“Wal, we wus a lyin’ at Camden there, one arternoon, goin’ to sail for Boston that night. It was a sort o’ soft, pleasant arternoon, kind o’ still, and there wa’n’t nothin’ a goin’ on but jest the hens a craw-crawin’, and a histin’ up one foot, and holdin’ it a spell ‘cause they didn’t know when to set it down, and the geese a sissin’ and a pickin’ at the grass. Ye see, Camden wasn’t nothin’ of a place,—’twas jest as if somebody had emptied out a pocketful o’ houses and forgot ‘em. There wer’n’t nothin’ a stirrin’ or goin’ on; and so we was all took aback, when ‘bout four o’clock in the arternoon there come a boat alongside, with a tall, elegant lady in it, all dressed in deep mournin’. She rared up sort o’ princess-like, and come aboard our ship, and wanted to speak to Cap’n Tucker. Where she come from, or what she wanted, or where she was goin’ to, we none on us knew: she kep’ her veil down so we couldn’t get sight o’ her face. All was, she must see Cap’n Tucker alone right away.
“Wal, Cap’n Tucker he was like the generality o’ cap’ns. He was up to ‘bout every thing that any man could do, but it was pretty easy for a woman to come it over him. Ye see, cap’ns, they don’t see women as men do ashore. They don’t have enough of ’em to get tired on ‘em; and every woman’s an angel to a sea-cap’n. Anyway, the cap’n he took her into his cabin, and he sot her a chair, and was her humble servant to command, and what would she have of him? And we was all a winkin’, and a nudgin’ each other, and a peekin’ to see what was to come o’ it. And she see it; and so she asks, in a sort o’ princess’ way, to speak to the cap’n alone; and so the doors was shut, and we was left to our own ideas, and a wonderin’ what it was all to be about.
“Wal, you see, it come out arterwards all about what went on; and things went this way. Jest as soon as the doors was shut, and she was left alone with the cap’n, she busted out a cryin’ and a sobbin’ fit to break her heart.
“Wal, the cap’n he tried to comfort her up: but no, she wouldn’t be comforted, but went on a weepin’ and a wailin,’ and a wringin’ on her hands, till the poor cap’n’s heart was a’most broke; for the cap’n was the tenderest-hearted critter that could be, and couldn’t bear to see a child or a woman in trouble noways.
“‘O cap’n!’ said she, ‘I’m the most unfortunate woman. I’m all alone in the world,’ says she, ‘and I don’t know what’ll become of me ef you don’t keep me,’ says she.
“Wal, the cap’n thought it was time to run up his colors; and so says he, ‘Ma’am, I’m a married man, and love my wife,’ says he, ‘and so I can feel for all women in distress,’ says he.
“Oh, well, then!’ says she,’you can feel for me, and know how to pity me. My dear husband’s just died suddenly when he was up the river. He was took with the fever in the woods. I nussed him day and night,’ says she; ‘but he died there in a mis’able little hut far from home and friends,’ says she; ‘and I’ve brought his body down with me, hopin’ Providence would open some way to get it back to our home in Boston. And now, cap’n, you must help me.’
“Then the cap’n see what she was up to: and he hated to do it, and tried to cut her off o’ askin’; but she wa’n’t to be put off.
“‘Now, cap’n,’ says she, ‘ef you’ll take me and the body o’ my husband on board to-night, I’d be willin’ to reward you to any amount. Money would be no object to me,’ says she.
“Wal, you see, the cap’n he kind o’ hated to do it; and he hemmed and hawed, and he tried to ‘pologize. He said ’twas a government vessel, and he didn’t know as he had a right to use it. He said sailors was apt to be superstitious; and he didn’t want ’em to know as there was a corpse on board.
“‘Wal,’ says she, ‘why need they know? ‘For, you see, she was up to every dodge; and she said she’d come along with it at dusk, in a box, and have it just carried to a state-room, and he needn’t tell nobody what it was.
“Wal, Cap’n Tucker he hung off; and he tried his best to persuade her to have a funeral, all quiet, there at Camden. He promised to get a minister, and ‘tend to it, and wait a day till it was all over, and then take her on to Boston free gratis. But ’twas all no go. She wouldn’t hear a word to ‘t. And she reeled off the talk to him by the yard. And, when talk failed, she took to her water-works again, till finally the cap’n said his resolution was clean washed away, and he jest give up hook and line; and so ’twas all settled and arranged, that, when evening come, she was to be alongside with her boat, and took aboard.
