And our numbers are few,
And the sons of old Anak are tall;
But while I see a track
I will never go back,
But go on at the risk of my all.
"The way is all new,
As it opens to view,
And behind is the foaming Red Sea;
So none need to speak
Of the onions and leeks
Or to talk about garlics to me!"
Hannah's face grew brighter still. "We'll stay right here!" she said,
adding her voice to the singular old ditty with all her power:
"What though some in the rear
Preach up terror and fear,
And complain of the trials they meet,
Tho' the giants before
With great fury do roar,
I'm resolved I can never retreat."
And in this spirit, sustained, no doubt, by the occasional chickens,
they lived the winter out, till blessed, beneficent spring came again,
and brought news, great news, with it. Not from the army, though.
There had been a post rider in Nepash during the January thaw, and he
brought short letters only. There was about to be a battle, and there
was no time to write more than assurances of health and good hopes for
the future. Only once since had news reached them from that quarter. A
disabled man from the Nepash company was brought home dying with
consumption. Hannah felt almost ashamed to rejoice in the tidings he
brought of John's welfare, when she heard his husky voice, saw his
worn and ghastly countenance, and watched the suppressed agony in his
wife's eyes. The words of thankfulness she wanted to speak would have
been so many stabs in that woman's breast. It was only when her eight
children rejoiced in the hearing that she dared to be happy. But the
other news was from Sylvia. She was promised to the schoolmaster in
Litchfield. Only to think of it! Our Sylvy!
Master Loomis had been eager to go to the war; but his mother was a
poor bedrid woman, dependent on him for support, and all the
dignitaries of the town combined in advising and urging him to stay at
home for the sake of their children, as well as his mother. So at home
he stayed, and fell into peril of heart, instead of life and limb,
under the soft fire of Sylvia's eyes, instead of the enemy's
artillery. Parson Everett could not refuse his consent, though he and
madam were both loth to give up their sweet daughter. But since she
and the youth seemed to be both of one mind about the matter, and he
being a godly young man, of decent parentage, and in a good way of
earning his living, there was no more to be said. They would wait a
year before thinking of marriage, both for better acquaintance and on
account of the troubled times.
"Mayhap the times will mend, sir," anxiously suggested the
schoolmaster to Parson Everett.
"I think not, I think not, Master Loomis. There is a great blackness
of darkness in hand, the Philistines be upon us, and there is moving
to and fro. Yea, Behemoth lifteth himself and shaketh his mane--h-m!
ah! h-m! It is not a time for marrying and giving in marriage, for
playing on sackbuts and dulcimers--h-m!"
A quiet smile flickered around Master Loomis's mouth as he turned
away, solaced by a shy, sweet look from Sylvia's limpid eyes, as he
peeped into the keeping-room, where she sat with madam, on his way
out. He could afford to wait a year for such a spring blossom as that,
surely. And wait he did, with commendable patience, comforting his
godly soul with the fact that Sylvia was spared meantime the daily
tendance and care of a fretful old woman like his mother; for, though
Master Loomis was the best of sons, that did not blind him to the fact
that the irritability of age and illness were fully developed in his
mother, and he alone seemed to have the power of calming her. She
liked Sylvia at first, but became frantically jealous of her as soon
as she suspected her son's attachment. So the summer rolled away.
Hannah and her little flock tilled their small farm and gathered
plenteous harvest. Mindful of last year's experience, they raised
brood after brood of chickens, and planted extra acres of corn for
their feeding, so that when autumn came, with its vivid, splendid
days, its keen winds and turbulent skies, the new chicken yard, which
the boys had worked at through the summer, with its wattled fence, its
own tiny spring, and lofty covered roofs, swarmed with chickens,
ducks, and turkeys. Many a dollar was brought home about Thanksgiving
time for the fat fowls sold in Litchfield and Nepash; but dollars
soon vanished in buying winter clothes for so many children, or
rather, in buying wool to spin and weave for them. Mahala Green, the
village tailoress, came to fashion the garments, and the girls sewed
them. Uncouth enough was their aspect; but fashion did not yet reign
in Nepash, and if they were warm, who cared for elegance? Not Hannah's
rosy, hearty, happy brood. They sang and whistled and laughed with a
force and freedom that was kin to the birds and squirrels among whom
they lived; and Hannah's kindly, cheery face lit up as she heard them,
while a half sigh told that her husband and her soldier boys were
still wanting to her perfect contentment.
