THE BURN.
It was now the latter part of summer. The vessel being completed as
far as was possible at present, Captain Rhines went home, leaving Ben
and Charlie alone. There was now a large piece of land running along
the eastern side of the island, beside the middle ridge, which was
ready for a burn. From this land Ben had hauled his spars, and logs for
boards, leaving the tops of the trees and all the brush; in addition to
this there was left quite a growth of other trees, that were not fit
for timber; these he and Joe had cut early in the spring, so that the
soil was completely covered with a dense mass of combustible matter,
as dry as tinder. Ben was very anxious to burn this. He had now two
cows, a bull, and a yoke of oxen, and was obliged to buy hay and bring
on to the island for them, which, was a great deal of work. He had to
hire his oxen pastured away in the summer, as the island was so densely
covered with wood that it afforded but little pasturage, which was
eked out by falling maple trees for them to browse. It was therefore
of the greatest importance to burn this land, and get it into grass as
soon as possible; but Ben hesitated a long time, fearing that he might
burn himself up, it was so dry, and hoping that a shower would come
to wet the grass, so the fire would not run. At length it was evident
he must burn it, or it would be too late to sow, as he would soon be
engaged in loading his timber, and have no opportunity.
One morning, when the dew was very heavy, almost equal to rain, and the
slight wind from the south-west blew directly away from the buildings,
he determined to make the attempt. In the first place they removed
everything from the house to the beach; then they hauled Charlie’s
canoe up to the house, and filled it with water; they also filled all
the barrels, troughs, and tubs about the premises, and drove the cattle
to the beach, lest the fire should run into the woods.
Ben would have ploughed two or three furrows around his buildings,
which would have been the most effectual preventive; but, after the
vessel was built, he had put his oxen away to pasture.
The settlers run great risks in clearing their lands, either of
burning up their houses, or of destroying the timber they wish to spare.
A few years since there were fires in Maine that burned for weeks, and
destroyed thousands of acres of timber, and cattle, houses, barns, and
many human beings, and even crossed streams.
But there is no other way. Here was a quantity of ground covered with
brush, logs, and bushes: to have hauled all this away would have been
an endless job, and after that the ground could neither be ploughed nor
planted, being entirely matted with green roots, and cold and sour;
besides, the moment the sun was let into it, sprouts would begin to
spring up from the stumps, and weeds, blackberry, and raspberry bushes
from the ground, and cover it all over. But a fire in a few hours will
lick up every stick and leaf, except the large logs and stumps, burn
up all the bushes, and the whole network of small roots that cover the
ground, so that nothing will start for months, as it destroys all the
seeds of the weeds and trees, of which the ground is full; and if it
is dry, and a thorough burn, will so roast the large stumps that very
few of them will ever sprout again,--while, as in Ben’s case, most of
them are spruce, pine, or fir, that never throw up any sprouts from the
roots. There is then left a thick bed of ashes, which receives and
fosters whatever is put into it.
Our readers will perhaps recollect, that along the shore of the island
was a cleared spot covered with green grass. This cleared land extended
back on both sides of the brook for quite a distance, and was dotted
over with elms; and on a little knoll, about half way between the brook
and the middle ridge, was an enormous rock maple, with that perfect
symmetry of proportions which this noble tree often presents. The large
lower limbs, bending downwards, came so near to the ground that Charlie
could reach the tips of them, by standing on a stone.
How the boy loved this tree! It was beautiful in the spring, with its
red buds; beautiful in summer, with its masses of dark-green foliage,
and its refreshing shade; but most beautiful of all in the autumn, with
its crimson tints, relieved by the lighter colors of the surrounding
trees. Here he made his whistles; here he was quite sure in a hot day
to find the pig stretched out in the shade, with his nose stuck in
the moist, cool earth under a great root, and the cattle lying round
chewing their cuds.
He also had a swing under the limbs, made of two long beech withes,
that Joe Griffin had twisted for him; and often, after supper, Sally
would take her sewing, come up and swing with him; and sometimes he
would swing the pig, for he had made a basket that he could put into
the swing.
Under ordinary circumstances this large piece of cleared ground would
have proved a perfect protection; but it was a sharp drought, and the
grass was dead, dry, and inflammable. Nevertheless, as the dew was
so heavy, and the grass damp with a fog which had set in the night
before, Ben thought there could be no danger, and put in the fire. As
it ran along the ground, and gradually crept away from the house, he
congratulated himself that all danger was over; but the wind suddenly
shifted to the north-east, and drove the fire directly towards the
house. Had Ben set the fire at first along the whole line of the brush,
there would have been burnt ground between him and the mass of fire,
which would have cut off the communication, and he would have been
safe; but he set it on one corner, and when the wind shifted, the flame
driven by it dried the moisture from the grass, and made rapid progress
towards the house, while a large strip of dry grass made a bridge for
the fire to travel on.
