The Young Deliverers of Pleasant Cove

by Elijah Kellogg

  CHAPTER IV.

  GABRIEL QUESNARD.

  As they lay with heads pillowed on their packs, "Ned," said Walter, "Iwish we could imitate Charlie Bell, John Rhines, and Fred Williams insomething besides building a platform in a tree-top, or getting coraland sponge to take home with us, or even obtaining information aboutthe people and country we are in."

  "I think this is first rate," said Ned, sticking his legs, which werestiff and swollen with walking, up in the air. "What would you have,Wal? I think we've both done pretty well. I made a hundred dollars amonth clear, last voyage; you, twice that; which is more than they alldid when they started."

  "But we have been hired, and have only done what other people laid outfor us; whereas they struck out for themselves, planned, worked, andbuilt a vessel, as you may say, out of nothing, owned and loaded her toboot."

  "There were four of them, and they had good advisers; but, when left onthat rock alone, didn't you get hold of Jacques, and wasn't it due toyour resolution and contrivance that the vessel got into Marseilles,and made all she did make?"

  "Ned, do you think getting money or being smart is to be put beforeeverything else?"

  "I guess I don't," said Ned, rolling over, and putting his arm roundWalter. "I think having friends to love who love you, and to do what isright, is to be put ever so much before that."

  "Is there nothing else?"

  "You mean," said Ned, in a subdued tone, "being what my mother callspious."

  "No. I never talk of that; I know nothing about it; wish I did."

  "What _do_ you mean, then?"

  "I'll tell you. I don't suppose it is boasting to say that we have beensmart, trusty, and filled the places we were put in, perhaps, as well,in our way, as they in theirs; but they have done other things that wehave not."

  "What are they?"

  "They have done good. Isaac Murch persuaded Peterson to leave liquoralone, and taught him to read. How Charlie, John, and Fred helped oldMrs. Yelf after her husband died! and she, with her old fingers, wovethe royal of the Hard-scrabble, and luck has followed that vessel fromthe day she was launched. Isaac Murch said he left his luck behind himwhen he left the Hard-scrabble; for Seth Warren has made double, inproportion to the cost of the two vessels, in her to what he has in thegreat ship. She has never lost a spar or a man; and it's my belief shenever will be cast away, but die a natural death in the head of CaptainRhines's Cove, where the squirrels will make nests in her cabin, andhoard their acorns, the robins will build on her spars, the littlechildren have her for a play-house, and the big boys to dive from.Uncle Isaac said he knew just as well before she sailed that she wouldbe lucky as he did afterwards."

  "Why?"

  "Because a robin built her nest on the gammon-knee, under the bowsprit;and Captain Rhines put off rigging her a week, that the nest might notbe disturbed."

  "I never heard of that before, Walter; but Charlie Bell told me howmuch Captain Rhines and Uncle Isaac did for the widow Hadlock."

  "There's one thing he never told you, I'll warrant: that Fred Williamswas once one of the worst boys in town; and he and John reformed him,took all the money they had earned, and set him up in business."

  "No, he never told me that. At home they praise us, and call us smart.We risked our lives last voyage, and are ready to risk them again, tomake money."

  "But Captain Rhines, Uncle Isaac, Lion Ben, our Joe, and Charlie Bellrisked their lives to save yours and the captain's."

  "Yes; and see what Captain Rhines has done since for our captain andhis mother's family."

  "You know what Uncle Isaac's last words were, Ned. I shall never forgetthem; they keep coming up. 'What I now like most to think about, boys,ain't what I've done for _myself_, but to help others.'"

  "I'm sure, Walter, I feel just so; but I don't know what we can do likethem. If Uncle Isaac was alive, he could tell us."

  "Nor I, either; but I don't mean to wait to do some great thing to makea sound, but take hold of the first thing that comes up."

  "I'm bound to do what you do, Wal. But come, I'm rested; let's go on."

