CHAPTER V.
HAPS AND MISHAPS.
IT is frequently the case that trials, which are very hard to bear atthe time, prove, in the end, to be the source of great and permanentbenefit. The sequel will show that the wreck of the West Wind, whichwas so galling to Charlie and John at the moment, was, in the result,to exert a favorable influence upon their whole lives.
The spring was now well advanced, and there were so many things tooccupy Charlie’s attention that boat-building was altogether out ofthe question. Indeed, for a time, he felt very little inclination tomeddle with it, and thought he never should again. There were sea-fowlto shoot, and Charlie had now become as fond of gunning as John. Thecurrant bushes were beginning to start, the buds on the apple, pear,and cherry trees in the garden, whose development he watched as a catwould a mouse, were beginning to swell, and early peas and potatoeswere to be planted. The robins also returned, and began to repairtheir last year’s nests, bringing another pair with them,--theirprogeny of the previous summer.
Charlie was hoping and expecting that the swallows, who came in suchnumbers to look at the island and the barn the summer before, wouldagain make their appearance; but, notwithstanding all these sourcesof interest and occupation, and though he felt at the time of hismisfortune that it would be a long time, if ever, before he shouldagain think of undertaking boat-building, it was not a fortnight beforehe found his thoughts running in the accustomed channel, and, as hetugged at the oars, pulling the Twilight against the wind, he couldbut think how much easier and pleasanter would have been the task ofsteering the West Wind over the billows; and he actually found himself,one day, in the sugar camp, looking at the pieces of the wreck, andconsidering how they might be put together; but several other subjectsof absorbing interest now presented themselves in rapid succession,which effectually prevented his cogitations from taking any practicalshape.
A baby, whose presence well nigh reconciled Charlie to the loss of theboat, made its appearance. He was exceedingly fond of the little ones,and was looking forward to the time when he could have the baby outdoors with him.
Mrs. Hadlock had come over to stay a while, and one day undertookto put the baby in the cradle; but little Ben stoutly resisted thisinfringement on his rights. He fought and screamed, declaring, asplainly as gestures and attempts at language could, that the cradlewas his; that he had not done with it, and would not give it up. Inthis emergency, Charlie bethought himself of the willow rods (sallies),which the boys had helped him peel the spring before, and determinedto make the baby a cradle, which should altogether eclipse that of SamAtkins. The rods being thoroughly dry, he soaked them in water, whenthey became tough and pliant. He stained part of them with the brightcolors he had procured in Boston the year before, some red, othersblue and green. He then wove his cradle, putting an ornamental fringeround the rim, and also a canopy over it. The bottom was of pine,but he made the rockers of mahogany that Joe Griffin had given him.When the willow was first peeled, it was white as snow, but by lyinghad acquired a yellowish tinge, and was somewhat soiled in working.Charlie therefore put it under an empty hogshead, and smoked it withbrimstone, which removed all the yellow tinge, and the soil receivedfrom the hands, making it as white as at first. When finished, itexcited the admiration of the household, none of whom, except Ben, hadever seen any willow-work before.
“Well, Charlie,” said Mrs. Hadlock, “that beats the Indians, out andout.”
“It will last a great deal longer than their work,” said he; “but Idon’t think I could ever make their porcupine-work.”
Ben, Jr., appreciated the new cradle as highly as the rest, instantlyclambered in, and laid claim to it, and was so outrageous, wishingto appropriate both, though he could use but one at a time, that hisfather gave him a sound whipping. He fled to Charlie for consolation,who, to give satisfaction all round, made him a willow chair, and dyedit all the colors of the rainbow.
Charlie now prepared to give a higher exhibition of his skill. Heselected some of the best willows of small size, and made severalbeautiful work-baskets, of various sizes and colors. He then took someof the longest rods, of the straightest grain, and with his knife splitthe butt in four pieces, two or three inches in length; then took apiece of hard wood (granadilla), made sharp at one end, and withfour scores in it; inserting the point in the split, he put the otherend against his breast, and pushed it through the whole length of therod, thus dividing it into four equal parts. He then put the quarterson his thigh, and with his knife shaved off the heart-wood, leavingthe outside sap reduced to a thin, tough shaving, like cloth. This hemade up into skeins, and kept it to wind the rims and handles of hisbaskets. He told them that a regular workman had a piece of bone orivory to split the rod with, and an instrument much like a spoke-shaveto shave it to a ribbon, but he made a piece of wood and a knife answerhis purpose.
