CHAPTER XVI.
DEAR-BOUGHT WIT.
NED had been accustomed, in all ordinary weather, to take his trickat the helm with the rest; but the captain would not permit it forthe first fortnight out, greatly to the annoyance of Ned, who pridedhimself very much on being able to steer. Wheels were not in use then,and the old-fashioned tiller with which vessels were steered cameagainst the hips, sometimes with a good deal of force, and the captainwas fearful of causing Ned’s wound to break out again; neither wouldhe permit him to stand his watch. All day he was on deck, pulled andhauled with the rest, and went aloft.
As Ned didn’t care for turning in till nine, ten, or even twelveo’clock, of a pleasant night, when he had not been fatigued throughthe day, Mr. Bell—who was naturally inclined to make all theinquiries possible about his son, and the new country to which he wasgoing—sought out Ned in the pleasant evenings, and whiled away manyan hour in conversation most interesting to both. Ned described thepersonal appearance of the son to his father, and also that of LionBen, told all the stories he had ever heard of his enormous strength,and his encounter with the pirates, recounted the beauties of ElmIsland, of Charlie’s farm, and sketched the characters of CaptainRhines and Uncle Isaac. No doubt the virtues and attractions of Charliereceived their just due in the description of so enthusiastic anadmirer.
“You say, Ned, that my son owns six hundred acres of land.”
“Yes, sir; and a saw-mill on it; and the machinery came fromEngland,—that is, the crank, saw, and mill chain.”
“Why, a man must be immensely rich to own so much land. There must besome mistake about it.”
“No, sir, there ain’t; for Mr. Griffin, the mate’s brother, his nextneighbor, told me so, and I’ve been in the mill. He owns more thanthat, sir; he owns part of this vessel, and part of the Casco (a greatmast ship of seven hundred tons), and one fourth of the Hard-scrabble;and he built the whole of them.”
“I can’t understand how he came by so much money at his age, for he’snot much more than a boy now.”
“Perhaps Lion Ben, Uncle Isaac, and Captain Rhines gave it to him, theythink so much of him.”
“I don’t believe that. People are not so fond of giving away money.There must be some mistake. All my forefathers have been prudent,hard-working people, and never one of them owned a foot of land.”
“Well, sir, I don’t know how it is, but I know _it is so_. I will callDanforth Eaton. He can explain it all, I dare say.”
“Do, young man.”
Eaton told Mr. Bell about the ventures that Charlie sent in the Ark,which gave him the first money he ever possessed; also about hislearning the ship carpenter’s trade; and astonished the old gentlemanby telling him that Charlie’s land cost only seventy-five cents anacre. He also told him about the building of the Hard-scrabble, and howmuch money she made. Upon these matters Eaton was an authority, as hehad worked on all the vessels Charlie had built, and knew the wholematter from the beginning, whereas Walter Griffin was too young to befamiliar with the events of Charlie’s boyhood, and the information ofNed was all second hand.
As the voyage approached its termination, the excitement of the fatherincreased. Ned was now able to stand his watch, and often, at twelveo’clock, the old gentleman would come on deck, and spend the remainderof the night talking with him and Eaton, and also with Peterson, whoseacquaintance he had now made.
When, by the captain’s reckoning, the vessel was nearly up with theland, and men were sent aloft to look out for it, he became quitenervous, thinking, perhaps, the happiness of possessing and meetingsuch a son was too great a boon. Again, he imagined that he might diebefore the vessel arrived, or that, after all, there might be somemistake. “God only knows what is in store for me,” he said, brushingthe tear from his eye, as a joyous scream from the royal yard, in theshrill tones of Ned, proclaimed, “Land, O!”
Let us now see what the unconscious object of all this solicitudeis doing. He is about half way between his house and Uncle Isaac’s,walking at a smart pace, and with the air of one bound upon a longwalk. It was early autumn. As he approached the house, he saw UncleIsaac in the barn floor, winnowing grain in the primitive fashion.
“Good afternoon, Charlie. Go into the house. I’ll be there in a moment.I’m almost through.”
“I can’t stop, Uncle Isaac. I’m going farther.”
