen, to be sure.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Oh, dear me!' says Huldy: 'that's the well-curb; there ain't no pig-pen
- built,' says she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Lordy massy!' says the parson: 'then I've thrown the pig in the well!'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, Huldy she worked and worked, and finally she fished piggy out in the
- bucket, but he was dead as a door-nail; and she got him out o' the way
- quietly, and didn't say much; and the parson, he took to a great Hebrew
- book in his study; and says he, 'Huldy, I ain't much in temporals,' says
- he. Huldy says she kind o' felt her heart go out to him, he was so sort o'
- meek and helpless and larned; and says she, 'Wal, Parson Carryl, don't
- trouble your head no more about it; I 'll see to things;' and sure enough,
- a week arter there was a nice pen, all ship-shape, and two little white
- pigs that Huldy bought with the money for the butter she sold at the
- store.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Wal, Huldy,' said the parson, 'you are a most amazin' child: you don't
- say nothin', but you do more than most folks.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Arter that the parson set sich store by Huldy that he come to her and
- asked her about every thing, and it was amazin' how every thing she put
- her hand to prospered. Huldy planted marigolds and larkspurs, pinks and
- carnations, all up and down the path to the front door, and trained up
- mornin' glories and scar-, let-runners round the windows. And she was
- always a gettin' a root here, and a sprig there, and a seed from somebody
- else: for Huldy was one o' them that has the gift, so that ef you jist
- give 'em the leastest sprig of any thing they make a great bush out of it
- right away; so that in six months Huldy had roses and geraniums and
- lilies, sich as it would a took a gardener to raise. The parson, he took
- no notice at fust; but when the yard was all ablaze with flowers he used
- to come and stand in a kind o' maze at the front door, and say,
- 'Beautiful, beautiful: why, Huldy, I never see any thing like it.' And
- then when her work was done arternoons, Huldy would sit with her sewin' in
- the porch, and sing and trill away till she'd draw the meadow-larks and
- the bobolinks, and the orioles to answer her, and the great big elm-tree
- overhead would get perfectly rackety with the birds; and the parson,
- settin' there in his study, would git to kind o' dreamin' about the
- angels, and golden harps, and the New Jerusalem; but he wouldn't speak a
- word, 'cause Huldy she was jist like them wood-thrushes, she never could
- sing so well when she thought folks was hearin'. Folks noticed, about this
- time, that the parson's sermons got to be like Aaron's rod, that budded
- and blossomed: there was things in 'em about flowers and birds, and more
- 'special about the music o' heaven. And Huldy she noticed, that ef there
- was a hymn run in her head while she was 'round a workin' the minister was
- sure to give it out next Sunday. You see, Huldy was jist like a bee: she
- always sung when she was workin', and you could hear her trillin', now
- down in the corn-patch, while she was pickin' the corn; and now in the
- buttery, while she was workin' the butter; and now she'd go singin' down
- cellar, and then she'd be singin' up over head, so that she seemed to fill
- a house chock full o' music.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Huldy was so sort o' chipper and fair spoken, that she got the hired men
- all under her thumb: they come to her and took her orders jist as meek as
- so many calves; and she traded at the store, and kep' the accounts, and
- she hed her eyes everywhere, and tied up all the ends so tight that there
- want no get-tin' 'round her. She wouldn't let nobody put nothin' off on
- Parson Carryl, 'cause he was a minister. Huldy was allers up to anybody
- that wanted to make a hard bargain; and, afore he knew jist what he was
- about, she'd got the best end of it, and everybody said that Huldy was the
- most capable gal that they'd ever traded with.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, come to the meetin' of the Association, Mis' Deakin Blodgett and
- Mis' Pipperidge come callin' up to the parson's, all in a stew, and
- offerin' their services to get the house ready; but the doctor, he jist
- thanked 'em quite quiet, and turned 'em over to Huldy; and Huldy she told
- 'em that she'd got every thing ready, and showed 'em her pantries, and her
- cakes and her pies and her puddin's, and took 'em all over the house; and
- they went peekin' and pokin', openin' cupboard-doors, and lookin' into
- drawers; and they couldn't find so much as a thread out o' the way, from
- garret to cellar, and so they went off quite discontented. Arter that the
- women set a new trouble a brewin'. Then they begun to talk that it was a
- year now since Mis' Carryl died; and it r'ally wasn't proper such a young
- gal to be stayin' there, who everybody could see was a settin' her cap for
- the minister.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mis' Pipperidge said, that, so long as she looked on Huldy as the hired
- gal, she hadn't thought much about it; but Huldy was railly takin' on airs
- as an equal, and appearin' as mistress o' the house in a way that would
- make talk if it went on. And Mis' Pipperidge she driv 'round up to Deakin
- Abner Snow's, and down to Mis' 'Lijah Perry's, and asked them if they
- wasn't afraid that the way the parson and Huldy was a goin' on might make
- talk. And they said they hadn't thought on't before, but now, come to
- think on't, they was sure it would; and they all went and talked with
- somebody else, and asked them if they didn't think it would make talk. So
- come Sunday, between meetin's there warn't nothin' else talked about; and
- Huldy saw folks a noddin' and a winkin', and a lookin' arter her, and she
- begun to feel drefful sort o' disagreeable. Finally Mis' Sawin she says to
- her, 'My dear, didn't you, never think folk would talk about you and the
- minister?'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'No: why should they?' says Huldy, quite innocent.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, dear,' says she, 'I think it's a shame; but they say you're tryin'
- to catch him, and that it's so bold and improper for you to be courtin' of
- him right in his own house,—you know folks will talk,—I
- thought I'd tell you 'cause I think so much of you,' says she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Huldy was a gal of spirit, and she despised the talk, but it made her
- drefful uncomfortable; and when she got home at night she sat down in the
- mor-nin'-glory porch, quite quiet, and didn't sing a word.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The minister he had heard the same thing from one of his deakins that
- day; and, when he saw Huldy so kind o' silent, he says to her, 'Why don't
- you sing, my child?'
- </p>
- <p>
- “He hed a pleasant sort o' way with him, the minister had, and Huldy had
- got to likin' to be with him, and it all come over her that perhaps she
- ought to go away; and her throat kind o' filled up so she couldn't hardly
- speak; and, says she, 'I can't sing to-night.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Says he, 'You don't know how much good you're singin' has done me, nor
- how much good <i>you</i> have done me in all ways, Huldy. I wish I knew
- how to show my gratitude.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'O sir!' says Huldy, '<i>is</i> it improper for me to be here?'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'No, dear,' says the minister, 'but ill-natured folks will talk; but
- there is one way we can stop it, Huldy—if you will marry me. You 'll
- make me very happy, and I 'll do all I can to make you happy. Will you?'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, Huldy never told me jist what she said to the minister,—gals
- never does give you the particulars of them 'are things jist as you'd like
- 'em,—only I know the upshot and the hull on't was, that Huldy she
- did a consid'able lot o' clear starchin' and ironin' the next two days;
- and the Friday o' next week the minister and she rode over together to Dr.
- Lothrop's in Old Town; and the doctor, he jist made 'em man and wife,
- 'spite of envy of the Jews,' as the hymn says. Wal, you'd better believe
- there was a starin' and a wonderin' next Sunday mornin' when the second
- bell was a tollin', and the minister walked up the broad aisle with Huldy,
- all in white, arm in arm with him, and he opened the minister's pew, and
- handed her in as if she was a princess; for, you see, Parson Carryl come
- of a good family, and was a born gentleman, and had a sort o' grand way o'
- bein' polite to women-folks. Wal, I guess there was a rus'lin' among the
- bunnets. Mis' Pipperidge gin a great bounce, like corn poppin' on a
- shovel, and her eyes glared through her glasses at Huldy as if they'd a
- sot her afire; and everybody in the meetin' house was a starin', I tell <i>yew</i>.
- But they couldn't none of 'em say nothin' agin Huldy's looks; for there
- wa'n't a crimp nor a frill about her that wa'n't jis' <i>so</i>; and her
- frock was white as the driven snow, and she had her bunnet all trimmed up
- with white ribbins; and all the fellows said the old doctor had stole a
- march, and got the handsomest gal in the parish.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, arter meetin' they all come 'round the parson and Huldy at the door,
- shakin' hands and laughin'; for by that time they was about agreed that
- they'd got to let putty well alone.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Why, Parson Carryl,' says Mis' Deakin Blodgett, 'how you've come it over
- us.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Yes,' says the parson, with a kind o' twinkle in his eye. 'I thought,'
- says he, 'as folks wanted to talk about Huldy and me, I'd give 'em
- somethin' wuth talkin' about.'”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0010" id="linkimage-0010"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:20%;">
- <img src="images/5098.jpg" alt="5098 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/5098.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- THE WIDOW'S BANDBOX.
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0011" id="linkimage-0011"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;">
- <img src="images/9099.jpg" alt="9099 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9099.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- ORDY massy! Stick yer hat into the nor'east, Horace, and see 'f ye can't
- stop out this 'ere wind. I'm e'eny most used up with it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- So spake Sam Lawson, contemplating mournfully a new broad-brimmed straw
- hat in which my soul was rejoicing.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was the dripping end of a sour November afternoon, which closed up a
- “spell o' weather” that had been steadily driving wind and rain for a week
- past; and we boys sought the shelter and solace of his shop, and, opening
- the door, let in the wind aforesaid.
- </p>
- <p>
- Sam had been all day in one of his periodical fits of desperate industry.
- The smoke and sparks had been seen flying out of his shop-chimney in a
- frantic manner; and the blows of his hammer had resounded with a sort of
- feverish persistence, intermingled with a doleful wailing of psalm-tunes
- of the most lugubrious description.
- </p>
- <p>
- These fits of industry on Sam's part were an affliction to us boys,
- especially when they happened to come on Saturday: for Sam was as much a
- part of our Saturday-afternoon calculations as if we had a regular deed of
- property in him; and we had been all day hanging round his shop, looking
- in from time to time, in the vague hope that he would propose something to
- brighten up the dreary monotony of a holiday in which it had been
- impossible to go anywhere or do any thing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sam, ain't you coming over to tell us some stories to-night?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Bless your soul and body, boys! life ain't made to be spent tellin'
- stories. Why, I shall hev to be up here workin' till arter twelve
- o'clock,” said Sam, who was suddenly possessed with a spirit of the most
- austere diligence. “Here I be up to my neck in work,—things kind o'
- comin' in a heap together.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There's Mis' Cap'n Broad's andirons, she sent word she must have 'em
- to-night; and there's Lady Lothrop, she wants her warmin'-pan right off;
- they can't non' on 'em wait a minit longer. I've ben a drivin' and workin'
- all day like a nigger-slave. Then there was Jeduth Pettybone, he brought
- down them colts to-day, and I worked the biggest part o' the mornin'
- shoein' on 'em; and then Jeduth he said he couldn't make change to pay me,
- so there wa'n't nothin' comin' in for 't; and then Hepsy she kep' a jawin'
- at me all dinner-time 'bout that. Why, I warn't to blame now, was I? I
- can't make everybody do jest right and pay regular, can I? So ye see it
- goes, boys, gettin' yer bread by the sweat o' your brow; and sometimes
- sweatin' and not gettin' yer bread. That 'ere's what I call the <i>cuss</i>,
- the 'riginal cuss, that come on man for hearkenin' to the voice o' his
- wife,—that 'ere was what did it. It allers kind o' riles me up with
- Mother Eve when I think on't. The women hain't no bisness to fret as they
- do, 'cause they sot this 'ere state o' things goin' in the fust place.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But, Sam, Aunt Lois and Aunt Nabby are both going over to Mis'
- Mehitabel's to tea. Now, you just come over and eat supper with us and
- tell us a story, do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Gone out to tea, be they?” said Sam, relaxing his hammering, with a
- brightening gleam stealing gradually across his lanky visage. “Wal, that
- 'ere looks like a providential openin', to be sure. Wal, I guess I 'll
- come. What's the use o' never havin' a good time? Ef you work yourself up
- into shoestrings you don't get no thanks for it, and things in this
- world's 'bout as broad as they is long: the women 'll scold, turn 'em
- which way ye will. A good mug o' cider and some cold victuals over to the
- Deakin's 'll kind o' comfort a feller up; and your granny she's sort o'
- merciful, she don't rub it into a fellow all the time like Miss Lois.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now, let's see, boys,” said Sam, when a comfortable meal of pork and
- beans had been disposed of, and a mug of cider was set down before the
- fire to warm. “I s'pect ye 'll like to hear a Down-East story to-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Of course we did, and tumbled over each other in our eagerness to get the
- nearest place to the narrator.
- </p>
- <p>
- Sam's method of telling a story was as leisurely as that of some modern
- novel-writers. He would take his time for it, and proceed by easy stages.
- It was like the course of a dreamy, slow-moving river through a tangled
- meadow-flat,—not a rush nor a bush but was reflected in it; in
- short, Sam gave his philosophy of matters and things in general as he went
- along, and was especially careful to impress an edifying moral.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, ye see, boys, ye know I was born down to Newport,—there where
- it's all ships and shipping, and sich. My old mother she kep' a
- boardin'-house for sailors down there. Wal, ye see, I rolled and tumbled
- round the world pretty consid'able afore I got settled down here in
- Oldtown.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ye see, my mother she wanted to bind me out to a blacksmith, but I kind
- o' sort o' didn't seem to take to it. It was kind o' hard work, and boys
- is apt to want to take life easy. Wal, I used to run off to the sea-shore,
- and lie stretched out on them rocks there, and look off on to the water;
- and it did use to look so sort o' blue and peaceful, and the ships come a
- sailin' in and out so sort o' easy and natural, that I felt as if that are
- 'd be jest the easiest kind o' life a fellow could have. All he had to do
- was to get aboard one o' them ships, and be off seekin' his fortin at
- t'other end o' the rainbow, where gold grows on bushes and there's valleys
- o' diamonds.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So, nothin' would do but I gin my old mother the slip; and away I went to
- sea, with my duds tied up in a han'kercher.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I tell ye what, boys, ef ye want to find an easy life, don't ye never go
- to sea. I tell ye, life on shipboard ain't what it looks to be on shore. I
- hadn't been aboard more'n three hours afore I was the sickest critter that
- ever ye did see; and I tell you, I didn't get no kind o' compassion.
- Cap'ns and mates they allers thinks boys hain't no kind o' business to
- have no bowels nor nothin', and they put it on 'em sick or well. It's jest
- a kick here, and a cuff there, and a twitch by the ear in t'other place;
- one a shovin' on 'em this way, and another hittin' on 'em a clip, and all
- growlin' from mornin' to night. I believe the way my ears got so long was
- bein' hauled out o' my berth by 'em: that 'are's a sailor's regular way o'
- wakin' up a boy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, by time I got to the Penobscot country, all I wanted to know was how
- to get back agin. That 'are's jest the way folks go all their lives, boys.
- It's all fuss, fuss, and stew, stew, till ye get somewhere; and then it's
- fuss, fuss, and stew, stew, to get back agin; jump here and scratch yer
- eyes out, and jump there and scratch 'em in agin,—that 'are's life'.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, I kind o' poked round in Penobscot country till I got a berth on
- 'The Brilliant' that was lyin' at Camden, goin' to sail to Boston.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ye see, 'The Brilliant' she was a tight little sloop in the government
- service: 'twas in the war-times, ye see, and Commodore Tucker that is now
- (he was Cap'n Tucker then), he had the command on her,—used to run
- up and down all the coast takin' observations o' the British, and keepin'
- his eye out on 'em and givin' on 'em a nip here and a clip there,' cordin'
- as he got a good chance. Why, your grand'ther knew old Commodore Tucker.
- It was he that took Dr. Franklin over Minister, to France, and dodged all
- the British vessels, right in the middle o' the war I tell you that 'are
- was like runnin' through the drops in a thunder-shower. He got chased by
- the British ships pretty consid'able, but he was too spry for 'em. Arter
- the war was over, Commodore Tucker took over John Adams, our fust Minister
- to England. A drefful smart man the Commodore was, but he most like to 'a'
- ben took in this'ere time I'm a tellin' ye about, and all 'cause he was
- sort o' softhearted to the women. Tom Toothacre told me the story. Tom he
- was the one that got me the berth on the ship. Ye see, I used to know Tom
- at Newport; and once when he took sick there my mother nussed him up, and
- that was why Tom was friends with me and got me the berth, and kep' me
- warm in it too. Tom he was one of your rael Maine boys, that's hatched
- out, so to speak, in water like ducks. He was born away down there on
- Harpswell P'int; and they say, if ye throw one o' them Harpswell babies
- into the sea, he 'll take to it nateral, and swim like a cork: ef they hit
- their heads agin a rock it only dents the rock, but don't hurt the baby.
- Tom he was a great character on the ship. He could see further, and knew
- more 'bout wind and water, than most folks: the officers took Tom's
- judgment, and the men all went by his say. My mother she chalked a streak
- o' good luck for me when she nussed up Tom.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, we wus a lyin' at Camden there, one arter-noon, goin' to sail for
- Boston that night. It was a sort o' soft, pleasant arternoon, kind o'
- still, and there wa'n't nothin' a goin' on but jest the hens a
- craw-crawin', and a histin' up one foot, and holdin' it a spell 'cause
- they didn't know when to set it down, and the geese a sissin' and a
- pickin' at the grass. Ye see, Camden wasn't nothin' of a place,—'twas
- jest as if somebody had emptied out a pocketful o' houses and forgot 'em.
- There wer'n't nothin' a stirrin' or goin' on; and so we was all took
- aback, when 'bout four o'clock in the arternoon there come a boat
- alongside, with a tall, elegant lady in it, all dressed in deep mournin'.
- She rared up sort o' princess-like, and come aboard our ship, and wanted
- to speak to Cap 'll Tucker. Where she come from, or what she wanted, or
- where she was goin' to, we none on us knew: she kep' her veil down so we
- couldn't get sight o' her face. All was, she must see Cap'n Tucker alone
- right away.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, Cap'n Tucker he was like the generality o' cap'ns. He was up to
- 'bout every thing that any <i>man</i> could do, but it was pretty easy for
- a woman to come it over him. Ye see, cap'ns, they don't see women as men
- do ashore. They don't have enough of 'em to get tired on 'em; and every
- woman's an angel to a sea-cap'n. Anyway, the cap'n he took her into his
- cabin, and he sot her a chair, and was her humble servant to command, and
- what would she have of him? And we was all a winkin', and a nudgin' each
- other, and a peekin' to see what was to come o' it. And she see it; and so
- she asks, in a sort o' princess' way, to speak to the cap'n alone; and so
- the doors was shut, and we was left to our own ideas, and a wonderin' what
- it was all to be about.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, you see, it come out arterwards all about what went on; and things
- went this way. Jest as soon as the doors was shut, and she was left alone
- with the cap'n, she busted out a cryin' and a sobbin'. lit to break her
- heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, the cap'n he tried to comfort her up: but no, she wouldn't be
- comforted, but went on a weepin' and a wailin,' and a wringin' on her
- hands, till the poor cap'n's heart was a'most broke; for the cap'n was the
- tenderest-hearted critter that could be, and couldn't bear to see a child
- or a woman in trouble noways.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'O cap'n!' said she, 'I'm the most unfortunate woman. I'm all alone in
- the world,' says she, 'and I don't know what 'll become of me ef you don't
- keep me,' says she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, the cap'n thought it was time to run up his colors; and so says he,
- 'Ma'am, I'm a married man, and love my wife,' says he, 'and so I can feel
- for all women in distress,' says he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, well, then!' says she, 'you can feel for me, and know how to pity me.
- My dear husband's just died suddenly when he was up the river. He was took
- with the fever in the woods. I nussed him day and night,' says she; 'but
- he died there in a mis'able little hut far from home and friends,' says
- she; 'and I've brought his body down with me, hopin' Providence would open
- some way to get it back to our home in Boston. And now, cap'n, you must
- help me.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then the cap'n see what she was up to: and he hated to do it, and tried
- to cut her off o' askin'; but she wa'n't to be put off.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Now, cap'n,' says she, 'ef you 'll take me and the body o' my husband on
- board to-night, I'd be willin' to reward you to any amount. Money would be
- no object to me,' says she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, you see, the cap'n he kind o' hated to do it; and he hemmed and
- hawed, and he tried to 'pologize. He said 'twas a government vessel, and
- he didn't know as he had a right to use it. He said sailors was apt to be
- superstitious; and he didn't want 'em to know as there was a corpse on
- board.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Wal,' says she, 'why need they know?' For, you see, she was up to every
- dodge; and she said she'd come along with it at dusk, in a box, and have
- it just carried to a state-room, and he needn't tell nobody what it was.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, Cap'n Tucker he hung off; and he tried his best to persuade her to
- have a funeral, all quiet, there at Camden. He promised to get a minister,
- and 'tend to it, and wait a day till it was all over, and then take her on
- to Boston free gratis. But 'twas all no go. She wouldn't hear a word to
- 't. And she reeled off the talk to him by the yard. And, when talk failed,
- she took to her water-works again, till finally the cap'n said his
- resolution was clean washed away, and he jest give up hook and line; and
- so 'twas all settled and arranged, that, when evening come, she was to be
- alongside with her boat, and took aboard.
- </p>
- <p>
- “When she come out o' the cap'n's room to go off, I see Tom Toothacre a
- watchin' on her. He stood there by the railin's a shavin' up a plug o'
- baccy to put in his pipe. He didn't say a word; but he sort o' took the
- measure o' that 'are woman with his eye, and kept a follerin' on her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She had a fine sort o' lively look, carried her head up and shoulders
- back, and stepped as if she had steel springs in her heels.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Wal, Tom, what do ye say to her?' says Ben Bowdin.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'I don't <i>say</i> nothin',' says Tom, and he lit his pipe; 'tain't <i>my</i>
- busness,' says he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Wal, what do you <i>think?</i>' says Ben. Tom gin a hist to his
- trousers.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'My thoughts is my own,' says he; 'and I calculate to keep 'em to
- myself,' says he. And then he jest walked to the side of the vessel, and
- watched the woman a gettin' ashore. There was a queer kind o look in Tom's
- eye.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, the cap'n he was drefful sort o' oneasy arter she was gone. He had a
- long talk in the cabin with Mr. More, the fust officer; and there was a
- sort o' stir aboard as if somethin' was a goin' to happen, we couldn't
- jest say what it was.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sometimes it seems as if, when things is goin' to happen, a body kind o'
- feels 'em comin' in the air. We boys was all that way: o' course we didn't
- know nothin' 'bout what the woman wanted, or what she come for, or whether
- she was comin' agin; 'n fact, we didn't know nothin' about it, and yet we
- sort o' expected suthin' to come o' it; and suthin' did come, sure enough.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come on night, jest at dusk, we see a boat comin' alongside; and there,
- sure enough, was the lady in it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'There, she's comin' agin,' says I to Tom Tooth acre.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Yes, and brought her baggage with her,' says Tom; and he p'inted down to
- a long, narrow pine box that was in the boat beside her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Jest then the cap'n called on Mr. More, and he called on Tom Toothacre;
- and among 'em they lowered a tackle, and swung the box aboard, and put it
- in the state-room right alongside the cap'n's cabin.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The lady she thanked the cap'n and Mr. More, and her voice was jest as
- sweet as any nightingale; and she went into the state-room arter they put
- the body in, and was gone ever so long with it. The cap'n and Mr. More
- they stood a whisperin' to each other, and every once in a while they'd
- kind o' nod at the door where the lady was.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, by and by she come out with her han'ker-chief to her eyes, and come
- on deck, and begun talkin' to the cap'n and Mr. More, and a wishin' all
- kinds o' blessin's on their heads.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, Tom Toothacre didn't say a word, good or bad; but he jest kep' a
- lookin' at her, watchin' her as a cat watches a mouse. Finally we up sail,
- and started with a fair breeze. The lady she kep' a walkin' up and down,
- up and down, and every time she turned on her heel, I saw Tom a lookin'
- arter her and kind o' noddin' to himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'What makes you look arter her so, Tom?' says I to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “''Cause I think she <i>wants</i> lookin' arter,' says Tom. 'What's more,'
- says he, 'if the cap'n don't look sharp arter her the devil 'll have us
- all afore mornin.' I tell ye, Sam, there's mischief under them petticuts.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Why, what do ye think?' says I.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Think! I don't think, I knows! That 'are's no gal, nor widder neither,
- if my name's Tom Tooth-acre! Look at her walk; look at the way she turns
- on her heel! I've been a watchin' on her. There ain't no woman livin' with
- a step like that!' says he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Wal, who should the critter be, then?' says I.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Wal,' says Tom, 'ef that 'are ain't a British naval officer, I lose my
- bet. I've been used to the ways on 'em, and I knows their build and their
- step.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'And what do you suppose she's got in that long box?' says I.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'What has she got?' says Tom. 'Wal, folks might say none o' my bisness;
- but I s'pects it 'll turn out some o' my bisness, and yourn too, if he
- don't look sharp arter it,' says Tom. 'It's no good, that 'are box ain't.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Why don't you speak to Mr. More?' says I.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Wal, you see she's a chipperin' round and a-makin' herself agreeable to
- both on 'em, you see; she don't mean to give nobody any chance for a talk
- with 'em; but I've got my eye on her, for all that. You see I hain't no
- sort o' disposition to sarve out a time on one o' them British
- prison-ships,' says Tom Toothacre. 'It might be almighty handy for them
- British to have “The Brilliant” for a coast-vessel,' says he; 'but, ye
- see, it can't be spared jest yet. So, madam,' says he, 'I've got my eye on
- you.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, Tom was as good as his word; for when Mr. More came towards him at
- the wheel, Tom he up and says to him, 'Mr. More,' says he, that 'are big
- box in the state-room yonder wants lookin' into.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tom was a sort o' privileged character, and had a way o' speakin' up that
- the officers took in good part, 'cause they knew he was a fust-rate hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, Mr. More he looks mysterious; and says he, Tom, do the boys know
- what's in that 'are box?'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'I bet they don't,' says Tom. 'If they had, you wouldn't a got 'em to
- help it aboard.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Wal, you see, poor woman,' says Mr. More to Tom, 'she was so distressed.
- She wanted to get her husband's body to Boston; and there wa'n't no other
- way, and so the cap'n let it come aboard. He didn't want the boys to
- suspect what it really was.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Husband's body be hanged!' said Tom. 'Guess that 'are corpse ain't so
- dead but what there 'll be a resurrection afore mornin', if it ain't
- looked arter,' says he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Why, what do you mean, Tom?' said Mr. More, all in a blue maze.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'I mean, that 'are gal that's ben a switchin' her petticuts up and down
- our deck ain't no gal at all. That are's a British officer, Mr. More. You
- give my duty to the cap'n, and tell him to look into his widder's bandbox,
- and see what he 'll find there.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, the mate he went and had a talk with the cap'n; and they 'greed
- between 'em that Mr. More was to hold her in talk while the cap'n went and
- took observations in the state-room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So, down the cap'n goes into the state-room to give a look at the box.
