It was now the latter part of summer. The vessel being completed as far as was possible at present, Captain Rhines went home, leaving Ben and Charlie alone. There was now a large piece of land running along the eastern side of the island, beside the middle ridge, which was ready for a burn. From this land Ben had hauled his spars, and logs for boards, leaving the tops of the trees and all the brush; in addition to this there was left quite a growth of other trees, that were not fit for timber; these he and Joe had cut early in the spring, so that the soil was completely covered with a dense mass of combustible matter, as dry as tinder. Ben was very anxious to burn this. He had now two cows, a bull, and a yoke of oxen, and was obliged to buy hay and bring on to the island for them, which, was a great deal of work. He had to hire his oxen pastured away in the summer, as the island was so densely covered with wood that it afforded but little pasturage, which was eked out by falling maple trees for them to browse. It was therefore of the greatest importance to burn this land, and get it into grass as soon as possible; but Ben hesitated a long time, fearing that he might burn himself up, it was so dry, and hoping that a shower would come to wet the grass, so the fire would not run. At length it was evident he must burn it, or it would be too late to sow, as he would soon be engaged in loading his timber, and have no opportunity.

One morning, when the dew was very heavy, almost equal to rain, and the slight wind from the south-west blew directly away from the buildings, he determined to make the attempt. In the first place they removed everything from the house to the beach; then they hauled Charlie’s canoe up to the house, and filled it with water; they also filled all the barrels, troughs, and tubs about the premises, and drove the cattle to the beach, lest the fire should run into the woods.

Ben would have ploughed two or three furrows around his buildings, which would have been the most effectual preventive; but, after the vessel was built, he had put his oxen away to pasture.

The settlers run great risks in clearing their lands, either of burning up their houses, or of destroying the timber they wish to spare.

A few years since there were fires in Maine that burned for weeks, and destroyed thousands of acres of timber, and cattle, houses, barns, and many human beings, and even crossed streams.

But there is no other way. Here was a quantity of ground covered with brush, logs, and bushes: to have hauled all this away would have been an endless job, and after that the ground could neither be ploughed nor planted, being entirely matted with green roots, and cold and sour; besides, the moment the sun was let into it, sprouts would begin to spring up from the stumps, and weeds, blackberry, and raspberry bushes from the ground, and cover it all over. But a fire in a few hours will lick up every stick and leaf, except the large logs and stumps, burn up all the bushes, and the whole network of small roots that cover the ground, so that nothing will start for months, as it destroys all the seeds of the weeds and trees, of which the ground is full; and if it is dry, and a thorough burn, will so roast the large stumps that very few of them will ever sprout again,—while, as in Ben’s case, most of them are spruce, pine, or fir, that never throw up any sprouts from the roots. There is then left a thick bed of ashes, which receives and fosters whatever is put into it.

Our readers will perhaps recollect, that along the shore of the island was a cleared spot covered with green grass. This cleared land extended back on both sides of the brook for quite a distance, and was dotted over with elms; and on a little knoll, about half way between the brook and the middle ridge, was an enormous rock maple, with that perfect symmetry of proportions which this noble tree often presents. The large lower limbs, bending downwards, came so near to the ground that Charlie could reach the tips of them, by standing on a stone.

How the boy loved this tree! It was beautiful in the spring, with its red buds; beautiful in summer, with its masses of dark-green foliage, and its refreshing shade; but most beautiful of all in the autumn, with its crimson tints, relieved by the lighter colors of the surrounding trees. Here he made his whistles; here he was quite sure in a hot day to find the pig stretched out in the shade, with his nose stuck in the moist, cool earth under a great root, and the cattle lying round chewing their cuds.

He also had a swing under the limbs, made of two long beech withes, that Joe Griffin had twisted for him; and often, after supper, Sally would take her sewing, come up and swing with him; and sometimes he would swing the pig, for he had made a basket that he could put into the swing.

Under ordinary circumstances this large piece of cleared ground would have proved a perfect protection; but it was a sharp drought, and the grass was dead, dry, and inflammable. Nevertheless, as the dew was so heavy, and the grass damp with a fog which had set in the night before, Ben thought there could be no danger, and put in the fire. As it ran along the ground, and gradually crept away from the house, he congratulated himself that all danger was over; but the wind suddenly shifted to the north-east, and drove the fire directly towards the house. Had Ben set the fire at first along the whole line of the brush, there would have been burnt ground between him and the mass of fire, which would have cut off the communication, and he would have been safe; but he set it on one corner, and when the wind shifted, the flame driven by it dried the moisture from the grass, and made rapid progress towards the house, while a large strip of dry grass made a bridge for the fire to travel on. As the wind was not yet strong enough to prevent the fire from running, it made good progress in the right direction, burning all the more thoroughly that it burned slowly; but, on the other hand, it was constantly coming in the direction of the house, increasing its pace as the wind and heat dried up the moisture from the grass.

