PARSON GOODHUE AND THE WILD GANDER.

During the last year Sally had woven cloth for curtains to her best bed, and also for the windows of the rooms, when they should be finished; but for the last two or three weeks she and Sally Merrithew had been very busily employed bleaching the linen, making the curtains, and scouring the woodwork, which had been soiled in the putting up. It was not the fashion to paint in those days—everything was scoured.

The cause of this extraordinary industry was at length revealed by Sally herself, who said to Ben, “Now that the house is done, I’ve got good help, the baby is well, and mother is here, I think we ought to have a meeting. I’m afraid we shall get to be just like the heathen, for we can’t get to meeting but once or twice in the winter, and not a great deal in the summer. I want Parson Goodhue to come on to the island, preach a lecture, and make us a real good visit. He’s our old minister that we have known and loved ever since we were children, and we haven’t seen him since we were married, except in the pulpit.”

“Nothing would suit me better, and I think we’d better have it right off, before Joe goes away with the schooner; then we can bring him on and take him back in her, while she’s sweet and clean.”

“Yes, and we can have Joe and Henry Griffin to sing, and Uncle Isaac to lift the tune. Your father will come, and bring the girls. They are first-rate singers; so is Fred Williams; and we can have as good singing as they do in the meeting-house on Lord’s day.”

“I’ll go off to-night, and if he can come, we’ll have the meeting next week.”

Notwithstanding Ben differed so much from the minister in respect to temperance, it produced not the least alienation of feeling. Ben, though very firm in his opinions, had not a particle of bitterness in his composition. On the other hand, he was much attached to the pastor, who was a very devoted man, and greatly beloved and respected by his people, although he thought him in an error respecting that matter, still his ideas were in harmony with the almost universal sentiments and practice of the age in which he lived. He was a good man, by no means a free liver, and sought what he supposed to be the good of his people with all his heart. Wedded to this pernicious habit by early usage, and the example of those he had been accustomed to revere as models of all that was great and good, he failed to perceive its fatal tendency, although the proofs were daily accumulating before his eyes, and also that the distinction between the use and abuse, which he and Captain Rhines strongly insisted upon, was, in the great majority of cases, a distinction without a difference.

It was determined, in family conclave, that the lecture should be at four o’clock, after which all were to sit down to a meat supper, the meats having been roasted beforehand, and served up cold, with hot tea and coffee.

“This will be the first time Mr. Goodhue was ever here, Sally,” said Ben, “and the first time, I expect, in his life, that he was ever invited anywhere to eat and not offered spirit. We’ve got turkeys, ducks, and chickens, enough of everything. We’ll let him and all the rest know that it is not for the sake of saving that we don’t put spirit on the table; and you know what Bradish set out to say at the husking, if Joe Griffin hadn’t knocked the wind out of him.”

Seats were made in the parlor, kitchen, and porch for the audience; but the spare room, which was most elaborately finished, where Uncle Isaac had displayed his utmost skill in carved and panel-work, and in which was the buffet, was carefully prepared for the reception of the minister. There were curtains to the best bed and windows, which Sally had woven and bleached as white as snow; the bed-ticks were also woven by her, and filled with the feathers of wild geese she had picked herself. The sheets and pillow-cases were scented with orange balm. On the mantel-piece were some beautiful shells and coral, which Ben had brought home from sea; the secretary, also, which his father had given him, inlaid with various kinds of wood, was in this room. As to the remaining furniture, it was of the homeliest kind, as Ben had not purchased any since his means had increased. The looking-glass was six inches by eight in size, and the chairs were bottomed with ash splints. In those old times, instead of painting or carpeting floors, they kept them white by scouring and covering with sand. It was the custom of housewives, on important occasions, to cover the floor with sand, and then, with the point of a hemlock broom, make marks in the sand resembling the backbone of a herring. Sometimes they deposited the sand in little heaps, like pepper on the surface of a ham, and representing various figures; but Sally Merrithew went far beyond this. She covered the floor of the minister’s room with the finest of sand, and then, with her fingers, made the exact impress of a little child’s naked foot in different places; also the representation of star-fish, diamonds, horses, oxen, and various other things. This was a vast deal of work to bestow upon a thing that was destroyed the moment you stepped on it; but it looked very pretty when you first opened the door, and that was enough for Sally. If Parson Goodhue only looked at it once, she was more than satisfied.

