A LITTLE SUNSHINE.
A week had passed since the occurrence of the events just narrated.
It was a sunny morning; and Mrs. Sumerford was busily employed in
weaving, having in the loom a web of linen.
The dwelling of this motherly woman, so much beloved by her neighbors
and especially by all the young fry, was a log house of the rudest
description; still there was about it that air of neatness and comfort
that a thrifty woman will create under almost any circumstances.
The walls were of rough logs, and the openings between them stuffed
with moss; but it was driven as hard as the oakum in a vessel's seams,
and trimmed at the edges with a sharp knife. The bullet-proof shutters
were hung with wooden hinges from the top, and, instead of sliding,
swung up to the chamber floor, that was made of peeled poles.
The kitchen presented one feature not precisely in keeping with the
rest of the house; namely, a nice board floor, which, after the
advent of the whip-saw, Harry had substituted for the original one of
flattened poles (or puncheons).
In one corner was a bedstead; for the room served the different
purposes of kitchen, sleeping-room, and place of common resort. At the
windows were curtains of bulrushes; the floor was white and sanded; and
the bed boasted a linen spread, beautifully figured. In a side room was
the loom at which Mrs. Sumerford was weaving. All the clothing for four
boys and herself was spun and woven from flax and wool, and made up by
this goodly, pains-taking woman, who, though extremely sensitive in
respect to any danger that menaced her family, did not hesitate, as we
have just seen, to handle the rifle in their defence.
Stretched at full length on the hearth, lay a white-faced bear sound
asleep, with his right paw on his nose; and between his hind and fore
legs was the baby, also sound asleep, his head pillowed on the bear,
and his right hand clutching the creature's fur.
Sammy, with his wounded leg resting in a chair, was making a fancy
cane, by peeling the bark from a stick of moose-wood in a serpentine
curve, and so as to show the white wood in contrast with the dark and
mottled bark.
Alex and Enoch were dressing each other's wounds, and permitting the
dog to lick them; the tongue of a dog being considered, by the frontier
folks, a wonderful specific for healing gun-shot wounds.
Harry was on his knees in the corner of the fire-place, running
bullets, and melting his lead in a wooden ladle. Somebody may wonder
how he could melt lead in a wooden ladle. Well, he made the fire
inside, with bits of charcoal; and, as the coal was lighter than the
lead, when the latter melted, the charcoal and dust floated on top,
and could be blown off. The ladle burned up after a while, but not
very speedily; and it cost nothing but a little work to make another.
All were busily engaged; and there was little to break the quiet of
the morning, save the monotonous sound of Mrs. Sumerford's loom, as
she sprung the treadles, and beat up the filling with the beam, when
a great clamor of voices was heard outside, and a whole flock of
children, girls and boys, rushed in at the open door.
The dog began to wag his tail, and rub up against the children for
recognition. The bear took his paw from his nose, and gaped, showing
his white teeth; but, as the baby did not wake, went to sleep again.
"Well, well, what's in the wind now?" said Mrs. Sumerford.
"Don't you think, Mrs. Sumerford," cried Bobby Holt, "they've given
us some of the powder what the Indians that was killed had in their
pouches; and we're going to shoot wild pigeons, and go in swimming: we
hain't been in swimming this year."
"Us girls," said Maud Stewart, "are going after blueberries on the
mountains, while the boys are gunning and swimming."
"I wish I could go," said Sam.
"We'll bring you some pigeons, and you can go with us when you get
well," said Archie Crawford.
"I don't know about you children going in the woods. Who told you you
might go?" said Mrs. Sumerford.
"Mother said we might go," said Jane Holt.
"Father said I might go," said Ike Proctor.
"Did Mr. Holdness, or McClure, or Mr. Honeywood, know you were going?"
"I don't know as they did; but father said the Indians had had such a
browsing lately, they'd be shy of meddling with Wolf Run folks for a
spell."
"That wouldn't hinder them from prowling round, and snapping you up.
Only think of Prudence Holdness. There hadn't been an Indian sign
seen anywhere, and she only went out to pick a few herbs for her sick
father, and was carried off; and it was of God's mercy, and of the
Black Rifle, that she ever got back."
