ten years ago my son's wife was stopping at our house, and she had left
her child at home while she come away for a rest. And after she had been
there two or three days, one morning she was sitting in the kitchen
'long o' the folks, and all of a sudden she jumped out of her chair and
ran into the bedroom, and next minute she come out laughing, and looking
kind of scared. 'I could ha' taken my oath,' says she,'that I heard Katy
cryin' out mother,' says she, 'just as if she was hurt. I heard it so
plain that before I stopped to think it seemed as if she were right in
the next room. I'm afeard something has happened.' But the folks
laughed, and said she must ha' heard one of the lambs. 'No, it wasn't,'
says she, 'it was Katy.' And sure enough, just after dinner a young man
who lived neighbor to her come riding into the yard post-haste to get
her to go home, for the baby had pulled some hot water over on to
herself and was nigh scalded to death and cryin' for her mother every
minute. Now, who's going to explain that? It wasn't any common hearing
that heard that child's cryin' fifteen miles. And I can tell you another
thing that happened among my own folks. There was an own cousin of mine
married to a man by the name of John Hathorn. He was trading up to
Parsonsfield, and business run down, so he wound up there, and thought
he'd make a new start. He moved down to Denby, and while he was getting
under way, he left his family up to the old place, and at the time I
speak of, was going to move 'em down in about a fortnight.
"One morning his wife was fidgeting round, and finally she came down
stairs with her bonnet and shawl on, and said somebody must put the
horse right into the wagon and take her down to Denby. 'Why, what for,
mother?' they says. 'Don't stop to talk,' says she; 'your father is
sick, and wants me. It's been a worrying me since before day, and I
can't stand it no longer.' And the short of the story is that she kept
hurrying 'em faster and faster, and then she got hold of the reins
herself, and when they got within five miles of the place the horse fell
dead, and she was nigh about crazy, and they took another horse at a
farm-house on the road. It was the spring of the year, and the going was
dreadful, and when they got to the house John Hathorn had just died, and
he had been calling for his wife up to 'most the last breath he drew. He
had been taken sick sudden the day before, but the folks knew it was bad
travelling, and that she was a feeble woman to come near thirty miles,
and they had no idee he was so bad off. I'm telling you the living
truth," said Captain Sands, with an emphatic shake of his head. "There's
more folks than me can tell about it, and if you were goin' to keel-haul
me next minute, and hang me to the yard-arm afterward, I couldn't say it
different. I was up to Parsonsfield to the funeral; it was just after I
quit following the sea. I never saw a woman so broke down as she was.
John was a nice man; stiddy and pleasant-spoken and straightforrard and
kind to his folks. He belonged to the Odd Fellows, and they all marched
to the funeral. There was a good deal of respect shown him, I tell ye.
"There is another story I'd like to have ye hear, if it's so that you
ain't beat out hearing me talk. When I get going I slip along as easy as
a schooner wing-and-wing afore the wind.
"This happened to my own father, but I never heard him say much about
it; never could get him to talk it over to any length, best I could do.
But gran'ther, his father, told me about it nigh upon fifty times,
first and last, and always the same way. Gran'ther lived to be old, and
there was ten or a dozen years after his wife died that he lived year
and year about with Uncle Tobias's folks and our folks. Uncle Tobias
lived over on the Ridge. I got home from my first v'y'ge as mate of the
Daylight just in time for his funeral. I was disapp'inted to find the
old man was gone. I'd fetched him some first-rate tobacco, for he was a
great hand to smoke, and I was calc'latin' on his being pleased: old
folks like to be thought of, and then he set more by me than by the
other boys. I know I used to be sorry for him when I was a little
fellow. My father's second wife she was a well-meaning woman, but an
awful driver with her work, and she was always making of him feel he
wasn't no use. I do' know as she meant to, either. He never said
nothing, and he was always just so pleasant, and he was fond of his
book, and used to set round reading, and tried to keep himself out of
the way just as much as he could. There was one winter when I was small
that I had the scarlet-fever, and was very slim for a long time
afterward, and I used to keep along o' gran'ther, and he would tell me
stories. He'd been a sailor,--it runs in our blood to foller the
sea,--and he'd been wrecked two or three times and been taken by the
Algerine pirates. You remind me to tell you some time about that; and I
wonder if you ever heard about old Citizen Leigh, that used to be about
here when I was a boy. He was taken by the Algerines once, same's
gran'ther, and they was dreadful f'erce just then, and they sent him
home to get the ransom money for the crew; but it was a monstrous price
they asked, and the owners wouldn't give it to him, and they s'posed
likely the men was dead by that time, any way. Old Citizen Leigh he went
crazy, and used to go about the streets with a bundle of papers in his
hands year in and year out. I've seen him a good many times. Gran'ther
used to tell me how he escaped. I'll remember it for ye some day if
you'll put me in mind.
