GENEROSITY AND PLUCK.
It was two o’clock in the morning, when Sally, who had the breakfast
all ready, called the boys.
“The wind is north-west, and there will be no surf round the rocks,”
said Ben, who was up to help them away.
“You are sure you remember the marks?”
“Yes, father; I’ve written them all down in my birch-bark book.”
There was a moderate breeze, the fag end of a north-wester, and the
canoe, which was large, and had excellent oars, sail, and a first-rate
steering paddle, went off before it rolling and going over the water
at a great rate. They soon lost sight of the island, and saw nothing
around them but the waves sparkling in the moonbeams, and the loom of
the land like a dim black shadow on the horizon. The boys began to
feel a kind of awe stealing over them, as the last glimpse of it faded
from their sight, and they found themselves rushing into the unknown
waste, for they were steering straight out to sea, without compass, or
any guide other than to keep before the wind till the daylight should
reveal to them the land astern.
“Was you ever so far from land before, Charlie?” asked John, after they
had run about an hour and a half.
“No; except in a vessel, with a crew of men, and a compass.”
“It’s great--ain’t it? to be going through the water in this wild way,
and not see or hear anything but the waves. Only see how she runs when
she gets on the top of one of these long seas; and how they come up
under the stern, and roll over, and go boo.”
“If we should get out so far by daylight,” said Fred, “that we couldn’t
see the land, should we ever get back?”
“We can’t get so far; it was after three before we started; the land is
but little way astern, and we can see it fifteen or twenty miles. We
can take in sail and lie by, if we think we are getting too far.”
“But the wind might blow so hard that we couldn’t get back.”
“I don’t think there’s much fun without some risk; every old woman
would go to sea if there was no danger.”
“I’m a great deal more afraid of the wind dying,” said Charlie; “it
don’t blow near so hard as it did; we may have to row.”
They ran on about an hour longer, when Fred cried out, “It’s daybreak,
I know; there is a streak in the east.”
Gradually the light increased. John soon declared that he saw the shade
of the land, and didn’t believe they were far enough.
“I see Elm Island,” shouted Fred.
“So do I,” said John; “give us your book, Charlie. Luff her up; I can’t
see Birch Point at all; the island hides it; there it comes out. Luff,
Charlie; I see the lone spruce; luff more yet; there, it’s on the Junk
of Pork; there’s one mark, anyhow. Fred, you keep your eye on the mark,
and tell Charlie how to steer, while I look for the other one. I see
Smutty Nose, but we are not far enough; I knew we wasn’t. I can’t see
Oak Island at all; Smutty covers it all up. O, good wind, don’t die!
don’t die! please don’t die! for the sake of the widow Yelf.”
In about half an hour John exclaimed, “There it comes out; I see the
tall oaks on the north-eastern end. Hurrah! Keep away a little; here
it is; both marks on; let the sheet fly!” he cried, flinging the
anchor overboard. As it splashed in the water, the wind gave one puff,
and died away to a flat calm, just as the rising sun flung its beams
directly in the boys’ faces.
“Now, brother mariners,” said John, who was in high feather at this
auspicious beginning of their enterprise, “we’ve got a fishing-ground
of our own, marks of our own, all written down in a birch-bark book,
and can come when we like. What do you say? shall we eat now, or wait
till noon?”
“I think,” said Charlie, “we had better take a bite before we wet our
lines, for if we get the fish round we shan’t want to stop.”
As he spoke, he pulled out a pail and jug from beneath the head-board
of the canoe,--one containing coffee, the other bread, meat, and two
apple pies, which Sally had made the evening before, of some apples
Uncle Isaac brought over to them.
“Isn’t this good?” with half an apple pie in his hand. It was something
he didn’t have every day, and was a rich treat to him.
“We’re exactly on the marks,” said he, as he threw his line overboard;
“and it’s just the depth of water Uncle Isaac said there would--” He
didn’t finish the sentence, but, instead, began to haul in his line
with all his might, and soon flung a large cod in the bottom of the
canoe.
“What a handsome fellow!” said Fred; “his fins, eyes, and gills are
red, and also his back.”
“What a beauty! Good luck for the widow,” said John, as he threw
another beside it.