“When she come out o’ the cap’n’s room to go off, I see Tom Toothacre a watchin’ on her. He stood there by the railin’s a shavin’ up a plug o’ baccy to put in his pipe. He didn’t say a word; but he sort o’ took the measure o’ that ‘are woman with his eye, and kept a follerin’ on her.
“She had a fine sort o’ lively look, carried her head up and shoulders back, and stepped as if she had steel springs in her heels.
“‘Wal, Tom, what do ye say to her?’ says Ben Bowdin.
“‘I don’t say nothin’,’ says Tom, and he lit his pipe; ‘tain’t my busness,’ says he.
“‘Wal, what do you think?’ says Ben. Tom gin a hist to his trousers.
“‘My thoughts is my own,’ says he; ‘and I calculate to keep ’em to myself,’ says he. And then he jest walked to the side of the vessel, and watched the woman a gettin’ ashore. There was a queer kind o’ look in Tom’s eye.
“Wal, the cap’n he was drefful sort o’ oneasy arter she was gone. He had a long talk in the cabin with Mr. More, the fust officer; and there was a sort o’ stir aboard as if somethin’ was a goin’ to happen, we couldn’t jest say what it was.
“Sometimes it seems as if, when things is goin’ to happen, a body kind o’ feels ’em comin’ in the air. We boys was all that way: o’ course we didn’t know nothin’ ‘bout what the woman wanted, or what she come for, or whether she was comin’ agin; ‘n fact, we didn’t know nothin’ about it, and yet we sort o’ expected suthin’ to come o’ it; and suthin’ did come, sure enough.
“Come on night, jest at dusk, we see a boat comin’ alongside; and there, sure enough, was the lady in it.
“‘There, she’s comin’ agin,’ says I to Tom Tooth-acre.
“‘Yes, and brought her baggage with her,’ says Tom; and he p’inted down to a long, narrow pine box that was in the boat beside her.
“Jest then the cap’n called on Mr. More, and he called on Tom Toothacre; and among ’em they lowered a tackle, and swung the box aboard, and put it in the state-room right alongside the cap’n’s cabin.
“The lady she thanked the cap’n and Mr. More, and her voice was jest as sweet as any nightingale; and she went into the state-room arter they put the body in, and was gone ever so long with it. The cap’n and Mr. More they stood a whisperin’ to each other, and every once in a while they’d kind o’ nod at the door where the lady was.
“Wal, by and by she come out with her han’ker-chief to her eyes, and come on deck, and begun talk-in’ to the cap’n and Mr. More, and a wishin’ all kinds o’ blessin’s on their heads.
“Wal, Tom Toothacre didn’t say a word, good or bad; but he jest kep’ a lookin’ at her, watchin’ her as a cat watches a mouse. Finally we up sail, and started with a fair breeze. The lady she kep’ a walkin’ up and down, up and down, and every time she turned on her heel, I saw Tom a lookin’ arter her and kind o’ noddin’ to himself.
“‘What makes you look arter her so, Tom?’ says I to him.
“‘‘Cause I think she wants lookin’ arter,’ says Tom. ‘What’s more,’ says he, ‘if the cap’n don’t look sharp arter her the devil ‘ll have us all afore mornin.’ I tell ye, Sam, there’s mischief under them petticuts.’
“‘Why, what do ye think?’ says I.
“‘Think! I don’t think, I knows! That ‘are’s no gal, nor widder neither, if my name’s Tom Tooth-acre! Look at her walk; look at the way she turns on her heel I I’ve been a watchin’ on her. There ain’t no woman livi
n’ with a step like that!’ says he.
“‘Wal, who should the critter be, then?’ says I.
“‘Wal,’ says Tom, ‘ef that ‘are ain’t a British naval officer, I lose my bet. I’ve been used to the ways on ‘em, and I knows their build and their step.’
“‘And what do you suppose she’s got in that long box?’ says I.
“‘What has she got?’ says Tom. ‘Wal, folks might say none o’ my bisness; but I s’pects it’ll turn out some o’ my bisness, and yourn too, if he don’t look sharp arter it,’ says Tom. ‘It’s no good, that ‘are box ain’t.’
“‘Why don’t you speak to Mr. More?’ says I.
“‘Wal, you see she’s a chipperin’ round and a mak-in’ herself agreeable to both on ‘em, you see; she don’t mean to give nobody any chance for a talk with ‘em; but I’ve got my eye on her, for all that. You see I hain’t no sort o’ disposition to sarve out a time on one o’ them British prison-ships,’ says Tom Toothacre. ‘It might be almighty handy for them British to have “The Brilliant” for a coast-vessel,’ says he; ‘but, ye see, it can’t be spared jest yet. So, madam,’ says he,’I’ve got my eye on you.’
