E-text prepared by Al Haines
SUMMERFIELD;
or
Life on a Farm
by
DAY KELLOGG LEE
"When now the cock, the ploughman's horn,
Calls forth the lily-wristed morn,
Then to thy cornfields thou dost go,
Which, though well-soil'd, yet thou dost know
That the best compost for the lands
Is the wise master's feet and hands."
--HERRICK
Second Thousand.
Auburn:
Derby and Miller.
1852.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by
Day K. Lee,
In the Clerk's Office for the Southern District of New York.
TO
MY VENERATED FATHER;
A
PIONEER OF THE LAKE COUNTRY;
WHO
SOWED TRUTH AND GOODNESS IN THE SPRING-TIME,
AND
REAPS PEACE AND HONOR IN THE AUTUMN
OF HIS LIFE;
THIS VOLUME IS WITH LOVE INSCRIBED.
INTRODUCTION.
BY THE AUTHOR OF "GOLDEN STEPS," &c.
Works of fiction are to be approved when
they subserve the interests of morality and
religion. The Scriptures of the Old and New
Testaments--the ancient classics--the most
distinguished productions of modern ages--afford
striking illustrations of the beautiful and
instructive lessons of virtue and piety, which may be
conveyed in fabulous narration. The Parables
of the Saviour; Milton's Paradise Lost;
Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, are samples of
salutary and saving truth exhibited in stories of the
imagination.
I have made myself familiar with the contents
of the following tale, from the manuscript
copy. The aim of the author is of the highest
description. He endeavors to instil into the
minds of his readers a lesson of the utmost
practical importance, intimately connected with the
experience of every-day life. He would instruct
them of the wisdom of being contented with a
useful and productive occupation, which is
honorable in its character, healthful in its nature,
and conducive to the welfare of society, rather
than to aspire to callings, not so laborious
perhaps, yet more deceptive and uncertain in
substantial remuneration, and far less calculated to
promote public good.
This object the author successfully
accomplishes. No reader can arise from a perusal of
his pages, without feeling a higher respect for
such pursuits as benefit the world, and a stronger
inclination to avoid the more showy and
worthless callings into which too many are disposed
to crowd. The story is most happily conceived,
and is narrated in a style highly finished and
attractive. There is nothing insipid or
over-wrought, in the frame-work or filling up; but
all is natural and lifelike. The witty, the lively,
the startling, are finely interwoven with the
more grave and instructive. A fertile and vivid
imagination has enabled the author to bring
characters upon his stage which represent almost
every phase in human nature, and to indulge in
personal and scenic descriptions, whether in
painting a landscape, or delineating some
humorous or some noble quality of the heart, of
the most charming character. The reader is
enamored with the quiet enjoyments of rural life,
and disgusted with the schemes of hackneyed
sharpers. A high moral tone runs throughout
the narrative. Vice is rebuked and punished--virtue
is commended and rewarded. The idle,
the vicious, the unprincipled schemer and
deceiver, are painted to the life, and placed in
such a light, as to act as examples of warning
to the inexperienced, while the industrious, the
wise and good, stand forth in the true nobleness
of their nature, to the admiration of all.
To those who would discountenance the puerile
and trashy novels, full of debasing and
licentious tendencies, with which our country is
flooded, I would earnestly recommend this work.
It can be placed in the hands of the youthful
not only with safety, but with the utmost
confidence that it will exert a highly salutary
influence upon them.
I understand the present is the first of a series
of volumes on the various leading Occupations
of Life. The author would discountenance the
frivolous and demoralizing light reading of the
day, and place in the hand of young men and
women, works which shall induce and aid them
to work out a great and noble life.
J. M. AUSTIN.
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
I.
GOING FROM HOME TO BUILD A HOME
II.
HOME IN THE BACKWOODS
III.
A BEAR HUNT
IV.
A FEAST AND A STORY
V.
JULIA WILMER
VI.
THE NEW HOME AND SETTLEMENT
VII.
A CAPTIVE
VIII.
A LAMB LOST
IX.
SEEKING THE LOST LAMB IN VAIN
X.
THE SUGAR PARTY
XI.
FABENS PROMOTED TO HONOR
XII.
A LAW SUIT
XIII.
HAPPINESS
XIV.
THE COLD SEASONS
XV.
A WAR OF EXTERMINATION
XVI.
THE MINISTER
XVII.
THE MEETING
XVIII.
THE SECOND MEETING AND ITS FRUITS
XIX.
THE HARVEST LUNCH
XX.
MERCHANT FAIRBANKS
XXI.
THE HUSKING
XXII.
GEORGE LUDLOW AND ALMON FRISBIE
XXIII.
FAIRBANKS, FRISBIE, AND FABENS
XXIV.
A WEEK OF CASTLE BUILDING
XXV.
A WEEK OF REALITY
XXVI.
ANOTHER WEEK OF REALITY
XXVII.
SUNNY SKIES
XXVIII.
CONCLUSION
SUMMERFIELD.
I.
GOING FROM HOME TO BUILD A HOME.
"Yes, and such a wilderness of game! My word for it, you would like it
out there. The fat deer scamper from thicket and opening; foxes and
wolves, and bears are plenty; wild turkeys romp and fly in flocks; wild
ducks dip and skim like swallows on the lakes; trout and sturgeon,
lusty and sweet; Indians good-natured as the yellow sun:--and such
hunts as I've had there!--I tell you what, Matthew, they would cure you
pretty quick of being homesick; and you would hardly look towards the
Hudson again, if you were only once in the lake country."