Clocks were not common then, and time was kept by hour and minute glasses; and there would not have been any other time-keeper on Elm Island had not Ben’s profession as a sailor put him in the way of having a watch; but whenever he took his watch with him, Sally resorted to the hour glass, and the sun-mark in the window.

When the day arrived, Ben and Charlie went over in the Perseverance, as she was now ready for sea, and returned with Joe and his crew, Captain Rhines and his girls, Uncle Isaac, the Hadlocks, and others, among whom was Fred Williams. The most important personage of all was Parson Goodhue. The saucy little craft, her sails limed and snow-white, her decks white as a holy-stone and sand could make them, her masts scraped and slushed, with a little yellow ochre in the grease, her hull, mastheads, and spars gayly painted, and rigging fresh tarred, seemed, as she flung the foam from her bows and shot into the little harbor, proud of her burden.

The parson was brought ashore from the vessel in the large canoe; and as the beach was wet, Ben took him in his arms and set him down on the grass ground, without ruffling a feather; here he was met and welcomed by Sally.

Our young readers might be interested if we should describe the dress of this good man, whose arrival had excited so much interest, and caused such a commotion, on Elm Island; it was the usual dress of the ministers of that day, and quite remarkable.

A dark-blue broadcloth coat of the finest material, with a broad back, wide skirts, and a very long waist. It reached below the knees, the front edges on both sides being cut to the segment of a circle, from the end of the collar to the bottom of the skirts, the two edges just meeting in the middle over the abdomen, there fastened, when fastened at all, with a single hook and eye; the collar was quite wide, and laid over flat on the back; there was one row of black enamelled buttons in front, about the size of an old-fashioned Spanish milled dollar, with button holes to correspond to the size of the buttons, but which were never used, as the coat was never fastened except by the single hook and eye. The vest was of black kerseymere, reaching some six inches or more below the hips, with broad and deep pocket-flaps on each side, covering a capacious pocket. It was buttoned from the hips, close to the throat, with enamelled buttons as large as an English shilling, and finished round the neck with a narrow collar, three fourths of an inch wide. The lower corners of the vest were rounded off, so as always to hang open. To complete the dress, was a pair of dark-blue small clothes, buttoned tight around the body above the hips, and worn without suspenders, as they had not then been invented. A pair of heavy black silk stockings reached above the knee, under the small clothes, which were buttoned down close over the stockings below the knee, and there fastened by silver buckles. On his feet he wore a pair of round-toed shoes with short quarters, and fastened by a pair of large silver buckles that covered the whole of the instep. On his head he wore a large full-bottomed wig of silvery whiteness, fitting close to the head, the hair from the whole head being shaved twice a week, to permit the wig to fit close to the head. The back part of this wig, on the “bottom,” as it was technically called, was very large, and consisted of a mass of curls, of the kind that young ladies now call frizzled; and as the collar of the vest was narrow, and the collar of the coat laid flat on the back, the bottom of the wig could reach quite near to the shoulders without interfering with any part of the dress. Surmounting all was a large three-cornered cocked hat of the finest beaver, but without any nap; this, with cravat and ample bands under the chin, both of snowy whiteness, formed the costume of the venerable man, who, on the beach of Elm Island, received the congratulations of Sally and Mrs. Hadlock, and was regarded by these rebellious Yankees, who had recently flung off the yoke of monarchy, with a veneration as great as that of a true-bred Briton for his anointed king.

In cold weather this dress was supplemented by a long blue broadcloth cloak, with a small cape, thrown over the shoulders, but never fastened in front. In this dress, with no covering for his legs from the knee to the foot except silk tight-fitting stockings, without boots or buskins (the latter being much worn by all except seamen, to keep the snow out of the shoes), he preached sermons three quarters of an hour in length, in a meeting-house without fire, and quite open.

Why the good man did not freeze is to us a mystery only to be solved by concluding, with Aunt Molly Bradish, that “‘twas all ordered.”

At the meeting they got along splendidly with their singing, Uncle Isaac lifting the tune and taking the lead. The whole company thought they had never heard such a sermon; that the good man excelled himself; while he spoke in the highest terms of the singing.

