PARSON GOODHUE AND THE WILD GANDER.
DURING the last year Sally had woven cloth for curtains to her best
bed, and also for the windows of the rooms, when they should be
finished; but for the last two or three weeks she and Sally Merrithew
had been very busily employed bleaching the linen, making the curtains,
and scouring the woodwork, which had been soiled in the putting up. It
was not the fashion to paint in those days--everything was scoured.
The cause of this extraordinary industry was at length revealed by
Sally herself, who said to Ben, “Now that the house is done, I’ve got
good help, the baby is well, and mother is here, I think we ought to
have a meeting. I’m afraid we shall get to be just like the heathen,
for we can’t get to meeting but once or twice in the winter, and not
a great deal in the summer. I want Parson Goodhue to come on to the
island, preach a lecture, and make us a real good visit. He’s our old
minister that we have known and loved ever since we were children, and
we haven’t seen him since we were married, except in the pulpit.”
“Nothing would suit me better, and I think we’d better have it right
off, before Joe goes away with the schooner; then we can bring him on
and take him back in her, while she’s sweet and clean.”
“Yes, and we can have Joe and Henry Griffin to sing, and Uncle Isaac
to lift the tune. Your father will come, and bring the girls. They
are first-rate singers; so is Fred Williams; and we can have as good
singing as they do in the meeting-house on Lord’s day.”
“I’ll go off to-night, and if he can come, we’ll have the meeting next
week.”
Notwithstanding Ben differed so much from the minister in respect to
temperance, it produced not the least alienation of feeling. Ben,
though very firm in his opinions, had not a particle of bitterness in
his composition. On the other hand, he was much attached to the pastor,
who was a very devoted man, and greatly beloved and respected by his
people, although he thought him in an error respecting that matter,
still his ideas were in harmony with the almost universal sentiments
and practice of the age in which he lived. He was a good man, by no
means a free liver, and sought what he supposed to be the good of his
people with all his heart. Wedded to this pernicious habit by early
usage, and the example of those he had been accustomed to revere as
models of all that was great and good, he failed to perceive its fatal
tendency, although the proofs were daily accumulating before his eyes,
and also that the distinction between the use and abuse, which he and
Captain Rhines strongly insisted upon, was, in the great majority of
cases, a distinction without a difference.
It was determined, in family conclave, that the lecture should be at
four o’clock, after which all were to sit down to a meat supper, the
meats having been roasted beforehand, and served up cold, with hot tea
and coffee.
“This will be the first time Mr. Goodhue was ever here, Sally,” said
Ben, “and the first time, I expect, in his life, that he was ever
invited anywhere to eat and not offered spirit. We’ve got turkeys,
ducks, and chickens, enough of everything. We’ll let him and all the
rest know that it is not for the sake of saving that we don’t put
spirit on the table; and you know what Bradish set out to say at the
husking, if Joe Griffin hadn’t knocked the wind out of him.”
Seats were made in the parlor, kitchen, and porch for the audience;
but the spare room, which was most elaborately finished, where Uncle
Isaac had displayed his utmost skill in carved and panel-work, and
in which was the buffet, was carefully prepared for the reception of
the minister. There were curtains to the best bed and windows, which
Sally had woven and bleached as white as snow; the bed-ticks were
also woven by her, and filled with the feathers of wild geese she had
picked herself. The sheets and pillow-cases were scented with orange
balm. On the mantel-piece were some beautiful shells and coral, which
Ben had brought home from sea; the secretary, also, which his father
had given him, inlaid with various kinds of wood, was in this room.
As to the remaining furniture, it was of the homeliest kind, as Ben
had not purchased any since his means had increased. The looking-glass
was six inches by eight in size, and the chairs were bottomed with ash
splints. In those old times, instead of painting or carpeting floors,
they kept them white by scouring and covering with sand. It was the
custom of housewives, on important occasions, to cover the floor with
sand, and then, with the point of a hemlock broom, make marks in the
sand resembling the backbone of a herring. Sometimes they deposited
the sand in little heaps, like pepper on the surface of a ham, and
representing various figures; but Sally Merrithew went far beyond this.
She covered the floor of the minister’s room with the finest of sand,
and then, with her fingers, made the exact impress of a little child’s
naked foot in different places; also the representation of star-fish,
diamonds, horses, oxen, and various other things. This was a vast
deal of work to bestow upon a thing that was destroyed the moment you
stepped on it; but it looked very pretty when you first opened the
door, and that was enough for Sally. If Parson Goodhue only looked at
it once, she was more than satisfied.
