The Grass Country.
The scene of confusion, produced by the double accident described in
the last chapter, was great, but not long continued. The wagoner got
his fallen horse up, and then the passengers, with the driver and
wagoner, all taking hold together, soon righted the stage. None of the
passengers were hurt, but the coach itself was so much injured that
the driver thought it was not safe to load it heavily again. The
female passengers got in, but the men walked along by the side of it,
intending to travel in that way about four miles to the next
tavern. Forester, however, was not inclined to take so long a walk.
Fortunately, at a small distance before them, was a farmhouse which
looked as if it belonged to a large and thrifty farmer. The great
barns and sheds, the neat yards, the well-built walls and fences,
and the large stock of cattle in the barn-yard, indicated wealth and
prosperity. Forester concluded to apply here for a lodging for the
night, for himself and Marco. The farmer was very willing to receive
them. So the driver took off their trunks, and then the stage-coach,
with the rest of the passengers, went on.
"How long shall we have to stay here?" asked Marco.
"Only till to-morrow," said Forester. "Another stage will come along
to-morrow. We can stop just as well as not, as we are in no haste to
get home. Besides, I should like to have you see something of the
operations of a great grass farm."
Marco and Forester went into the house, and were ushered into a large
room, which seemed to be both sitting-room and kitchen. A large round
table was set in the middle of the floor, for supper. A monstrous dog
was lying under it, with his chin resting upon his paws. There was a
great settle in one corner, by the side of the fire. There were chairs
also, with straight backs and seats of basket-work, a spinning-wheel,
an open cupboard, and various other similar objects, which, being
so different from the articles of furniture which Marco had been
accustomed to see in the New York parlors, attracted his attention
very strongly. Marco went and took his seat upon the settle, and the
dog rose and came to him. The dog gazed into his face with an earnest
look of inquiry, which plainly said, "Who are you?" while Marco patted
him on the head, thereby answering as plainly, "A friend." The dog,
perfectly understanding the answer, seemed satisfied, and, turning
away, went back to his place again under the table.
[Illustration: WHO ARE YOU?]
One of the farmer's young men carried the trunks into a little
bed-room, which opened from the great room; and then the farmer sat
down and began to enter into conversation with Forester and Marco
about their accident. Forester told him also about the sailor, who
had tumbled off the coach a mile or two back, and been left behind.
Forester said that he should like to know whether he was hurt much.
Then the farmer said that he would let him take a horse and wagon the
next morning and ride back and inquire. This plan was therefore agreed
upon. Marco and Forester ate a good supper with the farmer's family,
and then spent the evening in talking, and telling stories about
horses, and sagacious dogs, and about catching wild animals in the
woods with traps. About nine o'clock the family all assembled for
evening prayers. After prayers Marco and Forester went to bed in their
little bed-room, where they slept soundly till morning.
In the morning they were both awakened by the crowing of the cocks, at
an early hour. They also heard movements in the house and in the
yard before sunrise; so they arose and dressed themselves, and after
attending to their morning devotions together in their room, a duty
which Forester never omitted, they went out. Marco was very much
interested in the morning occupations of the farm. There was the
milking of the cows, and the feeding of the various animals, and the
pitching off a load of corn, which had been got in the evening before
and allowed to stand on the cart, on the barn-floor, over night. The
cows were then to be driven to pasture, and the boy who went with
them, took a bridle to catch a horse for Forester and Marco to have
for their ride. Forester and Marco went with him. It was only a short
walk to the pasture bars, but they had to ramble about a little while,
before they found the horses. At last they found them feeding together
at the edge of a grove of trees. There were two or three horses, and
several long-tailed colts. The boy caught one of the horses, which he
called Nero. Nero was a white horse. Marco mounted him and rode down,
with the other horses and the colts following him. They put the horse
in the stable until after breakfast, and then harnessed him into the
wagon. When all was ready, the farmer told them to bring the sailor
along with them to his house, if they found that he was hurt so that
he could not travel.
