CHAPTER XVIII. FRUITS OF PATIENCE AND PERSEVERANCE.
Sammy now returned with greater interest than ever to his work of experimenting. Having kneaded a lump of clay, he flattened it out on his bench with the mallet, and rolled it with the rolling-pin into a broad sheet of the thickness which he thought desirable for the bottom of his pot, and cut it out of the proper size and shape, and as much larger than the original vessel, as the thickness he intended for the sides. He then sprinkled sand on the bench to prevent the bottom from sticking, rolled out another sheet of dough, and cut it all up into strips a little longer than the circumference of his vessel, thus leaving room to lap; these he rolled into pieces as nearly equal in size as possible, and with them built up the sides of his pot from the bottom, moistening the edges where they came together with clay slip, and placing them one upon another like the coils of a rope.
By pressing with his hands on both sides and the surface, he incorporated the different layers into one, so as to obliterate all the marks where they came together. With his two circular pieces of birch-bark he regulated the size, and with the profile the curve, of the side, and made a vessel precisely like his own model. Then, with a roll of clay, he made a projection on the inside to hold the cover, to be put on afterwards when it was half dry.
The young potter was now quite well satisfied. He had made a pot far superior to the other, of handsomer shape; and, the clay being properly worked, there was no probability of its coming to pieces in the fire; and, after smoothing the sides with a wet rag, he began to consider how he should ornament his work.
Harry was possessed of a great genius for sketching and drawing figures of all kinds on birch-bark, and often did it for the amusement of the children.
Sam showed the pot to Harry, and wanted him to draw on it Indians killing white folks, and scalping old people, women, and little children.
"I wouldn't do that," said Harry: "that would be very well if you was going to give the pot to Mr. Holdness, McClure, or Mr. Israel; but Mr. Seth don't like any thing of that kind. If I was you, I'd have the windmill: I'll cut that on it, and Uncle Seth right under it, and the year it was built; and on the other side I'll make a man sowing grain."
Sammy assented to this, and put a wreath of oak-leaves round the design and inscription by pressing them into the clay: then he put on the handles. Mr. Seth had told him that wet leather would polish a pot: he therefore obtained a piece from Mr. Holdness, who was the tanner of the little community, and had managed, by shaving his bark with a drawing-knife, to tan leather enough for pack-saddles.
The grateful boy now resolved to present the offering (that had cost him so much labor), to his great benefactor, carried the pot to Mrs. Israel Blanchard, and with a throbbing heart confided the secret to her.
The next day she invited Mrs. Sumerford, Sammy, the families of Mr. Honeywood and Mr. Holdness, to supper. When they were all seated at the table, she put on the pot of beans, setting it directly in front of Uncle Seth, with the windmill staring him directly in the face.
Great was the surprise, many and fervent the encomiums; and Sammy was never better satisfied with himself.
He had also made a pot for Mrs. Stewart. When she looked at it, and read the name inscribed on it, the mother's eyes filled with tears.
"So you put Tony's name on it: you loved your little mate, Sammy."
"Yes, marm: I miss him all the whole time. I never shall think so much of anybody as I did of him. I like all the boys, but I loved Tony. If he was here, he'd help me: we should have made a pot for our two mothers; and 'cause he ain't here, I made this for you."
"You are a bonnie bairn, an' I trust your mither'll nae ha' occasion to greet for you as I maun for Tony."
Sammy could now make earthen vessels with much greater facility. He had a good eye, and could make them without so much measuring as was at first necessary, and without making a model. All he had to do was to determine in his mind the size he would have the vessel, roll out his clay, and cut the sheet long enough to form a circle as large as the circumference of his vessel at its largest place, then cut it into strips, lapping some more and some less, as the sides flared or tapered; and, as he kept his measures of height, diameter, and the profiles of the sides, he soon learned to make a vessel of any size he wished.
When it was found that his ware would bear to be put on the fire to boil in, the women wished to use them in this manner; but there was nothing by which to hang them.
One day he was digging among the broken pottery under the shelving bank on the site of the old Indian village, and unearthed the upper half of a pot, the edge of the mouth rolled over, making a very broad flange. He took it to Mr. Honeywood, who told him that it was done by the Indian squaws to hold a withe to hang it over the fire by.
"I should think it would burn off."
"They put clay upon it, and watched it: if the clay fell off, put on more."
"Mr. Honeywood, how did you know so much about Indians? and how did you learn to talk Indian?"
"I learned to speak the language from two men in Baltimore, who had been prisoners with them a long time: of their customs I learned a great deal more from Wasaweela the Mohawk, with whom I hunted and camped a whole winter."
Sammy now went to work, and made some very thick and strong pots, that would hold two pailfuls, after the Indian form, and fastened withes to them. They were very useful, for the women could hang them on the crane, and boil meat or vegetables.
They kept a little clay at home to smear them with, which was seldom necessary if the fire was made with judgment directly under the bottom of the pot, and not suffered to blaze upon the sides.
Sammy now wished to try his hand at a milk-pan; but his mother discouraged him, because she said the milk would soak into it more or less, and it would not be possible to keep it sweet, and after a while the milk put in it would sour. However, he made one, just to see if he could; and it looked just like his mother's except the glazing. How he wished he could glaze! He made pitchers and drinking-mugs, and put handles on them by forming a roll of clay, and then sticking them on when the ware was partly dry. He would stick the upper end of the roll of clay on the vessel, then dip his hand in water, form the roll into proper shape, and attach the lower end, then smooth with a moist rag. After these unglazed dishes became foul, Sammy purified them by putting them in the kiln, and baking them again. He made another improvement that facilitated his labor. He got Scip to plane and shave a piece of pine perfectly round, two feet long, and three inches in diameter, and split in equal parts with a saw. Scip then hollowed out each part, and put dowels in one half, and bored holes to correspond in the other, which held the pieces evenly upon each other.
When he had made a roll of clay about the size, he dipped the mould in water, put the roll in one half, and squat the other on it, and thus made every roll the same size perfectly; and, by counting them up, he knew very nearly when he had cut out enough for his pot.
There was one thing he could not prevent his mind from dwelling on: it haunted him night and day; to wit, the statement made by Uncle Seth in respect to the potter's wheel, and with what marvellous celerity vessels could be made on it. That a thousand pots could be made in a day, seemed to him little short of a miracle. He had not forgotten that Uncle Seth had said, that, instead of a crank (of the nature of which he had little conception), the spindle was sometimes moved by a band going over a larger wheel, and passing round a smaller wheel (pulley) on the spindle, and that this large wheel was turned by another person.