"I got to be mate when I was twenty, and I was as strong a fellow as you
could scare up, and darin'!--why, it makes my blood run cold when I
think of the reckless things I used to do. I was off at sea after I was
fifteen year old, and there wasn't anybody so glad to see me as
gran'ther when I came home. I expect he used to be lonesome after I
went off, but then his mind failed him quite a while before he died.
Father was clever to him, and he'd get him anything he spoke about; but
he wasn't a man to set round and talk, and he never took notice himself
when gran'ther was out of tobacco, so sometimes it would be a day or
two. I know better how he used to feel now that I'm getting to be along
in years myself, and likely to be some care to the folks before long. I
never could bear to see old folks neglected; nice old men and women who
have worked hard in their day and been useful and willin'. I've seen 'em
many a time when they couldn't help knowing that the folks would a
little rather they'd be in heaven, and a good respectable headstone put
up for 'em in the burying-ground.
"Well, now, I'm sure I've forgot what I was going to tell you. O, yes;
about grandmother dreaming about father when he come home from sea.
Well, to go back to the first of it, gran'ther never was rugged; he had
ship-fever when he was a young man, and though he lived to be so old, he
never could work hard and never got forehanded; and Aunt Hannah Starbird
over at East Parish took my sister to fetch up, because she was named
for her, and Melinda and Tobias stayed at home with the old folks, and
my father went to live with an uncle over in Riverport, whom he was
named for. He was in the West India trade and was well-off, and he had
no children, so they expected he would do well by father. He was
dreadful high-tempered. I've heard say he had the worst temper that was
ever raised in Deephaven.
"One day he set father to putting some cherries into a bar'l of rum, and
went off down to his wharf to see to the loading of a vessel, and afore
he come back father found he'd got hold of the wrong bar'l, and had
sp'ilt a bar'l of the best Holland gin; he tried to get the cherries
out, but that wasn't any use, and he was dreadful afraid of Uncle
Matthew, and he run away, and never was heard of from that time out.
They supposed he'd run away to sea, as he had a leaning that way, but
nobody ever knew for certain; and his mother she 'most mourned herself
to death. Gran'ther told me that it got so at last that if they could
only know for sure that he was dead it was all they would ask. But it
went on four years, and gran'ther got used to it some; though
grandmother never would give up. And one morning early, before day, she
waked him up, and says she, 'We're going to hear from Matthew. Get up
quick and go down to the store!' 'Nonsense,' says he. 'I've seen him,'
says grandmother, 'and he's coming home. He looks older, but just the
same other ways, and he's got long hair, like a horse's mane, all down
over his shoulders.' 'Well, let the dead rest,' says gran'ther; 'you've
thought about the boy till your head is turned.' 'I tell you I saw
Matthew himself,' says she, 'and I want you to go right down to see if
there isn't a letter.' And she kept at him till he saddled the horse,
and he got down to the store before it was opened in the morning, and he
had to wait round, and when the man came over to unlock it he was 'most
ashamed to tell what his errand was, for he had been so many times, and
everybody supposed the boy was dead. When he asked for a letter, the man
said there was none there, and asked if he was expecting any particular
one. He didn't get many letters, I s'pose; all his folks lived about
here, and people didn't write any to speak of in those days. Gran'ther
said he thought he wouldn't make such a fool of himself again, but he
didn't say anything, and he waited round awhile, talking to one and
another who came up, and by and by says the store-keeper, who was
reading a newspaper that had just come, 'Here's some news for you,
Sands, I do believe! There are three vessels come into Boston harbor
that have been out whaling and sealing in the South Seas for three or
four years, and your son Matthew's name is down on the list of the
crew.' 'I tell ye,' says gran'ther, 'I took that paper, and I got on my
horse and put for home, and your grandmother she hailed me, and she
said, "You've heard, haven't you?" before I told her a word.'
