Beginning Again

by Mary Beacock Fryer

  I ignored him, and also the stab of jealousy I felt. Anyway, Elizabeth was only fourteen, and I knew Mama would never have let her go to the dance with just Dave. She had agreed because they were with a crowd. Now I longed to be off. Mama did not show signs of leaving until Robert, as starving as I, began to whine and pull at her skirts. Finally we were digging into two fat chickens that Mama had left keeping warm in an iron pot and downing mugs of cider, a special treat.

  That afternoon I was lying under our big oak tree dozing over Pilgrim's Progress which Mama had borrowed from the Colemans. The adventures of Christian kept putting me to sleep, but Mama wanted me persevere. She said the book might improve my mind. I was released when Cade roused me.

  “Papa wants to talk to us about the timber raft,” he said.

  Papa was outside the cabin with Sam, and we four seated ourselves on the front stoop. “Is the work for Captain Sherwood very hard, Papa?” I asked him.

  “Not really,” he replied. “The chopping and sawing are heavy, but we pace ourselves. Handling such large logs has to be done carefully, and we take plenty of time. I think that building our raft will take much longer than I anticipated. I had thought we might have one ready by next spring, but now I think the summer or autumn of ’92 is more likely.”

  Sam looked crestfallen. “So long before we can hope for hard cash,” he murmured.

  “Disappointing,” Cade agreed. “How big a raft do you want, Papa?”

  “The same size as Captain Sherwood's,” Papa said. “His will have four hundred large logs, and he started it last winter. I don't think we can work as fast as he can. He owns three hefty black servants, and he can afford to hire other men besides myself.”

  “By servants don't you mean slaves?” I asked.

  “Calling them servants is a polite way of covering up what they really are,” Papa agreed. “I don't hold with slavery. The first Seamans on Long Island were Quakers. Ever since those days our family has refused to own human beings.”

  “I still think we could have a raft by next spring,” Sam argued, returning to the subject of the raft. “We only took a few days to build one during our journey from Schenectady.”

  “Come on, Sam,” Cade broke in. “That was just a little raft, to carry our things when the ground became too rough for a wagon. For the life of me I can't imagine how we'll handle some of those huge pines.”

  “I'm learning to use levers, pulleys and ropes which make the work a lot lighter,” Papa told us. “And to work safely. That's most important. And I don't think there's much point in taking a smaller raft all the way to Quebec, more than three hundred miles. I say we take more logs and reap a higher return for the journey. Remember, we have to sleep at inns on the way back and pay our fares on the stage coach and the bateau brigade no matter how small the raft.”

  That made good sense to Papa, but not quite so much to us. At thirteen, having to look ahead as much as a month daunted me. Sam's patience was tried as quickly as mine though Cade seemed resigned. Being the eldest he had grown up faster than Sam or me.

  “Now,” Papa continued. “Once the harvest is in, we'll need a cabin on our land, for shelter throughout the winter. I hope you, Ned, and Cade, with the help of the Mallory boys, will be able to do that when you finish work at the McNishes. The Mallorys have a land grant just four miles east of ours. I met Mr. Mallory at Johnstown recently. He's agreed to loan us his sons, Elisha and Jeremiah, in return for our selling some logs from their land, which we'll build into the raft. Have you any questions?”

  “You want all three of us to stay on our land, Papa?” I asked.

  “Most of the time,” he replied. “You'll have to take turns being with Mama and at the shop, but our efforts this winter will be preparing timber for the raft. I expect to be home to stay some time in November. I intend accompanying the Sherwoods to Quebec, to learn how to sail a raft.”

  “That's a good idea,” Cade said. “From what I've heard, the Long Sault Rapids are colossal, and sometimes rafts break up on them. The more we know about the river the better.”

  The others went inside but I hung back and touched Papa's arm as he was turning to follow them. “I must speak to you alone,” I whispered. “About Cade.”

  Papa's brow furrowed. “What about him, Ned?”

  “His shoulder, where he was shot. It's paining him.”

  “Oh, no,” Papa groaned. “I've been afraid he might have trouble after such a wound.”

  “It's the sawing that bothers him the most,” I went on.