At last they were all housed snugly for winter. The woodpile was
larger than ever before, and all laid up in the shed, beyond which a
rough shelter of chinked logs had been put up for the chickens, to
which their roosts and nest boxes, of coarse wicker, boards nailed
together, hollow bark from the hemlock logs, even worn-out tin pails,
had all been transferred. The cellar had been well banked from the
outside, and its darksome cavern held good store of apples, pork, and
potatoes. There was dried beef in the stairway, squashes in the
cupboard, flour in the pantry, and the great gentle black cow in the
barn was a wonderful milker. In three weeks Thanksgiving would come,
and even Hannah's brave heart sank as she thought of her absent
husband and boys; and their weary faces rose up before her as she
numbered over to herself her own causes for thankfulness, as if to
say: "Can you keep Thanksgiving without us?" Poor Hannah! She did her
best to set these thankless thoughts aside, but almost dreaded the
coming festival. One night, as she sat knitting by the fire, a special
messenger from Litchfield rode up to the door and brought stirring
news. Master Loomis's mother was dead, and the master himself, seeing
there was a new levy of troops, was now going to the war. But before
he went there was to be a wedding, and, in the good old fashion, it
should be on Thanksgiving Day, and Madam Everett had bidden as many of
Sylvy's people to the feast as would come.
There was great excitement as Hannah read aloud the madam's note. The
tribe of Perkins shouted for joy, but a sudden chill fell on them when
mother spoke:
"Now, children, hush up! I want to speak myself, ef it's a possible
thing to git in a word edgeways. We can't all go, fust and foremost.
'Tain't noways possible."
"Oh, Mother! Why? Oh, do! Not go to Sylvy's wedding?" burst in the
"infinite deep chorus" of youngsters.
"No, you can't. There ain't no team in the county big enough to hold
ye all, if ye squeeze ever so much. I've got to go, for Sylvy'd be
beat out if mother didn't come. And Dolly's the oldest. She's got a
right to go."
Loud protest was made against the right of primogeniture, but mother
was firm.
"Says so in the Bible. Leastways, Bible folks always acted so. The
first-born, ye know. Dolly's goin', sure. Eben's got to drive, and I
must take Obed. He'd be the death of somebody, with his everlastin'
mischief, if I left him to home. Mebbe I can squeeze in Betty, to keep
him company. Joe and Sam and Dianner won't be more'n enough to take
care o' the cows and chickens and fires, and all. Likewise of each
other."
Sam set up a sudden howl at his sentence, and kicked the mongrel
yellow puppy, who leaped on him to console him, till that
long-suffering beast yelped in concert.
Diana sniffed and snuffled, scrubbed her eyes with her checked apron,
and rocked back and forth.
"Now, stop it!" bawled Joe. "For the land's sake, quit all this noise.
We can't all on us go; 'n' for my part, I don't want to. We'll hev a
weddin' of our own some day!" and here he gave a sly look at Dolly,
who seemed to understand it and blushed like an apple-blossom, while
Joe went on: "Then we'll all stay to 't, I tell ye, and have a right
down old country time."
Mother had to laugh.
"So you shall, Joe, and dance 'Money Musk' all night, if you want
to--same as you did to the corn huskin'. Now, let's see. Betty, she's
got that chintz gown that was your Sunday best, Dolly--the flowered
one, you know, that Dianner outgrowed. We must fix them lawn ruffles
into 't; and there's a blue ribbin laid away in my chest o' drawers
that'll tie her hair. It's dreadful lucky we've got new shoes all
round; and Obed's coat and breeches is as good as new, if they be made
out of his pa's weddin' suit. That's the good o' good cloth. It'll
last most forever. Joe hed 'em first, then Sam wore 'em quite a spell,
and they cut over jest right for Obey. My black paduasoy can be fixed
up, I guess. But, my stars! Dolly, what hev' you got?"
"Well, Mother, you know I ain't got a real good gown. There's the
black lutestring petticoat Sylvy fetched me two years ago; but there
ain't any gown to it. We calculated I could wear that linsey jacket to
meeting, under my coat; but 'twouldn't do rightly for a weddin'."
"That's gospel truth. You can't wear that, anyhow. You've got to hev
somethin'. 'Twon't do to go to Sylvy's weddin' in linsey woolsy; but I
don't believe there's more'n two hard dollars in the house. There's a
few Continentals; but I don't count on them. Joe, you go over to the
mill fust thing in the morning and ask Sylvester to lend me his old
mare a spell to-morrer, to ride over to Nepash, to the store."
