Chapter 5

"It seemed as if I must be awake," resumed Mother Fabens, "it was all so plain and natural. How I did feel when the creature sprung and catched little Clinton in his paws!--Awful! But then, I've a little more hope from the dream."

"So've I, Miss Fabens," responded Uncle Walter, in a tone of great animation. "So've I. Come on, boys, let's look awhile longer. Come, Wilson, come, Colwell and Teezle. Come, Uncle Mose, your eyes are keen for a look as they were when you hunted Hessians in the Jarsies. But Troffater may step out, we can very well spare him."

Three or four gave over, and went home. Troffater winked and crossed his black and blue eyes, took in a quid, spit through his teeth, struck up a whistle, and departed; and the Indians manifested less zeal than yesterday; but a large company took up the march and searched a day longer. As night returned once more with its first faint shadows, while yet there was light on the thin carpet of newly-fallen leaves to discern colors plainly, a cry of "here's blood!" rang out in a fearful shriek on their ears, and they halted, and gathered at the spot to which attention was directed. "It is blood!" said another; and "here's more!" cried another. "See, it is sprinkled all around here!" "And there! see there, it looks as if there had been a scuffle!" added another.

A cold thrill of horror ran around from heart to heart, and it was well for the Fabenses that they did not arrive, or hear the cry, until a glance before the grieving company showed them the remains of a deer, and reserved a faint hope for the morrow.

To-morrow came and went, with no tidings of poor Clinton. Another and another day was spent by several, who still insisted that the boy must be alive. Mother Fabens' dream made a strong impression, and it held them up from utter despair; while the Indians added a little more to their courage by denying that the captive fawn was killed by them; for they had not killed a fawn in a great while. The white people all believed more or less in portents, warnings and dreams; and trusting a little to their vaticination now, they could not yield the lingering hope that he was still alive. But when they came to reason, that hope was quite extinguished. Had he been alive, and within any reasonable distance, he would have been discovered. But no trace of him could be found even by the sharp-sighted Indians; and then the screams of those panthers, on the first dismal night, increased the probability of his awful fate. Still a search was continued by three or four, and on the fifth day, they discovered a hat about a mile from the path he was pursuing, and it was found to be Clinton's, and a present to him from a cousin in Cloverdale. Again was the settlement set in commotion, and again many surmises and opinions were expressed regarding the poor boy's fate.

But after that, no trace in wood or field was discovered to clear up the painful mystery. The people settled down into the belief that a panther had taken him, and after he had carried him that distance, on the way to his dark lair in the forest, the hat fell from his drooping head, and the loose leaves settled partly over it, and concealed it from view on the first day's search. The parents of the child, and all his friends, except Mother Fabens, were forced at last to the dreadful conclusion which assured them their little fondling was no more; and their grief was deep and lasting. And Mother Fabens grieved sadly with the others; but the impression of her dream still whispered hope to her soul; and the liberation of the fawn she had never forgotten. And when she sickened and died a few months after, she said "it was more than possible that Matthew and Julia might live long enough to see Clinton alive again on earth."

But her kindly-attempted consolations could rally their hopes no more. It was a thought that wrung their desolate hearts; but they were forced to regard their lost boy as having perished in the grasp of some wild beast. And that was the grief of griefs. With all the faith and hope they could command, it shook them and bowed them down, and all the bright world for a while looked dreary and sad on their account. It gave them ghastly dreams. It burdened their waking reveries. It wailed in the winds, it wound the sunbeams, flowers and trees with weeds of melancholy wo. [Transcriber's note: woe?]

In the darkest day, however, their faith and hope did not quite desert them; and after the first heavy stroke, these Christian graces rose up and strengthened them; and never were comforts so sweet as those received from the Scriptures and from their religious trusts.

"God is good," said Fabens. "He may give us trials and griefs--and we have had a portion. He may tear our beloved from us when least of all it may seem we can spare them. His Providence may appear in the storm and tempest; in anguish, bereavement and death; still he is good, and he will bring good out of evil."

