"Where merry mowers, hale and strong,
Swept scythe on scythe their swaths along
The low green prairies of the sea."
These scattered groups had been upon the meadows all night, ready to
begin at sunrise the toil of the day. And toil it was too--toil that
required an iron muscle and iron endurance. Yet, toil and moil though it
were, beach-haying was always a welcomed season. It broke the monotony
of farm life. There was the sail to and fro, the breeze from the sea in
its first freshness, the beat of the surf, the wide view on every side,
the visit to the ocean at night, and often a race with the slow-creeping
tide to determine whether the mowers should lay their stint, or the
water usurp their place.
The three mowers had made an early start and were in good season, but
the sight of others at work roused their anticipations of the day's
labor, and Layn suggested, "Let's give our scythes a thorer goin' over.
We'll save time by it."
They did this, and then Josh said to Raner, "Shell I put an edge on
_yer_ scythe?"
"No," was the reply. "I'll do that fur myself. You come aft an' take the
tiller."
Over the ocean, low down on the horizon, lay a bank of fog. The mowers
noticed this, and Raner remarked, "It may lay there all day, or it may
clear away an' be gone when the sun gits higher and the day warmer."
"Thar's no tellin' nuthin' 'bout what it'll do, you'd better say,"
replied Josh, with a laugh.
All along they had feared the wind would fail them when well over under
the Beach. But it continued to blow; and in as good season as the mowers
had hoped, they reached the meadows. Josh stood forward, anchor in hand,
and jumping ashore, walked the full length of the cable and planted the
anchor deep in the soft meadow soil. The old sail was quickly furled,
and the three mowers, with scythes and traps, set out for Arter's lot.
Raner led the way, carrying, besides his scythe, a rake and hammer and
wedges to hang anew the scythes, if need were. Layn was almost abreast
of him, managing with some difficulty his scythe, a pitchfork, and a
runlet of water; while Josh followed a short distance behind with the
jug. Watching his chance, he lifted the jug and stole a draught.
[Illustration: (uncaptioned)]
"Le' me see," said Raner, approaching the place of their day's work.
"Accordin' to the last division, the stake o' every lot stands on the
west side, an' the numberin's on the east side o' the stake."
A little examination showed which Arter's lot was, and then Raner said,
"We'll strike in here."
This was not the order to begin cutting, but for those immediate
preparations which can be made nowhere else than on the exact spot. And
so there followed driving of heel-wedges, twisting and ranging of blade
with handle, stretching out of the foot to determine whether the
scythe-point was too far out or too close in, and last, a stroke in the
grass for final approval.
"We're all ready, then, be we?" asked Raner. "Well, I'll lead. Josh, you
come arter me; an' Layn'll be last;" and getting into position, the
lusty mowers struck their swaths. Regularly the graceful strokes fell,
succeeded by the hitching step forward.
"Ah! my scythe's doin' purty work, I tell you," remarked Raner. "How
does your'n cut, Layn?"
"Royally."
"An' your'n, Alibee?"
"Never better."
"We're all well under way, then, an' the grass's in fair condition. Can
we lay it by night, think you, Layn?"
"I guess so; but by King George, we've got 'o keep movin', le' me tell
yer."
"Alibee, can you stan' it to keep 'er joggin' all day long at this
gait?"
"Thet's what I come fur, I b'lieve, to do a day's work with the rest on
yer."
There had been some sort of an understanding between Raner and Layn when
driving to the landing, that Alibee, who was a loud boaster, should do
such a day's work as he had seldom done. It is easy, therefore, to see
why Raner was so particular about assigning him the middle place. Raner
and Layn were both excellent scythes-men, and with one to lead and the
other to drive, Alibee must keep their pace all day.
[Illustration: (uncaptioned)]
Alibee, be it said, was not an energetic man. Some of his acquaintances
called him a "blower." Had he been hired to go to the Beach and take two
men with him to cut a plot of grass, there would have been mowing done
as a matter of course; but the day, nevertheless, would have passed
easily enough. The bouts would have been short ones, with a spell of
whetting at each end. There would have been halts here and there, while
he looked to see how the grass lay ahead, and whether it was down much
or tangled. And when such pretexts failed, Alibee would have found it
encouraging to count just how many swaths had been cut, and calculate
how many more remained to be done. At midday, too, a long nooning would
have been taken, with likely a stroll to kill a mess of snipe. Let,
however, a few months pass, and beach-haying become the topic of talk at
a tavern gathering, and with what noisy bragging would Alibee recount
what he and two others accomplished in two days last summer.
"There's the first bout round," remarked Raner, "an' now whet up fur the
next."
"An' wet up, too," broke in Josh.
"Yes, yes," seconded Layn; "a good horn all round."