As the wind was not yet strong enough to prevent the fire from running,
it made good progress in the right direction, burning all the more
thoroughly that it burned slowly; but, on the other hand, it was
constantly coming in the direction of the house, increasing its pace as
the wind and heat dried up the moisture from the grass.
Soaking blankets in salt water, they spread them on the roof of the
house, wet the ground around it, and urged to desperation by the fear
of losing their home, beat out the flame from the grass with hemlock
boughs, which is the best way to stop fire that is running in grass.
But the wind now began to rise, and as fast as they beat it out in
one place it caught in another, as the wind blew the tufts of blazing
grass in all directions. Ben’s hair and clothes were singed. Sally
was frequently on fire, and had it not been that she was clothed in
woollen, and that Ben threw water on her, she would have been burned
up. The baby, during all this time, had been quietly sleeping in the
cradle, but now, waked by the smoke, it began to sneeze and cry.
“Charlie,” said Sally, “I can do more at fighting fire than you can;
take the baby to the shore, and take care of it.”
They were now almost worn out with exertion; their eyes and lungs were
full of smoke, the perspiration ran in streams from their flesh, and
the heat was intolerable; still they fought on, for all they had was at
stake.
If the fire reached the house it would not only burn that, but would
run to the beach, where was lumber worth hundreds of dollars, which Ben
had been nearly two years in preparing for market,--the greater part of
which was dry, and would take fire in a moment; there, too, were the
sails and rigging.
Ben’s large canoe lay upon the beach, in which was some straw that Ben
had brought over from his father’s to fill beds. Charlie, unable longer
to look on, when so much was at risk, put the child into the canoe
among the straw, gave it some shells to attract its attention, and ran
back to help.
The great wood-pile, within a few yards of the house, now took fire.
“It’s no use, Sally,” said Ben; “the fire is all around us, and all we
have must go.”
Sally, uttering a loud scream, ran wildly to the shore. A piece of
blazing moss, borne by the wind, had fallen into the canoe, and set
fire to the straw, which was blazing up all around the baby. In a
moment more it would have been burned to death; as it was, its clothes
were scorched, and the little creature terribly frightened.
At this moment a rushing sound was heard, and a vessel with all sail
set, and bearing the white foam before her bows with the rapidity of
her motion, shot into the harbor, and was run high upon the soft sand
of the beach, the tide being at half ebb.
In an instant eight men, leaving the sails to slat in the wind, leaped
into the water, and with buckets which they filled as they ran, came to
the rescue. One alone lingered to cut some limbs from a hemlock bush,
a whole armful of which he brought with him, and while the rest were
passing the water from the beach, and pouring on the blazing wood-pile,
he was switching out the flames, as they ran towards the beach, with a
dexterity that showed he was no novice in fire-fighting.
The wood-pile was composed mostly of logs eight feet in length: while
the others poured water on the ends of the sticks, Ben, catching hold
of them, dragged them from the pile to a safe distance from the house,
and, after a long and desperate struggle, they arrested the progress of
the flames.
Scarcely was this accomplished, when the roof was discovered to be on
fire; the violence of the wind had blown off a blanket, and the cinders
catching had kindled in the dry bark. Ben, taking Charlie, threw him up
on the roof, when, the others passing him water, he soon extinguished
the flames.
Ben had now opportunity to see who his deliverers were, and to thank
them, which he did in no measured terms.
They were John Strout, Henry and Joe Griffin, Seth Warren, Robert Yelf,
Sam Edwards, Sydney Chase, and Uncle Isaac. He it was, that, with a
coolness that never forsook him, stopped to cut an armful of switches
for himself and the rest.
“God bless you, my old friend!” said Ben, grasping him by both hands,
“and God bless the whole of you! ‘friends in need are friends indeed;’
I can’t find words to thank you.”
Poor Sally, now that the excitement was over, fainted away. Ben carried
her into the house, while the others brought in a bed, and by the aid
of burnt vinegar applied to her nostrils revived her. Her face was
uninjured, but her hair was scorched, and her arms and hands burned,
causing her much suffering.
“What shall we do for her?” said Ben; “I have not a bit of salve, nor
anything in the house.”
“I can tell you what to do,” said Uncle Isaac; “go and get some of that
blue clay by the brook, and mix it up with water that has the chill
taken off, and plaster it right on three inches thick, and you’ll see
what it will do; all you want is to keep the air out.”
They procured the clay, and Uncle Isaac fixed it and put it on. It gave
instant relief. In a few moments the clay began to dry and crack open,
by reason of the heat and inflammation.
“Ben,” said Uncle Isaac, “do you sit by her and keep that clay moist
with cold water; no matter how cold it is now, it will have the chill
taken off before it gets through the clay.”
“But how shall we ever get the clay off?”