“Wal, Tom was as good as his word; for when Mr. More came towards him at the wheel, Tom he up and says to him, ‘Mr. More,’ says he, ‘that ‘are big box in the state-room yonder wants lookin’ into.’
“Tom was a sort o’ privileged character, and had a way o’ speakin’ up that the officers took in good part, ‘cause they knew he was a fust-rate hand.
“Wal, Mr. More he looks mysterious; and says he, Tom, do the boys know what’s in that ‘are box?’
“‘I bet they don’t,’ says Tom. ‘If they had, you wouldn’t a got ’em to help it aboard.’
“‘Wal, you see, poor woman,’ says Mr. More to Tom, ‘she was so distressed. She wanted to get her husband’s body to Boston; and there wa’n’t no other way, and so the cap’n let it come aboard. He didn’t want the boys to suspect what it really Was.’
“‘Husband’s body be hanged!’ said Tom. ‘Guess that ‘are corpse ain’t so dead but what there’ll be a resurrection afore mornin’, if it ain’t looked arter,’ says he.
“‘Why, what do you mean, Tom?’ said Mr. More, all in a blue maze.
“‘I mean, that ‘are gal that’s ben a switchin’ her petticuts up and down our deck ain’t no gal at all. That are’s a British officer, Mr. More. You give my duty to the cap’n, and tell him to look into his wid-der’s bandbox, and see what he’ll find there.’
“Wal, the mate he went and had a talk with the cap’n; and they ‘greed between ’em that Mr. More was to hold her in talk while the cap’n went and took observations in the state-room.
“So, down the cap’n goes into the state-room to give a look at the box. Wal, he finds the stateroom door all locked to be sure, and my lady had the key in her pocket; but then the cap’n he had a master key to it; and so he puts it in, and opens the door quite softly, and begins to take observations.
“Sure enough, he finds that the screws had been drawed from the top o’ the box, showin’ that the widder had been a tinkerin’ on’t when they thought she was a cryin’ over it; and then, lookin’ close, he sees a bit o’ twine goin’ from a crack in the box out o’ the winder, and up on deck.
“Wal, the cap’n he kind o’ got in the sperit o’ the thing; and he thought he’d jest let the widder play her play out, and see what it would come to. So he jest calls Tom Toothacre down to him and whispered to him. ‘Tom,’ says he, ‘you jest crawl under the berth in that ‘are state-room, and watch that ‘are box.’ And Tom said he would.
“So Tom creeps under the berth, and lies there still as a mouse; and the cap’n he slips out and turns the key in the door, so that when madam comes down she shouldn’t s’pect nothin’.
“Putty soon, sure enough, Tom heard the lock rattle, and the young widder come in; and then he heard a bit o’ conversation between her and the corpse.
“‘What time is it?’ come in a kind o’ hoarse whisper out o’ the box.
“‘Well, ‘bout nine o’clock,’ says she.
“‘How long afore you’ll let me out?’ says he.
“‘Oh I you must have patience,’ says she, ‘till they’re all gone off to sleep; when there ain’t but one man up. I can knock him down,’ says she, ‘and then I’ll pull the string for you.’
“‘The devil you will, ma’am!’ says Tom to himself, under the berth.
“‘Well, it’s darned close here,’ says the fellow in the box. He didn’t say darned, boys; but he said a wickeder word that I can’t repeat, noways,” said Sam, in a parenthesis: “these ‘ere British officers was drefful swearin’ critters.
“‘You must have patience a while longer,’ says the lady, ‘till I pull the string.’ Tom Toothacre lay there on his back a laughin’.
“‘Is every thing goin’ on right?’ says the man in the box.
“‘All straight,’ says she: ‘there don’t none of ’em suspect.’
“‘You bet,’ says Tom Toothacre, under the berth; and he said he had the greatest mind to catch the critter by the feet as she was a standin’ there, but somehow thought it would be better fun to see the thing through ‘cording as they’d planned it.
“Wal, then she went off switchin’ and mincin’ up to the deck agin, and a flirtin’ with the cap’n; for you see ’twas ‘greed to let ’em play their play out.
“Wal, Tom he lay there a waitin’; and he waited and waited and waited, till he ‘most got asleep; but finally he heard a stirrin’ in the box, as if the fellah was a gettin’ up. Tom he jest crawled out still and kerful, and stood-up tight agin the wall. Putty soon he hears a grunt, and he sees the top o’ the box a risin’ up, and a man jest gettin’ out on’t mighty still.
