CHAPTER XXIII.
PETE, IN QUEST OF REVENGE, COMES TO GRIEF.
“Sam Hadlock,” said his mother, “they say Ben’s gone to Boston on araft, all alone. I don’t believe it; but go right over and see what itall means, and take Sally’s hens on.”
Sam arrived at Elm Island about dusk, with the hens and a crower. Thefirst thing a rooster does, upon finding himself in a strange place,is to flap his wings and crow, in order that it may be known he isround. The next morning, as the daylight shone in between the logs ofthe hovel, he raised his cry of defiance to all things in general, andeverybody in particular.
Now, although the squawks had been in possession of the island fromtime immemorial, they had never heard a rooster crow, or even seenone. The instant that shrill, defiant voice rose on the morning air,saying, “I’m somebody; who are you?” every squawk on the island utteredhis loudest yell. This startled the herons and fish-hawks; the crowsjoined the chorus, and Sailor exerted his lungs to the utmost. Sallywoke up in alarm, and was for some time unable to account for theterrible uproar. It was a week before the Elmites would permit therooster to crow, or a hen to cackle, in peace. The moment he attemptedit, the whole community combined to drown his voice, and rebuke hispresumption; but, after a while, they began to recognize him as anadopted citizen of that of which they had so long been the soleoccupants. It was laughable to see with what gravity they would clusteron the trees, at the edge of the woods near the house, and, with theirkeen eyes, stare at him and his dames. Now and then a great blue heronwould sail lazily overhead, when, the cock raising the cry of alarm,all would scud for the barn; but they learned, after a while, that noneof the original inhabitants were to be feared, except the eagles.
The next morning, after the arrival of the hens, a calf, bright red,with a white star in his forehead, and white on his fore legs and theend of his tail, made his appearance.
Sally was delighted; the birth of the calf opened a prospect notonly of milk, of which they had been deprived for two months, but ofbutter. It was also the first domestic animal that had been born onthe island; besides, there are so many pleasant memories of childhoodconnected with a “bossy,” that it seemed a great affair to Sally inher lonely situation. She scarcely ever came in from the barn but hersleeves were all chewed up, in consequence of stopping to pet the calf.
“How much it seems like home,” said she to Joe, “to have a calf topet, and hear it crying for the cow! to hear a rooster crow, and henscackle, and have eggs to hunt after! I used to think, when I first cameon here, it would be music to hear a pig squeal.”
“I can give you music,” said Joe, and set up a cry so much like thatof a pig in his last agonies, that Sally was glad to stop her ears. Hethen began to make a noise like a calf in trouble, which soon broughtthe mother running from the woods, where she had been browsing uponmaples that Joe had cut down for her.
Peter Clash embraced the first opportunity in the spring to ship in afishing vessel, being in mortal fear of Uncle Isaac, who, Joe Griffinhad told him, had Indian blood in him, and would carry him into thewoods and roast him alive, as he had been taught to do among theIndians. But he was determined, before he departed, to revenge himselfupon Uncle Isaac, and inflict some injury upon John Rhines. He hatedJohn, although he had never injured him, because he was a good boy,and Uncle Isaac and everybody liked him. Although two years older, hefeared to attack him. He talked with the boys who were most under hisinfluence, and by ingenious falsehoods contrived to prejudice themagainst him, by possessing them with the idea that John helped UncleIsaac set the trap, and was in the bushes with him watching them whenit sprung.
“I hate him, too,” said Jack Godsoe, whose mind Pete had completelywarped to his own interest, and who was also older than John, and asmart, resolute boy.
“He thinks he’s too good to play with us, because his father iscaptain, and lives in a big house, and because he goes with UncleIsaac; I hate him; let’s lick him, and take some of that grand feelingout of him.”
They seated themselves on the beach, under a great willow that hungover the bank, in earnest consultations as to the best means ofrevenging themselves upon Uncle Isaac. Jack proposed they should pullup his corn.
“That,” said Fred Williams, “is too much work, and he could plant itover again.”
“Let us put his sheep in the well,” said Sam Smikes.