X.

THE SUGAR PARTY.

Time went on its course like the constant roll of waters, and seasons came and went as usual in the Waldron Settlement. A deep and early snow having fallen, and remained with frequent additions, a long and rigorous winter reigned in absolute sway. But now, on the last of February, the sun wheeled high on his circuits; thaws and rains ensued, and the first robin on the leafless maple sang, sweet harbinger of spring. Winter recalled his tyrant ministers, or restrained them in their wrath; and milder days and warmer skies appeared in pleasant alternation, with many still of tempest and gloom.

The milder days multiplied; the snow had less depth on the earth, and now came on the season of sugar making. In all our forest region magnificent sugar maples abounded like an orchard, and Fabens prepared for his spring encampment in the bush. His shanty was repaired with new bark on the roof, and a fresh carpet of clean wheat straw on the rough bark floor; his kettles were hung; his troughs were turned up by the trees and cleaned of the mould and cobwebs of the last season; sleek slanting boxes were cut in the sides of the noble maples in the process of tapping, and spouts driven under to conduct the sap to the troughs; and quick was his step and diligent his labor, to gather and boil so fast that his troughs would not run over.

The camp was within hearing distance of the house, and his father, though trembling with age, went out to keep him company, and attend to the fire and kettles, while he was away with two pails, gathering the delicious flowings of his maples.

And Julia, too, was there on many a pleasant afternoon, plying her busy distaff in the shanty; and Fanny lent gladness to the scene; leaping like a merry fawn about the little opening, and amid the clustering bushes; her face lustrous and soft as a velvet peach; her voice blithesome as the pee-wee's, and clear and sweet as the robin's.

"And if Clinton could be here, too!" sighed the bereaved mother. "Dear, dear Clinton! if he could be here, O would we not be happy?"

"How I would kiss him, and say, 'Good brother,' and feed him, and crinkle his curly hair, if he would come back!" added Fanny.

To one fond of the romance of rural life, a scene like this addresses many attractive charms. The evenings were clear and beautiful; a class of the grandest constellations took their course in the sky, and rained their holy lights, while the winds were asleep in their caves, and keen frosts came down each night to increase the morrow's run; the days were warm and agreeable with bracing air and kindly sunshine; and the forests were roused from their stillness by the sound of the axe, the shrill reports of the frost escaping from the trees, and the notes of a few birds that carolled of the coming spring-time.

Fabens had, for some time, felt the advances of spring in his heart; and he had a heart in the season and in its manly toils. He remained in the camp over night when his maples had given a copious run, and tended his kettles, to boil and save what the bounty of Providence so lavishly furnished. He had no one with him but his dog, and yet he was never alone. His thoughts were his companions, his hopes, his pleasing pastimes. A veil of blinding atmosphere hung over him, and his eyes perceived no objects beyond his camp but the solemn trees and the lofty stars; and yet his mind was not muffled up in that veil. When Jesus died, the veil of God's temple was rent in twain; the veil between earth and heaven; and though that veil would continue to hang in its place for a time; and he could not make maps of the heavenly world, or locate the constellations of all its starry glories, or gossip with its unseen citizens, as with familiars here; still Faith saw light enough streaming through the rent in the veil to raise and enlarge his soul; and Hope saw light enough to replume her wings and re-adjust her vision. God embosomed him in his spiritual presence; Christ was to him not a cold and distant phantasm, but a warm and intimate friend. Good spirits were all about him, he believed, though he heard not their voices, and knew not their names; and they were coming and going on God's errands of love and light. A soft breath fanned his forehead; a sweet emotion filled his heart; a burst of light broke like morning on his mind; and he found it easy to conceive them the touch and gift of some guardian being whom God had sent with the answers of his prayers. And who could say but it might be the spirit of Clinton, or Matthew's ascended mother, whom God had thus employed?

