The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Young Delivers of Pleasant Cove, by Elijah Kellogg.

"Where have you been all this day,

Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie,

From your hills so far away,

My bonny Highland laddie?"

Instantly, in the same cautious tone, came through the grates the succeeding stanza,—

"Donald's been to Aberdeen,

Bonnie lassie, Highland lassie,

To see de duke in his Highland green,

My bonnie Highland lassie."

"Little Ned, Sewall Lancaster, and Dick Cameron, your shipmate in the Leonidas, and old Neptune as cook. We are here in the Perseverance, and have come after you. Luce and the children, Captain Rhines, Lion Ben, and all our folks are well."

"Here, Peterson, take this;" and Walter took from his pocket a long piece of tarred twine, with a nail at the end of it, and fastening the string to a piece of rattan, thrust it through the grates.

"I dare not stay any longer now. When it is dark, tie this string round your wrist, and drop the nail out of the window. I'll come here at twelve o'clock to-night, when Jean is asleep, pull it to wake you up, and then we can talk more, and lay our plans."

At the appointed time Walter was on the spot. After telling Peterson how they ascertained he was sold and where he was, he asked,—

"Dat make too much noise. You bring strong string, piece of spun-yarn, and crowbar; tie de bar to de spun-yarn; I pull him up, hide him in my bed; den, when time come, pull de staple out de stone what hold de bolt. De stones of dis island bery soft, Peterson bery strong; pull him out; make no noise."

The plantation at Vauclin abounded in domestic animals and fowls of all kinds. Hogs were not suffered to run at large, but were kept in a yard surrounded by a high stone wall, laid in lime mortar; here were hogs, sucking pigs, and shotes of all ages. The fowls run at large. There were ducks, geese, guinea-fowl, turkeys, and hens in abundance. These were all under the supervision of an old negro, assisted by several boys. Philip was a Guinea negro, uncommonly stupid and indolent, although his office was no sinecure, as the other slaves stole all the fowls and pigs they could lay their hands on. But the depredations of the negroes upon their master's poultry and pigs were few indeed compared with those of Dick Cameron. From the time Dick was ten years old, and held horses for a baubee in the streets of Greenock, he had been flung upon his own resources, was an old forager, and his miscellaneous life was not favorable to the cultivation of very accurate distinctions in respect to the rights of individuals in such things as fruit, fowl, and other outlying property.

Dick would have cut his right hand off sooner than have cheated his landlord, backed out after signing the ship's articles, or run away after taking his advance wages; but he would not hesitate an instant in helping himself to a pair of trousers, or a frock, from any piece of canvas that was lying about decks, or to any rope, small line, twine, or worming he wanted for beckets to his chest, hammock lashings, or strings to a clothes-bag. Entertaining such sentiments, it was not wonderful that, since the arrival of the Perseverance, turkeys, ducks, and guinea-fowl should disappear with astonishing rapidity, especially turkeys. At length Walter objected to the process by which he had good reason to suppose the table of the Perseverance was supplied; but all the difference this made was, that, although he and Ned fared less sumptuously, Sewall, Dick, and old Nep lived none the worse, taking their meals at extra hours by themselves; and what they were unable to consume there were plenty of invited guests to finish.

At length the disappearance of some very fine turkeys attracted the attention of the cook, who told his master. He threatened to flog Phil if the matter went on.

"It is these white sailors," said the planter. "They steal them in the night. There's never a vessel comes here but the fowl and pigs are stolen. You must set a watch while this vessel is here,—there's enough of you,—or shut them up."

As the easiest method, Phil and his understrappers shut up the fowl; but every night, when Phil drove them in, some of the turkeys were missing.

"You lazy rascal," said Lemaire, "can't you keep them from stealing them in broad daylight? They don't take the geese; why don't you keep them from taking the turkeys as well?"

"Wharra fur you flog poor nigga, massa? How I help it, massa? When buckra man come, goose he say, 'Sailor man, sailor man.' Den Phil he look sharp. Buckra man go 'way; no git him. Turkey he big fool; go round all de day long, head one side, hollerin, 'Quit, quit, quit.' Wharra poor nigga do? He no tell when sailor man dere, 'cause turkey holler, 'Quit, quit,' all de time."