  Descending the hill to the valley, they beheld a most lively scene.Men, women, and children were busily employed gathering olives, whichwere now ripe, and looked similar to a ripe damson. Some were in thetrees, shaking them from the branches, others beating them off withpoles, and still others picking up and loading upon mules and asses,which stood near, with wicker panniers across their backs. They werealso loading into the queerest-looking carts imaginable--the wheelssolid, made of two layers of planks, with a short piece on each side toincrease the thickness and the bearing, and take the place of a hub. Tosome of these carts oxen were attached, yoked by the horns; and everytime these wheels turned they made a doleful screeching.

  "I should think," said Ned, "if they are making oil, they might affordenough to grease their wheels."

  "So should I. Look at those women, Ned," pointing to three who werebearing off sacks on their shoulders, filled with olives. "What a waythat is, lading women, and letting asses and mules stand still!"

  Great were the surprise and delight of the boys, upon approaching,to recognize in the peasant who had first attracted their attentionGabriel Quesnard, with whom they had become quite familiar, as he hadoften been to the vessel with eggs, poultry, and vegetables, and thecaptain had always invited him to eat with him. It was also from himthey had bought the honey a few days before.

  Gabriel welcomed them most warmly. He could speak English fluently,having had constant intercourse with English and American captainsfor many years of his youth, when he was a porter at Marseilles;nevertheless, he seemed highly gratified when Ned addressed him in thepeculiar dialect of Provence.

  "I am most happy to see you, citizens," said he. Quesnard was athorough radical, a believer in fraternity and equality, and an ardentmember of the very party that had pulled down convents, levelleddistinctions, destroyed the Bastile, executed the king, guillotinednobles, and turned France upside down. But, for all that, he possesseda kind and generous nature, and was a most excellent husband andfather. Though without education, he was a shrewd, discerning man,thoroughly versed in all the local politics and traditions of hiscountry. If he could neither read nor write, he had neverthelessthought much, listened well, and observed closely, been a constantattendant at the assemblies of the people, and an actor in all theterrible scenes of the first years of the revolution. Like many othersof the more reflective and intelligent portion of the inhabitantsof the southern provinces, he was satisfied when those abominableextortions, levied upon the peasantry both by clergy and nobles underthe name of "seignioral rights," or, as it was sometimes called, "theservitude of the soil," were swept away, joined the more moderateparty, who thought blood enough had been shed, and were opposed to thesavage fanatics, who, in the name of liberty, slew all whom they eitherhated or feared.

  "You find us busy, citizens," he said; "for it is the olive-harvest,and we are later about it than common; but it is now nearly time toleave work. You will go with me to my poor house, and pass the night."

  "We thank you kindly," said Ned; "but we are sailors, accustomed tobeing out of doors, and all kinds of exposure. After being so longpenned up on shipboard, we wish to stretch our limbs, see the country,and crops, how the people live, and have made up our minds to sleep onthe side of yonder hill, in this sweet air."

  "It is winter-time, and the nights are long and cool."

  "This weather is summer to us. We came from a country where the wintersare severe. We have blankets, and are used to sleeping on the soft sideof a plank."

  "But your food, citizens."

  "We have plenty of provision in our packs."

  Gabriel not seeming at all reconciled to this, and still urging theclaims of hospitality, Walter told him they wished to go farther to seethe face of the country, productions, and manner in which the peoplelived.

  "And how can you see in what fashion the people live if you don't gointo their homes, and eat and drink w
ith them?"

  "We couldn't see the country in the house," replied Walter. "We willsleep on the hill-side to-night, to-morrow travel farther to pleaseourselves, and, on our return, stop at your house to gratify you."

  "By that time," said Gabriel, "we hope to be more at leisure forsociability and a good time."

  "I've seen olives before," said Walter, "in Spain, and eaten them; butthey were green. These are violet."

  "That was because they were unripe. These are ripe. I used to sell thegreater part of mine green before the blockade."

  "What do you do to them when you sell them in that way?"