This was not to him difficult of conception; and he thought Uncle Seth might, if he would, make one of that kind, and cherished a vague notion that he might make such a one himself.
With his head full of such thoughts, he was occupied in preparing nests for setting hens, and casting about in his mind which of the boys he should endeavor to persuade to help him, should he adventure upon it.
He finally pitched upon Archie Crawford. Archie was quite ingenious, could make a good wooden or horn spoon, a windmill, or a trencher, and manifested more endurance in sticking to any thing he undertook than most of the boys; was of a kindly nature, and willing to oblige.
While Sammy was thus engaged, Archie presented himself, accompanied by several more armed with bows and arrows. The bows were capable, when the arrow was drawn to the head, of killing a bear or wolf; and the arrows were most of them steel pointed, the others flint heads, but they were of Indian make and effective.
These bows belonged to the larger boys. The one carried by Johnnie Armstrong belonged to his brother Ned; Harry Sumerford had killed an Indian with it. As they had been restricted in the use of powder, they had betaken themselves to the use of the bow; but these boys, by virtue of incessant practice from childhood, would, when the object was near, kill nearly every time. The bows they now had, however, were too stiff for them, and they were not able to draw the arrow to the head.
"Come, Sammy," said Archie, "get Harry's bow and arrow, and go with us: we're going to shoot pigeons and coons, and want to shoot fish."
The boys were in the habit of shooting fish when they came near the surface in the shoal-water; but they sometimes lost both arrow and fish.
Sammy made no objections to going this time, as he had used up all his clay, and knew he should need help from his mates, and that he must gratify them if he desired their aid.
"It's no good for me to take Harry's bow. I'll take Knuck's: I'd ruther have that. I can't begin to bend Harry's."
As the baby was asleep in the cradle, and could make no objection, they took the bear with them. There were several dogs: Will Redmond had brought Mr. Honeywood's Fan, the mother of the whole litter; Sammy had one; and Tony's had come visiting of his own free will.
The boys would have taken them all; but Mrs. Sumerford objected, because, though the dogs and the bear agreed well at home where they had been taught to show due respect to his bearship, it was quite the reverse when they were not under the inspection of their masters, the dogs always being the aggressors. Therefore the dogs were shut up in the house till the boys were gone, when Mrs. Sumerford let them out, and gave them their breakfast.
Coons are wont to sleep in the daytime, and forage in the night. A favorite resort of these creatures is the evergreen trees with close foliage, among which it is not easy to see them. There, after a hearty meal, they coil themselves around the tree, lying upon the limbs at their junction with the trunks, and sleeping. The boys were no novices in the art of finding them: one or two would climb the tree, and drive them to the top, or upon the outer limbs, and the others shoot them. They liked best to shoot pigeons when they could find them on the ground, or on low bushes feeding on berries.
In shooting into the tops of trees, if they missed their aim, the arrows were likely to stick in a limb or some part of the tree, in which case it was not only some work to recover them, but the points of the flint ones were liable to be broken, and those of the iron ones bent, or if steel they were sometimes broken.
They had killed four coons, finding a whole family in one tree, and a partridge, and were now in pursuit of pigeons, creeping on their hands and knees among the bushes; and the bear, as fond of berries as the pigeons, was improving the opportunity, lying down on the loaded bushes, and eating while the juice ran in streams from either side of his mouth.
The pigeons were accustomed to bears, had no fear of them, would feed right under their noses. Archie Crawford knew this, and was crawling up to some pigeons, and sheltering himself from their notice behind the body of the bear, when from under a windfall out rushed a wild bear, followed by two cubs, and growling savagely.
The civilized bear neither manifested fear nor a wish to quarrel. The boys, on the other hand, strong in numbers, and many of them armed with steel-pointed arrows, were delighted with the prospect of a duel between two such antagonists, and shouted,—
"Go at her, baby! clinch her! you can lick her: we'll back you."
While baby's bear was mildly regarding his savage antagonist, the hairs of whose coat stood upright with anger, the white foam flying from her lips, and who was working herself into a great rage, one of the cubs ventured up to baby's bear, who, putting down his nose, smelled of the cub, and licked it with his tongue.
The wild bear then sprung upon the tame one, and seized him by the under jaw; upon which the other, being much stronger and heavier, instantly rose upon his hind-legs, and flung her off with so great force, that she not only fell to the earth, but rolled entirely over upon her back, almost crushing one of her cubs.
At this decided demonstration, the boys, wild with delight, shouted encouragement; but the tame bear showed no disposition to follow up his advantage, and continue the contest so well begun. Not so with the other, who, springing up madder than ever, kept walking around her opponent, growling savagely, while the latter began eating berries.
The boys now, provoked at his lack of mettle, addressed him in another fashion, calling him a coward, lazy, and a fool, because he did not spring upon the other when on her back, and finish her.
The wild bear now seized the tame one by his right fore-paw, which she endeavored to grind between her teeth. The other, however, succeeded in withdrawing it, and, now thoroughly mad, uttered in his turn terrific growls; and a deadly grapple ensued between them, to the great delight of the boys, who now had what they desired,—the prospect of a contest of life or death.
It soon became evident, that though the tame bear was much the larger, and for a "spurt" the stronger of the two, and by no means lacking in courage, his fat, short wind, and want of exercise, rendered him a poor match for his lean and wiry antagonist.
At this juncture of affairs, Ike Proctor, who had the strongest and a remarkably clear, sharp-toned voice, mounting a great rock, called the dogs with all his might. At the same time the others, drawing their bows with every ounce of strength they possessed, sent a shower of arrows at the wild bear, venturing near enough to make amends for lack of muscle.
The bear instantly turned upon the boys, struck Sammy's bow from his hand with a blow of her paw, tore his hunting-shirt from his shoulder, slightly lacerating the flesh, broke his belt, and in another instant would have killed him if Jim Grant had not at that moment sent a flint-headed arrow into her right eye, and Archie Crawford fastened a steel point in her left nostril; and Sammy, picking up his weapon while the bear was trying to shake the barbed shaft from her nostril, returned to the charge.
"Here they come! Here come the dogs!" shouted Rogers. On they came, full stretch, uttering short barks; the mother, a powerful veteran used to coping with bears and wolves, leading the van. Instinctively avoiding the stroke of the bear's paw, she fastened to the right ear of the brute, one of the pups instantly seizing the left.
The bear, enfeebled by her previous encounter and the loss of blood, strove in vain to shake off these ferocious antagonists. Strong as fierce they clung to her, while the remaining dog buried his fangs in the bear's throat, and, rolling her on her back, thrust his sharp muzzle in her vitals. The blood poured out in a stream; the hard-lived animal quivered a moment, and gave up.