- Wal, he finds the stateroom door all locked to be sure, and my lady had
- the key in her pocket; but then the cap'n he had a master key to it; and
- so he puts it in, and opens the door quite softly, and begins to take
- observations.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sure enough, he finds that the screws had been drawed from the top o' the
- box, showin' that the widder had been a tinkerin' on't when they thought
- she was a cryin' over it; and then, lookin' close, he sees a bit o' twine
- goin' from a crack in the box out o' the winder, and up on deck.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, the cap'n he kind o' got in the sperit o' the thing; and he thought
- he'd jest let the widder play her play out, and see what it would come to.
- So he jest calls Tom Toothacre down to him and whispered to him. 'Tom,'
- says he, 'you jest crawl under the berth in that 'are state-room, and
- watch that 'are box.' And Tom said he would.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So Tom creeps under the berth, and lies there still as a mouse; and the
- cap'n he slips out and turns the key in the door, so that when madam comes
- down she shouldn't s'pect nothin'.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Putty soon, sure enough, Tom heard the lock rattle, and the young widder
- come in; and then he heard a bit o' conversation between her and the
- corpse.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'What time is it?' come in a kind o' hoarse whisper out o' the box.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Well, 'bout nine o'clock,' says she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'How long afore you 'll let me out?' says he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Oh! you must have patience,' says she, 'till they're all gone off to
- sleep; when there ain't but one man up. I can knock him down,' says she,
- 'and then I 'll pull the string for you.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'The devil you will, ma'am!' says Tom to himself, under the berth.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Well, it's darned close here,' says the fellow in the box. He didn't say
- darned, boys; but he said a wickeder word that I can't repeat, noways,”
- said Sam, in a parenthesis: “these 'ere British officers was drefful
- swearin' critters.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'You must have patience a while longer,' says the lady, 'till I pull the
- string.' Tom Toothacre lay there on his back a laughin'.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Is every thing goin' on right?' says the man in the box.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'All straight,' says she: 'there don't none of 'em suspect.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'You bet,' says Tom Toothacre, under the berth; and he said he had the
- greatest mind to catch the critter by the feet as she was a standin'
- there, but somehow thought it would be better fun to see the thing through
- 'cording as they'd planned it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, then she went off switchin' and mincin' up to the deck agin, and a
- flirtin' with the cap'n; for you see 'twas 'greed to let 'em play their
- play out.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, Tom he lay there a waitin'; and he waited and waited and waited,
- till he 'most got asleep; but finally he heard a stirrin' in the box, as
- if the fellah was a gettin' up. Tom he jest crawled out still and kerful,
- and stood up tight agin the wall. Putty soon he hears a grunt, and he sees
- the top o' the box a risin' up, and a man jest gettin' out on't mighty
- still.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0012" id="linkimage-0012"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:65%;">
- <img src="images/0119.jpg" alt="0119m " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0119.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- “Wal, Tom he waited till he got fairly out on to the floor, and had his
- hand on the lock o' the door, when he jumps on him, and puts both arms
- round him, and gin him a regular bear's hug.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Why, what's this?' says the man.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Guess ye 'll find out, darn ye,' says Tom Tooth-acre. 'So, ye wanted our
- ship, did ye? Wal, ye jest can't have our ship,' says Tom, says he; and I
- tell you he jest run that 'are fellow up stairs lickety-split, for Tom was
- strong as a giant.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The fust thing they saw was Mr. More hed got the widder by both arms, and
- was tying on 'em behind her. 'Ye see, madam, your game's up,' says Mr.
- More, 'but we 'll give ye a free passage to Boston, tho',' says he: 'we
- wanted a couple o' prisoners about these days, and you 'll do nicely.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “The fellers they was putty chopfallen, to be sure, and the one in women's
- clothes 'specially: 'cause when he was found out, he felt foolish enough
- in his petticuts; but they was both took to Boston, and given over as
- prisoners.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ye see, come to look into matters, they found these two young fellows,
- British officers, had formed a regular plot to take Cap'n Tucker's vessel,
- and run it into Halifax; and ye see, Cap'n Tucker he was so sort o' spry,
- and knew all the Maine coast so well, and was so 'cute at dodgin' in and
- out all them little bays and creeks and places all 'long shore, that he
- made the British considerable trouble, 'cause wherever they didn't want
- him, that's where he was sure to be.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So they'd hatched up this 'ere plan. There was one or two British sailors
- had been and shipped aboard 'The Brilliant' a week or two aforehand, and
- 'twas suspected they was to have helped in the plot if things had gone as
- they laid out; but I tell you, when the fellows see which way the cat
- jumped, they took pretty good care to say that they hadn't nothin' to do
- with it. Oh, no, by no manner o' means! Wal, o' course, ye know, it
- couldn't be proved on 'em, and so we let it go.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I tell you, Cap'n Tucker he felt pretty cheap about his widder. The
- worst on't was, they do say Ma'am Tucker got hold of it; and you might
- know if a woman got hold of a thing like that she'd use it as handy as a
- cat would her claws. The women they can't no more help hittin' a fellow a
- clip and a rap when they've fairly got him, than a cat when she's ketched
- a mouse; and so I shouldn't wonder if the Commodore heard something about
- his widder every time he went home from his v'yages the longest day he had
- to live. I don't know nothin' 'bout it, ye know: I only kind o' jedge by
- what looks, as human natur' goes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But, Lordy massy! boys,' 't wa'n't nothin' to be 'shamed of in the cap'n.
- Folks 'll have to answer for wus things at the last day than tryin' to do
- a kindness to a poor widder, now, I tell <i>you</i>. It's better to be
- took in doin' a good thing, than never try to do good; and it's my settled
- opinion,” said Sam, taking up his mug of cider and caressing it tenderly,
- “it's my humble opinion, that the best sort o' folks is the easiest took
- in, 'specially by the women. I reely don't think I should a done a bit
- better myself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0013" id="linkimage-0013"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:20%;">
- <img src="images/5124.jpg" alt="5124 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/5124.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CAPTAIN KIDD'S MONEY.
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0014" id="linkimage-0014"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;">
- <img src="images/9125.jpg" alt="9125 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9125.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- NE of our most favorite legendary resorts was the old barn.
- </p>
- <p>
- Sam Lawson preferred it on many accounts. It was quiet and retired, that
- is to say, at such distance from his own house, that he could not hear if
- Hepsy called ever so loudly, and farther off than it would be convenient
- for that industrious and painstaking woman to follow him. Then there was
- the soft fragrant cushion of hay, on which his length of limb could be
- easily bestowed.
- </p>
- <p>
- Our barn had an upper loft with a swinging outer door that commanded a
- view of the old mill, the waterfall, and the distant windings of the
- river, with its grassy green banks, its graceful elm draperies, and its
- white flocks of water-lilies; and then on this Saturday afternoon we had
- Sam all to ourselves. It was a drowsy, dreamy October day, when the hens
- were lazily “craw, crawing,” in a soft, conversational undertone with each
- other, as they scratched and picked the hay-seed under the barn windows.
- Below in the barn black Cæsar sat quietly hatchelling flax, sometimes
- gurgling and giggling to himself with an overflow of that interior jollity
- with which he seemed to be always full. The African in New England was a
- curious contrast to everybody around him in the joy and satisfaction that
- he seemed to feel in the mere fact of being alive. Every white person was
- glad or sorry for some appreciable cause in the past, present, or future,
- which was capable of being definitely stated; but black Cæsar was in an
- eternal giggle and frizzle and simmer of enjoyment for which he could give
- no earthly reason: he was an “embodied joy,” like Shelley's skylark.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Jest hear him,” said Sam Lawson, looking pensively over the hay-mow, and
- strewing hayseed down on his wool. “How that 'are critter seems to tickle
- and laugh all the while 'bout nothin'. Lordy massy! he don't seem never to
- consider that 'this life's a dream, an empty show.'”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Look here, Sam,” we broke in, anxious to cut short a threatened stream of
- morality, “you promised to tell us about Capt. Kidd, and how you dug for
- his money.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did I, now? Wal, boys, that 'are history o' Kidd's is a warnin' to
- fellers. Why, Kidd had pious parents and Bible and sanctuary privileges
- when he was a boy, and yet come to be hanged. It's all in this 'ere song
- I'm a goin' to sing ye. Lordy massy! I wish I had my bass-viol now.—Cæsar,”
- he said, calling down from his perch, “can't you strike the pitch o'
- 'Cap'n Kidd,' on your fiddle?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Cæsar's fiddle was never far from him. It was, in fact, tucked away in a
- nice little nook just over the manger; and he often caught an interval
- from his work to scrape a dancing-tune on it, keeping time with his heels,
- to our great delight.
- </p>
- <p>
- A most wailing minor-keyed tune was doled forth, which seemed quite
- refreshing to Sam's pathetic vein, as he sang in his most lugubrious
- tones,—
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- “'My name was Robert Kidd
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- As I sailed, as I sailed,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- My name was Robert Kidd;
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- God's laws I did forbid,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- And so wickedly I did,
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- As I sailed, as I sailed.'
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now ye see, boys, he's a goin' to tell how he abused his religious
- privileges; just hear now:—
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- “'My father taught me well,
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- As I sailed, as I sailed;
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- My father taught me well
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- To shun the gates of hell,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- But yet I did rebel,
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- As I sailed, as I sailed.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- “'He put a Bible in my hand,
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- As I sailed, as I sailed;
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- He put a Bible in my hand,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- And I sunk it in the sand
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Before I left the strand,
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- As I sailed, as I sailed.'
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did ye ever hear o' such a hardened, contrary critter, boys? It's awful
- to think on. Wal, ye see that 'are's the way fellers allers begin the ways
- o' sin, by turnin' their backs on the Bible and the advice o' pious
- parents. Now hear what he come to:—
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- “'Then I murdered William More,
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- As I sailed, as I sailed;
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- I murdered William More,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- And left him in his gore,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Not many leagues from shore,
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- As I sailed, as I sailed.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- “'To execution dock
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- I must go, I must go.
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- To execution dock,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- While thousands round me flock,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- To see me on the block,
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- I must go, I must go.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- “There was a good deal more on't,” said Sam, pausing, “but I don't seem to
- remember it; but it's real solemn and affectin'.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who was Capt. Kidd, Sam?” said I.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, he was an officer in the British navy, and he got to bein' a pirate:
- used to take ships and sink 'em, and murder the folks; and so they say he
- got no end o' money,—gold and silver and precious stones, as many as
- the wise men in the East. But ye see, what good did it all do him? He
- couldn't use it, and dar'sn't keep it; so he used to bury it in spots
- round here and there in the awfullest heathen way ye ever heard of. Why,
- they say he allers used to kill one or two men or women or children of his
- prisoners, and bury with it, so that their sperits might keep watch on it
- ef anybody was to dig arter it. That 'are thing has been tried and tried
- and tried, but no man nor mother's son on 'em ever got a cent that dug.
- 'Twas tried here'n Oldtown; and they come pretty nigh gettin' on't, but it
- gin 'em the slip. Ye see, boys, <i>it's the Devil's money</i>, and he
- holds a pretty tight grip on't.”.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, how was it about digging for it? Tell us, did <i>you</i> do it?
- Were <i>you</i> there? Did you see it? And why couldn't they get it?” we
- both asked eagerly and in one breath.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, Lordy massy I boys, your questions tumbles over each other thick as
- martins out o' a martin-box. Now, you jest be moderate and let alone, and
- I 'll tell you all about it from the beginnin' to the end. I didn't railly
- have no hand in't, though I was knowin' to 't, as I be to most things that
- goes on round here; but my conscience wouldn't railly a let me start on no
- sich undertakin'.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, the one that fust sot the thing a goin' was old Mother Hokum, that
- used to live up in that little tumble-down shed by the cranberry-pond up
- beyond the spring pastur'. They had a putty bad name, them Hokums. How
- they got a livin' nobody knew; for they didn't seem to pay no attention to
- raisin' nothin' but childun, but the duce knows, there was plenty o' them.
- Their old hut was like a rabbit-pen: there was a tow-head to every crack
- and cranny. 'Member what old Cæsar said once when the word come to the
- store that old Hokum had got twins. 'S'pose de Lord knows best,' says
- Cæsar, 'but <i>I</i> thought dere was Hokums enough afore.' Wal, even poor
- workin' industrious folks like me finds it's hard gettin' along when
- there's so many mouths to feed. Lordy massy! there don't never seem to be
- no end on't, and so it ain't wonderful, come to think on't, ef folks like
- them Hokums gets tempted to help along in ways that ain't quite right.
- Anyhow, folks did use to think that old Hokum was too sort o' familiar
- with their wood-piles 'long in the night, though they couldn't never prove
- it on him; and when Mother Hokum come to houses round to wash, folks use
- sometimes to miss pieces, here and there, though they never could find 'em
- on her; then they was allers a gettin' in debt here and a gettin' in debt
- there. Why, they got to owin' two dollars to Joe Gidger for butcher's
- meat. Joe was sort o' good-natured and let 'em have meat, 'cause Hokum he
- promised so fair to pay; but he couldn't never get it out o' him. 'Member
- once Joe walked clear up to the cranberry-pond arter that 'are two
- dollars; but Mother Hokum she see him a comin' jest as he come past the
- juniper-bush on the corner. She says to Hokum, 'Get into bed, old man,
- quick, and let me tell the story,' says she. So she covered him up; and
- when Gidger come in she come up to him, and says she, 'Why, Mr. Gidger,
- I'm jest ashamed to see ye: why, Mr. Hokum was jest a comin' down to pay
- ye that 'are money last week, but ye see he was took down with the
- small-pox'—Joe didn't hear no more: he just turned round, and he
- streaked it out that 'are door with his coat-tails flyin' out straight
- ahind him; and old Mother Hokum she jest stood at the window holdin' her
- sides and laughin' fit to split, to see him run. That 'are's jest a sample
- o' the ways them Hokums cut up.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, you see, boys, there's a queer kind o' rock down on the bank 'o the
- river, that looks sort o' like a grave-stone. The biggest part on't is
- sunk down under ground, and it's pretty well growed over with
- blackberry-vines; but, when you scratch the bushes away, they used to make
- out some queer marks on that 'are rock. They was sort o' lines and
- crosses; and folks would have it that them was Kidd's private marks, and
- that there was one o' the places where he hid his money.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, there's no sayin' fairly how it come to be thought so; but fellers
- used to say so, and they used sometimes to talk it over to the tahvern,
- and kind o' wonder whether or no, if they should dig, they wouldn't come
- to suthin'.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, old Mother Hokum she heard on't, and she was a sort o' enterprisin'
- old crittur: fact was, she had to be, 'cause the young Hokums was jest
- like bag-worms, the more they growed the more they eat, and I expect she
- found it pretty hard to fill their mouths; and so she said ef there <i>was</i>
- any thing under that 'are rock, they'd as good's have it as the Devil; and
- so she didn't give old Hokum no peace o' his life, but he must see what
- there was there.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, I was with 'em the night they was a talkin' on't up. Ye see, Hokum
- he got thirty-seven cents' worth o' lemons and sperit. I see him goin' by
- as I was out a splittin' kindlin's; and says he, 'Sam, you jest go 'long
- up to our house to-night,' says he: 'Toddy Whitney and Harry Wiggin's
- comin' up, and we're goin' to have a little suthin' hot,' says he; and he
- kind o' showed me the lemons and sperit. And I told him I guessed I would
- go 'long. Wal, I kind o' wanted to see what they'd be up to, ye know.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, come to find out, they was a talkin' about Cap'n Kidd's treasures,
- and layin' out how they should get it, and a settin' one another on with
- gret stories about it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'I've heard that there was whole chists full o gold guineas,' says one.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'And I've heard o' gold bracelets and ear-rings and finger-rings all
- sparklin' with diamonds,' says another.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Maybe it's old silver plate from some o' them old West Indian grandees,'
- says another.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Wal, whatever it is,' says Mother Hokum, 'I want to be into it,' says
- she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Wal, Sam, won't you jine?' says they.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Wal, boys,' says I, 'I kind a' don't feel jest like j'inin'. I sort o'
- ain't clear about the rights on't: seems to me it's mighty nigh like goin'
- to the Devil for money.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Wal,' says Mother Hokum, 'what if 'tis? Money's money, get it how ye
- will; and the Devil's money 'll buy as much meat as any. I'd go to the
- Devil, if he gave good money.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Wal, I guess I wouldn't,' says I. 'Don't you 'member the sermon Parson
- Lothrop preached about hastin' to be rich, last sabba' day?'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Parson Lothrop be hanged!' says she. 'Wal, now,' says she, 'I like to
- see a parson with his silk stockin's and great gold-headed cane, a
- lollopin' on his carriage behind his fat, prancin' hosses, comin' to
- meetin' to preach to us poor folks not to want to be rich! How'd he like
- it to have forty-'leven children, and nothin' to put onto 'em or into 'em,
- I wonder? Guess if Lady Lothrop had to rub and scrub, and wear her fingers
- to the bone as I do, she'd want to be rich; and I guess the parson, if he
- couldn't get a bellyful for a week, would be for diggin' up Kidd's money,
- or doing 'most any thing else to make the pot bile.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Wal,' says I, 'I 'll kind o' go with ye, boys, and sort o' see how
- things turn out; but I guess I won't take no shere in't,' says I.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, they got it all planned out. They was to wait till the full moon,
- and then they was to get Primus King to go with 'em and help do the
- diggin'. Ye see, Hokum and Toddy Whitney and Wiggin are all putty softly
- fellers, and hate dreffully to work; and I tell you the Kidd money ain't
- to be got without a pretty tough piece o' diggin'. Why, it's jest like
- diggin' a well to get at it. Now, Primus King was the master hand for
- diggin' wells, and so they said they'd get him by givin' on him a shere.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Harry Wiggin he didn't want no nigger a sherin in it, he said; but Toddy
- and Hokum they said that when there was such stiff diggin' to be done,
- they didn't care if they did go in with a nigger.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, Wiggin he said he hadn't no objection to havin' the nigger do the
- diggin,' it was <i>alterin' the profits</i> he objected to.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Wal,' says Hokum, 'you can't get him without,' says he. 'Primus knows
- too much,' says he: 'you can't fool him.' Finally they 'greed that they
- was to give Primus twenty dollars, and shere the treasure 'mong
- themselves.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come to talk with Primus, he wouldn't stick in a spade, unless they'd pay
- him aforehand. Ye see, Primus was up to 'em; he knowed about Gidger, and
- there wa'n't none on 'em that was particular good pay; and so they all
- jest hed to rake and scrape, and pay him down the twenty dollars among
- 'em; and they 'greed for the fust full moon, at twelve o'clock at night,
- the 9th of October.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, ye see I had to tell Hepsy I was goin' out to watch. Wal, so I was;
- but not jest in the way she took it: but, Lordy massy! a feller has to
- tell his wife suthin' to keep her quiet, ye know, 'specially Hepsy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, wal, of all the moonlight nights that ever I did see, I never did
- see one equal to that. Why, you could see the color o' every thing. I
- 'member I could see how the huckleberry-bushes on the rock was red as
- blood when the moonlight shone through 'em; 'cause the leaves, you see,
- had begun to turn.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Goin' on our way we got to talkin' about the sperits.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'I ain't afraid on 'em,' says Hokum. 'What harm can a sperit do me?' says
- he. 'I don't care ef there's a dozen on 'em;' and he took a swig at his
- bottle.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Oh! there ain't no sperits,' says Harry Wiggin. 'That 'are talk's all
- nonsense;' and he took a swig at <i>his</i> bottle.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Wal,' says Toddy, 'I don't know 'bout that 'are. Me and Ike Sanders has
- seen the sperits in the Cap'n Brown house. We thought we'd jest have a
- peek into the window one night; and there was a whole flock o' black colts
- without no heads on come rushin' on us and knocked us flat.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'I expect you'd been at the tahvern,' said Hokum.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Wal, yes, we had; but them was sperits: we wa'n't drunk, now; we was
- jest as sober as ever we was.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Wal, they won't get away my money,' says Primus, for I put it safe away
- in Dinah's teapot afore I come out;' and then he showed all his ivories
- from ear to ear. 'I think all this 'are's sort o' foolishness,' says
- Primus.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Wal,' says I, 'boys, I ain't a goin' to have no part or lot in this 'ere
- matter, but I 'll jest lay it off to you how it's to be done. Ef Kidd's
- money is under this rock, there's <i>sperits</i> that watch it, and you
- mustn't give 'em no advantage. There mustn't be a word spoke from the time
- ye get sight o' the treasure till ye get it safe up on to firm ground,'
- says I. 'Ef ye do, it 'll vanish right out o' sight. I've talked with them
- that has dug down to it and seen it; but they allers lost it, 'cause
- they'd call out and say suthin'; and the minute they spoke, away it went.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, so they marked off the ground; and Primus he begun to dig, and the
- rest kind o' sot round. It was so still it was kind o' solemn. Ye see, it
- was past twelve o'clock, and every critter in Oldtown was asleep; and
- there was two whippoorwills on the great Cap'n Brown elm-trees, that kep'
- a answerin' each other back and forward sort o' solitary like; and then
- every once in a while there'd come a sort o' strange whisper up among the
- elm-tree leaves, jest as if there was talkin' goin' on; and every time
- Primus struck his spade into the ground it sounded sort o' holler, jest as
- if he'd been a diggin' a grave. 'It's kind o' melancholy,' says I, 'to
- think o' them poor critters that had to be killed and buried jest to keep
- this 'ere treasure. What awful things 'll be brought to light in the
- judgment day! Them poor critters they loved to live and hated to die as
- much as any on us; but no, they hed to die jest to satisfy that critter's
- wicked will. I've heard them as thought they could tell the Cap'n Kidd
- places by layin' their ear to the ground at midnight, and they'd hear
- groans and wailin's.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, Sam! were there really people who could tell where Kidd's money
- was?” I here interposed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Oh, sartin! why, yis. There was Shebna Bascom, he was one. Shebna could
- always tell what was under the earth. He'd cut a hazel-stick, and hold it
- in his hand when folks was wantin' to know where to dig wells; and that
- 'are stick would jest turn in his hand, and p'int down till it would
- fairly grind the bark off; and ef you dug in that place you was sure to
- find a spring. Oh, yis! Shebna he's told many where the Kidd money was,
- and been with 'em when they dug for it; but the pester on't was they
- allers lost it, 'cause they would some on 'em speak afore they thought.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But, Sam, what about this digging? Let's know what came of it,” said we,
- as Sam appeared to lose his way in his story.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, ye see, they dug down about five feet, when Primus he struck his
- spade smack on something that chincked like iron.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0015" id="linkimage-0015"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:65%;">
- <img src="images/0141.jpg" alt="0141m " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0141.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- “Wal, then Hokum and Toddy Whitney was into the hole in a minute: they
- made Primus get out, and they took the spade, 'cause they wanted to be
- sure to come on it themselves.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, they begun, and they dug and he scraped, and sure enough they come
- to a gret iron pot as big as your granny's dinner-pot, with an iron bale
- to it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, then they put down a rope, and he put the rope through the handle;
- then Hokum and Toddy they clambered upon the bank, and all on 'em began to
- draw up jest as still and silent as could be. They drawed and they drawed,
- till they jest got it even with the ground, when Toddy spoke out all in a
- tremble, 'There,' says he, <i>we've got it!</i>' And the minit he spoke
- they was both struck by <i>suthin''</i> that knocked 'em clean over; and
- the rope give a crack like a pistol-shot, and broke short off; and the pot
- went down, down, down, and they heard it goin', jink, jink, jink; and it
- went way down into the earth, and the ground closed over it; and then they
- heard the screechin'est laugh ye ever did hear.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want to know, Sam, did you see that pot?” I exclaimed at this part of
- the story.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, no, I didn't. Ye see, I jest happened to drop asleep while they was
- diggin', I was so kind o' tired, and I didn't wake up till it was all
- over.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was waked up, 'cause there was consid'able of a scuffle; for Hokum was
- so mad at Toddy for speakin', that he was a fistin' on him; and old Primus
- he jest haw-hawed and laughed. 'Wal, I got <i>my</i> money safe, anyhow,'
- says he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Wal, come to,' says I. ''Tain't no use cryin' for spilt milk: you've
- jest got to turn in now and fill up this 'ere hole, else the selectmen 'll
- be down on ye.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Wal,' says Primus, 'I didn't engage to fill up no holes;' and he put his
- spade on his shoulder and trudged off.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, it was putty hard work, fillin' in that hole; but Hokum and Toddy
- and Wiggin had to do it, 'cause they didn't want to have everybody a
- laughin' at 'em; and I kind o' tried to set it home to 'em, showin' on 'em
- that 'twas all for the best.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Ef you'd a been left to get that 'are money, there'd a come a cuss with
- it,' says I. 'It shows the vanity o' hastin' to be rich.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Oh, you shet up!' says Hokum, says he. 'You never hasted to any thing,'
- says he. Ye see, he was riled, that's why he spoke so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sam,” said we, after maturely reflecting over the story, “what do you
- suppose was in that pot?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lordy massy! boys: ye never will be done askin' questions. Why, how
- should I know?”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- “MIS' ELDERKIN'S PITCHER.”
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0016" id="linkimage-0016"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;">
- <img src="images/9146.jpg" alt="9146 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9146.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- E see, boys,” said Sam Lawson, as we were gathering young wintergreen on a
- sunny hillside in June,—“ye see, folks don't allers know what their
- marcies is when they sees 'em. Folks is kind o' blinded; and, when a
- providence comes along, they don't seem to know how to take it, and they
- growl and grumble about what turns out the best things that ever happened
- to 'em in their lives. It's like Mis' Elderkin's pitcher.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What about Mis' Elderkin's pitcher?” said both of us in one breath.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Didn't I never tell ye, now?” said Sam: “why, I wanter know?”