A few days after this conversation with his master, Phil was asleep in the sun, in the midst of his feathered charge, when he was aroused by a great outcry among the turkeys. Rousing up, he heard all the turkeys crying, "Quit, quit," and saw Dick running for dear life, with the gobbler after him, his neck outstretched, and his wings flapping.

"Yah, yah!" he exclaimed, rubbing his eyes; "wharra fur you run so, buckra man? Turkey no bite you."

"Wharra fur you run so, buckra man? Turkey no bite you."

It is said "a stern chase is a long chase." It proved so in this instance; for the gobbler never returned. The simple truth was, Dick had baited a hook with corn, and was dragging the old gobbler after him.

Ned was quite fond of going up and sitting among the negroes Sundays, listening to their queer expressions, and watching the frolics of the little darkies. One Sunday morning, there were many of them in a large yard near the house, one part of which was a garden, separated by an open fence of bamboo from the pig-yard. On the other side of the pig-yard was a smaller place, set apart for hens with young chickens.

The children were playing in the dirt and among the hogs, the older negroes sitting in the sun on a bench, in their holiday clothes, chatting and laughing. In the yard was a sow, with twelve pigs almost weaned. Ned sat next to Phil, who, as usual, was half asleep, and saw a pollock-line, which was not far from the color of the wall, flung over, attached to which was a hook, baited with a piece of bread. In a few moments a great squealing drew the attention of all, and one of the pigs was seen going right up the wall as fast as he could move his legs, and in a moment disappeared over the summit.

"Je hay, buckra man!" cried Phil, in amazement, and, turning to Ned, said, "Eighteen year dis nigga been in Martinique; nebber see pig run ober dat wall 'fore dis morning."

It may strike some of our young readers as rather singular, since we have spoken of a garden, that vegetables should be salable in the West Indies, where the soil and climate are so favorable to vegetation, and even bring high prices, especially in Martinique, which is well watered. One great reason of this, undoubtedly, was neglect, since most of the garden vegetables are raised in Martinique now. It must be recollected that many vegetables used on the table are not palatable when grown in a hot climate. Peas ripen so fast that you can only have them just for one picking. It is the same with corn, which, instead of being a long time in the milk, as with us at the north, ripens as it grows. Potatoes are not half as good as those of cold climates; beets and carrots soon grow tough and stringy, running up to seed the first year; cabbages won't form a close head, and are now exported by tons to Cuba. Add to this, that so many fruits grow spontaneously, and attention is all directed to sugar, coffee, and cotton.

CHAPTER XVI.
"O, MASSA, BUCKRA CALKER!"

The vessel was now nearly loaded. The boys began to consult with the crew in regard to getting Peterson out of the prison, and aboard the vessel. As there were quite a number of watchmen to pass besides Jean, and who were rather more wakeful than that worthy, Dick advised getting them drunk. Sewall favored that plan. Neptune, on the other hand, proposed taking the watchmen with them. He said every one of them would go in a minute for the sake of getting their liberty. But neither Walter nor Ned approved of either of these ways.

"I don't believe in getting persons drunk," said Walter; "nor do I want to steal his negroes."

"Wal," said Sewall, "he bought 'em of those that did steal 'em; and the receiver is as bad as the thief."

In a few days there would be a double-cross holiday, when the negroes would be frolicking and dancing night and day. It was, therefore, resolved to make the attempt the night after the frolic, when the negroes, being completely tired out, would be sure to sleep soundly on their posts.

Lemaire was notified of the time of sailing, and requested to furnish a pilot to take the vessel out of the creek. Meanwhile, Sewall Lancaster, under pretence of fishing, had sounded the passe, and made himself familiar with the channel; and the vessel was towed out some distance from the wharf, to a place where she was hidden from view by a sharp turn of the creek around a wooded point, and lay at a single anchor.