Charlie’s West India wood was constantly coming into use, for one thingor another, and Joe Griffin could not have given him a more acceptableor useful present.
He also used his skeins of willow for winding the legs of the threechairs he made, one for his mother, one for Hannah Murch, and one forMrs. Hadlock. The legs were made of stout willow, and wound with thesebands.
He presented work-baskets to his mother, Mrs. Rhines, and herdaughters, and Aunt Molly Bradish, and expressed his determination tomake some baskets the next winter to send over to the mill, that peoplemight see them.
What was his delight on going out one night, after supper, to get somewillows he had put to soak in the brook, to see a company of swallowshe disturbed fly off in the direction of the barn, with their billsfull of clay! Following them, he saw, with great joy, some of them flyinto the holes he had cut in the barn, while others deposited theirburdens beneath the eaves outside.
By that he knew that two kinds of swallows had come to take up theirabode, and were building their nests--barn-swallows and eave-swallows.
He was not long in getting to the house with the glad tidings, whichdelighted his mother as much as himself.
“I think,” she said, “eave-swallows are the prettiest things in theworld, they look so cunning sticking their heads out of a little roundhole in their nest!”
“Yes, mother, and I’ve seen them two stories on Captain Rhines’sbarn--one nest right over the other.”
It seemed as if a kind Providence had determined to remunerate Charliefor his disappointment in respect to the boat. He kept his goose, withher goslings, in a large pen near the barn, while the wild gander waslet out every day to go where he liked. The great body of wild geesewere now gone; but a few stragglers from broken flocks still remained,and were not considered worth the attention of gunners.
A brush fence ran across the island behind the barn, dividing the fieldfrom the pasture. Great was Charlie’s surprise, when coming one day todinner, he saw the gander in conversation with a wild goose throughthe fence. He could not fly over the fence, as one wing was mutilated,therefore was trying to persuade the goose to fly over to him. Thegoose, on the other hand, being lonely,--the rest of the flock probablyhaving been shot,--was desirous of company, but afraid to venture. Thegander would walk along one side of the fence, and the goose the other,a little ways, and then stop and talk the matter over. Charlie ran andmade a hole in the fence, right abreast the back barn doors, while theywere down under the hill out of sight, and opened the barn doors thatled into the floor, then hid himself and watched them. They continuedwalking along till they found the gap, when the gander instantly wentthrough, and joined the goose, making the most strenuous efforts toentice her to follow him through the hole, and finally succeeded; heevidently wished to coax her to the barn, but the goose held off; shewould venture a little way, and then go back, her head erect, turningin every direction, and her eyes flashing like balls of fire. It seemedas if the gander would fail in his efforts, and she appeared about torise and fly away.
At this juncture, Charlie, in his concealment, flung some corn aroundthe barn door: the gander
now redoubled his efforts; he would runahead, pick up some corn, then run back and tell her how good it was.The goose, evidently hungry, now approached slowly, and began topick the corn, a train of it extending into the floor; Charlie wasso excited he could hear his heart beat. He now crawled out of thebarn, and concealed himself outside, and the goose, following up thescattered kernels, entered the floor, when Charlie slammed the door to.He could hardly believe that he had a veritable wild goose unhurt; heflew into the house, where they were all through dinner, and repliedto his mother’s question, of where he had been, by taking her and Benby the hand and dragging them to the barn, where they found the wildgoose on the collar beam, and the gander on the floor, vainly strivingto entice her down. After being chased from beam to beam, she buriedherself in the hay, when they caught her and clipped her wings.
The flax being done out, Sally, with a good smart girl to help her(Sally Merrithew), had linen yarn to bleach to her heart’s content.One forenoon, about eleven o’clock, Ben and Charlie were in the field;Sally had spread some linen yarn on the grass to whiten, and gone in toget dinner. All at once a terrible outcry arose from the house; Sallywas screaming, “Ben! Ben! get the gun;” the baby was bawling for dearlife, and Sailor barking in concert.
The cause of the outcry was soon manifest. A large fish-hawk was seensailing along in the direction of the eastern point, with two skeins ofSally’s yarn in his claws, screaming with delight at the richness ofhis prize.
“Why don’t you fire, Ben?” screamed Sally.
“It’s no use,” said Ben; “he’s out of range.”
“Well, get the axe and cut the tree down this minute.”
“I will, mother,” said Charlie, running to the wood-pile for the axe.
