The Young Deliverers of Pleasant Cove

  CHAPTER VII.

  YANKEE INGENUITY AMONG THE PEASANTS.

  In the morning, after eating and still further exploring the differentapartments of the castle, they bent their steps towards the village ofthe peasants.

  "Would you mention to Gabriel what we found in the secret passage?"asked Ned.

  "I don't think I should. I expect he knows more about it than we do."

  They found Gabriel and his neighbors all busily engaged. Some werebruising the olives in large mortars; others were treading themin tubs. There was oil everywhere, and the odor was anything butagreeable. Others, after placing the bruised pulp in sacks made ofgrass or rushes, carried them to the second story of a building, and,placing the sacks in the middle of the floor, piled great stones uponthem, which pressed the oil through holes bored in the floor, and itwas received in vessels beneath. In consequence of this slow methodof procedure, a large portion of the olives was likely to decay beforethey could be pressed, while not more than half the oil was extracted.As the weight of the stones did not sufficiently compress the pulp,much of it was wasted on the floor, and still more was lost in beingsoaked up by the multitude of different vessels in which the oliveswere trampled. This did not, however, obtain in respect to thosebruised in the mortars, which were stone.

  Gabriel conducted the boys from one building to another, and showedthem the olives, belonging to different peasants, which were spreadover the floors, where women and little children were picking out theleaves, stones, and decayed ones.

  "Why don't you have a mill to grind these olives?" asked Walter, "andscrews to press the pulp? A great part of them will rot before you canbruise them in this way; besides, you don't get half the oil, to saynothing of what is wasted, or of the time lost."

  Gabriel told them that before the revolution there were mills andpresses--the property of the grand seignior--in which all the olives ofthe peasants were ground and pressed; but they were destroyed at thattime.

  "Then that was what those stones were used for that we saw on the bankof the river?"

  "Yes."

  "But what were those for that lie so far from the stream, on the highground?"

  "They were turned by a horse or mule, or by a number of men. We usedthose before the rains came to raise the stream so the mill could work.It is often very dry here in the autumn."

  "Why don't you all turn to and build them up again, and use them incompany?"

  "We have no workmen; they have been conscripted, and are in the army,except a blacksmith, who was left to shoe the cattle and sharpen theplough-irons."

  "Is there no stone-cutter? Why don't you make some mill-stones? I'msure there are rocks enough. All turn to together, and at least set thesmaller mills a-going, instead of working in this childish fashion."

  The peasant scratched his head, and said, "The stone-cutter has beenconscripted."

  "Did you have a carpenter?"

  "Yes."

  "Was he drafted?"

  "What is that?"

  "Conscripted."

  "Yes."

  "What became of his tools?"

  "He sold them in Marseilles to get bread for his children."

  "In my country we are not tied to mechanics, because it is a newcountry, and they are scarce; but when a man wants a thing, he must sethis brains at work and make it, or do without it. How did that concernon the high ground work?"

  "The smaller stone, lying on top, went round the other, and was turnedby a mule."

  "Guess I know. It was rigged just like Uncle John Godsoe's mill thathe ground bark with. A stone ran edgeways on a plank floor, and theyshoved the pieces of bark under the stone. Who do the castle and theland round it belong to now?"

  "It was confiscated and sold by the National Assembly. Felix Bertaultowns the land where the mill stood, and two other peasants, Tonnelotand Bernard, the castle and the rest of the land."

  "Then it was their wood we burned last night. I will pay them for it."

  "That is nothing."

  "Look here, old friend," said Walter, slapping Gabriel on the shoulder."I am not a mechanic, but all my breed of people can handle tools.I can set that old affair going again, and better than ever it wentbefore; the upper stone is whole, and though the lower one is gone,I can lay a wooden platform. There's timber enough, and the best oftimber, in the old castle, and though not equal to a water-mill, itwill be an everlasting sight better than your mules, and you can usethem while I am doing it, if you like. I can fix a press, too, thatwill get about all the oil from the pulp."

  "But, citizen, you have no tools."

  "There are tools enough on board the vessel, and I ground them a fewdays ago. Go among your neighbors, and see what they say to it."

  Gabriel was in raptures, and ran to tell the peasants. He soonreturned, saying that every man, woman, and child were overjoyed, woulddo all they could to aid; that the carpenter's apprentice was left, andproffered his services.

  "That is first rate," said Walter. "Now, Ned, you must go to thevessel and get the tools. Be sure you get a cross-cut saw, and ask thecaptain to lend us the tackle and fall we get the anchors on to thebows with."