- </p>
- <p>
- No, we were sure he never had told us; and Sam as usual, began clearing
- the ground by a thorough introduction, with statistical expositions.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, ye see, Mis' Elderkin she lives now over to Sherburne in about the
- handsomest house in Sherburne,—a high white house, with green blinds
- and white pillars in front,—and she rides out in her own kerridge;
- and Mr. Elderkin, he's a deakin in the church, and a colonel in the
- malitia, and a s'lectman, and pretty much atop every thing there is goin'
- in Sherburne, and it all come of that 'are pitcher.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What pitcher?” we shouted in chorus.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lordy massy! that 'are's jest what I'm a goin' to tell you about; but, ye
- see, a feller's jest got to make a beginnin' to all things.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mis' Elderkin she thinks she's a gret lady nowadays, I s'pose; but I
- 'member when she was Miry Brown over here'n Oldtown, and I used to be
- waitin' on her to singing-school.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Miry and I was putty good friends along in them days,—we was putty
- consid'able kind o' intimate. Fact is, boys, there was times in them days
- when I thought whether or no I wouldn't <i>take</i> Miry myself,” said
- Sam, his face growing luminous with the pleasing idea of his former
- masculine attractions and privileges. “Yis,” he continued, “there was a
- time when folks said I could a hed Miry ef I'd asked her; and I putty much
- think so myself, but I didn't say nothin': marriage is allers kind
- o'ventursome; an' Miry had such up-and-down kind o' ways, I was sort o'
- fraid on't.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But Lordy massy! boys, you mustn't never tell Hepsy I said so, 'cause
- she'd be mad enough to bite a shingle-nail in two. Not that she sets so
- very gret by me neither; but then women's backs is allers up ef they think
- anybody else could a hed you, whether they want you themselves or not.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ye see, Miry she was old Black Hoss John Brown's da'ter, and lived up
- there in that 'are big brown house by the meetin'-house, that 'hes the red
- hollyhock in the front yard. Miry was about the handsomest gal that went
- into the singers' seat a Sunday.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I tell you she wa'n't none o' your milk-and-sugar gals neither,—she
- was 'mazin' strong built. She was the strongest gal in her arms that I
- ever see. Why, I've seen Miry take up a barrel o' flour, and lift it right
- into the kitchen; and it would jest make the pink come into her cheeks
- like two roses, but she never seemed to mind it a grain. She had a good
- strong back of her own, and she was straight as a poplar, with snappin'
- black eyes, and I tell you there was a snap to her tongue too. Nobody
- never got ahead o' Miry; she'd give every fellow as good as he sent, but
- for all that she was a gret favorite.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Miry was one o' your briery, scratchy gals, that seems to catch fellers
- in thorns. She allers fit and flouted her beaux, and the more she fit and
- flouted 'em the more they'd be arter her. There wa'n't a gal in all
- Oldtown that led such a string o' fellers arter her; 'cause, you see,
- she'd now and then throw 'em a good word over her shoulder, and then
- they'd all fight who should get it, and she'd jest laugh to see 'em do it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, there was Tom Sawin, he was one o' her beaux, and Jim Moss, and Ike
- Bacon; and there was a Boston boy, Tom Beacon, he came up from Cambridge
- to rusticate with Parson Lothrop; he thought he must have his say with
- Miry, but he got pretty well come up with. You see, he thought 'cause he
- was Boston born that he was kind o' aristocracy, and hed a right jest to
- pick and choose 'mong country gals; but the way he got come up with by
- Miry was too funny for any thing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do tell us about it,” we said, as Sam made an artful pause, designed to
- draw forth solicitation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, ye see, Tom Beacon he told Ike Bacon about it, and Ike he told me.
- 'Twas this way. Ye see, there was a quiltin' up to Mis' Cap'n Broad's, and
- Tom Beacon he was there; and come to goin' home with the gals, Tom he cut
- Ike out, and got Miry all to himself; and 'twas a putty long piece of a
- walk from Mis' Cap'n Broad's up past the swamp and the stone pastur' clear
- up to old Black Hoss John's.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, Tom he was in high feather 'cause Miry took him, so that he didn't
- reelly know how to behave; and so, as they was walkin' along past Parson
- Lothrop's apple-orchard, Tom thought he'd try bein' familiar, and he
- undertook to put his arm round Miry. Wal, if she didn't jest take that
- little fellow by his two shoulders and whirl him over the fence into the
- orchard quicker'n no time. 'Why,' says Tom, 'the fust I knew I was lyin'
- on my back under the appletrees lookin' up at the stars.' Miry she jest
- walked off home and said nothin' to nobody,—it wa'n't her way to
- talk much about things; and, if it hedn't ben for Tom Beacon himself,
- nobody need 'a' known nothin' about it. Tom was a little fellow, you see,
- and 'mazin' good-natured, and one o' the sort that couldn't keep nothin'
- to himself; and so he let the cat out o' the bag himself. Wal, there
- didn't nobody think the worse o' Miry. When fellers find a gal won't take
- saace from no man, they kind o' respect her; and then fellers allers
- thinks ef it hed ben <i>them</i>, now, things 'd 'a' been different.
- That's jest what Jim Moss and Ike Bacon said: they said, why Tom Beacon
- was a fool not to know better how to get along with Miry,—<i>they</i>
- never had no trouble. The fun of it was, that Tom Beacon himself was more
- crazy after her than he was afore; and they say he made Miry a right
- up-and-down offer, and Miry she jest wouldn't have him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, you see, that went agin old Black Hoss John's idees: old Black Hoss
- was about as close as a nut and as contrairy as a pipperage-tree. You
- ought to 'a' seen him. Why, his face was all a perfect crisscross o'
- wrinkles. There wa'n't a spot where you could put a pin down that there
- wa'n't a wrinkle; and they used to say that he held on to every cent that
- went through his fingers till he'd pinched it into two. You couldn't say
- that his god was his belly, for he hedn't none, no more'n an old file:
- folks said that he'd starved himself till the moon'd shine through him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Old Black Hoss was awfully grouty about Miry's refusin' Tom Beacon,
- 'cause there was his houses and lots o' land in Boston. A drefful worldly
- old critter Black Hoss John was: he was like the rich fool in the gospel.
- Wal, he's dead and gone now, poor critter, and what good has it all done
- him? It's as the Scriptur' says, 'He heapeth up riches, and knoweth not
- who shall gather them.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Miry hed a pretty hard row to hoe with old Black Hoss John. She was up
- early and down late, and kep' every thing a goin'. She made the cheese and
- made the butter, and between spells she braided herself handsome straw
- bunnets, and fixed up her clothes; and somehow she worked it so when she
- sold her butter and cheese that there was somethin' for ribbins and
- flowers. You know the Scriptur' says, 'Can a maid forget her ornaments?'
- Wal, Miry didn't. I 'member I used to lead the singin' in them days, and
- Miry she used to sing counter, so we sot putty near together in the
- singers' seats; and I used to think Sunday mornin's when she come to
- meetin' in her white dress and her red cheeks, and her bunnet all tipped
- off with laylock, that 'twas for all the world jest like sunshine to have
- her come into the singers' seats. Them was the days that I didn't improve
- my privileges, boys,” said Sam, sighing deeply. “There was times that ef
- I'd a spoke, there's no knowin' what mightn't 'a' happened, 'cause, you
- see, boys, I was better lookin' in them days than I be now. Now you mind,
- boys, when you grow up, ef you get to waitin' on a nice gal, and you're
- 'most a mind to speak up to her, don't you go and put it off, 'cause, ef
- you do, you may live to repent it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, you see, from the time that Bill Elderkin come and took the academy,
- I could see plain enough that it was time for me to hang up my fiddle.
- Bill he used to set in the singers' seats, too, and he would have it that
- he sung tenor. He no more sung tenor than a skunk-blackbird, but he made
- b'lieve he did, jest to git next to Miry in the singers' seats. They used
- to set there in the seats a writin' backward and forward to each other
- till they tore out all the leaves of the hymn-books, and the singin'-books
- besides. Wal, I never thought that the house o' the Lord was jest the
- place to be courtin' in, and I used to get consid'able shocked at the way
- things went on atween 'em. Why, they'd be a writin' all sermon-time; and
- I've seen him a lookin' at her all through the long prayer in a way that
- wa'n't right, considerin' they was both professors of religion. But then
- the fact was, old Black Hoss John was to blame for it, 'cause he never let
- 'em have no chance to hum. Ye see, old Black Hoss he was sot agin Elderkin
- 'cause he was poor. You see, his mother, the old Widdah Elderkin, she was
- jest about the poorest, peakedest old body over to Sherburne, and went out
- to days' works; and Bill Elderkin he was all for books and larnin', and
- old Black Hoss John he thought it was just shiftlessness: but Miry she
- thought he was a genius; and she got it sot in her mind that he was goin'
- to be President o' the United States, or some sich.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, old Black Hoss he wa'n't none too polite to Miry's beaux in gineral,
- but when Elderkin used to come to see her he was snarlier than a saw: he
- hadn't a good word for him noways; and he'd rake up the fire right before
- his face and eyes, and rattle about fastenin' up the windows, and tramp up
- to bed, and call down the chamber-stairs to Miry to go to bed, and was
- sort o' aggravatin' every way.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, ef folks wants to get a gal set on havin' a man, that 'ere's the way
- to go to work. Miry had a consid'able stiff will of her own; and, ef she
- didn't care about Tom Beacon before, she hated him now; and, if she liked
- Bill Elderkin before, she was clean gone over to him now. And so she took
- to 'goin' to the Wednesday-evenin' lecture, and the Friday-even-in'
- prayer-meetin', and the singin'-school, jest as regular as a clock, and so
- did he; and arterwards they allers walked home the longest way. Fathers
- may jest as well let their gals be courted in the house, peaceable,
- 'cause, if they can't be courted there, they 'll find places where they
- can be: it's jest human natur'.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, come fall, Elderkin he went to college up to Brunswick; and then I
- used to see the letters as regular up to the store every week, comin' in
- from Brunswick, and old Black Hoss John he see 'em too, and got a way of
- droppin' on 'em in his coat-pocket when he come up to the store, and folks
- used to say that the letters that went into his coat-pocket didn't get to
- Miry. Anyhow, Miry she says to me one day, says she, 'Sam, you're up round
- the post-office a good deal,' says she. 'I wish, if you see any letters
- for me, you'd jest bring 'em along.' I see right into it, and I told her
- to be sure I would; and so I used to have the carryin' of great thick
- letters every week. Wal, I was waitin' on Hepsy' along about them times,
- and so Miry and I kind o' sympathized. Hepsy was a pretty gal, and I
- thought it was all best as 'twas; any way, I knew I couldn't get Miry, and
- I could get Hepsy, and that made all the difference in the world.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, that next winter old Black Hoss was took down with rheumatism, and I
- tell you if Miry didn't have a time on't! He wa'n't noways sweet-tempered
- when he was well; but come to be crooked up with the rheumatis' and kep'
- awake nights, it seemed as if he was determined there shouldn't nobody
- have no peace so long as he couldn't.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He'd get Miry up and down with him night after night a makin' her heat
- flannels and vinegar, and then he'd jaw and scold so that she was eenymost
- beat out. He wouldn't have nobody set up with him, though there was offers
- made. No: he said Miry was his daughter, and 'twas her bisness to take
- care on him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Miry was clear worked down: folks kind o' pitied her. She was a strong
- gal, but there's things that wears out the strongest. The worst on't was,
- it hung on so. Old Black Hoss had a most amazin' sight o' constitution.
- He'd go all down to death's door, and seem hardly to have the breath o'
- life in him, and then up he'd come agin! These 'ere old folks that nobody
- wants to have live allers hev such a sight o' wear in 'em, they jest last
- and last; and it really did seem as if he'd wear Miry out and get her into
- the grave fust, for she got a cough with bein' up so much in the cold, and
- grew thin as a shadder. 'Member one time I went up there to offer to watch
- jest in the spring o' the year, when the laylocks was jest a buddin' out,
- and Miry she come and talked with me over the fence; and the poor gal she
- fairly broke down, and sobbed as if her heart would break, a tellin' me
- her trouble.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, it reelly affected me more to have Miry give up so than most gals,
- 'cause she'd allers held her head up, and hed sich a sight o' grit and
- resolution; but she told me all about it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It seems old Black Hoss he wa'n't content with worryin' on her, and
- gettin' on her up nights, but he kep' a hectorin' her about Bill Elderkin,
- and wantin' on her to promise that she wouldn't hev Bill when he was dead
- and gone; and Miry she wouldn't promise, and then the old man said she
- shouldn't have a cent from him if she didn't, and so they had it back and
- forth. Everybody in town was sayin' what a shame 'twas that he should
- sarve her so; for though he hed other children, they was married and gone,
- and there wa'n't none of them to do for him but jest Miry.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, he hung on till jest as the pinys in the front yard was beginnin' to
- blow out, and then he began to feel he was a goin', and he sent for Parson
- Lothrop to know what was to be done about his soul.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Wal,' says Parson Lothrop, 'you must settle up all your worldly affairs;
- you must be in peace and love with all mankind; and, if you've wronged
- anybody, you must make it good to 'em.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Old Black Hoss he bounced right over in his bed with his back to the
- minister.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'The devil!' says he: ''twill take all I've got.' And he never spoke
- another word, though Parson Lothrop he prayed with him, and did what he
- could for him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, that night I sot up with him; and he went off 'tween two and three
- in the mornin', and I laid him out regular. Of all the racks o' bone I
- ever see, I never see a human critter so poor as he was. 'Twa'n't nothin'
- but his awful will kep' his soul in his body so long, as it was.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We had the funeral in the meetin'-house a Sunday; and Parson Lothrop he
- preached a sarmon on contentment on the text, 'We brought nothin' into the
- world, and it's sartin we can carry nothin' out; and having food and
- raiment, let us be therewith content.' Parson Lothrop he got round the
- subject about as handsome as he could: he didn't say what a skinflint old
- Black Hoss was, but he talked in a gineral way about the vanity o'
- worryin' an' scrapin to heap up riches. Ye see, Parson Lothrop he could
- say it all putty easy, too, 'cause since he married a rich wife he never
- hed no occasion to worry about temporal matters. Folks allers preaches
- better on the vanity o' riches when they's in tol'able easy circumstances.
- Ye see, when folks is pestered and worried to pay their bills, and don't
- know where the next dollar's to come from, it's a great temptation to be
- kind o' valooin' riches, and mebbe envyin' those that's got 'em; whereas
- when one's accounts all pays themselves, and the money comes jest when its
- wanted regular, a body feels sort o' composed like, and able to take the
- right view o' things, like Parson Lothrop.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, arter sermon the relations all went over to the old house to hear
- the will read; and, as I was kind o' friend with the family, I jest
- slipped in along with the rest.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Squire Jones he had the will; and so when they all got sot round all
- solemn, he broke the seals and unfolded it, cracklin' it a good while
- afore he begun and it was so still you might a heard a pin drop when he
- begun to read. Fust, there was the farm and stock, he left to his son John
- Brown over in Sherburne. Then there was the household stuff and all them
- things, spoons and dishes, and beds and kiver-lids, and so on, to his
- da'ter Polly Blanchard. And then, last of all, he says, he left to his
- da'ter Miry <i>the pitcher that was on the top o' the shelf in his
- bed-room closet.</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- “That' 'are was an old cracked pitcher that Miry allers hed hated the
- sight of, and spring and fall she used to beg her father to let her throw
- it away; but no, he wouldn't let her touch it, and so it stood gatherin'
- dust.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Some on 'em run and handed it down; and it seemed jest full o'
- scourin'-sand and nothin' else, and they handed it to Miry.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, Miry she was wrathy then. She didn't so much mind bein' left out in
- the will, 'cause she expected that; but to have that 'are old pitcher
- poked at her so sort o' scornful was more'n she could bear.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She took it and gin it a throw across the room with all her might; and it
- hit agin the wall and broke into a thousand bits, when out rolled hundreds
- of gold pieces; great gold eagles and guineas flew round the kitchen jest
- as thick as dandelions in a meadow. I tell you, she scrabbled them up
- pretty quick, and we all helped her.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0017" id="linkimage-0017"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:65%;">
- <img src="images/0163.jpg" alt="0163m " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0163.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- “Come to count 'em over, Miry had the best fortin of the whole, as 'twas
- right and proper she should. Miry she was a sensible gal, and she invested
- her money well; and so, when Bill Elderkin got through his law-studies, he
- found a wife that could make a nice beginnin' with him. And that's the
- way, you see, they came to be doin' as well as they be.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So, boys, you jest mind and remember and allers see what there is in a
- providence afore you quarrel with it, 'cause there's a good many things in
- this world turns out like Mis' Elderkin's pitcher.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- THE GHOST IN THE CAP'N BROWN HOUSE.
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0018" id="linkimage-0018"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;">
- <img src="images/9165.jpg" alt="9165 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9165.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- OW, Sam, tell us certain true, is there any such things as ghosts?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Be there ghosts?” said Sam, immediately translating into his vernacular
- grammar: “wal, now, that are's jest the question, ye see.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, grandma thinks there are, and Aunt Lois thinks it's all nonsense.
- Why, Aunt Lois don't even believe the stories in Cotton Mather's
- 'Magnalia.'”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wanter know?” said Sam, with a tone of slow, languid meditation.
- </p>
- <p>
- We were sitting on a bank of the Charles River, fishing. The soft
- melancholy red of evening was fading off in streaks on the glassy water,
- and the houses of Oldtown were beginning to loom through the gloom, solemn
- and ghostly. There are times and tones and moods of nature that make all
- the vulgar, daily real seem shadowy, vague, and supernatural, as if the
- outlines of this hard material present were fading into the invisible and
- unknown. So Oldtown, with its elm-trees, its great square white houses,
- its meeting-house and tavern and blacksmith's shop and mill, which at high
- noon seem as real and as commonplace as possible, at this hour of the
- evening were dreamy and solemn. They rose up blurred, indistinct, dark;
- here and there winking candles sent long lines of light through the
- shadows, and little drops of unforeseen rain rippled the sheeny darkness
- of the water.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, you see, boys, in them things it's jest as well to mind your granny.
- There's a consid'able sight o' gumption in grandmas. You look at the folks
- that's allus tellin' you what they don't believe,—they don't believe
- this, and they don't believe that,—and what sort o' folks is they?
- Why, like yer Aunt Lois, sort o' stringy and dry. There ain't no 'sorption
- got out o' not believin' nothin'.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lord a massy! we don't know nothin' 'bout them things. We hain't ben
- there, and can't say that there ain't no ghosts and sich; can we, now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- We agreed to that fact, and sat a little closer to Sam in the gathering
- gloom.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell us about the Cap'n Brown house, Sam.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ye didn't never go over the Cap'n Brown house?”
- </p>
- <p>
- No, we had not that advantage.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, yer see, Cap'n Brown he made all his money to sea, in furrin parts,
- and then come here to Oldtown to settle down.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now, there ain't no knowin' 'bout these 'ere old ship-masters, where
- they's ben, or what they's ben a doin', or how they got their money. Ask
- me no questions, and I 'll tell ye no lies, is 'bout the best philosophy
- for them. Wal, it didn't do no good to ask Cap'n Brown questions too
- close, 'cause you didn't git no satisfaction. Nobody rightly knew 'bout
- who his folks was, or where they come from; and, ef a body asked him, he
- used to say that the very fust he know'd 'bout himself he was a young man
- walkin' the streets in London.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But, yer see, boys, he hed money, and that is about all folks wanter know
- when a man comes to settle down. And he bought that 'are place, and built
- that 'are house. He built it all sea-cap'n fashion, so's to feel as much
- at home as he could. The parlor was like a ship's cabin. The table and
- chairs was fastened down to the floor, and the closets was made with holes
- to set the casters and the decanters and bottles in, jest's they be at
- sea; and there was stanchions to hold on by; and they say that blowy
- nights the cap'n used to fire up pretty well with his grog, till he hed
- about all he could carry, and then he'd set and hold on, and hear the wind
- blow, and kind o' feel out to sea right there to hum. There wasn't no Mis'
- Cap'n Brown, and there didn't seem likely to be none. And whether there
- ever hed been one, nobody know'd. He hed an old black Guinea nigger-woman,
- named Quassia, that did his work. She was shaped pretty much like one o'
- these 'ere great crookneck-squashes. She wa'n't no gret beauty, I can tell
- you; and she used to wear a gret red turban and a yaller short gown and
- red petticoat, and a gret string o' gold beads round her neck, and gret
- big gold hoops in her ears, made right in the middle o' Africa among the
- heathen there. For all she was black, she thought a heap o' herself, and
- was consid'able sort o' predominative over the cap'n. Lordy massy! boys,
- it's alius so. Get a man and a woman together,—any sort o' woman
- you're a mind to, don't care who 'tis,—? and one way or another she
- gets the rule over him, and he jest has to train to her fife. Some does it
- one way, and some does it another; some does it by jawin', and some does
- it by 'kissin', and some does it by faculty and contrivance; but one way
- or another they allers does it. Old Cap'n Brown was a good stout, stocky
- kind o' John Bull sort o' fellow, and a good judge o' sperits, and allers
- kep' the best in them are cupboards o' his'n; but, fust and last, things
- in his house went pretty much as old Quassia said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Folks got to kind o' respectin' Quassia. She come to meetin' Sunday
- regular, and sot all fixed up in red and yaller and green, with glass
- beads and what not, lookin' for all the world like one o' them ugly Indian
- idols; but she was well-behaved as any Christian. She was a master hand at
- cookin'. Her bread and biscuits couldn't be beat, and no couldn't her
- pies, and there wa'n't no such pound-cake as she made nowhere. Wal, this
- 'ere story I'm a goin' to tell you was told me by Cinthy Pendleton. There
- ain't a more respectable gal, old or young, than Cinthy nowheres. She
- lives over to Sherburne now, and I hear tell she's sot up a manty-makin'
- business; but then she used to do tailorin' in Oldtown. She was a member
- o' the church, and a good Christian as ever was. Wal, ye see, Quassia she
- got Cinthy to come up and spend a week to the Cap'n Brown house, a doin'
- tailorin' and a fixin' over his close: 'twas along toward the fust o'
- March. Cinthy she sot by the fire in the front' parlor with her goose and
- her press-board and her work: for there wa'n't no company callin', and the
- snow was drifted four feet deep right across the front door; so there
- wa'n't much danger o' any body comin' in. And the cap'n he was a perlite
- man to wimmen; and Cinthy she liked it jest as well not to have company,
- 'cause the cap'n he'd make himself entertainin' tellin' on her
- sea-stories, and all about his adventures among the Ammonites, and
- Perresites, and Jebusites, and all sorts o' heathen people he'd been
- among.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, that 'are week there come on the master snow-storm. Of all the
- snow-storms that hed ben, that 'are was the beater; and I tell you the
- wind blew as if 'twas the last chance it was ever goin' to hev.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, it's kind o' scary like to be shet up in a lone house with all
- natur' a kind o' breakin' out, and goin' on so, and the snow a comin' down
- so thick ye can't see 'cross the street, and the wind a pipin' and a
- squeelin' and a rumblin' and a tumblin' fust down this chimney and then
- down that. I tell you, it sort o' sets a feller thinkin' o' the three
- great things,—death, judgment, and etarnaty; and I don't care who
- the folks is, nor how good they be, there's times when they must be
- feelin' putty consid'able solemn.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, Cinthy she said she kind o' felt so along, and she hed a sort o'
- queer feelin' come over her as if there was somebody or somethin' round
- the house more'n appeared. She said she sort o' felt it in the air; but it
- seemed to her silly, and she tried to get over it. But two or three times,
- she said, when it got to be dusk, she felt somebody go by her up the
- stairs. The front entry wa'n't very light in the daytime, and in the
- storm, come five o'clock, it was so dark that all you could see was jest a
- gleam o' somethin', and two or three times when she started to go up
- stairs she see a soft white suthin' that seemed goin' up before her, and
- she stopped with her heart a beatin' like a trip-hammer, and she sort o'
- saw it go up and along the entry to the cap'n's door, and then it seemed
- to go right through, 'cause the door didn't open.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, Cinthy says she to old Quassia, says she, 'Is there anybody lives in
- this house but us?'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Anybody lives here?' says Quassia: 'what you mean?' says she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Says Ointhy, 'I thought somebody went past me on the stairs last night
- and to-night.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lordy massy! how old Quassia did screech and laugh. 'Good Lord!' says
- she, 'how foolish white folks is! Somebody went past you? Was 't the
- capt'in?'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'No, it wa'n't the cap'n,' says she: 'it was somethin' soft and white,
- and moved very still; it was like somethin' in the air,' says she. Then
- Quassia she haw-hawed louder. Says she, 'It's hy-sterikes, Miss Cinthy;
- that's all it is.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, Cinthy she was kind o ' 'shamed, but for all that she couldn't help
- herself. Sometimes evenin's she'd be a settin' with the cap'n, and she'd
- think she'd hear somebody a movin' in his room overhead; and she knowed it
- wa'n't Quassia, 'cause Quassia was ironin' in the kitchen. She took pains
- once or twice to find out that 'are.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, ye see, the cap'n's room was the gret front upper chamber over the
- parlor, and then right oppi-site to it was the gret spare chamber where
- Cinthy slept. It was jest as grand as could be, with a gret four-post
- mahogany bedstead and damask curtains brought over from England; but it
- was cold enough to freeze a white bear solid,—the way spare chambers
- allers is. Then there was the entry between, run straight through the
- house: one side was old Quassia's room, and the other was a sort o'
- storeroom, where the old cap'n kep' all sorts o' traps.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, Cinthy she kep' a hevin' things happen and a seein' things, till she
- didn't railly know what was in it. Once when she come into the parlor jest
- at sundown, she was sure she see a white figure a vanishin' out o' the
- door that went towards the side entry. She said it was so dusk, that all
- she could see was jest this white figure, and it jest went out still as a
- cat as she come in.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, Cinthy didn't like to speak to the cap'n about it. She was a close
- woman, putty prudent, Cinthy was.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But one night, 'bout the middle o' the week, this 'ere thing kind o' come
- to a crisis.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Cinthy said she'd ben up putty late a sewin' and a finishin' off down in
- the parlor; and the cap'n he sot up with her, and was consid'able cheerful
- and entertainin', tellin' her all about things over in the Bermudys, and
- off to Chiny and Japan, and round the world ginerally. The storm that hed
- been a blowin' all the week was about as furious as ever; and the cap'n he
- stirred up a mess o' flip, and hed it for her hot to go to bed on. He was
- a good-natured critter, and allers had feelin's for lone women; and I
- s'pose he knew 'twas sort o' desolate for Cinthy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, takin' the flip so right the last thing afore goin' to bed, she went
- right off to sleep as sound as a nut, and slep' on till somewhere about
- mornin', when she said somethin' waked her broad awake in a minute. Her
- eyes flew wide open like a spring, and the storm hed gone down and the
- moon come out; and there, standin' right in the moonlight by her bed, was
- a woman jest as white as a sheet, with black hair bangin' down to her
- waist, and the brightest, mourn fullest black eyes you ever see. She stood
- there lookin' right at Cinthy; and Cinthy thinks that was what waked her
- up; 'cause, you know, ef anybody stands and looks steady at folks asleep
- it's apt to wake 'em.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0019" id="linkimage-0019"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:65%;">
- <img src="images/0175.jpg" alt="0175m " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0175.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- “Any way, Cinthy said she felt jest as ef she was turnin' to stone. She
- couldn't move nor speak. She lay a minute, and then she shut her eyes, and
- begun to say her prayers; and a minute after she opened 'em, and it was
- gone.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Cinthy was a sensible gal, and one that allers hed her thoughts about
- her; and she jest got up and put a shawl round her shoulders, and went
- first and looked at the doors, and they was both on 'em locked jest as she
- left 'em when she went to bed. Then she looked under the bed and in the
- closet, and felt all round the room: where she couldn't see she felt her
- way, and there wa'n't nothin' there.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, next mornin' Cinthy got up and went home, and she kep' it to herself
- a good while. Finally, one day when she was workin' to our house she told
- Hepsy about it, and Hepsy she told me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, Sam,” we said, after a pause, in which we heard only the rustle of
- leaves and the ticking of branches against each other, “what do you
- suppose it was?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, there 'tis: you know jest as much about it as I do. Hepsy told
- Cinthy it might 'a' ben a dream; so it might, but Cinthy she was sure it
- wa'n't a dream, 'cause she remembers plain hearin' the old clock on the
- stairs strike four while she had her eyes open lookin' at the woman; and
- then she only shet 'em a minute, jest to say 'Now I lay me,' and opened
- 'em and she was gone.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, Cinthy told Hepsy, and Hepsy she kep' it putty close. She didn't
- tell it to nobody except Aunt Sally Dickerson and the Widder Bije Smith
- and your Grandma Badger and the minister's wife; and they every one o' 'em
- 'greed it ought to be kep' close, 'cause it would make talk. Wal, come
- spring somehow or other it seemed to 'a' got all over Old town. I heard
- on't to the store and up to the tavern; and Jake Marshall he says to me
- one day, 'What's this 'ere about the cap'n's house?' And the Widder Loker
- she says to me, 'There's ben a ghost seen in the cap'n's house;' and I
- heard on 't clear over to Needham and Sherburne.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Some o' the women they drew themselves up putty stiff and proper. Your
- Aunt Lois was one on 'em.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Ghost,' says she; 'don't tell me! Perhaps it would be best ef 'twas a
- ghost,' says she. She didn't think there ought to be no sich doin's in
- nobody's house; and your grandma she shet her up, and told her she didn't
- oughter talk so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Talk how?” said I, interrupting Sam with wonder. “What did Aunt Lois
- mean?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, you see,” said Sam mysteriously, “there allers is folks in every
- town that's jest like the Sadducees in old times: they won't believe in
- angel nor sperit, no way you can fix it; and ef things is seen and done in
- a house, why, they say, it's 'cause there's somebody there; there's some
- sort o' deviltry or trick about it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So the story got round that there was a woman kep' private in Cap'n
- Brown's house, and that he brought her from furrin parts; and it growed
- and growed, till there was all sorts o' ways o' tellin on 't.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Some said they'd seen her a settin' at an open winder. Some said that
- moonlight nights they'd seen her a walkin' out in the back garden kind o'
- in and out 'mong the bean-poles and squash-vines.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You see, it come on spring and summer; and the winders o' the Cap'n Brown
- house stood open, and folks was all a watchin' on 'em day and night. Aunt
- Sally Dickerson told the minister's wife that she'd seen in plain daylight
- a woman a settin' at the chamber winder atween four and five o'clock in
- the mornin',—jist a settin' a lookin' out and a doin' nothin', like
- anybody else. She was very white and pale, and had black eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Some said that it was a nun the cap'n had brought away from a Roman
- Catholic convent in Spain, and some said he'd got her out o' the
- Inquisition.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Aunt Sally said she thought the minister ought to call and inquire why
- she didn't come to meetin', and who she was, and all about her: 'cause,
- you see, she said it might be all right enough ef folks only know'd jest
- how things was; but ef they didn't, why, folks will talk.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, did the minister do it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What, Parson Lothrop? Wal, no, he didn't. He made a call on the cap'n in
- a regular way, and asked arter his health and all his family. But the
- cap'n he seemed jest as jolly and chipper as a spring robin, and he gin'
- the minister some o' his old Jamaiky; and the minister he come away and
- said he didn't see nothin'; and no he didn't. Folks—-never does see
- nothin' when they aint' lookin' where 'tis. Fact is, Parson Lothrop wa'n't
- fond o' interferin'; he was a master hand to slick things over. Your
- grandma she used to mourn about it, 'cause she said he never gin no p'int
- to the doctrines; but 'twas all of a piece, he kind o' took every thing
- the smooth way.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But your grandma she believed in the ghost, and so did Lady Lothrop. I
- was up to her house t'other day fixin' a door-knob, and says she, 'Sam
- your wife told me a strange story about the Cap'n Brown house.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Yes, ma'am, she did,' says I.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Well, what do you think of it?' says she.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Wal, sometimes I think, and then agin I don't know,' says I. 'There's
- Cinthy she's a member o' the church and a good pious gal,' says I.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Yes, Sam,' says Lady Lothrop, says she; 'and Sam,' says she, 'it is jest
- like something that happened once to my grandmother when she was livin' in
- the old Province House in Bostin.' Says she, 'These 'ere things is the
- mysteries of Providence, and it's jest as well not to have 'em too much
- talked about.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Jest so,' says I,—'jest so. That 'are's what every woman I've
- talked with says; and I guess, fust and last, I've talked with twenty,—good,
- safe church-members,—and they's every one o' opinion that this 'ere
- oughtn't to be talked about. Why, over to the deakin's t'other night we
- went it all over as much as two or three hours, and we concluded that the
- best way was to keep quite still about it; and that's jest what they say
- over to Needham and Sherburne. I've been all round a hushin' this 'ere up,
- and I hain't found but a few people that hedn't the particulars one way or
- another.' This 'ere was what I says to Lady Lothrop. The fact was, I never
- did see no report spread so, nor make sich sort o' sarchin's o' heart, as
- this 'ere. It railly did beat all; 'cause, ef 'twas a ghost, why there was
- the p'int proved, ye see. Cinthy's a church-member, and she <i>see</i> it,
- and got right up and sarched the room: but then agin, ef 'twas a woman,
- why that 'are was kind o' awful; it give cause, ye see, for thinkin' all
- sorts o' things. There was Cap'n Brown, to be sure, he wa'n't a
- church-member; but yet he was as honest and regular a man as any goin', as
- fur as any on us could see. To be sure, nobody know'd where he come from,
- but that wa'n't no reason agin' him: this 'ere might a ben a crazy sister,
- or some poor critter that he took out o' the best o' motives; and the
- Scriptur' says, 'Charity hopeth all things.' But then, ye see, folks will
- talk,—that 'are's the pester o' all these things,—and they did
- some on 'em talk consid'able strong about the cap'n; but somehow or other,
- there didn't nobody come to the p'int o' facin' on him down, and sayin'
- square out, 'Cap'n Brown, have you got a woman in your house, or hain't
- you? or is it a ghost, or what is it?' Folks somehow never does come to
- that. Ye see, there was the cap'n so respectable, a settin' up every
- Sunday there in his pew, with his ruffles round his hands and his red
- broadcloth cloak and his cocked hat. Why, folks' hearts sort o' failed 'em
- when it come to sayin' any thing right to him. They thought and kind o'
- whispered round that the minister or the deakins oughter do it: but Lordy
- massy! ministers, I s'pose, has feelin's like the rest on us; they don't
- want to eat all the hard cheeses that nobody else won't eat. Anyhow, there
- wasn't nothin' said direct to the cap'n; and jest for want o' that all the
- folks in Oldtown kep' a bilin' and a bilin' like a kettle o' soap, till it
- seemed all the time as if they'd bile over.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Some o' the wimmen tried to get somethin' out o' Quassy. Lordy massy! you
- might as well 'a' tried to get it out an old tom-turkey, that 'll strut
- and gobble and quitter, and drag his wings on the ground, and fly at you,
- but won't say nothin'. Quassy she screeched her queer sort o' laugh; and
- she told 'em that they was a makin' fools o' themselves, and that the
- cap'n's matters wa'n't none o' their bisness; and that was true enough. As
- to goin' into Quassia's room, or into any o' the store-rooms or closets
- she kep' the keys of, you might as well hev gone into a lion's den. She
- kep' all her places locked up tight; and there was no gettin' at nothin'
- in the Cap'n Brown house, else I believe some o' the wim-men would 'a'
- sent a sarch-warrant.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” said I, “what came of it? Didn't anybody ever find out?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal,” said Sam, “it come to an end sort o', and didn't come to an end. It
- was jest this 'ere way. You see, along in October, jest in the
- cider-makin' time, Abel Flint he was took down with dysentery and died.