When they were seated in the wagon, and had fairly commenced
their ride, Marco asked Forester, what he meant last evening by a
_grass_ farm. "You told me," said he, "that you wanted me to see
a great grass farm."
"Yes," replied Forester. "The farms in this part of the United States
may be called grass farms. This is the grass country."
"Isn't it all grass country?" asked Marco. "Grass grows everywhere."
"Grass is not _cultivated_ everywhere so much as it is among
the mountains, in the northern states," replied Forester. "The great
articles of cultivation in the United States are grass, grain, and
cotton. The grass is cultivated in the northern states, the grain in
the middle states, and the cotton in the southern states. The grass
is food for beasts, the grain is food for man, and the cotton is
for clothing. These different kinds of cultivation are not indeed
exclusive in the different districts. Some grass is raised in the
middle and southern states, and some grain is raised in the northern
states; but, in general, the great agricultural production of the
northern states is grass, and these farms among the mountains in
Vermont are grass farms.
"There is one striking difference," continued Forester, "between the
grass farms of the north, and the grain farms of the middle states, or
the cotton plantations of the south. The grass cultivation brings with
it a vast variety of occupations and processes on the farm, making
the farm a little world by itself; whereas the grain and the cotton
cultivation are far more simple, and require much less judgment and
skill. This is rather remarkable; for one would think that raising
food for beasts would require less skill than raising food or clothes
for man."
"I should have thought so," said Marco.
"The reason for the difference is," replied Forester, "that in raising
food for animals, it is necessary to keep the animals to eat it, on
the spot, for it will not bear transportation."
"Why not?" said Marco.
"Because it is so cheap," replied Forester.
"I don't think that is any reason," replied Marco.
"A load of grass"--said Forester.
"A load of grass!" repeated Marco, laughing.
"Yes, dried grass, that is, hay. Hay, you know, is grass dried to
preserve it."
"Very well," said Marco; "go on."
"A load of grass, then, is so cheap, that the cost of hauling it fifty
miles would be more than it is worth. But cotton is worth a great deal
more, in proportion to its bulk. It can therefore be transported to
distant places to be sold and manufactured. Thus the enormous quantity
of cotton which grows every summer in the southern states, is packed
in bags, very tight, and is hauled to the rivers and creeks, and there
it is put into steamboats and sent to the great seaports, and at the
seaports it is put into ships, which carry it to England or to the
northern states, to be manufactured; and it is so valuable, that it
will bring a price sufficient to pay all the persons that have been
employed in raising it, or in transporting it. But the grass that
grows in the northern countries can not be transported. The mills for
manufacturing cotton may be in one country, and the cotton be raised
in another, and then, after the cotton is gathered, it may be packed
and sent thousands of miles to be manufactured. But the sheep and oxen
which are to eat the hay, can not be kept in one country, while the
grass which they feed upon grows in another. The animals must live, in
general, on the very farm which the grass grows upon. Thus, while the
cotton cultivator has nothing to do but to raise his cotton and send
it to market, the grass cultivator must not only raise his grass, but
he must provide for and take care of all the animals which are to
eat it. This makes the agriculture of the northern states a far more
complicated business, because the care of animals runs into great
detail, and requires great skill, and sound judgment, and the exercise
of constant discretion.
"You observe," continued Forester, "that it is by the intervention of
animals that the farmer gets the product of his land into such a shape
that it will bear transportation. For instance, he feeds out his hay
to his sheep, attending them with care and skill all the winter. In
the spring he shears off their fleeces; and now he has got something
which he _can_ send to market. He has turned his grass into wool,
and thus got its value into a much more compact form. The wool will
bear transportation. Perhaps he gave a whole load of hay to his sheep,
to produce a single bag of wool. So the bag of wool is worth as much
as the load of hay, and is very much more easily carried to market. He
can put it upon his lumber-box, and drive off fifty miles with it, to
market, without any difficulty."
"His lumber-box?" asked Marco. "What is that?"
"Didn't you ever see a lumber-box?" asked Forester. "It is a square
box, on runners, like those of a sleigh. The farmers have them to haul
their produce to market."
"Why do they call it a lumber-box?" asked Marco.