“Stop till after dinner,” said Ben, who had not the most distant ideaof cutting the tree down; however, he felt very sorry for Sally, andlike a prudent general, permitted her feelings to exhaust themselves.“If I’ve got to cut that great pine down this warm day, I think I musthave a cup of tea.” He well knew the soothing effect of a cup of tea.
When they were seated at table, he said,--
“What a nice dinner this is, Sally! you do make the best bread, andsuch nice butter!” Not a word about the fish-hawk. But as dinner wasmost over, Ben began to unfold his purpose. “Sally,” said he, “do youlove that little creature?” pointing to the baby.
“How can you ask such a question?”
“Haven’t you taken a great deal of comfort in making his littledresses? and wouldn’t you feel bad if some one should come and teardown this house, break the furniture, and destroy all that we’veworked, scrubbed, and contrived so long to collect around us, for theselittle ones?”
“Why, Ben, how you talk! Of course I should. But what makes you talkso? Who’s going to hurt us?”
“Nobody, I hope; but suppose somebody had taken some little thing fromus,--an axe, a shovel, or a milk pan,--would you want their house torndown over their heads for it?”
“No; I’d say the worst is their own.”
“But you want me to cut down that tree, and break that poor fish-hawk’snest to pieces, that she has built stick by stick, lugging them milesthrough the air in her claws, just because she took two skeins of yarnto line her nest with, it’s so much better than eel-grass, and which weshall hardly miss; besides, she don’t know any better than to take whatshe wants, wherever she can find it.”
At this appeal Sally cast down her eyes and colored; at length shesaid,--
“You are right, Ben, I know; but it was so provoking, after I hadworked so hard to spin and scour that yarn, the first, too, that wehave ever had, of our own raising, to see it going off in the claws ofa fish-hawk!”
“Well,” continued Ben, “this fish-hawk came and built here the firstspring we lived here, and kind of put herself under our protection,building her nest so near the house, where we pass under it everyday; they are harmless creatures, and never pull up corn, like thecrows or blue jays; nor carry off lambs, like the eagles; nor pick outtheir eyes when they get mired or cast, as the ravens do. There’s anoble disposition in a fish-hawk: they are industrious, work hard fora living, and maintain their families by their own labor; they won’tpick up a dead fish, or eel, or feed on a dead horse or cow, like aneagle or carrion crow, but will have a live fish, that they have takenfresh from the sea; they won’t be beholden to chance, nor anybody, fortheir living, but earn it, as every honest person should, in the sweatof their face. Once when I was a boy, just for fun, I put the eggsof two fish-hawk’s nests into one. I was over here with father afterthey were all hatched out, and there was the nest, heaping full, thelittle hawks screaming, and the old ones springing to it, working likegood ones to bring up such a family. There were some great lazy eaglessitting in the tops of the pines, and every once in the while, when thehawks would get a good large flounder, they would give chase and takeit away from them. O, how mad I was! Two or three times I got up my gunto shoot; but father wouldn’t let me, because he said that to shootan eagle was bad luck.” As he concluded, he looked at his watch, andsaid, “We’ve been only an hour and a half at dinner; and what of it?”he continued, putting his great brawny arms on the table, that creakedunder the weight. “This is the comfort of the farmer’s life--he is hisown employer. Now, if I was a sailor, the mate would come forward, andsing out, ‘Turn to there, men;’ if I was a fisherman, and the fishdidn’t bite, there’d be my expenses going on; if I was a shipmaster, Imust hurry into port, and then hurry just as fast out, and if I made abad voyage or a long passage, the owners would look sour; but now, ifI am sick, or happen to feel lazy, the grain will grow, the cows givemilk, and the sheep make wool, all the same.”
It is evident Ben felt remarkably happy about this time, one reasonof which was, that he had determined to put Joe Griffin in thePerseverance, who was going to fish a short distance from the shore.Henry Griffin and Robert Yelf were going with him, and Uncle Isaacbefore and after haying: thus Ben was going to have a good timefarming--the work he liked best.
“Sally,” said Mrs. Hadlock, “I wouldn’t worry about the yarn; it’snothing to what old Aunt Betty Prindle met with.”
“What was that, mother?”
