A Dilemma.
Though Marco's first feeling was that of relief, to find that he had
got back from his truancy without detection, he felt, after all, ill
at ease. He kept out of sight till the dinner-bell rang, and then he
was almost afraid to go in, for fear that, by some accident or other,
his uncle might have noticed his absence, and might ask him something
about it. He was usually much interested at dinner-time in talking
with Forester about plans for the afternoon; but now he felt guilty
and afraid, and he was disinclined to look his uncle or his cousin in
the face, or to speak a word.
And yet it was not punishment that Marco was afraid of. There were
very few boys who could bear punishment of any kind with more
fortitude than he, or to whom the idea of punishment gave less
concern. It was the detection itself, rather than what was to come
after it, that he feared. There is something in the very act of being
detected and exposed in guilt, which the heart instinctively shrinks
from; and many a boy would willingly bear in secret twice the pain
which the punishment of an offense would bring, rather than have his
commission of the offense discovered and made known.
There was, however, no indication, at the dinner table, that Marco's
cousin or uncle suspected him of any wrong. They talked of various
subjects in their usual manner. Forester had arranged it with Marco,
to go that afternoon down to the mill-pond, to examine the boat, in
order to see whether they could have it fitted with oars, and to
make arrangements to that effect. Marco now hoped that Forester had
forgotten this plan, and would not go. Though he had been very much
interested in the plan the day before, he now felt disinclined to go.
He wished to be alone, or at least out of sight of Forester. He felt
as if he had a terrible secret on his mind, and that there was great
danger that something or other would occur to discover it. So he hoped
that Forester would have forgotten the appointment, and that it would
be thus postponed to some future time.
But Forester had not forgotten it; and after dinner, he asked Marco
how soon he should be ready to go. Marco said that he should be ready
at any time; and in about half an hour they set out. They walked
together to the mill-pond. Forester said that the boat belonged to
a man who worked in the mills, but he lived a little distance above
them. His house was near the water, in a little valley. The water of
the pond extended up into this valley, forming a sort of bay.
[Illustration: THE MILLMAN'S HOUSE.]
A road led to the house, but did not go beyond it. The house was
small, but it had pleasant little yards and gardens about it, and
various pens and coops for different sorts of animals. The man who
lived there was famous for keeping a great many animals. He had pigs,
and cows, and Malta cats, and two dogs,--one of them a water dog,--and
ducks and geese,--among the latter, two wild geese,--and hens and
rabbits; and there were two gray squirrels, hanging up in a cage by
the side of the front door. Forester told Marco about these animals as
they walked along.
Marco was very fond of animals, and he began to anticipate great
pleasure in seeing these. When they came near the house, he ran
forward to look at the wild geese. The water dog ran to meet Forester.
He knew Forester, having often seen him there before. Forester and
Marco rambled about the yards, looking at the animals for some time,
and then went to the water's edge, which was very near the house. The
ducks and geese were swimming in the water. Forester called the dog
there, and Marco amused himself for some time in throwing sticks into
the water, and ordering the dog, whose name was Nelson, to plunge in
and go and bring them back. The boat was there too, fastened by a rope
to a post in the bank. At length, after Marco had satisfied himself
with these amusements, he said,
"Well, cousin Forester, here is the boat."
"Yes," said Forester, "but the man don't seem to be at home. I presume
he's at the mill."
"And what shall we do in that case?" asked Marco.
"Why, I will go into the house first, and ascertain the fact, and get
a paddle."
So Forester went into the house, and soon afterward returned, bringing
with him a paddle. He said that the man was at the mill, but that
his wife said that they might have the boat to go and find him. "I
thought," said Forester, "that you would rather go in the boat than
walk."
"Yes," said Marco, "I should."
"Besides," continued Forester, "I can teach you to paddle."
Marco took the paddle from Forester's hand. He had never seen one
before. He said that they always used oars, not paddles, in New York
harbor. A paddle is shaped very differently from an oar. It is much
shorter and lighter,--though the blade is broader. A paddle is worked,
too, differently from an oar. An oar acts as a lever against the side
of the boat,--the middle of it resting in a small notch called a
row-lock, or between two wooden pins. But a paddle is held in the
hands entirely.
