CHAPTER XVII.
DEATH AND BURIAL OF TIGE RHINES.
THERE is no animal that seems to be so closely allied to man as thedog. He lives in his master’s smiles, defends his person, guards hisproperty, and is grateful for the smallest favors.
In respect to other animals, they are naturally shy; we must attachthem to us by food and caresses.
Take, for instance, a kitten, born in the house, and her parents beforeher for generations; yet the moment it gets its eyes open, it willround up its back, and spit at the little boy or girl who approaches tofondle it, and must be wonted; but a puppy, why, the moment his eyesare open, he’s right on to you, and you have hard work to keep him fromlicking your face.
When the family leaves the house, the cat will seldom, if ever, followthem, because she cares more about the place than the people; but thedog’s home is where his master is.
John Rhines’s dog, Tige, a Newfoundland of the largest size,possessed—as those who have read the Elm Island stories know—asagacity greater than that which generally pertains even to that noblebreed.
Tige Rhines, as he was called, was known and loved by both young andold, the protector and playmate of all the children, and bore on hisneck a broad brass collar, on which were inscribed the date of the yearand the day on which he pulled little Fannie Williams from the bottomof the mill-pond, and many other things that he had done.
For many years Tige had been gradually losing his activity, and wasquite infirm with age. He had never been accustomed to leave the homeof his master, except when sent upon some errand, with a basket orletter in his mouth, unless with some of the family; but after Maryand Elizabeth were married, he would once in a while go to visit eachof them in the forenoon, stop to dinner and tea, see the babies, andgo home at night. He would also go down to the cove in front of thehouse, and play with the children of the neighborhood by the hourtogether. All through Fannie Williams’s childhood (whose life he saved)he was, whenever she came up to see him, which was generally once amonth, sent home with her by Captain Rhines. But age, which comes alikeupon dogs and men, had compelled him to relinquish all these pleasantexcursions. His legs had grown stiff and crooked; his glossy black coathad become a dirty yellow, except along the back and at the roots ofthe tail; his intelligent eye was dim; and all around his eyes and nosegray hairs were plentifully scattered. It was with great difficultyhe could walk; he would attempt sometimes to follow John to the barn,go part way there, and moan because he could get no farther; thenJohn would go back and pat and comfort him. Everything that care andaffection could do to render him comfortable and happy in his old age,was done by Captain Rhines and John.
As the weather grew cooler, John made him a bed of sheep-skins withthe wool on; for though once apparently insensible to cold, neverhesitating in the dead of winter to plunge into the waves, he nowtrembled before every blast. Captain Rhines would catch smelts andbring to him, for Tige was a dear lover of fish; John would put himin the cart, haul him down in the field, and put him in the sun, atthe end of the piece where he was digging potatoes, and as the sunwent down, cover him with his jacket. The children around brought himtitbits, and all the dogs in the neighborhood came to visit him. Heat length became so feeble it was with difficulty he could get out ofhis kennel. Mornings when John went to the barn to feed the cattle, hewould bid him good morning; Tige would wag his tail and look wistfullyin his face, unable to rise.
One morning, John, as he passed the kennel, spoke, as usual; but nothearing the noise of Tige’s tail striking against the side of thehouse, he went back and looked in; he was stretched out, apparentlyasleep; he put his fingers in his mouth; there was no warmth. “He isdead! poor old Tige,” cried John; “there never was such a dog in thisworld, and never will be again. I never will love another dog;” andhe burst into tears; “I don’t care if I do cry,” he said, at length,wiping away the tears; “he’s been my playmate, ever since I was a boy;has saved my life; and nobody sees me; but if Charlie and Fred werehere, they would cry, too.”
Captain Rhines was not yet up. John fed the cattle, and then went tothe door of his bedroom.
“Father.”
“What is it, John?”
“Tige’s dead.”
“I’m sorry; poor fellow! I’d give the best cow I’ve got in the barn tohave him back as smart as he was once.”
“_I’d_ give them _all_, father.”