“She had a shawl that had been her grandmother’s; a beautiful oneit was; came from foreign parts, and cost a sight in its day; buthaving been worn for so many years, you know, it would naturally getsoiled. She had been wanting to wash it for a great many years, hadoften threatened to, and indeed more than once set a time to do it;but when the time came her heart failed her; even after the water washot, she was afraid to put it into the tub, for fear it would fade. Ithink she would have done it once, but her darter Patience, who knewit would fall to her when the old lady was done with it, discouragedher. At last, one spring, just about this time of year (she lived, youknow, with her son Richard), she determined that, come what might,she _would_ wash it. One morning she said to her granddarter, ‘LoisAnn Prindle, do you go straight down to Aunt Olive Cobb’s and PeggySylvester’s, over to Mrs. Joe Ransom’s, and the widder Tucker’s,give my compliments, and ask them to come over and take a cup of tea(_green_ tea, mind) with me this afternoon.’ They all came; and whentea was over, she said, ‘You know, neighbors, I am an old parson, andcan’t, in the course of nature, expect to live many years. I do wantto see this shawl washed before I’m taken away; but our Patience hasalways discouraged me; but she’s gone to Cape Porpoise to stay amonth, and I’m determined to have it in the tub before she comes back;that is, if you think it will do; and I want you to pass your judgmenton’t.’”
“The old lady meant to have plenty of advice,” said Sally.
“That was so that Patience couldn’t put all the blame on her, in caseit faded,” replied Ben.
“The shawl was brought out,” said Mrs. Hadlock, “and laid across theirknees, when judgment was passed on it; every one but the widow Tuckerthought it would wash, and if it was their shawl, they should wash it;but she said, ‘she knew it wouldn’t wash,
for the Wildridge family,in old York, had jest such a shawl, and they washed it, and it fadeddreadfully; but there,’ said she, looking out of the window, ‘comesblack Luce, Flour’s wife; she is a great washer and ironer, and knowsmore about it than all of us.’ Luce was called in, and said, ‘if theyput a beef’s gall in the water, it would set the color, and it wouldn’tfade a mite.’ ‘Then I’ll wash it, I declare to man I will, for EnochPaine’s going to kill an ox this week, and our Patience won’t be hometill long arter that.’
“Aunt Betty procured her beef’s gall, got her water hot, and put it in.
“‘Here it goes,’ said she, ‘hit or miss,’ dropping the shawl into thetub. She washed and spread it out on the grass to dry, and every twoor three minutes ran out to look at it. At length it began to dry atthe edges, and she saw it wasn’t going to fade one mite. Down went herflatirons to the fire. ‘Lois Ann, run right down to the neighbors youwent to before, tell them the shawl is drying beautifully. I am goingto iron it, and want them to come up and take tea to-night, and see it.Tell Luce to come, too, and arter we’ve done, she shall have as good acup of green tea as ever she had in her life.’”
“She was a good old soul,” said Ben; “she didn’t forget old Luce.”
“Not she; but, as I was saying, she got her table out, and irons hot;but just as she opened the door to bring in the shawl, she saw afish-hawk rising from the ground with it in his claws. Almost besideherself, she screamed for Richard, who came running from the field; butlong enough before he could load the gun, the hawk was out of sightbehind a high hill back of the house; and when I heard Sally screamingfor Ben, it brought it right up.”
“Why couldn’t they have followed, seen where he went to, and cut thetree down?” asked Charlie.
“Because, child, it was all thick woods. You couldn’t see, only rightup in the air, without climbing a tall tree, and before they could dothat he was out of sight.”
“Did the women come?”
“Yes; but instead of rejoicing with the poor old lady, they did theirbest to console her. She didn’t live but a week after that. Somethought the loss of the shawl, and thinking what Patience would saywhen she came, shortened her days; but I don’t. She was very old, andhad been very feeble all the winter before.”
“Did they ever find it?”
“Yes; some men, who were clearing land two miles off, cut down a tree,the next summer, that had a fish-hawk’s nest on it; and there was theshawl, all rotten and covered with the lice that are always on youngfish-hawks.”
“The hawk is welcome to the yarn, mother.”
“That’s right, Sally; that is spoken like a child of mine, and a good,thoughtful girl. If the Lord had told you, two years ago, that he wouldgive you all he has sent you in that time, by the way of the Ark, ifyou would give a couple of skeins of yarn to a fish-hawk, you wouldhave been very glad to have done it. These are all his creatures, andhe careth for them, and feeds them all. The robins, in their nests,open their little mouths for God to feed them. The Scripture says, ‘Hefeedeth the ravens, and not even a sparrow is forgotten before God.’”