Excited by the combat, and the smell and taste of blood, the dogs instantly turned upon baby's bear already half dead, and upon the cubs, and killed them in a moment in spite of all their masters could do to prevent it.
The boys would have killed the dogs if they had dared, so enraged and grieved were they at the death of the tame bear, and also at the loss of the cubs which they coveted.
"What pretty little things these would have been for us to keep!" said Mugford, taking one of the cubs up in his arms. "Baby's bear would have liked 'em; and how handsome the baby and the two little bears would have looked, all three lying asleep together on the old bear!"
"They were big enough to eat any thing," said Proctor.
"You're crying, Sammy," said Will Redmond, noticing the tears on his cheeks, which he did not try to conceal.
"If I be, I ain't crying for myself, but only 'cause baby'll miss his bear, and 'cause my mother'll feel so bad: she loved the bear 'cause he was so good to the baby. I've seen him lay on the hearth after he'd been asleep, and just waked up, and stretch and gape, and stick out every claw on his feet, just like the old cat will sometimes; the baby would see 'em, and creep along to get hold of 'em; and the bear would put 'em all in so they needn't scratch baby. I've seen that little thing try to suck the bear's paw. Oh, he was a good bear!"
"I loved him too," said Archie; "and it makes me feel real bad, just like crying. Let's all cry. There ain't anybody to see us: we'll cry all we want to."
It needed but this to open the sluices, for the eyes of every boy were brimfull of tears. They had a good solid cry, and, having given vent to their pent-up emotions, felt relieved.
They all collected round the dead body of the bear. Sammy, kneeling down, began to pat his head, and talk to him as though he was alive.
"Poor beary! we be all real sorry you're dead: mother and the baby'll be sorry too. The dogs always did hate you, though you never did them a bit of hurt, wouldn't hurt a fly."
"If you'd been brought up in the woods same as that wild bear, you'd have licked two of her."
"The dogs know they've done wrong," said Rogers: "only see how meaching they look, and keep their tails 'twixt their legs."
The wild bear was poor, and not fit to eat: so they skinned her. But baby's bear was as fat as a well-fatted hog, but no one of them for a moment indulged the thought of eating or even skinning him.
"If we leave the baby's bear in the woods, and cover him up with brush, the wolves will get him," said Sammy.
Fred Stiefel and Archie volunteered to go home, and get shovels and hoes; and they soon dug a grave in the soft ground to bury their pet in.
"Let's put the cubs 'long with baby's bear. We know he liked 'em, cause he smelt of 'em, and was licking one of 'em when the old bear jumped at him," said Archie.
"The wolves sha'n't have baby's bear; they sha'n't pick his bones," said Sammy.
The boys brought stones as large as two, and sometimes as large as four of them, could carry, and piled them on the grave to prevent the wolves from digging into it. They put a large stone in the bear-skin; and four carried it, and put on small ones till they made a large pile, resolving whenever they came that way they would put on a stone. When the boys returned home (for they all went home with Sam), bringing with them the bear-skin, four coons, a partridge, and only three pigeons, and with downcast looks made known what had taken place, Mrs. Sumerford expressed much sorrow.
"You don't know, Sammy, how much I shall miss that creature. He was so good! He wasn't a mite like any tame bear that ever I saw; and I've seen scores of 'em, first and last. They are always great thieves; but he wasn't; he had principle: he was a good deal honester than Scip. They are mostly great plagues; people soon grow sick of 'em, and kill 'em: but he was not the least trouble. All the tame bears that ever I saw before him were mighty unsartin': they'd take spells when they would snap and strike with their paws."
"Tony's bear did: he killed a dog, broke his back at one lick of his paw; and he clinched Mrs. Blanchard, and wanted to kill her," said Grant.
"I know he did; but this bear was a great help to me about the child. When I was all alone, and wanted to weave, I could put the baby on the floor with the bear, and they would play ever so long; and when I couldn't get the little one to sleep by rocking, to save me, he'd go to sleep on the bear."
While his mother was thus recounting the virtues of the dead, it brought the whole matter to the mind of Sammy in such a light that he began to cry, and the boys with him; and finally the good woman herself was moved by the tears of the children.
The baby was sitting on the floor with his playthings, and, not knowing what to make of it, began staring with his great round eyes, first at his mother, then at the others; and finally, not relishing the silence, pounded on the floor with a spoon, and laughed.
"If you wasn't a baby, you wouldn't laugh; you'd cry like every thing," said Sammy.
"What creatures boys are!" said Mrs. Sumerford. "We've been thinking all the danger was from Indians; but I'm afraid they'll contrive to be killed by bears, or be drowned. They will if they can."
CHAPTER XIX. TRIUMPH OF THOUGHT AND INGENUITY.
After the departure of the boys, Sammy took up, with greater enthusiasm than ever, those trains of thought that had been so rudely interrupted by the day's occurrences, and after supper sat down in one corner of the room to reflect.
His mother, having spun her stint, began to reel up the yarn. As he sat thinking, and occasionally looking at her as she reeled the yarn from the spindle, he communed thus with himself:—
"If a potter's wheel is an upright spindle with a little wheel on it turned by a band that goes over a big wheel, and my mother's wheel is a level spindle with a little wheel on it turned by a band that goes over a big wheel, then what's the reason, if my mother's wheel is turned upside down, the spindle won't be upright, just as Uncle Seth said a potter's wheel was? And then if there was a round piece put on top to put the clay on, and you turned the big wheel, it would turn the clay."
"Sammy, don't you feel well?" setting her wheel back against the wall.
"Yes, ma'am, I'm well."
"What makes you sit there so still, then?"
"I don't know, ma'am."
"I don't believe you feel very well: you've been through a good deal this day, and you needn't go to milking. I'll milk: the cows don't give a great mess now."
Scarcely had his mother left the threshold than Sammy, jumping up, turned the wheel over flat on the floor, with the pointed end of the spindle uppermost. He put a log under the post of the wheel to keep the end of the spindle from touching the floor, and prevent its turning. There was a basket of turnips sitting in the corner: he sliced the top from one of them, to flatten it, and stuck it on the end of the spindle, and getting on his knees turned the wheel round; and round went both spindle and turnip.
"There!" said he talking to himself, "if that turnip was a round piece of wood, and if there was clay on it, 'twould be the same thing as the potter's wheel that Uncle Seth told about, that didn't have any crank, only two wheels."