“Well, we’ve done all we could for him, John, and he’s gone wherethe good dogs go. It will make Ben feel bad; he and Tige were greatfriends.”
“And Fannie, father.”
“Yes.”
It was soon known in the neighborhood. About nine o’clock, FannieWilliams came in, now grown to be, by universal consent, the prettiestgirl in town; industrious, capable, and, as Captain Rhines wasaccustomed to say, as good as she was handsome.
“Is Tige dead, John?” she asked, taking the chair he proffered her.
“Yes, Fannie.”
She was silent for a few minutes, then began to cry.
“Don’t cry, Fannie,” said John.
“I know it’s foolish, but I can’t help it; you know he saved my life.”
“That he did,” said the captain; “for I took you from his jaws, when hebrought you to the shore. I would cry as much as I had a mind to.”
“I’m sure,” said Mrs. Rhines, “I don’t see what anybody could be madeof, not to feel bad to lose such a good creature as Tige, even if hewas a dumb animal. I used to feel just as safe with him, when CaptainRhines was at sea, and I left alone with the children, as though themen folks were round. When Captain Rhines was about home, or we hada hired man, he would lie under the big maple, or, if it was coldweather, in his house; but the very first night I was left alone, hewould (without my saying a word to him) come right into the house, and,after I went to bed, stretch himself out before my bedroom door; itseemed as if he knew.”
“_Knew!_ I guess he did know,” said John; “only think how long he smeltus before we got here, when Charlie and I came from Portland, and howglad he was to see us! I thought he would have jumped out of his skin.”
John persuaded Fannie to stop to dinner, as Tige was to be buried inthe afternoon.
“Where would you bury him, father?”
“I’ll tell you, John. Under the big maple, where he loved so much tolie in the hot summer days.”
While this conversation was going on at Captain Rhines’s, Joe Griffin,Charlie, and Fred were expatiating upon the merits of Tige, andregretting his loss, in Fred’s store. Joe Bradish came in, and afterlistening a while to their conversation, broke in with, “Such a fussabout a dog—an old dog, that ought to have been knocked on the headyears ago. Anybody would think it was a Christian you was lamentingabout.”
Fred was naturally of a warm temper, shared in the universal feelingof dislike to Bradish, and this rough remark, in his present state offeeling, was more than he could bear.
“There _was_ more Christianity in him than there ever was in _you_,”retorted Fred; “more in one of his nails than in your whole body. Hesaved the lives of three of us, when we went to sleep in the tide’sway, at Indian Cave. If it hadn’t been for him, I should have been asmiserable to-day as Pete Clash. It will be news to me when I hear ofyour lifting a finger to help anybody. You may keep still or leave thestore.”
Bradish, without making any reply, went out.
“You’ve lost his custom, I reckon,” said Charlie.
“It won’t be much loss. He came in here the other day, lolling round,and upset the inkstand upon a whole piece of muslin. I was out ofdoors, and before I could get in, it went through the whole piece. Hesaid he was master sorry, supposed he ought to buy something, and wouldtake a darning-needle.”
The three friends, with Fannie and Captain Rhines’s family, buriedTige beneath a large rock maple that stood on the side of the hill, inthe edge of the orchard. It was all full of holes, where Ben and Johnhad tapped it. Between its roots they had made many a hoa
rd of apples;and here Tige had loved to lie, as it was a cool place, and from it hecould see everything that moved upon the water. They put a stone atthe grave, on which his noble deeds were recorded.
John Rhines had long cherished a secret attachment to Fannie Williams;but the death of Tige occasioned a mingling of sympathies that broughtmatters to a focus, and after a short engagement they were married.Captain Rhines and his wife, with whom Fannie had been a favorite fromchildhood, were highly gratified; for since their daughters had marriedand gone, the large house seemed lonely, and this beautiful, lively,sweet-tempered girl was to them a perfect treasure.
A week after the occurrences narrated, a stranger, in the dress of aworking man, with his coat on his arm, came into Fred’s store, andcalled for some crackers and cheese, and half a pint of new rum.