- You 'member the Flint house: it stood on a little rise o' ground jest
- lookin' over towards the Brown house. Wal, there was Aunt Sally Dickerson
- and the Widder Bije Smith, they set up with the corpse. He was laid out in
- the back chamber, you see, over the milk-room and kitchen; but there was
- cold victuals and sich in the front chamber, where the watchers sot. Wal,
- now, Aunt Sally she told me that between three and four o'clock she heard
- wheels a rumblin', and she went to the winder, and it was clear starlight;
- and she see a coach come up to the Cap'n Brown house; and she see the
- cap'n come out bringin' a woman all wrapped in a cloak, and old Quassy
- came arter with her arms full o' bundles; and he put her into the
- kerridge, and shet her in, and it driv off; and she see old Quassy stand
- lookin' over the fence arter it. She tried to wake up the widder, but
- 'twas towards mornin', and the widder allers was a hard sleeper; so there
- wa'n't no witness but her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then, it wasn't a ghost,” said I, “after all, and it <i>was</i> a
- woman.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, there 'tis, you see. Folks don't know that 'are yit, 'cause there
- it's jest as broad as 'tis long. Now, look at it. There's Cinthy, she's a
- good, pious gal: she locks her chamber-doors, both on 'em, and goes to
- bed, and wakes up in the night, and there's a woman there. She jest shets
- her eyes, and the woman's gone. She gits up and looks, and both doors is
- locked jest as she left 'em. That 'ere woman wa'n't flesh and blood now,
- no way,—not such flesh and blood as we knows on; but then they say
- Cinthy might hev dreamed it!
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, now, look at it t'other way. There's Aunt Sally Dickerson; she's a
- good woman and a church-member: wal, she sees a woman in a cloak with all
- her bundles brought out o' Cap'n Brown's house, and put into a kerridge,
- and driv off, atween three and four o'clock in the mornin'. Wal, that 'ere
- shows there must 'a' ben a real live woman kep' there privately, and so
- what Cinthy saw wasn't a ghost.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, now, Cinthy says Aunt Sally might 'a' dreamed it,—that she got
- her head so full o' stories about the Cap'n Brown house, and watched it
- till she got asleep, and hed this 'ere dream; and, as there didn't nobody
- else see it, it might 'a' ben, you know. Aunt Sally's clear she didn't
- dream, and then agin Cinthy's clear <i>she</i> didn't dream; but which on
- 'em was awake, or which on 'em was asleep, is what ain't settled in
- Oldtown yet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- COLONEL EPH'S SHOE-BUCKLES.
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0020" id="linkimage-0020"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;">
- <img src="images/9188.jpg" alt="9188 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9188.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- ES, this 'ere's Tekawampait's grave,” said Sam Lawson, sitting leisurely
- down on an ancient grass-grown mound, ornamented by a mossy black
- slate-stone slab, with a rudely-carved cherub head and wings on top.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And who was Tekawampait?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wanter know, now, if your granny hain't told you who Tekawampait was?”
- said Sam, pushing back his torn straw hat, and leaning against the old
- slanting gravestone.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, she never told us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, ye see, Tekawampait he was the fust Christian Indian minister o' the
- gospel there was in Old-town. He was a full-blooded Indian, but he was as
- good a Christian as there was goin'; and he was settled here over the
- church in Oldtown afore Parson Peabody; and Parson Peabody he come afore
- Parson Lothrop; and a very good minister Teka-wampait was too. Folks hes
- said that there couldn't nothin' be made o' Indians; that they was nothin'
- but sort o' bears and tigers a walkin' round on their hind legs, a seekin'
- whom they might devour; but Parson Eliot he didn't think so. 'Christ died
- for them as wal as for me,' says he; 'and jest give 'em the gospel,' says
- he, 'and the rest 'll come along o' itself.' And so he come here to
- Oldtown, and sot up a sort o' log-hut right on the spot where the old
- Cap'n Brown house is now. Them two great elm-trees that's a grown now each
- side o' the front gate was two little switches then, that two Indians
- brought up over their shoulders, and planted there for friendship trees,
- as they called 'em; and now look what trees they be! He used to stand
- under that 'are big oak there, and preach to the Indians, long before
- there was any meetin'-house to speak in here in Oldtown.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, now, I tell you, it took putty good courage in Parson Eliot to do
- that 'are. I tell you, in them days it took putty consid'able faith to see
- any thing in an Indian but jest a wild beast. Folks can't tell by seein'
- on 'em now days what they was in the old times when all the settlements
- was new, and the Indians was stark, starin' wild, a ravin' and tarin'
- round in the woods, and a fightin' each other and a fightin' the white
- folks. Lordy massy! the stories I've heard women tell in their
- chimbley-corners about the things that used to happen when they was little
- was enough to scare the very life out o' ye.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, do, do tell us some of them!” said Henry and I.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lordy massy, boys: why, ye wouldn't sleep for a week. Why, ye don't know.
- Why, the Indians in them days wa'n't like no critter ye ever did see. They
- was jest the horridest, paintedest, screeehinest, cussedest critters you
- ever heard on. They was jest as artful as sarpents, and crueller than any
- tigers. Good Dr. Cotton Mather calls 'em divils, and he was a meek, good
- man, Dr. Cotton was; but they cut up so in his days, it's no wonder he
- thought they was divils, and not folks. Why, they kep' the whole country
- in a broil for years and years. Nobody knowed when they was safe; for they
- were so sly and cunnin', and always watchin' behind fences and bushes, and
- ready when a body was a least thinkin' on't to be down on 'em. I've heard
- Abiel Jones tell how his father's house was burnt down at the time the
- Indians burnt Deerfield. About every house in the settlement was burnt to
- the ground; and then another time they burnt thirty-two houses in
- Springfield,—the minister's house and all, with all his library (and
- books was sca'ce in them days); but the Indians made a clean sweep on't.
- They burnt all the houses in Wendham down to the ground; and they came
- down in Lancaster, and burnt ever so many houses, and carried off forty or
- fifty people with 'em into the woods.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There was Mr. Rolandson, the minister, they burnt his house, and carried
- off Mis' Rolandson and all the children. There was Jerushy Pierce used to
- work in his family and do washin' and chores, she's told me about it.
- Jerushy she was away to her uncle's that night, so she wa'n't took. Ye
- see, the Lancaster folks had been afeard the Indians'd be down on 'em, and
- so Parson Rolandson he'd gone on to Boston to get help for 'em; and when
- he come back the mischief was all done. Jerushy said in all her life she
- never see nothin' so pitiful as that 'are poor man's face when she met
- him, jest as he come to the place where the house stood. At fust he didn't
- say a word, she said, but he looked kind o' dazed. Then he sort o' put his
- hand to his forehead, and says he, 'My God, my God, help me!' Then he
- tried to ask her about it, but he couldn't but jest speak. 'Jerushy,' says
- he, 'can't you tell me,—where be they?' 'Wal,' says Jerushy,
- 'they've been carried off.' And with that he fell right down and moaned
- and groaned. 'Oh!' says he, I'd rather heard that they were at peace with
- the Lord.' And then he'd wring his hands: 'What shall I do? What shall I
- do?'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, 'twa'n't long after this that the Indians was down on Medford, and
- burnt half the houses in town, and killed fifty or sixty people there.
- Then they came down on Northampton, but got driv' back; but then they
- burnt up five houses, and killed four or five of the folks afore they got
- the better of 'em there. Then they burnt all the houses in Groton,
- meetin'-house and all; and the pisen critters they hollared and triumphed
- over the people, and called out to 'em, 'What will you do for a house to
- pray in now? we've burnt your meetin'-house.' The fightin' was goin' on
- all over the country at the same time. The Indians set Marlborough afire,
- and it was all blazin' at once, the same day that some others of 'em was
- down on Springfield, and the same day Cap'n Pierce, with forty-nine white
- men and twenty-six Christian Indians, got drawn into an ambush, and every
- one of 'em killed. Then a few days after this they burnt forty houses at
- Rehoboth, and a little while after they burnt thirty more at Providence.
- And then when good Cap'n Wadsworth went with seventy men to help the
- people in Sudbury, the Indians came pourin' round 'em in the woods like so
- many wolves, and killed all but four or five on 'em; and those poor
- fellows had better hev been killed, for the cruel critters jest tormented
- 'em to death, and mocked and jeered at their screeches and screams like so
- many divils. Then they went and broke loose on Andover; and they was so
- cruel they couldn't even let the dumb critters alone. They cut out the
- tongues of oxen and cows, and left 'em bleedin', and some they fastened up
- in barns and burnt alive. There wa'n't no sort o' diviltry they wa'n't up
- to. Why, it got to be so in them days that folks couldn't go to bed in
- peace without startin' every time they turned over for fear o' the
- Indians. Ef they heard a noise in the night, or ef the wind squealed and
- howled, as the wind will, they'd think sure enough there was that horrid
- yell a comin' down chimbley.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There was Delily Severence; she says to me, speakin' about them times,
- says she, 'Why, Mr. Lawson, you've no idee! Why, that 'are screech,' says
- she, 'wa'n't like no other noise in heaven above, or earth beneath, or
- water under the earth,' says she. 'When it started ye out o' bed between
- two or three o'clock in the mornin', and all your children a cryin', and
- the Indians a screechin' and yellin' and a tossin' up firebrands, fust at
- one window and then at another, why,' says she, 'Mr. Lawson, it was more
- like hell upon earth than any thing I ever heard on.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ye see, they come down on Delily's house when she was but jest up arter
- her third baby. That 'are woman hed a handsome head o' hair as ever ye
- see, black as a crow's wing; and it turned jest as white as a table-cloth,
- with nothin' but the fright o' that night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What did they do with her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh! they took her and her poor little gal and boy, that wa'n't no older
- than you be, and went off with 'em to Canada. The troubles them poor
- critters went through! Her husband he was away that night; and well he
- was, else they'd a tied him to a tree and stuck pine slivers into him and
- sot 'em afire, and cut gret pieces out'o his flesh, and filled the places
- with hot coals and ashes, and all sich kind o' things they did to them men
- prisoners, when they catched 'em. Delily was thankful enough he was away;
- but they took her and the children off through the ice and snow, jest half
- clothed and shiverin'; and when her baby cried and worried, as it
- nat'rally would, the old Indian jest took it by its heels, and dashed its
- brains out agin a tree, and threw it into the crotch of a tree, and left
- it dangling there; and then they would mock and laugh at her, and mimic
- her baby's crying, and try every way they could to aggravate her. They
- used to beat and torment her children right before her eyes, and pull
- their hair out, and make believe that they was goin' to burn 'em alive,
- jest for nothin' but to frighten and worry her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder,” said I, “she ever got back alive.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, the wimmen in them times hed a sight o' wear in 'em. They was
- resolute, strong, hard-workin' wimmen. They could all tackle a hoss, or
- load and fire a gun. They was brought up hard, and they was used to
- troubles and dangers. It's jest as folks gets used to things how they
- takes 'em. In them days folks was brought up to spect trouble; they didn't
- look for no less. Why, in them days the men allers took their guns into
- the field when they went to hoe corn, and took their guns with 'em to
- meetin' Sundays; and the wimmen they kep' a gun loaded where they knew
- where to find it; and when trouble come it was jest what they spected, and
- they was put even with it. That's the sort o' wimmen they was. Wal, Delily
- and her children was brought safe through at last, but they hed a hard
- time on't.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell us some more stories about Indians, Sam,” we said, with the usual
- hungry impatience of boys for a story.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, let me see,” said Sam, with his hat pushed back and his eyes fixed
- dreamily on the top of Eliot's oak, which was now yellow with the sunset
- glory,—“let me see. I hain't never told ye about Col. Eph Miller,
- hev I?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, indeed. What about him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, he was took prisoner by the Indians; and they was goin' to roast him
- alive arter their fashion, and he gin 'em the slip.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do tell us all about it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, you see, Deliverance Scranton over to Sherburne, she's Col. Eph's
- daughter; and she used to hear her father tell about that, and she's told
- me time and agin about it. It was this way,—You see, there hedn't
- ben no alarm about Indians for some time, and folks hed got to feelin'
- kind o' easy, as folks will. When there don't nothin' happen for a good
- while, and it keeps a goin' on so, why, you think finally there won't
- nothin' happen; and so it was with Col. Eph and his wife. She told
- Deliverance that the day before she reely hed forgot all about that there
- was any Indians in the country; and she'd been out after spruce and
- wintergreen and hemlock, and got over her brass kettle to bile for beer;
- and the child'n they brought in lots o' wild grapes that they gathered out
- in the woods; and they said when they came home that they thought they see
- an Indian a lyin' all along squirmin' through the bushes, and peekin' out
- at 'em like a snake, but they wa'n't quite sure. Faith, the oldest gal,
- she was sure she see him quite plain; but 'Bijah (he was Col. Eph's oldest
- boy) he wa'n't so sure.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Anyway, they didn't think no more about it, and that night they hed
- prayers and went off to bed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Arterwards, Col. Eph he said he remembered the passage o' Scriptur' he
- read that night; it was, 'The race is not to the swift nor the battle to
- the strong.' He didn't notice it much when he read it; but he allers spoke
- of it arterwards as a remarkable providence that that 'are passage should
- have come jest so that night.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, atween twelve and one o'clock they was waked up by the most awful
- screechin' that ever you heard, as if twenty thousand devils was upon 'em.
- Mis' Miller she was out o' bed in a minit, all standin'. 'O husband,
- husband, the Indians are on us!' says she; and sure enough they was. The
- children, 'Bijah and Faith come a runnin' in. 'O father, father! what
- shall we do?'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Col. Eph was a man that allers knew in a minit what to do, and he kep'
- quite cool. 'My dear,' says he to his wife, 'you take the children, and
- jest run with 'em right out the buttery-door through the high corn, and
- run as fast as you can over to your father Stebbins', and tell him to
- rouse the town; and Bije,' says he to the boy, 'you jest get into the
- belfry window, and ring the bell with all your might,' says he. 'And I 'll
- stay and fight 'em off till the folks come.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “All this while the Indians was a yellin' and screechin' and a wavin'
- fire-brands front of the house. Col. Eph he stood a lookin' through a hole
- in the shutter and a sightin' his gun while he was a talkin'. He see that
- they'd been a pilin' up a great pile o' dry wood agin the door. But the
- fust Indian that came up to put fire to't was shot right down while he was
- a speakin'.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, Mis' Miller and Faith and Bije wa'n't long a dressin', you may
- believe; and they jest put on dark cloaks, and they jest streaked it out
- through the buttery-door! There was thick pole-beans quite up to the
- buttery-door, and then a field o' high corn, so that they was hid, and the
- way they run wasn't slow, I tell you.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But Col. Eph he hed to stop so to load that they got the pile o' brush
- afire, though he shot down three or four on 'em, and that was some
- comfort. But the long and the short o' the matter was, that they driv the
- door in at last, and came a whoopin' and yellin' into the house.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, they took Col. Eph, and then went search-in' round to find somebody
- else; but jest then the meetin'-house bell begun to ring, and that scart
- 'em, and they took Col. Eph and made off with him. He hedn't but jest time
- to get into his clothes and get his shoes on, when they hurried him off.
- They didn't do nothin' to him jest then, you see, these Indians was so
- cur'ous. If a man made a good fight, and killed three or four on 'em afore
- they could take him, they sot great store by him, and called him a brave
- man. And so they was 'mazin' careful of Col. Eph, and treated him quite
- polite for Indians; but he knew the ways on 'em well enough to know what
- it was all for. They wanted a real brave man to burn alive and stick
- slivers into and torment, and Col. Eph was jest the pattern for 'em, and
- his fight-in' so brave made him all the better for what they wanted.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, he was in hopes the town would be roused in time for some of 'em to
- come arter him; but the Indians got the start of 'em, and got 'way off in
- the woods afore people hed fairly come together and found out what the
- matter was. There was Col. Eph's house a blazin' and a lightin' up all the
- country for miles round; and the colonel he said it come ruther hard on
- him to be lighted on his way through the woods by such a bonfire.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, by mornin' they come to one o' their camps, and there they hed a
- great rejoicin' over him. They was going to hev a great feast, and a good
- time a burnin' on him; and they tied him to a tree, and sot an Indian to
- watch him while they went out to cut pine knots and slivers to do him
- with.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, as I said, Col. Eph was a brave man, and a man that always kep' his
- thoughts about him; and so he kep' a workin' and a workin' with the withs
- that was round his hands, and a prayin' in his heart to the Lord, till he
- got his right hand free. Wal, he didn't make no move, but kep' a loosenin'
- and a loosenin' little by little, keepin' his eye on the Indian who sot
- there on the ground by him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now, Col. Eph hed slipped his feet into his Sunday shoes that stood there
- by the bed and hed great silver shoe-buckles; and there was a providence
- in his doin' so, for, ye see, Indians are 'mazin' fond o' shiny things.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0021" id="linkimage-0021"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:65%;">
- <img src="images/0203.jpg" alt="0203m " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0203.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- “And the old Indian he was took with the shine o' these shoe-buckles, and
- he thought he might as well hev 'em as anybody; so he jest laid down his
- tommyhawk, and got down on his knees, and was workin' away as earnest as
- could be to get off the buckles, and Col. Eph he jest made a dart forward
- and picked up the tommyhawk, and split open the Indian's skull with one
- blow: then he cut the withs that was round his legs, and in a minute he
- was off on the run with the tommyhawk in his hand. There was three Indians
- give chase to him, but Col. Eph he kep' ahead of 'em. He said while he was
- a runnin' he was cryin,' and callin' on the Lord with all his might, and
- the words come into his mind he read at prayers the night afore, 'The race
- is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “At last he see the Indians gained on him; and he faced round suddenly,
- and struck the nighest one smack on the head with his tommyhawk. Then when
- the next one come up he cut him down too; and the third one, when he see
- both the others cut down, and Col. Eph comin' full blaze towards him with
- his tommyhawk a swingin', he jest turned and run for dear life. Then Col.
- Eph he turned and cut for the settlement. He run, and he run, and he run,
- he didn't well know how long, till, finally, he was clear tuckered out,
- and he jest dropped down under a tree and slept; and he lay there all the
- rest of that day, and all night, and never woke till the next day about
- sundown.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then he woke up, and found he was close by home, and John Stebbins, his
- wife's father, and a whole party, was out lookin' for him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Old Col. Eph used to tell the story as long as he lived, and the tears
- used to run down his cheeks when he told it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'There's a providence in every thing,' he used to say, 'even down to
- shoe-buckles. Ef my Sunday shoes hadn't happened to 'a' set there so I
- could 'a' slipped into 'em, I couldn't 'a' killed that Indian, and I
- shouldn't 'a' been here to-day.' Wal, boys, he was in the right on't. Some
- seem to think the Lord don't look out only for gret things, but, ye see,
- little things is kind o' hinges that gret ones turns on. They say, take
- care o' pennies, and dollars 'll take care o' themselves. It's jest so in
- every thing; and, ef the Lord don't look arter little things, he ain't so
- gret as they say, anyway.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, wal,” said Sam in conclusion, “now, who'd 'a' thought that anybody
- could 'a' made any thing out o' Indians? Yet there 'twas. All them Martha
- Vineyard Indians turned Christians, and there was Indian preachers and
- Indian teachers; and they reely did settle down, and get to be quite like
- folks. But I tell you, boys, it took faith to start with.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- THE BULL-FIGHT.
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0022" id="linkimage-0022"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;">
- <img src="images/9207.jpg" alt="9207 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9207.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- T was Saturday afternoon,—time of blessed memory to boys,—and
- we were free for a ramble after huckleberries; and, with our pails in
- hand, were making the best of our way to a noted spot where that fruit was
- most abundant.