"We've got guns, we know how to shoot, and we'll shoot 'em," said
Archie proudly, "if they come near us."
"Oh, my! hear the roosters crow. You won't be behind the loop-holes
down there in the woods.--What do you think of it, Harry?"
"Let 'em go, mother: I don't think there's any danger. Only look at it:
these children were cooped up in garrison all winter; in the spring
they had but little liberty, for since Prudence Holdness was carried
off they have been kept in; and it's a hard case."
"Well, Harry, I sha'n't have one minute's peace if they do go."
"Well, mother, let 'em go; and, if you feel so, I'll get Mr. Holdness
and Nat Cuthbert, and we'll take our guns and follow 'em. You know we
haven't got so many hogs this year as usual, and the pigeons help out
the pork-trough. I think we ought to kill all the game and catch all
the fish we can."
"O mother!" cried Sammy: "you've got flour now; and won't you make some
berry-pies, and a pigeon-pie with crust, for me, 'cause I'm wounded and
can't go? Won't you, ma'am?"
"Yes; but I don't feel, I can't feel, it's what ought to be, for all
these children to go into the woods, even if the men do go. Three of
'em can't have their eyes everywhere, and watch so many; and they may
shoot each other, so many guns in children's hands."
Mrs. Sumerford sat down to her loom in a frame of mind far from quiet.
"We wanted Scip to go," said Jim Grant, "and Mr. Blanchard said he
might: he was dying to go, but he was so scared of the Indians! but if
Mr. Holdness, Harry, and Nat go, he won't be. I'll go and get him, and
come after with him and the men."
Whatever Mrs. Sumerford's opinion might be in respect to the
capabilities of the children, she knew very well that Harry would not
come home empty-handed. So after an early dinner, she got out the sieve
(a moose-hide punched full of holes with a burning-iron) and flour, and
mixed the dough ready for use when needed.
First came the girls, with their pails full of berries; then the boys,
each with a load of pigeons slung on his gun; finally Harry came with
as many as he could carry, saying he believed there were half as many
pigeons in the woods as leaves on the trees.
Sammy wanted all of them to stay to supper, especially Scip. Mrs.
Sumerford, who could never have too many children round her, was as
desirous to have them stop as was Sammy; but she said it would never
do, because they would want to stop and play a while after supper, and
their parents would think the Indians had carried them off. Didn't Mr.
Crawford go out to shoot pigeons, and come within one of being shot by
an Indian, and would have been, hadn't the hog took at the Indian?
The children wanted so much to stay, and Sammy was so anxious to have
them, that Nat Cuthbert, who came in with Harry, said he would get on
the horse and take some pigeons (as there were ten times as many as
they could eat), and give to the families around, and tell them the
children were safe.
"Well, Scip," said Mrs. Sumerford, "if you are going to stop, you may
make the pigeon-pie, and I'll make the berry ones."
This announcement was received with shouts by the children, for they
well knew Scip had no rival for getting up a savory mess.
After he had washed his face and hands, Mrs. Sumerford put an apron on
him, and he set to work.
The girls picked over the berries, and the boys plucked the
pigeons. There were many hungry mouths, and Scip made corresponding
preparations. There was no oven: but Scip lined a kettle with crust,
put in his pigeons and other things, and put on the upper crust; then,
putting a large iron bake-pan over the mouth of the kettle, set it on
the coals, and filled the pan with hot coals.
Mrs. Sumerford's plates were all either wood or pewter; but she was
better off than some, for she had one large earthen pan for milk, and
one smaller one. She made her pie in the small one, and baked it in the
Dutch oven which she borrowed from Mrs. Honeywood for the occasion: she
also made a berry-cake, and baked it on a board set before the fire,
with a stone behind to hold it up. Potatoes were baked in the ashes.
Notwithstanding the lack of the customary utensils, and more than all
of an oven, she made a capital pie: it was not only good, but a good
deal of it. Scip was equally successful, and made a glorious pie.
"Dere, chillen [setting it on the table in the kettle], he good stew
ebber man put in his mouf: under crust done, upper crust jes brown."