"I should like to go there, Uncle Walter. It must be a very fine
country, and the encouragements for young men must be great. I should
like those grand old forests you speak of; and those pleasant lakes,
and the hills, and the valleys. Just so strange I am--I should soon
have affection for them, and reckon them among my friends. I should
bring away their sweet summer fragrance and verdure in my soul. And
the deer--how I'd like to see them bounding all about me! and the ducks
and wild turkeys enjoying their free life. But to make them
game,--I'll leave that to you, Uncle Walter, if I cannot soften your
heart. If I could leave father and mother, I would go and see what
sort of a life I could accomplish in a land so free and inviting; and
what kind of a home I could build. The thought of this sets my blood
a-bounding."
"Well, come, make up your mind, and get ready by then I start, and I'll
be right glad of your company. I shall start in a fortnight."
"What say you, father and mother? My heart flutters as I ask you! But
what say you to Uncle Walter's invitation? Can I not make a shift in
the wild woods of Cayuga, and could you not get along without me
awhile, in hopes something might be done for the good of us all?"
"It pleases me, Matthew, and it pleases your mother. We talked it all
over last night, and concluded, if you would like to venture, we would
make up our minds to part with you, and comfort ourselves with the hope
of your doing well. Yes, go if you want to, and the Lord go with you,
and help you all the time. I know by experience it is a good thing to
learn to live away from home, and shift for one's self, and be
independent. It makes a clear head, a ready hand, and a nervy heart.
My father used to say, an upright mind, with a knack of
self-assistance, was better for a president's son, than pockets full of
money. I have found it true, and I hope you will remember it.
"It will try our old hearts a little to part with you, Matthew. All
the rest are gone to the grave, and somehow we cling closer to you now.
We are trembling on the edge of the grave, and waiting for Death to
trip us in. We need to have hold of your hand, and lean on your
shoulder. But I know it is for your good to go and build your own home
and fortune; and if you prosper, as Mr. Mowry thinks you will, may be
we shall live long enough to sell our little place here, and go into
the woods again, and clear up a farm. It is a hard sort of work; but
then it stoutens the knees, and knits the knuckles, and gives a capable
soul, and a pleasant, pleasant life."
"That's the thing, Major Fabens. Tell the boy of the fun of clearing
land; but don't talk of trying hearts, and old age, and the grave.
You'll make a baby of him if you do; and he'll get a foolish dread of
leaving, and want to hang around you all your days. Stir him up a
little. Tell him you'll be glad to get rid of him; and to pack up his
duds and be off, lickety-cut; and it will not be a great while afore he
can pop over a deer without whimpering; and a log shanty in Cayuga will
seem smarter to him than a city spare-room. Come, Matthew, get ready
by then I start, and I'll take you to the handsomest country in all
America!"
"Life is a wilderness journey, that all must go, having many struggles
and trials; meeting many dangers, enduring many griefs. But if one
does right, and keeps acting the noblest and hoping the best, that is
the main thing; and it matters not so much where we go, nor where we
build our home, and perform our labors of life. Hard indeed shall I
find it, to take my soul away from all I love in Cloverdale: hard to
leave father and mother, and all my young friends; but it is best I
should go. Return in a fortnight, and I will be ready. God help me to
be a man, and make my life an honor and a joy. If I _could_ get a home
that father and mother would like better than their little one here,
would we not be happy?"
Such, my dear reader, was the beginning of a manner of life which it is
the design of this volume to unfold. Such a conversation occurred at
Major Fabens' many years ago. Major Fabens and his wife were very fine
old people, who lived at Cloverdale, on the banks of the Hudson River.
Matthew was their only surviving child; the solace and stay of their
aged years; and Uncle Walter was a neighbor, who had been out to that
beautiful region of western New York, called the Lake Country; taken up
a tract of wild land; made a clearing; built a rude home; and returned,
saying many a good, frank thing, to induce others to "pull up stakes,"
and follow him.
On the evening with which our story begins, a long conversation had
been enjoyed at Major Fabens'; much had been said of the western
country, in description of its climate and soil, its lakes and forests;
and young Fabens listened in a spell of delight, more and more
convinced that there was the land for his future home. He resolved
upon going to the Lake Country. He hastened the preparation for his
departure. His clothes were put in readiness; he passed around the
neighborhood on all his farewell visits; and the morning of his exit
smiled kindly and glad, as if to welcome him on his way.
It was a morning in August. Recent rains had refreshed all the woods
and fields; recent thunders had cleared the air and sweetened the
morning breeze; the pure sky spread like a curtain of clear blue satin
to the sight; and all nature was afloat with those lofty and tender
influences which soften the feelings, and induce meditation. A fit
season for the scene that ensued at the Major's, when numbers gathered
in sadness there, to take leave of their favorite. The sensations of
the company can be fancied by those only who have joined in similar
scenes, and shared their affecting interests. Kindest words had been
exchanged, and a full flow of love was indulged through an hour
prolonged, when it came for the father to speak, and give the farewell
charge and blessing.
"A good son, a very good son, you have been to us, Matthew," said he;
"and we have little fear that you will forsake the principles you take
with you, or give us trouble for any unhandsome act of your life. But
this world has many temptations; singular and strange events fill up
our experience; and a little counsel never comes amiss. I have lived
longer than you. I ought to know more of life and its dangers; and be
able to tell you many things that will do you good. I have fought my
way through difficulties, under which many have fell; and I have seemed
to see a light of heaven rising on the darkness, and have followed it,
when others like lambs have strayed into troublesome ways.
