Two Little Savages

by Ernest Thompson Seton

  XI

  Yan and the Witch

  The Sanger Witch hated the Shanty-man's axe And wildfire, too, they tell, But the hate that she had for the Sporting man Was wuss nor her hate of Hell!

  --Cracked Jimmie's Ballad of Sanger.

  Yan took his earliest opportunity to revisit the Sanger Witch.

  "Better leave me out," advised Sam, when he heard of it. "She'd neverlook at you if I went. You look too blame healthy."

  So Yan went alone, and he was glad of it. Fond as he was of Sam, hisvoluble tongue and ready wit left Yan more or less in the shade, madehim look sober and dull, and what was worse, continually turned theconversation just as it was approaching some subject that was ofdeepest interest to him.

  As he was leaving, Sam called out, "Say, Yan, if you want to staythere to dinner it'll be all right--we'll know why you hain't turnedup." Then he stuck his tongue in his cheek, closed one eye and went tothe barn with his usual expression of inscrutable melancholy.

  Yan carried his note-book--he used it more and more, also hissketching materials. On the road he gathered a handful of flowers andherbs. His reception by the old woman was very different this time.

  "Come in, come in, God bless ye, an' hoo air ye, an' how is yer fatheran' mother--come in an' set down, an' how is that spalpeen, SamRaften?"

  "Sam's all right now," said Yan with a blush.

  "All right! Av coorse he's all right. I knowed I'd fix him all right,an' he knowed it, an' his Ma knowed it when she let him come. Did shesay onything about it?"

  "No, Granny, not a word."

  "The dhirty hussy! Saved the boy's life in sphite of their robbin' mean' she ain't human enough to say 'thank ye'--the dhirty hussy!May God forgive her as I do," said the old woman with evident andimplacable enmity.

  "Fwhat hev ye got thayer? Hivin be praised, they can't kill them alloff. They kin cut down the trees, but the flowers comes ivery year, melittle beauties--me little beauties!" Yan spread them out. She pickedup an Arum and went on. "Now, that's Sorry-plant, only some calls itInjun Turnip, an' I hear the childer call it Jack-in-the-Pulpit. Don'tye never put the root o' that near yer tongue. It'll sure burn ye likefire. First thing whin they gits howld av a greeny the bhise throis tomake him boite that same. Shure he niver does it twicet. The Injunsb'ile the pizen out o' the root an' ates it; shure it's better'nstarvin'."

  Golden Seal (_Hydrastis canadensis_), the plant she had used forSam's knee, was duly recognized and praised, its wonderful goldenroot, "the best goold iver came out av the ground," was described withits impression of the seal of the Wise King.

  "Thim's Mandrakes, an' they're moighty late, an' ye shure got_thim_ in the woods. Some calls it May Apples, an' more calls itKingroot. The Injuns use it fur their bowels, an' it has cured many ahorse of pole evil that I seen meself.

  "An' Blue Cohosh, only I call that Spazzum-root. Thayer ain't nothin'like it fur spazzums--took like tay; only fur that the Injun womenwouldn't live in all their thrubles, but that's something that don'tconsarn ye. Luk now, how the laves is all spread out like wan widspazzums. Glory be to the Saints and the Blessed Virgin, everything isdone fur us on airth an' plain marked, if we'd only take the thrubleto luk.

  "Now luk at thot," said she, clawing over the bundle and picking out ayellow Cypripedium, "that's Moccasin-plant wid the Injuns, but mercyon 'em fur bloind, miserable haythens. They don't know nothin' an'don't want to larn it. That's Umbil, or Sterrick-root. It's powerfulgood fur sterricks. Luk at it! See the face av a woman in sterrickswid her hayer flyin' an' her jaw a-droppin'. I moind the toime Larry'slittle gurrl didn't want to go to her 'place' an' hed sterricks. Theyjest sent fur me an' I brung along a Sterrick-root. First, I sez, sezI, 'Get me some b'ilin' wather,' an' I made tay an' give it to herb'ilin' hot. As share as Oi'm a livin' corpse, the very first spoonfulfetched her all right. Oh, but it's God's own gift, an' it's be Hisblessin' we know how to use it. An' it don't do to just go an' dig itwhen ye want it. It has to be grubbed when the flower ain't thayer. Yesee, the strength ain't in both places to oncet. It's ayther in theflower or in the root, so when the flower is thayer the root's no moregood than an ould straw. Ye hes to Hunt fur it in spring or in fall,just when the divil himself wouldn't know whayer to find it.

  "An' fwhat hev ye thayer? Good land! if it ain't Skunk's Cabbage! Yesure come up by the Bend. That's the on'y place whayer that grows."

