TREADING OUT THE GRAIN.
During the past season, wheat and other grain had assumed in the eyes
of the settlers a greater relative importance than ever before.
Wheat, oats, and barley could be raised abundantly on the burnt land;
but hitherto there had been very little inducement to raise either of
those grains, because they could not make use of them as articles of
food to any extent, and they did not pay when carried to market.
Corn had heretofore been their main dependence: that they could pound,
and make into bread. With corn they could keep and fatten swine; and,
in time of peace, hams paid when carried to market on pack-horses; and
pork was also the staple article of food.
But the Indians and the mill had effected a complete revolution. The
different grains were now of more value to them than Indian corn,
because they could grind the grain. The Scotch could have their
oatmeal; and the others, wheat flour, barley, and rye, to mix with
their corn-meal; and they were delivered from the drudgery of the
hominy-block.
It was less work to sow grain than to plant corn and hoe it: therefore
there was less exposure to Indians while doing it. Grain was not so
much exposed to the depredations of crows, blue-jays, coons, squirrels,
deer, and bears. Deer could be kept out by fences, but birds, bears,
coons, and squirrels could not.
When a bear enters a corn-field, he goes among the corn, sits on his
breech, stretches out his paws, and, gathering between them all the
corn he can reach, lies down on the heap, and munches the ears that lie
on top; then going along, breaks down more, thus destroying a great
deal more than he eats. The coons make up in numbers what they lack in
size, and are often more destructive than the bears. There is nothing,
except honey, that bears and coons love so well as corn in the milk:
the grain does not possess such attraction.
There was still another reason that diminished the importance of corn
in the opinion of the settlers at this juncture of their affairs. Corn
had obtained its paramount importance because it was the best, and,
indeed, was considered the only food suitable for fattening swine;
and pork, beef, and corn-bread were the great staples of life. But
neither pork nor beef could be preserved without salt, and salt could
be procured (while the country was filled with hostile Indians) only
with great labor and at the risk of life. In the grain, however, that
the mill enabled them to make use of, they found a substitute; and so
much less pork and other meat was required, that, with what salt they
had on hand, they could, by securing a good grain-crop, preserve meat
sufficient to carry them through the winter.
In this condition of things the settlers had planted but little corn,
and kept but few hogs, but had sown a large breadth of wheat, rye,
oats, barley, and pease, and planted a good many beans; intending to
eat more bread and less meat, as cattle and hogs were liable to be
killed by Indians, and hunting and fishing could only be prosecuted at
the risk of life.
The harvest was abundant; and the settlers were making the most
strenuous efforts to secure it, although many of them worked in misery
by reason of their wounds. Those who had the use of but one arm brought
the sheaves to the stacks with the other. Those who had the use of both
arms, but were wounded in the leg, made bands for the binders; or going
about the house on crutches, with a child to help them, superintended
the cooking while their wives and mothers were at work in the field.
Some who were wounded in the head or trunk of the body managed to rake
together in bunches for the binders.
Our young people will thus perceive the importance of the grain-crop to
the settlers, and likewise why they were willing to incur so fearful
a risk to preserve it, when they might have remained behind their
defences, and repulsed the foe with safety to themselves.
When the wheat was put in stooks, the other grains housed, and the
pease and beans secured, the wounded and the women were excused from
labor.
There was still, however, much to be done; for so long as the grain
was in the stack, or even in the barns, it was liable to be destroyed
by Indians, and even more so, as it was more compact. In order to be
secure, it must be inside the fort.
Threshing with flails was hard work, in which the wounded could not
engage, and it was a slow process. It was necessary to lose no time, as
they might be attacked again.
When the mill was built, some plank were left; and with a whip-saw
Israel Blanchard and Seth manufactured some more, and laid a platform
on the ground near the fort, within rifle-shot, and built a fence
around it.
On this platform they laid a great flooring of grain; and having kept
the horses and mules without food over night, and exercised them
beforehand to empty their stomachs, turned them into the enclosure, and
drove them over the grain with whips.
When one flooring was threshed they put on another, and thus beat out
the grain much faster than they could have done it by hand, had they
all been in a condition to labor.
The grain, chaff and all, was carried into the stockade, and put on the
floor of the block-house and flankers in heaps. It was now safe from
foes and weather. Afterwards, as the wind served, it was carried out
and winnowed on the same platform. The mill afforded an excellent place
in which to store it, being dry, and well ventilated by loop-holes.
The settlers now obtained the rest so much needed; and the greatest
care was bestowed upon the wounded, who had evidently not been
benefited by the labor absolute necessity had compelled them to
perform. Such is the life of a people living on the frontiers during
an Indian war. Wherever you go, and whatever you are doing, it is
necessary to be armed and on your guard; for life is the forfeit of
negligence. You can never commence any work with the certainty of
finishing it. When you lie down at night, the weapon must be within
reach of your hand.