"Be faithful to the right, and good, and true, my son, and you have
nothing to fear. Let no puff of praise, or flush of good fortune lift
you up with vanity. Stand erect and keep your balance, if you step on
ice or walk on wire. Be a man always. Keep from castle-building.
Insist on the honor of your calling; and don't burrow up in the soil
like a woodchuck, but range abroad like a deer, and soar on high like
an eagle. Good-bye."
The last word was spoken; the farewell moment fled; young Fabens was on
his first long journey; and six weary days were numbered with past
hours, before the last opening in the forest revealed to his anxious
eyes the home of his eager guide--the Waldron Settlement.
II.
HOME IN THE BACKWOODS.
A new home in the backwoods! Living where the dun deer roam, and wild
fowl flock! Sleeping a-nights where waters murmur, wolves howl, and
panthers scream in your hearing; and whip-poor-wills sing till morning
comes, and Nature appears in her gladness and pride! Who would not
enjoy a scene like that for a season, forgetting the tame monotony of
towns, and imprisonment of cities? Who would not forsake a room amid
walls of brick for a green woodland parlor? And leave velvet cushion
and costly carpet, for a cushion of moss, and a carpet of flowers in
the virgin wilderness? Follow me, then, to the Land of Lakes, and
ramble abroad with my hero, while he explores the Waldron Settlement.
A rare and yellow August evening it was, and about fifty years ago,
when Matthew Fabens arrived in the Lake Country. As he rose the first
morning, and went forth to survey the region of his new home, thoughts
of his distant abode awakened feelings of sadness, but other sensations
very soon succeeded, and balanced his mind into satisfaction. A
wilderness indeed it was that waved around him; and the manners of the
settlers partook as much of its wildness, verdure, freedom, and wealth,
as if they had sprung like the oaks and chestnuts, from the soil; and
he found it a region opening upon him, at every step, some new delight
or interest.
That particular section was called the Lake Country, from the
occurrence of seven lakes, that shine out from their green borders like
mirrors reflecting the face of heaven. That beautiful sisterhood of
little inland seas lie along in lines nearly parallel, with ten and a
dozen miles of lovely woodland waving between them; and they vary in
length from ten to forty miles; and discharge their waters, through the
Oswego River, into Lake Ontario. Their names are, Otisco, Skaneateles,
Owasco, Cayuga, Seneca, Wawumkee, and Canandaigua, each name of them
sounding the rich, wild music of the Indian tongue.
On the banks of the Cayuga Fabens found the settlement, and language
cannot describe the charms of its fine scenery. Few were the
clearings, and small, which as yet had been made, and tall and grand
were the beeches and maples, the oaks and chestnuts, that tossed their
arms on high. Fabens gave way to the excitement cast upon his
sensitive nature, and allowed himself little rest for a fortnight.
Each day was too brief to accomplish all he purposed. He took long
rambles in the woods, sensing the sanctity of their venerable shade,
enjoying the views they spread to his gaze, and tasting the fragrance
of hemlock, birch, and pine, that floated to him in mingled odors. All
he had heard was more than true. The trees were noble beyond
description. There were narrow openings and plains, in places, where
the sumac lifted its blood-red plumes, and bee-balm waved its crimson
blossoms; while generally the woods were dense and magnificent.
Through opening and thicket the wild deer bounded like forms of beauty
in a dream; squirrels were chattering, robins and thrushes were singing
in gladness and pride; and wild fowl were sporting in water and air.
he went out to the fallows, and they were covered with Indian corn, or
gilded with yellow stubble; with here and there a garden studded with
cool and lusty melons, almost bursting with delicious sweets. He
descended the low valleys, and there, as on the hills, sprang
thickly-clustering bushes of large and melting blackberries, inviting
him to taste and enjoy. He followed the courses of the creeks, and
found them teeming with trout and pickerel, as playful as the
scampering fawns, all mottled with gold and silver, and royal as the
peacock's plumes in the running changes of their lustre. He stood on
the margin of the lake that lay placidly sleeping in the embrace of
hills; and the willow waved on its borders, and wild ducks and herons
wantoned on its breast. The waters were so transparent he could count
the white pebbles and shells at the depth of thirty feet; and they were
pure and sweet as the dew that lay all night on the wild honeysuckles
and roses, which graced the upland plains.
There was the hunting-ground of the Indians, and wigwams dotted the
shore; while on its waters, floating and ducking like the wild fowl,
sported the Indian canoes. He visited the rude homes of the settlers,
and was welcomed to each hearth with that rough and liberal
hospitality, which leaps from the soul of forest life. Several of them
had known his father on the Hudson, and all were soon his heartiest
friends. A frolic in the greenwood chase was proposed for every day in
two weeks to come; and gatherings and feasts were had without number.
All were near neighbors, though dwelling five miles apart; all carried
the spirit of the country, with the breath of its free air, and the
image of its woods and lakes in their hearts; and one flowing soul of
brotherhood was shared, while one ardent feeling of honest kindness,
and jocund spirit, bound them in a fellowship fast and warm.
The autumn passed; the winter came, and retired; and spring succeeded,
casting abroad her blooms and blessings; and the woodlands echoed with
music, and nature smiled like a garden gay. And more sensible of
sights and influences of beauty, Fabens enjoyed the genial season with
new satisfaction, and determined that there should be his future home.