“It’s too near the house,” said Pete; “we shall be caught; besides, itwouldn’t be bad enough for the ‘old cuss;’ he could get them out, andwould save the wool and the pelts, for they are not sheared. O! I’lltell you what we’ll do; we’ll kill his apple trees.”
Uncle Isaac had an orchard in full bearing, that he valued very highly,having, at a great deal of labor and expense, obtained the trees of theRev. Samuel Deane, of Portland. They were most of them grafted,--a rarething in those parts at that day,--as Dr. Deane understood the art andmystery of grafting. They determined to girdle all these trees, whichwould be a most severe blow to Uncle Isaac, as he had watched overthem for twenty years; and they were now in full bearing, having beenplanted on a burn among the ashes, and had thriven apace in the new,strong soil. It could also be accomplished without risk of detection,as the orchard was at a distance from the house. The meanness of theact seemed greater, because of the generous nature of the owner, whowas not a niggard of his fruit, but gave the boys all the applesand cider they wanted. The fact that this villanous plan was eagerlyassented to by the rest, shows to what an extent the example andinfluence of Pete had corrupted these boys. They thought themselvessecure from interruptions, as they commanded from the place where theysat a view of the whole beach, and, becoming excited, talked in alouder tone than they were aware of.
“I’ll set a trap for him that will make him ache as much as his trapdid me,” said Pete, chuckling. But doubtful things are uncertain.
John’s mother had sent him on that morning after some willow bark,to color with. He directed his steps to the great willow, and comingupon the party before they were aware of it, heard the latter part oftheir conversation. Pete espied him, and jumping up, in a pleasant toneinvited him to come down among them, when John, who had not heard thatportion of the consultation which related to himself, complied: theyall, at a wink from Pete, surrounded him, who now thought proper tochange his tone.
“You heard what we were saying about?” he inquired, pointing in thedirection of Uncle Isaac’s.
“Yes.”
“And you’ll tell him of it?”
“Yes.”
“Ain’t that just what I told you?” said he, turning to the other boys;“just such a mean, low-lived fellow as he is; go and peach on hisplaymates!”
“I should think if anything was mean, it was barking a man’s appletrees in the night.”
Now, Pete was more anxious to bark the apple trees than he was to lickJohn; so he replied,--
“Well, if we will promise to give it up, will you promise to saynothing about it?”
Pete’s design in this was to prevent Uncle Isaac being put on hisguard, to bark the trees that night, and go off the next morning,leaving the other boys to take the consequences. He knew if John gavehis word he’d keep it. But John fathomed their design; and although_they_ could trust _him_, _he_ would not trust _them_, and refused.
At this Pete said, “You’re a mean fellow; I’ve owed you a hiding thislong time, and now you’ll get it.”
“You can’t begin to do it.”
“We all can,” cried Jack.
John, seeing there was no help for it, determined to have the firstblow, and before the words were fairly out of Jack’s mouth, knockedhim down; but as the ground was descending, and the sand affordedpoor footing, he fell forward with the force of his own blow, andcame upon one knee. They all piled on top, but John threw them off.By a well-directed blow he sent Fred yelling from the conflict, andwould have gained his feet and handled the whole of them, had not Jackrecovered, and, catching him by the hair, pulled him down again.
“Now,” cried Pete, as cruel as he was cowardly, “let’s lick him withinan inch of his life.”
Finding he was to receive no quarter, John began to shout for aid. Tigewas sleeping in the sun before the door, as dogs always sleep, with oneear open. The instant he heard the cry, he got up, stretched himself,gaped, and listened. It was repeated. He leaped the front yard fenceat a bound, and in a moment was running full speed in the direction ofthe noise. Captain Rhines, who recognized John’s voice, followed him. Anarrow path led down the bank to the beach, where the scuffle was goingon, and which was hard trodden and polished by the frequent tramping ofthe boys, who resorted there to swing on the great willow, whose limbshung over the beach, and to make whistles. So headlong was the speedof the dog, that, his feet slipping upon the smooth path, he turned acomplete somerset from the top to the bottom of the bank, and came downupon his back among these little fiends, while employed in their workof torture, thus affording them a moment’s respite while he was pickinghimself up. With all the speed the fear of instant death could inspire,they fled along the beach, with the exception of Smike, who, with greatpresence of mind, catching a limb of the willow, was in a few momentsamong its topmost branches, screaming with all his might. Pete was thehindmost. With a horrible growl, Tige sprung upon him and crushed himto the earth. He bit through both his hands, with which he strove todefend his throat, tore away half of his chin, and, taking him by theback, shook him as he would a woodchuck.
