TRADING IN THOSE DAYS--BEN IS APPRENTICED--THE ENLISTING SERGEANT--COURT
DAY AT CONCORD
About this time my life changed a good deal. Bishop Hancock had died
during the previous winter. Young John was adopted by his Uncle Thomas,
the Boston merchant, and went to Harvard College. Edmund's mother, who
had been a widow several years, married Squire Bowman, and went to live
at his house at the south end of the town. As for myself, I was growing
up, and had my stint of work with the others. In the spring, driving the
oxen, while father held the plough. Then came sowing the land and
planting corn. Then half-hilling and again hilling it. Then helping to
hay, and to gather in the crops. In the fall, picking apples and making
cider. And as the winter came on, I helped to kill and dress a steer
and a couple of hogs, and to put them in the powdering tubs and pickle
them. Then we hung the hams and sides of bacon up in the chimney to be
cured. Beside these things the daily care of the cattle and milking kept
me busy all the time.
And it seemed to me that we got but small return for our labour. We had
a large barn full of cattle and horses, and the loft full of hay for
them. A snug home for ourselves and plenty to eat and drink. We raised
the flax and wool from which our clothes were made. When we killed an ox
or a calf, the hide was tanned to make into shoes.
But we had very little ready money. Whatever dealings we had with our
neighbours was done by exchanging goods,--trading we called it. Trading
was going on all the time.
One morning, as we boys were walking up the road, and had reached the
upper end of Captain Esterbrook's land, Edmund said, "Hello, Ben, look
over there. Captain Joe Esterbrook and Matthew Mead are trading.
Whenever you see one man sitting on a log and another walking up and
down with a straw in his mouth, then they're trading. And the man with
the straw in his mouth is the one anxious to have the trade go through.
See how nervous Matthew is, and Captain Joe, sitting on the log
whittling, looks just as calm and contented as a frog in a puddle. When
you trade, Ben, don't chew a straw, but sit down and whittle. Captain
Joe probably wants the trade to go through as much as Matthew does. But
the whittling keeps his hands and eyes busy, and steadies his nerves. It
gives him a chance to look as if he didn't care a snap about it."
[Sidenote: TRADING]
"I don't think there's any need of Captain Joe whittling," said I. "He's
as keen as a razor at a trade. I was going by his place a little while
ago, and he had his old horse Bjax out in front of the stable, showing
him to a fur trader from the Back Country, whose horse had gone lame.
"'Yes,' says he, 'he's a fine horse, kind and sound, and I wouldn't part
with him for anything, if the other one hadn't died. I had a horse
called Ajax, that I got of one of the professors down to the college,
and the next one I bought I called Bjax. But now that Ajax is gone,
there don't seem to be no sense to the name. When I had Ajax, Bjax was
all right; but Bjax alone sounds sort of ridiculous, and I'll let you
have him cheap.'
"His black boy, Prince, was hanging round, looking as if a funeral was
going on. He stepped up, and said, 'Oh, massa, massa. Don't sell that
horse. That's just the best horse we ever had.' Then the black rascal
went behind the man, winked at me and grinned."
Late in the fall, after we had killed off some of the cattle, father
would load a couple of pack-horses with beef and pork, which he sold in
Salem. For in those days Salem was more easily reached than Boston.
Probably not more than one or two families in the town spent over twenty
Spanish dollars in the course of the year.
Money came most readily to those who had a handicraft, and there was
hardly a house on the main road in which there was not an artificer of
some kind.
[Sidenote: BEN APPRENTICED TO A BLACKSMITH]
A prudent father took care that his son learned a trade. Edmund was sent
to Concord and became a cordwainer or shoemaker. Davy Fiske was a
weaver, and soon after the fox hunt I was apprenticed to Robert
Harrington, to learn the blacksmith's trade. He was a large, strong man,
of a kindly nature, and was an excellent bass singer. As we worked
together in his shop, with his son Thaddeus, we frequently sang psalm
tunes, and his younger son Dan piped in a treble.
One day Major Ben Reed rode up, and brought his horse in to be shod.
"Well, Robert, we're going to have war again with the French. Governor
Shirley's got word that they are making a settlement and building a fort
down on our eastern frontier, and has ordered Colonel John Winslow to
raise a regiment, and go down there to put a stop to it. Captain Frye of
Littleton is raising a company, and if any of the boys want to join the
expedition, they'd better enlist with him."
Davy Fiske's two older brothers, Jonathan and John, did enlist. They
joined this company, and so did Joe Locke.
The regiment went up the Kennebec, built a fort, and then half of them
went further up the river, to the Great Carrying Place, but found no
settlements, no French nor Indians, nothing but immense and terrible
swarms of black flies, midges, and bloodsucking mosquitoes; and after
considerable blood was shed on both sides, they retreated and returned
home.
This was but the beginning of the great struggle that we had with the
French for seven long years. In the next year, 1755, early in the
spring, Colonel Winslow was again ordered to beat his drums through our
Province, and raise a regiment to proceed against Acadia; and Captain
Spikeman began to enlist a company in our county.
The captain made his headquarters in Concord at Rowe's Tavern, which was
kept by Edmund's uncle, Captain Thomas Munroe.
Several times, a sergeant, corporal, and a couple of drummers came down
to Lexington, and marched through the town, beating a rub-a-dub on
their drums. The sergeant would speak to the crowd, and try to get them
to enlist. He would promise them--well, what wouldn't he promise them?