[Illustration: THE LUMBER-BOX.]
"Why, when the country was first settled, they used to carry lumber to
market principally; that is, bundles of shingles and clapboards, which
they made from timber cut in the woods. It requires some time for a
new farm, made in the forests, to get into a condition to produce
much grass for cattle. I suppose that it was in this way that these
vehicles got the name of lumber-boxes. You will see a great many
of them, in the winter season, coming down from every part of the
country, toward the large towns on the rivers, filled with produce."
"What else do the farmers turn their grass into, besides wool?" asked
Marco.
"Into beef," said Forester. "They raise cows and oxen. They let them
eat the grass as it grows, all summer, and in the winter they feed
them with what they have cut and dried and stored in the barn for
them. The farmers are all ambitious to cut as much hay as they can,
and to keep a large stock of cattle. Thus they turn the grass into
beef, and the beef can be easily transported. In fact, it almost
transports itself."
"How do you mean?" asked Marco.
"Why, the oxen and cows, when they are fat and ready for market, walk
off in droves to Boston, to be killed. They don't kill them where they
are raised, for then they would have to haul away the beef in wagons
or sleighs, but make the animals walk to market themselves, and kill
them there. But the farmers don't generally take their own cattle to
market. Men go about the country, and call upon the farmers, and buy
their cattle, and thus collect great droves. These men are called
drovers. In traveling in this part of the country, late in the fall,
you would see great droves of cattle and sheep, passing along the
road, all going to Boston, or rather Brighton."
"Where is Brighton?" asked Marco.
"It is a town very near Boston, where the great cattle market is held.
The Boston dealers come out to Brighton, and buy the cattle, and have
them slaughtered, and the beef packed and sent away all over the
world. Thus the farmers turn the grass into beef, and in that shape it
can be transported and sold."
"And what else?" asked Marco.
"Why, they raise a great many horses in Vermont," replied Forester.
"These horses live upon grass, eating it as it grows in the pastures
and on the mountains, in the summer, and being fed upon hay in the
barn in the winter. These horses, when they are four or five years
old, are sent away to market to be sold. They can be transported very
easily. A man will ride one, and lead four or five by his side. They
will be worth perhaps seventy-five dollars apiece; so that one man
will easily take along with him, three or four hundred dollars' worth
of the produce of the farm, in the shape of horses; whereas the hay
which had been consumed on the farm to make these horses, it would
have taken forty yoke of oxen to move."
"Forty yoke!" repeated Marco.
"I don't mean to be exact," said Forester. "I mean it would take a
great many. So that, by feeding his hay out to horses, the farmer
gets his produce into a better state to be transported to market. The
Vermont horses go all over the land. Thus you see that the farmers
in the grass country have to turn the vegetable products which they
raise, into animal products, before they can get them to market; and
as the rearing of animals is a work which requires a great deal of
attention, care, patience, and skill, the cultivators must be men of a
higher class than those which are employed in raising cotton, or even
than those who raise grain. The animals must be watched and guarded
while they are young. There are a great many different diseases, and
accidents, and injuries which they are exposed to, and it requires
constant watchfulness, and considerable, intelligence, to guard
against them. This makes a great difference in the character which is
required in the laborers, in the different cases. A cotton plantation
in the south can be cultivated by slaves. A grain farm in the middle
states can be worked by hired laborers; but a northern grass farm,
with all its oxen, cows, sheep, poultry, and horses, can only be
successfully managed by the work of the owner."
"Is that the reason why they have slaves at the south?" asked Marco.
"It is a reason why slaves can be profitable at the south. In
cultivating cotton or sugar, a vast proportion of all the work done
in the year is the same. Almost the whole consists of a few simple
processes, such as planting, hoeing, picking cotton, &c., and this is
to be performed on smooth, even land, where set tasks can be easily
assigned. But the work on a grass farm is endlessly varied. It would
not be possible to divide it into set tasks. And then it is of such a
nature, that it could not possibly be performed successfully by the
mere labor of the hands. The _mind_ must be employed upon it. For
instance, even in getting in hay, in the summer season, the farmer has
to exercise all his judgment and discretion to avoid getting it wet by
the summer showers, and yet to secure it in good time, and with proper
dispatch. A cotton planter may hire an overseer to see to the getting
in of his cotton, and he can easily tell by the result, whether he
has been faithful or not. But hay can not be got in well, without the
activity, and energy, and good judgment, which can come only from the
presence and immediate supervision of an owner. This produces vast
differences in the nature of the business, and in the whole state of
society in the two regions."