- </p>
- <p>
- Sam was with us, his long legs striding over the ground at a rate that
- kept us on a brisk trot, though he himself was only lounging leisurely,
- with his usual air of contemplation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Look 'ere, boys,” he suddenly said, pausing and resting his elbow on the
- top of a rail-fence, “we shall jest hev to go back and go round by Deakin
- Blodgett's barn.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why so?” we both burst forth in eager tones.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, don't ye see the deakin's turned in his bull into this 'ere lot?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who cares?” said I. “I ain't afraid.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nor I,” said Harry. “Look at him: he looks mild enough: he won't hurt
- us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not as you knows on,” said Sam; “and then, agin, you don't know,—nobody
- never knows, what one o' them 'ere critters will do: they's jest the most
- contrary critters; and ef you think they're goin' to do one way they're
- sure to do t'other. I could tell ye a story now that'd jest make yer har
- stan' on eend.” Of course we wanted to have our hair stand on end, and
- beset Sam for the story; but he hung off.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lordy massy! boys, jest let's wait till ye've got yer huckleberries: yer
- granny won't like it ef ye don't bring her none, and Hepsy she 'll be in
- my har,—what's left on't,” said Sam, taking off his old torn hat,
- and rubbing the loose shock of brash and grizzled hair.
- </p>
- <p>
- So we turned and made a <i>détour</i>, leaving the bull on the right,
- though we longed amazingly to have a bout with him, for the fun of the
- thing, and mentally resolved to try it when our mentor was not round.
- </p>
- <p>
- It all comes back to me again,—the image of that
- huckleberry-pasture, interwoven with fragrance of sweet-fern, and the
- ground under our feet embroidered with star-moss and wintergreen, or foamy
- patches of mossy frost-work, that crushed and crackled delightfully
- beneath our feet. Every now and then a tall, straight fire-lily—black,
- spotted in its centre—rose like a little jet of flame; and we
- gathered it eagerly, though the fierce August sun wilted it in our hands.
- The huckleberry-bushes, bending under their purple weight, we gathered in
- large armfuls, and took them under the shadow of the pine-trees, that we
- might strip them at our leisure, without being scorched by the intense
- glare of the sun. Armful after armful we carried and deposited in the
- shade, and then sat down to the task of picking them off into our pails.
- It was one of those New-England days hotter than the tropics, Not a breath
- of air was stirring, not a bird sang a note, not a sound was heard, except
- the drowsy grating of the locusts.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, now, Sam, now tell us that story about the bull.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lordy massy, how hot 'tis!” said Sam, lying back, and resting on the
- roots of a tree, with his hands folded under his head. “I'm all in a drip
- of sweat.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, Sam, we 'll pick off your berries, if you 'll talk.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wall, wall, be kerful yer don't git no green ones in among 'em, else
- Hepsy 'll be down on me. She's drefful partikelar, she is. Every thing has
- to be jest so. Ef it ain't, you 'll hear on't. Lordy massy I boys, she's
- always telling me I don't do nothin' for the support of the family. I
- leave it to you if I didn't ketch her a nice mess o' fish a Tuesday. I
- tell her folks can't expect to roll in money, and allers to have every
- thing jess 'z they want it. We brought nothin' into the world with us, and
- it's sartain we ken carry nothin' out; and, having food and raiment, we
- ought to be content. We have ben better off'n we be now. Why, boys, I've
- seen the time that I've spent thirty-seven cents a week for nutmegs; but
- Hepsy hain't no gratitude: such folks hez to be brought down. Take care,
- now, yer ain't a-putting green ones in; be yer?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sam, we sha'n't put in any at all, if you don't tell us that story.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lordy massy! you young ones, there ain't never no contentin' yer, ef a
- fellow was to talk to the millennium. Wonder now if there is going to be
- any millennium. Wish I'd waited, and been born in them days, 'spect things
- would a sorter come along easier. Wall, I shall git through some way, I
- s'pose.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sam,” said I, sitting back, “we're putting all our berries into your
- pail; and, if you don't begin to tell us a story, we won't do it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lordy massy! boys, I'm kind o' collectin' my idees. Ye have to talk a
- while to git a-goin', everybody does. Wal, about this 'ere story. Ye
- 'member that old brown house, up on the hill there, that we saw when we
- come round the corner? That 'are was where old Mump Moss used to live. Old
- Mump was consid'able of a nice man: he took in Ike Sanders, Mis' Moss's
- sister's boy, to help him on the farm, and did by him pretty much ez, he
- did by his own. Bill Moss, Mump's boy, he was a con-trairy kind o'
- critter, and he was allers a-hectorin' Ike. He was allers puttin' off the
- heaviest end of every thing on to him. He'd shirk his work, and git it off
- on to Ike every way he could. And he allers threw it up at him that he was
- eatin' his father's bread; and he watched every mouthful he ate, as if he
- hated to see it go down. Wal, ye see, for all that. Ike he growed up tall
- and strong, and a real handsome young feller; and everybody liked him. And
- Bill he was so gritty and contrairy, that his own mother and sisters
- couldn't stan' him; and he was allers a-flingin' it up at 'em that they
- liked Ike more'n they did him. Finally his mother she said to him one day,
- 'Why shouldn't I,' sez she, 'when Ike's allers pleasant to me, and doin'
- every thing he ken fur me, and you don't do nothin' but scold.' That 'are,
- you see, was a kind o' home-thrust, and Bill he didn't like Ike a bit the
- better for that. He did every thing he could to plague him, and hector
- him, and sarcumvent him, and set people agin him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, ye see, 'twas the old story about Jacob and Laban over agin. Every
- thing that Ike put his hand to kind o' prospered. Everybody liked him,
- everybody hed a good word for him, everybody helped grease his wheels.
- Wal, come time when he was twenty-one, old Mump he gin him a settin' out.
- He gin him a freedom suit o' clothes, and he gin him a good cow, and Mis'
- Moss she knit him up a lot o' stockings, and the gals they made him up his
- shirts. Then, Ike he got a place with Squire Wells, and got good wages;
- and he bought a little bit o' land, with a house on it, on Squire Wells's
- place, and took a mortgage on't, to work off. He used to work his own
- land, late at night and early in the mornin', over and above givin' good
- days' works to the squire; and the old squire he sot all the world by him,
- and said he hedn't hed sich a man to work since he didn't know when.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, a body might ha' thought that when Bill had a got him out o' the
- house, he might ha' ben satisfied, but he wasn't. He was an ugly fellow,
- Bill Moss was; and a body would ha' thought that every thing good that
- happened to Ike was jest so much took from him. Come to be young men,
- growed up together, and waitin' on the gals round, Ike he was pretty apt
- to cut Bill out. Yer see, though Bill was goin' to have the farm, and all
- old Mump's money, he warn't pleasant-spoken; and so, when the gals got a
- chance, they'd allers rather go with Ike than him. Finally, there was
- Delily Sawin, she was about the handsomest girl there was round, and she
- hed all the fellers arter her; and her way was to speak 'em all fair, and
- keep 'em all sort o' waitin' and hopin', till she got ready to make her
- mind up. She'd entertain Bill Saturday night, and she'd tell Ike he might
- come Sunday night; and so Ike he was well pleased, and Bill he growled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, there come along a gret cattle-show. Squire Wells he got it up: it
- was to be the gretest kind of a time, and Squire Wells he give money fur
- prizes. There was to be a prize on the best cow, and the best bull, and
- the best ox, and the best horse, and the biggest punkins and squashes and
- beets, and there was a prize for the best loaf o' bread, and the best pair
- o' stockin's, and the handsomest bed-quilt, and the rest o' women's work.
- Wal, yer see, there was a gret to-do about the cattle-show; and the wagons
- they came in from all around,—ten miles; and the gals all dressed up
- in their best bunnits, and they had a ball in the evenin'. Wal, ye see, it
- so happened that Bill and Ike each on 'em sent a bull to the cattle-show;
- and Ike's bull took the prize. That put the cap-sheaf on for Bill. He was
- jest about as much riled as a feller could be; and that evenin' Delily she
- danced with Ike twice as many times ez she did with him. Wal, Bill he got
- it round among the fellers that the jedges hed been partial; and he said,
- if them bulls was put together, his bull would whip Ike's all to thunder.
- Wal, the fellers thought 'twould be kind o' fun to try 'em, and they put
- Ike up to it. And finally 'twas agreed that Ike's bull should be driv over
- to old Mump's; and the Monday after the cattle-show, they should let 'em
- out into the meadow together and see which was the strongest. So there was
- a Sunday the bulls they were both put up together in the same barn; and
- the 'greement was, they wasn't to be looked at nor touched till the time
- come to turn 'em out.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come Sunday mornin', they got up the wagon to go to meetin'; and Mis'
- Moss and the gals and old Mump, they was all ready; and the old yaller dog
- he was standrn' waitin' by the wagon, and Bill warn't nowhere to be found.
- So they sent one o' the girls up chamber to see what'd got him; and there
- he was a-lyin' on the bed, and said he'd got a drefful headache, and
- didn't think he could go to meetin'. Wal, the second bell was a-tollin',
- and they had to drive off without him: they never mistrusted but what
- 'twas jest so. Wal, yer see, boys, 'twas that 'are kind o' Sunday headache
- that sort o' gets better when the folks is all fairly into meetin'. So,
- when the wagon was fairly out o' sight, Bill he thought he'd jest go and
- have a peek at them bulls. Wal, he looked and he peeked, and finally he
- thought they looked so sort o' innocent 'twouldn't do no harm to jest let
- 'em have a little run in the cow-yard aforehand. He kind o' wanted to see
- how they was likely to cut up. Now, ye see, the mischief about bulls is,
- that a body never knows what they's goin' to do, 'cause whatever notion
- takes 'em allers comes into their heads so kind o' suddin, and it's jest a
- word and a blow with 'em. Wal, fust he let out his bull, and then he went
- in and let out Ike's. Wal, the very fust thing that critter did he run up
- to Bill's bull, full tilt, and jest gin one rip with his horns right in
- the side of him, and knocked him over and killed him. Didn't die right
- off, but he was done for; and Bill he gin a the old feller turned right
- round, and come at <i>him</i>. I tell you, Bill he turned and made a
- straight coattail, rippin' and peelin' it towards the house, and the bull
- tearin' on right arter him. Into the kitchen he went, and he hedn't no
- time to shut the door, and the bull arter him; and into the keepin'-room,
- and the bull arter him there. And he hedn't but jest time to git up the
- chamber-stairs, when he heard the old feller roarin' and tearin' round
- there like all natur. Fust he went to the lookin'-glass, and smashed that
- all to pieces. Then he histed the table over, and he rattled and smashed
- the chairs round, and made such a roaring and noise, ye'd ha' thought
- there was seven devils there; and in the midst of it Bill he looked out of
- the window, and see the wagon a-comin' back; and 'Lordy massy!' he thought
- to himself, 'the bull 'll kill every one on 'em,' and he run to the window
- and yelled and shouted, and they saw him, and thought the house must be
- afire.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0023" id="linkimage-0023"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:65%;">
- <img src="images/0217.jpg" alt="0217m " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0217.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- “Finally, he bethought him of old Mump's gun, and he run round and got it,
- and poked it through a crack of the chamber-door, and fired off bang! and
- shot him dead, jest as Mis' Moss and the girls was comin' into the
- kitchen-door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, there was, to be sure, the 'bomination o' desolation when they come
- in and found every thing all up in a heap and broke to pieces, and the old
- critter a-kickin' and bleedin' all over the carpet, and Bill as pale as
- his shirt-tail on the chamber-stairs. They had an awful mess on't; and
- there was the two bulls dead and to be took care uv.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Wal, Bill,” said his father, “'I hope yer satisfied now. All that comes
- o' stayin' to home from meetin', and keepin' temporal things in yer head
- all day Sunday. You've lost your own bull, you've got Ike's to pay for,
- and ye 'll have the laugh on yer all round the country.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'I expect, father, we ken corn the meat,' says Mis' Moss, 'and maybe the
- hide 'll sell for something,' sez she; for she felt kind o' tender for
- Bill, and didn't want to bear down too hard on him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, the story got round, and everybody was a-throwin' it up at Bill; and
- Delily, in partikelar, hectored him about it till he wished the bulls had
- been in the Red Sea afore he'd ever seen one on 'em. Wal, it really driv
- him out o' town, and he went off out West to settle, and nobody missed him
- much; and Ike he married Delily, and they grew from better to better, till
- now they own jest about as pretty a farm as there is round. Yer remember
- that white house with green blinds, that we passed when we was goin' to
- the trout-brook? Wal, that 'ere's the one.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0024" id="linkimage-0024"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:20%;">
- <img src="images/5221.jpg" alt="5221 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/5221.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- HOW TO FIGHT THE DEVIL
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0025" id="linkimage-0025"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;">
- <img src="images/9222.jpg" alt="9222 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9222.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- OOK here, boys,” said Sam, “don't you want to go with me up to the Devil's
- Den this arternoon?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where is the Devil's Den,” said I, with a little awe.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, it's a longer tramp than I've ever took ye. It's clear up past the
- pickerel pond, and beyond old Skunk John's pasture-lot. It's a 'mazin'
- good place for raspberries; shouldn't wonder if we should get two, three
- quarts there. Great rocks there higher'n yer head; kinder solemn, 'tis.”
- </p>
- <p>
- This was a delightful and seductive account, and we arranged for a walk
- that very afternoon.
- </p>
- <p>
- In almost every New-England village the personality of Satan has been
- acknowledged by calling by his name some particular rock or cave, or other
- natural object whose singularity would seem to suggest a more than mortal
- occupancy. “The Devil's Punchbowl,” “The Devil's Wash-bowl,” “The Devil's
- Kettle,” “The Devil's Pulpit,” and “The Devil's Den,” have been
- designations that marked places or objects of some striking natural
- peculiarity. Often these are found in the midst of the most beautiful and
- romantic scenery, and the sinister name seems to have no effect in
- lessening its attractions. To me, the very idea of going to the Devil's
- Den was full of a pleasing horror. When a boy, I always lived in the
- shadowy edge of that line which divides spirit land from mortal life, and
- it was my delight to walk among its half lights and shadows. The old
- graveyard where, side by side, mouldered the remains of Indian sachems and
- the ancients of English blood, was my favorite haunt. I loved to sit on
- the graves while the evening mists arose from them, and to fancy cloudy
- forms waving and beckoning. To me, this spirit land was my only refuge
- from the dry details of a hard, prosaic life. The schoolroom—with
- its hard seats rudely fashioned from slabs of rough wood, with its clumsy
- desks, hacked and ink-stained, with its unintelligible textbooks and its
- unsympathetic teacher—was to me a prison out of whose weary windows
- I watched the pomp and glory of nature,—the free birds singing, the
- clouds sailing, the trees waving and whispering,—and longed, as
- earnestly as ever did the Psalmist, to flee far away, and wander in the
- wilderness.
- </p>
- <p>
- Hence, no joy of after life—nothing that the world has now to give—can
- equal that joyous sense of freedom and full possession which came over me
- on Saturday afternoons, when I started off on a tramp with the world all
- before me,—the mighty, unexplored world of mysteries and
- possibilities, bounded only by the horizon. Ignorant alike of all science,
- neither botanist nor naturalist, I was studying at firsthand all that lore
- out of which science is made. Every plant and flower had a familiar face
- to me, and said something to my imagination. I knew where each was to be
- found, its time of coming and going, and met them year after year as
- returning friends.
- </p>
- <p>
- So it was with joyous freedom that we boys ram bled off with Sam this
- afternoon, intent to find the Devil's Den. It was a ledge of granite rocks
- rising in the midst of a grove of pines and white birches. The ground was
- yellow and slippery with the fallen needles of the pines of other days,
- and the glistening white stems of the birches shone through the shadows
- like ivory pillars. Underneath the great granite ledges, all sorts of
- roots and plants grappled and kept foothold; and whole armies of wild
- raspberries matured their fruit, rounder and juicier for growing in the
- shade.
- </p>
- <p>
- In one place yawned a great rift, or cavern, as if the rocks had been
- violently twisted and wrenched apart, and a mighty bowlder lodging in the
- rift had roofed it over, making a cavern of most seductive darkness and
- depth. This was the Devil's Den; and after we had picked our pail full of
- berries, we sat down there to rest.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sam, do you suppose the Devil ever was here?” said I. “What do they call
- this his den for?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Massy, child! that 'are was in old witch times. There used to be witch
- meetins' held here, and awful doins'; they used to have witch sabba' days
- and witch sacraments, and sell their souls to the old boy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What should they want to do that for?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, sure enough; what was it for? I can't make out that the Devil ever
- gin 'em any thing, any on 'em. They warn't no richer, nor didn't get no
- more'n this world than the rest; and they was took and hung; and then ef
- they went to torment after that, they hed a pretty bad bargain on't, I
- say.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, people don't do such things any more, do they?” said I.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said Sam. “Since the gret fuss and row-de-dow about it, it's kind o'
- died out; but there's those, I s'pose, that hez dealins' with the old boy.
- Folks du say that old Ketury was a witch, and that, ef't ben in old times,
- she'd a hed her neck stretched; but she lived and died in peace.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But do you think,” said I, now proposing the question that lay nearest my
- heart, “that the Devil can hurt us?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That depends consid'able on how you take him,” said Sam. “Ye see, come to
- a straight out-an'-out fight with him, he 'll git the better on yer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But,” said I, “Christian did fight Apollyon, and got him down too.”
- </p>
- <p>
- I had no more doubt in those days that this was an historic fact than I
- had of the existence of Romulus and Remus and the wolf.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, that 'ere warn't jest like real things: they say that 'ere's an
- allegory. But I 'll tell ye how old Sarah Bunganuck fit the Devil, when he
- 'peared to her. Ye see, old Sarah she was one of the converted Injuns, and
- a good old critter she was too; worked hard, and got her livin' honest.
- She made baskets, and she made brooms, and she used to pick young
- wintergreen and tie it up in bunches, and dig sassafras and ginsing to
- make beer; and she got her a little bit o' land, right alongside o' Old
- Black Hoss John's white-birch wood-lot.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now, I've heerd some o' these 'ere modern ministers that come down from
- Cambridge college, and are larnt about every thing in creation, they say
- there ain't no devil, and the reason on't is, 'cause there can't be none.
- These 'ere fellers is so sort o' green!—they don't mean no harm, but
- they don't know nothin' about nobody that does. If they'd ha' known old
- Black Hoss John, they'd ha' been putty sure there was a devil. He was jest
- the crossest, ugliest critter that ever ye see, and he was ugly jest for
- the sake o' ugliness. He couldn't bear to let the boys pick huckleberries
- in his paster lots, when he didn't pick 'em himself; and he was allers
- jawin' me 'cause I would go trout-fishin' in one o' his pasters. Jest ez
- if the trout that swims warn't, the Lord's, and jest ez much mine as his.
- He grudged every critter every thing; and if he'd ha' hed his will and
- way, every bird would ha' fell down dead that picked up a worm on his
- grounds. He was jest as nippin' as a black frost. Old Black Hoss didn't
- git drunk in a regerlar way, like Uncle Eph and Toddy Whitney, and the
- rest o' them boys. But he jest sot at home, a-soakin' on cider, till he
- was crosser'n a bear with a sore head. Old Black Hoss hed a special spite
- agin old Sarah. He said she was an old witch and an old thief, and that
- she stole things off'n his grounds, when everybody knew that she was a
- regerlar church-member, and as decent an old critter as there was goin'.
- As to her stealin', she didn't do nothin' but pick huckleberries and
- grapes, and git chesnuts and wannuts, and butternuts, and them 'ere wild
- things that's the Lord's, grow on whose land they will, and is free to
- all. I've hearn 'em tell that, over in the old country, the poor was kept
- under so, that they couldn't shoot a bird, nor ketch a fish, nor gather no
- nuts, nor do nothin' to keep from starvin', 'cause the quality folks they
- thought they owned every thing, 'way-down to the middle of the earth and
- clear up to the stars. We never hed no sech doin's this side of the water,
- thank the Lord! We've allers been free to have the chesnuts and the
- wannuts and the grapes and the huckleberries and the strawberries, ef we
- could git 'em, and ketch fish when and where we was a mind to. Lordy
- massy! your grandthur's old Cesar, he used to call the pond his pork-pot.
- He'd jest go down and throw in a line and ketch his dinner. Wal, Old Black
- Hoss he know'd the law was so, and he couldn't do nothin' agin her by law;
- but he sarved her out every mean trick he could think of. He used to go
- and stan' and lean over her garden-gate and jaw at her an hour at a time;
- but old Sarah she had the Injun in her; she didn't run to talk much: she
- used to jest keep on with her weedin and her work, jest's if he warn't
- there, and that made Old Black Hoss madder'n ever; and he thought he'd try
- and frighten her off'n the ground, by makin' on her believe he was the
- Devil. So one time, when he'd been killin' a beef critter, they took off
- the skin with the horns and all on; and Old Black Hoss he says to Toddy
- and Eph and Loker, 'You jest come up tonight, and see how I 'll frighten
- old Sarah Bunganuck.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, Toddy and Eph and Loker, they hedn't no better to do, and they
- thought they'd jest go round and see. Ye see 'twas a moonlight night, and
- old Sarah—she was an industrious critter—she was cuttin'
- white-birch brush for brooms in the paster-lot.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, Old Black Hoss he wrapped the critter's skin round him, with the
- horns on his head, and come and stood by the fence, and begun to roar and
- make a noise.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0026" id="linkimage-0026"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:65%;">
- <img src="images/0223.jpg" alt="0223m " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0223.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- “Old Sarah she kept right on with her work, cuttin' her brush and pilin'
- on't up, and jest let him roar. Wal, Old Black Hoss felt putty
- foolish, 'specially ez the fellers were waitin' to see how she took it. So
- he calls out in a grum voice,—
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Woman, don't yer know who I be?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “'No,' says she quite quiet, 'I don't know who yer be.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Wal, I'm the Devil,' sez he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Ye be?' says old Sarah. 'Poor old critter, how I pity ye!' and she never
- gin him another word, but jest bundled up her broom-stuff, and took it on
- her back and walked off, and Old Black Hoss he stood there mighty foolish
- with his skin and horns; and so he had the laugh agin him, 'cause Eph and
- Loker they went and told the story down to the tavern, and he felt awful
- cheap to think old Sarah had got the upper hands on him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, ye see, boys, that 'ere's jest the way to fight the Devil. Jest keep
- straight on with what ye're doin', and don't ye mind him, and he can't do
- nothin' to ye.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0027" id="linkimage-0027"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:20%;">
- <img src="images/5233.jpg" alt="5233 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/5233.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- LAUGHIN' IN MEETIN'
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0028" id="linkimage-0028"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;">
- <img src="images/9234.jpg" alt="9234 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9234.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- E were in disgrace, we boys; and the reason of it was this: we had laughed
- out in meeting-time! To be sure, the occasion was a trying one, even to
- more disciplined nerves. Parson Lothrop had exchanged pulpits with Parson
- Summeral, of North Wearem. Now, Parson Summeral was a man in the very
- outset likely to provoke the risibles of unspiritualized juveniles. He was
- a thin, wiry, frisky little man, in a powdered white wig, black tights,
- and silk stockings, with bright knee-buckles and shoe-buckles; with round,
- dark, snapping eyes; and a curious, high, cracked, squeaking voice, the
- very first tones of which made all the children stare and giggle. The news
- that Parson Summeral was going to preach in our village spread abroad
- among us as a prelude to something funny. It had a flavor like the charm
- of circus-acting; and, on the Sunday morning of our story, we went to the
- house of God in a very hilarious state, all ready to set off in a laugh on
- the slightest provocation.
- </p>
- <p>
- The occasion was not long wanting. Parson Lo-throp had a favorite dog
- yclept Trip, whose behavior in meeting was notoriously far from that
- edifying pattern which befits a minister's dog on Sundays. Trip was a
- nervous dog, and a dog that never could be taught to conceal his emotions
- or to respect conventionalities. If any thing about the performance in the
- singers' seat did not please him, he was apt to express himself in a
- lugubrious howl. If the sermon was longer than suited him, he would gape
- with such a loud creak of his jaws as would arouse everybody's attention.
- If the flies disturbed his afternoon's nap, he would give sudden snarls or
- snaps; or, if anything troubled his dreams, he would bark out in his sleep
- in a manner not only to dispel his own slumbers, but those of certain
- worthy deacons and old ladies, whose sanctuary repose was thereby sorely
- broken and troubled. For all these reasons, Madame Lo-throp had been
- forced, as a general thing, to deny Trip the usual sanctuary privileges of
- good family dogs in that age, and shut him up on Sundays to private
- meditation. Trip, of course, was only the more set on attendance, and
- would hide behind doors, jump out of windows, sneak through by-ways and
- alleys, and lie hid till the second bell had done tolling, when suddenly
- he would appear in the broad aisle, innocent and happy, and take his seat
- as composedly as any member of the congregation.
- </p>
- <p>
- Imagine us youngsters on the <i>qui vive</i> with excitement at seeing
- Parson Summeral frisk up into the pulpit with all the vivacity of a black
- grasshopper. We looked at each other, and giggled very cautiously, with
- due respect to Aunt Lois's sharp observation.
- </p>
- <p>
- At first, there was only a mild, quiet simmering of giggle, compressed
- decorously within the bounds of propriety; and we pursed our muscles up
- with stringent resolution, whenever we caught the apprehensive eye of our
- elders.
- </p>
- <p>
- But when, directly after the closing notes of the tolling second bell,
- Master Trip walked gravely up the front aisle, and, seating himself
- squarely in front of the pulpit, raised his nose with a critical air
- toward the scene of the forthcoming performance, it was too much for us:
- the repression was almost convulsive. Trip wore an alert, attentive air,
- befitting a sound, orthodox dog, who smells a possible heresy, and deems
- it his duty to watch the performances narrowly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Evidently he felt called upon to see who and what were to occupy that
- pulpit in his master's absence.
- </p>
- <p>
- Up rose Parson Summeral; and up went Trip's nose, vibrating with intense
- attention.
- </p>
- <p>
- The parson began in his high-cracked voice to intone the hymn,—
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- “Sing to the Lord aloud,”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- when Trip broke into a dismal howl.
- </p>
- <p>
- The parson went on to give directions to the deacon, in the same voice in
- which he had been reading, so that the whole effect of the performance was
- somewhat as follows:—
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- “'Sing to the Lord aloud.'
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- “(Please to turn out that dog),—
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- “'And make a joyful noise.,”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- The dog was turned out, and the choir did their best to make a joyful
- noise; but we boys were upset for the day, delivered over to the
- temptations of Satan, and plunged in waves and billows of hysterical
- giggle, from which neither winks nor frowns from Aunt Lois, nor the awful
- fear of the tithing-man, nor the comforting bits of fennel and orange-peel
- passed us by grandmother, could recover us.