All drank; but Josh was last at the jug, and improved his opportunity.
Each man took up his scythe again, wiped the blade with a wisp of grass,
and struck with drawing motion his rifle along the blade. Every blow
sent out those ringing notes--the test of good steel.
The whetting over, _zithe--zithe--zithe--_went the scythes once more,
the graceful strokes beating again their triple measure. But before the
mowers had finished their second bout, the outposts of the fog, which
lay banked low over the ocean when they were crossing the Bay, came and
settled about them. So intent, though, were the mowers upon the work in
hand, that the fog's insidious presence was not noted, till making the
last stroke out, they straightened up and looked around. They could not
at first realize the change. When they had struck in at the other end of
the swath, their view extended over miles--the wide Bay and the blue
shore beyond, lay to the northward; west and east stretched the meadows
with their sinuous edges; to the south were the Beach hills and the gap
through them, affording a glimpse of the ocean. What wonder is it, then,
that the mowers, bending down and watching intently to see where the
next stroke should fall, lost consciousness of their surroundings, and
were, the first instant on looking up, bewildered to see the
impenetrable gray on all sides?
"Well, I sw'ar," spoke Josh. "This ere's sudden--I'll be darned ef I
knowed where I wuz for a second ur two."
"Nuther did I," replied Layn. "At fust, I tried to git my bearin's, an'
it bothered me, fur thar wuzn't no bearin's to be got. Then I come to my
senses, an' knowed I wuz right here on the medder mowin', with this ere
bank o' fog all round us."
A fog, as everybody knows, plays all sorts of tricks with the judgment.
A man may drive over a road a hundred times and think himself acquainted
with every turn and hollow, with every clump of trees, with every bank,
rock, or bunch of shrubbery by the roadside; but let a dense fog come
down, and memory at once refuses to match the new impressions with the
old. The hollows are deeper and the bends of the road more abrupt, the
clump of trees has shifted its position or has entirely disappeared, and
every rock and bunch of shrubbery becomes a strange object. If he begins
to doubt, his judgment is completely upset, and he concludes he has
taken the wrong road.
A man may have sailed from shore to shore of a body of water so often as
to feel almost confident of doing it with eyes shut; let, however, a fog
settle and blot out every surrounding object, and ten to one he will
conclude, before he has sailed a mile, that he has not kept his course,
or that the wind has shifted. Then it is all up with him; confusion and
uncertainty follow, and there can be no telling where he will make land.
"What's it goin' to do, Raner?--hang here all day like this?" asked
Layn.
[Illustration: (uncaptioned)]
"It acts to me, with this light wind a blowin', as ef there'd be lots o'
fog adriftin' all day. But fog or no fog," replied Raner, "we mus' keep
a steppin'."
At Raner's suggestion the stroke was resumed, and the mowers gave no
further heed to the fog whose mysterious depths had shut them in, and
severed, as it seemed, all connection with the little world they knew.
Round and round they mowed, bout after bout, swinging their blades with
the same lively stroke. For three hours Alibee stood the driving well,
and then all of a sudden he broke out with, "This 'ere ain't
squar'--it's urgin' the thing a little too much. My scythe's losin' her
edge; the ol' rule is to whet at ev'ry corner, an' drink at ev'ry
round."
"Well, ain't we drunk at ev'ry round?" answered Layn; "an' I took notice
thet you swilled ez long ez any on us."
"Thet I'll 'low," said Josh; "but we ain't whet at ev'ry corner. Thet's
my p'int. Th' ain't nuthin' much made, ez I kin see, by drivin' so like
the devil. You'll wear me threadbare afore sundown, keepin' me here in
the middle. It's the hardest place to mow in, by a darn sight."
"Joshua," said Raner, "I thought you Manor men wuz all such cracked
mowyers. Here's Layn an' me, we're only common mowyers, an' you can't
keep your end up with us, hey?"
"Yes, I kin," replied Josh; "but what's the use o' killin' yerself. We
can't cut this ere medder to-day nohow, an' I don't see the use o'
workin' hard ez you kin swing, an' goin' home middle to-morrer to do
nuthin' all the arternoon. By gosh," he continued, sighing, as if partly
exhausted, "I'm darned ef I don't b'lieve some sort o' contrivance could
be rigged up to do this ere mowin'."
"What sort o' a contrivance, Josh?" quickly inquired Layn.
"Why, thar could be three ur four scythes hitched on to a post to swing
round, an' cut twice ez fast ez we're doin' on it. An' one o' these ere
days some ere feller'll rig up jist sich a machine."
"Not in our day, Joshua," laughed Raner.
"No, no; not in our day," repeated Layn, joining in the laugh.
"Your laughin' don't 'mek no dif'runce. I tell ye, I b'lieve it'll come
yit."