"Gran'ther he got his breakfast and started right off for Boston, and
got there early the second day, and went right down on the wharves.
Somebody lent him a boat, and he went out to where there were two
sealers laying off riding at anchor, and he asked a sailor if Matthew
was aboard. 'Ay, ay,' says the sailor, 'he's down below.' And he sung
out for him, and when he come up out of the hold his hair was long, down
over his shoulders like a horse's mane, just as his mother saw it in the
dream. Gran'ther he didn't know what to say,--it scared him,--and he
asked how it happened; and father told how they'd been off sealing in
the South Seas, and he and another man had lived alone on an island for
months, and the whole crew had grown wild in their ways of living, being
off so long, and for one thing had gone without caps and let their hair
grow. The rest of the men had been ashore and got fixed up smart, but he
had been busy, and had put it off till that morning; he was just going
ashore then. Father was all struck up when he heard about the dream, and
said his mind had been dwellin' on his mother and going home, and he
come down to let her see him just as he was and she said it was the same
way he looked in the dream. He never would have his hair cut--father
wouldn't--and wore it in a queue. I remember seeing him with it when I
was a boy; but his second wife didn't like the looks of it, and she come
up behind him one day and cut it off with the scissors. He was terrible
worked up about it. I never see father so mad as he was that day. Now
this is just as true as the Bible," said Captain Sands. "I haven't put a
word to it, and gran'ther al'ays told a story just as it was. That woman
saw her son; but if you ask me what kind of eyesight it was, I can't
tell you, nor nobody else."
Later that evening Kate and I drifted into a long talk about the
captain's stories and these mysterious powers of which we know so
little. It was somewhat chilly in the house, and we had kindled a fire
in the fireplace, which at first made a blaze which lighted the old room
royally, and then quieted down into red coals and lazy puffs of smoke.
We had carried the lights away, and sat with our feet on the fender, and
Kate's great dog was lying between us on the rug. I remember that
evening so well; we could see the stars through the window plainer and
plainer as the fire went down, and we could hear the noise of the sea.
"Do you remember in the old myth of Demeter and Persephone," Kate asked
me, "where Demeter takes care of the child and gives it ambrosia and
hides it in fire, because she loves it and wishes to make it immortal,
and to give it eternal youth; and then the mother finds it out and cries
in terror to hinder her, and the goddess angrily throws the child down
and rushes away? And he had to share the common destiny of mankind,
though he always had some wonderful inscrutable grace and wisdom,
because a goddess had loved him and held him in her arms. I always
thought that part of the story beautiful where Demeter throws off her
disguise and is no longer an old woman, and the great house is filled
with brightness like lightning, and she rushes out through the halls
with her yellow hair waving over her shoulders, and the people would
give anything to bring her back again, and to undo their mistake. I knew
it almost all by heart once," said Kate, "and I am always finding a new
meaning in it. I was just thinking that it may be that we all have given
to us more or less of another nature, as the child had whom Demeter
wished to make like the gods. I believe old Captain Sands is right, and
we have these instincts which defy all our wisdom and for which we never
can frame any laws. We may laugh at them, but we are always meeting
them, and one cannot help knowing that it has been the same through all
history. They are powers which are imperfectly developed in this life,
but one cannot help the thought that the mystery of this world may be
the commonplace of the next."
"I wonder," said I, "why it is that one hears so much more of such
things from simple country people. They believe in dreams, and they have
a kind of fetichism, and believe so heartily in supernatural causes. I
suppose nothing could shake Mrs. Patton's faith in warnings. There is no
end of absurdity in it, and yet there is one side of such lives for
which one cannot help having reverence; they live so much nearer to
nature than people who are in cities, and there is a soberness about
country people oftentimes that one cannot help noticing. I wonder if
they are unconsciously awed by the strength and purpose in the world
about them, and the mysterious creative power which is at work with them
on their familiar farms. In their simple life they take their instincts
for truths, and perhaps they are not always so far wrong as we imagine.
Because they are so instinctive and unreasoning they may have a more
complete sympathy with Nature, and may hear her voices when wiser ears
are deaf. They have much in common, after all, with the plants which
grow up out of the ground and the wild creatures which depend upon
their instincts wholly."