"What do they have paddles for in this country?" said Marco. "Oars are
better."
"You are not competent to decide that question," replied Forester.
"Why not?" said Marco; "I have rowed boats many a time."
"Yes, but you have never paddled much. You have used oars, but not
paddles, and so you can not compare them."
"Well," said Marco, "I mean to try this paddle now, and then I can
tell."
Marco had seen the boys who were with him in the boat that morning,
using their poles as paddles, and he had used one of the poles in that
manner himself; and he was just upon the point of saying something
upon the subject, when suddenly he recollected that it would betray
him. In fact, Marco found that having such a secret as this upon his
mind, was a source of great embarrassment and constraint, as he more
than once came very near making some allusion inadvertently, which
would have resulted in his exposure. While speaking of boats, and
oars, and paddles, and such subjects, he had to be continually upon
his guard and to watch all his words.
[Illustration: PADDLING]
They got into the boat and pushed out upon the water. Forester taught
Marco how to use the paddle. He gave him his seat in the stern of the
boat, and directed him to grasp the lower end of the handle with the
other hand. Then, by dipping the blade in the water and pushing the
water back, the boat was propelled forward. He also explained to him
how, by turning the blade of the paddle, one way or the other, he
could give the bow of the boat an impulse toward the right or toward
the left.
"Thus you see," said Forester, "with a paddle you can steer, but with
an oar you can not."
"With two oars I can," said Marco.
"Yes." replied Forester. "You must have two oars to guide a boat, but
you can do it with one paddle. Therefore, if you can have but one, a
paddle is better than an oar. There is another advantage in a paddle;
that is, in using it, your face looks the way that you are going."
"Yes," rejoined Marco, "that is a great advantage."
"In rowing, you must sit with your back to the bow of the boat, and
look over your shoulder to see where you are going."
"Yes," said Marco, "unless you have a steersman."
"True," replied Forester. "When you have several men to row, and one
to steer, you get along very well with oars, but in case of only one
man, there is an advantage in a paddle. There is still another point
to be considered,--a paddle is better for a narrow boat and oars for
wide ones."
"Why so?" asked Marco.
"Because," said Forester, "a certain width is required in a boat in
order to work oars well. The oarsman must sit upon the seat, and
extend the oar off upon one side of the boat, and there must be a
certain distance between the part which he takes hold of, and the
row-lock, in order to work to advantage. But it is no matter how
narrow the boat is if he has a paddle, for he holds it perpendicularly
over the side."
"So paddles are better," said Marco, "for one kind of boat, and oars
for another."
"Yes," replied Forester, "and paddles are better for one kind of
_navigation_, and oars for another. Oars require greater breadth
of water to work in. In a narrow, crooked stream flowing among logs
and rocks, oars would not answer at all. But with a paddle a man can
worm a boat through anywhere."
"That is, if it is only wide enough for the boat to go," said Marco.
"Of course," replied Forester. "The paddle itself requires no
additional space. But oars extend so far laterally"--
"Laterally?" asked Marco.
"Yes," rejoined Forester; "that is, on each side. Oars extend so far
on each side, that they require a great breadth of water. If you
attempt to go through a narrow place, the oars would strike."
"Why, no," said Marco. "You can give orders to trail oars."
"I don't know any thing about that," said Forester.
"That's a beautiful manoeuver," said Marco, "only it is hard to do.
You see, you order them to give way hearty, so as to get a good
headway, till just as you get to the narrow place, and then
_trail_ is the word. Then the oarsmen all whip their oars out of
the row-locks in an instant, and let 'em trail alongside under the
boat's counters, and she shoots through the narrow place like a bird."
Marco became very enthusiastic in describing this manoeuver, but
Forester did not get a very clear idea of it, after all.
"You'll teach it to us," said Forester, "when we get our oars and
a good boat's crew of boys. At any rate, a boat can be paddled
continuously through a narrow space, better than it can be rowed.
Therefore, paddles are generally used on rivers, where there are many
narrow places to pass through. Indians and savages almost always use
paddles, for they navigate many intricate and narrow passages of
water."
