THANKSGIVING-DAY.
Thanksgiving-Day had come. Among the multitude of good things it
brought with it, not the least important, in the eyes of the children,
was a visit from their grandmother, Mrs. Lee, who arrived the evening
previous. She was the mother of Mrs. Preston, and lived in a distant
town in Vermont. She had not visited the family for several years, and
the children and their parents were all very glad to see her once more.
She was much surprised to find how the young folks had grown since she
last saw them. Alice had shot up into a young lady, Oscar, who she
remembered as "a little bit of a fellow," was a tall boy, Ella, too,
was quite a miss, and Georgie, "the baby," had long since exchanged his
frock for the jacket, trowsers, and boots, of boyhood. All these
changes had happened since their grandmother's last visit; and yet she
was just the same pleasant, talkative old lady that she was years ago.
The children could not discover that time had left so much as one new
wrinkle on her well-remembered face.
[Illustration: Thanksgiving Market Scene.]
After breakfast, their grandmother proceeded to unpack her trunk. From
its capacious depths she drew forth sundry articles,--specimens of her
own handiwork,--which she distributed among the children, as gifts.
They were all articles of utility, such as warm, "country-knit" mittens
and socks for the boys, and tippets and stockings for the girls. A
large bag filled with nuts, and another of pop-corn, were also among
the contents of the trunk, and were handed to the children to be
divided among them.
In accordance with an agreement made the day before, Oscar soon left
the house, and went in search of Alfred. Having found him, they set
out for South Boston, in company with two or three boys, to witness a
shooting-match got up by a man who worked about the stable. The spot
selected for the sport was a retired field, where there was little
danger of being interrupted. On reaching the ground, the boys found a
small collection of young men and lads already engaged in the cruel
amusement; for the mark was a live fowl, tied to a stake. The company
assembled were of a decidedly low order, and Oscar at first felt almost
ashamed to be seen among them. Smoking, swearing, betting, and
quarrelling, were all going on at once, interspersed with occasional
shouts of laughter at some vulgar joke, or at the fluttering and cries
of a wounded fowl. Sometimes a poor chicken would receive several
shots, before its misery would be terminated by a fatal one. When one
fowl was killed, a fresh one was brought forth. Each man who fired at
the mark, paid a trifling sum for the privilege, and was entitled to
the fowl, if he killed it.
Oscar and his young companions lingered around the grounds for an hour
or two, familiarizing themselves with scenes of shameful cruelty, and
breathing an atmosphere loaded with pollution and moral death. The
repugnance which Oscar at first felt to the party and its doings was so
far overcome, that before he left he himself fired one or two shots,
with a rifle which was lent to him.
Oscar reached home before the hour for dinner. As he entered the
sitting-room, his mother, who had missed him, inquired where he had
been all the forenoon.
"I 've been with Alf," he replied.
His mother did not notice this evasion of her question, but added:
"Why do you want to be with Alfred so much? It seems to me you might
find better company. I 'm afraid he is not so good a boy as he might
be. I don't like his looks very much."
"Why, mother," said Oscar, "Alf is n't a bad boy, and I never heard
anybody say he was. I like him first-rate--he 's a real clever fellow."
"He may be clever enough, but I do not think he is a very good
associate for you," replied Mrs. Preston.
"Who ought to know best about that, you or I?" said Oscar, with a
pertness for which he was becoming a little too notorious. "I see Alf
every day, but you don't know hardly anything about him. At my rate, I
'll risk his hurting me."
Oscar's grandmother looked at him with astonishment, as he uttered
these words. He felt the silent rebuke, and turned his head from her.
"Well," added Mrs. Preston, "if Alfred is not a bad boy himself, I do
not believe that the kind of people you spend so much of your time
with, around the hotel-stable, will do either you or him any good. The
lessons a boy learns among tavern loungers do not generally make him
any better, to say the least. I wish you would keep away from such
places--I should feel a good deal easier if you would."
The subject was dropped, and dinner,--the event of Thanksgiving-day, in
every New England home,--soon began to engross the attention of the
household. It was a pleasant feast, to old and young. The children
forgot all their little, fanciful troubles, and the traces of care were
chased from their parents' brows for the hour.
The afternoon was stormy, and the children amused themselves with
in-door sports. After tea, however, Oscar asked his father for some
money, to buy a ticket to an entertainment that was to take place in
the evening. But both his parents thought he had better stay at home,
with the rest of the family, and he reluctantly yielded to their
wishes, coupled with the promise of a story or two from his
grandmother, about old times.
