Lion Ben of Elm Island

by Elijah Kellogg

  CHAPTER VIII.

  BREAKING GROUND ON ELM ISLAND.

  Monday morning came, and in the little cove, abreast of CaptainRhines’s door, lay moored a “gundelow,” containing some hay, an oxcart, plough, scraper, pot and tea-kettle, and provisions, raw andcooked. Just as the sun rose, Ben came down the hill with a yoke ofoxen, and an axe on his shoulder weighing fourteen pounds. Joe Griffinmade his appearance on foot, and Isaac Murch on horseback, with hiswife (who had come to take the beast back) riding behind him on apillion. It was a bright October morning; the fields were white withfrost, which was just beginning to melt as the sun rose.

  “Halloa!” cried Joe, as he caught sight of Ben’s head over the risingground; “this is the weather for the woods; the frost puts the grit in.”

  Hannah Murch, saying that she was going to see Sally Rhines, that is tobe, and would meet them at four o’clock Saturday afternoon, rode off.

  They put up a boat’s sail in the forward part of the “gundelow,” and,as the wind was fair, made good progress. Ben steered, while the othersstretched themselves at full length upon the hay.

  Joe was half asleep, when he felt his leg grasped by Ben, who motionedhim to crawl to him as easily as possible.

  “There’s a flock of coots to leeward; steer her right down on them, andwhen they rise I’ll give it to them.”

  He carefully lifted a board, under which lay a gun, with an old flintlock, with a stocking leg over it to keep off the damp of the sea andthe mist of the morning. Ben crawled forward behind the hay, where helay with his finger on the trigger. The unsuspicious fowl kept divingand chasing each other over the water: at length they seemed to takealarm, and began to huddle together.

  “They’re going to rise, Ben,” whispered Joe.

  “Well, let them rise.”

  Coots, when they are fat, cannot well rise from the water, exceptagainst the wind. As they rose and flew towards the “gundelow,”exposing their most vital parts to a shot, five fell dead, and fourwounded.

  “There’s our supper to-night, at any rate,” said Ben; “and were we inanything else than this scow, I’d have those wounded ones.”

  They reached the island, and luffing round its eastern point, ranthe “gundelow” on the beach at the mouth of the cove. Joe, makinga leaping-pole of an oar, sprang ashore. “Throw us a rope, and yougo astern, and I’ll haul her in.” While Joe pulled on the rope, Benstepping overboard, put his little shoulders to the stern of the“gundelow,” and shoved her so high up on the beach that Isaac Murchstepped out without wetting his feet.

  “I say, Ben,” exclaimed Joe, “suppose you take an ox under each arm,and bring them out. I never was here before, but if this ain’t justthe handsomest place I ever set eyes on. Such a nice little harbor tokeep a craft; and a brook, and this little green spot in the lee of thewoods; then such a master growth of timber; there’s a pine that’ll runseventy feet without a limb. I say it’s great, I do.”

  Let us glance a moment at the character and capacities of these threemen, as they stand together on the beach of this little gem of the wildAtlantic coast.

  They represent the yeomanry of the nation. They are of the old stock;not technically religious men, and yet no word of profanity, ordisrespect to religion, finds utterance or countenance from them. Thatwhich, in their estimation, is of the greatest importance, is to havesomething which they have earned with their own hands. Look at them,as they stand there at the water’s edge, and know them. Physicallyconsidered, they are noble specimens of manly vigor and power.

  What would some of the effeminate dandies that throng our streets,or the scions of nobility in the old world, be good for on that wildsea-beach? But these men can live there, and cause others to live, andturn the wilderness into a garden.

  Isaac Murch is five feet eleven inches in height, fifty-three years ofage, without a gray hair on his head, of powerful, compact frame, witha world of intelligence and kindness in his face, and something abouthim that, without the least assumption, caused his neighbors to respecthis opinion, and look up to him as a leader. His early advantages forlearning were very slight; but since he has been in easy circumstances,he has improved strong natural capacities by reading and observation.