"Why don't ye send Doll?" asked Joe, with a wicked glance at the girl
that set her blushing again.
"Hold your tongue, Joseph, 'n' mind me. It's bedtime now, but I'll
wake ye up airly," energetically remarked Hannah. And next day,
equipped in cloak and hood, she climbed the old mare's fat sides and
jogged off on her errand; and by noon-mark was safe and sound home
again, looking a little perplexed, but by no means cast down.
"Well, Dolly," said she, as soon as cloak and hood were laid aside,
"there's the beautifulest piece of chintz over to the store you ever
see--jest enough for a gown. It's kind of buff-coloured ground,
flowered all over with roses, deep-red roses, as nateral as life.
Squire Dart wouldn't take no money for 't. He's awful sharp about them
new bills. Sez they ain't no more'n corn husks. Well, we ain't got a
great lot of 'em, so there's less to lose, and some folks will take
'em; but he'll let me have the chintz for 'leven yards o' soldier's
cloth--blue, ye know, like what we sent pa and the boys. And I spent
them two silver dollars on a white gauze neck-kercher and a piece of
red satin ribbin for ye, for I'm set on that chintz. Now hurry up 'nd
fix the loom right off. The web's ready, then we'll card the wool.
I'll lay ye a penny we'll have them 'leven yards wove by Friday.
To-day's Tuesday, Thanksgiving comes a Thursday week, an' ef we have
the chintz by sundown a Saturday there'll be good store of time for
Mahaly Green and you to make it afore Wednesday night. We'll hev a
kind of a Thanksgiving, after all. But I wisht your pa----" The
sentence ended in Hannah's apron at her eyes, and Dolly looked sober;
but in a minute she dimpled and brightened, for the pretty chintz gown
was more to her than half a dozen costly French dresses to a girl of
to-day. But a little cloud suddenly put out the dimples.
"But, Mother, if somebody else should buy it?"
"Oh, they won't. I've fixed that. I promised to fetch the cloth inside
of a week, and Squire Dart laid away the chintz for me till that time.
Fetch the wool, Dolly, before you set up the web, so's I can start."
The wool was carded, spun, washed, and put into the dye tub, one "run"
of yarn that night; and another spun and washed by next day's
noon--for the stuff was to be checked, and black wool needed no
dyeing. Swiftly hummed the wheel, merrily flew the shuttle, and the
house steamed with inodorous dye; but nobody cared for that, if the
cloth could only be finished. And finished it was--the full measure
and a yard over; and on Saturday morning Sylvester's horse was
borrowed again, and Hannah came back from the village beaming with
pleasure, and bringing besides the chintz a yard of real cushion lace,
to trim the ruffles for Dolly's sleeves, for which she had bartered
the over yard of cloth and two dozen fresh eggs. Then even busier
times set in. Mahala Green had already arrived, for she was dressmaker
as well as tailoress, and was sponging and pressing over the black
paduasoy that had once been dove-coloured and was Hannah's sole piece
of wedding finery, handed down from her grandmother's wardrobe at
that. A dark green grosgrain petticoat and white lawn ruffles made a
sufficiently picturesque attire for Hannah, whose well-silvered hair
set off her still sparkling eyes and clear healthy skin. She appeared
in this unwonted finery on Thanksgiving morning to her admiring
family, having added a last touch of adornment by a quaint old jet
necklace, that glittered on the pure lawn neckkerchief with as good
effect as a chain of diamonds and much more fitness. Betty, in her
striped blue-and-white chintz, a clean dimity petticoat, and a blue
ribbon round her short brown curls, looked like a cabbage rosebud--so
sturdy and wholesome and rosy that no more delicate symbol suits her.
Obed was dreadful in the old-fashioned costume of coat and breeches,
ill-fitting and shiny with wear, and his freckled face and round shock head
of tan-coloured hair thrown into full relief by a big, square collar of
coarse tatten lace laid out on his shoulders like a barber's towel, and
illustrating the great red ears that stood out at right angles above it.
