Two Little Savages

  I

  The New Home

  Yan was now fourteen years old long-legged, thin, and growing fast Thedoctor marked this combination and said: "Send him on a farm for ayear."

  Thus it was that an arrangement was made for Yan to work for his boardat the farmhouse of William Raften of Sanger.

  Sanger was a settlement just emerging from the early or backwoodsperiod.

  The recognized steps are, first, the frontier or woods where allis unbroken forest and Deer abound; next the backwoods where smallclearings appear; then a settlement where the forest and clearings areabout equal and the Deer gone; last, an agricultural district, withmere shreds of forest remaining.

  Thirty years before, Sanger had been "taken up" by a populationchiefly from Ireland, sturdy peasantry for the most part, who broughtwith them the ancient feud that has so long divided Ireland--thebitter quarrel between the Catholics or "Dogans" (why so called noneknew) and Protestants, more usually styled "Prattisons." The coloursof the Catholics were green and white; of the Protestants orangeand blue; and hence another distinctive name of the latter was"Orangemen."

  These two factions split the social structure in two vertically. Therewere, in addition, several horizontal lines of cleavage which, likegeological seams, ran across both segments.

  In those days, the early part of the nineteenth century, the BritishGovernment used to assist desirable persons who wished to emigrate toCanada from Ireland. This aid consisted of a free ocean passage. Manywho could not convince the Government of their desirability and yetcould raise the money, came with them, paying their regular steeragerate of $15. These were alike to the outside world, but not tothemselves. Those who paid their way were "passengers," and were, intheir own opinion, many social worlds above the assisted ones, whowere called "Emmy Grants." This distinction was never forgotten amongthe residents of Sanger.

  Yet two other social grades existed. Every man and boy in Sanger wasan expert with the axe; was wonderfully adroit. The familiar phrase,"He's a good man," had two accepted meanings: If obviously applied toa settler during the regular Saturday night Irish row in the littletown of Downey's Dump, it meant he was an able man with his fists;but if to his home life on the farm, it implied that he was unusuallydexterous with the axe. A man who fell below standard was despised.Since the houses of hewn logs were made by their owners, theyreflected the axemen's skill. There were two styles of logarchitecture; the shanty with corners criss-cross, called hog-penfinish, and the other, the house with the corners neatly finished,called dovetail finish. In Sanger it was a social black eye to live ina house of the first kind. The residents were considered "scrubs" or"riff-raff" by those whose superior axemanship had provided themore neatly finished dwelling. A later division crept in among the"dovetailers" themselves when a brickyard was opened. The moreprosperous settlers put up neat little brick houses. To the surpriseof all, one Phil O'Leary, a poor but prolific Dogan, leaped at oncefrom a hog-pen log to a fine brick, and caused no end of perplexityto the ruling society queens, simply paralyzing the social register,since his nine fat daughters now had claims with the best. Many,however, whose brick houses were but five years old, denounced theO'Learys as upstarts and for long witheld all social recognition.William Raften, as the most prosperous man in the community, wasfirst to appear in red bricks. His implacable enemy, Char-less (twosyllables) Boyle, egged on by his wife, now also took the red brickplunge, though he dispensed with masons and laid the bricks himself,with the help of his seventeen sons. These two men, though Orangemenboth, were deadly enemies, as the wives were social rivals. Raften wasthe stronger and richer man, but Boyle, whose father had paid his ownsteerage rate, knew all about Raften's father, and always wound upany discussion by hurling in Raften's teeth: "Don't talk to me, yeupstart. Everybody knows ye are nothing but a Emmy Grant." This wasthe one fly in the Raften ointment. No use denying it. His fatherhad accepted a free passage, true, and Boyle had received a freehomestead, but what of that--that counted for nothing. Old Boyle hadbeen a "PASSENGER," old Raften an "EMMY GRANT."

  This was the new community that Yan had entered, and the words Doganand Prattison, "green" and "orange and blue," began to loom large,along with the ideas and animosities they stood for.

  The accent of the Sangerite was mixed. First, there was a rich Irishbrogue with many Irish words; this belonged chiefly to the old folks.The Irish of such men as Raften was quite evident in their speech, butnot strong enough to warrant the accepted Irish spelling of books,except when the speaker was greatly excited. The young generationhad almost no Irish accent, but all had sifted down to the peculiarburring nasal whine of the backwoods Canadian.