He bargained for a farm of a hundred acres, and commenced its
improvement, cutting the first tree with his own hands, and selecting,
on an opening he had made, the site for a log house. On the approach
of summer, by a neighbor who returned to the Hudson, he sent his
parents the following letter:--
"DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,--
"Mr. Wilson starts to-morrow for Cloverdale, and I take this
opportunity to write to you. Of course, you will hear from him all
about me; but still it may gratify you to hear from me by letter. I am
happy and well as I can be in a new home of promise without you.
"I have seen many happy hours, and some that were gloomy since I came
here. Uncle Walter told the truth about this country; it is a land of
promise, handsome now in the state of nature. But you know that he who
comes here must labor hard, and endure many privations, before he
succeeds as he desires. God has blessed the Lake Country with a fine
soil and great advantages. Still, as I expected, money does not grow
on the bushes here, nor are the softest couches gathered from the
ground. Labor, honest, resolute labor alone can secure the objects of
good desire. For this I am ready with a strong hand and an ardent
heart; and trusting in God to prosper me, I mean to have a home and
farm that I can call mine. And while clearing a farm, and bringing
field after field to culture and beauty, will I not be clearing my
life, and bringing mind and heart to culture, fertility, light and
bloom?
"I know you would like it out here, and feel your young years rolling
back, and your hearts growing green again on the banks of the Cayuga.
The country is _very_ handsome. The deer are so tame they will almost
eat out of my hand. Fish and fowl are plenty. Each homely cabin is
the shelter of large and hopeful hearts, and the Indians are all
kindness to the settlers. O, when you can come and enter my home, will
we not take comfort? My love to all.
"Your affectionate son,
"M. FABENS."
III.
A BEAR HUNT.
Fabens was pleased with his neighbors, and warmly reciprocated the
interest they took in him. There was old Moses Waldron, the first
settler, an out-and-out backwoodsman; smart with an axe, sure with a
gun, free with a bowl of metheglin, open in hospitality, and an enemy
only to owls, and blackbirds, wolves, thieves, tories and the British.
He chased the tories and redcoats in his dreams, and talked to himself
while walking alone awake. The owls annoyed him sorely. Not because
they killed his pretty chickens, but because there was so little of
them beside their feathers, and their eyes were so monstrous white and
large, and they had such a ghostly halloo. Whenever he caught an owl's
hollow voice in ominous boomings from the woods, he stopped and cursed
him, and cried, "Ah hoo, hoo, ah hoo-ah; ah hoo, you pesky torment! if
I had you by the neck, I'd wring it for you, I'll warrant you I would,
ah-hoo-ah!"
Aunt Polly Waldron was a match for her husband; and while she was an
actual woman in chaste and single heart, in motherly loves, in the
tenderest sympathies and most unselfish feelings, she was a large,
square-shouldered and hard-handed woman; she could split oven-wood,
hunt bees, skin deer, and hoe corn; and she loved to tell "how she shot
a tory in the Revolution, who came while Moses was away in the wars,
and fired their barn, and took her best feather-bed out door and ripped
it, and scattered the feathers to the sky: how the tory whooped and
keeled as she dropped him, and how three other tories and an Indian
legged it like Jehu away."
Uncle Walter Mowry was younger by ten years than Mr. Waldron, and his
wife Huldah was five years younger than he, and they were specimens of
thrifty and noble, but uncultivated nature, such as we love to find in
the backwoods, and such as furnish materials for the richest and finest
city life. Uncle Walter was of a medium stature, a well-moulded face,
and fair skin, and he was hardy as a bear and athletic as a panther.
There was never a farmer who kept cleaner fields, or handsomer
stake-and-rider fence than he; or had earlier corn, or a larger
woodpile; yet he did love a hunt more dearly than a venison pie; he
caught fish from pools where others received not a nibble; and he
enjoyed a leisure day, and a feast, and a fine story.
Aunt Huldah was a little swarthy woman, weighing only ninety pounds at
forty years of age; but she was free and generous, and all who had her
heart and its overflowing love, had all, and there was nothing left of
her. She had the whitest linens, the clearest maple sugar, and the
smoothest and cleanest white maple floor in all the settlement; and she
loved scrubbing and scouring as well as Uncle Walter loved hunting. A
stranger would have thought her a real firer of a scold; but she was
never in a passion; and Uncle Walter used to say, he found her the
best, if anything, when seeming to scold the hardest, and she had that
way of expressing her interest in him, and making her work go on more
briskly.
There were Thomas Teezle and his wife, who were valued acquisitions to
the settlement. Thomas was stocky and muscular, frank, fearless and
free-hearted; and he kept a keen and ringing broad axe, and could hew a
beam or a sleeper as straight as a bee-line.
There were Jacob Flaxman and his wife Phoebe, and they were cousins;
and both had yellow hair and freckled faces; both weighed in one notch;
both sang in one song; both craved a fine farm and happy home, and were
prospered in their craving.
There was Abram Colwell, who gloried in never having cyphered beyond
the rule of three, or read any book but his almanac through; but who
was upright as an oak; shrewd as a black fox; hearty as a beaver, and
jocund as a jay.
And there was Bela Wilson, a farmer, a chairmaker, a shoemaker,
carpenter and blacksmith, all in one, as Uncle Walter declared; and
while he was close and exacting in a bargain, and stinted in his gifts,
he had many streaks of kindness, and added usefulness, honor, interest
and life to the settlement.
And among these people Fabens found pleasure and good fortune. The
summer that followed the date of his letter, was warm and fruitful, and
he went forth clearing and planting with a forward heart; and when
September came, he looked back on his labors with pride, and felt a
sense of comfort and content, for the beginning he had made of a home.
