SACK AND AXE.
Farmer Schecken’s house was rebuilt handsomer than before the fire.
With the winter came the drawing for recruits, but never was there
such sorrow at drawing an exemption as that Dami displayed. He was in
despair, and Amrie grieved with him, for she thought the soldier’s
discipline an excellent means to make the indolent Dami more firm and
steadfast. But she said, “Take it as a sign that you must from this
time forth support yourself like a man. You are like a little child
that cannot feed himself, but must have his food given him.”
“You would reproach me,” said Dami, “for what you do for me.”
“No, indeed, that I did not mean. Do not stand there so doleful, to see
who will do something for you, either good or bad; act for yourself!”
“That I will,” said Dami, “I will do something that will astonish you.”
For a long time he gave no hint of what he had in his mind; he went
boldly through the village, and talked freely with every one, and
worked industriously in the forest at wood-splitting. He had his
father’s axe, and seemed with it to have gained his father’s strength.
As Barefoot one day, in the early spring, met him returning from the
forest, he said, taking the axe from his shoulder,--
“Where do you think this is going?”
“Into the wood,” answered his sister; “but it cannot go alone--you must
send it there.”
“You are right. But it is going to its brother; one will strike above,
and the other beneath, and then there will be a crashing of trees like
the sound of a loaded cannon; you will not hear it--unless you choose
it. But none in this place will hear it.”
“I do not understand one word,” said Barefoot. “I am too old to guess
riddles; speak plainly.”
“Yes, I am going to our uncle in America.”
“What--to-day?” said Barefoot, jokingly. “Do you know what Martin, the
mason’s son, called to his mother? ‘Mother, throw me a clean shirt out
of the window, for I am going to walk to America.’ Those who would fly
away so easily, stay where they are.”
“We shall see how long I stay here,” said Dami, and turned without
another word into the coal-burner’s house.
Barefoot at first would have made herself merry over Dami’s strange
plan, but it would not succeed. She felt that there was something
serious in it. At night, when all in the house were in bed, she
hastened to her brother in the forest, and declared to him, once for
all, “that she could not go with him.”
She thought thus to turn him from his plan, but he answered shortly,--
“Well, but I am not grown to thee.” He seemed more decided than ever.
Barefoot felt again all the agitation of uncertainty, which she had
experienced in childhood; but she went not now for counsel to the wild
service-tree, as though that could answer her doubts, as out of all
question the conclusion was clear, “It is right for him to go; it is
also right for me to remain here.” She secretly rejoiced that Dami
could take so bold a resolution; it indicated so much manly strength of
mind; and though it affected her deeply to be left alone in the wide
world, she thought it right and noble that her brother should act with
so much healthy courage. Yet she did not entirely trust him, for the
next evening, when she met him, she said in passing--“Say nothing to
any one of your plan of emigrating, for if you should not carry it out,
you will be laughed at.”
“You are right,” said Dami, “but not because other people are to
influence me; for as certainly as I have five fingers on this hand, so
certainly I shall go before the cherries are ripe; even if I must beg
or steal the means to go. Only one thing I am sorry for, that I must go
away and not serve Schecken a trick that he should remember during his
whole life.”
“That is true man’s revenge”--Barefoot hastened to say, “that is real
wickedness of heart, to leave behind one the memory of injury. There,
over there, lie the graves of our parents--come! come with me, and
repeat there, if you can, what you have just said. Do you know who is
the most worthless of men? He who would injure another. Give me the
axe. You are not worthy to hold in your hand what has once been in our
father’s. Give up the axe, or I know not what I shall do. If you do not
instantly tear out that thought, both root and branch, from your soul,
I know not what I shall do! Give me the axe. No one shall have it who
talks of stealing and murder. Give it to me, or I know not what I shall
do!”
Dami said in a whisper, “It was only a thought; believe me, I did not
mean it, I could not do it; but as they always call me milksop, I
thought for once I would curse and threaten. You are right, and if you
wish it I will go to-night to Schecken, and tell him that I harbor no
malice, no bad thoughts in my heart against him.”
“That is not necessary; that would be too much, but since you are
reasonable, I will help you all I can.”
“It were best that you went with me.”
“No, that I cannot--I know not why, but I cannot! I have made no vow
that if you write me you go on well with our uncle, that I will not
follow you; but it is so uncertain, so in the mist, when one knows
nothing; and then I do not willingly change. I am very well here. Now
let us consider about your own affairs.”
It is the case with many emigrants, and it discloses a dark side of
human nature, that they take what they hope may remain unpunished
revenge. With others, the first act in the New World is to write home
to the officers of justice, and reveal secret crimes. It was on this
account that Amrie felt so much excitement lest her brother should
associate himself with those who strike in the dark. She felt doubly
joyful when Dami conquered his desire for revenge. No benevolent deed
is so refreshing to the soul, as that of turning another from vice and
error.
With her usual clearness of intellect, Amrie weighed all the
circumstances. Her uncle’s wife had written that they were doing
well--thus they knew the place of their residence. Dami’s savings
were very small, her own would not go far, and though Dami thought
the parish were bound to pay something, his sister would not hear of
it--“That,” she said, “should be the last recourse, if all others
failed.” She did not explain her intentions, but her first thought
had been to write to Farmer Landfried’s wife. She feared how such a
begging letter would strike the farmer’s wife, who perhaps had no
ready money. Then she thought of Farmer Rodel, who had promised her
a place in his testament: she would ask him to give her now what he
intended for her, if it were ever so little. Then it occurred to her,
that perhaps Schecken, who was now so prosperous, might be moved to
lend her a small sum--she said nothing to Dami of all this, but as she
collected his garments, and with much trouble persuaded Mariann to let
her have upon trust a piece of her treasured linen for shirts, which
she sat up all night to cut out and make,--all these preparations made
Dami tremble,--he had indeed acted as though his plan of emigrating was
unalterable, and yet it seemed to him now as though he was constrained
and forced by the stronger will of his sister to carry his plan into
execution. She even appeared to him hard-hearted, as though she wished
to get rid of him. He did not venture to say this distinctly--he
only brought forward little difficulties, which Barefoot treated as
necessary obstacles to leave-taking that would vanish when he went. She
hastened to Farmer Rodel, expressly desiring that he would give her now
what he promised to leave her in his will.