“Where to?”
“Over to Mr. Colcord’s, to look at a cow. He’s got seven. He told me Imight have my pick of them for fifteen dollars.”
“What! Jim Colcord?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I wouldn’t have anything to do with him.”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s the most narrow-contracted creetur that ever lived. Hesoaks out mackerel, and then takes the water to make hasty-pudding, inorder to save the salt. Robert Yelf worked for him one year in hayingtime. Didn’t you never hear him tell about his jumping into the loaf ofhot rye and Indian bread?”
“No, sir; what did he do that for?”
“I’ll tell you. One day, his wife had cooked all her dinner in thebrick oven, except some potatoes that she had baked in the ashes. Shehad baked beans, Indian pudding, a hind quarter of lamb, and a greatloaf of rye and Indian bread in an iron pan that would hold a peck. Hehad a number of hands at work for him, getting hay. He’s rich the oldscrew, but so mean that he never allows himself or his family decentclothes, and always goes barefoot. He’s got a noble woman for a wife,too, as ever God made, and a nice family of children.”
“I believe such men always get the best of wives.”
“It’s a good deal so, Charlie, I guess. Well, as I was saying, cominginto the house that day, just afore twelve o’clock, and seeing no potsor kettles on the fire, he took it into his head that his wife had madeno preparation for dinner; that the men would come in at twelve, haveto wait, and he should lose some time.”
“Whereas,” said Charlie, “the dinner was all in the oven, and ready tobe put on the table.”
“Just so. He instantly began to jump up and down on the hearth, andcurse and swear. His wife, who was scared to death of him, began totake the victuals out of the oven, to let him see it was all right. Thefirst thing she came to was the great iron pan of rye and Indian bread,which she put down on the hearth. Thinking, in his passion, that thiswas all, he jumped right into it with his bare feet.”
“I guess it burnt him some.”
“I guess you’d think so; if there’s anything in this world that’s hot,or holds heat, it’s rye and Indian bread. It stuck between his toes,and scalded to the bone. He ran round the room, howling and swearing,and the tears running down his cheeks.”
“Served him right.”
“I think so. Now, if I were you, I wouldn’t have anything to do withhim; he’ll cheat you, sure.”
“I reckon I can tell a good cow when I see her.”
“Perhaps you can; but he’s cheated as smart men as you are. Let me goand trade for you.”
Charlie would by no means consent to that, but set off on his errand.
“Well,” said Uncle Isaac, as they parted, “it is said, bought wit isgood; perhaps it is, if you don’t buy it too dear.” When, at length, atthe place, he was received by Colcord with the greatest cordiality; butCharlie saw that the house and all the surroundings accorded preciselywith Uncle Isaac’s description of his character.
Colcord himself was a meagre-looking being; although in years, hewas barefoot, and so was his wife. Charlie also noticed that thesmall quantity of wood at the door seemed to be rotten windfallsand dead limbs of trees, though he possessed a large extent of veryheavily timbered woodland. Three boys, whose dress barely served thepurposes of decency, completed this singular family. The youngest,notwithstanding his rags and a certain timidity of expression (theresult of hard usage), was a most intelligent, noble-looking boy, withwhose face Charlie instantly fell in love; his heart went out to theseboys.
“I have known hardship and poverty,
” he said to himself, “but I thankGod I never had a father who, when I asked him for an egg, wouldgive me a scorpion. _My_ poor father did all in his power to give meschooling, and make my childhood happy.—You remember,” said Charlieto Mr. Colcord, “the talk we had some time since about cows, when youtold me that for fifteen dollars I should have my pick out of seven.This is the day set, and I have come to look them over.”
“Andrew,” said Colcord, to the oldest boy, “drive the cows into theyard.”
After Charlie had examined each cow in succession, he said, “Mr.Colcord, here are but six cows; I was to have my choice of seven.”
“It is true, Mr. Bell, I did say so; but when I came home and told mywife, she took on at such a rate about my selling _that_ cow, that I’vetied her up in the barn. She won’t consent to part with her; it wouldbreak her heart. You must excuse me there.”
