“OUT YOU GO”
Old Peter Wetmore, of Lebanon, was suspected of being a Tory, but he
kept shut lips. “Don’t open the doors of your soul,” he used to say,
“and people will never know who you are. They can’t imprison your soul
without the body, nor the body unless the soul opens its gates,” by
which he meant the lips. “What I say is nothing to nobody. I chop wood!”
Morose, silent, grunting, if he spoke at all, he lived in a mossy,
gable-roofed house, with a huge woodpile before his door.
There was a great oak forest on rising ground above him. Below him was
a cedar swamp, with a village of crows and crow-blackbirds, which all
shouted in the morning, and told each other that the sun was rising.
He was in his heart true to the King. When the patriots of Lebanon came
to him to talk politics after the Lexington alarm, he simply said, “I
chop wood.”
Chop wood he did. His woodpile in front of his house was almost as high
as his house itself. But he chopped on, and all through the winter his
ax flew. And he split wood, hickory wood, with a warlike expression on
his face, as his ax came down. He had one relative――a nephew, Peter,
whom he taught to “fly around” and to “pick up his heels” in such a
nervous way that people ceased to call him Peter Wetmore, but named
him Peter _Nimble_. The boy was so abused by his uncle that he wore a
scared look.
Lebanon was becoming one of the most patriotic towns in America. At one
time during the Revolutionary War there were five hundred men in the
public services. The people were intolerant of a Tory, and old Peter
Wetmore, who chopped wood, was a suspect.
A different heart had young Peter, the orphan boy, who was for a time
compelled to live with him or to become roofless.
The Lexington alarm thrilled him, as he heard the news on Lebanon green.
He caught the spirit of the people, and as for Governor Trumbull, he
thought he was the “Lord” or almost a divinity. The Governor probably
used to give him rides when he met him in the way. The Governor did not
“whip behind.”
When Peter had heard the news of the Lexington alarm, he said:
“I must fly home now and tell uncle that.”
It was a long way from the green to the cabin that Peter called “home.”
He hurried home and lifted the latch, and met his uncle, who was
scowling.
“What has happened now?” said the latter, seeing Peter had been
running.
“A shot has been fired on the green.”
“What, on Lebanon green?” gasped the old man in alarm.
“No, on Lexington green.”
“That doesn’t matter. Lexington green is so far off. Who fired the
shot? The regulars,” he added.
“The young men at Lebanon are all enlisting. I wish I were old enough
to go!”
“For what?”
“To fight the British.”
“What, the King?”
“Yes.”
“The King? Do I hear my ears, boy?”
“Uncle?”
“I am going to pull the latch-string, and out you go. Don’t talk back.
Do you hear? Out you go, and you may never be able to tell _all_ you
lose.”
The boy half comprehended the hint, for he believed that his uncle had
money stored in the cellar, or in some secret place near the house. As
the latter would never let any one but himself go to the soap-barrel in
the cellar, the boy suspected the treasure might be there, or in the
ash-flue in the chimney.
Young Peter turned white.
Old Peter tugged his rheumatic body to the door, and turned.
“I am going to pull the string, Peter.”
To the boy the words sounded like a hangman’s summons.
“Where shall I go, uncle?”
“That is for you to say. I’ve got store enough, boy. Somebody will bury
me if I die. But the King, my King, he who goes against the King goes
against me. Who do you go for?”
“The people.”
“The people!” shrieked the old man. “Then _out_ you go; out!”
“There is one house, uncle, whose doors are open to all people who have
no roof.”
“Which one is that――the poorhouse?”
“No, the Governor’s.”
“That makes me mad――mad! I hate the Governor, and his’n and all! I can
live alone!”
He pulled the latch-string and cried, in trumpet tone:
“_Out!_”
Peter went out into the open April air, into the wood. He went to the
Governor’s, and told him all, but in a way to shield the old man.
“He is a little touched in mind,” said Peter, charitably.
“You shall have a home with me, or mine,” said the Governor. “My
son-in-law over the way will employ you as a shepherd. If he doesn’t,
others will. And you can use the hills for a lookout, while you herd
sheep. Dennis will find work for you to do at times in his service.