“You don’t want to get it off; the flesh will heal under it, and then
it will come off itself.”
“How did you know that, Uncle Isaac?”
“The Indians learned me; there’s a good deal in an Indian, you’d better
believe.”
“But won’t there want to be some healing-salve on it?”
“Healing-salve? fiddlestick! I’ve seen Indians cut half to pieces,
scalded, and burnt, and get well, and I never saw any salve among them.
Now,” continued Uncle Isaac (who, though one of the kindest-hearted
men alive, was but little given to sentiment, and entirely practical
in all his views), “we can do no more good here; let us bring the
furniture into the house for Ben, and then I want to finish that burn;
we’ll set it on fire at the other end; it will be fun to see it come
down before the wind. It can do no harm, for there are enough of us to
take care of it. I reckon I know something about this business.”
His proposal was received with cheers. While some brought the things
into the house, others furled the vessel’s sails, and carried out an
anchor astern, to hold the vessel when she should float, as it was half
ebb when they ran her on. Henry Griffin was cook, and they left him
aboard to get supper.
At any other time Charlie would have been very anxious to have gone
with them, but the suffering of his mother, and the care of the baby,
put everything else out of his head. He kissed her again and again,
with tears in his eyes, made gruel for her, and did everything in his
power to relieve her.
The party found that the fire had made but slow progress against the
wind, which now blew half a gale. Arming themselves with blazing
brands, they proceeded to the upper part of the piece, and fired the
mass of dry material in fifteen or twenty different places. An enormous
volume of smoke and flame instantly arose, and swept down before the
wind, presenting a truly magnificent spectacle. In clearing land they
are not particular to cut every tree. Sometimes there will be an old
dead pine full of pitch, that, as it makes no shade to hurt a crop,
and draws nothing from the soil, they let it alone. At other times
they make what they call a _drive_; they cut a number of trees partly
off, and then, picking out a very large one, fall it on the rest, and
thus drive them all down together,--as boys set up a row of bricks,
and starting one throw down the whole,--which saves them a great deal
of cutting. A good many trees are broken off in these drives twenty
or thirty feet from the ground, and, if they stand any time in hot
weather, the pitch will fry out of them, and run in little yellow
threads to the ground. There were a great many trees in this lot that
had been standing a good while, and were full of pitch. It was now
twilight, and as the flame struck one of these trees the little threads
of pitch flashed like powder, and the flame, following them up the body
of the tree with a rush and roar, spouted from the top in grand style,
amid the loud shouts of the performers. At times there would be a
great dry stub as big as a hogshead, and the fire, getting in at the
roots, would run up the inside, and roar and blaze from the top like a
dozen chimneys.
The flames would also, once in the while, catch a large tree in the
forest on the middle ridge, and run from limb to limb clear to the top,
shining far into the depths of the forest.
Although it was rare sport, there was a great deal of effort connected
with it, as they were obliged to exert themselves to the utmost to
prevent the fire from getting into the standing growth on the western
side, as on the other side the clearing extended to the shore; but
this, with these hardy natures, only gave zest to the proceedings.
“Quit that, Joe Griffin; what are you thrashing me with that hemlock
limb for?” cried Robert Yelf.
“Jerusalem! if my eyes ain’t so full of smoke that I took your red face
for a fire-coal.”
Many a rough joke was played, and many a sly blow given and taken, in
the smoke. The fire had now nearly spent itself for lack of fuel.
Charlie came to say, Henry wanted to know if they were going to live on
firebrands, for he had been waiting with his supper two hours, and was
almost starved. They now went on board to eat.
“Come, Ben,” said Joe, “go and eat supper with us; and when you get
back Charlie can come.”
As they were eating, Ben ascertained how it happened that his friends
were present so opportunely.
“You see,” said Uncle Isaac, “we heard the mackerel were master thick
outside; that started us all up. I’d got in my hay, so thought I’d go
with the rest. We were beating down, when Joe says to me, ‘There’s a
great smoke over to Ben’s.’ ‘Yes,’ I says, ‘I guess he’s setting his
burn.’ Then I saw the smoke roll up above the trees, and I was sartain.
‘He’ll have a capital time, for the wind is just right, and there’s a
heavy dew.’ The words were hardly out of Joe’s mouth before the wind
shifted right about. Then I was sure there would be trouble. In a few
moments we opened out by the head of the island, and saw the blaze. I
screamed out, ‘The fire is coming right down on Ben’s house, and he’ll
be burnt out in a jiffy!’ We were almost abreast of the harbor, and,
hauling the sheets aft, shot her right on to the beach.”
About ten o’clock that night a shower came up. Ben sat by Sally, who
had now fallen asleep, listened to the rain upon the roof, moistening
the parched earth, and relieving him of all anxiety in respect to the
fire kindling again during the night. His heart went up in gratitude to
God that his little property had been preserved, and his wife and child
had not fallen victims to the fire.