Walter sold the boat to Lemaire for one hundred and fifteen dollars and another boat, that, for a vessel's use, was worth more than the one he sold, being longer, stronger, and more burdensome, though clumsy and homely. Having ascertained when the vessel was going, the planter said to his overseer,—

"The schooner is going two days after the holiday. They have made a great deal of the servants, and perhaps may take off some of them, or some may stow themselves away. You must keep a good watch the last night they are here."

"The watchmen," said the overseer, "will all be sleepy after the holiday. I will keep watch with my son. They might take some fowl or pigs, if nothing else. They've got an old sailor on board that would steal a man's boots off his feet while he slept."

This arrangement would have interfered most seriously with the designs of the boys, as it was their intention to sail the night before the appointed time, and would probably have frustrated the entire plan. But, the day before the holiday, a planter from Sans-Souci rode over to Vauclin. He had seen the frames, and wanted to make arrangements with Walter to bring him some of the same dimensions, and also frames for a house, sugar mill, and out-buildings, inviting Walter so cordially to come over to his plantation the next morning, offering to send a horse and servant for him, that he consented. The next morning a servant came on horseback, and leading another horse for Walter, who told the crew that he should be back in the evening to start. Walter dearly loved to ride on horseback. Edmund Griffin, his father, owned a vast deal of land, and raised a great many colts. The travelling in those days, in that portion of the country where Walter was reared, being almost exclusively on horseback, he had been early accustomed to horses. Many a spanking gallop he had enjoyed, riding a half-broken colt to pasture, bareback, without shoes or stockings, and clinging with his great toes to the animal's sides, with no better bridle than a rope halter, and a half hitch over the colt's nose.

With a splendid, well-bitted horse under him, riding through wild and beautiful scenery, and amid a vegetation entirely new, he enjoyed the most exquisite pleasure. Uneasy and perplexing thoughts would have flung their sombre shadow over those pleasant scenes, and marred all their beauty, had Walter been aware that the overseer and his son, both strong, resolute men, armed to the teeth, were intending to share the watch that night, and rouse any sleeping darkies by blows on the skull from the butt of a pistol.

In blissful ignorance of impending danger, he surrendered himself to the pleasures of the hour, and enjoyed a most delightful ride, succeeded by a day of equal enjoyment at the hospitable mansion of the planter.

Deliverance came, however, from a quarter whence it was least to be expected, and thus the circumstance which threatened to render the effort abortive, and involved a desperate conflict, proved the very means of its success.

Old Nep had been invited by the negroes to share in the amusements of the holiday, and, arrayed in white pants, waistcoat, and jacket, proceeded to the great house to pay his respects to the ladies in the kitchen. When he arrived old Phil was engaged in a wordy contest with Juan Baptiste. It seems Phil had been whipped at last, for the loss of so many turkeys and pigs, and Juan had been twitting him of it.

"You Guinea nigga youself," retorted Phil. "Nobody sleep more'n youself. Oberseer and Massa Peter gwine to hold watch to-night. You set down on de log, go sleep, see what you git youself; yah, yah."

Nep, in great alarm, hastened back with the tidings, upon which Dick Cameron instantly goes up to the house, pulls off his hat, and tells Lemaire that the captain has gone to Sans-Souci, to be gone he didn't know how many days, and the vessel wouldn't sail the next day; therefore there was no need of the negro pilot.

After Dick had gone, Lemaire sent for the overseer,—who was a Spaniard named Juan Romero,—and said to him,—

"The vessel is not going the day set. The captain's gone to Sans-Souci. I'm sorry, for I want the calker to go to work on the new droger. It's no use to set those stupid creatures to work on new work without him; neither do I understand it. These Yankees make the most of their time, and he seems as sharp as any of them. However, there it is; she won't go, and you need not watch."

"I can explain it," replied the overseer. "Monsieur Renault has been here, and wants to make a contract with him for timber. He has gone over to see about it, what kind of a place it is to get to, and the depth of water, because, if he brings large timber, he will need a bigger vessel, and, as I understand it, he's to bring, not only timber, but boards, shingles, nails, lattices, and all the materials for the buildings."

The next afternoon Renault sent Walter back to Vauclin by water, arriving at the vessel about eight o'clock.