Boy, perilous times are coming, and you have a true heart. I know your
heart; I can see it――I know your thoughts, and people who sow true
thoughts, reap true harvests. Don’t be down-hearted; you own the stars.
I will cover you.” He lifted his hand over him.
“You won’t harm uncle for what I have said?”
“No, no, I will not harm the old man for what you have said now. It is
better to change the heart of a man and make him your friend than to
seek to have revenge on him. He will turn to you some day, and perhaps
he will leave you his gold, for they say that he has gold stored away
somewhere. You have a heart of charity――I can see――as well as of truth.
Charity goes with honor. As long as you do right, nothing can happen to
you that you can not glorify.”
Peter was made acquainted with Dennis by the Governor, who was a father
to all friendless children, and he was employed as a shepherd boy, on
the hills.
The hills were lookouts now.
People went to the old man to reprove him for his treatment of his
nephew, but he would only say:
“I am cutting wood!”
While he lived with his Tory uncle, Peter used to hear strange things
at night.
The old man would get up, bar all the doors, light the bayberry candle,
and bring something like a leather bag to his table.
Then he would talk to himself strangely.
“_One_,” he would say, putting down something that rang hard on the
table.
“_One_, if he stays with me, and is true to the King.
“_Two._”
There would follow a metallic sound.
“_Two_, if he stays with me, and is loyal to the King.
“_Three_, if he stays and is loyal.
“_Four._ All for him when I go out, if only he is true.”
Then the bag would jingle. Then would follow a rattling sound.
“_Five_, _six_, _seven_, _eight_,” and so on, adding up to a hundred.
He seemed to be counting coin.
Then there would be a sound of sweeping hands. Was he gathering up
coin――gold coin? Presently there would be sounds of chubby feet, and a
chest would seem to open, and the lid to close, and to be bolted.
“All, all for him,” the old man would say, “if he only stays with me
and is loyal to the King, whose arms are like those of the lion and the
unicorn.”
Then he would lie down, saying, “All for him,” and the house would
become still in the still world of the cedars.
The boy wondered if “him” were the King, or if it were he, or some
unknown relative, or friend. He could hardly doubt that the old man had
treasure, and counted it at night, either for the King, or for himself.
So now, often when the great moon shone on the cedars, he lay awake
and wondered what the old man meant. Had he missed a fortune by his
patriotic feeling?
The words, “if he stays with me and is loyal to the King,” made him
think that the wood-chopper meant himself, or some unknown relative.
But “if he stays with me” suggested himself so strongly, that he often
asked himself, if the hard old man really loved him and was carrying
out some vision for his welfare in his silent heart.
Peter used to meet Brother Jonathan as the latter crossed the green,
which he did almost daily. The Governor was usually so absorbed in
thought that he did not seem to see the shining sun, or to hear the
birds singing; he lived in the cause.
But when he met Peter he would stretch out his hand in the Quaker
manner, and look pleasant. To see the old man’s face light up was a joy
to the susceptible boy; it made him so happy as to make him alert the
rest of the day.
One day as the two were crossing the green, in near ways, the Governor
suddenly said:
“Let us _consider_ the matter:
“My young man, for so you are before your time, I must have a clerk in
my store, and he must be no common clerk; he must be one that I can
trust, for he must do more than sell goods and barter; he must look out
for me, when I am in the back room, the war office; and he must be the
only one to enter the war-office room when the council is in session.
The council has met more than three hundred times now. And, Peter,
Peter of the hills, shepherd-boy, night-watch――my heart turns to you.
You must be my clerk――that is, to the people; meet customers, barter,
trade, sell; but to me, you must be the sentinel of the door of the war
office. Peter, I can see your soul; you will be true to me. I am an old
man; don’t say it, but I forget, when I have so many things to weigh
me down. You shall stand between the store and the war office, at the
counter, and I will give you the secret keys, and if any one must see
me, you must see about the matter. Peter, the Council of Safety is a
power behind the destiny of this nation. It is revealed to me so. Will
you come?”
“Yes, yes, Governor. I live in my thoughts for you. Yes, yes, and I
will be as faithful as I can.”