Fred placed before him the crackers and cheese, but told him he must goto the other store for the liquor. He then called for a quart of cider.After eating, drinking, and resting a while, and smoking his pipe,he took a piece of chalk from his pocket, and drew a line across thefloor. “There,” said he, “the first man that steps over that line hasgot to take hold of me.”
This was altogether too much for Fred, who instantly stepped over theline. They went out before the door, and the stranger threw Fred in amoment, and several others who came in. The thing was noised abroad,and quite a crowd assembled, but they were careful not to step over theline. Fred sent for Charlie, and the stranger threw him. The matter wasnow getting serious; the reputation of the town was at stake.
“Send for Joe Griffin,” said Uncle Isaac.
Joe had gone up river after logs.
“Then send for Edmund Griffin.”
He had gone with Joe. A boy was now despatched for Joel Ricker, whobrought back word that he was on Elm Island, doing some joiner-work forLion Ben.
“Then,” said Uncle Isaac, “we must send for the Lion. This fellowshan’t go off and make his brags that he has stumped the place, andgot off clear. I’ll take hold of him myself first, though I haven’twrestled these twenty-five year.”
“Why haven’t we thought of John Rhines?” said Fred.
“Sure enough,” said Uncle Isaac; “he’ll handle him.”
“John,” said the captain, “has gone to Tom Stanley’s to buy a yokeof oxen; but I’ve got a horse that will go there and back in threequarters of an hour, if anybody will drive him.”
“I’ll go,” said Fred.
By the time John arrived, half the town was there. A ring was madebefore the door.
“You’ve brought a man big enough this time,” said the stranger, lookingup at John, who towered far above him.
They took hold. John threw him as easily as he had thrown Fred, whileshout after shout went up from the crowd, who had been holding theirbreath, in anxious suspense.
“You _crushed_ me down by main strength,” said the stranger; “but Iwould like to try you at arms’ length.”
They took hold at arms’ length, and although the grapple was longer,John threw him twice.
“You have stout men up in this place,” said he. “I am thirty years oldnext July, and this is the first time I’ve been thrown since I wasnineteen.”
“_Men!_” said Uncle Isaac. “You have as yet wrestled only with boys.Our men all happen to be away.”
“If you call these boys, I should like to see your men.”
“Here comes one of them,” said Uncle Isaac, pointing towards the water.
The eyes of the stranger, following the direction of his finger, restedupon the massive shoulders of Lion Ben, who was approaching the shorein his big canoe, pulling cross-handed, while Joel Ricker, with histools in his lap, was sitting in the stern.
They landed, wondering much at the crowd assembled. Ricker walked upthe beach with his tools, while Ben followed, dragging the canoe withone hand over the gravel.
The stranger gazed with dilating eyes, as he straightened up to hisfull proportions. Then he went to the canoe, but found himself unableto move it, even down hill.
“What may I call your name, friend?” asked Uncle Isaac, approaching.
“Libby—Lemuel Libby, from Black Pint, in Scarboro’.”
Uncle Isaac then introduced him to Captain Rhines, John, and Lion Ben,at the same time informing him that they were the father and two sons.Libby gazed a moment upon these superb specimens of manly vigor, andresuming his clothes, said, “This is no place for common men, like me.I’ll make tracks for home.”
“Not so, friend Libby,” said John. “Everything has been done fair andabove-board. There’s no occasion for hardness. Spend the night with me.I’ll take the horse, and start you on your way in the morning.”
“Neighbors,” said Captain Rhines, who was greatly delighted at thetriumph of his son, “I invite you all to take dinner at our houseto-morrow, at twelve o’clock; and Mr. Libby will stop and eat with us.”
“The house won’t hold us, Benjamin,” said Uncle Isaac.
“Well, the barn will. We’ll make two crews, and set two tables.”
“John,” said Charlie, after the crowd had dispersed, “do you rememberwhat you said so long ago?”
“No. What was it?”
“That you meant to be the greatest wrestler, and marry the handsomestgirl. I don’t see but you are in a fair way to do both, if all talesare true.”