  Joe Griffin was twenty-two--a boy, as Isaac Murch called him; anda great red-cheeked, corn-fed boy he was, too; six feet in hisstockings, and weighing a hundred and eighty pounds; loose-jointed,big-boned, thin in the flanks, not long-legged, but getting his lengthbetween his shoulders and his hips. He is of less capacity, and moreinterested in physical matters. He can read and write, cipher as far asthe “rule of three,” and cast interest; but he has a knack of handlingtools that comes by nature. As the neighbors say, he has an eye,--thatis, he can judge of proportions, and, with his great clumsy fingers,do anything with wood that he likes; but his great ambition is, to goahead and do the work. He’s smart, and knows it, and likes to haveother people know it. He don’t calculate to let anybody go ahead ofhim with a scythe, or chop into the side of a tree, or put hay on to acart, quicker than himself. Indeed there were very few that could; forhe was not only strong, but tough, and possessed infinite tact, layingout his strength to the best advantage.

  Let us consider the type of labor presented to us. Here are three liveYankees, in whom all the shrewd, inventive genius of the race has beenstimulated by necessity,--all of them, from early life, having beenflung upon their own resources.

  They are helping one of their number to build a house for himself andhis young wife to live in. One of them has already passed through thatexperience of life which their employer is about to enter. The otherexpects to, for he also intends to be married, and have a home andland of his own. They therefore go about their work with interest andsympathy.

  How different are these men from what is generally termed _help_! Theyare hired, to be sure; but the sentiment which inspires their labor isentirely different from that feeling of drudgery, under the influenceof which the tenantry of Europe, or even the Irish servants in thiscountry, perform their work.

  Isaac Murch is an independent, wealthy farmer,--a mechanic bynature,--who has acquired the property he holds with his own hands,and would scorn to be a hired servant, like an Irish navvy; but for_accommodation_, he will hire some one to get in his own harvest, andin the cold, frosty nights, when he might be comfortable at home in theblankets, he will go on to Elm Island, sweat and work, live rough, andsleep on the ground, to build a house for his neighbor; for _neighbor_meant something in those days.

  As for Joe Griffin, he’s counting every dollar, and looking forward tothe day when he shall have a home of his own, and plough his own acres,and is ambitious to earn his wages.

  How superior are the results of such labor, to that of the man whohas no ambition of ever being anything more than a servant, and onlyexercises his ingenuity in getting through the day, and shirking allthe work he can! They knew that Ben had nothing but his hands tohelp himself with, and couldn’t afford to pay them for watching theshadows; besides, they had a reputation to sustain, of which theywere sufficiently proud. They knew very well that everybody within acircle of ten miles would know what they were about before night, andwhat remarks would be made about them at the blacksmith’s shop, thegrist-mill, and around the firesides.

  “Well, now, if there ain’t a team--Isaac Murch, Ben Rhines, and JoeGriffin! Pine trees’ll have to take it now, if they’ve got Isaac Murchto lay out the work, and Ben and Joe to back him up. Won’t they have agood time, though, seeing which is the smartest?”

  “Wal, sartainly,” exclaimed old Aunt Molly Bradish, “Joe Griffin hasmet his match for once; he can’t do anything with Ben Rhines; he’dpull up a pine tree by the roots, if he took a notion.”

  “Joe can’t, of course, take hold of a log to lift with Ben, nor anybodyelse in this world,” said Seth Warren; “but I’ll bet he’ll chop intothe side of a tree as quick; he strikes so true, he wouldn’t miss aclip once in a fortnight. I saw him cut a pig of lead in two, down atthe mil
l; and though he struck ten times, he hit so true that you couldsee but one mark of the axe.”