"Why don't you try it yerself, ef yer so confident?" asked Layn.
"I'm bedarned ef I don't b'lieve I could, ef I hed time, an' tools, an'
all the traps thet's wanted fur sich things. Them scythes, don't ye see,
could be rigged to go roun' jist like thet;" and here Alibee cut a
stroke to show what he meant. "Yes," he went on, growing earnest over
his vague idea, "you could rig jist about three strappin' good scythes
on to a post to swing roun' jist ez easy ez thet;" and here again he cut
a dashing stroke.
"What a cussed foolish idee that is, Josh," spoke up Raner, a little
vexed at the absurd notion. "How the devil, I'd like to know, would you
make the post go?"
"Thet ere could be done somehow ur nuther. Thar'd be a way hit on, if a
man taxed his noggin' long enough," replied Josh, hesitatingly.
Raner and Layn again both heartily laughed, and Josh said nothing more
upon the subject. Whether, though, it was his remonstrance, or whether
Raner thought they would thereby be able to cut more grass, he gave word
at the next corner to stop and whet. This change put Josh in better
spirits, for when the whetting was finished, he remarked, "Thar's only
jist one thing a lackin', and thet's the jug. Ef thet ere jug could only
foller us roun', we couldn't ask no more."
"Ef it did," said Layn, "you'd be all the time a guzzlin'."
"I ain't no bigger guzzler than you be," retorted Josh.
The morning wore on, and it seemed to Alibee that noon would never come.
Every stroke went against his will. At one time he was on the point of
deserting, and leaving Raner and Layn there to drive each other; but
seeing how dense the fog was, and remembering he had no other way of
getting off the Beach than to walk three or four miles east to the
groups of mowers they had passed in the morning, and fearing that he
might get lost should he attempt this--a thought which made him
shudder--he held himself in control. The fog at this time was so thick
that one could not distinguish an object four rods away, and the
impossibility of measuring with the eye what had been cut, and what yet
remained of the plot apportioned for the morning, was disheartening to
Alibee. To his mind it seemed an endless cutting in a prison of fog. If,
however, he had lost calculation and had thereby become dispirited, the
plot was lessening just as rapidly as if in full view from start to
finish. And shortly after midday, the mowers walked up the last narrow
strip, leaving the morning's stint all laid.
"Now fur a chance at what victuals we fetched along. You go to the
hay-boat, Josh, arter our pails, while Layn an' me heap up some o' this
grass to set on whilst we're eatin'."
"Gi' me a swaller fust," replied Alibee; and after satisfying his
thirst, he started for the hay-boat.
Ten minutes passed, and out of the fog came a voice, "Which way be yer?
How fur be I frum the boat?"
"This way o' you, an' to the nuthard," replied Raner. "Don't you hear
the surf to suthard o' you?"
Groping about a little longer, he found the boat and soon came out of
the fog with the dinner pails.
The mowers, to state it as they would, lost no time in falling to. Their
fare was plain--plainer, indeed, than was usual at home. But though
plain, the labor near the sea had whet their appetites, and they ate
with keener relish than at their own tables. Then, too, the jug came in
and played its part rather more freely than it would have done at home.
They talked of the morning's work, and discussed the probabilities of
cutting the rest of the meadow that afternoon and getting away for home
before sundown.
"We ain't laid but little more'n a third on it," remarked Layn. "It's my
opinion we'll hev to stay here on the Beach all night, an' cut the
balance 'arly to-morrer mornin'. Then, ef thar's any wind, we kin reach
Squasux landin' middle forenoon."
"Thet's the idee exac'ly," replied Josh. "Tek it easy this arternoon,
quit work arly, an' I'll hev a chance to git a bunch o' snipe. We kin
git home at noon to-morrer at thet rate, jist ez easy ez you kin toss up
yer hat."
"What 'o you say 'bout it, Raner?" asked Layn.
"Well, I wanted to git off to-night, but ef we're goin' to do it, we've
got to cut faster this arternoon then we hev this mornin'," replied
Raner.
A half hour was all the time taken for dinner. Layn carried the pails
back to the boat, and the mowers finished their rest by whetting their
scythes carefully, giving them a keener edge than they would take time
for in the midst of work.
"Ef we're all ready fur work ag'in," said Raner, "we'll cut in this
d'rection this arternoon. Down here an' up ag'in on the west side o' the
lot, ef we kin see where the west side o' the lot is."
Alibee fell into his old place without a word of complaint. Raner began
with the stroke he had maintained all day, but it was evident that
Alibee intended to make his stroke in slower time, while Layn was not so
anxious to drive him as he had been throughout the morning.