By this time Fred had got his line overboard, and soon added another
to those already caught. For hours nothing was heard but the whizzing
of lines and the flapping of fish, as they were drawn from the water.
Fred, who had not been so much accustomed to fishing as the others,
could not help stopping often to admire the great pile of rock cod.
They are indeed a beautiful fish when first caught, before the red hue
they obtain from the kelp, among which they feed, has faded.
In addition to their clams, the boys had an abundance of lobsters and
wrinkles; they had also brought some of the smelts caught in the mouth
of the brook the day before. They pounded these up, and threw them into
the water, which, as they sunk down and drifted astern, drew the fish
from all quarters.
“I wonder what I’ve got,” cried Fred, who was tugging at his line, and
making awful faces, it hurt his fingers so.
“Perhaps it’s a shark,” said John.
“O, I hope it is! I’ll take out his backbone and make a cane of it.”
“It may be a halibut,” said Charlie, taking hold of the line to help
him. But John, looking over the side, burst into laughter, as he
exclaimed, “You’ve got the anchor!”
“I’ve got something; it ain’t an anchor, neither,” said Charlie, and
pulled up an enormous lobster.
“How much bigger they grow off here in the deep water, than they do
round the shores! I mean to eat him.”
It was now near noon, and about low tide; the sun shone bright, the
water was glassy, and they could plainly see the bottom, which was a
reef of rocks covered with long kelps; the largest of which now came to
the top of the water, spreading their great red leaves over its surface.
They had now caught a great many fish, and began to feel somewhat
tired. Their hands, too, were sore and parboiled from the friction of
the line and constant soaking in the water, especially those of John
and Fred, who did not know how to take out the hook without putting
their fingers into the fish’s mouth, and scratching and cutting them
with his teeth and gills. But Charlie, who was better versed in the
business, took out the hook with his killer--a stick made to fit the
hook, and with which he knocked the fish on the head as he pulled
them in. So, while one of them fished, and threw bait to keep the
fish round, the others leaned over the side of the canoe, and amused
themselves by looking down into the clear water, and seeing the fish
swimming about among the kelp, like cattle in the pasture. There were
sculpins, lobsters, perch, cod, pollock, and once in a while a haddock,
all living as socially together as could be. Sometimes a cusk would
stray in among them, and a sea-nettle come drifting along just outside
the kelp, his long feelers streaming a yard behind him.
“Look at the muscles down there,” said Fred; “I never knew muscles grew
on rocks way out in the sea; I thought they grew in the mud.”
“These,” replied John, “are rock muscles, a much smaller kind; they are
what the sea-ducks live on; they dive down and tear them off the rocks
with their bills.”
“What kind of a thing is that? I should like to know; there, he’s close
to that great rock.”
“I don’t know; Charlie, come here and tell us what this is.”
“That,” said Charlie, “is a lump-fish; he don’t belong here, on a rock
cod ledge, but I suppose he’s out making calls this pleasant day.”
“I should think he was a lump,” said John; “he’s square, both ends.”
“They are first rate to eat,” said Charlie; “let’s try and catch him,
and give him to Uncle Isaac, together with that great lobster.”
“What is the best bait for him, Charlie?”
“I don’t know. You and Fred bait him with lobster, and I will bait him
with clams.”
They baited their hooks, and lowering them gently into the water,
watched the result. The lump, who was nearest to Charlie’s bait, swam
up to it, turned it round, smelt of it, and then moved off in the
direction of the other lines.
“He don’t like my bait,” said Charlie; “he’s coming to taste of yours.”
But before the clumsy creature arrived at the spot, two rock cod
darted at both baits, and were caught. They now all three baited with
lobster, and Fred caught him. An ugly-looking, misshapen thing he was,
with a black, dirty skin, like a sculpin, and called, from his lack of
proportions, a lump-fish.
“How curious some of these fish do!” said John; “they come up to the
bait, and go right away from it, as though they didn’t like it, and
then turn right about and snap it up.”
“They do just like some folks at the store, when anybody asks them to
take a dram; they say they don’t know as it’s worth while, or as they
have any occasion, but they always take it, for all that.”
They had now loaded the canoe as deep as they dared; it was low water
and a flat calm; the prospect was, that they would have to row the
heavy-laden boat home; in that case they would need the whole of the
flood tide to do it with.