  “Wal,” replied Aunt Molly, “there’s this to be said of Ben Rhines,that is not to be said of everybody: I took him in my arms when hewas born, and have lived a near neighbor to him from that day tothis, and I never knew or heard of his using his strength to harm afellow-critter, except they desarved it most outrageously. I’ve seenlittle snipper-snappers impose upon him, and all the same as spit inhis face, and he never let on that he heard them. Sally’s my own niece,and I set my eyes by her; but I couldn’t wish her better luck than tomarry Ben. He’s helped everybody; I should think somebody might havesprawl enough to get up a ‘bee’ and help him.”

  They also knew that, when they went to meeting, Sunday, everybodywould want to know how much they’d done. Added to this was the prideof emulation, which leads men of any pluck to exert themselves in thepresence of each other. This is a kind of labor that can exist nowherebut in a free country, is the result of its institutions, from whichproceed the motives, and a thousand subtle influences which beget it.

  The island well merited Joe’s encomium. On the eastern side, adjoiningthe brook, was a large space, having a slight elevation, coveredwith green grass, extending back to the middle ridge, which, atits extremity, terminated in a perpendicular ledge, which, slopinggradually on the eastern side, and disappearing, crossed the brook,where it again came to the surface, forming a natural dam, about twofeet in height, with a little fissure in the middle, worn by thepassage of the water. Over this the stream fell with a pleasant murmur,mingling very sweetly with the deeper tone of the breakers. On eitherside of the brook were two enormous elm trees, united by a great root,flat on the surface, which bridged the brook a very little above thefall. Under this root, which was as large as a man’s body, the waterhad a free passage, except in the spring and autumn, when the brookwas swollen by melting snows and rains. Then the old root was halfburied in water. The high tides came over this natural dam; and in thebrackish water were great quantities of smelts and frost fish; and eelsalso ran up through the fissure in the ledge. The summit of the highledge was covered with white birches, the great forked roots, roughand black with whorls and blisters, running along the very edge of therocks, while their limbs, stretching themselves towards the sun, fellin great masses over its edge.

  They are very much mistaken who suppose that no one can appreciatenatural beauty, or hold communion with the beautiful forms of nature,and grow by it, who has not graduated at a university and read Homer.

  Joe Griffin appreciated the beauty of this spot, and felt it to hisheart’s core; and so did big Ben, though they could not express it inartistic language.

  Ben, in consultation with uncle Isaac, had determined to hew his logsfor their whole length only on two sides, which, as it was late in theyear, and they were pressed for time, would save much labor; but atthe ends, and where the doors and windows were to be, to hew them to a“proud edge.” This would give good joints at the ends, and make thehouse as tight as though it was all square timber.

  “Where are you going to set your house?” inquired Uncle Isaac.

  “Here,” said Ben, walking up to the slope above some elms that grewclose together, and sticking down a crowbar; “I want my house under thelee of the woods and the hill, and my garden under that warm ledge.”

  “How large will you have it on the ground?”

  “Thirty-six by thirty-nine.”

  “Jerusalem!” exclaimed Joe; “that’s a big house for two people, and alittle yellow dog with white on the end of his tail, to live in; hopeyou won’t be crowded.”

  “Log houses,” said Uncle Isaac, “last some time; perhaps he thinksthere’ll be more of them before it rots down.”

  “At first,” said Ben, “and perhaps for some years, it’ll have to behouse, barn, corn-house, workshop, and everything.”

  “You’ll have your cellar under half of it; how high will you have it?”

  “I never have thought anything about that.”

  “Well, I’d drop the beams down, and have it a story and a half; thatgreat chamber’ll be the best part of the house; ’twill make you asplendid corn-house; that’s the way your grandfather’s was, and many abushel of corn I’ve shelled in it. If I’m boss, as you, Ben, are strongenough to hold the scraper alone, you and Joe can take the plough, andgo to ploughing and scraping out the cellar, and I’ll go to the woodsand pick out and cut the trees.”

