CHARLIE AT HOME AGAIN.
The next morning, after making their call upon Mrs. Yelf, greatly to
the old lady’s satisfaction, they started for Elm Island.
Ben and Sally, having been informed by Captain Rhines of the time at
which the boys would start, and of the manner in which they expected to
come, were equally, with him, eagerly expecting their arrival.
Many times she left her work during the day, and went to the door to
see if they were coming. During the period that had elapsed since
the brief but glorious career of the West Wind, the old dugouts had
either passed into oblivion, or were debased to mere tenders for the
whaleboats, which were kept afloat at their moorings, or even used as
cars (cages) to keep lobsters and clams alive in. Whaleboats had also
increased in numbers, by reason of the impulse given to fishing, and
were frequently seen going to and fro in good weather; and Bennie, who
took every sail, it mattered not in what direction they were heading,
for the Perseverance, Jr., kept his mother in a constant state of
excitement by running into the house, and bawling out, “Marm, they’re
coming! They’re most here!” Ben also frequently, in the course of the
day, swept the horizon with his spy-glass. They expected the boys would
land at Captain Rhines’s first, stop all night, and then John come over
with Charlie. Accordingly he frequently inspected the cove, and the
adjacent shores, and if he manifested less outward show of interest
than his father, it must be attributed to his sluggish temperament,
which was less easily roused, and the fact that he had more to occupy
him, and was just at that time engaged with his hired man upon a job
that interested him exceedingly. He was at work in his orchard.
When Ben declared that he would make cider yet on Elm Island, it was no
idle boast. He had gone to work in the best possible way to accomplish
his designs. He had, in the first place, burned the land over, the same
season in which the growth was cut, and before it was dry, on purpose
that the fire should not burn too deep, and consume the vegetable mould
down to a barren subsoil. The growth of wood was also of a kind that
was rich in potash, an element in which the apple, of all the trees
of the field, delights. Instead of waiting till he had taken several
crops from the land, the stumps had decayed, and it was exhausted by
many ploughings and plantings, he set out three hundred grafted trees,
of choice fruit, that Mr. Welch had given him, right in the ashes, and
among the stumps. Wherever a stump interfered with the regularity of
the rows, he dug it up, otherwise set the tree close beside it, and
the young tree fed upon its decaying roots. In addition to this, the
soil was filled with the excrements of sea-fowl, that for centuries had
bred upon the island, and it was abundantly supplied with lime from the
shells of muscles, cockles, and bones of fish with which they fed their
young.
The orchard was upon a southern exposure, sheltered by cliffs, forests,
and rising ground from cold and blighting winds, and the bowlders,
sprinkled here and there over the surface of the land, were granite.
Enjoying all these advantages of soil and exposure, protected with
jealous care from the encroachments of cattle, the trees grew more in
one year than they would in one of our old exhausted fields in four.
Ben, excessively proud of them, stimulated their growth by every
means in his power, especially as he expected Mr. Welch to make him
another visit before long, and wanted to show him what could be done
on Elm Island, as he had expressed some doubts if apple trees would do
anything so near the sea.
He was now engaged in burning the weeds and brush, which had been
previously cut and piled up, intending to scatter the ashes around the
roots of the young trees. He was also removing the stumps, a sharp
drought proving very favorable to his operations. There were a few pine
stumps on the piece, which, when not too near an apple tree, were set
on fire, and completely exterminated, the fire following the roots into
the dry soil, and living there sometimes for weeks.
The greater proportion of the stumps were rock-maple, beech, birch, and
oak. The roots of these had become a little tender, and by chopping off
some of the larger ones, could be upset and wrenched from the soil with
oxen, aided by a pry, to which the great strength of Ben, supplemented
by that of Yelf, was applied. Setting cattle for a severe pull, and
making them do all they know how, seems to consist in something more
than practice. It is a gift, and it was one that Ben possessed in
perfection.