- </p>
- <p>
- Everybody felt, to be sure, that here was a trial that called for some
- indulgence. Hard faces, even among the stoniest saints, betrayed a
- transient quiver of the risible muscles; old ladies put up their fans;
- youths and maidens in the singers' seat laughed outright; and, for the
- moment, a general snicker among the children was pardoned. But I was one
- of that luckless kind, whose nerves, once set in vibration, could not be
- composed. When the reign of gravity and decorum had returned, Harry and I
- sat by each other, shaking with suppressed laughter. Every thing in the
- subsequent exercises took a funny turn; and in the long prayer, when
- everybody else was still and decorous, the whole scene came over me with
- such overpowering force, that I exploded with laughter, and had to be
- taken out of meeting and marched home by Aunt Lois, as a convicted
- criminal. What especially moved her indignation was, that, the more she
- rebuked and upbraided, the more I laughed, till the tears rolled down my
- cheeks; which Aunt Lois construed into wilful disrespect to her authority,
- and resented accordingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- By Sunday evening, as we gathered around the fire, the re-action from
- undue gayety to sobriety had taken place; and we were in a pensive and
- penitent state. Grandmother was gracious and forgiving; but Aunt Lois
- still preserved that frosty air of reprobation which she held to be a
- salutary means of quickening our consciences for the future. It was,
- therefore, with unusual delight that we saw our old friend Sam come in,
- and sit himself quietly down on the block in the chimney corner. With Sam
- we felt assured of indulgence and patronage; for, though always rigidly
- moral and instructive in his turn of mind, he had that fellow-feeling for
- transgressors which is characteristic of the loose-jointed, easy-going
- style of his individuality.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lordy massy, boys—yis,” said Sam virtuously, in view of some of
- Aunt Lois's thrusts, “ye ought never to laugh nor cut up in meetin'; that
- 'are's so: but then there is times when the best on us gets took down. We
- gets took unawares, ye see,—even ministers does. Yis, natur' will
- git the upper hand afore they know it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, Sam, <i>ministers</i> don't ever laugh in meetin'! do they?”
- </p>
- <p>
- We put the question with wide eyes. Such a supposition bordered on
- profanity, we thought: it was approaching the sin of Uzzah, who unwarily
- touched the ark of the Lord.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Laws, yes. Why, heven't you never heard how there was a council held to
- try Parson Morrel for laughin' out in prayer-time?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Laughing in prayer-time!” we both repeated, with uplifted hands and eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- My grandfather's mild face became luminous with a suppressed smile, which
- brightened it as the moon does a cloud; but he said nothing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, yes,” said my grandmother, “that affair did make a dreadful scandal
- in the time on't! But Parson Morrel was a good man; and I'm glad the
- council wasn't hard on him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal,” said Sam Lawson, “after all, it was more Ike Babbit's fault than
- 'twas anybody's. Ye see, Ike he was allers for gettin' what he could out
- o' the town; and he would feed his sheep on the meetin'-house green.
- Somehow or other, Ike's fences allers contrived to give out, come Sunday,
- and up would come his sheep; and Ike was too pious to drive 'em back
- Sunday, and so there they was. He was talked to enough about it: 'cause,
- ye see, to hev sheep and lambs a ba-a-in' and a blatin' all prayer and
- sermon time wa'n't the thing. 'Member that 'are old meet-in'-house up to
- the North End, down under Blueberry Hill, the land sort o' sloped down, so
- as a body hed to come into the meetin'-house steppin' down instead o' up.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Fact was, they said 'twas put there 'cause the land wa'n't good for
- nothin' else; and the folks thought puttin' a meetin'-house on't would be
- a clear savin'. But Parson Morrel he didn't like it, and was free to tell
- 'em his mind on't,—that 'twas like bringin' the lame and the blind
- to the Lord's sarvice; but there 'twas.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There wa'n't a better minister, nor no one more set by in all the State,
- than Parson Morrel. His doctrines was right up and down, good and sharp;
- and he give saints and sinners their meat in due season; and for consolin'
- and comfortin' widders and orphans, Parson Morrel hedn't his match. The
- women sot lots by him; and he was allus' ready to take tea round, and make
- things pleasant and comfortable; and he hed a good story for every one,
- and a word for the children, and maybe an apple or a cookey in his pocket
- for 'em. Wal, you know there an't no pleasin' everybody; and ef Gabriel
- himself, right down out o' heaven, was to come and be a minister, I expect
- there'd be a pickin' at his wings, and sort o' fault-findin'. Now, Aunt
- Jerushy Scran and Aunt Polly Hokun they sed Parson Morrel wa'n't solemn
- enough. Ye see, there's them that thinks that a minister ought to be jest
- like the town hearse, so that ye think of death, judgment, and eternity,
- and nothin' else, when ye see him round; and ef they see a man rosy and
- chipper, and hevin' a pretty nice, sociable sort of a time, why they say
- he an't spiritooal minded. But, in my times, I've seen ministers the most
- awakenin' kind in the pulpit that was the liveliest when they was out
- on't. There is a time to laugh, Scriptur' says; tho' some folks never seem
- to remember that 'are.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But, Sam, how came you to say it was Ike Babbit's fault? What was it
- about the sheep?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, wal, yis! I'm a comin' to that 'are. It was all about them sheep. I
- expect they was the instrument the Devil sot to work to tempt Parson
- Morrel to laugh in prayer-time.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ye see, there was old Dick, Ike's bell-wether, was the fightin'est old
- crittur that ever yer see. Why, Dick would butt at his own shadder; and
- everybody said it was a shame the old crittur should be left to run loose,
- 'cause he run at the children, and scared the women half out their wits.
- Wal, I used to live out in that parish in them days. And Lem Sudoc and I
- used to go out sparkin' Sunday nights, to see the Larkin gals; and we had
- to go right 'cross the lot where Dick was: so we used to go and stand at
- the fence, and call. And Dick would see us, and put down his head, and run
- at us full chisel, and come bunt agin the fence; and then I'd ketch him by
- the horns, and hold him while Lem run and got over the fence t'other side
- the lot; and then I'd let go: and Lem would holler, and shake a stick at
- him, and away he'd go full butt at Lem; and Lem would ketch his horns, and
- hold him till I came over,—that was the way we managed Dick; but, I
- tell you, ef he come sudden up behind a fellow, he'd give him a butt in
- the small of his back that would make him run on all fours one while. He
- was a great rogue,—Dick was. Wal, that summer, I remember they hed
- old Deacon Titkins for tithing-man; and I tell you he give it to the boys
- lively. There wa'n't no sleepin' nor no playin'; for the deacon hed eyes
- like a gimblet, and he was quick as a cat, and the youngsters hed to look
- out for themselves. It did really seem as if the deacon was like them four
- beasts in the Revelations that was full o' eyes behind and before; for
- which ever way he was standin', if you gave only a wink, he was down on
- you, and hit you a tap with his stick. I know once Lem Sudoc jist wrote
- two words in the psalm-book and passed to Kesiah Larkin; and the deacon
- give him such a tap that Lem grew red as a beet, and vowed he'd be up with
- him some day for that.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, Lordy Massy, folks that is so chipper and high steppin' has to hev
- their come downs; and the deacon he hed to hev his.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That 'are Sunday,—I 'member it now jest as well as if 'twas
- yesterday,—the parson he give us his gre't sermon, reconcilin'
- decrees and free agency: everybody said that 'are sermon was a
- masterpiece. He preached it up to Cambridge at Commencement, that year.
- Wal, it so happened it was one o' them bilin' hot days that come in
- August, when you can fairly hear the huckleberries a sizzlin', and cookin'
- on the bushes, and the locust keeps a gratin' like a red-hot saw. Wal,
- such times, decrees or no decrees, the best on us will get sleepy. The old
- meetin'-house stood right down at the foot of a hill that kep' off all the
- wind; and the sun blazed away at them gre't west winders: and there was
- pretty sleepy times there. Wal, the deacon, he flew round a spell, and
- woke up the children, and tapped the boys on the head, and kep' every
- thing straight as he could, till the sermon was most through, when he
- railly got most tuckered out; and he took a chair, and he sot down in the
- door right opposite the minister, and fairly got asleep himself, jest as
- the minister got up to make the last prayer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, Parson Morrel hed a way o' prayin' with his eyes open. Folks said it
- wa'n't the best way: but it was Parson Morrel's way, anyhow; and so, as he
- was prayin', he couldn't help seein' that Deacon Tit-kins was a noddin'
- and a bobbin' out toward the place where old Dick was feedin' with the
- sheep, front o' the meetin'-house door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Lem and me we was sittin' where we could look out; and we jest sees old
- Dick stop feedin' and look at the deacon. The deacon hed a little round
- head as smooth as an apple, with a nice powdered wig on it: and he sot
- there makin' bobs and bows; and Dick begun to think it was suthin sort o'
- pussonal. Lem and me was sittin' jest where we could look out and see the
- hull picter; and Lem was fit to split.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Good, now,' says he: 'that crittur 'll pay the deacon off lively, pretty
- soon.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “The deacon bobbed his head a spell; and old Dick he shook his horns, and
- stamped at him sort o' threat-nin'. Finally the deacon he give a great
- bow, and brought his head right down at him; and old Dick he sot out full
- tilt and come down on him ker chunk, and knocked him head over heels into
- the broad aisle: and his wig flew one way and he t'other; and Dick made a
- lunge at it, as it flew, and carried it off on his horns.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0029" id="linkimage-0029"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:65%;">
- <img src="images/0247.jpg" alt="0247m " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0247.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- “Wal, you may believe, that broke up the meetin' for one while: for Parson
- Morrel laughed out; and all the gals and boys they stomped and roared. And
- the old deacon he got up and begun rubbin' his shins, 'cause he didn't see
- the joke on't.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'You don't orter laugh,' says he: 'it's no laughin' matter; it's a solemn
- thing,' says he. 'I might hev been sent into 'tarnity by that darned
- crittur,' says he. Then they all roared and haw-hawed the more, to see the
- deacon dancin' round with his little shiny head, so smooth a fly would
- trip up on't. 'I believe, my soul, you'd laugh to see me in my grave,'
- says he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, the truth on't was, 'twas jist one of them bustin' up times that
- natur has, when there an't nothin' for it but to give in: 'twas jest like
- the ice breakin' up in the Charles River,—it all come at once, and
- no whoa to't. Sunday or no Sunday, sin or no sin, the most on 'em laughed
- till they cried, and couldn't help it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But the deacon, he went home feelin' pretty sore about it. Lem Sudoc, he
- picked up his wig, and handed it to him. Says he, 'Old Dick was playin'
- tithin'-man, wa'n't he, deacon? Teach you to make allowance for other
- folks that get sleepy.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then Miss Titkins she went over to Aunt Jerushy Scran's and Aunt Polly
- Hokum's; and they hed a pot o' tea over it, and 'greed it was awful of
- Parson Morrel to set sich an example, and suthin' hed got to be done about
- it. Miss Hokum said she allers knew that Parson Morrel hedn't no
- spiritooality; and now it hed broke out into open sin, and led all the
- rest of 'em into it; and Miss Titkins, she said such a man wa'n't fit to
- preach; and Miss Hokum said she couldn't never hear him agin: and the next
- Sunday the deacon and his wife they hitched up and driv eight miles over
- to Parson Lothrop's and took Aunt Polly on the back seat.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, the thing growed and growed, till it seemed as if there wa'n't
- nothin' else talked about, 'cause Aunt Polly and Miss Titkins and Jerushy
- Scran they didn't do nothin' but talk about it; and that sot everybody
- else a-talkin'.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Finally, it was 'greed they must hev a council to settle the hash. So all
- the wimmen they went to choppin' mince, and makin' up pumpkin pies and
- cranberry tarts, andb'ilin' doughnuts,—gettin' ready for the
- ministers and delegates; 'cause councils always eats powerful: and they
- hed quite a stir, like a gineral trainin'. The hosses they was hitched all
- up and down the stalls, a-stompin' and switchin' their tails; and all the
- wimmen was a-talkin'; and they hed up everybody round for witnesses. And
- finally Parson Morrel he says, 'Brethren,' says he, 'jest let me tell you
- the story jest as it happened; and, if you don't every one of you laugh as
- hard as I did, why, then, I 'll give up.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “The parson he was a master-hand at settin' off a story; and, afore he'd
- done, he got 'em all in sich a roar they didn't know where to leave off.
- Finally, they give sentence that there hedn't no temptation took him but
- such as is common to man; but they advised him afterwards allers to pray
- with his eyes shet; and the parson he confessed he orter 'a done it, and
- meant to do better in future: and so they settled it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So, boys,” said Sam, who always drew a moral, “ye see, it larns you, you
- must take care what ye look at, ef ye want to keep from laughin' in
- meetin'”.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0030" id="linkimage-0030"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:20%;">
- <img src="images/5252.jpg" alt="5252 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/5252.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- TOM TOOTHACHE'S GHOST STORY.
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0031" id="linkimage-0031"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;">
- <img src="images/9253.jpg" alt="9253 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9253.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- HAT is it about that old house in Sherbourne?” said Aunt Nabby to Sam
- Lawson, as he sat drooping over the coals of a great fire one October
- evening.
- </p>
- <p>
- Aunt Lois was gone to Boston on a visit; and, the smart spice of her
- scepticism being absent, we felt the more freedom to start our
- story-teller on one of his legends.
- </p>
- <p>
- Aunt Nabby sat trotting her knitting-needles on a blue-mixed yarn
- stocking. Grandmamma was knitting in unison at the other side of the fire.
- Grandfather sat studying “The Boston Courier.” The wind outside was
- sighing in fitful wails, creaking the pantry-doors, occasionally puffing
- in a vicious gust down the broad throat of the chimney. It was a drizzly,
- sleety evening; and the wet lilac-bushes now and then rattled and splashed
- against the window as the wind moaned and whispered through them.
- </p>
- <p>
- We boys had made preparation for a comfortable evening. We had enticed Sam
- to the chimney-corner, and drawn him a mug of cider. We had set down a row
- of apples to roast on the hearth, which even now were giving faint sighs
- and sputters as their plump sides burst in the genial heat. The big oak
- back-log simmered and bubbled, and distilled large drops down amid the
- ashes; and the great hickory forestick had just burned out into solid
- bright coals, faintly skimmed over with white ashes. The whole area of the
- big chimney was full of a sleepy warmth and brightness just calculated to
- call forth fancies and visions. It only wanted somebody now to set Sam
- off; and Aunt Nabby broached the ever-interesting subject of haunted
- houses.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, now, Miss Badger,” said Sam, “I ben over there, and walked round
- that are house consid'able; and I talked with Granny Hokum and Aunt Polly,
- and they've putty much come to the conclusion that they 'll hev to move
- out on't. Ye see these 'ere noises, they keep 'em awake nights; and Aunt
- Polly, she gets 'stericky; and Hannah Jane, she says, ef they stay in the
- house, <i>she</i> can't live with 'em no longer. And what can them lone
- women do without Hannah Jane? Why, Hannah Jane, she says these two months
- past she's seen a woman, regular, walking up and down the front hall
- between twelve and one o'clock at night; and it's jist the image and body
- of old Ma'am Tillotson, Parson Hokum's mother, that everybody know'd was a
- thunderin' kind o' woman, that kep' every thing in a muss while she was
- alive. What the old crittur's up to now there ain't no knowin'. Some folks
- seems to think it's a sign Granny Hokum's time's comin'. But Lordy massy!
- says she to me, says she, 'Why, Sam, I don't know nothin' what I've done,
- that Ma'am Tillotson should be set loose on me.' Anyway they've all got so
- narvy, that Jed Hokum has ben up from Needham, and is goin' to cart 'em
- all over to live with him. Jed, he's for hushin' on't up, 'cause he says
- it brings a bad name on the property.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, I talked with Jed about it; and says I to Jed, says I, 'Now, ef you
- 'll take my advice, jist you give that are old house a regular
- overhaulin', and paint it over with tew coats o' paint, and that are 'll
- clear 'em out, if any thing will. Ghosts is like bedbugs,—they can't
- stan' fresh paint,' says I. 'They allers clear out. I've seen it tried on
- a ship that got haunted.'”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, Sam, do ships get haunted?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure they do!—haunted the wust kind. Why, I could tell ye a
- story'd make your har rise on e'end, only I'm 'fraid of frightening boys
- when they're jist going to bed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh! you can't frighten Horace,” said my grandmother. “He will go and sit
- out there in the graveyard till nine o'clock nights, spite of all I tell
- him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do tell, Sam!” we urged. “What was it about the ship?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Sam lifted his mug of cider, deliberately turned it round and round in his
- hands, eyed it affectionately, took a long drink, and set it down in front
- of him on the hearth, and began:—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ye 'member I telled you how I went to sea down East, when I was a boy,
- 'long with Tom Toothacre. Wal, Tom, he reeled off a yarn one night that
- was 'bout the toughest I ever hed the pullin' on. And it come all
- straight, too, from Tom. 'Twa'n't none o' yer hearsay: 'twas what he seen
- with his own eyes. Now, there wa'n't no nonsense 'bout Tom, not a bit
- on't; and he wa'n't afeard o' the divil himse'f; and he ginally saw
- through things about as straight as things could be seen through. This
- 'ere happened when Tom was mate o' 'The Albatross,' and they was a-runnin'
- up to the Banks for a fare o' fish. 'The Albatross' was as handsome a
- craft as ever ye see; and Cap'n Sim Witherspoon, he was skipper—a
- rail nice likely man he was. I heard Tom tell this 'ere one night to the
- boys on 'The Brilliant,' when they was all a-settin' round the stove in
- the cabin one foggy night that we was to anchor in Frenchman's Bay, and
- all kind o' lavin' off loose.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tom, he said they was having a famous run up to the Banks. There was a
- spankin' southerly, that blew 'em along like all natur'; and they was
- hevin' the best kind of a time, when this 'ere southerly brought a pesky
- fog down on 'em, and it grew thicker than hasty-puddin'. Ye see, that
- are's the pester o' these 'ere southerlies: they's the biggest
- fog-breeders there is goin'. And so, putty soon, you couldn't see half
- ship's length afore you.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, they all was down to supper, except Dan Sawyer at the wheel, when
- there come sich a crash as if heaven and earth was a-splittin', and then a
- scrapin' and thump bumpin' under the ship, and gin 'em sich a h'ist that
- the pot o' beans went rollin', and brought up jam ag'in the bulk-head; and
- the fellers was keeled over,—men and pork and beans kinder
- permiscus.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'The divil!' says Tom Toothacre, 'we've run down somebody. Look out, up
- there!'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dan, he shoved the helm hard down, and put her up to the wind, and sung
- out, 'Lordy massy! we've struck her right amidships!'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Struck what?' they all yelled, and tumbled up on deck.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Why, a little schooner,' says Dan. 'Didn't see her till we was right on
- her. She's gone down tack and sheet. Look! there's part o' the wreck
- a-floating off: don't ye see?'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, they didn't see, 'cause it was so thick you couldn't hardly see your
- hand afore your face. But they put about, and sent out a boat, and kind o'
- sarched round; but, Lordy massy! ye might as well looked for a drop of
- water in the Atlantic Ocean. Whoever they was, it was all done gone and
- over with 'em for this life, poor critturs!
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tom says they felt confoundedly about it; but what could they do? Lordy
- massy! what can any on us do? There's places where folks jest lets go
- 'cause they hes to. Things ain't as they want 'em, and they can't alter
- 'em. Sailors ain't so rough as they look: they'z feelin' critturs, come to
- put things right to 'em. And there wasn't one on 'em who wouldn't 'a'
- worked all night for a chance o' saving some o' them poor fellows. But
- there 'twas, and 'twa'n't no use trying.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, so they sailed on; and by'm by the wind kind o' chopped round
- no'theast, and then come round east, and sot in for one of them regular
- east blows and drizzles that takes the starch out o' fellers more'n a
- regular storm. So they concluded they might as well put into a little bay
- there, and come to anchor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So they sot an anchor-watch, and all turned in.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, now comes the particular curus part o' Tom's story: and it more
- curus 'cause Tom was one that wouldn't 'a' believed no other man that had
- told it. Tom was one o' your sort of philosophers. He was fer lookin' into
- things, and wa'n't in no hurry 'bout believin'; so that this 'un was more
- 'markablfe on account of it's bein' Tom that seen it than ef it had ben
- others.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tom says that night he hed a pesky toothache that sort o' kep' grumblin'
- and jumpin' so he couldn't go to sleep; and he lay in his bunk, a-turnin'
- this way and that, till long past twelve o clock.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tom had a'thwart-ship bunk where he could see into every bunk on board,
- except Bob Coffin's; and Bob was on the anchor-watch. Wal, he lay there,
- tryin' to go to sleep, hearin' the men snorin' like bull-frogs in a swamp,
- and watchin' the lantern a-swingin' back and forward; and the sou'westers
- and pea-jackets were kinder throwin' their long shadders up and down as
- the vessel sort o' rolled and pitched,—for there was a heavy swell
- on,—and then he'd hear Bob Coffin tramp, tramp, trampin' overhead,—for
- Bob had a pretty heavy foot of his own,—and all sort o' mixed up
- together with Tom's toothache, so he couldn't get to sleep. Finally, Tom,
- he bit off a great chaw o' 'baccy, and got it well sot in his cheek, and
- kind o' turned over to lie on't, and ease the pain. Wal, he says he laid a
- spell, and dropped off in a sort o' doze, when he woke in sich a chill his
- teeth chattered, and the pain come on like a 'knife, and he bounced over,
- thinking the fire had gone out in the stove.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, sure enough, he see a man a-crouchin' over the stove, with his back
- to him, a-stretchin' out his hands to warm 'em. He had on a sou'wester and
- a pea-jacket, with a red tippet round his neck; and his clothes was
- drippin' as if he'd just come in from a rain.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'What the divil!' says Tom. And he riz right up, and rubbed his eyes.
- 'Bill Bridges,' says he, 'what shine be you up to now?' For Bill was a
- master oneasy crittur, and allers a-gettin' up and walkin' nights; and
- Tom, he thought it was Bill. But in a minute he looked over, and there,
- sure enough, was Bill, fast asleep in his bunk, mouth wide open, snoring
- like a Jericho ram's-horn. Tom looked round, and counted every man in his
- bunk, and then says he, 'Who the devil is this? for there's Bob Coffin on
- deck, and the rest is all here.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, Tom wa'n't a man to be put under too easy. He hed his thoughts about
- him allers; and the fust he thought in every pinch was what to do. So he
- sot considerin' a minute, sort o' winkin' his eyes to be sure he saw
- straight, when, sure enough, there come another man backin' down the
- companion-way.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Wal, there's Bob Coffin, anyhow,' says Tom to himself. But no, the other
- man, he turned: Tom see his face; and, sure as you live, it was the face
- of a dead corpse. Its eyes was sot, and it jest came as still across the
- cabin, and sot down by the stove, and kind o' shivered, and put out its
- hands as if it was gettin' warm.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tom said that there was a cold air round in the cabin, as if an iceberg
- was comin' near, and he felt cold chills running down his back; but he
- jumped out of his bunk, and took a step forward. 'Speak!' says he. 'Who be
- you? and what do you want?'
- </p>
- <p>
- “They never spoke, nor looked up, but kept kind o' shivering and crouching
- over the stove.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Wal,' says Tom, 'I 'll see who you be, anyhow.' And he walked right up
- to the last man that come in, and reached out to catch hold of his
- coat-collar; but his hand jest went through him like moonshine, and in a
- minute he all faded away; and when he turned round the other one was gone
- too. Tom stood there, looking this way and that; but there warn't nothing
- but the old stove, and the lantern swingin', and the men all snorin' round
- in their bunks. Tom, he sung out to Bob Coffin. 'Hullo, up there!' says
- he. But Bob never answered, and Tom, he went up, and found Bob down on his
- knees, his teeth a-chatterin' like a bag o' nails, trying to say his
- prayers; and all he could think of was, 'Now I lay me,' and he kep' going
- that over and over. Ye see, boys, Bob was a drefful wicked, swearin'
- crittur, and hadn't said no prayers since he was tew years old, and it
- didn't come natural to him. Tom give a grip on his collar, and shook him.
- 'Hold yer yawp,' said he. 'What you howlin' about? What's up?'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Oh, Lordy massy!' says Bob, 'we're sent for,—all on us,—there's
- been two on 'em: both on 'em went right by me!'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, Tom, he hed his own thoughts; but he was bound to get to the bottom
- of things, anyway. Ef 'twas the devil, well and good—he wanted to
- know it. Tom jest wanted to hev the matter settled one way or t'other: so
- he got Bob sort o' stroked down, and made him tell what he saw.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Bob, he stood to it that he was a-standin' right for'ard, a-leanin' on
- the windlass, and kind o' hummin' a tune, when he looked down, and see a
- sort o' queer light in the fog; and he went and took a look over the bows,
- when up came a man's head in a sort of sou'wester, and then a pair of
- hands, and catched at the bob-stay; and then the hull figger of a man riz
- right out o' the water, and clim up on the martingale till he could reach
- the jib-stay with his hands, and then he swung himself right up onto the
- bowsprit, and stepped aboard, and went past Bob, right aft, and down into
- the cabin. And he hadn't more'n got down, afore he turned round, and there
- was another comin' in over the bowsprit, and he went by him, and down
- below: so there was two on 'em, jest as Tom had seen in the cabin.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tom he studied on it a spell, and finally says he, 'Bob, let you and me
- keep this 'ere to ourselves, and see ef it 'll come again. Ef it don't,
- well and good: ef it does—why, we 'll see about it.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “But Tom he told Cap'n Witherspoon, and the Cap'n he agreed to keep an eye
- out the next night. But there warn't nothing said to the rest o' the men.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, the next night they put Bill Bridges on the watch. The fog had
- lifted, and they had a fair wind, and was going on steady. The men all
- turned in, and went fast asleep, except Cap'n Witherspoon, Tom, and Bob
- Coffin. Wal, sure enough, 'twixt twelve and one o'clock, the same thing
- came over, only there war four men 'stead o' two. They come in jes' so
- over the bowsprit, and they looked neither to right nor left, but dim down
- stairs, and sot down, and crouched and shivered over the stove jist like
- the others. Wal, Bill Bridges, he came tearin' down like a wild-cat,
- frightened half out o' his wits, screechin' 'Lord, have mercy! we're all
- goin' to the devil!' And then they all vanished.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Now, Cap'n, what's to be done?' says Tom. 'Ef these 'ere fellows is to
- take passage, we can't do nothin' with the boys: that's clear.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, so it turned out; for, come next night, there was six on 'em come
- in, and the story got round, and the boys was all on eend. There wa'n't no
- doin' nothin' with 'em. Ye see, it's allers jest so. Not but what dead
- folks is jest as 'spectable as they was afore they's dead. These might 'a'
- been as good fellers as any aboard; but it's human natur'. The minute a
- feller's dead, why, you sort o' don't know 'bout him; and it's kind o'
- skeery hevin' on him round; and so 'twan't no wonder the boys didn't feel
- as if they could go on with the vy'ge, ef these 'ere fellers was all to
- take passage. Come to look, too, there war consid'able of a leak stove in
- the vessel; and the boys, they all stood to it, ef they went farther, that
- they'd all go to the bottom. For, ye see, once the story got a-goin',
- every one on 'em saw a new thing every night. One on 'em saw the bait-mill
- a-grindin', without no hands to grind it; and another saw fellers up
- aloft, workin' in the sails. Wal, the fact war, they jest had to put
- about,—run back to Castine.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, the owners, they hushed up things the best they could; and they put
- the vessel on the stocks, and worked her over, and put a new coat o' paint
- on her, and called her 'The Betsey Ann;' and she went a good vy'ge to the
- Banks, and brought home the biggest fare o' fish that had been for a long
- time; and she's made good vy'ges ever since; and that jest proves what
- I've been a-saying,—that there's nothin' to drive out ghosts like
- fresh paint.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- THE PARSON'S HORSE-RACE.