But Obed was only a boy. He was not expected to be more than clean and
speechless; and, to tell the truth, Eben, being in the hobbledehoy stage of
boyhood--gaunt, awkward, and self-sufficient--rather surpassed his small
brother in unpleasant aspect and manner. But who would look at the boys
when Dolly stood beside them, as she did now, tall and slender, with the
free grace of an untrammelled figure, her small head erect, her eyes dark
and soft as a deer's, neatly clothed feet (not too small for her height)
peeping from under the black lutestring petticoat, and her glowing brunette
complexion set off by the picturesque buff-and-garnet chintz gown, while
her round throat and arms were shaded by delicate gauze and snowy lace,
and about her neck lay her mother's gold beads, now and then tangling in
the heavy black curls that, tied high on her head with a garnet ribbon,
still dropped in rich luxuriance to her trim waist.
The family approved of Dolly, no doubt, though their phrases of
flattery were as homely as heartfelt.
"Orful slick-lookin', ain't she?" confided Joe to Eben; while sinful
Sam shrieked out: "Land o' Goshen! ain't our Dolly smart? Shan't I
fetch Sylvester over?"
For which I regret to state Dolly smartly boxed his ears.
But the pung was ready, and Sam's howls had to die out uncomforted.
With many parting charges from Hannah about the fires and fowls, the
cow, the hasty pudding, already put on for its long boil, and the
turkey that hung from a string in front of the fire and must be
watched well, since it was the Thanksgiving dinner, the "weddingers,"
as Joe called them, were well packed in with blankets and hot stones
and set off on their long drive.
The day was fair and bright, the fields of snow purely dazzling; but
the cold was fearful, and in spite of all their wraps, the keen winds
that whistled over those broad hilltops where the road lay seemed to
pierce their very bones, and they were heartily glad to draw up, by
twelve o'clock, at the door of the parsonage and be set before a
blazing fire, and revived with sundry mugs of foaming and steaming
flip, made potent with a touch of old peach brandy; for in those
ancient days, even in parsonages, the hot poker knew its office and
sideboards were not in vain.
There was food, also, for the exhausted guests, though the refection
was slight and served informally in the kitchen corner, for the
ceremonial Thanksgiving dinner was to be deferred till after the
wedding. And as soon as all were warmed and refreshed they were
ushered into the great parlour, where a Turkey carpet, amber satin
curtains, spider-legged chairs and tables, and a vast carved sofa,
cushioned also with amber, made a regal and luxurious show in the eyes
of our rustic observers.
But when Sylvy came in with the parson, who could look at furniture?
Madam Everett had lavished her taste and her money on the lovely
creature as if she were her own daughter, for she was almost as dear
to that tender, childless soul. The girl's lustrous gold-brown hair
was dressed high upon her head in soft puffs and glittering curls, and
a filmy thread-lace scarf pinned across it with pearl-headed pins. Her
white satin petticoat showed its rich lustre under a lutestring gown
of palest rose brocaded with silver sprigs and looped with silver
ribbon and pink satin roses. Costly lace clung about her neck and
arms, long kid gloves covered her little hands and wrists and met the
delicate sleeve ruffles, and about her white throat a great pink topaz
clasped a single string of pearls. Hannah could scarce believe her
eyes. Was this her Sylvy?--she who even threw Madam Everett, with her
velvet dress, powdered hair, and Mechlin laces, quite into the
background!
"I did not like it, Mammy dear," whispered Sylvy, as she clung round
her astonished mother's neck. "I wanted a muslin gown; but madam had
laid this by long ago, and I could not thwart or grieve her, she is so
very good to me."
"No more you could, Sylvy. The gown is amazing fine, to be sure; but
as long as my Sylvy's inside of it I won't gainsay the gown. It ain't
a speck too pretty for the wearer, dear." And Hannah gave her another
hug. The rest scarce dared to touch that fair face, except Dolly, who
threw her arms about her beautiful sister, with little thought of her
garments, but a sudden passion of love and regret sending the quick
blood to her dark brows and wavy hair in a scarlet glow.
Master Loomis looked on with tender eyes. He felt the usual masculine
conviction that nobody loved Sylvy anywhere near as much as he did;
but it pleased him to see that she was dear to her family. The parson,
however, abruptly put an end to the scene.
"H-m! my dear friends, let us recollect ourselves. There is a time for
all things. Yea, earth yieldeth her increase--h-m! The Lord ariseth to
shake visibly the earth--ahem! Sylvia, will you stand before the
sophy? Master Lummis on the right side. Let us pray."
But even as he spoke the words a great knocking pealed through the
house: the brass lion's head on the front door beat a reveille loud
and long. The parson paused, and Sylvia grew whiter than before;
while Decius, the parson's factotum, a highly respectable old negro
(who, with his wife and daughter, sole servants of the house, had
stolen in to see the ceremony), ambled out to the vestibule in most
undignified haste. There came sounds of dispute, much tramping of
boots, rough voices, and quick words; then a chuckle from Decius, the
parlour door burst open, and three bearded, ragged, eager men rushed
in upon the little ceremony.