The old farmer asked, “Why are you so pressing? Can you not wait? What
is the matter?”
“Nothing--but I cannot wait.”
She then told him that she wanted to fit out her brother, who was going
to America.
This was a lucky excuse for the old farmer; he could make his
stinginess pass for wise forethought and consideration for her; he
declared he would not give a single farthing to help her to sacrifice
herself for her brother. Barefoot entreated him to speak to Farmer
Schecken. At last he consented, and boasted that he, a stranger, was
going to beg of a stranger, for a stranger, but he put it off from
day to day. Amrie would not spare him, and he, at last, took the path
to Schecken’s farm. As it might have been foreseen, he came back with
empty hands; for when Schecken asked what he intended to give, and he
answered,--
“For the present, nothing!”
Schecken said, “He was also of the same mind.”
When poor Amrie revealed to Mariann her sorrow at the hard-heartedness
of men, the old woman broke out with angry emotion,--
“Yes,” she said, “just so are men; if to-morrow one were to cast
himself into the water, and he were drawn out dead, every one would
say, ‘Had he only told me what was the matter, what he wanted, I would
so gladly have helped him! What would I not give to bring him back to
life!’ but to help him while he was yet alive, not one would move a
finger!”
Strange as it was, though the whole labor of the thing rested upon
Barefoot, she learnt to bear it cheerfully. One must depend on one’s
self alone, was her inward resolve, and instead of being disheartened
by all her difficulties, she was only made stronger and firmer. She
collected every thing that she could turn to money; she carried the
necklace she had formerly received from Landfried’s wife to the widow
of the former Sacristan, who solaced her widowhood by lending upon
pledges; even the ducat, she formerly threw back from the Surveyor, in
the churchyard, she now demanded back again. Still more surprising,
Rodel himself offered to demand of the village council, in which he
sat, a certain sum for the service of Dami. With the public money he
was always generous, as well as honest.
After a few days, he alarmed Barefoot by telling her that every thing
was settled with the council, upon the condition that Dami should give
up all claims to a home in the village. This had been understood from
the first, but now that it was made a condition, it seemed frightful to
Barefoot, that Dami should no longer have a home with her, or in any
place. She said nothing of her thoughts to him, and he again appeared
gay and good-humored. Mariann especially, encouraged him; she would
gladly have sent the whole village to foreign countries, that they
might learn something of her John. She now firmly believed that he had
crossed the sea. Raven Zacky told her that the salt flood of the sea
prevented the tears from flowing for one who was upon the other shore.
Amrie obtained permission from the farmer to go with her brother to the
next town, to make arrangement with the agent for his passage. They
were astonished to find it had already been done. The village council
had settled every thing, and while Dami enjoyed the privilege of
poverty, its duties were exacted from him. From the deck of the ship,
before it sailed into the wide sea, he must sign a certificate of his
departure; not till then was the money paid.
The brother and sister returned full of sadness; they went silently
into the village. Dami was oppressed with the feeling that something
would happen, because he had once said so, and Barefoot was deeply
grieved that her brother, at last, seemed to be thrust hastily away.
When they reached the entrance of the village, and the sign-post, upon
which were the names of the village and the district, Dami said aloud,
“Thou that standest here, God keep thee! Thou wilt be no longer my
home, and all the people here will be no more to me than thou art.”
Barefoot wept. She determined it should be the last time till after
Dami had gone. She kept her resolution, and the village people said,
“Barefoot had no heart, for her eyes were dry when her brother
departed!” They would have seen her weep. What were the tears that
were shed in secret to them? She took care to keep strong and active.
Only on the few last days, when Dami’s departure was delayed, did she
neglect her usual work. She would be always with her brother. When Rose
scolded her, she said only, “You are right,” and ran again to Dami. She
would not lose a minute while he was there. Every hour she thought she
could do something, or say something that would last him his life long;
then she tormented herself that she could say only common things, and
that she had so often disagreed with him.
Oh, those hours of leave-taking! How they press upon the heart; how all
the past and the future is crowded together into one agonizing moment,
and only one look, and one embrace, must express all!
Amrie gained time for more words. When she counted her brother’s new
shirts, she said, “These are good clean shirts; keep thyself good and
pure within them.” As she packed every thing into the sack upon which
their father’s name was marked, she said,--“Bring this back again full
of money, and we shall see how gladly they will restore to you all
your rights. The farmer’s Rose, if she remains single, will spring
over seven houses after thee.” When she laid her father’s axe in the
great chest she said,--“Oh! how smooth the handle is, how often has
our father’s hand gone over it. It seems as though I felt his hand
still upon it. So, now, I have a good motto,--‘Sack and Axe,’ working
and saving--with these, one becomes hearty, and healthy and happy. God
protect thee! Say often to yourself, ‘Sack and Axe.’ I will also often
say it. This shall be our mutual thought; our call to each other when
we are far,--far apart,--till you write to me, or come to fetch me,
or--as God will have it. ‘Sack and Axe.’ This contains all. All that we
think, and all that we gain.”
When Dami sat in the wagon, and for the last time she gave him her
hand, which she could not draw away till he started, then, in a clear
voice, she cried after him,--
“Remember, ‘Sack and Axe!’” He looked back, nodded, and he was gone!
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