It was very important for them to set out at the earliest moment, in order to place the greatest possible distance between themselves and the island before daybreak. So, at ten o'clock in the evening, they went ashore, scattered themselves among the different sentinels, and found nearly all of them asleep. During the whole of the holiday, and for most of the night, they had been engaged in frolicking, drinking, and dancing fandango, had been kept at work during all the next day, and were now so utterly exhausted that they dropped asleep the moment they sat down, and were so overcome with drowsiness as to stagger as they walked.

Walter and Ned went to the yard, where they found Juan fast asleep. Walter gave a light tap on the door of the lock-up, when it was instantly opened, and they entered. Peterson had drawn the staple. The black grasped the hands of his young deliverers, and sobbed for joy. They left immediately, closing the door silently after them, and sought the beach, soon coming to a watchman fast asleep, with Dick standing by, ready to throttle him if he stirred. They passed on till they came to another, whom Lancaster was watching, in the same situation. All were now safely passed but the last, whom they saw at a distance, pacing along the beach.

As they must cross his beat directly to reach the boat, the others lay flat upon the ground, while Ned went whistling along.

Ned, giving his name, walked directly up to him, and they entered into conversation about the holiday. Ned, giving him a cigar, persuaded him to sit down on an old boat and smoke.

The poor darky had drawn but a few whiffs, when he began to nod; for nature was exhausted by the sports of the holiday, want of sleep, and subsequent labor. He fell over upon Ned, who was sitting beside him, and the cigar dropped from his lips. Ned put his arm round the negro, and gently laid him at full length upon the boat. In a few moments he was sound asleep, and Ned ran to join his companions.

At the boat they found Neptune, who, having had his share of the holiday, was asleep on the thwarts.

"O, you bressed ole craft," said Peterson, kissing the gunwale; "you ole friend, you is; many the good time Peterson had in you."

It was now dead calm, and they were on board a loaded vessel. The prospect was by no means encouraging, for they well knew that, when the absence of Peterson and the departure of the schooner were discovered, a vengeful pursuit would take place.

Peterson, who had been many years a slave on this same island in his youth,—as many of our readers are aware,—and was well acquainted with the peculiarities of the climate, encouraged his shipmates.

"Nebber fear, Massa Walter. If it be calm here under de land in de night, if we get out five, six miles, den we take trabe wind; sea breeze, he blow all de time; plenty wind; much you carry, too."

They hove up the anchor. There were two sweeps on board the schooner. Dick and Peterson manned one, Walter and Lancaster the other, while Ned and Nep took the boat and towed ahead. Matters soon began to assume a brighter complexion. Cameron and Peterson were men of vast strength. Lancaster was also a very strong man, and Walter belonged to a family renowned for strength and endurance. They had, while lying at the plantation, taken the precaution to clean the vessel's bottom, and, as they could procure no tallow there, gave her bottom a coat of tar and brimstone, which rendered it smooth, and added greatly to her sailing. They were also excited to the utmost by their previous good fortune, dread of being overtaken, and losing their hard-earned prize. Not a word was spoken. No sound was heard but that of the oars, the deep breathing of the rowers, as they exerted themselves to the utmost, and at times a slight patter, as the sweat dropping from nose and chin struck the deck. But when they had cleared the pass, were in the open sea, no signs of daybreak, and the lessening shore assured them they were making good progress, their efforts, though unremitting, became less severe. In the course of another hour they had made such progress that the long silence was broken by Peterson.

"Nebber fear, Massa Walter," he said; "keep you heart up; dey no ketch us dis time; we soon come to de wind; land air so hot he kill de wind in shore. I tell you, you'se hab wind enough."

"The wind has got to come off the water," said Dick; "if we've got no wind to flee, they've got none to follow; it's as broad as 'tis long."

"I take it, Peterson," said Lancaster, "that we are somewhat nearer to the wind than it is from us to the land."

"They won't know that you are gone till Peter comes to bring your breakfast. The vessel was hidden by the woods; except by mere chance some one should happen to go up on the hill, or down the creek in a boat, she could not be seen."

The day now began to break, and by the increasing light they saw with the glass the line of blue water ahead rolling before the wind, while between them and it extended a space of calm surface as smooth as glass. A joyous shout burst from the weary, anxious crew at the sight.