The same principle, Sammy meant.
"I haven't got any tools, nor any thing to make a wheel of: so I couldn't make one."
The tears sprung to the poor boy's eyes; and hearing his mother's step on the door-stone, and not wanting to have her question him about his tears, he opened the window-shutter, leaped out, made for the hovel, and sat down there. He had left in haste; and, as Mrs. Sumerford set down her milk-pail, she saw her wheel upside down, with a turnip on the end of the spindle. "What's all this!" pulling off the turnip. "Samuel, Samuel Sumerford! Did ever anybody see or hear tell of such a boy? It's a mercy that he didn't break the wheel-head. What satisfaction could there be in turning that wheel upside down, and sticking a turnip on the spindle?"
The little fellow's reflections were of a sombre cast. "There ain't no good times now as there used to be. I had a bear, and he was killed; Tony had one, and he was killed; and now baby's bear, that was the best most of the whole, is killed too. I had a tame coon, and they killed him; a cosset lamb, and he died; and the Indians have come, and carried off Tony who I loved better than the bear or coon or cosset lamb. The Indians keep coming, and killin' our folks; and Alice Proctor thinks they'll kill us all some time."
Sammy's thoughts now seemed to take a sudden turn; for at once he jumped up, and ran at his utmost speed to the Cuthbert house. His mother, looking after him in amazement, said,—
"I don't know about this pottery business: the child don't seem one mite as he used to. I hope he won't lose his wits."
Rushing up garret, he brought down part of a flax-wheel; that is, the bench, the wheel, and the posts on which the wheel was hung, the rest having been carried off by Cuthbert. Sammy's spirits rose with a bound: he thought, if he only had a wheel, he could manage the rest.
Where should he get boards to make a bench? for boards were precious things in the settlement. He recollected that Mr. McDonald had in his house a meal-chest, and partitions made of boards, and some milk-shelves; and that some of them were used for making coffins to bury the family in, as there was not time to manufacture boards with the whip-saw. But he thought they might not all have been used; the house stood empty, and was rotting down.
Away ran the excited lad for Archie, made a confidant of him, and wanted him to go to the McDonald house to see if there were not some boards there, and, if so, get them.
"You don't ketch me there this time of day: it's haunted. It's all but sundown now. I'll go in the morning: 'twill be dark by the time we get there."
"'Twon't be dark if we run. All I want is just to look in, and see what there is; and, if there is any, we can get them some other time."
As usual, Sammy prevailed; and away they ran, reaching the place just after the sun had set. Directly before the door stood the hominy-block on which McDonald and his son were pounding corn when the savages came upon them, and an Indian arrow still sticking in the block. On the door-step was the blood-stain, where little Maggie was butchered. The boys recollected it well, for she was their playmate. They didn't like to venture in; for the bullet-proof shutters were closed just as they had been left when the family were killed, and it was dark inside. They had not forgotten that the floor (on that fearful morning) of the very room in which they expected to find the boards was red with the blood of Grace and Janet McDonald. They tried to look through the loop-holes, but could not see any thing distinctly within.
"You go in, Sam."
"I don't want to: go yourself."
"It's more your place to go than 'tis for me, 'cause you want to be a potter."
Urged by his desire to obtain boards, Sammy at length entered the door, and, standing in the passage, looked in.
"I see some square pieces of timber, Archie, that would be nice to make the frame of the bench; but I don't see any boards. The partition's all taken down: only these timbers what it was fastened to are left."
A slight noise was heard in the room; and Sam tumbled over Archie in his haste to escape, and both ran away. They ventured back, and found that the noise that had alarmed them was made by the fluttering of a piece of loose bark (moved by the wind) which hung by one end to a log; and found there was one short board left in the room, about six feet long. They thought there might be some in the chamber where the children used to sleep, which was not so dark as the rest of the house, because light came through many chinks in the roof.
Sam mounted the ladder to look; but, just as he got his head above the level of the floor, he heard a great scrambling, and something went swiftly past him. He either leaped or tumbled to the floor (he never knew which); and they ran home, resolving never again to go to that place in the twilight.
Early next morning they went there; and it seemed very different in the daytime. They brought their guns with them; but of what use they supposed fire-arms would be, in a contest with supernatural foes, is not readily perceived: however, they felt stronger for having them.
Archie opened the shutters, that had been closed by the hands of Mrs. McDonald a few moments before her death, and the sunlight streamed in. In the chamber they found a wide board twenty feet long, that was planed on one side, and placed between the beds for the children to step on when they got out of bed, as the rest of the floor was laid with poles that were rough with knots and bark. They took down the joist in the room below: these had been sawed out with the whip-saw, by Mr. Seth and his brother, when they put up the partition. They were a great acquisition to the boys, almost as much as the boards; for they could not have hewn out joist accurately enough to frame together.
"Mr. McDonald didn't think, when he got Uncle Seth to make this partition, a meal-chest, and milk-shelves (what nobody else in the Run has got, and Mr. Blanchard himself ain't got), that they would take the boards to make coffins for himself and his folks; did he, Sammy?"
"Don't let's talk about that here."
They yoked the oxen, hauled their stuff to the Cuthbert house, and set about making a bench.
"How high and wide and long shall we make it?" said Archie.
"Uncle Seth told me it ought to be about as big as this table."
Cutting their joist, they halved the pieces together, and made the frame of the bench with a cross-sill at the bottom in the centre to receive the end of the spindle. How they should make the spindle, and what they should make it of, was the next thing to be considered.
They went to a piece of land that had been cleared, and the timber burnt, but had not been planted, and had partially grown up again, where were a great number of ash-sprouts, that grew luxuriantly and very straight, as is the habit of that tree; and soon found one to answer their purpose.
Two blocks, one much larger than the other, were sawed from the ends of logs,—one for a pulley (wheel the boys called it), and the other for a small wheel to receive the clay; and a hole bored in the cross-sill to admit the lower end of the spindle.
Holes were bored, and a square mortise cut in the centre of the two blocks, and the spindle squared near the lower end, and the pulley fitted on to it. The top of the spindle was also squared for the other block. This was done in order that neither the pulley nor the wheel might turn on the spindle: then a score was cut in the edge of the pulley to receive a band. The frame of the bench was now boarded on top, the spindle put in its place, and the upper wheel put on. Their tools were few, and the boys without practice in using them; yet, though the work was rough, the bench was level, and the spindle plumb, although made of an ash-sprout, the bark still adhering to portions of it. The pulley and clay wheel were also true circles, as they struck them out with Harry's large compasses, and cut to the scratch.