The dog now pursued Fred, whom he bit through both thighs and arms,and, as the others were out of sight, would have killed him, had notJohn compelled him to desist by cramming his cap into his mouth, andcoaxing and scolding him.
The Newfoundland dog is very slow to wrath, but ferocious enough whenonce aroused. Tige’s rugged temper, excited by the strongest possibleprovocation,--injury to the person of his friend,--was now thoroughlyup; his eyes were green with rage, his lips covered with foam; hisgreat tearing teeth stood out, and every hair on his body was erect.
As Captain Rhines came up, the blood was spirting in jets from Fred’sright leg. “God o’ mercy!” cried he, “the arter is cut;” and, clappinghis thumb on the place, stopped the flow of blood in a moment.
“John,” cried he, “take off my garter and put it twice round his leg,above the bite, and tie the ends together.”
John did as he was directed.
“Now get a stick and twist it.”
John twisted.
“Twist harder; twist with all your might. Now run to Dr. Ricker’s, andtell him to come to our house with tools to tie an arter, as quick ashe can.”
“Will he die, father?”
“No; I hope not; but he would have been dead in two minutes more, if Ihad not stopped that blood.”
He now took the boy in his arms, and carried him to his own house,while Tige lay down at the foot of the willow to keep watch of Smike.
The doctor said that the boy must not be moved; and his mother came totake care of him. John now went down, called off Tige, and liberatedSmike from the tree.
“John,” said the captain, after the excitement was over, “did you setthe dog on those boys?”
“No, father; they had me down on the ground, beating me; I screamed forhelp, and Tige came and went right at ’em. I got him off of Fred assoon as I could, but he wouldn’t mind me; and he was so savage I wasafraid of him myself.”
“What did they beat you for?”
“They were all sitting on the beach, planning out to pull Uncle Isaac’scorn up, throw his sheep in the well, and girdle his apple trees;because I overheard ’em, and wouldn’t promise not to tell him, theypitched into me. I believe I could have whipped the whole of them, if Ihadn’t fell down.”
“I wouldn’t have believed that of boys raised round here; it’s a pityTige hadn’t finished that Pete; he was at the bottom of it.”
When Pete recovered from his wounds he left the place. The parents ofthe others gave them a severe whipping, in consequence of which JackGodsoe ran away from home, but the others left off their tricks, andbecame steady, industrious boys.
“On deck there!” cried Captain Rhines, from the roof of the house,where he was stopping a leak.
“What is it, father?” said John.
“Tell your mother Ben has just come round Birch Point in his canoe, andis going across to the island; I guess he wants to kiss Sally, for he’smaking the canoe go through the water like blazes.”
The next morning they saw him coming off in the canoe.
“Well, Ben,” said his father, after the greeting had passed, “when Iwas young, folks didn’t go to sea without bidding their folks good by.Now, give an account of yourself.”
Ben, who knew his father, old sailor like, would want to know thedetails of the passage, said, “By twelve o’clock the first night I wasup with Purpooduck, right off the pitch of the cape; the wind was verystrong and steady from sunrise till midnight.”
“I know it was; for I was up watching it.”
“It then died away to a flat calm; and as the flood tide was driftingme into Portland Sound, I anchored and made a fire.”
“What on?”
“A flat stone I carried; made a cup of tea, and slept till daylight,when the wind, blowing the smoke in my face, woke me. The wind held,and plenty of it. I run her all day and all night, and by eight o’clockthe next morning I was up with Cape Ann, when it fell calm. It wasflood tide; I went to sleep and let her drift. When I woke up, the tidehad carried me, with a little air of wind there was, up to East Point;and, in the course of the day and night, I tied her to Long Wharf,Boston--not much sorry.”