  “The sun is getting low,” said Ben; “it is time we were makingcalculations for sleeping to-night, whether in the ‘gundelow,’ with asail over us, or in a bush camp.”

  “I go in for the bush camp,” said Uncle Isaac.

  “And I’m the boy to build it,” said Joe; “takes me to do that.”

  “Go ahead, Joe, and build it, and we’ll get the wood for the fire.”

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Joe went into the edge of a littleclump of bushes, and in a few minutes cut out a space about twelvefeet square, leaving an opening between two trees, where he went in,of about three feet. As fast as he cut the trees, he thrust them back,and jammed them in among the others, making a thick wall; he then wovetwo or three small trees in on the side to keep them from fallingin. He then cut three or four small beech limbs, twisted them intowithes, bent down the tops of three or four trees on the sides, tiedthem together with the withes, thus forming the roof; then getting theboat’s sail, threw it over the top, and a little brush over that, tobreak the force of the rain. He then strewed some hemlock brush on thefloor to sleep on.

  “I’ll risk any rain-storm driving us out of that,” said Joe,contemplating his edifice with great satisfaction.

  “I must have a door,” said Joe, “or these plaguy oxen and sheep’ll bein there when we ain’t, and bother us.”

  You may think this a difficult matter, but Joe never wasted a thoughton’t. He took three spruce poles, as long as the height of the opening,drove them into the ground, and wattled them with birch limbs; he thenfastened a pole across each end, and one in the middle, leaving themiddle one protruding about four inches on the right side; that was alatch. He now took a little hemlock, peeled the bark off, and droveit into the ground on the left side; this was the door-post. He madehinges of withes, which slipped easily round the smooth pole. On theright hand tree grew a limb, slanting upwards; this he cut off aboutthree inches from the tree; then lifting the door, he threw it intothe angle, and it was shut and latched.

  He drove two crotch-poles into the ground, just before the door, andput another across; he then cut a limb with a side branch growing outof it, and hooked it over the pole; cut a deep notch in the lower endof it, to receive the bail of the pot, and hung it on.

  Uncle Isaac and Ben now came with a whole cart full of dry wood, whichthey had picked up, and a fire was kindled. It was not long before theflavor of the coot stew saluted their nostrils.

  “O, that smells good,” said Joe; “I’m savage hungry.” Seizing his axe,he cut some great chips out of the side of a tree, which he hollowedout, and giving one to each, said, “There’s the plates; they don’t needany washing; you can shie them into the fire when you’re done; there’senough more where they come from.”

  The stew was now taken from the fire, and these hardy men, who hadshown so much capacity for labor during the day, manifested no lessfor eating. When the solid contents of the stew had disappeared, Joeexclaimed, “I think it’s too bad to lose all this good gravy in thepot.” He went to the beach and got three clam-shells; these they stuckin the end of split sticks, and soon despatched the contents of the pot.

  “Well,” said Uncle Isaac, as they stretched themselves around theblazing fire, “we’ve got on here, made a beginning, and got tohousekeeping; and that will do pretty well for one day. We couldn’texpect to make much show to-day; but to-morrow we shall get to workbetimes, and bring more to pass.”

  “I’m sorry I forgot to bring a drag,” said Ben; “we’ve nothing to haulthe rocks on.”r />
  “That’s a thing we must have,” said Uncle Isaac; “I’ll make one rightoff.”

  “You can’t make it to-night,” said Ben.

  “The dogs I can’t. Joe, cut that little red oak; you can do it inthree minutes. Make a blaze, Ben, to see to work by; then run to the‘gundelow,’ and bring up that plank I saw there.”

  By the time Ben returned with the plank the tree was down.

  “Now, Joe,” said Uncle Isaac, “you can take one side of the tree, and Iwill the other, and see if you can keep up with your grandfather. You,Ben, may saw up that plank into pieces three feet long, and make somewooden pins.”

  By nine o’clock the drag was made.