By dint of extreme diligence he made a larger clearing in the spring
than he had hoped, and succeeded in planting it all to corn; and now in
the autumn, he had a wide field, bearing the promise of a bountiful
harvest.
But he had not expected increase without tax, nor joy without
annoyance. His corn-hills supported a liberal yield of well-filled,
glistening ears; but foreign feeders that had not planted, nor hoed,
came in for a share of his abundance.
The bears invaded his cornfield, trampled down the stalks, devoured
much, and carried away more than he felt like sparing. He consulted
his neighbors, and found that others were annoyed in the same way, and
all they could do, was to guard their fields as well as they could, and
hunt down and slay some of the ravening forest prowlers.
"We told you, Fabens, you'd have to come to that at last," said
Colwell. "Wild beasts are thick as spatter around here; and you must
down with some of 'em. It's no use to talk baby; you must kill the
critters, or they'll eat you out of house and home."
"But they have a right to live, and I haven't a heart to kill 'em,"
said Fabens.
"It does look kindy cruel to drag down a handsome buck and cut his
glossy throat; and see a harmless fawn spout blood, and strangle and
die; and I used to shut my eyes when I bit a pigeon's neck,[1] and took
little quails' heads off; but now I can do't without winkin'; and as
for them infarnal bears, I'd ruther kill 'em than to eat. And you'll
have to kill 'em, if you want any corn."
"But I hate to see them hunted, and wounded, and killed, they suffer so
much."
"_Suffer?_--Suffer to be _killed!_--_Bears_ suffer to be killed? By
hokey, they don't indeed! Not they, they're used to it as eels are to
bein' skinned. And haint you heern of the bear-hunt we're goin' to
have to-night?"
"No, I have not."
"Wal, make ready with your birch candle and your axe; and come over and
get my old queen's-arm musket, and go with us. I tell you what, it's
no small fun to hunt bears. We'll have a smart time, and finish off at
Waldrons's with a supper of bear's meat washed down with metheglin.
Come, none of your chicken feelins in this country. You must kill and
quarter the wolves and bears."
"I suppose I must. They are carrying away all my corn. In whose field
do you meet?"
"In yourn, Fabens, if you'll jine us. Come, we'll give your little
patch a sweepin."
"Well, I'll be with you. They cannot suffer much if shot through the
head or heart; and I may as well begin a hunter's life killing bears
and wolves; but the deer I'll never trouble."
Arrangements were made for the bear hunt, and a bear hunt they had; and
all declared they were glad Fabens was along, for it gave him something
not to be found on the Hudson. Torches were prepared, guns and axes
were ready, dogs and men assembled at an early hour, and Fabens,
Colwell, and Wilson were sent on a scout into the field to listen for
the ravagers, and give the signal of attack. The full, bright moon
beamed down from the sky, and every movement had to be stealthy and low
to avoid alarm; and as Fabens crept into the field, and hid himself in
the hollow of a stump, and listened, his very heart frightened him, for
it beat so loudly, he waited in fear that it would alarm the bears, or
betray him into their clutches. Beat, beat, went his heart; tang,
tang, went the insects; hoot, hoot, went the owls; and on, and on rode
the moon. Again his flint was examined; again his tinder-box felt for,
and his torch fixed for lighting when it might be needed in the woods;
and his eager ear opened wider and wider to catch a rustling noise.
At last the corn rustled, and footfalls sounded faintly in his ear, and
Colwell crept up and whispered, "The bears are in! don't you hear 'em?
They're movin' this way. There! hear 'em rattle the corn!--There,
there again, hear 'em snuffle and chank!"
"I hear something," said Fabens.
"That's 'um! Old Bruin has come with his wife and children. We'll
give 'em a belly full. Stay here, Fabens, and I'll sly away, and start
up the company. Hear that! and that!--they're snorters! Slink down
into the stump; and if our comin' scares 'em, jump out and keep track a
little. Don't be scart. We'll be along in a jiffy, and nab the
varmints."
Colwell crept away, and exchanged a word with Wilson, and then stole
off to rally the company. But Fabens began to shudder in his
sentry-box. He had grown to be quite a backwoodsman; he had taken the
strength and courage of the wild forest life; he was usually calm and
self-possessed; but here was a new venture entirely, and while beat,
beat, went his heart in rising alarm, the loud and louder rattle of the
corn informed him of the closer coming of the animals. Now he hears
them tear off an ear! Now they craunch it, and crowd snuffling along
through the corn-hills! Now they cough, and his wildest fears are up;
and now they breathe in hearing, and move as if for the place of his
concealment, strip down a stalk, and rend off an ear, as he thinks,
where Colwell just lay!
What shall he do? If he stirs, they may grasp him. If he remains,
they will surely scent him out, and take him. O, terrible moment!
Where in the world are the company, that they do not run to his relief?
His hair stands on end, lifting his hat so high, the bears _must_ see
him now!--Shall he rise and shoot? He would be likely to miss, he is
so awkward with a gun. Why did he consent to lie there? Why don't
they come, as they said they would?--There! there! a step nearer, and
the grate of their teeth sets him shivering! Now, now he must
die!--Must he not? or what other sound is that more distant?
Footsteps--a whisper, and--they come, they come! and away jump the
bears, and away with dogs, axes, guns, and torches after them go the
men of the hunt!
"Now, Fabens, up and away; the fun's afoot, the fun's afoot!" cried
Colwell.
"Yes; but _such_ fun!" faltered Fabens.