In respect to the supper, it needed not the encomiums freely lavished upon it, as the performances of the reverend gentleman and all concerned afforded more substantial evidence than figures of rhetoric could furnish of their appreciation of its merits.

In short, it was a most pleasant and profitable season to all. No one seemed to enjoy himself less, not even Captain Rhines and the minister, for the lack of spirit.

“One thing is sartin, Benjamin,” said Uncle Isaac, as they sat down together in the porch, to enjoy a quiet pipe; “which is, that people can enjoy themselves, be sociable and neighborly, without liquor.”

“Yes, and feel better after it’s over,” was the reply.

Capacious as Ben’s house now was, it could by no means lodge all the company. A field bed was made in the parlor and kitchen, with additional bed-clothes which Ben had borrowed from his mother and Mrs. Hadlock.

The schooner’s crew slept on board; Fred and Charlie, to their entire satisfaction, in the haymow, as it was long since they had met, and they had many things to talk over.

They dug a great hole in the hay and lined it with the mainsail of the West Wind, got a meal bag and stuffed it with chaff for a pillow, then taking the foresail for a covering, they lay spoon-fashion, and talked themselves to sleep.

“Charlie,” said Fred, “I’ll tell you what I’ve been thinking about: there are a good many people that fish in big canoes; they catch a great many fish in the spring and summer, and even in the winter, when there comes a spell of good weather, that they dare go out, because, you know, they have to row in. Well, they say, if I will put some goods in the mill, that they will bring their fish to me, and take pay in goods. Then some that fish in schooners, say, if I will put up some flakes, they will bring their fish to me, and give me one quintal in fifteen for making them.”

“I’d do it, Fred; I think you’ll stand in your own light if you don’t; you know you’ve got a wharf at the mill to land fish and goods, and a place in your mill for your goods, measures, a scale and weights, counter and shelves: you are all fixed.”

“Not by a good deal. If I take fish from the canoes, I must have a fish-house to salt and keep them in, and a pair of large scales to weigh them, and the fish-house must be large enough to store a fare of fish, or two or three, till they are made and marketed. Then it will cost something to put up flakes; though father says he’ll give me the timber to build the house and flakes, and let me use his oxen to haul the timber to the spot, and the logs to the mill for the boards. But then I can’t sell these fish till fall, and in the mean time I must buy salt and goods, and I don’t like to run in debt. I have but little money, and I ain’t one of the kind to go into a thing without making some kind of calculation as to how I’m coming out.”

“I’ll tell you what you do, Fred: go and cut your frame, and logs for boards; haul your frame logs to the spot, and roll them up on skids all ready to hew, and your logs for boards to the mill; cut and haul your stuff for flakes; Joe Griffin won’t be gone more than a fortnight or three weeks; when he comes back, I’ll get him and his crew, father, and some more, and we’ll hew your frame out, raise it, and make your flakes in two days. I can board and shingle it, and make the doors for you, and you can pay me in goods.”

“You are very kind, Charlie; it’s just like you; but even with all these helps, I’ve not half money enough; three hundred and fifty dollars won’t go far in buying goods.”

“What kind of goods do you want?”

“The most, of molasses, tea, coffee, and salt. O, I forgot the tobacco. Rum I don’t drink, and won’t sell. These are the heaviest. I shall want some sugar, nails, a few pots and kettles, medicines, calico, powder and shot; the rest I can barter for round here. You know it takes a good while, and is a great deal of expense, to get goods from Portland or Boston here. You must be able, when you go, to buy enough at once to last a good while.”

“Now, Fred, listen to me: you, John, and myself have always been together, like the fingers on one hand; we put our ventures into your hands, and you did well for yourself and us: now, what is to hinder John and me from putting more goods in your store to sell at half profits. I’ve got four hundred dollars, John has got three hundred dollars; there’s seven hundred dollars: we’ll put that into tea and coffee; we’ll get Captain Rhines to go to Boston or Portland, and buy it for us, put it in your hands to sell at half profits; then you can have your own money to get other things. You can put a few goods in, and go right to taking fish from the canoes, and by the time the large vessels get along, we will get our goods.”

“Charlie, you are a friend indeed; but will John be willing to do it?”

