CHAPTER XVII.
UNCLE ISAAC’S PLEDGE.
As they came to the edge of the woods they espied Uncle Isaac standingbeneath the branches of the old maple, and, with his hand over hiseyes, looking all around him as though in quest of something. Equallysurprised and delighted, they ran to meet him.
“I heard you was on here,” said he, “and was looking for you. How doyou do, Charlie?”
“Very well, I thank you, Uncle Isaac. O, how glad I am to see you! Itis a great while since you were here.”
John, who knew Charlie was too modest to do it himself, showed him thelookout in the top of the tree, the house, and all that was in it, andalso told him how Charlie beat them firing at a mark, though they hadguns, and he a bow and arrows; and showed him the bullet-holes andarrow-marks in the target.
“What should you say if I could beat that?”
The boys entreated him to fire.
“This bow is rather small for me, and the arrow will go slower than Ihave been accustomed to have them, which makes it difficult judging howmuch it will fall. It’s many a long year since I drew an arrow to thehead; but I’ve seen the time it would have been as much as any of yourlives were worth to have run across the roughest ground you ever saw,within thirty yards of my arrow; that is, if I was prepared to harmyou. Have any of you hit the dot?”
“No,” replied Fred; “but Charlie came within an inch of it.”
“Well, I am going to hit it. Where did you stand, Charlie?”
“Here, Uncle Isaac; I put my toe right against that stone.”
“I will put mine right against that stone; I want you all to see thatit’s fair, and I stand just in his tracks.”
The boys all allowed it was fair. After firing up in the air once ortwice, to get the hang of the bow, he planted an arrow, as he had said,directly in the dot.
The boys were greatly delighted at this proof of skill.
“I will show you another thing. Charlie, run to the house and get yourmother’s milk-pail. Now, what will you bet that I can’t shoot an arrowup in the air so that it will come down in that pail?”
“It’s impossible,” cried Charlie; “it can’t be done.”
“If I do it, will you and John give me a day’s work this fall diggingpotatoes?”
“Yes, will we.”
“And so will I,” said Fred.
He drew the bow, and, sure enough, the arrow came down in themilk-pail, and, as it was pointed, stuck up in it.
“Well,” exclaimed Charlie, “if any man in this world had told me he hadseen that done, or that it could be done, I wouldn’t have believed him.”
“I rather think,” said Uncle Isaac, with a smile, “this is the easiestway in which I can dig my potatoes.”
“Now, Uncle Isaac,” said Charlie, “I want you to tell me just onething; how did you learn to shoot so? My grandfather killed men inbattle, and used to shoot at the butts on holidays, and gained prizesfor shooting, but he couldn’t shoot like that; and I don’t believe heever heard of anything like it.”
“I learnt among the Indians, when I was a lad. I was on a visit at myuncle’s, and the Indians were in ambush in the woods. My uncle was avery strong, fearless man, and an excellent marksman. It was not knownthat there were any Indians round; and one morning he loaded his gun(for they never went without arms in those days), and went down besidethe brook to cut some timber. Instead of taking his powder-horn, he, bymistake, took a horn that was full of sand, which they kept to put onthe scythe rifles. (We would say to our readers, that the scythe riflesin those days were not made as at present, by putting sand or emeryupon wood, with cement; but they scratched the wood and made it rough,then smeared it with tallow, and put fine sand on it, which adhered tothe tallow and the scratches.) While he was at work the Indians firedat and wounded him. He returned the fire, and killed the chief’s son,and, when they rushed upon him, he killed another with the butt ofhis gun, when they mastered him. If he had only taken his powder-horninstead of the sand, he would probably have driven them off. They thenkilled my aunt and cousins, and put my poor uncle to the torture; butthe chief, whose son my uncle had killed, took me for his own, and Igrew up with the Indians, and they learnt me all their ways. When I waswith them I used to shoot partridges, coons, and porcupines, for myIndian mother.”
“Do Indians know much? I thought they were ignorant as beasts.”
“They don’t know how to read in books; but they are a wise andunderstanding people, after their fashion. I learned to love my Indianfather and mother, for they were very kind to me, and, when we werescant of food, would go without themselves to feed me.”
“Why can’t you stay, and go hunting with us to-morrow, and tell us moreabout the Indians?”
“I can’t, child; because I only came over to bring some bad news, andmust go right back.”
“What is the news?” said John. “Is anything the matter at our house, orhas there any bad tidings come from father?”
“Poor old Uncle Yelf is dead; and I hope none of us will ever die insuch an awful way.”
“How did he die?”