Charlie’s suspicions were roused in an instant. All that Uncle Isaachad told him in respect to the sharp practice of the man rushed atonce to his recollection. He was determined to have that cow, at anyrate, and instantly asked to see Mrs. Colcord, intending to make her apresent, to reconcile her to the loss of the cow; but he was told shehad gone away to spend the day.
“The old rascal,” soliloquized Charlie, “has shut up his best cow,thinking I wouldn’t notice there were but six in the yard.—Mr.Colcord,” he said, “it was a fair contract between us. You agreed tolet me take my pick of seven cows. I am here, according to agreement,with the cash. I’ll have that cow, or none.”
“Well, if I _must_, I must,” said the old man; “but my wife will cryher eyes out;” and he flung open the cow-house.
Charlie felt so sure that this was the best cow of the herd, that henever stopped to examine her closely, asked no questions, didn’t eventake hold of her teats, to see if she milked easy, or to examine thequality of the milk, but put a rope on her head, and drove her off,congratulating himself, all the way along, that he had outwitted theold sneak.
“Guess Uncle Isaac won’t say any more about bought wit,” thought he.“Couldn’t have done better than that himself.”
It was about the middle of the afternoon when Charlie reached home. Atthe usual time his wife went to the barn to milk, and began with thenew comer.
“She has got nice teats, and milks easy, at any rate,” said Mrs. Bell.
THE KICKING COW. Page 233.]
The words were scarcely out of her mouth when the cow gave the pail akick so vicious as to send it spinning over the floor, spattering herwith milk.
“It is because she is in a strange place, and is afraid of a stranger,”said Mrs. Bell; and, holding the pail in one hand, she continued tomilk with the other. The cow began to kick, first with one leg andthen the other, without an instant’s intermission, so that to milk wasimpossible.
Charlie, who was in the barn-yard, milking the other cows, now came tothe rescue. “I never saw a cow I couldn’t milk,” he said; and takingup one of her fore legs, fastened it to the rack with a rope. “Kicknow, if you can.” Placing the pail on the floor, he began to milk withboth hands; but the vicious brute, springing from the floor, fell overupon him, spilling the milk, breaking the bail of the pail, upsettingCharlie’s milking-stool, and leaving him at full length on the floor,in not the most amiable mood (for his wife could not refrain fromlaughing). He beat her to make her get up, but she was sullen, and getup she wouldn’t. He twisted her tail, but she wouldn’t start. He then,with both hands, closed her mouth and nostrils, strangling her tillshe was glad to jump up. Thinking she had got enough of it, he beganagain to milk, when away went the pail into the manger, and the milkinto Charlie’s face. Provoked now beyond endurance, he beat her tillshe roared; but the moment he touched her teats, she began to kick asbad as ever. In short, all the way he could milk her at all was tofasten her to the stake next the side of the barn, build a fence onthe other side, so that she couldn’t run around either way, then tieher hind legs together, milk her till she threw herself down, and thenfinish the operation as she lay.
While all this was going on, the dog kept up a furious barking.
“What is that dog barking about, Mary?”
“I’m sure I don’t know. Perhaps there’s a skunk or a woodchuck underthe barn.”
If it was a skunk, he was peeping through a knot-hole in the backbarn-door.
As they came in with their milk, Joe Griffin was approaching the door,having come to borrow a chain and canting dog.
Charlie now perceived that the cunning old wretch had shut up thispest, and feigned reluctance to part with her, on purpose to draw himon.
“I don’t believe,” said Mrs. Bell, “but what his wife was at home allthe time. He knew, if you spoke to her, she would tell you the wholetruth, for she is an excellent woman.”
Charlie resolved to keep the thing from the knowledge of every one,_especially_ of Uncle Isaac, whose assertion, “He has cheated as smartmen as you are,” recurred most unpleasantly to his recollection.
“Mary,” said he,” we must not breathe a word of this to anysoul,—father’s folks, Joe Griffin, or, above all, Uncle Isaac. I hadrather pocket the loss than have it known that I got so taken in. I’lldry her up, and fat her. She’s a large cow, and will make a lot ofbeef.”