Ned went to one of the sweeps, while Nep busied himself in preparing breakfast. The line that separated the broken water from the calm was now quite near. Peterson, unable to contain himself longer, gave vent to his emotions in a favorite negro song, to which the rest contributed a rousing chorus.

"My name is Johnny Jump-roun',

And ebery person knock down.

Chorus.

Ho, ho, high-land-a,

Roun' de corner Sally.

"My breast is made ob steel-plate,

My arms dey made ob crow-bars.

Chorus. Ho, ho, &c.

"And if you don't beliebe me,

I gib you leabe to try me.

Chorus. Ho, ho," &c.

Under this new impulse the vessel went through the water faster than ever before, when the song was interrupted by the order, "Make sail."

"Gib dis chile room, 'cordin to his streff," shouted Peterson, flinging the great sweep on board with a jerk, as though it had been the oar of a yawl boat, and springing for the main throat-halyards. Nothing now was heard but the creaking of pulley-blocks and the rattle of the jib-hanks, as sail after sail went rapidly aloft. The Perseverance had now lost the headway given by the oars, and lay motionless upon the glassy surface of the ocean, her canvas hanging in idle folds; but as the sun came up, the line of dark-blue water ahead came nearer and nearer, little dimples flecked the smooth surface, a light cool air fanned the cheeks of the expectant crew, the sails gave a slight flutter, then slap came a heavy puff, the sheets strained and surged, the lee rail was in the water; Lancaster sprang to the helm, and put it hard up; the gallant craft shot ahead, the sunbeams glancing on her sails, and the white foam flashing under her forefoot.

"O, Wal, we've done it," cried Ned; and utterly oblivious of the distinctions of office, which he had heretofore so carefully observed, flung his arms round Walter's neck.

"Shipmates," said Walter, as he returned the embrace, "I have been for more than two years trying to do my duty and pray to my Maker; but though I have had courage for everything else, I have not had for that. Let us thank God for bringing us safely through."

Lancaster bent over the tiller, the rest, even to old Dick, knelt on the deck, while in a few broken words Walter gave vent to his emotions, and expressed the common sentiment. Charlie Bell's words had borne fruit, but not by the light of the moon or beneath the stars in some lone midnight watch, but in the bright glow of the morning sunbeams. In the midst of his crew, while his brow was moistened with sweat, and his hand outstretched to deliver the oppressed, the blessing of Him whose ways are not our ways came.

Lemaire was at breakfast, when, with eyes starting from their sockets, Peter entered the dining-hall (followed by Juan, old Phil, and all the house servants), exclaiming, "O, massa, de buckra calker no dere; he gwine away."

The negroes gave Peterson the name of buckra calker to distinguish him, and on account of his superiority, although there was not a blacker negro on the estate.

Without another word Lemaire ran to a cupola on the house-top, which commanded a view of the sea. The schooner was nowhere to be seen; not a sail was visible in the offing.

CHAPTER XVII.
DELIVERED.

Notwithstanding the Perseverance might bring a cargo that must be discharged in Boston or Salem, it was considered a settled fact by all at home, that she would, when arriving on the coast, steer first for Pleasant Cove, and Captain Rhines was expecting her daily. The interest felt there in respect to her coming was not a little increased by the return of Ben (Peterson's oldest son) in the Casco.

Ben brought home considerable money, having been fortunate in a "venture." The first thing he did was to clothe his mother and the three youngest boys, one eleven, one thirteen, and the oldest fifteen; the next, to clapboard the house which, Peterson having lately built it, was still unfinished. While Ben's hands were busy driving the nails, his thoughts were on the stretch respecting the best place from which to watch for the arrival of the Perseverance. He well knew there was no place to compare, in that respect, with the big maple on the heights of Elm Island. To Elm Island he hurried (when he had driven the last nail), and repaired the platform in the top of the tree and the ladder leading to it, both having become somewhat decayed since the boy-days of John Rhines and Charlie Bell. He erected a signal staff on the point of the island, from which to display a white cloth to give notice to the people on the main land when the vessel hove in sight. For the first few days he flattered himself that every vessel sighted was the one so anxiously sought; but there were many fore-and-afters, at that season of the year, making their way to the Bay of Chaleur, Labrador, the Penobscot, or bound from the eastern ports and Nova Scotia, to the westward. At last the poor boy, becoming quite discouraged, said to Lion Ben at the supper table,—

"I believe I shall go home. If I was there I might be earning something. I am spending time to no purpose, and shall wear out my welcome."

