WHEN UNCLE HANNIBAL SPOKE AT THE CHAPEL
For a month or more the old Squire had looked perplexed. Two of his
lifelong friends were rival candidates for the senatorship from Maine,
and each had expressed the hope that the old Squire would aid him in his
canvass. Both candidates knew that many of the old Squire's friends and
neighbors looked to him for guidance in political matters. Without
seeming to express personal preference, the old Squire could not choose
between them, for both were statesmen of wide experience and in every
way good men for the office.
The first was Hannibal Hamlin, who had been Vice-President with Abraham
Lincoln in 1861-1865: "Uncle Hannibal," as we young people at the farm
always called him after that memorable visit of his, when we ate "fried
pies" together. He had been Senator before the Civil War, and also
Governor of Maine; now, after the war, in 1868, he had again been
nominated for the senatorship under the auspices of the Republican
party.
The other candidate, the Hon. Lot M. Morrill, had been Governor of Maine
in 1858, and had also been United States Senator. I cherished a warm
feeling for him, for he was the man who had so opportunely helped me to
capture the runaway calf, Little Dagon.
Politically, we young folks were much divided in our sympathies that
fall. My cousins Addison and Theodora were ardent supporters of Uncle
Hannibal, whereas I, thinking of that calf, could not help feeling loyal
to Senator Morrill. Hot debates we had! Halstead alone was indifferent.
At last Ellen declared herself on my side and thus made a tie at table.
I never knew whom the old Squire favored; he never told us and was
always reluctant to speak of the matter.
It was a very close contest, and in the legislature was finally decided
by a plurality of one in favor of Mr. Hamlin. Seventy-five votes were
cast for him, seventy-four for Mr. Morrill, and there was one blank
vote, over which a dispute later arose.
Earlier in the season, when the legislators who were to decide the
matter at Augusta were being elected, both candidates made personal
efforts to win popular support. Thus it happened that Uncle Hannibal on
one of his visits to his native town that year, promised to give us a
little talk. Since there was no public hall in the neighborhood, the
gathering was to be held at the capacious old Methodist chapel.
There had been no regular preaching there of late, and the house had
fallen into lamentable disrepair. The roof was getting leaky; the wind
had blown off several of the clapboards; and a large patch of the
plaster, directly over the pulpit, had fallen from the ceiling.
Fall was now drawing on, with colder weather, and so, on the day of
Uncle Hannibal's talk, the old Squire sent Addison and me over to the
chapel to kindle a fire in the big box stove and also to sweep out the
place.
We drove over in the morning--the meeting was to begin at two
o'clock--and set to work at once. While we were sweeping up the débris
we noticed insects flying round overhead. For a while, however, we gave
them little heed; Addison merely remarked that there was probably a
hornets' nest up in the loft, but that hornets would not molest any one
if they were left alone. But after we had kindled a fire in the stove
and the long funnel had begun to heat the upper part of the room, they
began to fly in still greater numbers. Soon one of them darted down at
us, and Addison pulled off his hat to drive it away.
"I say!" he cried, as his eyes followed the insect where it alighted on
the ceiling. "That's no hornet! That's a honeybee--and an Egyptian,
too!"
We quickly made sure that they were indeed Egyptian bees. They were
coming down through the cracks between the laths at the place where the
plaster had fallen from the ceiling.
"Do you suppose there's a swarm of bees up there in the loft?" Addison
exclaimed. "I'll bet there is," he added, "a runaway swarm that's gone
in at the gable end outside, where the clapboards are off."
He climbed up on the high pulpit and with the handle of the broom rapped
on the ceiling. We immediately heard a deep humming sound overhead, and
so many bees flew down through the cracks that Addison descended in
haste. We retreated toward the door.
"What are we going to do when Senator Hamlin and all the people come?" I
asked.
"I don't know!" Addison muttered, perplexed. "That old loft is roaring
full of bees. We've got to do something with them, or there won't be any
speaking here to-day."
We thought of stopping up the cracks, but there were too many of them to
make that practicable. To dislodge the swarm from the loft, too, would
be equally difficult, for the more we disturbed the bees the more
furious they would become.
At last we thought of the old Squire's bee smoker with which he had
sometimes subdued angry swarms that were bent on stinging.
"You drive home as fast as you can and get the smoker and a ladder,"
Addison said, "and I'll stay here to watch the fire in the stove."
So I drove old Nance home at her best pace. When I got there I looked
for the old Squire to tell him of our trouble, but found that he had
already driven to the village to meet Senator Hamlin and the other
speakers of the afternoon. Grandmother and the girls were too busy
getting ready for the distinguished guests, who were to have supper with
us, to give much heed to my story of the bees. So I got the smoker, the
box of elm-wood punk and a ladder about fourteen feet long, and with
this load drove back at top speed to the meetinghouse.