Soaking blankets in salt water, they spread them on the roof of the house, wet the ground around it, and urged to desperation by the fear of losing their home, beat out the flame from the grass with hemlock boughs, which is the best way to stop fire that is running in grass.

But the wind now began to rise, and as fast as they beat it out in one place it caught in another, as the wind blew the tufts of blazing grass in all directions. Ben’s hair and clothes were singed. Sally was frequently on fire, and had it not been that she was clothed in woollen, and that Ben threw water on her, she would have been burned up. The baby, during all this time, had been quietly sleeping in the cradle, but now, waked by the smoke, it began to sneeze and cry.

“Charlie,” said Sally, “I can do more at fighting fire than you can; take the baby to the shore, and take care of it.” They were now almost worn out with exertion; their eyes and lungs were full of smoke, the perspiration ran in streams from their flesh, and the heat was intolerable; still they fought on, for all they had was at stake.

If the fire reached the house it would not only burn that, but would run to the beach, where was lumber worth hundreds of dollars, which Ben had been nearly two years in preparing for market,—the greater part of which was dry, and would take fire in a moment; there, too, were the sails and rigging.

Ben’s large canoe lay upon the beach, in which was some straw that Ben had brought over from his father’s to fill beds. Charlie, unable longer to look on, when so much was at risk, put the child into the canoe among the straw, gave it some shells to attract its attention, and ran back to help.

The great wood-pile, within a few yards of the house, now took fire.

“It’s no use, Sally,” said Ben; “the fire is all around us, and all we have must go.”

Sally, uttering a loud scream, ran wildly to the shore. A piece of blazing moss, borne by the wind, had fallen into the canoe, and set fire to the straw, which was blazing up all around the baby. In a moment more it would have been burned to death; as it was, its clothes were scorched, and the little creature terribly frightened.

At this moment a rushing sound was heard, and a vessel with all sail set, and bearing the white foam before her bows with the rapidity of her motion, shot into the harbor, and was run high upon the soft sand of the beach, the tide being at half ebb.

In an instant eight men, leaving the sails to slat in the wind, leaped into the water, and with buckets which they filled as they ran, came to the rescue. One alone lingered to cut some limbs from a hemlock bush, a whole armful of which he brought with him, and while the rest were passing the water from the beach, and pouring on the blazing wood-pile, he was switching out the flames, as they ran towards the beach, with a dexterity that showed he was no novice in fire-fighting.

The wood-pile was composed mostly of logs eight feet in length: while the others poured water on the ends of the sticks, Ben, catching hold of them, dragged them from the pile to a safe distance from the house, and, after a long and desperate struggle, they arrested the progress of the flames.

Scarcely was this accomplished, when the roof was discovered to be on fire; the violence of the wind had blown off a blanket, and the cinders catching had kindled in the dry bark. Ben, taking Charlie, threw him up on the roof, when, the others passing him water, he soon extinguished the flames.

Ben had now opportunity to see who his deliverers were, and to thank them, which he did in no measured terms.

They were John Strout, Henry and Joe Griffin, Seth Warren, Robert Yelf, Sam Edwards, Sydney Chase, and Uncle Isaac. He it was, that, with a coolness that never forsook him, stopped to cut an armful of switches for himself and the rest.

“God bless you, my old friend!” said Ben, grasping him by both hands, “and God bless the whole of you! ‘friends in need are friends indeed;’ I can’t find words to thank you.”

Poor Sally, now that the excitement was over, fainted away. Ben carried her into the house, while the others brought in a bed, and by the aid of burnt vinegar applied to her nostrils revived her. Her face was uninjured, but her hair was scorched, and her arms and hands burned, causing her much suffering.

“What shall we do for her?” said Ben; “I have not a bit of salve, nor anything in the house.” “I can tell you what to do,” said Uncle Isaac; “go and get some of that blue clay by the brook, and mix it up with water that has the chill taken off, and plaster it right on three inches thick, and you’ll see what it will do; all you want is to keep the air out.”

They procured the clay, and Uncle Isaac fixed it and put it on. It gave instant relief. In a few moments the clay began to dry and crack open, by reason of the heat and inflammation.

“Ben,” said Uncle Isaac, “do you sit by her and keep that clay moist with cold water; no matter how cold it is now, it will have the chill taken off before it gets through the clay.”

“But how shall we ever get the clay off?”