"Don't go," said the Lion; "I'll hire you to hoe corn, and then you can earn something, and watch for the vessel, too."

Two mornings after this conversation Ben was in the tree just as the day was breaking, in order that he might make his observations before it was time to go to hoeing. There were plenty of schooners, but none of them the schooner. At length he espied one that seemed to be steering in a different direction from the rest.

"She is heading directly up the bay; a pink-stern I guess, and about the right size. It ain't her, after all," he exclaimed; "this vessel is rigged different; and yet how much she looks like her!"

"Mr. Rhines," he cried, "I wish you would come up here. A pink is coming up the bay, steering straight for Uncle Isaac's Cove. She hasn't varied a pint this hour and a half. I could swear it was the schooner, only she's rigged differently."

Peterson was not aware of the change that had been made in her rig, it having been done while he was at sea.

Old and young were now flocking to every place commanding a good view of the water. Half way between Elm Island and the main was a whale-boat containing Ben Peterson, Lion Ben, and all his family, the Lion pulling two oars, and Peterson one. Doubts now began to be freely expressed by some of the least sanguine, and indignantly scouted by others.

"That's the vessel, to be sure," said Joe Bradish, always a prophet of ill omen; "but no knowing as Peterson's in her. He might be dead when they got there, or that planter might have sold him to another planter on some other island, or they might not be able to get him."

"Just shut up your clam-shell—will you? You're always an off-ox," said Joe Griffin, seeing poor Luce tremble and the tears rundown her cheeks,—as she stood holding the two youngest children by the hand,—at the words of Bradish. "She's deep-loaded; that, to my mind, shows for itself that they've sold their cargo and had good luck; don't it captain?" turning to Captain Rhines.

But, to the disappointment of all, the wind, that had been moderating for some time, died away to a flat calm, the tide turned, and the vessel so anxiously expected was obliged to anchor.

It was but a short time before twelve boats and fifty men were ready. Joe Bradish was getting into Joe Griffin's boat.

"You shan't go, you small concern," said Joe, and pitched him head foremost into the water.

"I'll hoist the flag, neighbors," said the captain, as they were shoving off, "if they've got him."

"If you want to get Peterson home," said Dick Cameron, "take the boat and pull up. I'll keep ship."

"I seed him! I seed dad!" screamed little Ike, who was nestled close to the side of Captain Rhines.

"So do I see his old black face," said the captain, standing up. He waved his hat, when a cheer arose from the fleet of boats astern. Like bees they swarmed aboard the schooner, completely covering her deck, while Peterson embraced his two boys, and clasped the hands of his neighbors.

"They've got him, Luce; there goes the flag," cried Will Griffin; "I can see it plain with the glass; they are stringing out the boats."

And well she might, with fifty of the strongest men in the town towing her, three to each of her own sweeps, and Lion Ben to lead.

A shout arose from the crowd that made the shores ring as the sweeps were shipped aboard the schooner, and Peterson, walking out on the bowsprit, waved his hand to his friends.

Tears of joyous sympathy moistened many a cheek when Luce flung herself into her husband's arms, while the little ones clasped his legs.

Walter and Ned have now become accustomed to hardship, had experience of danger, and incurred responsibility. The next volume of the series, the Cruise of the Casco, will exhibit their capabilities when thrown more entirely upon their own resources, and placed in trust of a large interest under circumstances of deadly peril.

CHAPTER XVI. "O, MASSA, BUCKRA CALKER!"

CHAPTER XVII. DELIVERED.

CHAPTER XVI.
"O, MASSA, BUCKRA CALKER!"

CHAPTER XVII.
DELIVERED.