Addison had eaten his share of the luncheon that we had brought, and
while I devoured mine he pottered with the smoker; neither of us
understood very well how it worked. There are now several kinds of bee
smokers on the market; but the old Squire had contrived this one by
making use of an old-fashioned bellows to puff the smoke from out of a
two-quart tin can in which the punk wood was fired by means of a live
coal. The nose of the bellows was inserted at one end of the can; and
into a hole at the other end the old gentleman had soldered a short tin
tube through which he could blow the smoke in any direction he desired.
In order not to burn his fingers he had inclosed both bellows and can in
supporting strips of wood; thus he could hold the contrivance in one
hand and squeeze the bellows with the other.
As we were unfamiliar with the contrivance, we both had to climb the
ladder--one to hold the can and the other to pump the bellows. We lost
so much time in getting started that when at last we were ready to begin
operations people had already begun to arrive. They asked us all sorts
of questions and bothered us a good deal, but we kept right on at our
task. The smoker was working well, and we felt greatly encouraged. Those
rings of black vapor drove the bees back and, as the smoke rose through
the cracks, prevented them from coming down again.
We were still up that ladder by the pulpit, puffing smoke at those
cracks, when the old Squire and Uncle Hannibal arrived, with Judge
Peters and the Hon. Hiram Bliss. The house was now full of people, and
they cheered the newcomers; there was not a little laughter and joking
when some one told the visiting statesmen that a swarm of bees was
overhead.
"Boys," Uncle Hannibal cried, "do you suppose there's much honey up
there?"
He asked the Squire whether Egyptian bees were good honey gatherers, and
laughed heartily when the old gentleman told him what robbers they were
and how savagely they stung.
"Judge!" Uncle Hannibal cried to Judge Peters. "That's what's the matter
with our Maine politics. The Egyptians are robbing us of our liberties!"
That idea seemed to stick in his mind, for later, when he began his
address, he referred humorously to several prominent leaders of the
opposing party as bold, bad Egyptians. "We shall have to smoke them
out," he said, laughing. "And I guess that the voters of this district
are going to do it, and the boys, too," he continued, pointing up to us
on the ladder.
He had refused to speak from the pulpit, and so stood on the floor of
the house--in what he described as his proper place; the pulpit, he
said, was no place for politics.
After so many years I cannot pretend to remember all that Uncle Hannibal
said; besides, my attention was largely engrossed in directing the
nozzle of the smoker at those cracks between the laths. Addison and I
were badly crowded on the ladder, and the small rungs were not
comfortable to stand on. Now and then, in spite of our efforts, an
Egyptian got through the cracks and dived down near Uncle Hannibal's
head.
"A little more smoke up there, boys!" he would cry, pretending to dodge
the insect. "I thought I heard an Egyptian then, and it sounded a little
like Brother Morrill's voice!"
The great buzzing that was going on up in the loft was plainly audible
below. Now and again Uncle Hannibal cocked his ear to listen, and once
he cried, "The Egyptians are rallying! We are going to have a hard fight
with them this year. Don't let them rob us!"
When the old Squire introduced the next speaker, Judge Peters, Senator
Hamlin remarked that Peters was a hard stinger himself, as many a
criminal had learned to his cost. And when the Hon. Hiram Bliss was
introduced, Uncle Hannibal cut in with the remark that we need make no
mistake on account of Mr. Bliss's name, for when he got after the
Egyptians they would be in anything except a blissful state of mind. He
also jocosely bade Mr. Bliss not to talk too long.
"We must get that honey," he said, laughing heartily. "I'd much rather
have some honey than hear one of your old dry speeches!"
During Mr. Bliss's address we boys were wondering whether Senator Hamlin
really intended to try to get that honey. We were inclined to think that
he had merely been joking; but Mr. Bliss had no sooner sat down than
Uncle Hannibal was on his feet.
"Now for that honey!" he cried with twinkling eyes. "I feel sure there's
enough up there for every one to have a bite."
"How are you going to get it?" some one said.
"Why, go right up and take it!" he exclaimed. "You know, my friends, that
all through the Civil War I had the misfortune to be Vice-President,
which is about the most useless, sit-still-and-do-nothing office in
this country. All those four years I wanted to go to the front and do
something. I wanted to be a general or a private with a gun. The war is
past, thank God, but I haven't got over that feeling yet, and now I want
to lead an attack on those Egyptians! Back there over the singers'
gallery I think I see a scuttle that leads up into the loft. Come on,
boys, and fetch a bucket or two, or some baskets. Let's storm the fort!"