A serious consultation was now held in respect to the manner in which they should avail themselves of the flax-wheel.
After a long consideration, arising from the fact that the flax-wheel was not theirs, and that they could do nothing to unfit it for future use in spinning, Sammy knocked the legs out carefully from the bench, and placed the latter upon its edge, upon the floor, with the wheel and posts attached, and at a proper distance from the spindle; then put under the posts a flattened piece of wood just thick enough to bring it up to a level, and drove into it two pins each side of the post to keep them in place, and short enough for the wheel to play over them.
Flat stones were laid against the other end of the bench, to keep it from moving; a band passed round both the flax-wheel and the spindle, and the bearings greased. Some method must now be devised to turn the large wheel; and this was not an easy matter. This wheel had on it a short crank, to which (when the parts of the machine were all in place) the treadle was attached; and on this crank a tang half an inch long, with a button on the end, to keep the treadle from slipping off. This affair, especially the button, was much in the way of putting any thing on the wheel by which to turn it, and was not large enough to be made useful of itself; for it could only be held betwixt the finger and thumb, it was so very short.
The rim of this wheel was three inches in depth, and there were sixteen spokes quite near together. Archie proposed boring a hole in this rim, and putting a pin into it; but Sam said that would never do, because it would injure the wheel, and he had promised Prudence Holdness he would leave it as good as he found it.
He tried to fit a wooden handle to the tang of the crank, but the button on the end prevented.
These boys, it is true, possessed little knowledge of things in general: yet they had read the woods pretty thoroughly, and were aware that the roots of the alder, hazel, and wild cherry, inclined to run for some distance near the surface, and then throw up shoots at right angles with the root from which they sprung.
They found a wild cherry nearly two inches in diameter, that sprang up from a long naked root, cut the top off within eighteen inches of the ground, and then dug it up. They now cut one arm of the root close to the stem, leaving the other a foot in length, flattened the under side, placed the end of the root towards the hub of the wheel, and lashed it firmly to a spoke. This was a handle by which to turn the wheel, and did not injure it in the least. They found, by getting on their knees and turning the flax-wheel, the spindle revolved steadily but not very fast.
"It don't go so fast as mother's flax-wheel," said Sam.
"Not a quarter so fast as my mother's big wheel: the spindle of that'll whirl so you can't hardly see it, when she's a mind to make it," said Archie.
The boys now sat down to rest, and contemplate their work with great satisfaction.
"Ain't it nice, Archie?"
"Yes; and we made it our own selves, didn't we?"
There is an important principle developed in this declaration of Archie. They had learned much, and derived a great deal more pleasure from the contemplation of that rude machine that they had exerted all their ingenuity to make, than they would have done had Uncle Seth made a potter's wheel, and given it to them. If you want to bring out what is in a boy, want him to develop original thought, and become possessed of resources within himself, encourage and stimulate him to make his own playthings. How many children there are who have almost every thing given them that a toy-shop can furnish, and yet get sick of their novelties when they have looked them over, acquire but few ideas in the process, and remain children during life! if that deserves the name of life which is useless and barren, both in respect to themselves and to others.
They soon tested their instrument by experiment. Taking some sand, Sammy strewed it over the wheel, and put a lump of clay on it while Archie turned. He did this in order that he might be able to get the vessel off, as he knew the clay would stick to the wood; but when he put his hands on the clay the wheel turned round under it, and the clay tumbled to the floor. Finding that would never do, he swept off all the sand, and flung the lump down hard on the wood, where it stuck fast (as Uncle Seth had told him he saw the potters do), put his hands on each side of the clay, and brought it up to a sugar-loaf form, and then pressed it down to break the air-bubbles, then put his thumbs into the middle of the lump, and his fingers outside. The clay instantly assumed a circular form, and became hollow.
"Oh, oh! It's doing it!" shouted Sam.
"Doing what?" cried Archie, who on his knees could not see what was going on.
"It's growing hollow. It's making a pot. Oh, it's growing thinner and thinner!"
Indeed it was; for Sammy not only stuck his thumbs into the lump, but kept separating his hands, till, the walls of the pot growing thinner and thinner, both thumbs broke through, and there were only two long, wide ribbons of clay, and no bottom; for he had pressed his hands down so hard as to scrape through to the wood. He uttered a yell of dismay, and Archie ran to look.
"Only see there," said Sam, taking up part of the side: "see how smooth it is! I couldn't have made it so smooth the way I did before. Oh, if it hadn't bursted!"
"What made it do so?"
"Don't know: guess I can do better next time."
Next time he succeeded in making something hollow, but it was almost as big at the top as at the bottom; the sides were thick in one place, and thin in another: but the boys thought it was nice till they tried to take it from the wheel, when they found Sammy had poked his fingers through the bottom to the wood.
Archie was now to try his hand: the wheel had made but a few revolutions when he shouted,—
"Stop!"
He had pressed his hands so close together, that at the top there was a cone of clay, and a round lump on the wheel, without the sign of a hollow. The next time he made something hollow; but the sides were so thin they would not stand, but tumbled down in a heap as soon as he took his hands off.
Now it was Sammy's turn again. While turning the wheel for Archie, he had been reflecting upon the causes of his poor success; and this time made a pot that was all right at the bottom, and of a proper thickness, only rather bulging in the middle. They were greatly delighted, but, in trying to take it from the wheel, tore it in pieces. Sammy made another attempt, and met with still better success. They dared not take this pot from the wheel, yet were unwilling to ask Uncle Seth, or let him know any thing about their proceedings till they had made more progress.
As it was near dinner-time, they concluded to leave it on the wheel, and inquire of others, supposing that Mrs. Honeywood, Mrs. Blanchard, or Holt's wife, who had lived in the old settlements, might tell them something; but they could not.
"I don't believe but Scip would know: he has lived in Baltimore," said Mrs. Blanchard.
They applied to Scip.
"De potters hab leetle piece of wire wid two sticks on it, to take hold on. Dey pull dat through 'twixt de clay and de wheel; den dey take it off wid dere han's, if leetle ting: if big ting, hab two sticks ob wood put each side, fay to de pot, so not jam it. Me show you, me make you one."
The boys looked at each other; for there was no such thing as a piece of wire within a hundred miles, and they had never seen any save the priming-wires that were with some of the smooth-bores. Scip advised them to try a hard-twisted string, which they found to answer the purpose.
Sammy kept on improving; but Archie did not, and began to grow tired of pottery. It was hard work to turn the wheel: he perceived that, as he could make no further progress in turning, in the natural order of things, Sammy must be the potter, while he would remain wheel-boy.