Lands, booty, rich farms, the chance of becoming a general at least. He
was an oily-tongued fellow, and Uriah Hall's son Uriah, Phineas Parker,
and Tom Blanchard enlisted with him. He and his drummers stopped at our
shop one day, and he came in. He placed his halberd in a corner, brushed
the dust from the top of a box, and sat down.
[Sidenote: EXPEDITION TO ACADIA]
"Well, which of you young men is going to serve the King? There never
was such a chance for a soldier as this. Here we are, going down to the
richest country in the world, to turn these Acadians out of house and
home; and any soldier who wants a farm can have it for the asking.
Richest soil in the world. You can raise anything there. Level as a
table, all cleared, not a stone in it, farm tools, housen and outhousen,
and everything all ready for you. Hundreds of acres for the asking, and
lots of booty besides. What better chance do you want?"
Mr. Harrington, who was leaning on his hammer by the forge, asked:--
"But why do you turn them out? Why don't you let them alone?"
"Why do we turn them out? Because we must. That country has belonged to
England for forty-two years. And not one of those people will take the
oath of allegiance. They have the easiest time in the world. Not a penny
of taxes was ever asked them, and they have been treated like pet lambs.
Their priests tell them not to take the oath of allegiance, and they
expect every year that the King of France will retake the country."
"Well, what of it? They say they are neutrals, and if you leave them
alone, and they mind their own business, and till their farms, they'll
come round all right in the end."
"Will they? They're the funniest neutrals you ever saw. They are dead
set against England, and claim to belong to France. If a garrison wants
to buy food, not a bit will they sell. But when the French and Indians
make an inroad into the country, they run to them, give them all they
have, join in with them, and fight us. When the French are driven back,
they scatter and go back to their farms, as innocent as can be. No, sir.
There's no getting on with them. It has been tried over forty years. The
only way to stop this constant trouble and fighting is to carry the
whole of them out of the country, and give their rich farms to good,
honest young men like these here.
[Sidenote: THE ACADIANS MUST BE DRIVEN OUT]
"Come now! Take the King's shilling. Serve his Majesty, good King
George, for a few months; and you can live like lords for the rest of
your days."
Thaddeus and I were mightily tempted by the man's talk, but Mr.
Harrington said that he could not spare us, and that we were too young,
anyhow. "And very likely, boys, instead of hundreds of acres, with
housen and outhousen, and farm tools, and booty, all that you'd get
would be six feet of ground and a pine box."
The days when the court sat at Concord were holidays with us, and the
people flocked up there to see the court come in, and to watch the
trials. And this spring, Spikeman's company was there too.
On the second day of court I rode to Concord, found Edmund at the
tavern, and we went round the town together.
The court had disposed of some cases already. We saw a couple seated on
the gallows, with ropes round their necks.
"Are they going to hang them, Edmund?"
"Not unless they tumble off and hang themselves. I suppose they put them
up there to show that hanging would be none too good for them. Look at
those fellows in the stocks. They don't belong here, and did not leave
when warned out of town by the constable."
Near by the stocks was the pillory. There was a man standing in it, with
his head and hands sticking out through the holes. Of all humiliating
punishments, this always seemed to me to be the worst. A man in that
position looks thoroughly mean and contemptible. He appears to be put
there on purpose to have something thrown at him; and it offers a
temptation that boys cannot withstand.
[Sidenote: THE PILLORY]
"Bill Wheeler's been missing his hens right along. He suspected this
man, and caught him one night, and the judge sentenced him to stand in
the pillory. There's Bill over there; listen to him!"
"Well, you miserable thief, how do you like it now? I had a good deal of
trouble to catch you; but it was worth while. You like hens? I wonder
how you will like hen-fruit."
He turned aside, and I heard him say to a boy: "Here's a shilling,
Hiram. They tell me eggs are pretty cheap up at the store, specially
poor ones."
The boys asked the man in the pillory all manner of impudent questions.
He resented it, and threatened them, when plump went a couple of eggs
against the boards near his head, and the yolks spattered over his face.
"Don't! Don't you do that, boys! That's mighty mean. When I get out,
won't I give you a licking!"
More eggs were thrown, and as he ducked his head, one struck him on the
top of his pate. When he raised it, the yellow yolk ran down over his
cheeks. Edmund and I told the boys to stop throwing eggs.
"We ain't doing nothing, and 'tain't your business, anyhow."
We stood guard over the boys till we saw the crowd turn toward the
whipping-post; and the boys went there to see a man tied to it, and
soundly thrashed on his bare back with the cat-o'-nine-tails.
"I've had enough of this, Edmund. Come over to the tavern."
The drummers were beating their drums in front of the inn, and the
sergeants were telling their story of the glory, honour, and booty to be
gained.
Captain Spikeman stood near by, and if he saw a likely looking man, who
seemed to be tempted, he would begin talking to him, and ask him into
the tavern to have a mug of flip. Soon after, the sergeant would be
called in to pin a cockade on his hat and give him the King's shilling
to enlist him.
Edmund knew all the officers, who lived at the tavern, and was full of
enthusiasm. "Ben, I'd like to go ever so much. I've set my heart on
being a soldier. But my time isn't up, and I must serve out my
apprenticeship."
[Sidenote: RECRUITING]
"That's just my fix. But if the war lasts, we may get a chance yet."
In the afternoon I bade him good-by, and rode back home.