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0032" id="linkimage-0032"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;">
- <img src="images/9268.jpg" alt="9268 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9268.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- AL, now, this 'ere does beat all! I wouldn't 'a' thought it o' the deacon.
- </p>
- <p>
- So spoke Sam Lawson, drooping in a discouraged, contemplative attitude in
- front of an equally discouraged looking horse, that had just been brought
- to him by the Widow Simpkins for medical treatment. Among Sam's many
- accomplishments he was reckoned in the neighborhood an oracle in all
- matters of this kind, especially by women, whose helplessness in meeting
- such emergencies found unfailing solace under his compassionate
- willingness to attend to any business that did not strictly belong to him,
- and from which no pecuniary return was to be expected.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Widow Simpkins had bought this horse of Deacon Atkins, apparently a
- fairly well-appointed brute, and capable as he was good-looking. A short,
- easy drive, when the deacon held the reins, had shown off his points to
- advantage; and the widow's small stock of ready savings had come forth
- freely in payment for what she thought was a bargain. When, soon after
- coming into possession, she discovered that her horse, if driven with any
- haste, panted in a fearful manner, and that he appeared to be growing
- lame, she waxed wroth, and went to the deacon in anger, to be met only
- with the smooth reminder that the animal was all right when she took him;
- that she had seen him tried herself. The widow was of a nature somewhat
- spicy, and expressed herself warmly: “It's a cheat and a shame, and I 'll
- take the law on ye!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What law will you take?” said the unmoved deacon. “Wasn't it a fair
- bargain?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I 'll take the law of God,” said the widow with impotent indignation; and
- she departed to pour her cares and trials into the ever ready ear of Sam.
- Having assumed the care of the animal, he now sat contemplating it in a
- sort of trance of melancholy reflection.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, boys!” he broke out, “why didn't she come to me afore she bought
- this crittur? Why, I knew all about him! That 'are crittur was jest ruined
- a year ago last summer, when Tom, the deacon's boy there, come home from
- college. Tom driv him over to Sherburn and back that 'are hot Fourth of
- July. 'Member it, 'cause I saw the crittur when he come home. I sot up
- with Tom takin' care of him all night. That 'are crittur had the thumps
- all night, and he hain't never been good for nothin' since. I telled the
- deacon he was a gone hoss then, and wouldn't never be good for nothin'.
- The deacon, he took off his shoes, and let him run to pastur' all summer,
- and he's ben a-feedin' and nussin' on him up; and now he's put him off on
- the widder. I wouldn't 'a' thought it o' the deacon! Why, this hoss 'll
- never be no good to her! That 'are's a used-up crittur, any fool may see!
- He 'll mabbe do for about a quarter of an hour on a smooth road; but come
- to drive him as a body wants to drive, why, he blows like my bellowsis;
- and the deacon knew it—must 'a' known it!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, Sam!” we exclaimed, “ain't the deacon a good man?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, now, there's where the shoe pinches! In a gin'al way the deacon <i>is</i>
- a good man—he's con-sid'able more than middlin' good: gin'ally he
- adorns his perfession. On most p'ints I don't hev nothin' agin the deacon;
- and this 'ere ain't a bit like him. But there 'tis! Come to hosses,
- there's where the unsanctified natur' comes out. Folks will cheat about
- hosses when they won't about 'most nothin' else.” And Sam leaned back on
- his cold forge, now empty of coal, and seemed to deliver himself to a
- mournful train of general reflection. “Yes, hosses does seem to be sort o'
- unregenerate critturs,” he broke out: “there's suthin' about hosses that
- deceives the very elect. The best o' folks gets tripped up when they come
- to deal in hosses.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, Sam, is there any thing bad in horses?” we interjected timidly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Tain't the hosses, boys,” said Sam with solemnity. “Lordy massy! the
- hosses is all right enough! Hosses is scriptural animals. Elijah went up
- to heaven in a chari't with hosses; and then all them lots o' hosses in
- the Ravelations,—black and white and red, and all sorts o' colors.
- That 'are shows hosses goes to heaven; but it's more'n the folks that hev
- 'em is likely to, ef they don't look out.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ministers, now,” continued Sam in a soliloquizing vein—“folks
- allers thinks it's suthin' sort o' shaky in a minister to hev much to do
- with hosses,—sure to get 'em into trouble. There was old Parson
- Williams of North Billriky got into a drefful mess about a hoss. Lordy
- massy! he warn't to blame, neither; but he got into the dreffulest scrape
- you ever heard on—come nigh to unsettlin' him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “O Sam! tell us all about it,” we boys shouted, delighted with the
- prospect of a story.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, wait now till I get off this crittur's shoes, and we 'll take him up
- to pastur', and then we can kind o' set by the river, and fish. Hepsy
- wanted a mess o' fish for supper, and I was cal'latin' to git some for
- her. You boys go and be digging bait, and git yer lines.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And so, as we were sitting tranquilly beside the Charles River, watching
- our lines, Sam's narrative began:—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ye see, boys, Parson Williams—he's dead now, but when I was a boy
- he was one of the gret men round here. He writ books. He writ a tract agin
- the Armenians, and put 'em down; and he writ a big book on the millennium
- (I've got that 'are book now); and he was a smart preacher. Folks said he
- had invitations to settle in Boston, and there ain't no doubt he might 'a'
- hed a Boston parish ef he'd 'a' ben a mind ter take it; but he'd got a
- good settlement and a handsome farm in North Billriky, and didn't care to
- move: thought, I s'pose, that 'twas better to be number one in a little
- place than number two in a big un. Anyway, he carried all before him where
- he was.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Parson Williams was a tall, straight, personable man; come of good family—father
- and grand'ther before him all ministers. He was putty up and down, and
- commandin' in his ways, and things had to go putty much as he said. He was
- a good deal sot by, Parson Williams was, and his wife was a Derby,—one
- o' them rich Salem Derbys,—and brought him a lot o' money; and so
- they lived putty easy and comfortable so fur as this world's goods goes.
- Well, now, the parson wan't reely what you call worldly-minded; but then
- he was one o' them folks that <i>knows what's good</i> in temporals as
- well as sperituals, and allers liked to hev the best that there was goin';
- and he allers had an eye to a good boss.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now, there was Parson Adams and Parson Scranton, and most of the other
- ministers: they didn't know and didn't care what hoss they hed; jest
- jogged round with these 'ere poundin', potbellied, sleepy critturs that
- ministers mostly hes,—good enough to crawl round to funerals and
- ministers' meetin's and associations and sich; but Parson Williams, he
- allers would hev a hoss as was a hoss. He looked out for <i>blood</i>;
- and, when these 'ere Vermont fellers would come down with a drove, the
- parson, he hed his eyes open, and knew what was what. Couldn't none of 'em
- cheat him on hoss flesh. And so one time when Zach Buel was down with a
- drove, the doctor, he bought the best hoss in the lot. Zach said he never
- see a parson afore that he couldn't cheat; but he said the doctor reely
- knew as much as he did, and got the very one he'd meant to 'a' kept for
- himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “This 'ere hoss was a peeler, I 'll tell you! They'd called him Tamerlane,
- from some heathen feller or other: the boys called him Tam, for short. Tam
- was a gret character. All the fellers for miles round knew the doctor's
- Tam, and used to come clear over from the other parishes to see him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, this 'ere sot up Cuff's back high, I tell you! Cuff was the doctor's
- nigger man, and he was nat 'lly a drefful proud crittur. The way he would
- swell and strut and brag about the doctor and his folks and his things!
- The doctor used to give Cuff his cast-off clothes; and Cuff would prance
- round in 'em, and seem to think he was a doctor of divinity himself, and
- had the charge of all natur'.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, Cuff he reely made an idol o' that 'are hoss,—a reg'lar
- graven image, and bowed down and worshipped him. He didn't think nothin'
- was too good for him. He washed and brushed and curried him, and rubbed
- him down till he shone like a lady's satin dress; and he took pride in
- ridin' and drivin' him, 'cause it was what the doctor wouldn't let nobody
- else do but himself. You see, Tam warn't no lady's hoss. Miss Williams was
- 'fraid as death of him; and the parson, he hed to git her a sort o'
- low-sperited crittur that she could drive herself. But he liked to drive
- Tam; and he liked to go round the country on his back, and a fine figure
- of a man he was on him too. He didn't let nobody else back him, or handle
- the reins, but Cuff; and Cuff was drefful set up about it, and he swelled
- and bragged about that ar boss all round the country. Nobody couldn't put
- in a word 'bout any other hoss, without Cuff's feathers would be all up,
- stiff as a tom-turkey's tail; and that's how Cuff got the doctor into
- trouble.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ye see, there nat 'lly was others that thought they'd got horses, and
- didn't want to be crowed over. There was Bill Atkins out to the west
- parish, and Ike Sanders, that kep' a stable up to Pequot Holler: they was
- down a-lookin' at the parson's hoss, and a-bettin' on their'n, and
- a-darin' Cuff to race with 'em.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, Cuff, he couldn't stan' it, and, when the doctor's back was turned,
- he'd be off on the sly, and they'd hev their race; and Tam, he beat 'em
- all. Tam, ye see, boys, was a hoss that couldn't and wouldn't hev a hoss
- ahead of him—he jest <i>wouldn't!</i> Ef he dropped down dead in his
- tracks the next minit, he <i>would</i> be ahead; and he allers got ahead.
- And so his name got up, and fellers kep' comin' to try their horses; and
- Cuff'd take Tam out to race with fust one and then another till this 'ere
- got to be a reg'lar thing, and begun to be talked about.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Folks sort o' wondered if the doctor knew; but Cuff was sly as a weasel,
- and allers had a story ready for every turn. Cuff was one of them fellers
- that could talk a bird off a bush,—master hand he was to slick
- things over!
- </p>
- <p>
- “There was folks as said they believed the doctor was knowin' to it, and
- that he felt a sort o' carnal pride sech as a minister oughtn't fer to
- hev, and so shet his eyes to what was a-goin' on. Aunt Sally Nickerson
- said she was sure on't.'Twas all talked over down to old Miss Bummiger's
- funeral, and Aunt Sally, she said the church ought to look into't. But
- everybody knew Aunt Sally: she was allers watchin' for folks' haltin's,
- and settin' on herself up to jedge her neighbors.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, I never believed nothin' agin Parson Williams: it was all Cuff's
- contrivances. But the fact was, the fellers all got their blood up, and
- there was hoss-racin' in all the parishes; and it got so they'd even race
- hosses a Sunday.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, of course they never got the doctor's hoss out a Sunday. Cuff
- wouldn't 'a', durst to do that, Lordy massy, no! He was allers there in
- church, settin' up in the doctor's clothes, rollin' up his eyes, and
- lookin' as pious as ef he never thought o' racin' hosses. He was an awful
- solemn-lookin' nigger in church, Cuff was.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But there was a lot o' them fellers up to Pequot Holler—Bill
- Atkins, and Ike Sanders, and Tom Peters, and them Hokum boys—used to
- go out arter meetin' Sunday arternoon, and race hosses. Ye see, it was
- jest close to the State-line, and, if the s'lectmen was to come down on
- 'em, they could jest whip over the line, and they couldn't take 'em.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, it got to be a great scandal. The fellers talked about it up to the
- tavern, and the deacons and the tithingman, they took it up and went to
- Parson Williams about it; and the parson he told 'em jest to keep still,
- not let the fellers know that they was bein' watched, and next Sunday he
- and the tithingman and the constable, they'd ride over, and catch 'em in
- the very act.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So next Sunday arternoon Parson Williams and Deacon Popkins and Ben
- Bradley (he was constable that year), they got on to their hosses, and
- rode over to Pequot Holler. The doctor's blood was up, and he meant to
- come down on 'em strong; for that was his way of doin' in his parish. And
- they was in a sort o' day o'-jedgment frame o' mind, and jogged along
- solemn as a hearse, till, come to rise the hill above the holler, they see
- three or four fellers with their hosses gittin' ready to race; and the
- parson says he, 'Let's come on quiet, and get behind these bushes, and we
- 'll see what they're up to, and catch 'em in the act.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “But the mischief on't was, that Ike Sanders see 'em comin', and he knowed
- Tam in a minit,—Ike knowed Tam of old,—and he jest tipped the
- wink to the rest. 'Wait, boys,' says he: 'let 'em git close up, and then I
- 'll give the word, and the doctor's hoss will be racin' ahead like
- thunder.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, so the doctor and his folks, they drew up behind the bushes, and
- stood there innocent as could be, and saw 'em gittin' ready to start. Tam,
- he begun to snuffle and paw; but the doctor never mistrusted what he was
- up to till Ike sung out, 'Go it, boys!' and the hosses all started, when,
- sure as you live, boys! Tam give one fly, and was over the bushes, and in
- among 'em, goin' it like chain-lightnin' ahead of 'em all.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Deacon Popkins and Ben Bradley jest stood and held their breath to see em
- all goin' it so like thunder; and the doctor, he was took so sudden it was
- all he could do to jest hold on anyway: so away he went, and trees and
- bushes and fences streaked by him like ribbins. His hat flew off behind
- him, and his wig arter, and got catched in a barberry-bush; but Lordy
- massy! he couldn't stop to think o' them. He jest leaned down, and caught
- Tam round the neck, and held on for dear life till they come to the
- stopping-place.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, Tam was ahead of them all, sure enough, and was snorting and
- snuffling as if he'd got the very old boy in him, and was up to racing
- some more on the spot.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That 'ere Ike Sanders was the impudentest feller that ever you see, and
- he roared and rawhawed at the doctor. 'Good for you, parson!' says he.
- 'You beat us all holler,' says he. 'Takes a parson for that, don't it,
- boys?' he said. And then he and Ike and Ton; and the two Hokum boys, they
- jest roared, and danced round like wild critturs. Wal, now, only think
- on't, boys, what a situation that 'are was for a minister,—a man
- that had come out with the best of motives to put a stop to
- sabbath-breakin' I There he was all rumpled up and dusty, and his wig
- hangin' in the bushes, and these 'ere ungodly fellers gettin' the laugh on
- him, and all acause o' that 'are hoss. There's times, boys, when ministers
- must be tempted to swear if there ain't preventin' grace, and this was one
- o' them times to Parson Williams. They say he got red in the face, and
- looked as if he should bust, but he didn't say nothin': he scorned to
- answer. The sons o' Zeruiah was too hard for him, and he let 'em hev their
- say. But when they'd got through, and Ben had brought him his hat and wig,
- and brushed and settled him ag'in, the parson, he says, 'Well, boys, ye've
- had your say and your laugh; but I warn you now I won't have this thing
- going on here any more,' says he: 'so mind yourselves.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, the boys see that the doctor's blood was up, and they rode off
- pretty quiet; and I believe they never raced no more in that spot.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But there ain't no tellin' the talk this 'ere thing made. Folks will
- talk, you know; and there warn't a house in all Billriky, nor in the south
- parish nor centre, where it warn't had over and discussed. There was the
- deacon, and Ben Bradley was there, to witness and show jest how the thing
- was, and that the doctor was jest in the way of his duty; but folks said
- it made a great scandal; that a minister hadn't no business to hev that
- kind o' hoss, and that he'd give the enemy occasion to speak
- reproachfully. It reely did seem as if Tam's sins was imputed to the
- doctor; and folks said he ought to sell Tam right away, and get a sober
- minister's hoss.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But others said it was Cuff that had got Tam into bad ways, and they do
- say that Cuff had to catch it pretty lively when the doctor come to settle
- with him. Cuff thought his time had come, sure enough, and was so scairt
- that he turned blacker'n ever: he got enough to cure him o' hoss-racin'
- for one while. But Cuff got over it arter a while, and so did the doctor.
- Lordy massy! there ain't nothin' lasts forever! Wait long enough, and
- 'most every thing blows over. So it turned out about the doctor. There was
- a rumpus and a fuss, and folks talked and talked, and advised; everybody
- had their say: but the doctor kep' right straight on, and kep' his hoss
- all the same.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The ministers, they took it up in the association; but, come to tell the
- story, it sot 'em all a-laughin', so they couldn't be very hard on the
- doctor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The doctor felt sort o' streaked at fust when they told the story on him;
- he didn't jest like it: but he got used to it, and finally, when he was
- twitted on't, he'd sort o' smile, and say, 'Anyway, Tam beat 'em: that's
- one comfort.'”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- OLDTOWN FIRESIDE TALKS OF THE REVOLUTION.
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0033" id="linkimage-0033"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;">
- <img src="images/9284.jpg" alt="9284 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9284.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- HE sacred work of preparation for Thanksgiving was at hand. Our kitchen
- was fragrant with the smell of cinnamon, cloves, and allspice which we
- boys were daily set to pound in the great lignum-vitæ mortar. Daily the
- great oven flamed without cessation; and the splitting of oven-wood kept
- us youngsters so busy, that we scarce had a moment to play: yet we did it
- with a cheerful mind, inspired by the general aroma of coming festivity
- abroad in the house.
- </p>
- <p>
- Behold us this evening around the kitchen-fire, which crackled and roared
- up the wide chimney, brightening with its fluttering radiance the farthest
- corner of the ample room. A tub of rosy-cheeked apples, another of golden
- quinces, and a bushel-basket filled with ruby cranberries, stood in the
- midst of the circle. All hands were busy. Grandmother in one corner was
- superintending us boys as we peeled and quartered the fruit,—an
- operation in which grandfather took a helping hand; Aunt Lois was busily
- looking over and sorting cranberries, when a knock at the door announced a
- visitor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, now, I s'pose that's Sam Lawson, of course,” snapped Aunt Lois.
- </p>
- <p>
- Aunt Lois generally spoke with a snap; but about Thanksgiving time it had
- a cheery ring, like the snapping of our brisk kitchen-fire.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good-evenin', Miss Badger and Miss Lois,” said Sam. “I see yer winders so
- bright, I couldn't help wantin' to come in and help ye pare apples, or
- suthin'.”
- </p>
- <p>
- We boys made haste to give Sam the warmest welcome, and warmest place in
- the chimney-corner, and to accommodate him with a tin pan full of quinces,
- and a knife, when he was soon settled among us.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, this 'ere does look cheerful,—looks like Thanksgiving,” he
- began. “Wal, Lordy massy! we've got a great deal to be thankful for in
- this 'ere land o' privileges; hain't we, deacon? I was a-comin' 'round by
- Mis' Lothrop's to-day; and her Dinah, she told me the Doctor was gettin' a
- great sermon out on the hundred and twenty-fourth Psalm: 'If it had not
- been the Lord who was on our side when men rose up against us, then they
- had swallowed us up.' He's a-goin' to show all our deliverances in the
- war. I expect it 'll be a whale of a sermon, 'cause, when our minister
- sets out to do a thing, he mos' generally does it up to the handle. Tell
- ye what, boys, you must listen with all your ears: you 'll never know what
- times them was if you don't—you don't know what liberty cost us all.
- There's your gran'ther, now, he could tell ye: he 'members when he went
- off to Lexington with his gun on his shoulders.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, grandfather! did <i>you</i> go?” we both exclaimed with wide eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, boys,” said my grandfather, “'tain't worth talkin' about what I
- did. I was in my mill that day, minding my business, when brother Con, he
- burst in, and says he, 'Look here, Bill, the regulars are goin' up to
- Concord to destroy our stores, and we must all go. Come, get your gun.'
- Well, I said I was a miller, and millers were exempt from duty; but Con
- wouldn't let me alone. 'Get down your gun,' says he. 'Suppose we're going
- to let them British fellers walk over us?' says he. Well, Con always had
- his way of me; and I got my gun, and we started out through the woods over
- to Concord. We lived at Weston then, ye see. Well, when we got on the brow
- of the hill, we looked over, and, sure enough, there on burying-ground
- hill was the British regulars. The hill was all alive with 'em, marching
- here and there in their scarlet coats like so many bees out of a hive.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Con,' says I, 'jest look there. What are you going to do?'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Shoot some of 'em, I know,' says Con.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And so we ran along, hiding behind trees and bushes and stone walls, till
- we got near enough to get a shot at 'em. You see, they broke up into
- companies, and went here and there about town, looking for the stores; and
- then, as we got a chance here and there, we marked our men, and popped,
- and then we'd run, and take aim somewhere else.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, now, that are wa'n't the hull on't,” said Sam. “Why, there was
- hundreds of fellers doin' just the same all round: it was jest
- pop-pop-pop! from every barn, and every bush, and clump o' trees, all
- along the way. Men was picked off all the time; and they couldn't see who
- did it, and it made 'em mad as fury. Why, I 'member Mis' Tom Bigelow, she
- that was Sary Jones, told me how they sot her mother's house afire and
- burnt it down, 'cause their nigger man Cæsar popped at 'em out o' the
- buttery window. They didn't tell him to; but Cæsar, he was full of fight,
- like all the rest on 'em. Lordy massy! the niggers went for suthin' in
- them times! Their blood was up as quick as anybody's. Why, there was old
- Pompey Lovejoy lived over by Pomp's pond in Andover, he hitched up his
- wagon, and driv over with two barrels o' cider and some tin dippers, and
- was round all day givin' drinks o' cider to our men when they got het and
- thirsty and tired. It was a pretty warm day for April, that was. Pomp has
- told me the story many a time. 'Twas all the cider he had; but cider goes
- for suthin', as well as gunpowder in its place, and Pomp's cider come jest
- right that day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But grandfather,” said I, “what happened to you over there?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, you see,” said grandfather placidly, “I wasn't killed; but I come
- pretty nigh it. You see, they sent into Boston for re-enforcements; and,
- by the time we got to Lexington, Earl Percy was marching out with fresh
- troops and cannon. Con and I were standing on the meetin'-house steps,
- when there come a terrible bang, and something struck right over our
- heads, and went into the meetin'-house. 'Why, Bill!' says Con, 'what's
- that?'—'They've got cannon: that's what that is,' says I. 'Let's run
- 'round the other side.' So we did; but just as we got round there, there
- come another bang, and a ball crashed right through the meetin'-house, and
- come out of the pulpit window. Well, we saw there was no staying there: so
- we run then, and got into a little clump of trees behind a stone wall; and
- there we saw 'em go by,—Earl Percy on his horse, and all his troops,
- ever so grand. He went on up to Concord. Fact is, if it hadn't been for
- him and his men, those regulars would all have been cut off: they wouldn't
- one of 'em have got back, for the whole country was up and fighting. The
- militia came pouring in from Weston and Acton and Billriky,—all the
- towns round. Then their Col. Smith was wounded, and a good many others,
- and lots of 'em killed, and our minute-men coming on 'em before and
- behind, and all around. But ye see, we couldn't stand regular troops and
- cannon; and so, when they come on, we had to give back. Earl Percy came
- up, and formed a hollow square, and they marched into it, and so gave 'em
- time to rest.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, there was need enough on't,” said Sam. “The regulars had been
- hectored and picked, and driv 'round so from piller to post, that they was
- dog tired. Jimmy Irwin, he was a little chap then; but he telled me how he
- see the men jest threw 'emselves down on the ground, their tongues
- trailing out o' their mouths like hunting-dogs. You see, they had about
- two hundred wounded, and twenty eight or nine was taken prisoners, and
- sixty-four killed outright: so Lord Percy had his hands full o' takin'
- care o' the mess they'd got up.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said my grandfather, “there were dead men lying all around the road
- as we came back. There, boys!” he said, pointing to a gun and powder-horn
- over the chimney, “we picked up these when we were coming home. We found
- them on a poor fellow who lay there dead in the road: there's some blood
- of his on it to this day. We couldn't help feeling it was most too bad
- too.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor fellow! he wa'n't to blame,” said my grand-mother. “Soldiers have to
- go as they're bid. War's an awful thing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then they shouldn't have begun it,” interposed Aunt Lois. “'They that
- take the sword shall perish by the sword.'”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, grandpapa,” said I, “what were the stores they went up to get?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They were stores laid up to enable us to go to war, and they were 'round
- in different places. There were two twenty-four-pounders that they spiked,
- and they threw about five hundred pounds of ball into the river or wells,
- and broke up sixty barrels of flour, and scattered it about.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal,” said Sam triumphantly, “there was one lot they didn't get. Cap'n
- Tim Wheeler had about the biggest lot o' wheat, and rye-flour, and
- corn-meal stored up in his barn, with some barrels of his own. So when
- this 'ere fine jay-bird of an officer came to him all so grand, and told
- him to open his barn and let him look in, the cap'n, he took his key, and
- walked right out, and opened the barndoor; and the officer was tickled to
- pieces. He thought he'd got such a haul!
- </p>
- <p>
- “'If you please, sir,' says the cap'n, 'I'm a miller, and got my living by
- grinding grain. I'm a poor man. You can see my mill out there. I grind up
- a lot o' grain in the winter, and get it ready to sell in the spring.
- Some's wheat, and some's rye, and some's corn-meal; and this wheat is
- mine, and this rye is mine, and this corn-meal is mine;' and, when he
- spoke, he put his hand on his own barrels.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Oh! if this is your private property,' says the officer, 'we sha'n't
- touch that: we don't meddle with private property.' And so he turned on
- his heel, and the cap'n, he locked up his barn.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Was that telling the truth?” said I.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, you see it was true what he said,” said Sam. “Them bar'ls he laid
- his hands on was hisn.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But Aunt Lois told me yesterday it was as bad to act a lie as to speak
- one,” said I.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, so I did,” said Aunt Lois. “The truth is the truth, and I 'll stick
- to it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But, Aunt Lois, would you have told him, and let him break up all those
- barrels?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I shouldn't,” said Aunt Lois. “I should have done just as Cap'n Tim
- did; but I should have done <i>wrong</i>. Right is right, and wrong is
- wrong, even if I can't come up to it always.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What would you have done, grandfather?” said I.
- </p>
- <p>
- My grandfather's mild face slowly irradiated, as when moonbeams pass over
- a rock.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, boys,” he said, “I don't think I should have let him break up those
- barrels. If it was wrong to do as Cap'n Wheeler did, I think most likely I
- should 'a' done it. I don't suppose I'm any better than he was.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, at any rate,” said Aunt Lois, “what folks' do in war time is no
- rule for ordinary times: every thing is upset then. There ain't any of the
- things they do in war time that are according to gospel teaching; but, if
- you boys were to do just as Cap'n Wheeler did, I should say you lied by
- speaking the truth.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, well,” said my grandmother, “those were dreadful times. Thank the
- Lord that they are past and gone, and we don't have such awful cases of
- conscience as we did then. I never could quite see how we did right to
- resist the king at all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, the Bible says, 'Resist the devil,'” said Aunt Lois.