“Let’s reel up our lines,” said Charlie; “the tide has turned.”
“Let’s wait a little while, and eat up the rest of our grub; perhaps
there will be a southerly wind.”
After reeling up their lines, they amused themselves a while by
dropping pieces of bait into the water, and seeing the fish run after
it, and try to take it away from each other. While they were eating,
they saw a dark streak upon the water, about a mile off.
“There’s the fair wind coming,” said Charlie; “now we’ll just wait for
it.”
They pulled up the anchor, and, setting the sail, continued their
repast, while the canoe drifted along with the flood tide. With a fair
wind and tide, they now made rapid progress, and Elm Island, with the
house, was soon in full view. They were so wet with hauling in their
lines, and the wind from the sea was so damp and chilly, that they were
obliged to take turns at the oars to keep themselves warm.
While they were thus engaged, Fred, who was steering, exclaimed, “I see
a smoke in Captain Rhines’s cove.”
“So do I,” said John, “and a blaze, too; what can that be for?”
“I expect,” said Charlie, “Uncle Isaac is there, and has got a
fire--won’t that be good?--to dry our wet clothes; and won’t he laugh
when he comes to see all these fish? We couldn’t have carried fifty
weight more; she almost dips her side under every time she rolls. Keep
her off a little, Fred, so that I can see by the point.”
Fred changed the direction of the canoe, thus enabling them to look
into the cove.
“Why, he’s got two fires, a big and a little one; and there’s Tige
along with him.”
“I tell you, boys,” said Fred, “I like to eat; I think half the fun of
these times is, that things taste so good out doors. It feels so good,
too, when you are wet, tired, and a little chilly, to stretch out
before a good, roaring fire!”
“That’s so,” replied John; “and when you make the fire of old logs and
stumps, with great prongs on them, to sit and eat, and see the blaze go
krinkle krankle in and out among the roots, that go all criss-cross,
and every which way.”
“When we start off so in the night,” said Charlie, “find a
fishing-ground, and get lots of fish, it makes a fellow feel as though
he was somebody.”
“Kind of mannish,” said John.
“Yes, that’s what I mean.”
As they neared the shore, they were equally astonished and delighted
at what they saw. From a great pile of drift slabs, logs, and stumps
that lay in the cove, Uncle Isaac had made two fires,--one to sit by,
and the other to cook by; he had made at the small fire a crotch to
hang the pot on, and placed stones to keep the fire in place under
the kettle. With his broad-axe he had made a long table and seats,
of slabs. His cart stood on the beach, with the oxen chained to the
wheels. In it he had brought tubs to salt the fish in, knives to split,
and salt to salt them; a kettle, pork, potatoes, new cider, apples,
cheese, bowls, spoons and plates, knives and forks, and some eggs to
roast in the ashes. He had put the table by the big fire, and on a
bench beside it sat Hannah Murch, with her white apron on, knitting,
and Uncle Isaac smoking his pipe, and striving to keep from laughing.
“I hope they’ve got the table big enough,” said John; “it’s big enough
for a dozen people. But only see Tige; just you look there, Charlie;
he’s got a chip in his mouth; when he’s awful glad he always gets a
chip, and gives little, short barks. O, I wish he could talk! Look,
Fred! here he comes; only see how fast he swims!”
In a few moments Tige was alongside, licking John’s hands, which he
reached out to him, when he swam beside them till they came to the
beach.
“Uncle Isaac,” screamed Charlie, “I guess you’ll say something when you
see what we’ve got. O, the master lot of fish!”
“I guess I shall,” he replied, standing up on his toes, and looking
over the boys’ heads, right into the canoe. “I shall say you have been
raal smart boys, and done a fust-rate thing. ’Tisn’t every three boys
that have pluck enough to go fifteen miles outside, and load a big
canoe, as you have done. I make no doubt you have enjoyed yourselves.”
“You’d better believe we have,” said Fred; “fair tide and fair wind
both ways; no rowing, and no slavery of any kind.”
“I guess,” said Hannah Murch, “you’ll enjoy yourselves better when you
get that chowder, and that something else I am going to make.”