Clocks were not common then, and time was kept by hour and minute
glasses; and there would not have been any other time-keeper on Elm
Island had not Ben’s profession as a sailor put him in the way of
having a watch; but whenever he took his watch with him, Sally resorted
to the hour glass, and the sun-mark in the window.
When the day arrived, Ben and Charlie went over in the Perseverance, as
she was now ready for sea, and returned with Joe and his crew, Captain
Rhines and his girls, Uncle Isaac, the Hadlocks, and others, among
whom was Fred Williams. The most important personage of all was Parson
Goodhue. The saucy little craft, her sails limed and snow-white, her
decks white as a holy-stone and sand could make them, her masts scraped
and slushed, with a little yellow ochre in the grease, her hull,
mastheads, and spars gayly painted, and rigging fresh tarred, seemed,
as she flung the foam from her bows and shot into the little harbor,
proud of her burden.
The parson was brought ashore from the vessel in the large canoe; and
as the beach was wet, Ben took him in his arms and set him down on the
grass ground, without ruffling a feather; here he was met and welcomed
by Sally.
Our young readers might be interested if we should describe the dress
of this good man, whose arrival had excited so much interest, and
caused such a commotion, on Elm Island; it was the usual dress of the
ministers of that day, and quite remarkable.
A dark-blue broadcloth coat of the finest material, with a broad back,
wide skirts, and a very long waist. It reached below the knees, the
front edges on both sides being cut to the segment of a circle, from
the end of the collar to the bottom of the skirts, the two edges just
meeting in the middle over the abdomen, there fastened, when fastened
at all, with a single hook and eye; the collar was quite wide, and laid
over flat on the back; there was one row of black enamelled buttons in
front, about the size of an old-fashioned Spanish milled dollar, with
button holes to correspond to the size of the buttons, but which were
never used, as the coat was never fastened except by the single hook
and eye. The vest was of black kerseymere, reaching some six inches or
more below the hips, with broad and deep pocket-flaps on each side,
covering a capacious pocket. It was buttoned from the hips, close to
the throat, with enamelled buttons as large as an English shilling,
and finished round the neck with a narrow collar, three fourths of
an inch wide. The lower corners of the vest were rounded off, so as
always to hang open. To complete the dress, was a pair of dark-blue
small clothes, buttoned tight around the body above the hips, and worn
without suspenders, as they had not then been invented. A pair of heavy
black silk stockings reached above the knee, under the small clothes,
which were buttoned down close over the stockings below the knee,
and there fastened by silver buckles. On his feet he wore a pair of
round-toed shoes with short quarters, and fastened by a pair of large
silver buckles that covered the whole of the instep. On his head he
wore a large full-bottomed wig of silvery whiteness, fitting close to
the head, the hair from the whole head being shaved twice a week, to
permit the wig to fit close to the head. The back part of this wig,
on the “bottom,” as it was technically called, was very large, and
consisted of a mass of curls, of the kind that young ladies now call
frizzled; and as the collar of the vest was narrow, and the collar of
the coat laid flat on the back, the bottom of the wig could reach quite
near to the shoulders without interfering with any part of the dress.
Surmounting all was a large three-cornered cocked hat of the finest
beaver, but without any nap; this, with cravat and ample bands under
the chin, both of snowy whiteness, formed the costume of the venerable
man, who, on the beach of Elm Island, received the congratulations of
Sally and Mrs. Hadlock, and was regarded by these rebellious Yankees,
who had recently flung off the yoke of monarchy, with a veneration as
great as that of a true-bred Briton for his anointed king.
In cold weather this dress was supplemented by a long blue broadcloth
cloak, with a small cape, thrown over the shoulders, but never
fastened in front. In this dress, with no covering for his legs from
the knee to the foot except silk tight-fitting stockings, without boots
or buskins (the latter being much worn by all except seamen, to keep
the snow out of the shoes), he preached sermons three quarters of an
hour in length, in a meeting-house without fire, and quite open.
Why the good man did not freeze is to us a mystery only to be solved by
concluding, with Aunt Molly Bradish, that “‘twas all ordered.”
At the meeting they got along splendidly with their singing, Uncle
Isaac lifting the tune and taking the lead. The whole company thought
they had never heard such a sermon; that the good man excelled himself;
while _he_ spoke in the highest terms of the singing.
In respect to the supper, it needed not the encomiums freely lavished
upon it, as the performances of the reverend gentleman and all
concerned afforded more substantial evidence than figures of rhetoric
could furnish of their appreciation of its merits.
In short, it was a most pleasant and profitable season to all. No
one seemed to enjoy himself less, not even Captain Rhines and the
minister, for the lack of spirit.