- </p>
- <p>
- A general laugh followed this sally.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I always heard,” said my grandfather, by way of changing the subject,
- “that they meant to have taken Mr. Adams and Mr. Hancock and hung 'em.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, to be sure they did,” said Sam Lawson. “I know all about that are.
- Sapphira Clark, up to Lexington, she told me all about that are, one day
- when I was to her house puttin' down her best parlor carpet. Sapphira
- wa'n't but ten or eleven years old when the war broke out; but she
- remembered all about it. Ye see, Mr. Hancock and Mr. Adams was a-staying
- hid up at their house. Her father, Mr. Jonas Clark, was minister of
- Lexington; and he kep' 'em quite private, and didn't let nobody know they
- was there. Wal, Sapphira said they was all a-settin' at supper, when her
- father, he heard a great rapping at the front-door; and her father got up
- and went and opened it; and she looked after him into the entry, and could
- just see a man in a scarlet uniform standing at the door, and she heard
- him ask, 'Are Sam Adams and John Hancock here?' And her father answered,
- 'Oh, hush! Don't mention those names here.'—'Then,' says the man, 'I
- come to tell you the British troops will be along by sunrise; and, if they
- are in your house, they'd better escape right away.'”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That must have been Col. Paul Revere,” said Aunt Lois. “He went all
- through the country, from Boston to Concord, rousing up people, and
- telling 'em to be ready.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, what did Mr. Adams and Hancock do?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, they got ready right away, and slipped quietly out the back-door,
- and made their way over to Burlington, and staid in the minister's house
- over there out of the way of the battle.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What would the British have done with 'em, if they had caught them?” said
- I.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hung 'em—high as Haman,” said my Aunt Lois sententiously. “That's
- what they'd have done. That's what they'd 'a' done to them, and to Gen.
- Washington, and lots more, if they'd had their way.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes!” said grandfather, “they were mighty high-stepping at first.
- They thought they had only to come over and show themselves, and they
- could walk through the land, and hang and burn and slay just whom they'd a
- mind to.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, they found 'twas like jumping into a hornets' nest,” said Sam
- Lawson. “They found that out at Lexington and Bunker Hill.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Brother Con was in those trenches at Bunker Hill,” said grandfather.
- “There they dug away at the breastworks, with the bom'-shells firing round
- 'em. They didn't mind them more than if they'd been hickory-nuts. They
- kep' fellows ready to pour water on 'em as they fell.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I never want to feel again as I did that day,” said grandmother. “I
- was in Boston, visiting cousin Jemima Russel, and we were all out on the
- roof of the house. The roofs everywhere were all alive with people looking
- through spy-glasses; and we could hear the firing, but couldn't tell how
- the day was going. And then they set Charlestown on fire; and the blaze
- and smoke and flame rose up, and there was such a snapping and crackling,
- and we could hear roofs and timbers falling, and see people running this
- way and that with their children—women scared half to death
- a-flying; and we knew all the time there was cousin Jane Wilkinson in that
- town sick in bed, with a baby only a few days old. It's a wonder how Jane
- ever lived through it; but they did get her through alive, and her baby
- too. That burning Charlestown settled to fight it through: it was so mean
- and cruel needless.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said my grandfather, “that day settled the question that we would
- be free and independent, or die; and, though our men had to retreat, yet
- it was as good as a defeat to the British. They lost ten hundred and
- fifty-four in point with a good many. They determined then killed and
- wounded, and we only four hundred and fifty-three; and our men learned
- that they could fight as well as the British. Congress went right to work
- to raise an army, and appointed Gen. Washington commander. Your gran'ther
- Stowe, boys, was orderly of the day when Gen. Washington took the command
- at Cambridge.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal,” said Sam, “I was in Cambridge that day and saw it all. Ye see, the
- army was drawn up under the big elm there; and Ike Newel and I, we clim up
- into a tree, and got a place where we could look down and see. I wa'n't
- but ten year old then; but, if ever a mortal man looked like the angel of
- the Lord, the gineral looked like it that day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Some said that there was trouble about having Gen. Ward give up the
- command to a Southern man,” said my grandfather. “Gen. Ward was a brave
- man and very popular; but everybody was satisfied when they came to know
- Gen. Washington.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There couldn't no minister have seemed more godly than he did that day,”
- said Sam. “He read out of the hymn-book the hundred and first Psalm.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is that psalm?” said I.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Laws, boys! I know it by heart,” said Sam, “I was so impressed hearin' on
- him read it. I can say it to you:—
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- '“Mercy and judgment are my song,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- And since they both to thee belong,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- My gracious God, my righteous King,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- To thee my songs and vows I bring.
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- If I am raised to bear the sword,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- I 'll take my counsels from thy word.
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Thy justice and thy heavenly grace
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Shall be the pattern of my ways.
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- I 'll search the land, and raise the just
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- To posts of honor, wealth, and trust:
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- The men who work thy righteous will
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Shall be my friends and favorites still.
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- The impious crew, the factious band,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Shall hold their peace, or quit the land;
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- And all who break the public rest,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Where I have power, shall be suppressed.'”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- “And he did it too,” remarked Aunt Lois.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He trusted in the Lord, and the Lord brought him to honor,” said my
- grandmother. “When he took the army, every thing was agin' us: it didn't
- seem possible we should succeed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, he was awful put to it sometimes,” said Sam Lawson. “I 'member Uncle
- David Morse was a-tellin' me 'bout that are time down in New York when
- the' Massachusetts and Connecticut boys all broke and run.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Massachusetts boys run? How came that Sam?” said I.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, you see, sometimes fellows will get a-runnin'; and it jest goes from
- one to another like fire, and ye can't stop it. It was after the battle of
- Long Island, when our men had been fighting day after day, and had to
- retreat. A good many were wounded, and a good many of 'em were sick and
- half-sick; and they'd got sort o' tired and discouraged.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, Lord Howe and the British came to make a landing at Kipp's Bay
- round by New York; and the troops set to guard the landing began to run,
- and the Massachusetts and Connecticut men were sent to help 'em. Uncle
- David says that the fellows that run spread the panic among 'em; and they
- looked ahead, and saw an ox-drag on top of a hill they was to pass, and
- they thought 'twas a cannon pintin' right at 'em; and the boys, they jest
- broke and run,—cut right across the road, and cleared over the
- fence, and streaked it off cross-lots and up hill like a flock o' sheep.
- Uncle David, he run too; but he'd been sick o' dysentary, and was so weak
- he couldn't climb the fence: so he stopped and looked back, and saw
- Gineral Washington cantering up behind 'em, shouting, and waving his
- sword, looking like a flamin' fire. Oh, he was thunderin' mad, the gineral
- was! And, when he see the fellows skittering off cross-lots, he jest
- slammed his hat down on the ground, and give up. 'Great heavens!' says he,
- 'are these the men I've got to fight this battle with?'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, Uncle David, he picked up the gineral's hat, and come up and made
- his bow, and said, 'Gineral, here's your hat.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Thank you, sir!' said the gineral. 'I'm glad to see one brave fellow
- that can stand his ground. <i>You</i> didn't run.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Uncle David said he felt pretty cheap, 'cause he know'd in his own heart
- that he would 'a' run, only he was too weak to git over the fence; but he
- didn't tell the gineral that, I bet He put the compliment in his pocket,
- and said nothing; for now the gineral's aides came riding up full drive,
- and told him they must be off out of the field in a minute, or the British
- would have 'em, and so one on 'em took Uncle David up behind him, and away
- they cantered. It was a pretty close shave too: the British was only a few
- rods behind 'em.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, dear, if they had caught him!” said I. “Only think!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, they would have hung him; but we should have had another in his
- place,” said Aunt Lois. “The war wouldn't 'a' stopped.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, 'twas to be as 'twas,” said my grandmother. “The Lord had respect
- to the prayers of our fathers, and he'd decreed that America should be
- free.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Sam: “Parson Badger said in one o' his sermons, that men
- always was safe when they was goin' in the line o' God's decrees: I guess
- that are was about it. But, massy! is that are the nine o'clock bell? I
- must make haste home, or I dun' know what Hetty 'll say to me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- A STUDENT'S SEA STORY.
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0034" id="linkimage-0034"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="figleft" style="width:20%;">
- <img src="images/9303.jpg" alt="9303 " width="100%" /><br /><a
- href="images/9303.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </div>
- <p>
- MONG the pleasantest of my recollections of old Bowdoin is the salt-air
- flavor of its sea experiences. The site of Brunswick is a sandy plain, on
- which the college buildings seem to have been dropped for the good old
- Yankee economic reason of using land for public buildings that could not
- be used for any thing else. The soil was a fathomless depth of dry, sharp,
- barren sand, out of whose bosom nothing but pitch-pines and
- blueberry-bushes emerged, or ever could emerge without superhuman efforts
- of cultivation. But these sandy plains, these pine forests, were neighbors
- to the great, lively, musical blue ocean, whose life-giving presence made
- itself seen, heard, and felt every hour of the day and night. The
- beautiful peculiarity of the Maine coast, where the sea interpenetrates
- the land in picturesque fiords and lakes, brought a constant romantic
- element into the landscape. White-winged ships from India or China came
- gliding into the forest recesses bringing news from strange lands, and
- tidings of wild adventure, into secluded farmhouses, that, for the most
- part, seemed to be dreaming in woodland solitude. In the early days of my
- college life the shipping interest of Maine gave it an outlook into all
- the countries of the earth. Ships and ship-building and ship-launching
- were the drift of the popular thought; and the very minds of the people by
- this commerce had apparently
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- “Suffered a sea change
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Into something rare and strange.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a quaintness, shrewdness, and vivacity of lonely solitude about
- these men, (half skipper, half farmer!) that half skip was piquant and
- enlivening.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was in the auspicious period of approaching Thanksgiving that my chum
- and I resolved to antedate for a few days our vacation, and take passage
- on the little sloop “Brilliant,” that lay courtesying and teetering on the
- bright waters of Maquoit Bay, loading up to make her Thanksgiving trip to
- Boston.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a bright Indian-summer afternoon that saw us all on board the
- little craft. She was laden deep with dainties and rarities for the festal
- appetites of Boston nabobs,—loads of those mealy potatoes for which
- the fields of Maine were justly famed, barrels of ruby cranberries, boxes
- of solid golden butter (ventures of a thrifty housemother emulous to
- gather kindred gold in the Boston market). Then there were dressed
- chickens, turkeys, and geese, all going the same way, on the same errand;
- and there were sides and saddles of that choice mutton for which the sea
- islands of Maine were as famous as the South Downs of England.
- </p>
- <p>
- Every thing in such a stowage was suggestive of good cheer. The little
- craft itself had a sociable, friendly, domestic air. The captain and mate
- were cousins: the men were all neighbors, sons of families who had grown
- up together. There was a kindly home flavor in the very stowage of the
- cargo. Here were Melissa's cranberries, and by many a joke and wink we
- were apprised that the mate had a tender interest in that venture. There
- was Widder Toothacre's butter, concerning which there were various
- comments and speculations, but which was handled and cared for with the
- consideration the Maine sailor-boy always gives to “the widder.” There was
- a private keg of very choice eggs, over which the name of Lucindy Ann was
- breathed by a bright-eyed, lively youngster, who had promised to bring her
- back the change, and as to the precise particulars of this change many a
- witticism was expended.
- </p>
- <p>
- Our mode of living on the “Brilliant” was of the simplest and most
- primitive kind. On each side the staircase that led down to the cabin,
- hooped strongly to the partition, was a barrel, which on the one side
- contained salt beef, and on the other salt pork. A piece out of each
- barrel, delivered regularly to the cook, formed the foundation of our
- daily meals; and sea-biscuit and potatoes, with the sauce of salt-water
- appetites, made this a feast for a king. I make no mention here of
- gingerbread and doughnuts, and such like ornamental accessories, which
- were not wanting, nor of nuts and sweet cider, which were to be had for
- the asking. At meal-times a swing-shelf, which at other seasons hung flat
- against the wall, was propped up, and our meals were eaten thereon in
- joyous satisfaction.
- </p>
- <p>
- A joyous, rollicking set we were, and the whole expedition was a frolic of
- the first water. One of the drollest features of these little impromptu
- voyages often was the woe-begone aspect of some unsuspecting land-lubber,
- who had been beguiled into thinking that he would like a trip to Boston by
- seeing the pretty “Brilliant” courtesying in the smooth waters of Maquoit,
- and so had embarked, in innocent ignorance of the physiological resets of
- such enterprises.
- </p>
- <p>
- I remember the first morning out. As we were driving ahead, under a stiff
- breeze, I came on deck, and found the respectable Deacon Muggins, who in
- his Sunday coat had serenely embarked the day before, now desolately
- clinging to the railing, very white about the gills, and contemplating the
- sea with a most suggestive expression of disgust and horror.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, deacon, good-morning! How are you? Splendid morning!” said I
- maliciously.
- </p>
- <p>
- He drew a deep breath, surveyed me with a mixture of indignation and
- despair, and then gave vent to his feelings: “Tell ye what: there was one
- darned old fool up to Brunswick yesterday! but he ain't there now: he's <i>here</i>.”
- The deacon, in the weekly prayer-meeting at Brunswick, used to talk of the
- necessity of being “emptied of self:” he seemed to be in the way of it in
- the most literal manner at the present moment. In a few minutes he was
- extended on the deck, the most utterly limp and dejected of deacons, and
- vowing with energy, if he ever got out o' this 'ere, you wouldn't catch
- him again. Of course, my chum and I were not seasick. We were prosperous
- young sophomores in Bowdoin College, and would have scorned to acknowledge
- such a weakness. In fact, we were in that happy state of self-opinion
- where we surveyed every thing in creation, as birds do, from above, and
- were disposed to patronize everybody we met, with a pleasing conviction
- that there was nothing worth knowing, but what we were likely to know, or
- worth doing, but what we could do.
- </p>
- <p>
- Capt. Stanwood liked us, and we liked him: we patronized him, and he was
- quietly amused at our patronage, and returned it in kind. He was a good
- specimen of the sea-captain in those early days in Maine: a man in middle
- life, tall, thin, wiry, and active, full of resource and shrewd
- mother-wit; a man very confident in his opinions, because his knowledge
- was all got at first-hand,—the result of a careful use of his own
- five senses. From his childhood he had followed the seas, and, as he grew
- older, made voyages to Archangel, to Messina, to the West Indies, and
- finally round the Horn; and, having carried a very sharp and careful pair
- of eyes, he had acquired not only a snug competency of worldly goods, but
- a large stock of facts and inductions, which stood him in stead of an
- education. He was master of a thriving farm at Harpswell, and, being
- tethered somewhat by love of wife and children, was mostly stationary
- there, yet solaced himself by running a little schooner to Boston, and
- driving a thriving bit of trade by the means. With that reverence for
- learning' which never deserts the New-Englander, he liked us the better
- for being collegians, and amiably conceded that there were things quite
- worth knowing taught “up to Brunswick there,” though he delighted now and
- then to show his superiority in talking about what he knew better than we.
- </p>
- <p>
- Jim Larned, the mate, was a lusty youngster, a sister's son whom he had
- taken in training in the way he should go. Jim had already made a voyage
- to Liverpool and the East Indies, and felt himself also quite an authority
- in his own way.
- </p>
- <p>
- The evenings were raw and cool; and we generally gathered round the cabin
- stove, cracking walnuts, smoking, and telling stories, and having a jolly
- time generally. It is but due to those old days to say that a most
- respectable Puritan flavor penetrated even the recesses of those coasters,—a
- sort of gentle Bible and psalm-book aroma, so that there was not a word or
- a joke among the men to annoy the susceptibilities even of a deacon. Our
- deacon, somewhat consoled and amended, lay serene in his berth, rather
- enjoying the yarns that we were spinning. The web, of course, was
- many-colored,—of quaint and strange and wonderful; and, as the night
- wore on, it was dyed in certain weird tints of the supernatural.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” said Jim Larned, “folks may say what they're a mind to: there are
- things that there's no sort o' way o' 'countin' for,—things you've
- jist got to say. Well, here's suthin' to work that I don't know nothin'
- about; and, come to question any man up sharp, you 'll find he's seen <i>one</i>
- thing o' that sort' himself; and this 'ere I'm going to tell's <i>my</i>
- story:—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Four years ago I went down to aunt Jerushy's at Fair Haven. Her husband's
- in the oysterin' business, and I used to go out with him considerable.
- Well, there was Bill Jones there,—a real bright fellow, one of your
- open-handed, lively fellows,—and he took a fancy to me, and I to
- him, and he and I struck up a friendship. He run an oyster-smack to New
- York, and did a considerable good business for a young man. Well, Bill had
- a fellow on his smack that I never looks of. He was from the Malays, or
- foreign crittur, or other; spoke broken English; had eyes set kind o'
- edgeways 'n his head: homely as sin he was, and I always mistrusted him.
- 'Bill,' I used to say, 'you look out for that fellow: don't you trust him.
- If I was you, I'd ship him off short metre.' But Bill, he only laughed.
- 'Why,' says he, 'I can get double work for the same pay out o' that
- fellow; and what do I care if he ain't handsome?' I remember how chipper
- an' cheery Bill looked when he was sayin' that, just as he was going down
- to New York with his load o' oysters. Well, the next night I was sound
- asleep in aunt Jerusha's front-chamber that opens towards the Sound, and I
- was waked right clear out o' sleep by Bill's voice screaming to me. I got
- up and run to the window, and looked liked the some out, and I heard it
- again, plain as any thing: 'Jim, Jim! Help, help!' It wasn't a common cry,
- neither: it was screeched out, as if somebody was murdering him. I tell
- you, it rung through my head for weeks afterwards.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, what came of it?” said my chum, as the narrator made a pause, and
- we all looked at him in silence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, as nigh as we can make it out, that very night poor Bill <i>was</i>
- murdered by that very Malay feller: leastways, his body was found in his
- boat. He'd been stabbed, and all his money and watch and things taken, and
- this Malay was gone nobody knew where. That's all that was ever known
- about it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But surely,” said my chum, who was of a very literal and rationalistic
- turn of mind, “it couldn't have been his voice you heard: he must have
- been down to the other end of the Sound, close by New York, by that time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” said the mate, “all I know is, that I was waked out of sleep by
- Bill's voice calling my name, screaming in a real agony. It went through
- me like lightning; and then I find he was murdered that night. Now, I
- don't know any thing about it. I know I heard him calling me; I know he
- was murdered: but <i>how</i> it was, or <i>what</i> it was, or <i>why</i>
- it was, I don't know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “These 'ere college boys can tell ye,” said the captain. “Of course,
- they've got into sophomore year, and there ain't nothing in heaven or
- earth that they don't know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said I, “I say with Hamlet, 'There are more things in heaven and
- earth, Horatio, than are dreamed of in your philosophy.'”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” said my chum, with the air of a philosopher, “what shakes my faith
- in all supernatural stories is, that I can't see any use or purpose in
- them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, if there couldn't nothin' happen nor be except what <i>you</i> could
- see a use in, there wouldn't <i>much</i> happen nor be,” quoth the
- captain.
- </p>
- <p>
- A laugh went round at the expense of my friend.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, now, I 'll tell ye what, boys,” piped the thin voice of the deacon,
- “folks mustn't be too presumptuous: there is providences permitted that we
- don't see no use in; but they do happen,—yes, they do. Now, what Jim
- Larned's been a-tell-in' is a good deal like what happened to me once,
- when I was up to Umbagog, in the lumberin' business.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Halloo!” called out Jim, “here's the deacon's story! I told you every man
- had one.—Give it to us, deacon! Speak out, and don't be bashful!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, really, it ain't what I like to talk about,” said the deacon, in a
- quavering, uncertain voice; “but I don't know but I may as well, though.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was that winter I was up to Umbagog. I was clerk, and kep' the 'counts
- and books, and all that; and Tom Huly,—he was surveyor and marker,—he
- was there with me, and we chummed together. And there was Jack Cutter; he
- was jest out o' college: he was there practising surveyin' with him. We
- three had a kind o' pine-board sort o' shanty, built out on a plain near
- by the camp: it had a fire-place, and two windows, and our bunks, and each
- of us had our tables and books and things.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, Huly, he started with a party of three or four to go up through the
- woods to look out a new tract. It was two or three days' journey through
- the woods; and jest about that time the Indians up there was getting sort
- o' uneasy, and we all thought mabbe 'twas sort o' risky: howsomdever, Tom
- had gone off in high spirits, and told us to be sure and take care of his
- books and papers. Tom had a lot of books, and thought every thing of 'em,
- and was sort o' particular and nice about his papers. His table sot up one
- side, by the winder, where he could see to read and write. Well, he'd been
- gone four days, when one night—it was a bright 'moonlight night—Jack
- and I were sitting by the fire, reading, and between nine and ten o'clock
- there came a strong, regular knock on the window over by Tom's table. We
- were sitting with our backs to the window. 'Halloo!' says Jack, 'who's
- that?' We both jumped up, and went to the window and looked out, and see
- there warn't nobody there.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'This is curus,' said I.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Some of the boys trying to trick us,' says he. 'Let's keep watch:
- perhaps they 'll do it again,' says he.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We sot down by the fire, and 'fore long it came again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then Jack and I both cut out the door, and run round the house,—he
- one way, and I the other. It was light as day, and nothin' for anybody to
- hide behind, and there warn't a critter in sight. Well, we come in and sot
- down, and looked at each other kind o' puzzled, when it come agin,
- harder'n ever; and Jack looked to the window, and got as white as a sheet.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'For the Lord's sake, do look!' says he. And you may believe me or not;
- but I tell you it's a solemn fact: Tom's books was movin',—jest as
- if somebody was pickin' 'em up, and putting 'em down again, jest as I've
- seen him do a hundred times.
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Jack,' says I, 'something's happened to Tom.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wal, there had. That very night Tom was murdered by the Indians. We put
- down the date, and a week arter the news came.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come now, captain,” said I, breaking the pause that followed the deacon's
- story, “give us your story. You've been all over the world, in all times
- and all weathers, and you ain't a man to be taken in. Did you ever see any
- thing of this sort?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, now, boys, since you put it straight at me, I don't care if I say I
- have,—on these 'ere very waters we're a-sailin' over now, on board
- this very schooner, in this very cabin.”
- </p>
- <p>
- This was bringing matters close home. We felt an agreeable shiver, and
- looked over our shoulders: the deacon, in his berth, raised up on his
- elbow, and ejaculated, “Dew tell! ye don't say so!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell us about it, captain,” we both insisted. “We 'll take your word for
- most any thing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, it happened about five years ago. It's goin' on now eight years ago
- that my father died. He sailed out of Gloucester: had his house there;
- and, after he died, mother, she jest kep' on in the old place. I went down
- at first to see her fixed up about right, and after that I went now and
- then, and now and then I sent money. Well, it was about Thanksgiving time,
- as it is now, and I'd ben down to Boston, and was coming back pretty well
- loaded with the things I'd been buying in Boston for Thanksgiving at home,—raisins
- and sugar, and all sorts of West Ingy goods, for the folks in Harpswell.
- Well, I meant to have gone down to Gloucester to see mother; but I had so
- many ways to run, and so much to do, I was afraid I wouldn't be back on
- time; and so I didn't see her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, we was driving back with a good stiff breeze, and we'd got past
- Cape Ann, and I'd gone down and turned in, and was fast asleep in my
- berth. It was past midnight: every one on the schooner asleep, except the
- mate, who was up on the watch. I was sleepin' as sound as ever I slept in
- my life,—not a dream, nor a feelin', no more'n if I had been dead,—when
- suddenly I waked square up. My eyes flew open like a spring, with my mind
- clear and wide awake, and, sure as I ever see any thing, I see my father
- standing right in the middle of the cabin, looking right at me. I rose
- right up in my berth, and says I,—
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Father, is that you?'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Yes,' says he, 'it is me.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Father,' says I, 'what do you come for?'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Sam,' says he, 'do you go right back to Gloucester, and take your mother
- home with you, and keep her there as long as she lives.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “And says I, 'Father, I will.' And as I said this he faded out and was
- gone. I got right up, and run up on deck, and called out, ''Bout ship!'
- Mr. More—he was my mate then—stared at me as if he didn't
- believe his ears. ''Bout ship!' says I. 'I'm going to Gloucester.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, he put the ship about, and then came to me, and says, 'What the
- devil does this mean? We're way past Cape Ann. It's forty miles right back
- to Gloucester.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Can't help it,' I said. 'To Gloucester I must go as quick as wind and
- water will carry me. I've thought of matters there that I <i>must</i>
- attend to, no matter what happens.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, Ben More and I were good friends always; but I tell you all that
- day he watched me, in a curious kind of way, to see if I weren't took with
- a fever, or suthin; and the men, they whispered and talked among
- themselves. You see, they all had their own reasons for wanting to be back
- to Thanksgiving, and it was hard on 'em.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, it was just about sun up we got into Gloucester, and I went ashore.
- And there was mother, looking pretty poorly, jest making her fire, and
- getting on her kettle. When she saw me, she held up her hands, and burst
- out crying,—
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Why, Sam, the Lord must 'a' sent you! I've time, and I've felt as if I
- couldn't hold our much longer.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “'Well,' says I, 'mother, pack up your things, and come right aboard the
- sloop; for I've come to take you home, and take care of you: so put up
- your things.'
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I took hold and helped her, and we put ben sick and all alone,
- having a drefful hard things together lively, and packed up her trunks,
- and tied up the bed and pillows and bedclothes, and took her rocking-chair
- and bureau and tables and chairs down to the sloop. And when I came down,
- bringing her and all her things, Ben More seemed to see what I was after;
- but how or why the idea came into my head I never told him. There's things
- that a man feels shy of tellin',' and I didn't want to talk about it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, when we was all aboard, the wind sprung up fair and steady, and we
- went on at a right spanking pace; and the fellows said the Harpswell girls
- had got hold of our rope, and was pulling us with all their might; and we
- came in all right the very day before Thanksgiving. And my wife was as
- glad to see mother as if she'd expected her, and fixed up the
- front-chamber for her, with a stove in't, and plenty of kindlings. And the
- children was all so glad to see grandma, and we had the best kind of a
- Thanksgiving!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” said I, “nobody could say there wasn't any use in <i>that</i>
- spirit's coming (if spirit it was): it had a most practical purpose.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” said the captain, “I've been all round the world, in all sorts of
- countries, seen all sorts of queer, strange things, and seen so many
- things that I never could have believed if I hadn't seen 'em, that I never
- say I won't believe this or that. If I see a thing right straight under my
- eyes, I don't say it couldn't 'a' ben there 'cause college-folks say there
- ain't no such things.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How do you know it wasn't all a dream?” said my chum.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How do I know?' Cause I was broad awake, and I gen 'lly know when I'm
- awake and when I'm asleep. I think Mr. More found me pretty wide awake.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was now time to turn in, and we slept soundly while the “Brilliant”
- ploughed her way. By daybreak the dome of the State House was in sight.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I've settled the captain's story,” said my chum to me. “It can all be
- accounted for on the theory of cerebral hallucination.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right,” said I; “but it answered the purpose beautifully for the old
- mother.”
- </p>
- <div style="height: 6em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-<pre>
-
-
-
-
-
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