Call it not superstition, if such were his thoughts. It is a guileless heart, and a lofty faith that can thus sense the presence of God, and dwell in the blissful assurance that angels guard the inhabitants of earth, though we see and hear them not; as we believe, at noonday the stars stand sentinels above, although they are veiled from our view.

At times, moreover, that wild encampment was the scene of social enjoyment. It was a custom in the settlement to give parties in the bush, and cultivate feelings of love and friendship. They were rude indeed, and there was observed none of the pretence of etiquette which passes for refinement in fashionable circles. Still there was genuine sentiment manifested, and an honest and simple refinement of soul, superior to any outward elegance. Some of the settlers, it is true, were strangers to those religious sensibilities enjoyed by Fabens and his family; and they read Nature and Humanity with a different eye from his, and received different impressions. There was that in the manner of the Teezles, the Colwells, the Flaxmans, and others, which at times might appear low and vulgar, to persons educated in a different sphere of life; but even in their hearts, there was an open truthfulness which gave signs of real nobility; and a full flowing sympathy, a solid common sense, a love of principle, a love of the good and noble, against which mere surface refinement and polite words, empty of soul and meaning, would weigh but as feathers in the scale.

They possessed heart and soul in the richest raw material. They were full-grown, ripened specimens of aboriginal life. They had a plump berry, as the farmers say, and came to the sickle without cockle, or rust, or weevil, or smut. They were as thrifty vines, and needed only to be trimmed and trained. They were as virgin gold in the bullion, and wanted to be melted and minted into coin. They were as statues rough-hewn at the quarry, and would have ripened to forms of majestic beauty, with brows like Jove and Minerva; with bosoms like Venus, cheeks like Ceres, and lips like Apollo, had the chisel of art but sculptured them out, rounded them off, and polished them down to an elegant, ornate life.

During the season in mention, there had been several sugar parties, and now came Fabens' turn to reciprocate the compliment. So, one pleasant day, when there was a slight cessation in the run, he received a few neighbors to his camp, to spend an afternoon and evening.

Uncle Walter and his wife came over at an early hour; Thomas Teezle and his wife, and their bouncing, cherry-lipped daughter, Rebecca Ann, were present, confessing to none for a lack of pleasure. Mr. Wilson and his wife were on hand, with kindly word and cheerful face, and tarried to share the latest social sweet; and the son and daughter of a new family, Lot and Nancy Nimblet, came with them, and expressed much delight with a feast so rural and agreeable.

A new carpet of straw was spread on the shanty floor, and the neatness of the ground before it, and around the little opening, gave evidence of the neatness and interest of Julia Fabens. All declared it a pleasant afternoon, and just in the nick of time for a sugar party. Uncle Walter was called on for a story, and he gave one of his best, with a witch of a tongue, that fairly reversed the wheels of time, and trundled them back to the wild, wild forest again, and tumbled them out amid screaming panthers, and howling wolves. Mr. and Mrs. Flaxman sang a merry song, in a merry nasal tune. Aunt Polly Waldron _had_ to tell of the tory that fired her barn and ripped up her feather bed; and how he whooped and keeled when she dropped him, and how many tories and Indians ran away. Then, Mr. Waldron told a story, and Major Fabens followed.

Fabens the younger, and his sensible wife, contributed their share to interest the party, and though they were unusually cheerful and social, there was an elevated tone of sobriety in all they uttered, which had its happy and refining influence on every heart.

Early in the afternoon, a kettle of sugar was set before them, and little banks of the clearest crystal snow were placed around for coolers, and then with wooden spoons, and grateful appetites, the feast was enjoyed. As the sugar but increased their relish for the evening refreshment, they partook of that when served, with a still better zest, and many kind expressions and feelings, and many jets of wit and glee, were interchanged at the meal. A pleasant plant grew in the marshes of that country, called evan-root, which, when boiled in sap, and tempered with cream, made a delicious beverage, tasting like coffee; and their nice broiled venison, and Indian bread, washed down with flowing cups of that favorite drink, was a banquet worthy of a president.