By this time they began to draw near the mill. They landed near some
great logs which were floating in the water, ready to be drawn up into
the mill and sawed. They went up the bank and thence into the mill.
The man who owned the boat, was tending the mill. When he wanted a
log, he would take the end of a long chain down a sloping plane of
planks which led to the water, and fasten it to a log. The other end
of the chain was fastened round an axle in the mill, and when all was
ready, the man would set the axle in motion by the machinery, and that
would draw the log up. When the log was in the mill, the man would
roll it over into its place, on a long platform of timber, where it
was to be sawed. Then he would set the saw machinery in motion, and
the platform would begin to move forward, and the saw at the same time
to go up and down, sawing the log as it advanced. Thus it would saw
it through, from end to end, and then, by reversing the motion of the
machinery, the log was carried back again. The man would then move it
a little to one side, just far enough for the thickness of the board
which he wished to make, and then begin to saw again. He moved the log
by means of an iron bar with a sharp point, which he struck into the
end of the log, and thus pried it over, one end at a time. When the
log was placed in its new position, the machinery was set in motion
again, and the log was sawed through in another place, from end to
end, parallel to the first sawing, leaving the width of a board
between. This process was continued until the log was sawed entirely
into boards, except a piece in the middle, which it was necessary to
leave of double thickness, and this answered for a plank.
Marco was much interested in watching this process, and when the
sawing of this log was completed, and another log drawn up into its
place, Forester introduced the subject of the boat. He told the man
what he wished to do, namely, to have some row-locks or thole-pins
made along the sides of the boat, and some oars to row it with. It
would also be necessary to have seats, or thwarts, as they are called,
placed in such a manner that there should be one just before each
row-lock. These seats were for the oarsmen to sit upon, in rowing. The
man told Forester that he might do any thing he pleased with the boat.
He was sure that Forester would do it no injury. Forester asked him
who would be a good man to do the work, and the man recommended to him
a wagon-maker who had a shop very near the mill.
They went to the wagon-maker and explained to him what they wanted.
The wagon-maker readily undertook the work. They all went down to the
boat together, to plan the seats and the places for the thole-pins.
They concluded to have three pairs on each side. This would require
six oars. These oars the wagon-maker promised to make, and to have all
the work done by the beginning of the next week. They also concluded
to have the boat taken out of the water and thoroughly calked again,
and her bottom _payed_ over with pitch, as she was not perfectly
tight. This being all arranged, Forester and Marco began to walk
toward home.
"It seems to me strange to get a wagon-maker to work on a boat," said
Marco.
"In New York, I suppose you would go to a boat-builder," said
Forester.
"Yes," replied Marco, "to be sure."
"There are no boat-builders here," rejoined Forester. "In fact, there
are very few trades represented here, and workmen are willing to do
any kind of jobs that they can."
As only a small part of the afternoon was yet passed away, Marco asked
Forester if he might go down to the river a-fishing. "I can keep
within my bounds, you know," said he.
"Yes," said Forester, "you _can_ keep within your bounds."
"And I will," said Marco. "Don't you suppose I will?"
"Why, you can tell better than I can about that," said Forester.
"You have been here now some weeks, and I have treated you with
considerable trust and confidence,--have I not?"
"Why, yes," said Marco.
"I have given you leave to go a-fishing, trusting to your fidelity
in keeping within your bounds. I have left you alone in your study,
several times in the forenoons. I have let you go up on the mountains
with other boys, and lent you my watch, so that you might know when
it was time to come back. Now you can tell better than I, whether you
have been faithful to all of these trusts."
Marco did not answer. He did not know what to say. He walked along in
silence.
"I will leave it with you to decide," said Forester. "Here we are just
home; now you may go into the study and reflect a few moments upon the
subject. Call to mind all the cases in which I have treated you with
trust and confidence, and consider whether you have always been
faithful to the trust. If, on reflection, you think that you have, you
may take your fishing-line and go a-fishing. If you feel conscious
that you have at any time betrayed my confidence, you must not go this
afternoon. You may go out to play wherever you please about the house
and garden, but you must not go a-fishing. If you are in doubt whether
you have betrayed my confidence or not, and wish to ask my opinion
about some particular case which comes up to your mind, you may remain
in the study till I come in, and ask me, and I will tell you. I shall
be in, in a few minutes."