  Ned was soon mounted on a cart with Gosset (Gabriel's son), as Neddidn't know how to drive a mule that might take a notion to stop whenhalf way there, and they set off.

  Nimble hands and plenty of carts soon transported the old floor beamsand oak plank (which Walter selected) to the spot. The gate posts madecapital sills, upon which he laid his platform at the same height fromthe ground as the bottom stone of the old mill, in order that thetrough for receiving the oil might go under it.

  The apprentice, Raffard, proved to be a good workman, and Gosset alsoevinced a decided mechanical ability. Ned, too, could use tools quitewell.

  "That boy," said Walter to Gabriel, "only wants instruction andpractice to make a first-rate mechanic."

  There was no lack of iron bolts in the strong-hold, and the blacksmithmade all the iron-work necessary. An upright shaft was prepared, to beplaced in the centre of the platform, which, supported by cross-beamsattached to posts set in the ground, revolved on iron pintles, whichentered the platform and the cross-beam above.

  Walter now took a narrow strip of board, seven feet long, bored a holein one end, and slipped it over an iron pin placed in the hole in thecentre of the platform, which was jointed together perfectly tight, andsomewhat dishing, with holes to permit the drainage to escape into thetrough; in the other end he drove a pointed nail, and with it swept acircle on the platform; around this scratch he fayed pieces of plank toconfine the pulp. The diameter of the horse-track was eighteen feet.

  It was wonderful, and excited the surprise of Walter and Ned, towitness the instantaneous change wrought in the appearance of thepeasants. They were now all energy and activity, seemed completely tohave laid aside their listless, lounging attitudes, and manifested afertility of resource that the boys never supposed pertained to them.

  "All these people want," said Walter to Ned, "is opportunity. They aresmart, only give them a chance."

  It was night by the time Walter had made a horizontal shaft, which wasto run through a square hole in the centre of the edge-stone.

  The boys took supper at the house of Gabriel, but notwithstanding hisentreaties to pass the night with him, preferred their camp fire,although they gladly accepted the present of a pair of chickens, adozen eggs from Felix Bertault, honey from Tonnelot, and potatoes fromLeroux. Indeed, the entire community were ready to place their all atthe disposal of these young republicans, in whose energy, ingenuity,and self-reliance, they flattered themselves they beheld mirrored thefuture of their own children under the operation of the principles ofliberty, fraternity, and equality they had so recently inaugurated. Asthey separated, Walter told Gabriel that all except Raffard, Gosset,and Felix, had better keep at work among the olives after their oldfashion, as, the stuff being all on the spot, they were as many ascould work to advantage on the mill, and the others could be called fora hard lift. T
hey now set out for the castle.

  "Won't we have a tuck-out to-morrow morning?" said Ned. "I guessthere's no lack of pots and kettles among the ruins of the chateau.That one we carried the brands in will be first rate; it's all burntout clean."

  While Ned was making a fire, Walter was walking round among the woodson the side of the hill, apparently searching for something. When hereturned, he found a blazing fire at the old spot, but Ned nowherevisible.

  "Ned, where are you?"

  "Here, Wal; only come here."

  Following the direction of the voice, he found Ned on his knees beforethe kitchen fireplace of the chateau, the chimney of which was stillstanding. He was surrounded by old pots and kettles, one of which hewas busily engaged in scouring. He had also placed the wood on the oldandirons, ready to light in the morning.

  "O, Wal, just you see; here's a crane, pots, and kettles. I've foundthe well, and a tin pail to draw water in, but some bruised; a pitcher,with the nose broken off; six plates, three of 'em whole; four cups;only one of them is broken, and a little piece is broken out of theside of another; a couple of linen towels, but one of them is scorcheda little. I can't find any soap; but I've washed them out in lye. I'vefound lots of knives, forks, and spoons; only they are black and rusty,and the handles burnt off. Ain't it great, Wal?"

  "Yes, we are all provided for. Ain't you glad we didn't stop withGabriel?"

  "I guess I am."

  "Let us get everything ready to-night, because in the morning we shallwant to start early, and it will take some time to get breakfast, we'regoing to have such a famous one."

  After helping Ned scour the kettles, Walter went to the castle, andsoon returned with some cord, which he wound around the knives,affording a very good substitute for handles. He then ran them into theground, and rubbed them with brick and ashes, till he made them cleanand somewhat bright.

  "Let's have a table, Wal. That will put the touch on."

  "Agreed."

  Ned drove four stakes into the ground with the crowbar, and Walterbrought a large panel from the hall, which he placed on them.