  “There,” said Uncle Isaac, “that hasn’t killed anybody; ’twould havebeen an awful waste to have taken good daylight for that. I’m not surebut ’twould have been a sin; and we’ve plenty of time left to sleep.”

  Thursday was occupied in framing together the sills, and laying thelower floor, in order that they might have it to stand on while rollingup the logs. It was left rough, because Uncle Isaac said it would wearsmoother than if ’twas planed.

  “I hope,” said Joe, “it won’t be like old Uncle Yelf’s floor. He hada floor of hemlock boards, rough from the saw; they had a heap ofgrandchildren, every one of them barefoot. Go in there when you would,for a fortnight, there’d be old granny with her darning-needle, anda great young one’s foot up in her lap, a-picking out the splinters,while the young one, with both hands on the floor, was screaming bloodymurder. By the time she’d picked the splinters out of his feet, there’dbe as many more in his hands.”

  Saturday forenoon was spent in hauling logs, and rolling them up onskids, preparatory to hewing.

  Just as they had finished dinner, Joe suddenly cried, “What’s that inthat bushy spruce on the edge of the bank?”

  “I don’t see anything,” said Ben.

  “Nor I, now; but I know there was something there, and I believe it’sthere now.”

  “Perhaps it’s a coon,” said Uncle Isaac.

  “A coon? How could a coon get on to this island?”

  “How could he get here? How could the squirrels and woodchucks gethere? God Almighty put ’em here.”

  Going to the tree, Joe peered a long time among the branches; at lengthhe exclaimed, “Here he is: get your gun, Ben!”

  “I shot away the last powder I had to kindle fire this morning; butwe’ll stone him down.”

  They pelted him with stones in vain, the thick limbs causing them allto glance.

  “Climb up and get him, Joe.”

  “Climb up yourself, Ben; they say their bite’s rank ‘pizen.’”

  “I’ll have that coon,” said Ben, “if it takes all day. Cut the treedown, Joe.”

  As it fell, the coon leaped from it; and though the stones fell thickand fast around him, he ran up the bank and under the logs. Then begana most exciting race, the men rolling the logs here and there, andstriking at him between them, till finally he broke cover, and ran forthe woods, with the whole scout at his heels. Ben overtook him just ashe was running up a tree, and, catching him by the tail, flung him overhis head: he landed on Joe’s back, who, having a mortal terror of thebite of a coon, roared with agony; but the creature, too frightened tobite, rolled off his back to the ground, and passing Uncle Isaac, whowas so full of tickle that he could not lift a finger to stop him, ranunder the timber again. As he was now too far gone to try another racefor the woods, he hid under a log, one end of which lay upon a block,and the other on the ground.

  Ben saw his eyes shine, and kicked the log off the block; as the coonattempted to run out, it fell on his tail and held him fast. There hesat, captive but undismayed, showing his white teeth, and frothing athis mouth with pain and rage.

  “How are you, coonie?” said Joe, taking off his hat and making a lowbow; “by the chances of war you are now our prisoner; we are cannibals,of the cannibal tribe, and eat all our captives; you must die for thegood of the tribe;” and thus saying he knocked him on the head.

  “I’ll get mother to bake him to-night,” said Ben; “come over to-morrow,Joe, and help eat him.”

  “Boys,” said Uncle Isaac, “don’t you think we look well skylarking atthis rate? and to-day is Saturday, too; now we must put in hard enoughto make up for it.”

  They labored till dark, as if their lives depended on it.

  “I thought you were going to leave off earlier Saturday night,” saidHannah Murch, as she met them at the landing. “I’ve been waiting heremore’n two hours in the cold. I was afraid some accident had befallenyou.”

  Ben held up the raccoon.

  “I see how it is; you’ve been cooning, and had to work later to make itup. Isaac, I do wish you would ever leave off being a boy.”

  “Well, you’re the first woman I ever heard of that wanted her husbandto grow old.”