“One thing is sartin, Benjamin,” said Uncle Isaac, as they sat down
together in the porch, to enjoy a quiet pipe; “which is, that people
can enjoy themselves, be sociable and neighborly, without liquor.”
“Yes, and feel better after it’s over,” was the reply.
Capacious as Ben’s house now was, it could by no means lodge all
the company. A field bed was made in the parlor and kitchen, with
additional bed-clothes which Ben had borrowed from his mother and Mrs.
Hadlock.
The schooner’s crew slept on board; Fred and Charlie, to their entire
satisfaction, in the haymow, as it was long since they had met, and
they had many things to talk over.
They dug a great hole in the hay and lined it with the mainsail of the
West Wind, got a meal bag and stuffed it with chaff for a pillow, then
taking the foresail for a covering, they lay spoon-fashion, and talked
themselves to sleep.
“Charlie,” said Fred, “I’ll tell you what I’ve been thinking about:
there are a good many people that fish in big canoes; they catch a
great many fish in the spring and summer, and even in the winter, when
there comes a spell of good weather, that they dare go out, because,
you know, they have to row in. Well, they say, if I will put some goods
in the mill, that they will bring their fish to me, and take pay in
goods. Then some that fish in schooners, say, if I will put up some
flakes, they will bring their fish to me, and give me one quintal in
fifteen for making them.”
“I’d do it, Fred; I think you’ll stand in your own light if you don’t;
you know you’ve got a wharf at the mill to land fish and goods, and
a place in your mill for your goods, measures, a scale and weights,
counter and shelves: you are all fixed.”
“Not by a good deal. If I take fish from the canoes, I must have a
fish-house to salt and keep them in, and a pair of large scales to
weigh them, and the fish-house must be large enough to store a fare of
fish, or two or three, till they are made and marketed. Then it will
cost something to put up flakes; though father says he’ll give me the
timber to build the house and flakes, and let me use his oxen to haul
the timber to the spot, and the logs to the mill for the boards. But
then I can’t sell these fish till fall, and in the mean time I must
buy salt and goods, and I don’t like to run in debt. I have but little
money, and I ain’t one of the kind to go into a thing without making
some kind of calculation as to how I’m coming out.”
“I’ll tell you what you do, Fred: go and cut your frame, and logs for
boards; haul your frame logs to the spot, and roll them up on skids all
ready to hew, and your logs for boards to the mill; cut and haul your
stuff for flakes; Joe Griffin won’t be gone more than a fortnight or
three weeks; when he comes back, I’ll get him and his crew, father, and
some more, and we’ll hew your frame out, raise it, and make your flakes
in two days. I can board and shingle it, and make the doors for you,
and you can pay me in goods.”
“You are very kind, Charlie; it’s just like you; but even with all
these helps, I’ve not half money enough; three hundred and fifty
dollars won’t go far in buying goods.”
“What kind of goods do you want?”
“The most, of molasses, tea, coffee, and salt. O, I forgot the tobacco.
Rum I don’t drink, and won’t sell. These are the heaviest. I shall want
some sugar, nails, a few pots and kettles, medicines, calico, powder
and shot; the rest I can barter for round here. You know it takes a
good while, and is a great deal of expense, to get goods from Portland
or Boston here. You must be able, when you go, to buy enough at once to
last a good while.”
“Now, Fred, listen to me: you, John, and myself have always been
together, like the fingers on one hand; we put our ventures into your
hands, and you did well for yourself and us: now, what is to hinder
John and me from putting more goods in your store to sell at half
profits. I’ve got four hundred dollars, John has got three hundred
dollars; there’s seven hundred dollars: we’ll put that into tea and
coffee; we’ll get Captain Rhines to go to Boston or Portland, and buy
it for us, put it in your hands to sell at half profits; then you can
have your own money to get other things. You can put a few goods in,
and go right to taking fish from the canoes, and by the time the large
vessels get along, we will get our goods.”
“Charlie, you are a friend indeed; but will John be willing to do it?”
“Yes; John Rhines will be willing to do anything that is good and
noble. He started the matter the first time; I mean to get the start
of him now. I’ll write to him to-morrow; there’s a vessel going to
Portland with timber, and the money is over to his father’s.”
“Then,” said Fred, “I’ll go to Portland in her, and get a few things. I
can salt the fish in our barn till I get the fish-house built, and put
any dry fish I may make in the mill.”
“I don’t believe but I can coax Joe Griffin to go in, and Flour; he’s
got money in Captain Rhines’s hands; I know father will.”
It now being well towards morning, they went to sleep. The next day,
Charlie not only persuaded Joe Griffin, but Uncle Isaac and his father,
to help Fred.