The crowd was laughing now, and men were shouting advice of all sorts.
Uncle Hannibal was already on his way to the singers' gallery, and
Addison, hastily thrusting the smoker into my hands, got down from the
ladder and ran to help our distinguished visitor. Others followed them
up the back stairs to the gallery; but the old Squire, seeing what was
likely to happen, came to my assistance on the ladder. Taking the smoker
into his own hands, he worked it vigorously in order to send as much
smoke as possible up into the loft.
But on pushing up the scuttle the opening was found to be no more than
fifteen inches square; and Uncle Hannibal was a two-hundred-pound man
with broad shoulders. He mounted the singers' bench, but he could barely
get his large black head up through the hole.
"Ah!" he cried in disgust. "Why didn't they make it larger? Just my
luck. I never can get to the front!"
Grabbing Addison playfully by the shoulder he said, "I will put you up."
But at first Addison held back. "They'll sting me to death!" he
protested.
"Wait!" Uncle Hannibal cried. "We will rig you up for it!" And leaning
over the front rail of the gallery, he shouted, "Has any lady got a
veil--two or three veils?"
Several women gave their veils, which Uncle Hannibal tied over Addison's
hat; then the Senator put his own large gloves on Addison's hands. By
that time the gallery was full of people--all laughing and giving
advice. A man produced some string, and with it they tied Addison's
trouser legs down and fastened his jacket sleeves tight round the
wrists. Then Uncle Hannibal lifted him up as if he had been a child and
at one boost shoved him up through the scuttle hole. When Addison had
got to his feet in the loft, the Senator passed him a wicker lunch
basket and a tin pail.
Tiptoeing his way perilously over the scantlings, laths and plaster,
Addison made his way back to the rear end of the meetinghouse. The
honeycombs were mostly on a beam against the boards of the outer wall.
The punk smoke was so dense up there that he could hardly get his
breath. The bees, nearly torpid from the smoke, were crawling sluggishly
along on the underside of the roof, and offered no resistance when
Addison broke off the combs.
With his basket and pail well filled, he tiptoed back to the scuttle and
handed the spoils to Uncle Hannibal, who instantly led the way down the
back stairs and outdoors.
"We have despoiled the Egyptians!" he cried. "I didn't do much myself,
but a younger hero has appeared. Now for a sweet time!" And he passed
the pail and basket round.
There was as much as twenty pounds of honey, and every one got at least
a taste. The old Squire and I had now stopped puffing smoke, and we
joined the others outside. To this day I remember just how Uncle
Hannibal looked as he stood there on the meetinghouse platform, with a
chunk of white, dripping comb in his hand. He took a big bite from it;
and I said to myself that, if he took many more bites like that one,
there would not be much honey left for the old Squire and me. But we got
a taste of it, and very good honey it was.
Our victory over the Egyptians, however, was not yet complete. Either
because the smoke was now clearing up, or because they smelled the honey
that we were eating, they began to come round to the front end of the
house, where they hovered over the people and darted down savagely at
them. Outcries arose; men and women tried frantically to brush the
insects away. Horses out at the sheds began to squeal. More bees were
coming round every moment--the angriest bees I have ever seen! They
stung wherever they touched. Judge Peters and Mr. Bliss were fighting
the insects with both hands; and Uncle Hannibal, too, was pawing the
air, with guffaws of laughter.
"The Egyptians are getting the best of us!" he cried. "We had better
retire in as good order as we can--or it will be another Bull Run!"
Retreat was clearly the part of discretion, and so the whole gathering
streamed away down the road to a safe distance. In fact, there was a
pretty lively time before all of the people had unhitched their teams
and got away. But in spite of many bee stings it had been a very
hilarious meeting; and it is safe to say that all who were at the
Methodist chapel that afternoon wanted Uncle Hannibal for Senator.
The old Squire drove home with his guests to supper; Addison and I
gathered up our brooms and bee smoker and followed them.
At supper Uncle Hannibal asked us to tell him more about those Egyptian
bees, of which he had never heard before; and after the meal he went out
to see the colonies in the garden. He walked up to a hive and boldly
caught one of the bees between his thumb and forefinger. Holding it
fast, he picked up a pea pod for it to sting, so that he could see how
long a stinger it had.
"Ah, but that is a cruel chap!" he said. "You'll have to use brimstone,
I guess, to get those Egyptians out of the meetinghouse."
In point of fact, brimstone was what two of the church stewards did use,
a few weeks later, before there were services at the chapel again; but
they did not find much honey left.