"A president should go hungry," said Uncle Walter, "if his dainty palate didn't relish a supper like this."

"A president should relish any food that is fit for his humblest fellow-citizens," answered Fabens. "And a president worthy of his station, would honor our rude occupation as much as his own, and share with pleasure the humblest wholesome meal. What is a president after all, but the servant we employ to look after our affairs, to be respected according to his competence and faithfulness, and the amount of service he does? And nothing, I am sure, can be found in the grandest entertainment to exhibit refinement, and call forth honor, so well as the _heart_ with which it is given and enjoyed."

"I guess Troffater would kindy like to be here," said Colwell. "I seen him when I was comin', and he looked sour, and said he wasn't invited. Did ye mean to make a bridge o' his nose?"

"I would do Troffater a kindness as soon as anybody," answered Fabens; "but his shocking levity, I have often told him, displeases us, and his company was not desired. He is old enough to speak with cleaner lips. If I could hope to improve him any, I would invite and visit him often. We do mean to visit his family, and ask them to our house."

"He's havin' the sulks the natteral way," said Colwell.

"He's mad as a March hare, and says, he axes no odds o' Mat Fabens," added Teezle.

"Speak low," said Wilson, "I'll warrant, he's near us this very minute; he's olers spookin' about, and eaves-droppin'."

"Let him spook about and eaves-drop," said Fabens, "I owe him nothing, but pity for his disposition, and I would say all I have said, and more, to his face. There is one comfort! God has power to give him a better heart, and I hope some day he will."

"I dun know about that," said Colwell. "Mebby he can, but it will take more brimstun than the critter's worth to cleanse his rotten sperit."

"And they'll have to break in an egg or two after that, I guess, to make it white and clear, as Aunt Polly does her sugar," added Teezle.

"Don't make light of it," said Fabens. "With God all things good are possible. I would not add a single pain to his misery. Who of us--"

"There! there, see that light in the bushes yonder!" screamed Nancy Nimblet, who had been frightened by the idea that they were watched, and had been looking around the camp for sights of alarm. "That light yonder!--what is it?--what is it?"

"A Jack-o'-lantern, may be, and may be somethin' wuss," said Colwell, rising.

"A ball of fire!--what can it be? see, it comes towards us!" added Uncle Walter.

"It's right where we found little Clinton's hat," cried Mrs. Fabens, pale with terror. "O, dear, what can it be? He couldn't have been murdered, my dear Clinton couldn't have been murdered, and that appeared to reveal his fate!"

"I'll warrant that's it!" answered Teezle. "Square Peasley seen a light, and heerd a gugglin' groan where the pedlar had his throat cut in Cloverdale, you know."

"See there! see there!--it comes nearer!--look at it now; it has eyes, and ears!--see its awful nose and mouth," cried Aunt Polly Waldron.

"What shall we do?" screamed Nancy Nimblet, all in a tremble. "It will hurt us!--it will kill us! where shall I go?"

"Be quiet, be calm, it cannot hurt you," said Fabens soothingly; "it can't hurt any one. God wouldn't let it."

"Awful!" shrieked Mr. and Mrs. Flaxman in one nasal; scream, "let us run, let us run!"

"It's an evil spirit," said Wilson.

"The old pot-metal Cuss himself has come for us!" cried Uncle Walter. "If I know anything about the Devil, that's him; that's his head and ears, and eyes and teeth, I'll bet a turkey they are!"

"No, no, it cannot be an evil spirit or the Devil," said Fabens, calmly. "The Devil would not appear in such a form to us, and God will guard us from evil spirits."

