“How happy are they
Who have clams every day!”
One o’clock finds the girls, boys, nurses, dollies, and big Ranger
escorting Mamma to the shore, where Jem, Ned, and Kit threw off their
coats, which Artie saw meant work, and so immediately followed their
example.
Now, fresh water must be brought, in pails, from the little spring
which rippled from a rock near the water’s edge. A large iron bar had
next to be run through a hole in one of the fence-posts, and upon
it an iron pot was hung. To the small boys was given the privilege
of picking up pieces of brush in the grove and piling them up under
the kettle, all ready for Jem to kindle a grand fire. Then shoes and
stockings had to be pulled off, and the four older boys, with shovels,
rakes, and baskets, waded in the shallow water for the great work of
digging clams. Artie thought it about the most prodigious sport he had
ever dreamed of, and shouted loudly to all his brothers and sisters to
look at every clam he was fortunate enough to bring to light, whilst
Jack, always true to his belief that “paddling in the water was the
best fun of anything,” sat on a rock, looking wistfully on and digging
up the sand around him with his impatient little toes.
Then the baskets of clams were set down in the water, that the tide
might wash through them and carry away some of the mud and sand
which clings to them; and whilst this process was going on, Kit good
humoredly brought a small part of the coveted Bay to the little ones.
Oh, what a Kit! May runs to the house for the little wooden pails and
shovels, and oh, how those little beavers work! What cannot be made out
of sand and water I should like to know? Beautiful gardens appear, with
rows of little trees, and walks paved with tiny shells and glittering
pebbles. Old Lottie, who sprang to life from the family rag-bag, is
condemned to be buried alive, whilst for Maude and Evangeline, dainty
city dolls, fine thrones are piled up, from which they may look down
on the dirty hands and aprons of their young mothers and uncles. Dr.
Kit prescribes for Euphemia, who has fits of not being able to stand on
her feet, continued “hot sand baths.” Then dollies are left in peace,
whilst all turn their hands to manufacturing sand pies, and then wells
must be dug and filled with water for future use.
Presently the children see Artie and Ned rushing to the house to
harness Coco to the little cart to bring down black Sam’s loads of
oysters and clams. Alice sets the example of cleanliness to her
companions by going down to the water’s edge to wash her hands, and
instantly the fashion takes, and Bristol Bay is turned into a huge
water basin, and its sandy shores into a dressing-room.
Nan, Charlotte, and the Haven servants now came down from the house,
in merry mood, bearing brown bread, a pail of butter packed in ice,
chickens dressed for the gridiron, and a huge Indian pudding. Artie
and Kit tumble over the Princesses Maude and Evangeline, making their
thrones things of the past, in their haste to get over into the next
field to dig the fresh, new potatoes. Gracie, under Sarah, the cook’s,
direction, with Daisy for her assistant, prepares the chowder. First
into the iron pot she places slices of pork, which she heats to a crisp
brown; then go in layers of well-seasoned clams, shorn of their ugly
shells by Jem’s jack-knife; layers of sliced potatoes, and onions and
crackers. Then layers of clams again till the pot is quite filled. I
assure you very delicious is the steamy odor which soon fills the air
and quickens the appetite. Two wooden horses are saddled with boards
and blanketed with snow-white table cloths, to bear the burden of the
day’s feast. In the middle stands the grand Indian pudding, with a flag
springing up from the centre to mark the day, and guarded on each side
by great piles of brown-bread. Jem carefully brings the rich green
watermelon from the spring where it has been cooling, and with deft
hands and valuable jack-knife, cuts it up into most bewitching mitre
forms. Sarah, the cook, ladles out, on huge platters, the smoking,
savory chowder. Then Jem, with Mamma’s permission, gives the order
to “Fall in!” and in much less time than it takes me to tell it, the
little Madison Avenue Menagerie make the acquaintance of the Rhode
Island shore dinner which has made the tiny State so famous.
Little Jack, with mouth full of brown-bread, says,--
“I always frought bakes was in ovens and boils was in pots,” which
makes the Harwood children laugh as they explain it is not yet time for
“the bake;” there is fishing to be done first.
When the rods were brought out, wasn’t Artie pleased to find his so
admired! Jem, himself, had never seen one so fine--even Jem, who showed
him how to cut clams and put them on the hook, as better bait than
worms,--told him from just what spot on the wharf he must fling out his
line, and watched that line as well as his own, telling him just how
long to let the fish nibble and just when to draw in.
When, finally, the prize came to land, it proved to be a large-sized,
silvery scup, and then the city boy was almost wild with joy. Oh,
wouldn’t that be a story to tell his children’s children, how
their grandfather, at the age of ten, caught a regular scup, and a
“two-pounder at that!”