“What else, Mrs. Murch?”
“That’s telling.”
“How I wish father and mother were here!” said Charlie.
“Here they are,” was the reply; and Ben, Sally, and the widow Hadlock
came out from behind the cart.
“This is too good,” said Charlie, hugging them both. Indeed, it was as
much of a surprise to Ben and his wife as to the boys. Uncle Isaac,
knowing that they must come to the beach, on their return from the
funeral, to take the boat, had said nothing to them of his intentions.
Hannah Murch, who was a great friend of Sally, had entered into her
husband’s plans with all her soul, and she was not one of the kind that
did things with a slack hand.
“I wish my mother was here, too,” said John.
“Here she is,” was the reply; and Mrs. Rhines and her daughters came
out from some alder bushes at the head of the cove.
“What’s in that pot over the fire now?” said Fred, who was a dear lover
of good cheer, and could eat as much as a heron.
“Never you mind, Fred,” replied Mrs. Murch, “the pot is doing very
well; but get me those fish Isaac has just cleaned, and hand me that
thing full of potatoes. Sally, will you wash and pare the potatoes?
Mrs. Rhines, won’t you be good enough to draw the tea? Girls, put the
dishes on the table; you’ll find them in a tub in the cart; and the
pies are there, too, and the milk and sweetening.”
While the chowder was preparing, the men, who were workmen at the
business, aided by the boys, split the fish and salted them.
“Now, John,” said Uncle Isaac, “these fish can stay in the pickle till
you get back from the island; I’ve salted them slack, so they will not
be hard and dry; then you can take them out, put them on the flake,
and dry them. I’ll come and look at them once in the while, and, when
they are cured, you can take your steers and cart and take them to the
widow’s; she is in no hurry for them, as the neighbors have given her
all she needs for the present.”
“I think, Uncle Isaac, we all caught them, and we all ought to carry
them. If I should go alone it would look as though I had done it all.
If she ain’t in any hurry for them, why can’t they stay at our house
till we go to haul her wood? and then we might dig her potatoes, and
put them in the cellar, and she will be all fixed up for winter.”
“That will be the best way, John.”
They now washed out the canoe, and the day’s work was done. As the boys
were still some wet, they piled whole slabs on the fire, and lay down
before it, waiting for supper, their wet clothes smoking in the heat.
The great pot was now put in the middle of the table, and Hannah Murch
filled the bowls as fast as they were emptied, which was not seldom.
“Don’t give Fred any more, Aunt Hannah,” said John; “he’ll kill
himself, and his blood will be on your head.”
“Shouldn’t think you need say anything,” growled Fred; “that’s the
third bowlful you’ve eaten.”
“I don’t believe there ever was so good a chowder as this,” said
Charlie; “I never tasted anything so good in all my life.”
After the chowder came the roasted eggs. Uncle Isaac now brought a
broad, thin flat rock from the beach, which, after Hannah had washed
in boiling water, he placed in the middle of the table. She then went
to the pot which had so excited Fred’s curiosity, and took from it an
apple pudding, which she had made at home, and brought with her, and
put it on the rock; she also brought a jug of sauce.
“I knew,” she said to Sally, “how well you liked my apple puddings when
you was a girl, and I mean’t you should have one. I’ve done my best; if
it ain’t good I shall be sorry.”
If the proof of a pudding is in the eating, Mrs. Murch certainly
succeeded, for every morsel was devoured. The cheese, apples, and cider
furnished the dessert, of which the boys freely partook, as cider was
not mentioned in Uncle Isaac’s pledge, or even thought of. Indeed, that
was but the germ in a thoughtful, benevolent mind, of principles that
were to be widely extended in after years. It was found, when all were
satisfied, that a large portion of the eggs, cheese, butter, bread,
pies, and milk, had not been tasted.
“I’ll just leave these,” said Uncle Isaac, “as I go home, at the widow
Yelf’s; the boys, I reckon, can take care of the apples.”
It was far into the evening before the party separated. The boys
lingered after the rest were gone, declaring they had eaten so much it
was impossible for them to row over at present. They lay by the fire
listening to the dip of Ben’s oars, and the rumble of Uncle Isaac’s
cart, till both died away in the distance.
“What say for going in swimming?” asked John.