"Come on, come on! Mr. Bruin and his cubs shall have a good visit at
their home!" cried Wilson.
"Nothing could be more in the nick of time!" cried Uncle Walter.
"We git 'em now!" said the Indians.
"Seek 'em, Bose! seek 'em, Spanker! seek 'em Nig! seek 'em, Watch!"
shouted Flaxman; and with flaring lights, and clatter, and howl, and
laugh, and halloo, away they pursued the bounding game. Now they take
the woods. Now the bears rush down the hill, cross the stream, run in
the gully, and race away; and dogs and men follow close and closer on
their track. Now they worry up a difficult bank, and scuttle and
wheeze away, away. But the dogs gain upon them; the torches alarm
them; the ground is not safe, and they climb the trees, as the hunters
all wish, and seek concealment in the shadow of closely covering leaves.
"Up a tree, be you, Mr. Bruin, eh?" cried Colwell.
"What can you do now?" asked Fabens.
"Down with the tree!" shouted Flaxman.
"No, let me see if I can't fetch the fellow with my old gun," cried
Uncle Walter. "I reckon I can reach him. I've picked bears out of
taller trees than that."
"What's there?" shouted Flaxman. "There's two on 'em treed. See the
dogs tear away at the foot of yon maple! Let's slash down the trees,
and give the dogs a little more fun. Old Spank's ready to jump out of
his skin, he's so fairse. And see Nig on his hind legs, and Watch jump
up and nip the bark from the tree. Down with them, and give the dogs a
little more fun."
"No, no; I'll see first if I can't tickle 'em with quicker fun," said
Uncle Walter; and all agreed that he should give a try. So the torches
were held away, that they might not blind him; and clear eyes searched
to spy them by a few broken beams of the moon.
"You'll have to cut the trees, or give 'em up," shouted Flaxman.
"It's dark as Egypt up in them thick leaves," said Colwell. "Skin your
keenest eye, Uncle Walt, and then I guess you won't spy your game."
"Hold, boys! hold on, hold on!" cried Uncle Walter. "I spy one! Here,
Colwell! you see that big limb, don't you? run a sharp look up that,
and tell us what that black bunch is, eh?"
"'S a bear, 's a bear, give him gowdy!" cried Colwell; and Uncle Walter
laid his best eye on his old queen's-arm, and fired. Rustle, rustle,
went the leaves; a limb snapped; a growl exploded; a rattling wheeze
ran shuddering on the still air; a shower of bark, scratched front the
tree, clattered down on the leaves; and then a groan--then
thrash--bound came a bear against the earth; and a torch at his nose
gave Uncle Walter to cry, "Dead--he's dead's a nit! Now, Miss Moon,
hang your lantern in t'other tree, and I'll bring down Bruin's wife to
sleep by his side, I will."
"No, you've had fun enough for one night, Uncle Walt, and now let
Fabens try," said Colwell.
The gun was re-loaded, and soon the moonlight through the leaves
betrayed the other bear; and after a little hesitation, Fabens took aim
and fired. But his hand shook, and his shot was lost in the air; and
Uncle Walter fired, and snap--crash--bound--came the other bear. The
dogs rushed upon her, and flew back in full shriek. Then Fabens showed
courage, and made up to her, before knowing the danger, and the wounded
bear uttered a horrible growl, and gave him chase!
Terror was up in a moment, and leaped from heart to heart. Away
bounded Fabens, and closely on his heels bounded the grim and
open-mouthed bear. Over a rock he leaped, round a tree he ran, and the
bear bounded after. Then came dogs and men, and were repulsed with
shrieks and ejaculations. Then they renewed the attack; and as old
Spanker caught her by the leg, and she turned upon the dog in fury,
Colwell put a ball through her head, and the fearful chase was over.
"A narrow squeak for you, Fabens," said Wilson, "a very narrow squeak."
"Too narrow, I declare," said Uncle Walter. "I cannot stand that, I
must set down. I thought Matthew was a gonner, and the fright takes
the tuck out o' my old knees."
"I never was so scart afore," said Flaxman; and, "You'll not call me
fool, if I sit down too," said Fabens, with white lips. "I am not used
to this as you are. It is too rough, too rough for a new settler;" and
down he threw himself by Uncle Walter; while the others, declaring two
were enough for that night, gathered up the guns and axes, and, when
the bears were dressed and hung up on trees, the company left the
woods, declaring they would have a grand feast, and pay Fabens for his
fright, if he would meet them at Mr. Waldron's the next evening.
Recovering a little from his fainting terror, Fabens joined their
conversation, as they returned to their homes; and long before his eyes
found the first wink of sleep, his mind wandered in perilous
adventures, and in pleasant and unpleasant thoughts of the wild forest
life. He would attend the supper at Mr. Waldron's; he would try to
contribute his share of talk and enjoyment; but on another bear-hunt he
resolved never to go.
[1] A barbarous way of killing pigeons caught in a net.
IV.
A FEAST AND A STORY.
Morning returned; the day rolled away; and the appointed evening found
the hunting party at Mr. Waldron's, and the sweet metheglin went round
in flowing bowls; and all were jovial and ready with talk, and wit, and
glee. The table was spread with luxuries. The savory viands smoked
from multiplied motherly platters; and there were Indian bread, potato
and turnip sauce, cranberry and wild plum sauce, a stack of wild honey
in the snow-white comb, and cakes and pumpkin pies.