The human mind possesses a wonderful power of adapting itself to
circumstances, and becoming reconciled to those apparently calculated
to produce prolonged torture. Surrounded by too many _real_ causes of
anxiety to concern themselves about _imaginary_ ones, these people,
when not under the pressure of actual suffering, were cheerful, patient
in trial; and no one entering their families would have suspected
from appearances that they were at any moment liable to be called to
struggle for their lives, and also perfectly sensible of it.
During the stormy times we have described, Scipio was nowhere to be
found. It was in accordance with the usual course of things for Scipio
and Mr. Seth to retire from action in times of danger.
It was taken for granted that the negro had concealed himself
somewhere, and would appear when the danger was past. During the season
of greatest peril, all were too much occupied to waste a thought on the
matter; but Scipio was an excellent reaper, and when they began to cut
the grain the black was both missed and needed.
"Boys, what has become of Scip? Hunt him up. He's hid away somewhere,"
said his master.
"We have hunted, Mr. Blanchard," said Archie Crawford, "in the
potato-hole, under the pig-pen, in the flankers, and everywhere we
knowed; and can't find nothing on him."
"Perhaps he's hid away in the old Cuthbert house."
"No, sir: we've looked there and in the mill."
The matter was dropped for the time; but when the harvest was
gathered, and no Scip made his appearance, there was a general
anxiety manifested, for the negro was a valuable member of the little
community. He was a good mechanic, his master having taught him the use
of tools. He was very strong and good at any kind of farm work. Unlike
most slaves, he was not indolent, and would allow no man to outdo him.
He was a great wrestler, and could jump and run with the best; he was
also an excellent shot at a mark, any small game, or deer, but was too
much of a coward to face a wolf or bear. He was an excellent cook, and
a great favorite with the good wives. Nobody could bring the butter
so quick, or tie a broom to the handle so fast, as Scip: and he was a
capital basket-maker, a lucky fisherman, could sing and play on the
jew's-harp, and beat a drum.
Scip loved the children with all his heart; and they returned his
affection with interest, and shared whatever they had with him, though
they sometimes amused themselves by working on his dread of the
Indians. Scip had two prominent failings,--he would steal eggs, and lie
to cover the theft.
It was not at first thought possible that the black, who cherished
a chronic fear of Indians, would leave the fort, a place of safety;
but, when every part of it had been searched in vain, Israel Blanchard
said,--
"It's plain he's not in the garrison: he's taken to the woods, and
got lost; or else he's got into the river to hide, and the current's
carried him off, and he's drowned."
"He may have got lost in the woods," said Holdness, "that's likely
enough; but there's not water enough in Raystown branch to drown that
darky: he swims like an otter."
"I'll tell you what to do," said Mrs. Honeywood: "take something Scip
has worn, a stocking or shirt, let Fan smell of it, and set her to
seek; she'll find if he's above ground, or, if he's under ground,
she'll find where he's buried."
"It's too late, wife: the scent's all gone, long ago. The slut can't
track him."
"Well, then," said Harry Sumerford, "we boys'll take all the pups and
the old slut to boot; and, between them and ourselves, we'll find him."
Harry, the young men, and all the children started with no less than
seven dogs, and went in different directions through the woods, the
dogs being divided among them.
Cal Holdness and Harry were together, accompanied by Fan; the slut
running through the woods, and then returning to them. At length they
heard her barking at a distance in the woods.
"She's treed something," said Harry,--"most like a bear or a coon. A
bear ought to be in decent order now."
Following the sound, they found Fan sitting at the butt of a great
pine. As they approached, she began to bark, whine, and scratch the
dead bark off the roots of the tree.
"A bear wouldn't be denning this time of year. I'll wager it's Scip,"
said Harry.
The tree was nearly dead; had a short butt, that, after running about
eighteen feet, divided into three large branches; and an ash, uprooted
by the wind, lay in the crotch. After quieting the dog, Harry, standing
at the foot of the tree, began to call Scip by name, and tell him that
the Indians were gone. For some fifteen minutes there was no answer;
but at length Scip's woolly head appeared in the crotch of the tree,
and by degrees was followed by his body. Harry and Cal always contended
that he was pale.
"Come down here, Scip," shouted Cal: "the Indians are gone."
"Won't dey come back?"
"Not without they come from another world: we've killed most of 'em."
"Hab dey killed Massa Blanchard and all de rest but you?"
"No: they haven't killed but three,--Mr. Stiefel, Wood, and David
Blanchard. Come down."
Scip, now satisfied, quickly descended along the trunk of the windfall,
to the great joy of Fan, who almost flung him down, jumping on him, and
licking his black face.
"How did you know about that tree, Scip?" said Harry. "How'd you know
'twas hollow?"
"Massa McClure kill a bear dere last fall."
When Scip heard that more than a hundred Indians were coming to attack
the fort, he felt sure they would take it, and determined to flee
to this tree, taking provisions with him. When asked how he came to
take that course, he replied that he recollected when the Indians
killed Alexander McDonald's family, that his nephew Donald was at some
distance from the house, in the woods, and, by hiding away there, saved
his life; and so he thought it best to hide in the woods, for he knew
the Indians would take the fort.