There was a pause here. Marco looked very serious, and walked along in
silence. Such a turn to the conversation was entirely unexpected to
him, and he did not know what to say.
"It is possible," continued Forester, "that you may be conscious that
you have clearly been guilty of betraying the confidence which I have
placed in you in some instance which I know nothing of, or which you
suppose I know nothing of, and you may wish to confess it to me. If
you have been guilty of any such act, the best thing that you can do
is to confess it to me at once; and if you wish to do it, you may wait
till I come, for that purpose. So you may wait till I come either to
ask me a question, or to confess a fault. If you do not wish to do
either, you may go out without waiting for me; but you must not go
a-fishing unless you can truly say that you have been faithful and
honest, whenever I have trusted you before."
So saying, Forester parted from Marco and went into the house. Marco
slowly walked into the office, and through it into the little study.
He was greatly perplexed to know what to make of this address. "Can
it be," thought he, "that he knows that I went away this morning? How
could he have found it out? Or did he say that, only to find out now
whether I have been honest or not heretofore?"
On mature reflection, Marco concluded that Forester did not probably
know any thing about his having gone away. He thought that what he had
just said was only a part of Forester's general plan of managing
his case, and that it did not imply that Forester entertained any
particular suspicions. Marco thought that he might therefore safely go
a-fishing that afternoon if he was disposed; but we must do him the
justice to say, that he did not entertain the idea of doing it a
moment. He determined that he would not go. But as he was not prepared
to confess his fault, and as he had no question to ask, he determined
to go and play about the garden. He thought a little of waiting till
his cousin came in, and then honestly making a confession; but he
could not quite conclude upon this, and so he determined to go and
think more of it. Besides, he concluded that if he were going to make
a confession at all, he should rather do it that evening when he went
to bed; for Forester always came up to his room after he went to bed,
to have a little friendly and serious conversation with him, and to
bid him good night.
He accordingly went out before Forester came in. He spent the
afternoon in a miserable state of mind. He could not divest himself of
the feeling of anxiety, that in some way or other, Forester had found
out his transgression. He rather wondered, that, if it were true that
Forester had found it out, he had not said something to him directly
about it,--but then he knew it was Forester's way not always to make
known, at once, all that he knew in such cases. But then he thought,
again, that Forester _could_ not know any thing about it. There
was no way for him to have known it. He was away all the morning, and
did not come home until after Marco got back. So he concluded that
Forester did not know; but he began to wish that he did. He could not
bear to think of telling him, but he wished that he knew. The burden
of such a secret became intolerable to him. He strolled about the
yards and garden, not knowing what to do with himself, and growing all
the time more and more anxious and unhappy. He was in a very serious
dilemma.
Marco cast his eyes occasionally toward the office, expecting to see
Forester come out. He thought Forester would want to know whether he
went a-fishing or not. But he did not come. Marco spent some time in
the garden with James, who was at work there raking over the ground,
and gathering in such things as might be hurt by any sudden frost.
Marco worked with him for some time, and endeavored to converse with
him, but he did not find him very communicative, and at last he went
into the house and sat on the sofa in the parlor, reading, until
supper time.
Marco fully expected that Forester would ask him at supper time
whether he had been a-fishing or not; but he said nothing about it.
Forester told his father and mother about their plan for a boat, and
gave them a full account of their visit to the mill. His mother seemed
quite interested in the account, and told Marco, that, after he got
his crew well trained, she should hope that he would invite her on an
excursion in the boat.
"Yes," said Marco, "we will. We must have a seat, cousin Forester, for
passengers and visitors, in the stern sheets."
"The stern sheets?" said Forester, "what do you mean by the stern
sheets?"
"Why, it is aft," said Marco, "between the coxswain's place and the
stroke-oarsman."
"You'll have to show us," said his aunt, "when we come to see the
boat."
This kind of conversation somewhat relieved Marco's mind,--but still
he was ill at ease, and he determined to tell Forester the whole story
at bedtime, if he could only summon up courage to begin.