  "Yes," replied Yan; "that's just where I got it. But hold on, Granny,I want to sketch all those and note down their names and what you sayabout them."

  "Shure, you'd hev a big book when I wuz through," said the old womanwith pride, as she lit her pipe, striking the match on what would havebeen the leg of her pants had she been a man.

  "An' shure ye don't need to write down what they're good fur, fur thegood Lord done that Himself long ago. Luk here, now. That's Cohosh,fur spazzums, an' luks like it; that's Moccasin, fur Highsterricks,an' luks like it; wall, thar's Skunk-root fur both, an' don't it luklike the two o' thim thigither?"

  Yan feebly agreed, but had much difficulty in seeing what the planthad in common with the others.

  "An' luk here! Thayer ye got Lowbelier, that some calls Injuntobaccer. Ye found this by the crick, an' it's a little airly--aheado' toime. That's the shtuff to make ye throw up when ye want to. Luk,ain't that lafe the livin' shape of a shtummick?

  "Thayer's the Highbelier; it's a high hairb, an' it's moighty foinefur the bowels when ye drink the dry root.

  "Spicewood" [Spicebush, _Lindera benzoin_], "or Fayverbush, themtwigs is great fur tay--that cures shakes and fayver. Shure an' itshakes ivery toime the wind blows.

  "That's Clayvers," she said, picking up a Galium. "Now fwhat wud yethink that wuz fur to cure?"

  "I don't know. What is it?"

  "Luk now, an' see how it's wrote in it plain as prent--yes, an' asight plainer, fur I can read them an' I can't read a wurrud in abook. Now fwhat is that loike?" said she, holding up the doubleseed-pod.

  "A brain and spinal column," said Yan.

  "Och, choild, I hev better eyes than ye. Shure them's two kidneys, an'that's fwhat Clayver tay will cure better'n all the docthers in thewurruld, an' ye hev to know just how. Ye see, kidney thruble isa koind o' fayver; it's hatin', so ye make yer Clayver tay in_cold_ wather; if ye make it o' warrum wather it just makes yewuss an' acts loike didly pizen. Thayer's Sweatplant, or Boneset"[_Eupatorium perfoliatum_], "that's the thing to sweat ye. WanstOi sane a feller jest dyin' o' dry hoide, wuz all hoidebound, an' thedocthers throid an' throid an' couldn't help wan bit, till I guv hismother some Boneset leaves to make tay, an' he sweat buckets beforehe'd more'n smelt av it, an' the docthers thought they done ittheirsilves!" and she cackled gleefully.

  "Thayer's Goldthread fur cankermouth, an' Pipsissewa that cures fayveran' rheumatiz, too. It always grows where folks gits them disayses.Luk at the flower just blotched red an' white loike fayverblotches--an' Spearmint, that saves ye if ya pizen yerself withSpaszum-root, an' shure it grows right next it in the woods!

  "Thayer's Wormseed fur wurrums--see the 'ittle wurrum on the leaves"_[Chenopodium]_ "an' that thayer is Pleurisy root, an' thayer!well, thayer's the foinest hairb that iver God made to grow--that'sCure all. Some things cures wan thing and some cures another, but whenye don't know just what to take, ye make tay o' that root an' ye can'tgo wrong. It was an Injun larned me that. The poor miserable baste ofa haythen hed some larnin', an' the minit he showed me I knowed it wasso, fur ivery lafe wuz three in wan an' wan in three, an' had the signo' the blessed crass in the middle as plain as that biler settin' onthe stove."

  Thus she chattered away, smoking her short pipe, expectorating on thetop of the hot stove, but with true feminine delicacy she was carefuleach time to wipe her mouth on the back of her skinny arm.

  "An' that's what's called Catnip; sure Oi moind well the day Oi furstlarned about that. It warn't a Injun nor a docther nor a man at all,at all, that larned me that. It was that ould black Cat, an' may thesaints stand bechuxt me an
' his grane eyes! Bejabers, sometimes hescares me wid his knowin' ways, but I hev nothin' agin him except thathe kills the wee burruds. He koind o' measled all wan winter an' layaround the stove. Whiniver the dooer was open he'd go an' luk out an'then come back an' meow an' wheen an' lay down--an' so he kep' on,gittin' waker an' worser, till the snow wuz gone an' grass come up,an' still he'd go a-lukin' toward the ayst, especially nights. Thenthayer come up a plant I had never sane, right thayer, an' he'd luk atit an' luk at it loike he wanted it but didn't dar to. Thar was somefoine trays out thayer in thim days afore the ould baste cut thimdown, an' wan av thim hed a big limb, so--an' another so--an' when themoon come up full at jest the right time the shaddy made the sign avthe crass an' loighted on me dooer, an' after it was past it didn'tmake no crass. Well, bejabers, the full moon come up at last an' shemade the sign of the shaddy crass, an' the ould Cat goes out an'watches an' watches loike he wanted to an' didn't dar to, till thatcrass drapped fayer onto the hairbs, an' Tom he jumped then an' atean' ate, an' from that day he was a well Cat; an' that's how Oi larnedCatnip, an' it set me moind aisy, too, fur no Cat that's possesst 'lliver ate inunder the shaddy av the crass."