  Mr. and Mrs. Raften met Yan at the station. They had supper togetherat the tavern and drove him to their home, where they showed him intothe big dining-room--living-room--kitchen. Over behind the stove wasa tall, awkward boy with carroty hair and small, dark eyes set muchaslant in the saddest of faces. Mrs. Raften said, "Come, Sam, andshake hands with Yan." Sam came sheepishly forward, shook hands in aflabby way, and said, in drawling tones, "How-do," then retired behindthe stove to gaze with melancholy soberness at Yan, whenever he coulddo so without being caught at it. Mr. and Mrs. Raften were attendingto various matters elsewhere, and Yan was left alone and miserable.The idea of giving up college to go on a farm had been a hard one forhim to accept, but he had sullenly bowed to his father's command andthen at length learned to like the prospect of getting away fromBonnerton into the country. After all, it was but for a year, and itpromised so much of joy. Sunday-school left behind. Church reduced toa minimum. All his life outdoors, among fields and woods--surely thisspelled happiness; but now that he was really there, the abominationof desolation seemed sitting on all things and the evening was oneof unalloyed misery. He had nothing to tell of, but a cloud of blackdespair seemed to have settled for good on the world. His mouth waspinching very hard and his eyes blinking to keep back the tears whenMrs. Raften came into the room. She saw at a glance what was wrong."He's homesick," she said to her husband. "He'll be all rightto-morrow," and she took Yan by the hand and led him upstairs to bed.

  Twenty minutes later she came to see if he was comfortable. She tuckedthe clothes in around him, then, stooping down for a good-night kiss,she found his face wet with tears. She put her arms about him for amoment, kissed him several times, and said, "Never mind, you will feelall right to-morrow," then wisely left him alone.

  Whence came that load of misery and horror, or whither it went, Yannever knew. He saw it no more, and the next morning he began tointerest himself in his new world.

  William Raften had a number of farms all in fine order and clearof mortgages; and each year he added to his estates. He was sober,shrewd, even cunning, hated by most of his neighbours because he wastoo clever for them and kept on getting richer. His hard side was forthe world and his soft side for his family. Not that he was reallysoft in any respect. He had had to fight his life-battle alone,beginning with nothing, and the many hard knocks had hardened him, butthe few who knew him best could testify to the warm Irish heart thatcontinued unchanged within him, albeit it was each year fartherfrom the surface. His manners, even in the house, were abrupt andmasterful. There was no mistaking his orders, and no excuse for notcomplying with them. To his children when infants, and to his wifeonly, he was always tender, and those who saw him cold and grasping,overreaching the sharpers of the grain market, would scarcely haverecognized the big, warm-hearted happy-looking father at home an hourlater when he was playing horse with his baby daughter or awkwardlypaying post-graduate court to his smiling wife.

  He had little "eddication," could hardly read, and was thereforegreatly impressed with the value of "book larnin'," and determinedthat his own children should have the "best that money could git inthat line," which probably meant that they should read fluently. Hisown reading was done on Sunday mornings, when he painfully spelled outthe important items in a weekly paper; "important" meant referringto the produce market or the prize ring, for h
e had been known andrespected as a boxer, and dearly loved the exquisite details of thelatest bouts. He used to go to church with his wife once a month toplease her, and thought it very unfair therefore that she should takeno interest in his favourite hobby--the manly art.

  Although hard and even brutal in his dealings with men, he could notbear to see an animal ill used. "The men can holler when they're hurt,but the poor dumb baste has no protection." He was the only farmer inthe country that would not sell or shoot a worn-out horse. "The poorbrute has wurruked hard an' hez airned his kape for the rest av hisdays." So Duncan, Jerry and several others were "retired" and livedtheir latter days in idleness, in one case for more than ten years.

  Raften had thrashed more than one neighbour for beating a horse, andonce, on interfering, was himself thrashed, for he had the ill-luck tohappen on a prizefighter. But that had no lasting effect on him. Hecontinued to champion the dumb brute in his own brutal way.

  Among the neighbours the perquisites of the boys were the calfskins.The cows' milk was needed and the calves of little value, so usuallythey were killed when too young for food. The boys did the killing,making more or less sport of it, and the skins, worth fifty centsapiece green and twenty-five cents dry, at the tannery, were theirproper pay. Raften never allowed his son to kill the calves. "Oi can'tkill a poor innocent calf mesilf an' I won't hev me boy doin' it," hesaid. Thus Sam was done out of a perquisite, and did not forget thegrievance.

  Mrs. Raften was a fine woman, a splendid manager, loving her home andher family, her husband's loyal and ablest supporter, although shethought that William was sometimes a "leetle hard" on the boys. Theyhad had a large family, but most of the children had died. Thoseremaining were Sam, aged fifteen, and Minnie, aged three.

  Yan's duties were fixed at once. The poultry and half the pigs andcows were to be his charge. He must also help Sam with various otherchores.

  There was plenty to do and clear rules about doing it. But there wasalso time nearly every day for other things more in the line of histastes; for even if he were hard on the boys in work hours, Raftensaw to it that when they did play they should have a good time. Hisroughness and force made Yan afraid of him, and as it was Raften'sway to say nothing until his mind was fully made up, and then say it"strong," Yan was left in doubt as to whether or not he was givingsatisfaction.