The bear's meat was discussed with fairness and spirit, and pronounced
right fat and fine; and the supper, washed down before and after with
metheglin of Aunt Polly's happiest mix, was taken with good relish.
"You get nothing better'n this on the Hudson, I reckon," said Uncle
Walter to Fabens. "Give me a new country after all for elbow-room, a
sharp appetite and a good pick o' game. I guess the Major wouldn't
loathe such a bite as this."
"Aunt Polly for a supper of bear's meat, I say," added Colwell.
"Aunt Polly for the fixins too," added Wilson.
"Such fixins don't come afore every gang o' hungry hunters," added
Flaxman. "Is't sage, or savory sprinkled on this meat? This plum
sauce don't cly my appetite a bit; nor these fried scutlets; and I love
to gnash my shovel-teeth on a clean comb o' honey; and honey, they say,
is healin'."
"If you eat any more honey, Flaxman," said Wilson, "Uncle Mose 'll have
to take you up. He'll make more'n he would to take up a bee-hive. But
did ever anybody else get up a lusciouser pumpkin-pie? Aunt Polly
always makes 'em deep enough to swim in; and she don't spare the maple
sugar at all, nor the ginger, nor the shortnin' in the crust. And she
crimps the edges so curious."
"How do _you_ like a batin' like this, Fabens?" asked Colwell. "What
makes you so mum? aint home-sick, be you?"
"I like it well, I assure you. I didn't think bear's meat was so
fine," answered Fabens. "I am not homesick; I was just thinking how
she chased me, and how narrowly I escaped."
"It was much as ever," said Teezle, "much as ever that the critter
didn't mutton you. She skipped like a painter, and whet up her teeth
for a whalin' bite. But don't think on it now. Here, who'll tell a
good story, and cheer up Fabens a little? Uncle Walt, tell one of your
painter stories. That 'll wean him of his fright."
"O, yes, tell a painter story," said Colwell.
"Yes, that's the thing," added Wilson.
"Fabens's run was only a jolly game o' gool, compared with your pull
and squeeze with a painter," added Mr. Waldron.
"The one on the tree, that watched me half a day, cat-fashion? or the
one that dogged me through the Owasco woods? or the one that chased me
home to the chips?" asked Uncle Walter.
"Any one will answer to wean Fabens of his fright," said Teezle.
"Well, I'll tell the first that comes up in my mind," said Uncle
Walter, "and may be another one still will come. Another bowl of
metheglin, and then for the story." He took the metheglin and began.
"It was the second year after we come here, and a day in November: the
day after I finished husking. Huldah reckoned a wild turkey wouldn't
go with a bad relish, and so I shouldered the old gun in the morning,
and letting Bose follow slyly along behind, I put away out into the
woods. I killed three or four pigeons, and a squirrel, and snipe; but
on and on, and round, I ranged, afore I could get a single crack at a
turkey. But a flock flew up at last, and one proud old Tom taking a
tall maple in sight, and swinging his red gorget as if to dare a shot,
I fired, and plump he come to the ground, while the rest flew away.
"Well, after all, this aint bad doings, thought I, and shouldered my
game on my gun, and set my sails for home. I got a little puzzled
about the pint o' compass; still I thought I was right, and putting
ahead pretty good shin; when all at once Bose howled out, and the
leaves rattled, and the ground rumbled, and up a shagbark walnut leapt
a yellow painter like a cat, making the bark all fly again, and dashing
her way to the tiptop limb o' the tree. Thinks I, my fellow, you
wouldn't be very small game, and your yellow jacket wouldn't be bad for
a winter wescot; so I took a close, quick aim and fired. Down tumbled
the painter, with a hole through her liver 'n lights, and no time to
breathe her last. It was a she painter, and I stripped off her hide in
a hurry, slung it on my shoulder, and budged on again, as I reckoned,
towards home.
"It was getting well on to night, and as it grew darkish in the woods,
and the pint o' compass still pestered me, and I didn't know but my old
head had got backside to, I confess I begun to feel a little skittish,
and throwed away all my game but the turkey and painter skin, to
lighten my load, and took a spryer step through the staddles. It
wasn't the best o' walking, for logs were thick, and the grape-vines
tript me some; and I had to nod and squirl for the staddles and limbs.
I went, I should reckon, about three miles from where I shot and
skinned the painter, and the last half-mile was clearer of logs and
underwood; and let in a flash of sunshine now and then, and I thought I
was coming to an opening.
"All at once I heard a halloo, and hauled up, and listened. I heard it
again more distinct, and it sounded sharper 'n a halloo, and yet I
reckoned somebody was calling. I bellowed back an answer, and an
answer flew back like a woman calling. It was closer by than at first,
and it trembled, and swelled in the screeching echo. I reckoned surely
I warn't fur from home, and it was Huldah after me, calling. Away I
shouted again; and back flew an answer full scream, and now it was a
good 'eal nearer. It couldn't be Huldah. It sounded a little like her
voice, but it screamed sharper than she ever did in a call or a scold.
Louder, and sharper, and nearer come another singe-er of a scream, and
I knew in a trice what it was. It was a painter; and the mate of the
one I had killed!
"I thought of my gun, but I hadn't re-loaded. I felt for aminition,
and there was only one single charge left! Scream--yell, come the
sound oftener and nearer, and there I was, as you may say, a-most
destitute of all means of battle. I turned cold all over, and my hair
stood up like a hedgehog's. But not a second was to be lost; for the
scream shook the staddles, and rung and rolled. So I loaded my gun
with the last little charge, and legged it like Jehu, as Aunt Polly
says, for several rods; then throwed down my game and jumped as fur as
I could any way spring out sideways from my track; and a few jumps took
me about six rods from my painter skin and turkey; and there I waited
on my last legs, with my gun cocked, and butcher-knife slung, and Bose
at my feet for a battle.