“Why, night before last his horse came home with the bridle under hisfeet. They raised the neighborhood, and followed the horse’s tracksto William Griffin’s door, and then it got dark, and they lost them;however, they hunted in the slough holes, and all about, a good part ofthe night, for it was cold, and they knew if he laid out he’d perish.But the next morning, when Mr. Griffin went out to feed his hogs, therelay the poor old man in the hogs’ bed, stone dead. Boys, do either ofyou drink spirit?”
They all replied that they had drank it.
“I drink it,” said John, “at huskings and raisings, and when fathergives it to me.”
“So do I,” said Fred; “but I don’t buy any to drink myself.”
“I,” said Charlie, “used to drink at home, when father gave it to me;but, after he was pressed, I promised my mother not to drink any, and Inever have, of my own will; but when I was in the Albatross they usedto make me drink, and poured it down my throat if I refused, in orderthat I might sing songs, and make sport for them when I was drunk.”
“Well, I want you, and John, and Frederick to agree, before I leavethis spot that I am sitting on, that you will never taste another dropof liquor, without you are sick.”
“Why do you want us to promise that?”
“Because I remember the time when Yelf was as smart, iron-sided, andindustrious a man as ever trod the Lord’s earth. It took a withy manto lay him on his back, or lift his load, I tell you. He had a farmof two hundred acres of the best of new land; his wife milked sevencows, made butter and cheese, and spun and wove all their cloth; theyhad enough of everything, and everybody was as welcome to it as theywere themselves. He was as well thought of as any man in town, and bidfair to be a rich man. But he carried all that stock and land to thestore (except one acre and a half) in a two-quart jug, and died drunkamong the hogs. Now, that poor woman, who has counted her cheese byscores, and her butter by tubs, has not a drop of milk except what theneighbors give her, nor a stick of wood but what she picks up.”
Uncle Isaac’s voice was broken, and the tears ran down his cheeks. Theboys were greatly affected; they had never seen the calm, resolute manmoved before, and the tears stood in their eyes.
“There’s no telling,” continued he, “what a man, who drinks ever solittle, may come to, and how it may grow upon him; but if he don’tdrink at all he is safe.”
The proposition of their friend was, notwithstanding, so strange inthat day, that the boys hesitated.
“Uncle Isaac,” asked John, “don’t you drink?”
“Yes, I do, John; but if I was beginning life, and forming habits asyou are, a drop should never cross my lips. Though I never drank adaily dram, and sometimes not for six months, and was never intoxicatedin my life, I’ve strong thoughts--yes, I’ve very strong thoughts--ofleaving it off altogether.”
“But father drinks, and my brother Ben, and the
minister, and everybodyI know. When the minister comes to our house, mother gets some gin,sweetens it with loaf sugar, and puts it down on the hearth to warm. Iknow my mother wouldn’t do anything wrong; she couldn’t.”
“Your father, the minister, and myself may be able to govern ourselves,but a great many others may not, and you may not. Poor Mr. Yelf neverthought he should die in a hog-sty.”
“But,” asked Fred, “if it is wrong now, wan’t it always wrong? Younever said anything about it before.”
“I’ve been thinking about it this long time, and have been graduallybrought to see that it was gaining ground, and getting hold of theyoung ones; that it was killing people, and making poverty and misery,and have thought something ought to be done. As long ago as when thishouse of Ben’s was building, I found old Mr. Yelf in a slough, bruised,dirty, and bloody. Ever since that I’ve been thinking about it; it haskept me awake nights. But when I saw the poor old man, whom I had knownso well to do, dead among the swine, I felt the time had come. I meantto have begun with older people, and should not have thought of you;but when I heard that you were all on here together, it seemed to methat the road was pinted out; that you had no bad habits to break off,and that it would be beginning at the root of the tree; for if therewere no young folks growing up to drink, there would be no old ones todie drunkards.”
“I’ll promise,” said Fred. “I should like to go ahead in somethinggood;” and so said the others.
“I don’t want you to promise without consideration, because I expectyou to keep it. A promise made in a hurry is broken in a hurry. I wantyou to be ‘fully persuaded in your own minds,’ and think what you woulddo if your own folks should ask you to drink.”
“It costs a great deal,” said John. “Father spends lots of money forspirit to drink and give away; and I don’t think it does anybody anygood, for I am as well as I can be without it. I’ll do it, and stickto it.”
“Charles,” said Uncle Isaac, “go to the house and bring up Ben’s bigauger, that he bores yokes with.”
When the auger was brought, he took it and bored a hole in the sideof the maple. “Now, I want you to put your hands on this auger, andpromise not to drink any spirit, without you are sick, till this holegrows up.”