  "I'll put the finishing stroke to it," said Ned; and, running back, hecame with a piece of splendid tapestry, which he flung over it; and nowthey set the table.

  "There," said Ned, "who can beat that--a carved table, tapestrytable-cloth, and Sevres china dishes? Now for getting into theblankets. Walter," said Ned, after they lay down, "what were youhunting so long in the woods after?"

  "I was trying to find a tree that had an elbow at the root."

  "What do you want of that?"

  "I'll tell you. In Godsoe's bark-mill the stone had a round hole in it,and turned around the shaft; and it wabbled, though that didn't makemuch difference in grinding bark, which was dry, and worth but little;so that waste was of no consequence. In this stone the hole is square.The shaft must turn with the stone on a pintle going into the uprightshaft; and if I don't have something to make it pull inwards and runtrue, it will be all the time grinding against the curb I have made tokeep the pulp in, and slatting off and on."

  "How can you help it?"

  "I've found a tree with an elbow at the root; and I'm going to dig itup, frame one end into the upright shaft, bring the elbow down overthe stone wheel, put a pintle in the end of the shaft, bore a holethrough the elbow, and have it turn in that, letting the elbow run downfar enough for the beast to pull level; and then the stone _must runtrue_."

  Next morning, after a glorious breakfast, the boys repaired to thevillage. With the aid of a strong force, the tree was cut out by theroots, the stick hewed on the spot, and transported on their shouldersto the mill. By means of the vessel's purchase, planks laid, and plentyof help, the great stone was parbuckled on to the platform, and put inplace.

  "Now, fellow-citizens," said Ned, flinging up his hat, "hurrah for aYankee bark-mill! Bring on your mules and olives."

  A mule was attached to the sweep, amid the cheers of the whole village.The mill was found to work excellently well, and ground the olives sofast that it required the efforts of all who had been employed bruisingthem in mortars to carry the pulp to the chamber and press it.

  "Now," said Walter, "for the press. How did you use to press them,Gabriel?"

  "There were presses belonging to the grand seignior, with woodenscrews; but they were burnt."

  "I don't know but I could cut the thread of a wooden screw, if I hadtime enough. However, that is not here nor there. I know what I _can_do: I can make a press with a lever, that will give you as much againoil as you can get by piling on stones, and make it right beside thismill, where you can shovel the pulp on to it, and save all portage andwaste."

  The next day, Walter, Ned, and their fellow-workmen--who had becomequite expert in the use of tools--laid another platform within two feetof the mill, and on a level with it, in order that the pulp could beeasily transferred from one to the other, and the oil from each runinto different ends of the same trough, and be dipped out between them.He then cut a deep channel around the edge of the platform, leading tothe trough, to conduct the oil. After this he built up, with the aid ofthe peasants, two abutments of stone, several feet above the platform,leaving in the middle, near the top, an opening eighteen inches square.

  "Are you a stone-mason?" asked Gabriel, in surprise.

  "No: but I've been used to building stone wall. I've worked on rockstill my fingers were worn so thin I couldn't take up a cup of hotcoffee."

  Now with the cattle they hauled three halves of the mill-stones thathad been split to the spot, and, with skids and the tackle, placed themon the abutments, one upon the other, composing an enormous aggregateof weight.

  "I calculate it will take some strength to lift those," said Walter,viewing his work with great complacency. "Now, Gabriel, for the biggestbeam in the old castle! If I was at home, I could get one big enough."

  "There is plenty of timber and large forests in France, my brother,although, since the revolution, it has been cut away in this part.Before that, the forests were very strictly guarded; but the NationalAssembly have sold a great deal. There are great beams in the castlethat grew in the olden time."

  After much labor, they obtained from beneath one of the floors an oakbeam fifty feet in length and a foot square. One end of this was placedin the opening left in the stone-work; at the other Walter built whathe called a "gin," which was a tripod of timber, fourteen feet inheight, with a bolt at the top to fasten the tackle, and a windlassbetween two of the legs, by which the timber could be raised orlowered. When all was prepared, Gabriel and his friends put the sacksfilled with pulp on the press, piling them up four feet in height, thenpoured on hot water, placed planks on the sacks, then blocks crosswise,and one large one lengthwise. The mere weight of the planks and blockscaused the oil to run merrily from the pulp, and pour into the trough.

  The delighted peasants danced round the press, and Gabriel told theboys it was better not to let the beam down, as the oil which ran fromthe mill while the olives were grinding, and from the press, under thatlight pressure, was of the best quality.