"The sun was just sliding down west o' my aim; so I had the advantage
of all the light there was, and a big sugar-maple for a cover and rest.
It was all done in a jiffy, while yell-ety-yell, scream-ety-scream come
the sound, and the wild old woods rung again, and shuddered and shook
with the echo! A thousand thoughts darted through my head as if
lightning had chased 'em. I thought of poor Huldah; how she would
feel, and what she would do, and what would become of her, away off
here in the wilderness, if I was killed. I thought of her, and wanted
to see her, and bid her good-bye at least; and would a give money for
that little comfort.
"But scream-ety-scream come the sound, and my flesh crawled all over as
if in a nightmare, and I sweat like rain. Now the scream was
continual, and I heard every bound the fury made! Now it stopped. It
was back only half a mile, where I throwed down my squirrel and birds!
Two minutes more would bring him afore me;--yes, one,--for on he
bounded and yelled more dreadful than ever; and Bose cuddled closer to
my feet, and brustled up his hair all over; showed me his sharp teeth
were in, and give a look that said, 'Keep your gun ready, and I'll nab
him as quick as you fire.'
"Them last yells fairly crazed me from top to toe, with courage; and
now he jumped in full sight--over logs and through bushes, with head
down, snuffing close on my track! Leap-ety-leap, he bounced to the
skin and turkey; and O, such fiery eyes as then glared and blazed! and
such yells as he give! Then up started the hair on his ridgy back, and
thrash, thrash, to and fro, like a mad cat's, throbbed his tail! and he
snuffed for my track again. I raised my old gun, and partly getting
the scent, he turned his head upwards, and his eyes flashed fire in my
face! But afore he could spring on me, I plumped a charge into his
face and eyes, and dropped him, as Aunt Polly did the tory. Then Bose
made a lunge on the critter; but he warn't dead yet, and in they
grappled for life or death! Then dog's hair and painter's hair flew
like flax in the brake, I tell you. And then there was growling and
craunching, I reckon. I see Bose was going to be worsted, and I closed
in to give him a lift. My sleeves were scratched off in a jiffy, and
the skin striddled from my arms. And such flashes of fire from them
blazing eyes, and such a growl as I got for my pains! I jumped back
behind a tree; the painter jumped after me, and just missed my legs,
tearing away my old leather breeches from the knees, where I patched
'em with a stocking the day afore. Then Bose sprung on the painter,
and I closed in again; and just as the beast made for a bigger bite of
me, as luck would have it, I stuck my old butcher-knife through his
heart, and he fell down dead on my feet.
"When that was done, and I was safe, I felt pale, you may depend! I
set down, and poor Bose laid his bloody head in my lap, and licked my
hands, and whined for joy; and I was so thankful to the old fellow, I
kissed him, I did, and cried like a baby.
"But it was getting dark, and more painters might come, or a pack of
howling wolves be on me; so taking only my turkey and gun, I drawed a
bee line homeward. I went about a mile, and heard wolves howl a good
ways off; but now I knew I was pretty near home, and my fears left me;
while soon my log shanty hove in sight, and Huldah met me on the edge
of the clearing, and said, 'I begun to be concerned about you. What!
only one turkey? Well, that is better'n none. The chores are all
done, and supper is waiting.'"
"That was a narrow escape, indeed," said Fabens.
"That makes your bear-chase a clever game o' tag," said Wilson.
"That's a good ending for a hunting-feast," said Mr. Waldron; and the
company drew back from the table, and thanking Aunt Polly for her fine
supper, they all went away to their homes.
V.
JULIA WILMER.
A delightful ride of a single day, and most of the distance on the
rail-way, will carry us now through a grand succession of waving
harvests and verdant woods, of swarming hamlets and splendid towns,
from the Cayuga to the Hudson, and set us down in Cloverdale, whose
lovely homes nestle like a brood of milk-white doves in the covert of
the Rensselaer hills. And then performing a journey of thought a
little more rapid and long, we return to the time of our story,
recalling the year and season, and admit another character to our scene.
We find it a pleasant afternoon for a walk. The blue Indian summer
opens blandly around, and imbibing beauty and gladness through every
sense and pore, we walk a good while, and then turn our steps to the
mansion of the Masons; enjoy a free talk and a cozy cup of tea, and get
a glance at Julia Wilmer.
The Masons have a lower and narrower mansion than they mean to have in
a very few years; and their family grows, and crowds it too much; but
it has a neat appearance, and the elms and maples in front, and the
apples and peaches on the sides and rear, give it pleasant shades and
delicious comforts. And the moral and mental scenery within, has many
lights, and verdures and fruits.
The Masons are very good people. They are honest and industrious; they
often relieve distress; and they have a few fine volumes on the dresser
that most of them know by heart. The principal fault that any one
finds with the Masons is, that they are too exacting in a bargain, too
grasping for money and lands, and expect and demand, too much of their
servants.
Julia Wilmer loves them, for they took her when an orphan, gave her a
comfortable home, and reared her to womanhood with virtue, intelligence
and hope.
And we see that Julia carries a crimson face, and smiling look;
although she stoops considerably, and her long arms and loping gait,
make her appear to many, ungainly; she is ruddy as a rareripe peach,
and smiles from her forehead and eyes, and face and mouth.