There was a moment's pause of wonder and doubt, then a low cry from
Hannah, as she flew into her husband's arms; and in another second the
whole family had closed around the father and brothers, and for once
the hardy, stern, reticent New England nature, broken up from its
foundations, disclosed its depths of tenderness and fidelity. There
were tears, choking sobs, cries of joy. The madam held her lace
handkerchief to her eyes with real need of it; Master Loomis choked
for sympathy; and the parson blew his nose on the ceremonial bandanna
like the trumpet of a cavalry charge.
"Let us pray!" said he, in a loud but broken voice; and holding fast
to the back of the chair, he poured out his soul and theirs before the
Lord with all the fervour and the fluency of real feeling. There was
no stumbling over misapplied texts now, no awkward objections in his
throat, but only glowing Bible words of thankfulness and praise and
joy. And every heart was uplifted and calm as they joined in the
"Amen."
John's story was quickly told. Their decimated regiment was
disbanded, to be reformed of fresh recruits, and a long furlough given
to the faithful but exhausted remnant. They had left at once for home,
and their shortest route lay through Litchfield. Night was near when
they reached the town, but they must needs stop to get one glimpse of
Sylvy and tidings from home, for fear lay upon them lest there might
be trouble there which they knew not of. So they burst in upon the
wedding. But Master Loomis began to look uneasy. Old Dorcas had
slipped out, to save the imperilled dinner, and Pokey, the maid (_née_
Pocahontas!) could be heard clinking glass and silver and pushing
about chairs; but the happy family were still absorbed in each other.
"Mister Everett!" said the madam, with dignity, and the little
minister trotted rapturously over to her chair to receive certain low
orders.
"Yes, verily, yes--h-m! A--my friends, we are assembled in this place
this evening--"
A sharp look from madam recalled him to the fact that this was not a
prayer-meeting.
"A--that is--yes, of a truth our purpose this afternoon was to--"
"That's so!" energetically put in Captain John. "Right about face!
Form!" and the three Continentals sprung to their feet and assumed
their position, while Sylvy and Master Loomis resumed theirs, a
flitting smile in Sylvia's tearful eyes making a very rainbow.
So the ceremony proceeded to the end, and was wound up with a short
prayer, concerning which Captain Perkins irreverently remarked to his
wife some days after:
"Parson smelt the turkey, sure as shootin', Hannah. He shortened up so
'mazin' quick on that prayer. I tell you I was glad on't. I knew how
he felt. I could ha' ate a wolf myself."
Then they all moved in to the dinner table--a strange group, from
Sylvia's satin and pearls to the ragged fatigue-dress of her father
and brothers; but there was no help for that now, and really it
troubled nobody. The shade of anxiety in madam's eye was caused only
by a doubt as to the sufficiency of her supplies for three unexpected
and ravenous guests; but a look at the mighty turkey, the crisp roast
pig, the cold ham, the chicken pie, and the piles of smoking
vegetables, with a long vista of various pastries, apples, nuts, and
pitchers of cider on the buffet, and an inner consciousness of a big
Indian pudding, for twenty-four hours simmering in the pot over the
fire, reassured her, and perhaps heartened up the parson, for after a
long grace he still kept his feet and added, with a kindly smile:
"Brethren and friends, you are heartily welcome. Eat and be glad, for
seldom hath there been such cause and need to keep a Thanksgiving!"
And they all said Amen!
1800 AND FROZE TO DEATH[31]
BY C. A. STEPHENS.
An exciting story of a battle with a crazy moose. It has a
Thanksgiving flavour, too.
"What shall we have for Thanksgiving dinner?" was a question which
distressed more than one household that year. Indeed, it was often a
question what to have for dinner, supper, or breakfast on any day. For
that was the strangely unpropitious, unproductive season of 1816,
quaintly known in local annals as "1800 and Froze to Death."
[Footnote 31: From the _Youth's Companion_, November 26, 1908.]
It was shortly after the close of the War of 1812 with England. Our
country was then poor and but little cultivated. There was no golden
West to send carloads of wheat and corn; no Florida or California to
send fruit; there were no cars, no railroads. What the people of the
Eastern States had they must raise for themselves, and that year there
were no crops.