When a lad, before he went to sea, he was considered the best teamster
in town, except Uncle Isaac. It was the same with Charlie, who had
not been accustomed to cattle till he came to the island, while John
Rhines, who had all his life been used to driving oxen, evinced neither
inclination nor capacity for it. As for Robert Yelf, he couldn’t, to
save his life, make four cattle pull together, and always, when he got
stuck, took off the leading cattle. Those who do possess this gift,
like to exercise it: there is to them a strange fascination in driving
oxen, so dull and stupid a business to others. It was thus with Ben; no
music was so sweet to him as the singing of the links of a chain and
the creaking of the bows in the yoke as the cattle settled themselves
for a severe pull, their bellies almost touching the ground. He had
a noble team,--six oxen,--the smallest ox in the team girthing seven
feet three inches, fat and willing. He had them so perfectly trained,
that after attaching them to the stump, and placing them for a twitch,
he and Yelf would apply their strength to the pry, Ben would speak to
the oxen, rip, tear, snap would go the great roots, out would come the
stump, taking with it earth, stones, and bushes, while Bennie would
scream, “Get up, Star, you old villain!” pounding on the ground with
his stick, till he was red in the face, the baby sitting in his little
cart, would crow, and Sailor bark in concert.
It is often that friends, for whom we have been persistently watching,
surprise us after all, when we least expect them; it was so in the
present instance. Ben was so much occupied in his work that day (and
having been disappointed), that after taking a look in the morning, he
had not again inspected the bay.
As for Sally, after having cooked up a lot of niceties to welcome the
boys, and running to the door to look the greatest part of the time for
three or four days, she concluded that something had delayed them at
Portland, and there was no telling when to look for them.
Since the stump-pulling had commenced, and the fires been started,
Bennie, having changed his playground from the green before the front
door, which commanded a full view of the bay, to the orchard, was
busily employed roasting clams by a fire made under a pine stump;
Sailor was helping him, the cat patiently waiting for her share of
the repast, the baby asleep in the cradle, and Sally busy getting
dinner. Aided by all these circumstances, the boys entered the cove
unperceived, and with all the caution of whalemen approaching a
slumbering whale.
“What a splendid wharf!” whispered Charlie to John, as silently they
crept along the footpath to the house, expecting every moment to hear
an alarm. The hop-vine had covered half the roof, and reached the
chimney in one broad belt of green, the honeysuckle hung in fragrant
festoons around the door and windows; Charlie gave John a punch, and
pointed to them, which was answered by a nod.
The doors were all open, for it was a warm day. Slipping off their
shoes, they passed on to the kitchen. Sally was frying fish in the
Dutch oven, and talking to herself all the while.
“I don’t see what has got those boys: they ought to have been here a
week ago. Here I, and all of us, have been watching, and I have been
cooking, to have something nice for them when they come. There are
the custards, that John likes so well, as sour as swill; the cake all
mouldy, and the chicken pie soon will be. Charlie likes warm biscuit so
well, I thought we should see them when they got to the other shore,
and then I should have time to bake some, and have them piping hot
when they get here; now I don’t know what to do. There’s that mongrel
goose, the first one we have ever killed, Charlie thought so much of
them, and took so much pains to raise them, I did mean he should help
eat the first one. O dear, I wish I hadn’t killed it; but now it’s
killed and cooked we must eat it, or it will spoil; Charlie ain’t here,
nor like to be.”
“Yes, he is, you good old soul you.”
With a scream of delight Sally flung herself on his neck.
“How you started me, you roguish boy, you and John too. Why boys, where
have you been? We’ve been looking more than a week, with all the eyes
in our heads, and you’ve come at last, just as we had given up.”
“What boat is that at the mooring, mother?”
“One your father built the year after you went away.”
“I’m right glad, for I’ve sold mine in Portland, and was afraid I
shouldn’t have any to sail in. Whose scow is that?”
“Ours; your father and Robert built it.”
“Where is father?”
“Out in the orchard, pulling up stumps.”
“Come, John, let’s go and surprise them.”
In this they were disappointed. Sailor espied them, and gave the alarm.
“Why, how you’ve grown, you dear child!” cried Charlie, catching Bennie
up in his arms, who came running to meet them.
“I should think somebody else had grown too,” said Ben, taking them
both up, setting Charlie astride one of the near oxen’s back, with the
child in his arms; “but I believe John has grown the most,” putting his
arm around him, with an appearance of great affection.
“What a noble team you’ve got, Ben; are these the same cattle you had
when we went away?”