  "Soak them ten hours in lye, afterwards a week in cold water, then putthem in brine, with some sweet herbs. That is all. Some only put themin brine."

  "What are you going to do with these?"

  "Press them for oil."

  "What a great tree this is that you are gathering now!" said Ned."Let's see if we can clasp it, Walter."

  Putting their arms around the tree, they were barely able to touch thetips of their fingers.

  "I didn't know olive trees grew so large," said Walter. "None of theothers here are half as large as this. How brown the bark looks! andgreat furrows in it, just like an old willow, and the leaves look likewillow leaves. It is hollow, too, and covered with warts."

  "Yes, because it is so old."

  "How old is it?"

  "God only knows; perhaps as old as the world."

  "As old as the world?"

  "Yes, citizens, it might have been the first one made."

  "The first one made!"

  "Well, nobody ever knew one to die, except it was burnt, cut down, orkilled by the frost. They can't bear the frost. A few years ago, mostof the trees in the low ground were hurt by the frost, but this, beingon higher ground, escaped. I don't believe they ever die of their ownaccord."

  "How long is it," asked Walter, "after they are planted, before theybear?"

  "They bear a few olives in ten or twelve years, but not much of a croptill they are twenty-five or thirty."

  "Don't they lose their leaves?"

  "A part of the leaves turn yellow, as you see, in the fall, but theyare never bare; and in the spring the new ones push off the old ones."

  "Do they bear every year?"

  "No, every other: they work one year for themselves, and one for theowner."

  "Do they yield much oil?"

  "A hundred weight of clean olives makes about thirty or thirty-twopounds of oil."

  "How much oil will a big tree, like that we have clasped, make?"

  "This year that tree has about one hundred and forty livres (pounds)."

  "How much oil will they make?"

  "About a barrel--twenty of your gallons."

  "What is it worth?"

  "Three francs (sixty cents) a gallon; but then we raise other cropsamong the olives."

  "But I suppose they are like our crops that we raise in theorchards--rather light?"

  "Yes; but the olive will grow on poor land, endure the drought, anddon't require much care."

  "What do you dress them with?"

  "The skins and stones that are left after pressing, are as good asanything."

  "How much do the other trees average? There are no others near as largeas this."

  "About two gallons, take one year with another. The olives, however,come off after the grain harvest and the vintage are over, when thereis not much else to do."

  "Taking out the big tree, that wouldn't be more than fifteen dollarsto an acre every other year, according to the number of trees you'vegot here, making no allowance for blight and bad years. Then you've nostraw, nothing left but the oil, and that won't keep a great while;if you don't sell it, cattle can't eat it. I'd rather raise corn on aburn, where I can get a crop worth five times as much, that I can eat,sell, or that my cattle will fat on, will keep, and then have a cropof fodder left after all is done. Do they ever fail of a crop in thebearing years?"

  "Yes, they sometimes blight and cast their fruit."

  "I should call it rather small business to wait twelve years for a treeto bear at all, then twenty-five or thirty more for it to bear full;after all, to bear only every other year; sometimes blight, and thenget only six dollars from the very largest trees. I shouldn't thinkthey'd be worth the picking up."

  "Not worth the picking up!" cried Gabriel in astonishment; "_olives notworth picking up_? They bring much money to the poor man."

  "How much are a man's wages here?"

  "Twenty sous (cents) a day, a woman's, ten, to work in the field."

  "Why, in America a man working on the land in harvest gets six or ninefrancs, and found."

  "Mon Dieu!" screamed Gabriel; "my wife, my children, hear that. FelixBertault, my neighbor," he shouted to a peasant, who was a shortdistance away pruning vines, but, having heard the loud talking andwitnessed the excited gestures caused by Walter's words, stood gapingwith open mouth, and pruning-hook in hand.

  "Step this way," said Gabriel, "and listen to what this young citizenis saying--that in America a laboring man gets nine francs, and hisvictuals besides."