"What are the differences?" asked Marco.
"Why, in the first place," said Forester, "the fact that cotton and
sugar can be cultivated by hired overseers, with slaves to do the
work, enables rich men to carry on great plantations without laboring
themselves. But a great grass farm could not be managed so. A man may
have one thousand acres for his plantation at the south, and with a
good overseer and good hands, it will all go on very well, so far as
his profit is concerned. They will produce a great amount of cotton,
which may be sent to market and sold, and the planter realize the
money, so as to make a large profit after paying all his expenses. But
if a man were to buy a thousand acres of grass land, and employ an
overseer and slaves to cultivate it, every thing would go to ruin. The
hay would get wet and spoiled,--the carts, wagons, and complicated
tools necessary, would get broken to pieces,--the lambs would be
neglected and die, and the property would soon go to destruction.
Even when a rich man attempts to carry on a moderate farm by hired
laborers, taking the best that he can find, he seldom succeeds."
"Does he _ever_ succeed?" said Marco.
"Yes," replied Forester, "sometimes. There is Mr. Warner, who lives
near my father's; he was brought up on a farm, and is practically
acquainted with all the work. He has been very successful, and has
a very large farm. He works now very little himself, but he watches
every thing with the greatest care, and he succeeds very well. He has
a great stock. He cuts fifty tons of hay."
"I should like to see his farm," said Marco.
"We'll go some day," replied Forester.
"So you see," continued Forester, "that the work of a cotton or sugar
plantation, is comparatively simple and plain, requiring little
judgment or mental exertion, and a great deal of plain straightforward
bodily labor; while on a northern stock farm the labors are endlessly
varied. Every month, every week, and almost every day brings some
change. New emergencies are constantly arising, which call for
deliberation and judgment. It is necessary to have a great variety of
animals, in order to consume all the different productions of the farm
to advantage. I can explain it all to you better, when you come to see
Mr. Warner's farm."
As Nero traveled very fast, they began by this time to draw near to
the place where they had left the sailor. When they came up to the
house, they fastened the horse to a post, and went in. The man who
lived there had gone away, but the woman said that the sailor was
somewhat hurt, and asked them to come in and see him. They found him
in the kitchen, with his foot up in a chair. He seemed to be in some
pain. There was a great bruise on his ankle, made by the cork of one
of the horses' shoes. These _corks_, as they are called, are
projections, made of steel, at the heel of a horse-shoe, to give the
horse a firm footing. They are made quite sharp in the winter season,
when there is ice and snow upon the ground, but they are generally
more blunt in the summer. This prevented the ankle's being cut as
badly as it would have been, if the corks had been sharper. Forester
looked at the ankle, and found that nothing had been done for it. It
was inflamed and painful. He got the woman to give him a basin of warm
water, and then he bathed it very carefully, which relieved the sense
of tension and pain. Then he made an ointment of equal parts of tallow
and oil, which he put upon the end of a bandage, and thus bound it
up. This treatment relieved the poor sailor very much. Then Forester
proposed to the sailor to get into the wagon and go with him to the
next house, and the sailor consented. Forester was then going to pay
the woman for his night's lodging, but the sailor said at once,--"No,
squire, not at all. I'm much obliged to you for doing up my foot, but
you need not pay any thing for me. I've got plenty of shot in the
locker."
So saying, he put his hand in his pocket and drew out a handful of
gold and silver pieces. But the woman, who began now to feel a little
ashamed that she had not done something for the wounded foot, said he
was welcome to his lodging; and so they all got into the wagon, and
Nero carried them rapidly back to his master's.