"I think," said Kate, "that the more one lives out of doors the more
personality there seems to be in what we call inanimate things. The
strength of the hills and the voice of the waves are no longer only
grand poetical sentences, but an expression of something real, and more
and more one finds God himself in the world, and believes that we may
read the thoughts that He writes for us in the book of Nature." And
after this we were silent for a while, and in the mean time it grew very
late, and we watched the fire until there were only a few sparks left in
the ashes. The stars faded away and the moon came up out of the sea, and
we barred the great hall door and went up stairs to bed. The lighthouse
lamp burned steadily, and it was the only light that had not been blown
out in all Deephaven.
_Mrs. Bonny_
I am sure that Kate Lancaster and I must have spent by far the greater
part of the summer out of doors. We often made long expeditions out into
the suburbs of Deephaven, sometimes being gone all day, and sometimes
taking a long afternoon stroll and coming home early in the evening
hungry as hunters and laden with treasure, whether we had been through
the pine woods inland or alongshore, whether we had met old friends or
made some desirable new acquaintances. We had a fashion of calling at
the farm-houses, and by the end of the season we knew as many people as
if we had lived in Deephaven all our days. We used to ask for a drink of
water; this was our unfailing introduction, and afterward there were
many interesting subjects which one could introduce, and we could always
give the latest news at the shore. It was amusing to see the curiosity
which we aroused. Many of the people came into Deephaven only on special
occasions, and I must confess that at first we were often naughty enough
to wait until we had been severely cross-questioned before we gave a
definite account of ourselves. Kate was very clever at making
unsatisfactory answers when she cared to do so. We did not understand,
for some time, with what a keen sense of enjoyment many of those people
made the acquaintance of an entirely new person who cordially gave the
full particulars about herself; but we soon learned to call this by
another name than impertinence.
I think there were no points of interest in that region which we did not
visit with conscientious faithfulness. There were cliffs and
pebble-beaches, the long sands and the short sands; there were Black
Rock and Roaring Rock, High Point and East Point, and Spouting Rock; we
went to see where a ship had been driven ashore in the night, all hands
being lost and not a piece of her left larger than an axe-handle; we
visited the spot where a ship had come ashore in the fog, and had been
left high and dry on the edge of the marsh when the tide went out; we
saw where the brig Methuselah had been wrecked, and the shore had been
golden with her cargo of lemons and oranges, which one might carry away
by the wherryful.
Inland there were not many noted localities, but we used to enjoy the
woods, and our explorations among the farms, immensely. To the westward
the land was better and the people well-to-do; but we went oftenest
toward the hills and among the poorer people. The land was uneven and
full of ledges, and the people worked hard for their living, at most
laying aside only a few dollars each year. Some of the more enterprising
young people went away to work in shops and factories; but the custom
was by no means universal, and the people had a hungry, discouraged
look. It is all very well to say that they knew nothing better, that it
was the only life of which they knew anything; there was too often a
look of disappointment in their faces, and sooner or later we heard or
guessed many stories: that this young man had wished for an education,
but there had been no money to spare for books or schooling; and that
one had meant to learn a trade, but there must be some one to help his
father with the farm-work, and there was no money to hire a man to work
in his place if he went away. The older people had a hard look, as if
they had always to be on the alert and must fight for their place in the
world. One could only forgive and pity their petty sharpness, which
showed itself in trifling bargains, when one understood how much a
single dollar seemed where dollars came so rarely. We used to pity the
young girls so much. It was plain that those who knew how much easier
and pleasanter our lives were could not help envying us.
There was a high hill half a dozen miles from Deephaven which was known
in its region as "the mountain." It was the highest land anywhere near
us, and having been told that there was a fine view from the top, one
day we went there, with Tommy Dockum for escort. We overtook Mr.
Lorimer, the minister, on his way to make parochial calls upon some
members of his parish who lived far from church, and to our delight he
proposed to go with us instead. It was a great satisfaction to have him
for a guide, for he knew both the country and the people more intimately
than any one else. It was a long climb to the top of the hill, but not a
hard one. The sky was clear, and there was a fresh wind, though we had
left none at all at the sea-level. After lunch, Kate and I spread our
shawls over a fine cushion of mountain-cranberry, and had a long talk
with Mr. Lorimer about ancient and modern Deephaven. He always seemed as
much pleased with our enthusiasm for the town as if it had been a
personal favor and compliment to himself. I remember how far we could
see, that day, and how we looked toward the far-away blue mountains, and
then out over the ocean. Deephaven looked insignificant from that height
and distance, and indeed the country seemed to be mostly covered with
the pointed tops of pines and spruces, and there were long tracts of
maple and beech woods with their coloring of lighter, fresher green.