“Of course you will. Come right now. You may sleep in the store at
night. The drovers will tell you stories on the barrels. I can trust
you for everything. So I dismiss myself now――you are myself. Here is
the secret key. Don’t feel hurt if I do not speak to you much when you
see me. I live for the future, and must think, think, think.”
The Governor went into the tavern, and Peter, with the secret key, went
to the store. The Governor had considered the matter. He used the word
_consider_ often.
The Governor soon began to send almost all people who came to see him,
except the members of the council, to Peter. “Go to my clerk,” he would
say, “he will do the best he can for you.”
Peter rose in public favor. Two plus two in him made five, as it does
in all growing people. He was more than a clerk. He was keen, hearty,
true.
Peter received news from couriers for years. What news was reported
there――The battle of Long Island, the operations near New York,
Trenton, Princeton, Morristown, Burgoyne’s campaign, Brandywine,
Germantown, Monmouth, the southern campaign, the exploits of Green, and
hundreds, perhaps thousands, of incidents of the varying fortunes of
the war!
The couriers, despatchmen, the wagoners, the drovers, came to the war
office and went. They multiplied.
But the activity diminished as the army moved South.
People gathered in the front store in the evenings to hear the news,
and often to wait for the news. They saw the members of the Council of
Safety come and go; and while the things that lay like weights in the
balance of the nation were there discussed, the men told tales on the
barrels that had come from the West Indies, or on the meal chests and
bins of vegetables. What queer tales they were!
Let us spend an evening at the store, and listen to one of the old
Connecticut folk tales.
* * * * *
It is a winter night. The ice glares without in the moon, on the ponds
and cedars. There is an open fire in the store; in the window are
candy-jars; over the counter are candles on rods, and on the counter
are snuff-jars and tobacco.
One of the old-time natural story-tellers sits on a rice-barrel; he
is a drover and stops at wayside inns, and knows the tales of the
inns, and especially the ghost-stories. Such stories did not frighten
Peter as they did Dennis, who was new to the country. Peter had become
hardened to them.
Let us give you one of these peculiar old store stories that was told
on red settles, and that is like those which passed from settle to
settle throughout the colony. The speaker is a “grandfather.”
THE TREASURE DIGGER OF CAPE ANN
“Oh, boys, let me smoke my pipe in peace. How the moon shines on the
snow, far, far away, down the sea! That makes me think of Captain Kidd.
Ah, he was a hard man, that same Captain Kidd, and he had a hard, hard
heart, if he was the son of a Scotch preacher.”
Here the grandfather paused and shook his head.
The pause made an atmosphere. The natural story-teller lowered his
voice, and the earth seemed to stand still as he said:
“My name was Captain Kidd,
As I sailed, as I sailed,
My name was Captain Kidd,
As I sailed.
“My name was Captain Kidd,
And wickedly I did,
God’s laws I did forbid,
As I sailed.
“I murdered William Moore,
As I sailed, as I sailed,
And left him in his gore,
As I sailed.
“I’d the Bible in my hand,
’Twas my father’s last command,
But I sunk it in the sand,
As I sailed.”
Here the old man paused, pressed down the tobacco in his pipe with a
quick movement of his forefinger, and shook his head twice, leaving the
impression that the said Captain Kidd was a very bad sea-rover.
The room was still. You could hear the sparks shoot out; the
corn-sheller stopped in his work. The old maiden lady who had come in
for snuff touched the pepper pods: the air grew peppery, but no one
dared to sneeze.
The old man bobbed up his head, as making an atmosphere for highly
wrought work of the imagination.
“There was once an old couple,” he said, “who lived down on Cape Ann,
and beyond their cottage was a sandy dune, and on the dune there was a
thatch-patch.
“They had grown old and were poor, and both thought that their lot had
been hard, and the old woman said to the old man:
“‘It was you who made my life hard. I was once a girl, and what I might
have been no one knows. Ah me, ah me!’
“One fall morning the old man got up, and frisked around in an unusual
way.
“‘What makes you so spry?’ asked the old woman.
“‘I dreamed a dream last night in the morning.’
“‘And what did you dream?’