  When it ceased to run, the oil in the trough was dipped out, and thebeam let down, when it began to run freely again. They stood upon thebeam, and put on rocks, till they pressed the cake dry.

  "It will be difficult," said Gabriel, "to get this beam up; and your'gin' will be of no use without the tackle."

  "We have got another tackle. The captain will sell this, and take hispay in oil, I know. Contribute among yourselves, and buy it."

  "That we will gladly do."

  "I've got some old wine," said Felix, "that came out of the cellars ofthe aristocrats; he can have that."

  It was about four o'clock of an afternoon when the boys arrived at thissuccessful termination of their philanthropic labors.

  "This," said Gabriel, "has been a great day, a good day, one long to beremembered. Let us do no more to-day, but enjoy ourselves with thesegood citizens; we can soon press the olives now."

  As they sa
t conversing, after supper, Walter said to the peasants,--

  "People in our country--when a person has done a foolish thing; injuredhimself in trying to hurt another--have a fashion of saying 'that hehas bitten off his nose to spite his face.' It seems to me that you dida very silly thing when you broke the mill-stones and burnt up the oiland wine presses of the aristocrats. The stone never harmed you. Didn'tyou know that your crops were coming off, and that you would need allthese things yourselves? Why did you destroy those beautiful avenuesand groves? Now that the aristocrats are gone, you would be right gladto have those noble trees yourselves."

  In the course of their talk, Walter related to Gabriel some of theconversations he had held with the refugees at Salem, and observed thata great proportion of the American people, though ready to sympathizewith any nation desirous of self-government, were struck with horrorat the cruelties of which they had heard, and the wholesale massacresperpetrated, especially by the execution of the king and queen.

  The peasant leaped to his feet; his eyes shot fire, his lips were drawnapart, and his face assumed an expression so demoniacal as to leaveupon the minds of the boys no doubt of the part he had taken in theseterrible scenes.

  "_Execution of a king!_" he hissed between his teeth: "what better isthe blood of a king than that of any other creature God has made?"

  Controlling himself, he said more calmly,--

  "Young citizens, you have been deceived. You have heard but onestory--that of the aristocrats, of the oppressors. Listen now to thatof the oppressed--to me, Gabriel Quesnard, a peasant born and bred onthe soil of France, as were all my ancestors. I am not about to relateto you the cruelties practised in the days of my forefathers, when anoble has been known to kill a peasant, that he might warm his feet bythrusting them into his body on a cold day."

  "Horrible!" exclaimed both the boys in a breath. "Was that ever done?"

  "Indeed, and it would be difficult to tell what cruelties were notpractised; neither shall I speak of such things as the peasants beingcompelled to beat the water in the marshes with poles to keep the frogsfrom croaking, when the wife of their lord was sick, lest they shoulddisturb her. But I shall tell you of those miseries, which are ofyesterday, which myself, my neighbors, and children of your ages, haveendured. Let me tell you of the '_lettres de cachet_,'--issued by theking you pity so much,--by which a person was seized, perhaps in thestreet, and, without any form of trial, hurried to the Bastile, whilehis friends could only guess what had become of him. Any one who hadmoney enough could buy one.

  "When we levelled that accursed dungeon, we found citizens who hadgrown gray there, unconscious of crime and utterly ignorant of whatthey were accused.

  "In the spring the peasant is trying to get in his seed to raise breadfor his family. He, perhaps,--by some inadvertent word, wrung from himby the bitterness of oppression,--has given offence to the _intendant_;the _subd?l?gu?_ comes along and says, 'Go do your _corv?e_'(compulsory labor) at such a place. The poor man must loose his cattlefrom the plough, and work on the roads; or perhaps, in the midst ofharvest, must leave his grain to spoil, and go and carry convicts tothe galleys, haul ship-timber to the navy-yard, or supplies to somegarrison, while the soldiers prick his cattle with their swords, andinsult their driver. More than three hundred peasants, who owned theirland, were made beggars by the filling up of one valley in Lorraine.Every peasant was compelled to buy, and pay a tax on, seven pounds ofsalt a year, whether he used it or not.

  "The _capitaineries_--"

  "What were those?"