“For he looked at the scales and found it so,
Just as his friend, Jem, had told him, oh!”
How Artie longed to lay the squirming trophy at his Mamma’s feet, and
claim a loving kiss as best reward!
But, look! this is no time for dreaming! Jem’s “bob” has disappeared
entirely, and “Jem is having a tricky one to deal with,” Ned whispers,--
Ha! ha! Master Fish, you have got your match at the other end of the
line. Our Jem is an “old hand,” he knows all your wiles, and even now
is pretending not to have the least idea you are in his power. Now he
loosens; now tightens gently his line; slowly winds up; and now, with
dexterous jerk, swings upon the sand a fine tautog, Newporters’ dainty
breakfast. Yes; there is the poor fellow, with his fine, bright eyes,
white skin and black scales, leaping in the air!
The sport went on. Tautog, scup, and sometimes a striped bass, lie
quivering on the sand.
Bear asks Aunt Gertrude,--
“Why do they give the fish such a queer name as _tautog_?”
“It is from two Indian words--_taut_, which means _rocks_, and _og_,
fish. This tautog hides among the rocks, when the tide comes in, to get
away from the larger fish, who would eat him up. He lives mostly on sea
plants and insects.”
“But don’t you think it seems cruel to kill the poor things?”
“Scarcely that, dear, for God has made them for our use. Don’t you
remember our Saviour’s feeding the hungry multitude with loaves and
fishes in the wilderness? The fish, in their turn, devour insects, and
as they peep their heads above the waters to catch them, the instinct
of the birds, which seems God’s voice in them, teaches them to watch
for their appearance, dart down upon and devour them. But, see, Artie
is beckoning for us, and here comes Nan to carry you up to the bake.”
For the sake of far-away children, who have never visited Narragansett
shores, let me explain, that upon stones, which have been thoroughly
heated, large quantities of sea-weed are thrown, and upon that, clams,
oysters, and sometimes lobsters, chickens, sweet-potatoes, and corn are
put.
After Jem had placed his clams and oysters on the sea-weed, the boys
covered them up with more weed, and over the smoking mass placed a
large piece of sail-cloth, from whose seams and cracks, ere long,
came an odor which was well worth a journey from New York to inhale,
for certainly there is nothing just like it. It will not be strange
if ere long enterprising Rhode Island druggists send to the far-away
cities bottles marked “Clam-bake Perfume,” which shall rival that of
“Heliotrope” or “New Mown Hay.”
The table has been neatly prepared, Sarah’s broiled chickens are
smoking there, and now every boy,
“Be he great or be he small,”
has the pleasure of raking over the smoking seaweed, to bring to
light the steaming clams and oysters, and filling the great earthen
pudding-dishes with them, ready for the eating.
How the Haven children looked to see the Harwood boys, yes, and girls
too, eating clams as if “fingers had, indeed, been made before forks!”
Aunt Gertrude read their look of astonishment, and explained to them
that picking out clams with the fingers at a clam-bake was quite
allowable, and that she herself always did it; and so the children
quickly followed her example. It really was great fun for the boys with
appetites sharpened by hard work, to run races eating clams,--striving
to see who could soonest get a pile of shells he could not look over.
This sounds to city ears, unused to clam-bake tastes, very, very
strange, almost very improper; but we can only plead--
“’Tis a way we have in Rhode Island, boys!
To drive dull care away.”
The children’s attention was presently diverted from their Bake by the
sight of a large bird hovering over them, holding something in her beak.
Their eyes followed the bird as she made great circles in the
air,--descending lower and lower, till just as she was within shot,
something dropped heavily upon the table, which proved to be a poor
bleeding fish. Mrs. Harwood said--
“This bird is a Fish Hawk, and has its nest in one of our old pear
trees, which you will presently see. It hovers over the water to watch
for fish, coming to the surface to get their dinner of insects, and
then pounces down upon them. You see, to-day she has caught a poor
little bass, and, as she was carrying it through the air to her nest,
the little fish’s tender flesh has been torn away, and he has dropped
from his enemy’s beak upon the table before us. The Fish Hawk nest was
built here before my husband’s birth, and is more than fifty years
old. It is about as large in size as a half barrel, but none of us
have ever seen the inside, for, generally, it has a very bad odor of
stale fish. The Hawk has a great time every spring, house-cleaning, and
putting down their fresh carpets of twigs and pebbles.”
“Why don’t you climb up, Jem, and see the inside of the nest for
yourself?” asked Artie.