“You don’t want to get it off; the flesh will heal under it, and then it will come off itself.”

“How did you know that, Uncle Isaac?”

“The Indians learned me; there’s a good deal in an Indian, you’d better believe.”

“But won’t there want to be some healing-salve on it?”

“Healing-salve? fiddlestick! I’ve seen Indians cut half to pieces, scalded, and burnt, and get well, and I never saw any salve among them. Now,” continued Uncle Isaac (who, though one of the kindest-hearted men alive, was but little given to sentiment, and entirely practical in all his views), “we can do no more good here; let us bring the furniture into the house for Ben, and then I want to finish that burn; we’ll set it on fire at the other end; it will be fun to see it come down before the wind. It can do no harm, for there are enough of us to take care of it. I reckon I know something about this business.”

His proposal was received with cheers. While some brought the things into the house, others furled the vessel’s sails, and carried out an anchor astern, to hold the vessel when she should float, as it was half ebb when they ran her on. Henry Griffin was cook, and they left him aboard to get supper.

At any other time Charlie would have been very anxious to have gone with them, but the suffering of his mother, and the care of the baby, put everything else out of his head. He kissed her again and again, with tears in his eyes, made gruel for her, and did everything in his power to relieve her.

The party found that the fire had made but slow progress against the wind, which now blew half a gale. Arming themselves with blazing brands, they proceeded to the upper part of the piece, and fired the mass of dry material in fifteen or twenty different places. An enormous volume of smoke and flame instantly arose, and swept down before the wind, presenting a truly magnificent spectacle. In clearing land they are not particular to cut every tree. Sometimes there will be an old dead pine full of pitch, that, as it makes no shade to hurt a crop, and draws nothing from the soil, they let it alone. At other times they make what they call a drive; they cut a number of trees partly off, and then, picking out a very large one, fall it on the rest, and thus drive them all down together,—as boys set up a row of bricks, and starting one throw down the whole,—which saves them a great deal of cutting. A good many trees are broken off in these drives twenty or thirty feet from the ground, and, if they stand any time in hot weather, the pitch will fry out of them, and run in little yellow threads to the ground. There were a great many trees in this lot that had been standing a good while, and were full of pitch. It was now twilight, and as the flame struck one of these trees the little threads of pitch flashed like powder, and the flame, following them up the body of the tree with a rush and roar, spouted from the top in grand style, amid the loud shouts of the performers. At times there would be a great dry stub as big as a hogshead, and the fire, getting in at the roots, would run up the inside, and roar and blaze from the top like a dozen chimneys.

The flames would also, once in the while, catch a large tree in the forest on the middle ridge, and run from limb to limb clear to the top, shining far into the depths of the forest.

Although it was rare sport, there was a great deal of effort connected with it, as they were obliged to exert themselves to the utmost to prevent the fire from getting into the standing growth on the western side, as on the other side the clearing extended to the shore; but this, with these hardy natures, only gave zest to the proceedings.

“Quit that, Joe Griffin; what are you thrashing me with that hemlock limb for?” cried Robert Yelf.

“Jerusalem! if my eyes ain’t so full of smoke that I took your red face for a fire-coal.”

Many a rough joke was played, and many a sly blow given and taken, in the smoke. The fire had now nearly spent itself for lack of fuel.

Charlie came to say, Henry wanted to know if they were going to live on firebrands, for he had been waiting with his supper two hours, and was almost starved. They now went on board to eat.

“Come, Ben,” said Joe, “go and eat supper with us; and when you get back Charlie can come.”

As they were eating, Ben ascertained how it happened that his friends were present so opportunely.

“You see,” said Uncle Isaac, “we heard the mackerel were master thick outside; that started us all up. I’d got in my hay, so thought I’d go with the rest. We were beating down, when Joe says to me, ‘There’s a great smoke over to Ben’s.’ ‘Yes,’ I says, ‘I guess he’s setting his burn.’ Then I saw the smoke roll up above the trees, and I was sartain. ‘He’ll have a capital time, for the wind is just right, and there’s a heavy dew.’ The words were hardly out of Joe’s mouth before the wind shifted right about. Then I was sure there would be trouble. In a few moments we opened out by the head of the island, and saw the blaze. I screamed out, ‘The fire is coming right down on Ben’s house, and he’ll be burnt out in a jiffy!’ We were almost abreast of the harbor, and, hauling the sheets aft, shot her right on to the beach.” About ten o’clock that night a shower came up. Ben sat by Sally, who had now fallen asleep, listened to the rain upon the roof, moistening the parched earth, and relieving him of all anxiety in respect to the fire kindling again during the night. His heart went up in gratitude to God that his little property had been preserved, and his wife and child had not fallen victims to the fire.