  "The right to preserve the game, which meant that they might keepwhole herds of deer and boars, and flocks of partridges, to overrunthe peasant's land and eat up his crops. Did he presume to kill one,to save the bread of his family, he was sent to the galleys; and thisright was not confined to their own lands, but extended to all thelands of the district. Yes, and the peasant was forbidden to weed orhoe his own grain, lest he should disturb the young partridges thatwere devouring his substance. Neither was he allowed to cut or ploughunder his own stubble, lest they should be deprived of shelter. Thiswas a right granted by the king to princes of the blood. All theseexactions came directly from the king, whom you pity so much. Inaddition to this were countless seignioral rights. There were perpetualdues. A seignior could sell his land, and still draw rent from thevery peasant who had bought it of him in the shape of seignioral dues.They, too, had their '_corv?es_,' and the peasant was forced to laborfor them a certain number of days in each year. On everything that heowned must he pay dues to them. Yes, he must pay them for the right ofselling his own produce in the market. Though in my time this customof stilling the frogs was abolished, we were compelled to pay a fineinstead of it. When, amid all these impositions, the peasant has raisedhis grain, he can't have a hand-mill to grind it in. He must grind inthe mill of the lord, bake his bread in the oven, and press his grapesand olives in the press of his master, and pay for the privilege, and,if unmarried, was subject to conscription; while from this and taxesthe nobles were exempt, and so were thousands of others--petty clerks,government officers, and all worth over so much property. Thus all theburden of taxation was thrown upon the peasant because he was poor,and taken from the noble because he was not. To this it must be addedthat the clergy, with their tithes, took what little was left. Now,consider that I have omitted almost as much as I have mentioned, andyou will be able to see the poor man's condition under the tyranny wehave destroyed. That was the 'servitude of the soil.' Marvel not thatwe were frantic, and only thought of destroying everything that was aninstrument of oppression while we had the power. Did you never see adog bite the stone that had been flung at him?"

  "Yes," replied Ned.

  "So it was with us. We hated those mills; those presses, where we hadbeen forced to work; those ovens, where we had been compelled to yieldup a portion of our scanty loaf; broad avenues of trees that we and ourfolks had been forced to plant; those roads, adorned with trees sobeautiful to others, were watered with the tears of the oppressed, andappeared frightful to us. In our delirium we thought only of destroyingall that could remind us of those detested tyrants and those bitterdays."

  "I have understood," said Walter, "that, for these many years past,the peasants had been less hardly dealt with; that, although the lawsremained unchanged upon the statute-books, they had not been rigidlyenforced."

  "That is true, citizens, and was the very reason of our rising."

  "That is strange, that people should rise just when their condition wasimproving."

  "Had you fallen into a deep pit, from which you could see no possibleway of escape, you would resign yourself to your fate; but, did youperceive some projection upon which you might clamber and escape, wouldit not cause you to strain every nerve?"

  "To be sure."

  "Thus it was with us. When we were less hardly dealt with, we knew itwas from lack of power; that it was not from charity, but fear. When wefelt that the clutch of the oppressor was loosening on the peasant'sthroat, we were no longer resigned. Then came the news of what had beendone in your country. Our children who had fought in your armies hadreturned. They brought with them these noble words, which were readto us by the few who could read: 'that all men are created free, andendowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights: that amongthese are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.' As we listened,tears flowed from our eyes, our hearts grew hot, we trembled with afeeling altogether new. We felt we also were men--struggled, broke ourletters, were _free_! Then we put to their lips the bitter cup of whichthey had made us drink so long, avenged the wrongs of our ancestors,and our own, and gave them blood for blood."

  As the boys listened, their sentiments underwent a change. They feltthat the greatest excesses of an ignorant people, in the paroxysm oftheir fury, made frantic by oppression, were in a great measure to belaid to the account of their oppressors.

  "We," continued Gabriel, perceiving the impression he had made, "arecalled bloodthirsty, and viewed with horror
, because we have shed muchblood in a short time; but they have been shedding it all the time.Which, my brother, carries the most water to the sea, the river thatwaters the valley, and whose stream is always full, or the mountaintorrent that floods the vale in the spring, and then leaves a drychannel?"

  "The river, to be sure," replied Walter.

  "Such is the difference between them and us. For hundreds of yearsthere has not been a day when the peasant's blood has nor flowed atthe will of his master. We guillotine a noble, or a priest; the newsflies over all lands. Who knows, or cares to know, the misery he hadinflicted upon the poor, and by which he had deserved a thousanddeaths? Our banished aristocrats are scattered over Europe and America.They are learned men, of noble blood; tell their story at every court,among all peoples, and write it in books for all to read; while thepeasant has suffered in silence, perished in prisons by starvation,and in the galleys, as unregarded as the dead leaves that strew yondervineyard."

  "I never thought of all these things before," said Walter, whenGabriel concluded; "this is indeed a story of fearful oppression."

  "It is a true story, citizen. For ages the blood of the oppressed hasbeen crying from the ground, and, at last, vengeance has come."