“For three good reasons, sir: First and foremost, Papa would not allow
it; second, the _tree_ would not, for it is quite dead, and unsafe for
climbing; and, lastly, because I am so fortunate as to have a nose.”
“Daisy,” said Kit, “do look over the fence into the next field, and
see those solemn cows watching us over the bars. They always come and
stare at us when we have our Bakes, and generally, when we are fishing
or digging clams on the shore, they come and stand in the water, and
watch us by the hour, with their big, serious eyes.”
Rosie asked Aunt Gertrude if she might give the good cows some
clam-bake?
“Yes, dear,” she replied, “I think they would enjoy the melon-rind and
bread-crusts, very much.”
Rosie filled a basket with the remnants of the feast, and emptied it
between the bars right at the feet of a “baby-cow,” as she called it,
when, to her terror, just as the little calf put her head down to taste
the nice morsels, two of the old cows came running toward her in a most
furious manner, lowering their horns as if they were going to toss her;
at which the baby-cow galloped off as fast as possible, and the selfish
old animals ate up the whole feast, and went off leisurely, chewing
their cud as if they had been doing the most well-behaved and proper
thing in the world.
Jem told Rosie to “never mind, it was their way;” and Aunt Gertrude
said--
“Cows are very sensitive; they will not stand any disrespect from the
young ones. In a herd of cattle the eldest always takes the lead, and
none of the young dare leave the pasture till the older ones have set
the example.
“It is quite funny to see with how much contempt a new calfie is
treated, when she makes her first appearance in the barn-yard.
She is pushed aside by her elders, and not allowed to go near the
feeding-trough till they have finished their meal, sometimes losing
her supper altogether; but when another calf comes in, calfie the
first turns tyrant, and treats her in the same manner. When I have
seen young people push past older persons, in going out from a room,
or choose for themselves the most comfortable seats, I have said to
myself, ‘Even the little calves have been better trained.’ Indeed, I
assure you, there is a deal of etiquette observed in the barn-yard
parlor.”
“Do cows ever hurt children, Aunt Gertie,” asked little Bear.
“Sometimes, dear, but very rarely. A very short while ago a friend of
mine, the widow of a clergyman, went with her only child, a lovely,
bright boy of eight, to live in a quiet little mountain village. Here
Spencer, for that was his name, soon won the love of all the villagers,
by his gentle manners and helpful ways. His mother playfully wrote me
that it seemed as if the child looked upon the village as ‘his father’s
parish, and the villagers as parishioners left to his charge by that
father.’ Day after day the little fellow might be seen wending his way
through the village streets with his little pail of soup, or basket of
dainties, for some sick person. Other days, the cottagers would stand
at their doors watching the ‘minister’s boy,’ as he was always called,
dragging out, in his little wagon, a neighbor’s sick baby, whilst the
mother rested her weary back; and from this child of eight, those
simple folk learned lessons of charity never to be forgotten.
“One summer morning, his mother heard him, at daylight, passing her
bedroom door. She called, him to come to her, and he came in with his
little box of tools, saying, ‘I did not mean to waken you, mother dear,
but last night, when I passed poor old widow Sampson’s, I saw a board
loose on her steps, and I kept waking up in the night and worrying for
fear the poor old lady might fall and badly hurt herself before I could
get there to fix it.’
“Just as he was about to leave the room, he said, ‘Oh, mother, in my
hurry, I have forgotten my morning prayer; may I kneel here by your
bed, and say it?’ His mother heard him whispering the Lord’s Prayer,
till he came to the words, ‘Thy will be done.’ There he stopped, then
slowly repeated the petition, and finishing his prayer, stooped over
and kissed his mother many times, and then ran off, humming a favorite
song.
“An hour after, distressed villagers brought back little Spencer’s
lifeless body. A farmer had called to ask him if he would stand and
hold open a gate, whilst his cattle were driven through, and as he
stood there, a cross animal lowered its horns suddenly, and tossed
the little fellow in the air, killing him instantly.
[Illustration: Little Spencer Gathering Brush for Widow Sampson’s Fire.
Page 233.]
“The whole village mourned the child, and poor Widow Sampson came to
tell the mother how she had been the little fellow’s care during all
the last winter. Every snow-storm brought Spencer to her door with his
little barrow, filled with bits of brush he had gathered, and when ill,
he came every day to minister to her wants.
“I have been told that the farmer immediately killed the treacherous
cow, and when he sent its flesh to the poor people, they all sent back,
saying, ‘they thanked him kindly, but that meat they could not eat.’
“I am afraid my story has saddened you, but I see the _Psyche_ is in
sight, and Papa is making signals. I know he wanted to give us a little
sail when he returned, so we must hurry.”