Two boys turned loose on a present-day farm can find enough interesting
things to do to fill a book much larger than this. For me to go into the
details of that week's visit to Avon Dale would preclude any possible
chance of your hearing the end of this story. And there are still many
things that need telling.
But though no great or grave adventure befell the two boys while they
stayed at the plantation, you may imagine the days they spent together.
Back of the farm buildings lay the fields, all up and down the river
bank for miles. And back of the fields, crowding close to the edge of
the plowed ground, the big trees of an age-old forest rose. The great
wild woods ran straight back from the plantation for five hundred miles,
broken only by rivers and the steep slopes of the Alleghanies, as yet
hardly heard of by white men. Giant oaks, ashes and tulip trees mingled
with the pine and hemlock growth. The hillsides where the sun shone
through were thick with rhododendron and laurel. And all through this
sylvan paradise the upper branches and the underbrush teemed with wild
life. Squirrels, partridges and occasional turkeys offered frequent
marks for the long muzzle-loading rifles, while a thousand little song
birds flitted constantly through the leaves. Jeremy had never seen such
hunting in his colder northern country. The game was bigger and more
dangerous in New England, but never had he found it so plentiful. As the
boys were both good marksmen, a great rivalry sprang up between them.
They scorned any but the hardest shots--the bright eye of a squirrel
above a hickory limb fifty yards off or the downy form of a wood pigeon
preening in a tree top. Though a good deal of powder and lead was spent
in the process, they were shooting like old leather-stocking hunters by
the end of the week.
The last two days had to be spent indoors, for a heavy autumn rain that
came one night held over persistently and drenched the valley with a
sullen, steady pour. Little muddy rivulets swept down across the fields
and joined the already swollen current of the Brandywine. On the morning
when they started back, the river was running high and fast and yellow
along the low banks, but a bright sun shone, and a fresh breeze out of
the west promised fair weather.
The horses were left at the plantation. They took their guns and a day's
provisions and carried a long, narrow-beamed canoe down to the shore. It
was a dugout, quite unlike the graceful birch affairs that Jeremy had
seen among the Penobscots, but serviceable and seaworthy enough.
Job, happy to be on the water once more, took the stern paddle, Bob
knelt in the bow, and Jeremy squatted amidships with the blankets and
guns. With a cry of farewell to the kindly folk on the bank, they shoved
out and shot away down the swift river.
It was exciting work. The stream had overflowed its banks for many yards
and the brown water swirled in eddies among the trees. To keep the canoe
in the main channel required judgment and good steering. Job proved
equal to the occasion and though with their paddling the swiftness of
the current gave the craft a speed of over ten miles an hour, he brought
her down without mishap into a wide-spreading cove. They rested,
drifting slowly across the slack water. "This can't be far from
Cantwell's," Bob was saying, when Jeremy gave a startled exclamation,
and pointed toward the shore, some fifty yards away. A little girl in a
gray frock stood on the bank, her arms full of golden rod and asters.
She had not seen the canoe, for she was looking behind her up the bank.
At that instant there was a crashing in the brush and a big buck deer
stepped out upon the shore, tossing his gleaming antlers to which a few
shreds of summer "velvet" still clung. He was not twenty feet from the
girl, who faced him, perfectly still, the flowers dropping one by one
from her apron.
It was the rutting season and the buck was in a fighting mood. But he
was puzzled by this small motionless antagonist. He hesitated a bare
second before launching his wicked charge. Then as he bellowed his
defiance there came a loud report. The buck's haunches wavered, then
straightened with a jerk, as he made a great leap up the bank and fell
dead. From Jeremy's long-barrelled gun a wisp of smoke floated away.
Betty Cantwell sat down very suddenly and seemed about to cry, but as
the canoe shot up to the shore she was smiling once more. They took her
aboard and started down stream again. A few hundred yards brought them
to the edge of the Cantwell clearing, where Bob hailed the negroes
working in the field and gave them orders for bringing down the dead
buck.
At the landing John Cantwell was waiting in some anxiety, for the sound
of Jeremy's shot had reached him at the house. Bob told the story,
somewhat to Jeremy's embarrassment, for nothing was spared in the
telling. The Quaker thanked him with great earnestness and reproved his
daughter gently for straying beyond the plantation.
After another of those famous dinners Job and the boys returned to their
craft, for there were many miles to make before night. As Jeremy took
up the bow paddle he waved to Betty on the bank, and thrilled with
happiness at the shy smile she gave him. Once again they were in the
current, shooting downstream toward tidewater.
It was mid-afternoon when they crossed the Brandywine bar and paddled
past the docks of Wilmington. Outside in the Delaware there was a choppy
sea that made their progress slower, and the sun had set when the slim
little craft ran in for the beach above New Castle. The voyagers
shouldered their packs and made their way up the High Street to the
brick house.
When the greetings were over and the boys were changing their clothes
before coming down for supper, Clarke Curtis entered their room. "Lads,"
he said, "I'd advise you to go early to bed tonight. You'll need a long
rest, for in the morning you start overland for New York." At Bob's
exclamation of surprise he went on to explain that the _Indian Queen_
had weighed anchor two days before for that port, and as there was no
other ship leaving the Delaware soon, he wished the boys to board her at
New York for the voyage to New England. Both youngsters were overjoyed
at the prospect of an early start. Bob, who had been promised that he
could accompany his chum, was hilarious over the news, while Jeremy was
too happy to speak.
Later, as they were packing their belongings for the trip, Job Howland
came in. He, too, looked excited. "Jeremy, boy," he said, "I'd have
liked to go north with you, but something else has come my way. Mr.
Curtis bought a new schooner, the _Tiger_, last week, and she's being
fitted out now for a coast trader. He offered me the chance to command
her!"
"Three cheers!" shouted Bob. "Then New Castle will be your home port,
and I'll see you after every voyage!"
The three comrades chatted of their prospects a while and shortly went
to bed.