“Wal, Tom he waited till he got fairly out on to the floor, and had his hand on the lock o’ the door, when he jumps on him, and puts both arms round him, and gin him a regular bear’s hug.
“‘Why, what’s this?’ says the man.
“‘Guess ye’ll find out, darn ye,’ says Tom Tooth-acre. ‘So, ye wanted our ship, did ye? Wal, ye jest can’t have our ship,’ says Tom, says he; and I tell you he jest run that ‘are fellow up stairs lickety-split, for Tom was strong as a giant.
“The fust thing they saw was Mr. More hed got the widder by both arms, and was tying on ’em behind her. ‘Ye see, madam, your game’s up,’ says Mr. More, ‘but we’ll give ye a free passage to Boston, tho’,’ says he: ‘we wanted a couple o’ prisoners about these days, and you’ll do nicely.’
“The fellers they was putty chopfallen, to be sure, and the one in women’s clothes ‘specially: ‘cause when he was found out, he felt foolish enough in his petticuts; but they was both took to Boston, and given over as prisoners.
“Ye see, come to look into matters, they found these two young fellows, British officers, had formed a regular plot to take Cap’n Tucker’s vessel, and run it into Halifax; and ye see, Cap’n Tucker he was so sort o’ spry, and knew all the Maine coast so well, and was so ‘cute at dodgin’ in and out all them little bays and creeks and places all ‘long shore, that he made the British considerable trouble, ‘cause wherever they didn’t want him, that’s where he was sure to be.
“So they’d hatched up this ‘ere plan. There was one or two British sailors had been and shipped aboard ‘The Brilliant’ a week or two aforehand, and ’twas suspected they was to have helped in the plot if thngs had gone as they laid out; but I tell you, when the fellows see which way the cat jumped, they took pretty good care to say that they hadn’t nothin’ to do with it. Oh, no, by no manner o’ means! Wal, o’ course, ye know, it couldn’t be proved on ‘em, and so we let it go.
“But I tell you, Cap’n Tucker he felt pretty cheap about his widder. The worst on’t was, they do say Ma’am Tucker got hold of it; and you might know if a woman got hold of a thing like that she’d use it as handy as a cat would her claws. The women they can’t no more help hi
ttin’ a fellow a clip and a rap when they’ve fairly got him, than a cat when she’s ketched a mouse; and so I shouldn’t wonder if the Commodore heard something about his widder every time he went home from his v’y-ages the longest day he had to live. I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout it, ye know: I only kind o’ jedge by what looks, as human natur’ goes.
“But, Lordy massy! boys, ‘t wa’n’t nothin’ to be ‘shamed of in the cap’n. Folks ‘ll have to answer for wus things at the last day than tryin’ to do a kindness to a poor widder, now, I tell you. It’s better to be took in doin’ a good thing, than never try to do good; and it’s my settled opinion,” said Sam, taking up his mug of cider and caressing it tenderly, “it’s my humble opinion, that the best sort o’ folks is the easiest took in, ‘specially by the women. I reely don’t think I should a done a bit better myself.”
CAPTAIN KIDD’S MONEY.
One of our most favorite legendary resorts was the old barn. Sam Lawson preferred it on many accounts. It was quiet and retired, that is to say, at such distance from his own house, that he could not hear if Hepsy called ever so loudly, and farther off than it would be convenient for that industrious and painstaking woman to follow him. Then there was the soft fragrant cushion of hay, on which his length of limb could be easily bestowed. Our barn had an upper loft with a swinging outer door that commanded a view of the old mill, the waterfall, and the distant windings of the river, with its grassy green banks, its graceful elm draperies, and its white flocks of water-lilies; and then on this Saturday afternoon we had Sam all to ourselves. It was a drowsy, dreamy October day, when the hens were lazily “craw, crawing,” in a soft, conversational undertone with each other, as they scratched and picked the hay-seed under the barn windows. Below in the barn black Cæsar sat quietly hatchelling flax, sometimes gurgling and giggling to himself with an overflow of that interior jollity with which he seemed to be always full. The African in New England was a curious contrast to everybody around him in the joy and satisfaction that he seemed to feel in the mere fact of being alive. Every white person was glad or sorry for some appreciable cause in the past, present, or future, which was capable of being definitely stated; but black Cæsar was in an eternal giggle and frizzle and simmer of enjoyment for which he could give no earthly reason: he was an “embodied joy,” like Shelley’s skylark.
Complete Works of Harriet Beecher Stowe Page 547