Notwithstanding the mackerel were thick, neither John nor Uncle Isaac would start in the morning till they saw how it fared with Sally, who, to the great delight of all, was much better.

Uncle Isaac inspected Charlie’s sink, canoe, and baskets, and praised them very much.

“There’s the making of a mechanic in that boy,” said he, “and no mean one either.”

They then walked over the burn.

“I call that a first-rate burn,” said Joe; “a miss is as good as a mile, Ben. Sally is doing well, and this burn will give you your bread-stuffs for a year, and hay for your cattle after that.”

The next morning Ben sent Charlie after the widow Hadlock, who came on to take care of her daughter and grandchild.

There were other incidents connected with the burn of a less pleasing nature. Charlie had a very large hen, that the widow Hadlock had given him, which, having stolen her nest, was sitting among the bushes on eighteen eggs, and, too faithful to leave her trust, was burned to a crisp on her nest. Charlie grieved much as he looked upon the remains of his hen, and counted over the eggs, the chickens from which he was hoping to have raised as late ones to winter, that he might send the earlier ones to the West Indies; but he consoled himself with the thought that his turnip-patch was spared, and growing finely.

All along the shore of the island the line of cliff was fringed with a mixed growth of white birch, maple, spruce, and red oak, contrasting beautifully with the ragged and perpendicular cliffs which had been spared by Ben as a shelter to the land from the easterly winds, and more than all for the beauty of their appearance. He took great delight in the spring, when pulling along the shore, in looking upon the masses of light-green foliage that covered the birches, and fell over the rocks.

These were now all consumed; and the rocks, shorn of moss, stood out white and naked in the sun. The willows and alders that fringed the brook were gone; the trunks of the elms and that of the great maple scorched, and the grass all around the house black as a coal. All over the land were blackened stumps and stubs, from which the smoke rose, and among whose roots the fires were smouldering. The beauty of the landscape had vanished, and desolation came in its stead.

“Father,” cried Charlie, moved almost to tears as he gazed upon the scene, “will my maple die, and the elms, and the great yellow birch at the brook, mother thinks so much of?”

“No, Charlie, they are only singed on the outside; there was not power enough in burning grass to heat the roots, as though they had stood in the woods among the brush; and the trees on the bank will be replaced by others, and perhaps handsomer ones.”

They now went to rolling and piling; in anticipation of this Sally had made them two suits apiece of tow-cloth, which they wore without shirts. The fire had not consumed the bodies of many of the large trees: some of these they used to make the fence of; the rest they cut up and hauled together with the oxen, and piled them up in great piles, and set them on fire, till they consumed the whole. As they were compelled to put their shoulders and breasts against these logs to roll them up, they were covered with smut from head to foot. They could not sit down in a chair without smutting it all over; and their faces were in streaks of white and black, where the perspiration ran down and washed away the smut. So, when they came to their meals, they just took off their tow suits, and got into the brook and washed themselves, and then washed their clothes, and spread them in the sun to dry, and put on another suit; part of the time they took their dinner in the field. Rover followed them round, rooting under the stumps for worms, and once in a while would shove his nose on a hot coal, which would make him run away squealing.

This smutty and laborious job being over, land fenced, and logs burned up, Ben sowed half of it with winter rye, reserving the other to plant with corn in the spring.

The grain must now in some way be covered; but Ben had no harrow to cover it with; besides, the ground was dotted with stumps, whose great roots stuck out in every direction, and no common harrow would have worked. He cut down a scrubby spruce, and trimming off the limbs within six or eight inches of the trunk, sharpened the points of them; he then hitched the oxen to this hedge-hog, as he called it, and hauled it over the ground, thus scratching the earth over the grain. When Charlie saw this, he laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks.

“I should think it was a hedge-hog,” said he; “I wonder what the steward of his highness the Duke of Bedford would say to that.”

“It will do better work here than any harrow in England, for all that,” said Ben.

There were many places where the hedge-hog could not go close to the stumps, because the large spur roots rolled it off: around these Charlie hacked the grain in with a hoe.

Ben now went over to his father’s, and got all the chaff he could find in the barn, which was full of grass-seed, and sowed it on the rye.

It was now getting to be autumn. Ben and Charlie went off in the large canoe, and caught and cured fish to last them through the winter, and, getting a scow, brought on hay enough to winter their stock.

Sally, rapidly recovering under the careful nursing of her mother, was in a few days able to be about the house, and by the time the rye, which was sown on the burn, was well up, had recovered. The first thing she did was to go and see the grain, with which she was so delighted, that she declared she would be willing to be burned again for such a field of grain as that.