“What did Mr. Welch say?”
“He was somewhat astonished. There were hundreds of people on thewharf to look at me or the raft, I don’t know which. I got there in agood time. There were a great many vessels there, from Europe, afterspars--especially big masts. I sold enough to pay for half the island,and I haven’t cleared a quarter of it; but that is not the best of it.”
“I should think that was good enough; what can be any better?”
“I sold all the timber that I used to confine the raft (and that wasfull of holes) for wharf stuff--the cable, sail, everything but thecompass, canoe, and tea-kettle. I got a chance to pilot a French ship,that was bound to Portland for lumber and horses, and got a round pricefor it. They took the canoe on the ship’s deck. In Portland I found aschooner bound to Nova Scotia; they took me to Gull Rock, and I rowedhome. Thus I got mighty good pay for doing my own work.”
“Well, Ben, at that rate I would cut every stick off the island, andsell the island for whatever anybody, who is fool enough to live there,will give, and come on to the main land, and buy a place among folks.”
“Not yet, father; that is, if Sally likes to live there. I wouldn’tswap it for the best place and house in town.”
Ben was now reduced to a single yoke of oxen, as those he had hiredwere needed at home, and without them he could not handle spars, whichmust be hauled some distance; but on the eastern side of the island wasa place where the rocks, undermined by the frosts and sea, had falleninto the water. He cut the trees around it into mill-logs that were notfit for spars, rolled them down the chasm into the water, towed them tothe mill, bringing back the boards, and sticking them up on the shoreto season. Thus they worked all through the summer, despite of blackflies and mosquitos.
They then cut a lot of cedar, and piled it up to dry with the boards.
“What are you going to do with all this cedar?” said Joe; “and whydon’t you sell your boards at the mill, instead of bringing them backhere?”
“I won’t tell you,” said Ben; “so you needn’t ask me.”
In September, Joe, who had agreed to go on a fishing trip with JohnStrout, left, and Ben was once more alone.
Let us now see how matters are going with Fred, who, by fright, wounds,loss of blood, and remorse of conscience, was brought well nigh todeath’s door. For a long time he was so reduced, and in suc
h a state ofstupor, as not to know where he was; but as he regained strength andperception, it mortified and stung him to the quick to find himself inthe house, and the object of care and solicitude to those whom he hadso recently injured; for, notwithstanding the mean, cowardly treatmentJohn had received from Fred, he was unremitting in his attentions tohim,--sleeping in the same room, and ministering to all his wants. Itis wonderful to what lengths a boy of a naturally kind and generousnature may be induced to go in wickedness,--and mean wickedness,too,--through the influence of evil examples and companionship.
Such a boy was Fred; and this kind treatment was perfect torture. Atlength he could bear it no longer; but upon a night when he had beenfeverish and very restless, and John had been up great part of thenight, bathing his head, and giving him drink and medicines, he said,while his voice was choked with sobs, “O, John, I don’t deserve allthis kindness at your hands; I don’t see how I could ever have gone inwith that miserable Pete, and those boys, to hurt you. If I ever getwell, I’ll be a better boy, and try to show you and your folks that Iam not ungrateful.”
He had made promises of amendment to John before, especially whensuffering under the smart of the fish-hook. They came from the lipsthen--a repentance in view of consequences; but Tige’s teeth wentdeeper than the fish-hook, and this time they came from the heart.
Little Fannie now came down to see her brother. The first thing shedid, upon entering the house, was to put both arms round Tige’s neck,and tell him he shouldn’t be whipped if he did do naughty things, forCaptain Rhines said so.
Fred’s father was a stern, passionate man, who did not secure theaffections of his children. His mother was a fretful, teasing woman;thought she had to work harder, and had more to try her than anybodyelse in the world; didn’t see what she had so many children for; whenthe window was down she wanted it up, and when it was up she wanted itdown; was never suited. She was a great deal more inclined to scoldher children for doing wrong, than to praise them for doing well. Thedoctor said Fred would never get well, if his mother took care of him,she kept such a fuss, and made him uneasy; so Mrs. Rhines told herthere were a good many of them, and they could take care of him as wellas not, and had plenty of room; that she had a great family, with muchto do, and young children; their dog did the harm, and they would takecare of him.