  Yan was scribbling away, but had given up any attempt to make sketchesor even notes beyond the names of the plants.

  "Shure, choild, put them papers wid the names on the hairbs an' save_them_; that wuz fwhat Docther Carmartin done whin Oi was larnin'him. Thayer, now, that's it," she added, as Yan took the hint andbegan slipping on each stalk a paper label with its name.

  "That's a curious broom," said Yan, as his eye fell on the symbol oforder and cleanliness, making strange reflections on itself.

  "Yes; sure, that's a Baitche broom. Larry makes 'em."

  "Larry?"

  "Yes, me bhoy." [Larry was nearly sixty.] "He makes thim of BlueBaitche."

  "How?" asked Yan, picking it up and examining it with intenseinterest.

  "Whoi, shure, by whittlin'. Larry's a howly terror to whittle, an'he gets a Blue Baitche sapling 'bout three inches thick an' startsa-whittlin" long slivers, but laves them on the sthick at wan end tillthayer all round loike that."

  "What, like a fire-lighter?"

  "Yis, yis, that's it, only bigger, an Blue Baitche is terrible tough.Then whin he has the sthick down to 'bout an inch thick, he ties allthe slivers the wrong way wid a sthrand o' Litherwood, an' thrims downthe han'el to suit, an' evens up the ind av the broom wid the axe an'lets it dhry out, an' thayer yer is. Better broom was niver made, an'there niver wus ony other in th' famb'ly till he married that KittyConnor, the lowest av the low, an' it's meself was all agin her, widher proide an' her dirthy sthuck-up ways' nothin' but boughten thingswuz good enough fur her, _her_ that niver had a dacint male tillshe thrapped moi Larry. Yis, low be it sphoken, but 'thrapped' 's thewurrud," said the old woman, raising her voice to give emphasis thattold a lurid tale.

  At this moment the door opened and in came Biddy, and as she was thedaughter of the unspeakable Kitty the conversation turned.

  "An' sure it's glad to see ye I am, an' when are ye comin' down toreside at our place?" was her greeting to Yan, and while they talkedGranny took advantage of the chance to take a long pull at a bottlethat looked and smelled like Lung-balm.

  "Moi, Biddy, yer airly," said Granny.

  "Shure, an' now it was late whin I left home, an' the schulmaster saysit's always so walking from ayst to west."

  "An' shure it's glad Oi am to say ye, fur Yan will shtop an ate widus. It ain't duck an' grane pase, but, thank God, we hev enough an' ahearty welcome wid ivery boite. Ye say, Biddy makes me dinner iveryfoine day an' Oi get a boite an' a sup for meself other toimes, an'slapes be me lone furby me Dog an' Cat an' the apples, which thayerain't but a handful left, but fwhat thar is is yourn. Help yerself,choild, an' ate hearty," and she turned down the gray-lookingbedclothes to show the last half-dozen of the same rosy apples.

  "Aint you afraid to sleep here alone nights, Granny?"

  "Shure fwhat hev Oi to fayre? Thayer niver wuz robbers come but wanst,an' shure I got theyer last cint aff av them. They come one night an'broke in, an' settin' up, Oi sez, 'Now fwhat _are_ yez lukin'fur?'

  "'Money,' sez they, fur thayer was talk all round thin that Oi hadsold me cow fur $25.

  "'Sure, thin, Oi'll get up an' help ye,' sez Oi, fur divil a cint hevOi been able to set me eyes on sense apple harvest.'"

  '"We want $25, or we'll kill ye.'

  "'Faith, an' if it wuz twenty-five cints Oi couldn't help it,' sez Oi,'an' it's ready to die Oi am,' sez Oi, 'fur Oi was confessed last wakean' Oi'm a-sayin' me prayers _this_ minit.'

  "Sez the littlest wan, an' he wa'n't so little, nigh as br'ad as thatdooer, 'Hevn't ye sold yer cow?'

  "'Ye'll foind her in the barrun,' sez Oi, 'though Oi hate to hev yezdisturb her slapin'. It makes her drame an' that's bad fur the milk.'