“But,” said Charlie, “after it grows up there will be nothing to keepus from drinking.”
“It will be many a year before that hole grows up, for I’ve boredthrough the sap. I expect by that time you will have seen so much ofthe bad effects of drinking spirit, and the benefits of letting italone, that no power on earth would persuade you to do it.”
Sally now blew the horn for supper. As they went with Uncle Isaac tohis boat, Fred said to him, “You know we’ve got a whole week for aholiday; we have been so much more used to work than play, and haveso many things in our heads, that we don’t know what to do first. Ifyou was a boy, like us, what would you do to-morrow, to have the besttime?”
“Yes; tell us,” said Charlie.
“Well, I’ll tell you, and see what you think of it. Mr. Yelf is goingto be put into the ground to-morrow, and I’ve come on to let Ben andSally know, that they may go over to the funeral. He has left hisfamily miserably poor. His only son is in the Ark with Captain Rhines.The neighbors are going to send in enough for the present. Suppose,while we are gone to the funeral, you boys should go and catch a goodlot of fish,--enough to last Mrs. Yelf all winter. When she was well todo, before he took to drinking, nobody went hungry in her neighborhood.I’ll be on the beach, in Captain Rhines’s cave, when you come back, andwill split and salt the fish; there’s a flake to dry them on, and noPete Clash to throw them in the water. I will cure them; and when theyare done you can take them to her.”
“We don’t want anything better than that,” said the boys.
“I’d rather do that,” said Fred, “than play at the best play in theworld; you are real good to put it into our heads;” and he threw hisarms around his friend’s neck.
“But,” asked Charlie, “how shall we know where to go? I know where togo for hake and winter cod; but it’s too late for hake, and the winterfish have not come in.”
“There’s rock cod on the ledges; and I can tell John, who knows theshores and islands, so that you can find them. You know, John, thatlone spruce on the end of Birch Pint?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Bring that to bear over the western pint of the Junk of Pork, athigh-water mark; then bring the north-west side of Smutty Nose, andthe south-east side of Oak Island, just touching on to each other,and you’ll be on a kelp shoal, where there’s plenty of rock cod, andwhere it is so shallow that at low water you can see them bite. Yourgrandfather showed me those marks. It isn’t everybody that knows thatspot, and I don’t want you to tell them to anybody. Be sure, if itbreaks, to anchor to the leeward of the breaker, because, if youranchor should drag, you might drift into it. It’s a good bit to sea,but there’s three of you, good stout boys, to row, that ain’t afraid oftrifles. The wind is north-west; I think it will be smooth, and you cantake the big canoe.”
“But father will want that to go to the funeral,” said Charlie; “andmine is not large enough to go so far.”
“Well, then, take mine; I’ll go home in yours, and we will swap at thebeach.”
“I wish I could do more for the poor woman; it is not much to get her alot of fish.”
“Not much for you, but it will be a great deal to her, though. Theyhave got potatoes in the ground, and that will give them hash allwinter; and beans growing, and a little piece of corn, that won’t cometo much, but it will fat their pig, that’s now running in the woods.I’ll tell you what else you can do. When I come to make my cider, youcan all come to our house; we will take my oxen and haul her woodenough to last all winter; and you can have just as many apples, and asmuch new cider, as you want.”
“What shall we have for bait? There are no menhaden in the bay.”
“You don’t want any; rock fish will bite at clams; and it is most lowwater; then you can get some; and if you could get a lobster it wouldbe first rate. I want you, while you are young, to get in the way offeeling for your fellow-critters, and then it will grow on you justas rum-drinking grows on a drunkard. When God wants us he calls forus. I’m sure I hope when he calls for me, he will find me with my handstretched out, putting something into some poor critter’s mouth, andnot drunk in a hog-sty.”
“Did God call Uncle Yelf?” asked John.
“No; he went without being called; killed himself; and it’s dreadful tothink what has become of his soul.”
It was nearly night when Uncle Isaac dropped his oars into the water.The boys went directly to digging clams by the bright moonlight; andas Ben and Sally helped them,--Sally picking them up and washingthem,--it was soon accomplished. While this was going on, Charlie,with his spear, poked some lobsters from beneath the rocks. Ben was somuch occupied with thoughts about Uncle Yelf’s funeral, that he neverasked a question in respect to the ball, or where they found it, merelysaying, as he saw it in Fred’s hand, “So you got your ball.”
As tired as dogs, but happy, they lay down. Fred exclaimed, “What isthe matter with this bed? it seems to be going up and down.”
“It’s the motion of the boat that is in your head,” replied John.
Charlie was already snoring.
Charlie Bell, The Waif of Elm Island Page 18