A cheerful fire was burning in the grate, when the family returned to
the parlor, from the tea-table. The lamps were not yet lit, although
the gray twilight was fast settling down, and the ruddy coals began to
reflect themselves from the polished furniture. Mrs. Preston was about
to light the lamps, when Ella exclaimed:
"No, no, mother, don't light the lamps--let's sit in the dark awhile,
and then grandmother's stories will seem twice as romantic. You don't
want a light, do you, grandmother?"
"No," said the grandmother, "I can talk just as well in the dark. But
I don't know as I can tell you any very interesting stories. I can't
think of anything now but what you have already heard. That's just the
way when I want to tell a story. If I was all alone, I should think of
lots of things to tell you."
"Can't you tell us something about the Indians?--I like to hear about
them," said Oscar.
"You would like to know how they served naughty boys, would n't you?"
inquired his grandmother; and if the room had not been quite so dark,
Oscar would have seen something like a roguish twinkle in her sober
gray eye, as she spoke.
"O yes, grandmother," interrupted Ella, "that will suit him, I know.
At any rate, it ought to interest him--so please to tell us what they
did to their bad boys, and perhaps we shall learn how to serve Oscar."
"And while you are about it, grandmother," said Oscar, "tell us what
they did to naughty girls, too."
"I don't know how they punished girls," said the old lady; "but I have
heard it said that when they wished to punish a boy very severely, they
made him lie down on the ground, upon his back. They then put their
knees on his arms, and held his head back, while they took into their
mouth some very bitter stuff, made from the roots of a certain plant,
and squirted it into the boy's nose. They kept repeating the dose,
till the poor fellow was almost strangled, and I suppose by that time
he was cured of his fault."
"Pooh, was that all?" said Oscar; "I thought something terrible was
coming."
"I guess you would not like to try the Indian remedy more than once,"
replied his mother; "but if you think it is so pleasant to take,
perhaps your father will give you a taste of it, one of these days, if
you do not behave better than you have done of late."
"Did you ever get frightened by the Indians, grandmother?" inquired
Ralph.
"No," replied the old lady; "there were plenty of them around, when I
was a little girl, but they had got to be quite civil, and we were not
afraid of them. I wish I could remember all the stories my mother used
to tell me about them--they were plenty and troublesome, too, in her
day. I recollect one fight that took place in our neighborhood, when
she was young. One evening, a man who was returning from another
settlement, happened to discover a party of Indians, making their way
very quietly up the river in their canoes, towards our little village.
He watched their movements as narrowly as possible, but was careful not
to let them see or hear him. When they got within about half a mile of
the settlement, they pulled their canoes ashore, and concealed them
among the bushes. They meant to creep along very slowly and slily, the
rest of the way, and then fall suddenly upon the whites, and murder and
plunder them before they could know what the matter was. But the man
who discovered them hurried on to the settlement, and gave the alarm.
Ten men was all he could muster, for there were but a few families in
the town. These men armed themselves, and by the time they were ready
for action, the Indians had already begun their work of plunder.
"But the Indians were not cunning enough for the white folks, that
time. The settlers formed themselves into two parties--one of seven
and one of three men. The three men went down very cautiously to the
Indian's landing-place, and after cutting slits in their bark canoes,
they hid themselves, and awaited the result. While they were doing
this, the other party made such a furious and sudden attack upon the
enemy, that the Indians thought they were assailed by a force far
superior to their own, and so they fled as fast as they could. When
they reached the landing-place, they jumped pell-mell into their
canoes, and pushed out into the stream. Now they thought they would
soon be out of the reach of harm; but, to their astonishment, the
canoes began to fill with water, and were entirely unmanageable. The
three men in ambush now began to attack them, and pretty soon the other
seven came to their aid, and in a little while the Indians were all
shot or drowned, and not one of the party escaped, to inform their
kindred what had befallen them. The stream on which this happened is
called Laplot River. Laplot, they say, means 'the plot,' and a good
many people think the river got its name from the stratagem of the
settlers, but I don't know how that is."
After musing awhile in silence, Ralph called for another story.
"Let me see," said his grandmother; "did I ever tell you about Widow
Storey's retreat, in the Revolution!"
"No ma'am," said Oscar; "I've read about General Burgoyne's retreat;
but I never heard of Widow Storey before: who was she?"
"O, it was n't that kind of a retreat that I meant," said his
grandmother; "but I will tell you who she was. She lived in Salisbury,
some twenty or thirty miles from where I belong. Her husband was the
first man who settled in Salisbury, but he was very unfortunate. After
he had worked hard, and got a log cabin ready for his family, it took
fire, and was destroyed; and he himself was killed by the fall of a
tree, soon after. But his widow was a very smart woman; and though she
had eight or ten small children, she moved on to the place her husband
had selected; and the proprietors of the township gave her a hundred
acres of land to encourage and reward her. She worked just like a man,
and didn't mind chopping down trees, and cultivating the soil, with her
own hands. But by-and-bye the Revolution broke out, and as there were
British soldiers in the neighborhood, she was afraid they would make
her a visit. She fled several times to another town, where there was
less danger; but after awhile a new idea entered her head, and she
proceeded to carry it out, with the aid of a man who lived near her.