“It’s too cold,” replied Fred; “who ever heard of anybody going in
swimming in the night, at this time of year?”
“I’ll stump you both to go in.”
“I won’t take a stump from anybody,” said Charlie; “go ahead; I’ll
follow.”
John got his clothes off first, and, running in half leg deep,
hesitated.
“Is it warm?” asked Fred.
“Splendid!” was the reply, as he soused in.
The others followed.
“Murder!” screamed Fred, the instant he got his head above water; “I
should think it was splendid;” and, catching up his clothes, ran to
the fire, followed by the others, their teeth chattering in their
heads. Standing before the great fire, they put on their clothes, and
were soon as warm as ever. They now took the apples that were left,
put them in the canoe, and piling a great heap of slabs on the table,
set it on fire, and pulled away by the light of it, Charlie steering,
and singing to them an old English song about one Parker, who was hung
at the yard-arm for mutiny at the ----. It must be borne in mind that
slabs were not considered worth anything in those days, and were thrown
out of the mill to go adrift, and the shores were full of them, so that
boys had plenty of material for bonfires. John had prevailed upon his
mother to let Tige go with them, as the widow Hadlock said Sam might
come over and stop nights till John came back.
“Haven’t we had a good time to-day, Fred?” asked John, after they were
once more in bed on Elm Island.
“Never had such a good time in my life. I’m real glad Tige bit me, that
I got to going with you and Charlie, and you like me. I used to think
there couldn’t be any good time without I was in some deviltry. Then
to think how good Uncle Isaac and his wife were to come down there and
bring all those good things, just that we boys might have a good time!
Wasn’t that apple pudding and sauce good?”
Fred slept in the middle, and, in the fulness of his heart, he hugged
first one and then the other of his companions.
“It seems,” said John, “that Uncle Isaac knew what we wanted better
than we did ourselves.”
“What shall we do to-morrow, Charlie?”
He received no answer; Charlie was fast asleep; and all three of them
were soon buried in those refreshing slumbers that succeed to exercise
and exposure in the open air. It was impossible that Uncle Isaac’s
dealings with the boys should be kept secret, although he mentioned it
to no one; and the only witness was a crow that sat on the top of a
neighboring birch.
Ben was in the house when Charles came for the auger. “What does he
want it for?” asked he.
“I don’t know; he told me to get it.”
Ben returned to the woods, wondering what Uncle Isaac could be going to
do with the auger. But at night, before Charlie went to bed, he told
Ben and his wife all that had been said and done on both sides. Ben
remained silent after he had told the story.
At length Sally said, “I don’t think, myself, that boys ought to
drink spirit till they are old enough to have discretion, and to make
a proper use of it; but to promise _never to drink_, I never heard
of such a thing. For my part, I don’t see how anybody that works,
and is exposed, can get along without it; and I’m sure they can’t in
sickness.”
“Yes,” replied Ben; “and by the time they come to have discretion (as
Uncle Isaac says), they have formed the habit, and half of them die
drunkards. Everybody can see what rum has done for poor Mr. Yelf. How
many times I’ve heard my father and mother tell what good times they
used to have going there visiting; how well they lived; and that the
house was full of everything! and now to think, that the week before he
died he sold his axe for rum.
“I’ve heard Uncle Isaac, a number of times within a year, talk about
drinking, in what I thought a strange way, and as he never did before.
I don’t believe he has done this without thinking about it a good
while: the promise won’t do the boys any hurt.”
“That’s very true,” replied Sally; “for last summer, when Mr. Hanson’s
barn was raised, the York and Pettigrew boys, mere children, got hold
of the spirit that was brought for the raising, and were as drunk as
fools; some laughed, but mother said she thought it was an awful sight.”
“I must needs say,” continued Ben, “when I saw old Mrs. Yelf, who has
suffered so much from liquor, and is so destitute, bring it on to treat
the mourners, and old Jonathan Smullen (who is going as fast as he can
in the same way as Yelf) drink it, it kind of went against my feelings.
I couldn’t help thinking that money had better have gone for food and
clothing.”
“I suppose she thought she must.”
“That’s what makes me think the whole thing is wrong--that a poor
creature must spend her last penny to treat her friends.”