"Suppose we go down, now," said Mr. Lorimer, long before Kate and I had
meant to propose such a thing; and our feeling was that of dismay. "I
should like to take you to make a call with me. Did you ever hear of old
Mrs. Bonny?"
"No," said we, and cheerfully gathered our wraps and baskets; and when
Tommy finally came panting up the hill after we had begun to think that
our shoutings and whistling were useless, we sent him down to the
horses, and went down ourselves by another path. It led us a long
distance through a grove of young beeches; the last year's whitish
leaves lay thick on the ground, and the new leaves made so close a roof
overhead that the light was strangely purple, as if it had come through
a great church window of stained glass. After this we went through some
hemlock growth, where, on the lower branches, the pale green of the new
shoots and the dark green of the old made an exquisite contrast each to
the other. Finally we came out at Mrs. Bonny's. Mr. Lorimer had told us
something about her on the way down, saying in the first place that she
was one of the queerest characters he knew. Her husband used to be a
charcoal-burner and basket-maker, and she used to sell butter and
berries and eggs, and choke-pears preserved in molasses. She always came
down to Deephaven on a little black horse, with her goods in baskets and
bags which were fastened to the saddle in a mysterious way. She had the
reputation of not being a neat housekeeper, and none of the wise women
of the town would touch her butter especially, so it was always a joke
when she coaxed a new resident or a strange shipmaster into buying her
wares; but the old woman always managed to jog home without the freight
she had brought. "She must be very old, now," said Mr. Lorimer; "I have
not seen her in a long time. It cannot be possible that her horse is
still alive!" And we all laughed when we saw Mrs. Bonny's steed at a
little distance, for the shaggy old creature was covered with mud,
pine-needles, and dead leaves, with half the last year's burdock-burs in
all Deephaven snarled into his mane and tail and sprinkled over his fur,
which looked nearly as long as a buffalo's. He had hurt his leg, and his
kind mistress had tied it up with a piece of faded red calico and an end
of ragged rope. He gave us a civil neigh, and looked at us curiously.
Then an impertinent little yellow-and-white dog, with one ear standing
up straight and the other drooping over, began to bark with all his
might; but he retreated when he saw Kate's great dog, who was walking
solemnly by her side and did not deign to notice him. Just now Mrs.
Bonny appeared at the door of the house, shading her eyes with her hand,
to see who was coming. "Landy!" said she, "if it ain't old Parson
Lorimer! And who be these with ye?"
"This is Miss Kate Lancaster of Boston, Miss Katharine Brandon's niece,
and her friend Miss Denis."
"Pleased to see ye," said the old woman; "walk in and lay off your
things." And we followed her into the house. I wish you could have seen
her: she wore a man's coat, cut off so that it made an odd short jacket,
and a pair of men's boots much the worse for wear; also, some short
skirts, beside two or three aprons, the inner one being a dress-apron,
as she took off the outer ones and threw them into a corner; and on her
head was a tight cap, with strings to tie under her chin. I thought it
was a nightcap, and that she had forgotten to take it off, and dreaded
her mortification if she should suddenly become conscious of it; but I
need not have troubled myself, for while we were with her she pulled it
on and tied it tighter, as if she considered it ornamental.
There were only two rooms in the house; we went into the kitchen, which
was occupied by a flock of hens and one turkey. The latter was evidently
undergoing a course of medical treatment behind the stove, and was
allowed to stay with us, while the hens were remorselessly hustled out
with a hemlock broom. They all congregated on the doorstep, apparently
wishing to hear everything that was said.
"Ben up on the mountain?" asked our hostess. "Real sightly place. Goin'
to be a master lot o' rosbries; get any down to the shore sence I quit
comin'?"
"O yes," said Mr. Lorimer, "but we miss seeing you."
"I s'pose so," said Mrs. Bonny, smoothing her apron complacently; "but
I'm getting old, and I tell 'em I'm goin' to take my comfort; sence 'he'
died, I don't put myself out no great; I've got money enough to keep me
long's I live. Beckett's folks goes down often, and I sends by them for
what store stuff I want."
"How are you now?" asked the minister; "I think I heard you were ill in
the spring."