An agony of terror shook the whole company. Stern and brave Uncle Walter, who could stand before wolves and bears; who could beard the fierce panther in his den, and count his snarling teeth,--even he believed in ghosts, and was afraid of sights and apparitions. It was a horrible object, spirit, devil, or whatever it might be. It looked like a ball of fire, and had features of a grim half-human thing, with huge ears, a wide mouth and grinning rows of monstrous teeth; and they fancied they saw a black body and long tail below it. As they gazed in a transport of terror, Fabens escaped unobserved from the company, passed softly around through the woods, and coming up behind the foul fiend, he grasped its dark form in his arms, and found as he suspected, that it was no other devil than little tantalizing Troffater, with a carved squash shell, set out with an ox's ears, on his head, bearing his idea of a devil's image, and lighted within by a brilliant candle!

The terror of the company soon subsided, and Fabens admonished them against yielding again to such senseless fears; while they all departed for their homes, and the poor transgressor was discharged with a reprimand so sharpened by kindness that it seemed to cleave his heart.

XI.

FABENS PROMOTED TO HONOR.

In four years more, the Waldron Settlement had grown to quite a colony; for the area of civilization extended from the Cayuga to the Owasco, and ten miles north and south; and though the population numbered several hundred families, and the inroads of fashion and pride began to be perceptible there, still it remained a neighborhood; and with few exceptions, the people exchanged neighborly offices and loves throughout the settlement.

The inhabitants now felt the importance of their flourishing community, and made a movement to be organized into a township, and have town officers, and better regulations. That movement was successful, and the town took the name of Summerfield, and a warm and summer-green town it was as the Lake Country had to show.

Walter Mowry was elected the first Supervisor, and Matthew Fabens, the first Justice of the Peace.

At this late period, public offices are so plenty, and so often held by persons whose devotion to party, or whose failure in other pursuits is their only recommendation, that the plain and humble office of Justice of the Peace receives little respect, and would find few candidates, but for the lucrative interests which induce many to ask it. It was not so, forty years ago in the Lake Country. At that primitive period, that responsible office was given to no one who had not moral qualifications to recommend him; and the person who held it was honored as possessing capabilities equal to his duties, and holding along with these the affection and faith of the town.

When the organization was first proposed, and the several offices were named, the eyes of the settlement, with two or three exceptions, were turned to Fabens, as the man best qualified to administer justice and peace among them; and to elect him to that station was simply to say 'thus shall it be with the man whom we delight to honor.'

Of written laws, and their points and subtleties, Fabens confessed himself ignorant. Coke and Blackstone were never on his shelves. He had read a stray leaf from Hooker, and these words were incorporated as so many notes of divine music in his soul--"No less can be said of Law, than that her seat is the bosom of God, her voice is the harmony of the world. All things in heaven and earth do her homage; the very least, as feeling her care; the greatest, as not exempted from her power. Both angels and men, and creatures of whatsoever condition, though each in different sort and manner; yet each and all with uniform consent admiring her as the mother of their peace and joy;"--and this was his idea of law, and about all he had gathered on law from books.

And as for the responsibilities committed to his trust, he fain would have refused them, and proposed another candidate for the office; but knowing the simple principles of justice; having a heart attuned to the harmony of earth and heaven; having Peace as an angel dwelling in his soul; knowing and loving what was right and lovely between man and man, he discharged his duties with distinguished success, and his influence went far to lift up his people to the light and sphere of spiritual peace.

He still carried on the labors of his fine farm, with the duties of his office, and made his own private house the seat of that justice which once in a long while he was compelled to search out and sustain.

The manner and spirit of his administration were therefore patriarchal, as those which the poet describes of the venerable Albert, of Wyoming; and to the present day, traditions are preserved, and incidents related in that peaceful town, which prove the practical wisdom and eminent justice of "Old Squire Fabens."

Those early and eager pioneers of new countries, the lawyers, found their way to Summerfield; that is, two or three unruly members of the profession, while yet Squire Fabens held the wand of peace. They had not been long there, however, before they joined Troffater, Adonijah Nixon, and Simon Bogle, to oppose his administration; and made very desperate efforts to elect another in his stead.