  Papa's face brightened. “Then we mustn't let him do too much of it.”

  “You know he'll want to do his share. He's like that.”

  “Don't worry, Ned. There'll be plenty of other things he can do that will be easier on his shoulder. I haven't told you everything we'll be doing. Whenever Cade has had enough he can keep watch on the fire we'll need to burn the branches. We're going to make potash from the wood ashes, as the Sherwoods do. Captain Sherwood went to Montreal for a few days, and on his return he gave me a contract from a Montreal merchant to buy whatever potash we can make. There's a great demand for it, and it brings hard cash. We'll have some money even before the raft's ready.”

  That night Mama measured me for the breeches, as she had promised. “The old ones will do for the summer, and you'll have new ones before you go to our estate this fall,” she said.

  The rest of August and all of September passed with agonizing slowness as we went about our chores at the McNishes. First came oats, which we cut with scythes and thrashed by hand, beating the sheaves on large stones and collecting the kernels. Then came the wheat, and we carried the sacks to Coleman's grist mill, returning for the flour when it was ready. I had tried staying in the mill, but the dust made my eyes so sore and I sneezed so much that I kept out of there as much as I could.

  We pulled carrots and dug the potatoes and stored them in the McNish root cellar. We gathered the ears of Indian corn, the squashes and pumpkins. The corn was hung from rafters in the old cabin; the squashes and pumpkins were preserved in salty brine. At last October dawned and our work was over.

  We knew we had been working to learn, but to our delight Mr. McNish gave us some produce as payment. To Cade he presented one of the young pigs, and to me a pair of chickens. Mrs. McNish, who was Mr. Bueir's sister, pressed a pair of ducks on us.

  “The chicks and ducklings are a bit young to tell what sex they are,” she said. “If we haven't given you a male and female of each so you can start your own flocks, let us know and we'll make a trade.”

  They decided to add some seed for the poultry, and we set off, first with the animals, making a second trip for the feed.

  Next came the task of moving the items needed for winter to Buell's Bay for transport to our land. We were also taking some boards cut at Coleman's mill to floor and roof the cabin we were to build. For this, Sam had a surprise for us. During the summer Mama had had him build a two-wheeled cart and fashion iron rims for the wheels. Thus we were able to take our supplies to the river more easily than if we had had to carry them on our backs.

  “I wanted to make a proper wagon,” Sam said. “But Mama pointed out, with the stallion away, a one-horse cart would make more sense.”

  We borrowed Mr. Buell's bateau again. Sam would float back in it after dropping us on our land, carried along by the river's strong current. “I plan to start building our own boat as soon as I get back,” Sam told us. “Mr. Buell's promised to help out if I have any problems.”

  Cade and I exchanged glances, both with the same thought. Was it possible that Sam was growing up and becoming more responsible? Below the hubbub of the others' talking, Cade nudged me. “I think Mama manages him better when Papa's out of the way.”

  We had a time finding our land, for the days were so much shorter in October than on our visit of last May. When it grew too dark to see any longer, we drew the bateau up on a sandy beach, hoping it was ours. In the morning we found we had not gone quite f
ar enough and set out again. When we reached our own beach, two lads a bit older than us were standing watching.

  “I'm Elisha Mallory,” the taller one said, helping us draw up the bateau. “And this is my brother Jeremiah. We call the spot where we built our jetty Mallorytown Landing I reckon this should be Seaman's Landing.”

  “That does have a nice ring about it” said I.

  “Let's get started,” Cade said. “It's almost too cold now to sleep outdoors even with all the blankets we've brought.

  “I guess, as the eldest Seaman on the job, you're the boss, Cade,” Elisha said. “Just say what you want done.”

  Chapter 3 Of Winter and Strange Goings On

  In the woods most of our time passed in boring hard work. Evenings were the only time for fun, for which we never seemed too tired. Our first shelter was of bark, similar to those we had used at the camp of the Oneida Indians on our way from Schenectady. We stripped great pieces of bark from some birch trees, and laid them over a frame of saplings. After dark we sat round a blazing fire, swapping tales, the taller the better. The Mallorys were craftier at this than Cade and me.