An hour passed, and Raner, after pacing over what yet remained uncut,
remarked, "We can't poke along in this way, ef we've got any idee o'
layin' this piece afore night. We come on here to cut, an' fur my part,
I want to git done and hev it over with."
"This 'ere's good 'nough," replied Josh. "Let it go et this."
The wind, they noticed, was blowing stronger, and the fog began to sweep
past them in dense scuds, at times suddenly growing thin as if about to
clear away. Occasionally a yellowish tinge overhead gave indications
that the sun had almost broken through, but presently a thick scud would
come and shut the mowers in again. Thus, with fantastic behavior, the
fog came and went. Two or three times, when it came the thickest, and
darkened rapidly about them, they broke their stroke and looked around.
"Fust it's dark an' close, then it's lighter, then it'll come in agin
thick, an' then, the nex' thing, the sun all but breaks through it. What
a witchin' sort o' an arternoon it is," said Layn.
"I'd a darned sight ruther it ud gether itself up an' shower. Then
thar'd be some likelihood o' the sun's comin' out an' dryin' on it up,"
replied Josh. "This ere thick an' thin, dark an' light, I don't like.
Raner," he continued, "you couldn't a picked a wuss day."
"I never knowed sech a day afore in my life," spoke Layn. "Miles o' this
fog has been runnin' by us all day long, an' this arternoon it's a
loomin' itself up an' meltin' away ag'in in all kinds o' shapes."
The long swaths they were now mowing lay in direction to and from the
ocean, and the place where the bouts ended and the indispensable jug
stood in readiness, chanced to be so situated with reference to the gap
between the hills that it afforded a view directly out upon the sea. The
nature of the fog made this view more or less indistinct, at times
shutting it entirely out of sight. Here the wind would bank up the fog,
twist it into fantastic shapes, and blow them all away, only to summon
more of the pliant medium and heap it up again into more grotesque
masses. The mowers, dull as their perception was, at last saw this, and
it wrought upon their minds. The feeling kept coming up that the
appearances which the fog assumed through the gap were due to some kind
of witchcraft. All the superstitious stories they had ever heard about
the Beach vividly recurred to them, and these idle tales now assumed the
very force of truth; and so they approached each time the spot that
opened up the view, with increasing dread. They slighted their whetting
at this corner, and would not have stopped at all had the jug been
elsewhere. Alibee's apprehensions that what he had seen through the gap
boded evil to them, were the first to get the upper hand of him, and
suddenly stepping ahead and cutting the first stroke, he broke out, "By
thunder, gi' me a chance to lead _once_. I'm darned ef I'm going to stay
on this ere Beach to-night, nohow."
Raner and Layn were startled by this sudden freak of Alibee's, but they
fell into line and followed with quicker stroke than they had heretofore
made. Alibee proved himself equal to the place he had assumed, and the
next corner was quickly reached. Here the whetting was done with new
energy, and the scythes flew again.
"Keep 'er up, Josh," urged Layn; "we're hard on ter you. I ain't got a
bit more notion then you hev o' stayin' on here all night."
They came round again to the dreaded corner. Alibee grated his teeth as
he thought of it, and his breathing was hard enough to be heard by the
others. Coming out first and looking seaward, the very thought he
intended not to mention slipped from his control, and he spoke out,
"Thar she is ag'in." But recovering himself to some extent, he turned
quickly about and continued, "Layn, you lead this time. Then it'll fall
ekal on all on us. Ev'ry man's got a dif'runt stroke, an' ef he leads
once, mows in the middle once, an' follers once, he gits a chance one
time ev'ry three, to swing his nat'rul stroke."
Stepping to the jug he took it up and, shaking it, resumed, "I swar, we
ain't got but 'bout one good horn apiece, and thet puts us in a
hell-sight wuss fix then we're in now."
They drained the jug to the last drop, and bent again to their work. The
pace they were keeping was exhausting, but they never slackened. Another
bout was finished within a dozen strokes, when Layn burst out, "Here we
come ag'in to thet blasted gap. My blamed eyes won't keep away from it
whenever we git roun' here."
"_You've_ seen it, then, hev yer?" asked Josh.
"Hang it, yes," replied Layn; "an' I've tried _not_ to, fur three times
now."
"So hev I, an' I seem hell-bent to look thet way whenever I git roun'."
Raner said not a word. It was his turn to lead, and he started in
without suffering the talk to go further. They were working to the
utmost of their strength. Layn and Alibee cut wider swaths than at any
previous time. They reached the end, and Layn said, "Raner, you go to
t'other end, an' roun' thet corner, so we kin mow by thar without
stoppin'. Josh an' me'll cut across this ere end, so's not to lose no
time."
Raner complied; but the others noticed that instead of returning the
instant he had accomplished the purpose, he stood a moment and looked
out through the gap.