“‘I dreamed that Captain Kidd hid his treasure in an iron box under the
thatch-patch, right in the middle of the patch, where the shingle goes
round.’
“‘Then go out and dig. If you don’t, I will. Think what we might be,
if we could find that treasure. We might have a chariot like the
Pepperells, and fine horses like the Boston gentry, the Royalls, and
the Vassals.’
“‘But I can have the treasure only on one condition.’
“‘What is that?’
“‘I must not speak a word while I am digging.’
“‘That would be hard for you. Your mouth is always open, answering your
old wife back. I could dig without a word, now. Well, well, ah-a-me! If
you should dream that dream a second time, it would be a sign.’
“The next morning the old man got up spryer than before. He clattered
the shovel and the tongs.
“‘Wife, wife, I dreamed the same dream again this morning.’
“‘Well, if you were to dream it a third time, it would be a
certainty――that is, if you could dig for the treasure without speaking
a word, which a woman of my sense and wit could do. Go and dig.’
“‘But the voice that came to me in my dream told me to dig at midnight,
at the rising of the moon.’
“That night as the great moon rose over the waters of Cape Ann, like
the sun, the old man took his hoe and hung on to it his clam-basket,
and put both of them over his shoulder. He went out of the door over
which the dry morning-glory vines were rattling.
“‘Now, husband, you stop and listen to me,’ said the old wife.
‘Remember all the time that you are not to speak a word, else we will
have no chariot to ride past the Pepperells, nor cantering horses,
leaving the dust all in their eyes. Now, what are you to do?’
“‘Never to speak a word.’
“‘Under no surprise.’
“‘Not if the sea were to roar, nor the sky to fall, nor an earthquake
to uproot the hills, nor anything!’
“‘Well, you may go now, and when you return we will be richer than the
Governor himself. I have always been dreaming that such a day might
come to us as a sort of reward for all that we have suffered. But they
say that Captain Kidd tricks those who dig for his treasures. His ghost
appears to them. Never you fear if he lays hands on you.’
“The old man went down to the sea. The moon rose so fast that he could
see it rising.
“The old couple had a black cat, a very sleek, fat little animal, which
lived much on the broken clams that the clam-diggers threw out of their
piles of bivalves at low tides.
“When she saw that the old man was going down to the sea, she started
after him, with still feet――still, still.
“The old man measured by his eye the center of the thatch-patch, and
dug into the tough roots of the thatch lustily. He became exhausted
at last and stopped to rest, looking up to the moon that glittered in
the autumn sea. He pushed the handle of the hoe down into the sand. It
struck something that sounded like iron. He felt sure of the treasure.
“Suddenly he felt something rubbing against his leg. It was like a
hand. ‘Captain Kidd came back to disconcert me,’ thought he. ‘But
I will never speak a word,’ thought he silently, ‘not for the moon
herself, nor for a thousand moons.’
“The supposed hand again rubbed against his leg――still, still.
“He turned his head very slowly and cautiously. He saw something move.
It was like a gloved hand. ‘Captain Kidd’s, sure,’ he thought, but did
not speak a word. The thing had still feet or hands.
“He turned his head a little more and was humbled to discover that
it was not Captain Kidd’s hand at all, but only Tommy, purring and
purring――still, still.
“His pride fell. He was disconcerted. No one can tell what he may do
when he finds a pirate’s ghost to be only the house cat, all so still.
“There are some situations that take away all one’s senses, little
things, too.
“He inclined his head more, so to be certain, when the truth was in an
instant revealed to him beyond a possibility of doubt, but everything
was still, still, still.
“‘SCAT!’”
The story-teller had been talking in a very low tone. He uttered the
last word with an explosive voice when he had caused all ears to be
strained. His hearers leaped at this electric ending of his Red Settle
Tale.
He resumed his pipe, and merely added:
“There are some things that human nature can not stand. When a man
finds out something to be nothing, for example, like the treasure
digger of Cape Ann.”
After a long time, during which heart-beats became normal, some one
might venture to ask:
“And what became of the old woman?”
“Oh, after the old man spoke the sea roared and came rushing into the
thatch-patch and over it, and he and the cat ran, and I mind me that
that cat didn’t have much peace and comfort in the house after that.”