  "An' next thing them two robbers wuz laffin' at each other fur fools.Then the little wan sez:

  "'Now, Granny, we'll lave ye in pace, if ye'll niver say a wurrud o'this'--but the other wan seemed kind o' sulky.

  "'Sorra a wurrud,' sez Oi, 'an' good frinds we'll be yit,' an' theywuz makin' fur the dooer to clayer out whin I sez:

  "'Howld on! Me friends can't lave me house an' naither boite nor sup;turn yer backs an' ye plaze, till Oi get on me skirt.' An' whin Oi wuzup an' dacint an' tould them they could luk, Oi sez, 'It's the foinestLung balm in the land ye shall taste,' an' the littlest feller hestarts a-coughin', oh, a turrible cough--it fair scairt me, like ahoopin' croup--an' the other seemed just mad, and the littlest wanmade fun av him. Oi seen the mean wan wuz left-handed or let on hewuz, but when he reached out fur the bottle he had on'y three fingerson his right, an' they both av them had the biggest, blackest,awfulest lukin' bairds--I'd know them two bairds agin ony place--an'the littlest had a rag round his head, said he had a toothache, butshure yer teeth don't ache in the roots o' yer haiyer. Then when theywuz goin' the littlest wan put a dollar in me hand an' sez, 'It's allwe got bechuxst us, Granny.' 'Godbless ye,' sez Oi, 'an' Oi take itkindly. It's the first Oi seen sense apple harvest, an' it's a friendye hev in me whin ye nade wan,'" and the old woman chuckled over hervictory.

  "Granny, do you know what the Indians use for dyeing colours?" askedYan, harking back to his main purpose.

  "Shure, Yahn, they jest goes to the store an' gets boughten dyes inpackages like we do."

  "But before there were boughten dyes, didn't they use things in thewoods?"

  "That they did, for shure. Iverything man iver naded the good Lordmade grow fur him in the woods."

  "Yes, but what plants?"

  "Faix, an' they differ fur different things."

  "Yes, but what are they?" Then seeing how general questions failed, hewent at it in detail.

  "What do they use for yellow dye on the Porcupine quills--I meanbefore the boughten dyes came?"

  "Well, shure an' that's a purty yellow flower that grows in the fallout in the field an' along the fences. The Yaller Weed, I call it,an' some calls it Goldenrod. They bile the quills in wather with theflower. Luk! Thar's some wool dyed that way."

  "An' the red?" said Yan, scribbling away.

  "Faix, an' they had no rale good red. They made a koind o' red o'berry juice b'iled, an' wanst I seen a turrible nice red an ol' squawmade b'ilin' the quills fust in yaller awhile an' next awhile in red."

  "What berries make the best red, Granny?"

  "Well, 'tain't the red wans, as ye moight think. Ye kin make it ofRosberries or Sumac or Huckleberries an' lots more, but Black Currantsis redder than Red Currants, an' Squaw berries is best av them all."

  "What are they like?"

  "Shure, an' Oi'll show ye that same hairb," and they wandered aroundoutside the shanty in vain search. "It's too airly," said Granny, "butit's round thayer in heaps in August an' is the purtiest red ivergrew. 'An Pokeweed, too, it ain't har'ly flowerin' yit, but in thefall it hez berries that's so red they're nigh black, an' dyes thepurtiest kind o' a purple."

&
nbsp; "What makes blue?"

  "Oi niver sane none in the quills. Thayer may be some. The good Lordmade iverything grow in the woods, but I ain't found it an' niver seennone. Ye kin make a grane av the young shoots av Elder, but it ain'tpurty like that," and she pointed to a frightful emerald ribbon thatBiddy wore, "an' a brown of Butternut bark, an' a black av White Oakchips an' bark. Ye kin make a kind o' grane av two dips, wan of yalleran wan av black. Ye kin dye black wid Hickory bark, an' orange (badscran to it) wid the inner bark of Birch, an' yaller wid the rootsav Hoop Ash, an' a foine scarlet from the bark av the little root avDogwood, but there ain't no rale blue in the woods, an' that's what Itell them orange-an'-blue Prattisons on the 12th o' July, fur what theLord didn't make the divil did.

  "Ye kin make a koind of blue out o' the Indigo hairb, but 'tain't likethis," pointing to some screaming cobalt, "an' if it ain't in thewoods the good Lord niver meant us to have it. Yis! I tell ye it'sthe divil's own colour, that blue-orange an' blue is the divil's owncolours, shure enough, fur brimstone's yaller; an' its blue whin it'sburnin', that I hed from his riv'rince himself--bless him!"