Sammy, on the other hand, was full of enthusiasm, ever improving. He could now tell the thickness of his pots by the feeling, and made them uniform in this respect; was all the time correcting little defects; and learned by practice how thick the sides should be to stand. He offered Archie a powder-horn if he would turn all the afternoon; but he wouldn't hear a word of it, and said his hands were blistered, and the skin was worn off his knees, kneeling on the hard floor. Sammy offered him a bullet if he would turn long enough for him to make three more pots. Archie said he would the next morning; and here the work ended for the day.
CHAPTER XX. UNCLE SETH'S SURPRISE.
When this new and exciting employment came thus suddenly to a full stop by the refusal of Archie to turn the wheel any longer, the latter went home with two large holes in the knees of his trousers, albeit they were buckskin: Sammy went over to Israel Blanchard's.
He found Scip and his master pulling flax, and instantly took hold with them. Since Sam had become so industrious, he had grown into great favor with Mr. Blanchard, who believed in hard work and also in hard fighting.
It appeared in the sequel, that Sammy's motives were not altogether disinterested in thus volunteering to help his neighbor; for, after working lustily till night, he asked Mr. Blanchard if he might have Scip to help him the next afternoon.
"Yes, my little potter: I suppose you want him to work clay for you; but it seems to me you use up clay fast."
Sammy didn't tell him what he wanted of Scip. The next morning Archie came, true to his word; and they began to work.
Mr. Seth found, when he had finished his work upon the bail, that he had about worn up his mallet with so much mortising in the tough wood; and recollecting that, some months before, he had seen a stick of hornbeam about the right size on the woodpile at the old Cuthbert house, took a saw in his hand, and went over to get a piece. Hearing the boys at work inside, he crept up, and peeped through a crevice in the logs.
Archie was on his knees on the floor, tugging with his right hand at the wheel, while his left was leaning on a stone placed for that purpose; and Sammy was making a pot. Equally surprised and delighted, he looked on a while in silence; and, as he could not obtain a good view of Sam where he stood, he went to the window that was open. Archie's back was towards him, and Sam was too intent upon his work to notice him.
The kindly nature of the old mechanic was stirred to the quick when he saw Sam actually turn a pot of good shape with such machinery as that; and he vowed internally that he would make him a potter's wheel before the lad was a week older, but, upon reflection, concluded it would be better to help him a little, and not too much at once.
"So you've made a wheel for yourselves, have you?" said Uncle Seth, showing himself at the window.
The wheel stopped. Archie jumped up: Sam colored, his face as red as red paint.
"Don't be bashful," said Uncle Seth, getting in at the window. "I think you've done first rate, most remarkable: that pot's as good as a pot need be."
"We was afraid you'd laugh at us, Uncle Seth, and so we didn't like to tell you."
"Laugh at you! I praise you: you've done wonderful. Now let me see you make a pot."
Sammy had turned one pot, and, drawing a string under it, took it from the wheel with his hands; in so doing, he put it a little out of form, but repaired it by pressing it into shape again with his fingers.
Sammy turned two more pots, each one being an improvement on the former one; being put on his mettle by the praises of Uncle Seth.
He then told him that Archie's contract was completed, but that Scip was going to help him in the afternoon.
"What made you put your large wheel flat on the floor? why didn't you set it on the legs?"
"'Cause it wouldn't go so: the band would slip right off the little wheel."
"Cross the band, then it won't."
"Cross the band!"
This was a step farther than Sammy's knowledge of machinery extended.
Uncle Seth took the wheel from the floor, put the legs in again, crossed the band, and put it on the wheel.
"Now you can stand up, and turn: put some clay on the wheel, and I'll turn for you."
Uncle Seth turned, and Sam made another pot.
The boys could hardly contain themselves, they were so delighted.
"How much you do know, Uncle Seth!" said Archie: "we don't know any thing."
"You haven't been learning so long as I have. I want you to pay attention, and I'll explain something to you. You see this spindle don't turn very fast,—not near as fast as the spindle on your mothers' flax-wheels; and yet this large wheel is exactly the same kind of a wheel. What do you suppose is the reason?"
"We don't know," said Archie.
"If that pulley, Sammy, that is on the spindle (little wheel you call it), was just as large as the flax-wheel, and you should turn that, the other would turn just as fast,—just as many times,—wouldn't it?"
"Yes, sir: of course it would if they were both of just the same bigness."
"Well, then, if you should make the flax-wheel as big again as the pulley, the pulley would turn twice when the flax-wheel turned once: wouldn't it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Thus you see the reason that spindle doesn't turn any faster is because the two wheels are so near of a bigness. That pulley is so near the size of the other wheel, that it don't turn but three or four times while the large one is turning once. The large wheel is not more than thirty inches, and the pulley is large seven. Don't you know how fast your mother's spindle on her large wheel whirls?"
"Yes, sir. It goes so sometimes you can hardly see it."
"Good reason for it. The wheel is forty-eight inches in diameter, and the pulley on the spindle is only about an inch. What do you think of that, my boy?—forty-eight inches to one inch; the spindle turning forty-eight times while the large wheel turns once."
"We didn't know. All we knowed was, you said they had a big wheel and a little one on the spindle."
Mr. Seth took the pulley from the spindle, cut it down more than one-half, and put it higher up on the spindle.
"There, my lads, I have made that pulley smaller; and your spindle will turn so much faster that you can make three pots where you made one afore: besides, now that the large wheel is upright, you can turn it as fast again, and much easier than you could when 'twas lying on the floor."
Mr. Seth now put a stone on the bench near the wheel on which the vessels were turned, and put a junk of clay on it: through the top of this clay he ran a stick, passing it back and forth in the hole till it would move easily, and be held firm in place when the clay became dry. He then said to Sammy,—
"There's a gauge for you. Run that stick over the wheel, and draw it back just in proportion to the size of the pot you want to make. If you bring the edge of the pot to the end of that, it will regulate the size."
It was a rude affair, made in a moment; and yet it answered the purpose perfectly. Mr. Seth also made some half-circles of wood, with handles, and a dowel in one of the halves to fit into a corresponding hole in the other half. These were placed on each side of the vessel, bearing equally all round, and cut to the shape of the side. With them he could easily take his ware from the wheel without marring it. Sammy had already found that he could smooth the sides of his pots by applying the edge of the profile to them.
Still, after these improvements, the wheel was a poor affair. There was not sufficient power to turn a pot of any size, and the band was apt to slip; and the spindle, running wood to wood, increased the friction.