The idea was, to construct a hiding-place, where the British could not
find them, if they should pay her a visit. They selected a spot on
Otter Creek, and dug a hole right into the bank, horizontally. The
hole was a little above the water, and was just large enough for a
person to crawl into. It was so covered up by bushes that hung from
the bank, that a stranger would not notice it. This passage led to a
large lodging-room, the bottom of which was covered with straw. Good
comfortable beds were prepared, and here the families found a secure
retreat, until the danger was past."
"That was complete," said Oscar; "but I should think the British might
have tracked them to their retreat, for it's likely they had to go home
pretty often, to get food, and look after things."
"Yes," added his grandmother; "but they reached their retreat by a
canoe, so that no footsteps could be seen leading to it; and they were
careful not to go out or in during the day-time. I have heard my
brother James tell about it. I believe he saw the very hole once,
where they went in."
"Uncle James was a famous hand for telling stories," remarked Mrs.
Preston. "I shall never forget what a treat it was to me, when I was a
child, to have him come to our house. I used to run out and meet him,
when I saw him coming, and coax him to tell me a good lot of stories
before he went off. I can remember some of them even now. He used to
tell a story of a crabbed old fellow, who was very much annoyed by the
boys stealing his apples. So, after awhile, he got a spring-trap, and
set it under the trees, to catch the young rogues. But the boys got
wind of the affair, and the first night he set it, they picked it up,
and very quietly put it on his door-step, and then went back to the
orchard, and began to bellow as though they were in great distress.
The old man heard the uproar, and started out, in high glee at the idea
of catching his tormentors; but he hardly put his foot out of the door,
before he began to roar himself, and he was laid up a month with a sore
leg."
"That was old Zigzag," said the grandmother; "I knew him very well."
"Old Zigzag!--what a funny name!" exclaimed Ralph.
"That was n't his name, although he always went by it," added the old
lady. "He was a very odd character, and one of his peculiarities was,
that he never walked directly towards any place or object he wished to
reach, but went in a 'criss-cross,' zigzag way, like a ship beating and
tacking before a head-wind. He was a hard drinker, and was almost
continually under the influence of liquor, and perhaps that was the
cause of his singular habit. He was a terribly ugly fellow, when he
was mad, and the boys used to tease him in every possible way; but wo
to them if he got hold of them. He lived all alone, for he never had
any wife or children; and he would not allow anybody to enter his
house, on any account, but always kept the door locked. If his
neighbors had business to transact with him, he would step into the
yard and attend to them; but even in the severest weather, he would not
let them cross his threshold. He never would speak to or look at a
woman, and would always avoid meeting them, if possible. Poor fellow,
he had a dreadful end. He was missing for several days, and at last
some of the town's-people broke into his house, and found him dead,
with his head badly burned. They supposed he was intoxicated, and
fell, striking his head upon the andiron, which stunned him; and while
he lay helpless, he was so badly burned that he soon died. And that
was the last of poor old Zigzag."
"There was another story Uncle James used to tell, about the naming of
Barre, in Vermont; do you recollect it, mother?" inquired Mrs. Preston.
"Yes, indeed, and I 've heard old Dr. Paddock tell it many a time. He
was there, and saw it all. The people did n't like the name of their
town, which was Wildersburgh, and determined to have a new one, and so
they met together in town-meeting, to talk the matter over. One of the
leading men came from Barre, Massachusetts, and he wanted the town to
take that name. Another prominent citizen came from Holden,
Massachusetts, and he insisted that the town should be called Holden.
The people liked both of these names well enough, and it was finally
determined that the question should be decided by a game of boxing,
between these two men. So the meeting adjourned to a new barn, with a
rough hemlock plank floor, and the contest commenced. After boxing
awhile, one of them threw the other upon the floor, and sprang upon him
at full length; but the one who was underneath dealt his blows so
skilfully, that his opponent soon gave in; and rolling the Holden man
out of the way, he jumped up and shouted, 'There, the name is Barre!'
and Barre it hasten, to this day. The next day, the man who won this
victory had to call on the doctor to extract from his back the hemlock
splinters he had received while struggling on the barn floor."
Thus the evening was beguiled with stories, mingled with a few songs by
Alice and Ella, and a few favorite airs upon the piano-forte. Before
the hour of retiring arrived, even Oscar was quite reconciled to the
loss of the evening's entertainment away from home which he had
promised himself.