The very dog began to lick his chops as he inhaled the savory smell.
After the repast they decorated the house with boughs of sassafras,
locusts, wild flowers, and the pods of the cucumber-tree, and Scip
played on the jew's-harp. You would have thought they had just got out
of prison, they were so wild and full of tickle; and in one sense they
had, having been confined to a limited circle around their homes, kept
hard at work in the field, or set to fight for their lives with the
Indians.
None of the inmates of the garrison, old or young, were so supremely
happy as Scip; and before they separated he hugged the children all
round, and they hugged him, and Dan Mugford made the philosophical
reflection, that if the Indians had killed them all, Scip never could
have made that pie, nor could they have enjoyed the pleasure of eating
it.
The children now naturally supposed that the bars were all to be taken
down, and that they were to enjoy their old-time liberty: therefore the
next morning, the moment the chores were done and the cattle turned to
pasture, they were about to set forth on a fishing expedition, when, to
their no small surprise and grief, they were told that this liberty had
been granted them because of their long confinement in close quarters,
and also to show how highly their good behavior and pluck (when the
fort was threatened by the Indians) was appreciated, but that they
could not go again for a week at least. It would be useless for me to
attempt to describe how slowly and wearily the hours dragged along for
some days. The settlers were restricted from hunting as much as usual,
on the account of the risk of life and scarcity of powder and lead.
They had raised a less number of cattle and hogs, because the animals
were liable to be killed by prowling Indians in the pasture, and there
was a lack of salt with which to preserve pork and beef.
In this condition of affairs, the settlers, ever fruitful in
expedients, hit upon another method to supply themselves with food,
namely, by rearing a great number of fowls. These could be kept on
grain, of which they had an abundance, and, in the event of their being
compelled to live in garrison, could be kept very well inside the
stockade; and the eggs and flesh would afford a constant supply of food.
The children were therefore encouraged to raise chickens and other
kinds of fowl; and they engaged in the business with a will. They
set every hen, duck, and turkey, that wanted to sit, and a good many
that did not; fastening them on the nests with baskets and boxes of
birch-bark, and even tying them on with strings. When, as was often
the case, two hens had each a small brood of chickens, they gave both
broods to one hen to bring up, in order that the other might go to
laying; and the same with turkeys and ducks.
The greatest rivalry took place among the boys, each anxious to carry
off the palm. Cut off from their ordinary sources of amusement, they
gave their whole soul to this work, till fowl increased to such a
degree that Holdness said, "You can't step without treading on eggs or
chickens, nor go into the hovels to look for any tool, but a sitting
hen will fly up in your face."
Those were glorious days for Scip: he could steal all the eggs he
wished to; there were so many, no one suspected him.
Archie Crawford had reared a noble flock of ducks, of which he was
excessively proud. He took great delight in watching them, as, after
being let out in the morning, they waddled off to the swamp in Indian
file, the bright colors on the necks of the drakes glistening in the
rays of the morning sun, returning at night in the same manner.
Three of those dreary days had passed; and, on the morning of the
fourth, Archie had fed and was watching his ducks as they ate up the
corn. With him were Bobby Holt and Ike Proctor. The faces of the boys
were clouded, and they added to their discontent by talking about the
hard experience they were just then undergoing.
Their conference was interrupted by the loud "quack, quack," of the old
drake as he started for the swamp, the ducks and young drakes falling
into line behind him, with responsive but more subdued quacks.
"Wish I was a duck!" said Archie moodily.
"What do you want to be a duck for?" said Ike Proctor.
"'Cause I could go to the swamp or the river, go a-fishing or frogging,
or anywhere I had a mind to, then; but, 'cause I'm only a boy, I have
to stay in prison."
Hugh Crawford, who was putting a handle to an axe before the door,
heard the remark. The disconsolate tone in which it was uttered touched
him; and he said,--
"You shall go fishing, Archie; and Ike and Bobby too. I'll take my
rifle, and go with you, as soon as I put this axe-handle on, and wedge
it."
The boys ran to get their lines and bait, and were soon following the
trail of the ducks.