“Yes, all but them sparked ones on forward; they are twins, and are
seven feet and a half. I went clear to North Yarmouth after them, and
I never have dared to tell how much I gave for them. I’ve never asked
them to do anything yet, but what they’ve done it: that yoke ain’t fit
for them, it’s too narrow between the bow holes, and hauls upon their
necks. Charlie you must make me one.”
“I will, father, I’ll make one that will fit them. But how these apple
trees have grown, I couldn’t have believed it possible.”
“Ah, Charlie, what do you think now about making cider on Elm Island?
In three years more some of these largest apple trees will begin to
bear, and one of these in the garden, that Uncle Isaac gave you,
blossomed last spring.”
“Mother says dinner is ready.”
“How does the goose go, Charlie?” asked Sally, when they were well
entered upon the repast.
“Never tasted anything better in my life,” said he, speaking with his
mouth full.
“I must go now,” said John, when the meal was ended; “I promised father
I wouldn’t stop.”
“No, you won’t go,” said Sally, “till after supper. I baked some
custards for you, and kept them till they were sour. You can’t go till
I bake some more; so it’s no use to talk.”
“We’ll have supper early,” said Ben, “and you can get home before dark.”
They spent the time till supper in social chat, and in looking at the
crops and improvements that had been made on the island.
Charlie found the swallows had multiplied amazingly, the eaves and
rafters of the barn being filled with long rows of nests.
“What a master slat of fowl” said both the boys.
“I shouldn’t think you ever killed any,” said Charlie.
“We haven’t many,” replied Ben; “we’ve been saving them till you came.”
“Well Charlie,” said he, as they stood at the shore looking after John,
as he departed, “I suppose Elm Island seems rather a dull place, and a
small affair, after being in such a great place as Portland.”
“Portland!” cried Charlie, in high disdain, “I wouldn’t give a gravel
stone on this beach for Portland, and all there is in it.”
“Nor I either. I suppose to-morrow you’ll want to go over and see Joe
and Uncle Isaac, and go to Pleasant Cove.”
“Not till that orchard is done. I want to drive those oxen. O, father,
won’t we have a good time burning the stumps, putting the ashes round
the trees, making it look neat and nice, and picking up all the stones?”
“I see,” replied Ben, “you have brought back the same heart you carried
away.”
“Why, father, how could I go right off, when you have got so much to
do, and it is such a nice time to do it? Besides, I haven’t seen the
maple, nor been up in the big pine; and I’ve only just looked over the
fowl, and haven’t taken particular notice of any of them, nor of the
birds; then there’s a leg gone out of mother’s wash-bench, a latch off
the kitchen door, a square of glass broke in the buttery, and that yoke
to be made, and the piece must be cut and put to season. You must have
a better goad, father; it’s a shame to drive such a team with a beech
limb. There’s a tough little white-oak butt, as blue as a whetstone, in
the shop, that Uncle Isaac gave me: I’ll make a goad of that. Then I
mean to make a pair of cart wheels, such as I saw in Portland, on the
Saccarappa teams, and John says he’ll put tires on them. Why shouldn’t
we have things on Elm Island as well as they up there.”
“If you’re going to do all that, or half of it, you wont get off the
island this month.”
“I don’t know as I shall do it all now, but I’ll begin, and I’ll make
the goad before it’s time to go to work to-morrow. Come, father, let us
go and split up the butt before dark.”
They took the small oak butt, set it on end, Charlie held the axe to
the end of it, Ben struck the pole of the axe with a piece of wood, and
they split it in halves, saved one half for axe handles, and split the
other up fine for goads. Charlie was up betimes in the morning, made
a beautiful goad, scraped it with glass, then rubbed it with dogfish
skin, oiled it, and put a brad in it. It was tough as leather. He
made another for Bennie, Jr. Proudly the little chap strutted beside
Charlie with his goad, kindled fires, heaped the brush and roots on
them, roasted clams, baked potatoes in an oven Charlie made for him,
and blessed his stars that Charlie had come.
Before two days Charlie had cut down an elm, roughed out a yoke,
bored the bow-holes, and put it up in the smoke-hole to season, to be
smoothed by and by. He counted sixteen partridges among the yellow
birches, but by Ben’s advice abstained from killing any till they
should have increased in numbers.
“Let them alone, and give them a chance to lay and breed another spring
and summer,” said Ben, “and then we can shoot as many as we want to
eat, and they will hold their own.”