“I’ll tell you,” said Captain Rhines, “what you had better do. It’s a
poor calculation for Fred to take what he has got and go buy a small
quantity--he can’t make anything. I’ll take him and Charlie in the
Perseverance, and we’ll go right to Boston and get the whole. I’ll get
Mr. Welch to buy for me; he will do it better than I can.”
“But we’ve not heard from John,” said Charlie.
“Well, I’ve got the money, and I’ll take it with me. We’ll run into
Portland and ask him. I’ll get Flour to put his in. I’ll put in the tea
and tobacco, because I expect to trade with Fred, and I want to be sure
that they’re good.”
The company now prepared to depart; but Ben persuaded Parson Goodhue to
stay, telling him that the vessel was going to Boston the next day,
and they would set him ashore at the mill wharf as they went along.
While Ben and Charlie were gone to the main land with their friends,
the minister was left with Sally and Mrs. Hadlock. He amused himself
by taking a walk over the island, admiring its beauty, and looking at
the crops. Charlie had told him he had a wild goose and gander, and
also some goslings, the progeny of a tame goose and the wild gander.
After returning to the house and resting a while, he expressed a strong
desire to see them.
“I can find them, Mrs. Rhines, if you will tell me in what direction to
go.”
“I don’t think you had better go alone, sir, for the gander is in the
pen, and is quite cross.”
“Indeed, Mrs. Rhines, I trust you don’t think I’m afraid of a goose.”
But Sally persisted in going with him.
The reverend gentleman was very much pleased with the goslings, who
bore a strong resemblance to both parents; but he was especially
delighted with the wild gander, which was a splendid fellow, and, from
being well fed, was large and plump.
“I feel that I must get over in the pen, Mrs. Rhines; the gander seems
perfectly docile.”
“Don’t, Mr. Goodhue, I beg of you; he is very savage, I assure you.”
He, however, persisted in getting into the pen, despite her entreaties.
“Only observe how affectionate and quiet he has become in captivity;
intercourse with human beings has doubtless exerted an ameliorating
influence upon his naturally savage nature: you will notice, Mrs.
Rhines, that he does not open his mouth and siss, as even the tame
ganders will do; indeed, I have always thought the study of natural
history a most delightful and fascinating recreation: it is, in one
sense, a revelation.”
As we have before observed, suspenders were not worn in those days; and
any exertion often caused the breeches to work down, and the waistcoat
to work up, so as to render the linen visible between them.
[Illustration: PARSON GOODHUE AND THE WILD GANDER. Page 105.]
In walking over the island and climbing the fence, the good man had so
exerted himself, that a large fold of shirt appeared, and hung over the
waistband. The gander came up to him, put his head very gently against
him, took hold of it, and, while the attention of the minister was
directed to the goslings and the tame goose, filled his mouth with the
cloth; at length, having with the utmost gentleness obtained a firm
hold, the gander suddenly spread his great wings and began to thrash
the minister about the head and face, with the force of so many flails.
His cocked hat was knocked off in an instant; the wig followed suit.
Blinded and confused, he jumped back, falling prostrate upon his back:
he was now at the mercy of his antagonist, who, with the knobs of horn
on his wings, inflicted blows upon his face and bare scalp, that drew
blood at every stroke, the wild goose seconding the efforts of her mate
by viciously nipping his legs and hands.
His screams were heard by Sally, who, deceived by the apparent good
nature of the gander, had gone to the house to see to the baby. She
threw her shawl over the gander’s wings, and seizing him by the neck,
choked him off, and thrust him into the pen made for the tame goose to
sit in, then assisted the parson to rise.
He was indeed in a sorry plight; the blood was streaming from his face
and scalp, his clothing was soiled by the impurities of the yard, his
face covered with straw and feathers which the wings of the gander had
flung over him, and that stuck in the blood. The wild goose, with that
strong, sharp bill, with which they will pull up eel-grass by the
roots, had torn holes in the black silk stockings, and even torn the
skin beneath.
Sally was affected to tears by this wholesale desecration of the
person of one she had been accustomed from infancy to look up to with
reverence. The wig, which had been the great object of her veneration,
and the cocked hat were trampled under foot by the parson in his first
attempts to escape. This, indeed, was no trifling matter, as the wig
could only be dressed and curled once a year; and for this it was
necessary to go to Boston, and it took a professional hairdresser a
whole day.
The good man, however, was much less disturbed than Sally, and after
he had been put to rights by her and Sally Merrithew, took quite a
cheerful view of the matter, affirming, that though Paul passed through
many perils, he much doubted whether he had ever been in peril by a
wild gander.