  Whenever anyone's gravely ill,” Elisha said one night. “They go see the witch who has a cabin back among the lakes. She can cure better than Dr. Jones.”

  “Back there they keep a close watch on their cats,” Jeremiah added. “Or they're likely to end up in her magic pot.”

  “Ugh!” Cade said, lip curled in disgust.

  “Turned into some sort of potion,” Elisha said. “Unless they're black. Those she keeps.”

  “I don't believe all that,” Cade retorted scornfully.

  “That's because you're from New York. We're from Vermont, where they've lots of witches.”

  Sometimes in the autumn night we heard strange growling sounds. “They're catamounts,” Elisha said. “There are plenty of them on the American side of the river.”

  “You mean panthers, mountain lions?” Cade queried.

  “Yes, those are other names. In Vermont we say catamount.”

  “We think one stalked us while we were coming north from the Mohawk Valley,” I added. “They can be dangerous. We'd better watch out for them.”

  “Haven't seen any on this side,” Elisha said. “The river's a barrier. They mostly stay in or close to the Adirondacks or the Green Mountains.”

  Often I would lower my axe as the days passed. Of course, I had to ease my aching arms and shoulders, but my real reason was because I admired the view. Jeremiah Mallory said the autumn colours were better than usual, and to me the trees were a picture. The crimsons of the maples, the deeper reds of the oaks, the yellows of the birches, and the deep green of the white pines dazzled my eyes.

  “I wish Mama were here to see all this,” I said to Cade as he, too, rested, rubbing his shoulder. “Those islands are like sugar cakes, much prettier than they looked last May.”

  “She'll have years to admire this view,” the ever practical Cade observed. “When the house gets built on her favourite spot.”

  We were careful, when we started building the cabin, to put it off to one side so as not to spoil Mama's chosen place. First came a chimney of loose stones we gathered from the shore. The soil was mostly sandy, but we did find a patch of sticky clay to chink between the stones to hold them in place. The part of the chimney above the roofline was of sticks well covered in clay so that they would not be set afire easily. We chose small trees for the log walls, notching each log at both ends so that they would fit together without leaving too wide gaps. Jeremiah Mallory worked with us, often telling us what to do, though we had helped build the cabin at Coleman's Corners and knew what we were about. Elisha meanwhile was making a large chest, to hold wood ashes for the potash operation. The rest of us used some of the boards brought from Coleman's mill for the cabin floor and the roof. We covered the roof boards with sheets of birch bark to keep out the rain. Sad to tell, we ran out of boards for the door and the shutters for the windows, and had to split logs into boards by hand. In two weeks we had a snug cabin and were making it cosier by filling in cracks along the walls with clay. Otherwise our wants were few though our furniture was rustic. We split some more logs to make bed frames, while thicker logs cut crosswise served as stools and a small table. With the shutters and the door closed, the place was dark except when the fire was high. Even then cold air seeped in around the edges of all openings.

  About a week after we had moved inside, the Mallorys told us about buried treasure said to be on land between ours and theirs. The owner of that land was Billa La Rue, who had built a cabin and started damming a stream that dropped swiftly into the St. Lawrence. He planned to build mills once the dam was finished.

  “Everyone knows he's hid a fortune in gold coins in the woods,” Elisha said, looking cunning.

  “Where would anybody get gold coins these days?” Cade enquired, sceptical.

  “There're all sorts of tales about that,” Jeremiah said. “Some say it's King's gold. Billa was a spy for King George during the revolution.”

  “Anyway, the only time to look for it is at midnight,” Elisha spoke with conviction. “To make sure old Billa's asleep.”

  “But I've heard tell of ghosts,” Jeremiah interrupted. “Do we really want to go at midnight?”

  “If Sam were here, he'd be off like a shot to look for it,” I remarked.

  “What Sam can do, we can do,’ Cade bragged, unusual for him, I thought. “Why not let's go see if we can find it.”

  “How about tonight?” Elisha suggested. “We can leave the fire banked and come back to a warm place. The moon's nearly full. We ought to look before it snows so we won't leave tracks.”

  “Good thinking,” Jeremiah said.