As Fred began to mend, Mrs. Rhines would take her work and sit downby him in the afternoon, and talk with him as she did with her ownchildren; in her kind, motherly way, tell him of the results of vice,and the inducements to a virtuous course; and, as the tears ran downhis cheeks, wiped them away, soothing and encouraging him, till theboy’s inmost soul responded to her teachings. His eyes would light upwith satisfaction when he saw her take her knitting work to sit by hisbedside.
Not long after Fred had given vent to his feelings, John, meeting UncleIsaac on the beach, said to him, “I believe Fred would be right glad tosee you, but don’t like to say so.”
“Well, I’ll happen in.”
So he happened in. What passed between them was never known; but thenext day Fred said to John, “Uncle Isaac’s a good man--ain’t he?”
“Good! He’s the goodest man that ever was.”
Not many days after he happened in again, when Fred said to him, “Ihave an uncle in Salem that’s a tanner and shoemaker. He and I werealways great friends; he wants me to come and live with him, and learnthe trade. Father has said a great many times that I am such a bad boy,and plague him so much, that he should be glad if I was there. I’vebeen thinking while on this bed, that since I have got such a bad nameround here, it would be a good thing to go where nobody knows me, orwhat I have done, and begin brand fire new.”
“The tanner’s trade is a first-rate one, and I should like to have youlearn it; but the place where you have lost your character, Fred, isthe very place to get it again. There was a man lived in Rowley, whowas accused of stealing a sheep. He said he wouldn’t stay in a placewhere he was so slandered, and moved to Newbury. He had not been therea fortnight when the report came that he had stolen three sheep when helived in Rowley, and he moved back again.”
“But everybody will scorn me; and when I go to school the boys willtwit me of it, and holler after me when I go along the road.”
“No boy or man, whose opinion is worth minding, will do it when theysee you mean to mend; besides, you ought to be willing to suffer somemortification on account of the sorrow you have caused your parents andfriends, and for all the mischief you have done, and meant to do.”
“That is true; and I _am_ willing they may say or do what they like;I’ll _face_ it.”
“That’s right; that’s bravely spoken,” said Captain Rhines, layinghis great hand upon the pale forehead of the sick boy; “you’ll liveit down, and be thought more of for it. You see, my son, buildingcharacter is just like building a vessel. We build a vessel model,fasten, spar, and rig her the best we know how, and _think_ she’llprove serviceable; still we don’t know that. But when she’s made awinter passage across the western ocean, and the captain writes homethat she is tight, and sails and works well in all weathers, then yousee that vessel’s got a character; sailors like to go in her, andmerchants like to put freight in her. That will be the way with you;people will say there’s good stuff at bottom in that boy; he’s beenthrough the mill.”
“But,” said the poor boy, “who will believe that I’m going to be a goodboy? and who will go with me at the first of it, while I’m provingmyself?”
“John will go with you, and our girls.”
“I,” said Uncle Isaac, “will get Henry Griffin to go with you. Petetried to get hold of him, but he didn’t make out. I’ll get him to comedown and see you to-morrow.”
When the cool weather came on, Fred gained strength, went to school,and began to help his father in the mill.
It was remarkable how soon people began to notice the change in him,and to say, “What a smart boy Fred Williams is getting to be! andhow much help he is to his father!” He could not have been placedin a better position to have his light shine, than in a mill, whereeverybody in the whole town came, and were convinced of the shrewdwisdom of Uncle Isaac’s declaration, that the place to look for athing was where you lost it; the place to regain confidence, where youhad forfeited it.
Our readers will recollect the longing for some kindred spirit near hisown age, which John expressed to his mother. That desire was now tobe gratified in a most wonderful manner, as will be seen in the nextvolume of “Elm Island Stories,” entitled CHARLIE BELL, THE WAIF OFELM ISLAND; and we cannot help thinking it must have been as areward for his remarkable conduct towards Fred.