  The new comer expressing equal surprise, they talked and gesticulatedwith such fury, that Ned whispered to Walter,--

  "Do you believe, Wal, that a Frenchman could talk if you tied hishands?"

  "I guess not; Captain Rhines says they couldn't."

  "What kind of trees are those with such crooked limbs?" asked Ned.

  "Mulberries."

  "The bark and body look some like a maple; what are they good for?"

  "We use the leaves to feed silkworms."

  "Silkworms," said Walter,--"the worms that make silk?"

  "Yes; they can't live on anything but mulberry leaves."

  "I want to see them make silk cloth and ribbons."

  Gabriel replied by explaining to Walter that the silk-worm only spunthe threads of silk (which were almost as fine as a spider's thread)to form a nest or cocoon (as they were called) for itself, and that anumber of these minute threads must be put together to make what iscalled a thread of silk, which was then woven in looms, like any otheryarn. As it came from the worm the silk was of two colors,--white andyellow; the other colors being given by dyeing.

  "We have spiders," said Ned, "that make nests. I have found them ontrees; they look like an egg, but more peaked; they were not silk,though."

  "If," said Walter, "it is the nature of these caterpillars to live intrees and make houses for themselves, what is the need of bringing theminto the house, as you spoke of, and picking leaves for them? Whycan't you leave them on the trees to take care of themselves, and, whenthey have made their houses, go and pick them off?"

  Gabriel then explained to the boys that the silk-worm and the mulberrytree were both natives of a warmer climate than France, where the wormcould live and hatch out of doors, like other worms; and that, althoughthe mulberry tree had become acclimated, and could live and grow outof doors, and even sustain a severe winter, the worm couldn't, andtherefore they kept them in the house, and brought the leaves to them;and when they came to see him, he would take them over to the house ofFelix Bertault, who raised them, show them the cocoons and silk, andtell them all about it.

  Our young readers must not be surprised that Walter thought the wormsmade silk ready for use. How should he know anything about it? A goodmany boys who read these books may not know any more; those who do,have obtained their knowledge by reading, and perhaps never saw asilk-worm in all their lives, although they are raised in Connecticut,and a few in Massachusetts; but Walter had not access to books thattreated of such matters. Walter now asked the peasant to what thefragrance of the air was owing; to which he replied that, on thehills from which the wind then blew, a great many fragrant plantswere growing wild, and also in the fields of his neighbors; they werecultivated for the purpose of the perfumer; but there was not so muchof that business here as at Nismes, Nice, and Cannes; but still a goodmany plants were cultivated and sent to those and other
places to besold.

  "Does anybody own land here, except the nobility? or are the laboringpeople all tenants?"

  "We have been delivered from all that trash by the revolution; cut offtheir heads, or they have fled; we're all nobles now. To answer yourquestion, citizens, it used to be so in a good measure here. Althoughthe people owned land, more or less, all over France, yet the most ofit was in the hands of the grand seigniors; and that which the commonpeople held was so burdened with taxes to be paid the aristocracy,clergy, and government, that it was better to be without it; but sincethe revolution, in consequence of the confiscation of the estates ofthe seigniors and priests who were guillotined or emigrated, all thatland was thrown into the market by the National Assembly, divided intolots, from one to ten acres, sold to the citizens, and five yearsallowed to pay for it in."

  "Do you own this land?" asked Walter.

  "What, all this valley?"

  "Yes."

  "Citizens, are you mad? No peasant owns so much as that."

  "Why not? A great many persons in my country own more than this wholevalley."

  "A great part of this land," said Gabriel, "belonged to a grandseignior, some small portions being owned by citizens; but he wasguillotined, his property confiscated, the land parcelled out andsold, so that it has passed into the hands of the people. Before therevolution," said he, "the land, at the death of the parent, wentto the oldest son; but that law is abolished, and it is now equallydivided; for which reason, in respect to some small properties, thechildren possess only a few rods; sometimes an olive tree, or mulberry,standing in ten rods of land; and this is the homestead of a wholefamily--their farm."