Mr. Seth, convinced that the pottery business was not a mere boy's affair with Sammy, resolved that at the first opportunity he would make him a far better machine than that. Without saying any thing to Sammy, he took the measure of the bench, that answered the purpose well, and left him to knead clay, and make preparation for the arrival of Scip in the afternoon.
Perhaps our readers will wonder where the other boys were all this time, that they took no interest in the proceedings.
Well, their parents had work for them to do at home; and every leisure moment was taken up in building a turkey-pen, or trap to catch wild turkeys in, as the time was approaching when it would be wanted.
Thus occupied, they were ignorant of the doings of Sammy and Archie; but it was soon noised abroad, and the old house filled with curious boys, who all wanted to try their hands at turning a pot. After experimenting a while, and meeting with about as much success as Archie, they preferred play, or even work. Archie also, after the excitement of making the wheel was over, lost his interest; and Sammy, much to his satisfaction, was left to work in peace, aided by Scip. He also had aid from another source; for, after the improvement made by Mr. Seth in setting the wheel upright, the girls would turn for him, and sometimes also his mother; and, as he could not make large pots on the wheel, he made pitchers and mugs for the girls, bowls and platters; and by practice he became expert in putting handles to his mugs and pitchers. When desirous of making a large pot to hang on the fire, or for any other purpose, he resorted to his old method of rolling the clay, and also when he could get no one to turn for him.
CHAPTER XXI. NED RANGELY.
It was now time to gather the corn. Sammy was obliged to suspend his operations, and the entire community were busily employed in harvesting and husking. The ears were picked off and husked in the field, and the sound corn put in log cribs inside the fort.
A strong scout was sent out, boys placed back to back on stumps to watch while the rest were at work. Every nerve was strained to place their bread-corn out of the reach of the savages; for, this being accomplished, their anxieties in respect to food would cease.
The corn-crop and all their crops were late sown and planted, by reason of Indian alarms, and because in the spring they were occupied in building the mill.
The last basketful had been placed on the sled; and Honeywood took up his goad to start the oxen, when Mrs. Sumerford exclaimed, "Who's that? I saw a man, I know I did, come from behind the big rock, cross the ford and the little clear spot between there and the woods; and I think he had a rifle on his shoulder."
All now stood on their guard, rifle in hand.
"It ain't an Indian, that's sartain," said Holdness: "an Indian wouldn't be walking about in plain sight, with a rifle on his shoulder."
"Who else can it be? We haven't seen a white face for months. I think we'd better run for the garrison," said Mrs. Blanchard.
"I see him," said McClure. "It's a white man, but none of our folks: he's got a pack and a rifle. It's some ranger who has lost his way."
Every eye was now eagerly fastened on the stranger, who travelled slowly as though fatigued.
"It's Ned Rangely, Brad," shouted McClure, "as sure as the sun is in the heavens: it's Ned, who hunted and trapped with us so many winters at Red Stone, and has been in more Indian fights than any man on the frontier. Don't you see how he carries that left arm: that was broke by an Indian bullet?"
"I believe you're right, neighbor."
"Right? I know I am: I could tell him among a thousand."
They both started towards the stranger, who stopped, and stood leaning on his rifle, evidently fatigued.
"God bless you, Ned Rangely! Is that yourself?" cried Holdness, seizing one hand, while McClure laid his hand upon his shoulder.
"How are you, old stand-by?" cried McClure. "It does a man good, these ticklish times, to look on your old face. Haven't you come in a good time? We've plenty to eat, nothing to do; and you've got to stay here with us all the rest of your life."
"Wish I could; but the fact is, we came on business, and must do it and be off."
"Not a word of business till morning," said McClure, clapping his hand on Rangely's mouth: "come, go home with me."
"Let him go with me to-night," said Holdness, "because he's tired and foot-sore, and you can come with him: and he can go to your house to-morrow."
To this McClure assented. One taking Rangely's rifle, and the other his pack, they marched off, leaving the rest to get in the corn.
Holdness did not lack for company that evening; all the young people coming in to listen to the talk of these old comrades, Rangely's in particular, whose whole life had been a scene of perils and hair-breadth escapes.
The next day was a leisure one, the harvest being secured. Holdness and Rangely strolled over to McClure's: soon Honeywood dropped in, Maccoy, Stewart, Ned Armstrong, Harry Sumerford, Andrew McClure, and others of the young men.
"Now, Ned," said Holdness, "there's a number of us here: we'll listen to your business, whatever 'tis. We've no separate interests, but are like so many peas in one pod, that all touch, and there's no parting 'twixt 'em."
Rangely looked round upon this noble group of stalwart men and youth with evident delight as he said,—
"Well, neighbors, I was sent here by those who pretend to know more'n I do, to raise men for a skirmage with these Delawares, Monseys, Shawanees, and what not red trash, that are whooping round, and scalping women and children. They want to raise three or four hundred men, and just wipe 'em out. They want men that can shoot and march, and know how to fight Indians in the woods; and they don't want nothing else. So you see, 'cause they knowed I was acquainted, they sent me up here."
"We're much obliged to 'em," said Holdness. "Didn't think the rest of the world knew we was in it, or cared whether we lived or died. Don't s'pose they did, till they happened to want to make use on us. It strikes me, Ned, they sent you on a fool's errand."
"I'm pretty much of the same opinion with Brad," said McClure,—"that we've got about enough to do to take care of ourselves and them what look to us. Here we've stood in death's door, as you may say, ever since the war began. There isn't a man, scarcely a boy, not to say children, what hasn't a scar on him; and some of us are pretty much cut to pieces. There's about as many of us under the sod, killed by Indians, as there are above it. And now you ask us to leave our families, forts, and guns, and go to fight for people who wouldn't lift a finger to help us, and wouldn't have let us have cannon nor powder if they could have helped it."
"As for me," said Armstrong, "I'm not going into them woods to throw away my life, and be ambushed by Indians, at the tail of these turkey-cocks like Braddock, who don't know the first thing of the duty they are sent to perform, and are fit only to lead men to death and destruction."
"Don't think we cast any reflection upon you, Ned," said Holdness, "for doing the errand; but you see how the neighbors feel about it."
"I've no doubt what you say is all true," replied Rangely,—"true as the Bible, and they say that's just so. But, you see, these Indians get together in their towns, three or four hundred of them: there they keep their women, children, and ammunition the French give 'em, lay out their plans, and divide their scalping-parties to go to those places they think most exposed. When they have struck their blow, they go back with their scalps and prisoners to have a great dance and jollification, and get ready for another raid, and the whites that are left flee into the older settlements, and leave the country to them. They don't kere any thing 'bout the forts: they're a good ways apart, and they can pass 'em night or day."