  Thus we found ourselves marching along, each with a wooden shovel over a shoulder, guided by the shore, the river shimmering to our right. We laughed and chatted till Jeremiah motioned for silence. “The La Rue cabin's just beyond those trees,” he said. “Follow me and keep quiet.”

  We moved in single file now, trying to step silently as we circled the trees and found ourselves to the rear of the darkened little dwelling. Not quite sure what we were looking for, we fanned out and some time passed as we examined the ground. At length Cade came to me, the others right behind him.

  “There's a place where the ground looks different, as though someone might have dug it up and filled it in again,” he whispered.

  “We can try there, but I suspect it's too far from the cabin,” Elisha said.

  “Wait,” said Jeremiah. “Try to put ourselves in Billa's shoes. Maybe he'd think it's safer not too close.”

  “Let's look there first,” I suggested. “We've nothing to lose.”

  The moon throwing an eerie light, Cade led us to the place, and we began to dig. We made quite a large hole and were about to give up when one of the shovels struck something that had a metallic ring. “There seems to be a box down there,” Elisha said.

  I was the first to jump into the hole to investigate, and was soon scrabbling with my hands around what seemed a corner of a chest. Suddenly I could not see what I was doing for something large appeared to be shading me from the moon. Next I wondered why none of the others had followed me into the hole, as I turned to see what was shading it.

  Towering over me was what seemed to be a huge, silver-hued bull, prancing, horns flashing, but making no sound. In my imagination I could hear snorting as a gust of wind chilled my face. For a moment I was frozen before I fairly flew out of the hole, my feet like wings.

  I brushed past a whole herd of shining phantom cattle, prancing silently as I dashed to the shore. Of Cade and the Mallorys there was no sign. On I ran, my breath coming in short gasps, certain I could feel the whole herd hard on my heels, expecting to be gored by ghostly horns at any moment. As I dashed past the La Rue cabin I imagined I heard a sound like a cackle. I made for our cabin, half fearful the others would not be there. Perhaps they had run for the Mallory farm for safety, rather than
the empty cabin.

  I was so relieved when I pushed open the door to see Cade, poking up the fire, the others behind him. All were close enough to the flame for me to see how ashen their colour was. Gradually my heart stopped thudding in my breast.

  “Old Billa can keep his treasure for all I care,” I muttered when I found my voice.

  “Sorry I ran out on you,” Cade murmured. “But I was that scared.”

  No one slept much during what remained of the night. Nor did anyone ever mention that night nor try to understand what had occurred. That was not the end of the matter either. I was the first to go outside after dawn, and I could not believe my eyes when I spotted four shovels standing in a row against the side of the unfinished potash box. Now I remembered that we had taken them with us, and I certainly had not stopped to find mine before I leapt from that hole. I don't imagine the others bothered to remove theirs either. Did old Billa hear us and spirit them over?

  I ran back inside. “Our shovels are here,” I said.

  No one answered me. In fact no one said anything at all for hours. We were all happy to see a real human being later in the day when Captain Sherwood rode in, leading a second horse. He was on his way to Kingston and would be bringing his two sons home from school for the Christmas holidays. Soon after he left, Papa and Sam arrived, rowing our new bateau. Like Mr. Buell's, it was about half the size of the government ones that passed by in brigades. It had a mast, but as yet no sail.

  We helped them unload barrels, wooden buckets, and a large iron kettle, all purchased from the bit of money Papa had earned working on the Sherwood raft and for the use of the stallion. We all had much to admire, which helped take our minds off the strange happening of the night before. Papa was pleased with the cabin, and we praised Sam for the fine work on the bateau. They were to stay till nearly Christmas, when we would all go home for the celebration.

  Papa soon had us making snowshoes, for we would need them to get about once the white blanket lay thick on the land. He thought of them, and the Mallorys knew how to make them. We put long strips of wood for frames in the river and soaked them until they became soft. Then we bent them round and tied the ends together with a deerskin thong. Next came the stringing with more strips of deerskin. We were still employed in this way when towards dusk one evening Captain Sherwood appeared, Samuel and Levius on the spare horse.