Notwithstanding the mackerel were thick, neither John nor Uncle Isaac
would start in the morning till they saw how it fared with Sally, who,
to the great delight of all, was much better.
Uncle Isaac inspected Charlie’s sink, canoe, and baskets, and praised
them very much.
“There’s the making of a mechanic in that boy,” said he, “and no mean
one either.”
They then walked over the burn.
“I call that a first-rate burn,” said Joe; “a miss is as good as a
mile, Ben. Sally is doing well, and this burn will give you your
bread-stuffs for a year, and hay for your cattle after that.”
The next morning Ben sent Charlie after the widow Hadlock, who came on
to take care of her daughter and grandchild.
There were other incidents connected with the burn of a less pleasing
nature. Charlie had a very large hen, that the widow Hadlock had given
him, which, having stolen her nest, was sitting among the bushes on
eighteen eggs, and, too faithful to leave her trust, was burned to a
crisp on her nest. Charlie grieved much as he looked upon the remains
of his hen, and counted over the eggs, the chickens from which he was
hoping to have raised as late ones to winter, that he might send the
earlier ones to the West Indies; but he consoled himself with the
thought that his turnip-patch was spared, and growing finely.
All along the shore of the island the line of cliff was fringed with a
mixed growth of white birch, maple, spruce, and red oak, contrasting
beautifully with the ragged and perpendicular cliffs which had been
spared by Ben as a shelter to the land from the easterly winds, and
more than all for the beauty of their appearance. He took great delight
in the spring, when pulling along the shore, in looking upon the masses
of light-green foliage that covered the birches, and fell over the
rocks.
These were now all consumed; and the rocks, shorn of moss, stood out
white and naked in the sun. The willows and alders that fringed the
brook were gone; the trunks of the elms and that of the great maple
scorched, and the grass all around the house black as a coal. All over
the land were blackened stumps and stubs, from which the smoke rose,
and among whose roots the fires were smouldering. The beauty of the
landscape had vanished, and desolation came in its stead.
“Father,” cried Charlie, moved almost to tears as he gazed upon the
scene, “will my maple die, and the elms, and the great yellow birch at
the brook, mother thinks so much of?”
“No, Charlie, they are only singed on the outside; there was not power
enough in burning grass to heat the roots, as though they had stood in
the woods among the brush; and the trees on the bank will be replaced
by others, and perhaps handsomer ones.”
They now went to rolling and piling; in anticipation of this Sally
had made them two suits apiece of tow-cloth, which they wore without
shirts. The fire had not consumed the bodies of many of the large
trees: some of these they used to make the fence of; the rest they
cut up and hauled together with the oxen, and piled them up in great
piles, and set them on fire, till they consumed the whole. As they were
compelled to put their shoulders and breasts against these logs to
roll them up, they were covered with smut from head to foot. They could
not sit down in a chair without smutting it all over; and their faces
were in streaks of white and black, where the perspiration ran down and
washed away the smut. So, when they came to their meals, they just took
off their tow suits, and got into the brook and washed themselves, and
then washed their clothes, and spread them in the sun to dry, and put
on another suit; part of the time they took their dinner in the field.
Rover followed them round, rooting under the stumps for worms, and once
in a while would shove his nose on a hot coal, which would make him run
away squealing.
This smutty and laborious job being over, land fenced, and logs burned
up, Ben sowed half of it with winter rye, reserving the other to plant
with corn in the spring.
The grain must now in some way be covered; but Ben had no harrow to
cover it with; besides, the ground was dotted with stumps, whose great
roots stuck out in every direction, and no common harrow would have
worked. He cut down a scrubby spruce, and trimming off the limbs within
six or eight inches of the trunk, sharpened the points of them; he
then hitched the oxen to this hedge-hog, as he called it, and hauled it
over the ground, thus scratching the earth over the grain. When Charlie
saw this, he laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks.
“I should think it was a hedge-hog,” said he; “I wonder what the
steward of his highness the Duke of Bedford would say to that.”
“It will do better work here than any harrow in England, for all that,”
said Ben.
There were many places where the hedge-hog could not go close to the
stumps, because the large spur roots rolled it off: around these
Charlie hacked the grain in with a hoe.
Ben now went over to his father’s, and got all the chaff he could find
in the barn, which was full of grass-seed, and sowed it on the rye.
It was now getting to be autumn. Ben and Charlie went off in the large
canoe, and caught and cured fish to last them through the winter, and,
getting a scow, brought on hay enough to winter their stock.
Sally, rapidly recovering under the careful nursing of her mother,
was in a few days able to be about the house, and by the time the
rye, which was sown on the burn, was well up, had recovered. The
first thing she did was to go and see the grain, with which she was so
delighted, that she declared she would be willing to be burned again
for such a field of grain as that.