"That's so," said Maccoy.
"What they want is to have the Province raise a force of men what know the woods, and have had experience in fighting Indians,—not a blasted red-coat among 'em,—and carry the war into the Indian country up to their towns, clean 'em out, kill their women and children, burn up their possessions and forts now just as winter comes on: that'll quail 'em to some purpose. I reckon," said Ned, looking round him, "I've come to the right place for that sort of men: think I've seen some of 'em afore to-day, and when the bullets were flying lively."
"But," said Stewart, "an' we tak' the gait you propose, what will hinder the scalping-parties you speak of from falling upon our families while we're awa'?"
"You have a very strong fort here, have taught the Indians some hard lessons, and, after this last mauling, they won't be in a hurry to meddle with you. You can leave enough to defend the fort, and then spare quite a number. It's for you, not for me, to judge whether by going on this expedition you won't be taking the best method to break the power of the Indians, and protect yourselves for the time to come."
Thus far the debate had been carried on chiefly by McClure, Holdness, and Armstrong. Israel Blanchard was not present; and the young men, though eager for any thing that promised a fight with Indians, were too modest to obtrude their views; while Honeywood had not opened his mouth. Noticing this, McClure said,—
"I should like to have Mr. Honeywood's mind on this matter."
"I," said Honeywood, "would inquire, in the first place, who is to command this force it is proposed to raise?"
"Sure enough! We've been beating all about the bush; and Ned, as he allers does, has hit the nail right on the head," said Holdness.
"Who is to command it? Kernel Armstrong," replied Rangely.
"I wat weel that makes an unco difference, sae much that it becomes us to gie the matter special consideration," said Stewart.
"Indeed it makes a difference," said Holdness.
"I know Kernel Armstrong right well. I've fought with him, and fought under him: so has Hugh Crawford who's dead and gone, and Harry's father."
"I think," said Honeywood, "there's much truth in what Mr. Rangely has said,—that by joining this expedition we take the best method to defend ourselves, and break the Indian power. If instead of building all these forts, and manning them with soldiers half of whom will run at the sight of an Indian, the same money had been spent in getting together a force of frontier-men led by a suitable person to do what is now on foot, a great portion of this terrible slaughter and destruction of property would have been saved. One-half the money would have done it."
"I'd 'a' taken the job for that," said McClure, "and found the men."
"One great reason why the Indians so much dread the Black Rifle is, he pursues the same course in respect to them that they do towards the whites; and they can never be sure that he is not lurking round their wigwams. A whole British army wouldn't make the impression upon them that he has. One thing's very certain: if the Province is going to wait for the king and council to send an army over here, the chiefs of the Six Nations won't be able to hold their young men; but they will join the French, and drive us to the coast. The garrison is now in excellent condition: the harvest is secured; there is ammunition and provision; and I think we might spare some men, and leave enough to defend the fort."
"We'll defend the fort," cried Sam Sumerford, unable to contain himself: "the Screeching Catamounts'll defend the fort; we've done it one time."
"Well crowed, my young cock of the walk," said Rangely, patting him on the head: "you'll be wanted."
"I," continued Honeywood, "am ready to volunteer on condition that the force is made up of men that are used to the woods, and that they are commanded by Col. Armstrong and such other officers as he selects: if I get there, and find it otherwise, I shall shoulder my rifle and come home again."
"I'll go," said Harry Sumerford.
"I'll go," said Ned Armstrong.
"And I," said Nat Cuthbert.
"We'll all go," said Andrew McClure; "we'll follow Harry: where he goes we'll go,—that is, if the old folks think best."
"I'll go," said Hugh Crawford, "if it's thought best."
By this time the news had spread. Israel Blanchard, Wood, and Holt came in, and, after hearing what had been said and done, approved heartily of the proceedings.
"Ain't you and McClure goin', Brad?" asked Rangely.
"We ain't often behind, Ned, when bullets are flying; and sha'n't be now, I reckon."
Holdness, perceiving by the looks of Harry Sumerford that he had something he would like to say, remarked,—
"Harry, I see you've somewhat on your mind: what is it?"
"I think, Mr. Holdness, there are people here whose judgment is worth a great deal more than mine."
"The more minds, the better: I want to hear it," said Blanchard.
"I've been thinking whether the Black Rifle wouldn't go. There are always fifteen or twenty men that'll follow him anywhere; and they are just the men we want. He offered to go with Braddock, but the old goat wouldn't have him."
"Don't think 'twould work," said Holdness. "Kernel Armstrong's a man who knows his business, and would kalkerlate ter be obeyed. The Black Rifle's better kalkerlated ter lead than ter foller anybody; and his men likewise had ruther go with him, and nobody else. He kills Indians for the sake of killin' 'em: peace or war, it's all the same ter him. They go for the sake of the scalps; and they know very well that they can take more scalps going with him in one week, than with a regular force in a month; and make ten dollars where they wouldn't make one."
"That's so," said McClure: "Brad's got the right of it."
"There's one thing though," said Holdness: "I believe he thinks more of me than any other being, and loves me as well as he can love anybody since his great sorrow crushed his heart, and tore him all ter pieces; and I've not much doubt but if I go and see him, tell him what's on foot, and that we want ter do all we kin for the country, and have got to leave this fort with a small garrison, that he would agree to camp here in the Run; and look out for us; and, if he agrees ter do it, he's just as true as steel. And though I don't think there's much danger, yet, if he would agree to camp round here, I for one should go away easy; and 'twould be a great comfort to the women-folks. Perhaps he'd let us have some powder and lead: he allers has a stock."
"Well, Ned," said McClure, "I s'pose you want to have an answer; and you may tell Armstrong that we'll furnish twelve or fifteen men, and be at the place appointed at the time set; and you kin tell him they'll be men too,—men that kin shoot ter a hair's breadth, brought up ter fightin' Indians, and won't tremble in their shoes at the sound of the war-whoop."
"I'll just tell him," said Rangely, "that Brad Holdness and Sandie McClure are among them, and they are a sample of the rest."
"Tell him they know their worth; won't foller any turkey-cock of a red-coat they may send across the water; and after they get there, if they find they've been deceived, they'll shoulder their rifles and go back."
"Ye'll please to remember that last observation, Maister Rangely," said Stewart, "seeing it's o' muckle weight; for I opine that Black Douglas himsel', with his two hundred claymore, and lance like a weaver's beam, would hae been of sma' account in the woods wi' savages."