But such things will always, in some way or other, leak out. WhileCharlie imagined that himself and wife alone possessed the secret, itwas known to half the town, and they were chuckling over it. Indeed, ithad come to the ears of Lion Ben, on Elm Island, whose adopted son hewas.
A fortnight after the occurrences related, Fred Williams and JoeGriffin were standing in the doorway of Fred’s store, when they espiedLion Ben coming from Elm Island in his big canoe, which he was forcingthrough the water with tremendous strokes.
Landing, and dragging the heavy craft out of the water as though shewas an egg-shell, he merely nodded to Joe and Fred, and proceeded withrapid strides in the direction of Charlie Bell’s.
“What can that mean, Joe?” asked Fred. “He never spoke to us.”
Fred was his brother-in-law, Joe one of his most intimate friends.
“It means that he is angry. Didn’t you notice his face? I never saw himangry, though I’ve known him ever since I was a boy; but I’ve heard sayhe is awful when he rises. A common man would be no more in his handsnow than a fly in the clutch of a lion.”
Ben went directly into Charlie’s pasture, avoiding him, huntedaround there till he found the kicking cow, and pulling a rope fromhis pocket, put it over her horns, and led her in the direction ofColcord’s. Uncle Isaac was butchering a lamb at his door when Ben camealong with the cow, and was just about to speak to him; but catchingone glimpse of his face, he dropped his knife, and pretending not tosee him, walked into the barn.
“Isaac,” cried his wife from the window. “_Isaac_, Ben has just goneby.”
“I saw him.”
“_Saw_ him; then why didn’t you speak to him, and ask him to come in,and stop to dinner?”
“He’s got the cow Jim Colcord sold to Charlie. I guess he’s on his wayto call the old viper to account for his trick. When he is in one ofthose rages you’d better go near a she catamount than him.”
“Will he murder him?”
“I hope not.”
“It is some ways there. Ben can’t hold his passion long, and will mostlikely get over it somewhat before he gets there.”
“If he don’t, much as I abhor the old creetur, I pity him.”
When Ben arrived at Colcord’s the family were at dinner; seeing an oxcart in the barn-yard, he tied the cow to it. He entered the kitchenwithout knocking, where the family were seated at the dinner-table,seized old Colcord by the nape of the neck, carried him, pale as aghost, with eyes starting from their sockets, and too nearly strangledto scream, into the barn-yard; here Ben sat down upon the cart-tongue,flung his victim across his knees, and while he was alternatelyscreaming murder, and begging for mercy, slapped him with his terriblepaw, till the blood came through his breech
es, while the family lookedon, crying and trembling.
Ben, as a redresser of wrongs, considered it his duty, not onlyto inflict punishment for his knavery in the matter of the cow,but likewise for the abuse he had for years inflicted upon hisuncomplaining wife and children.
When he had finished the castigation, he ordered him to bring themoney Charlie paid him for the cow, and ten dollars additional for histrouble in whipping him. Colcord brought the money, but, fearing toapproach Ben, put it on the cart tongue.
After counting it, Ben called for a basin of water, soap, and a towel,observing, that he was accustomed to wash his hands after handlingcarrion, and informing him (after wiping his hands, as he hung thetowel on the wheel of the cart) that, if compelled to come thereagain, he should most probably make an end of him.
That night Charlie hunted the pasture over in vain for the cow; but thenext morning Uncle Isaac came over, told him where the cow was, andhanded him the money, which Ben had left with him on his return.
“How did father find it out?” asked Charlie.
“Captain Rhines told him.”
“Who told Captain Rhines?”
“I did.”
“Who told you?”
“Joe Griffin.”
“How in the world came he, or anybody else, to know anything about it?”
“That’s more than I know; but he said you had to build a fence roundher, and tie her hind legs together to milk her, and when she couldn’tkick, she’d lie down.”
“I bought wit pretty dear, Uncle Isaac.”
“Not quite so dear as Jim Colcord did. They say he can’t sit down, andwon’t be able to till snow flies.”
Arthur Brown, The Young Captain Page 17