“Yes; John Rhines will be willing to do anything that is good and noble. He started the matter the first time; I mean to get the start of him now. I’ll write to him to-morrow; there’s a vessel going to Portland with timber, and the money is over to his father’s.”

“Then,” said Fred, “I’ll go to Portland in her, and get a few things. I can salt the fish in our barn till I get the fish-house built, and put any dry fish I may make in the mill.”

“I don’t believe but I can coax Joe Griffin to go in, and Flour; he’s got money in Captain Rhines’s hands; I know father will.”

It now being well towards morning, they went to sleep. The next day, Charlie not only persuaded Joe Griffin, but Uncle Isaac and his father, to help Fred.

“I’ll tell you,” said Captain Rhines, “what you had better do. It’s a poor calculation for Fred to take what he has got and go buy a small quantity—he can’t make anything. I’ll take him and Charlie in the Perseverance, and we’ll go right to Boston and get the whole. I’ll get Mr. Welch to buy for me; he will do it better than I can.”

“But we’ve not heard from John,” said Charlie.

“Well, I’ve got the money, and I’ll take it with me. We’ll run into Portland and ask him. I’ll get Flour to put his in. I’ll put in the tea and tobacco, because I expect to trade with Fred, and I want to be sure that they’re good.”

The company now prepared to depart; but Ben persuaded Parson Goodhue to stay, telling him that the vessel was going to Boston the next day, and they would set him ashore at the mill wharf as they went along.

While Ben and Charlie were gone to the main land with their friends, the minister was left with Sally and Mrs. Hadlock. He amused himself by taking a walk over the island, admiring its beauty, and looking at the crops. Charlie had told him he had a wild goose and gander, and also some goslings, the progeny of a tame goose and the wild gander. After returning to the house and resting a while, he expressed a strong desire to see them.

“I can find them, Mrs. Rhines, if you will tell me in what direction to go.”

“I don’t think you had better go alone, sir, for the gander is in the pen, and is quite cross.”

“Indeed, Mrs. Rhines, I trust you don’t think I’m afraid of a goose.”

But Sally persisted in going with him.

The reverend gentleman was very much pleased with the goslings, who bore a strong resemblance to both parents; but he was especially delighted with the wild gander, which was a splendid fellow, and, from being well fed, was large and plump.

“I feel that I must get over in the pen, Mrs. Rhines; the gander seems perfectly docile.”

“Don’t, Mr. Goodhue, I beg of you; he is very savage, I assure you.”

He, however, persisted in getting into the pen, despite her entreaties.

“Only observe how affectionate and quiet he has become in captivity; intercourse with human beings has doubtless exerted an ameliorating influence upon his naturally savage nature: you will notice, Mrs. Rhines, that he does not open his mouth and siss, as even the tame ganders will do; indeed, I have always thought the study of natural history a most delightful and fascinating recreation: it is, in one sense, a revelation.”

As we have before observed, suspenders were not worn in those days; and any exertion often caused the breeches to work down, and the waistcoat to work up, so as to render the linen visible between them.

In walking over the island and climbing the fence, the good man had so exerted himself, that a large fold of shirt appeared, and hung over the waistband. The gander came up to him, put his head very gently against him, took hold of it, and, while the attention of the minister was directed to the goslings and the tame goose, filled his mouth with the cloth; at length, having with the utmost gentleness obtained a firm hold, the gander suddenly spread his great wings and began to thrash the minister about the head and face, with the force of so many flails. His cocked hat was knocked off in an instant; the wig followed suit. Blinded and confused, he jumped back, falling prostrate upon his back: he was now at the mercy of his antagonist, who, with the knobs of horn on his wings, inflicted blows upon his face and bare scalp, that drew blood at every stroke, the wild goose seconding the efforts of her mate by viciously nipping his legs and hands.

His screams were heard by Sally, who, deceived by the apparent good nature of the gander, had gone to the house to see to the baby. She threw her shawl over the gander’s wings, and seizing him by the neck, choked him off, and thrust him into the pen made for the tame goose to sit in, then assisted the parson to rise.

He was indeed in a sorry plight; the blood was streaming from his face and scalp, his clothing was soiled by the impurities of the yard, his face covered with straw and feathers which the wings of the gander had flung over him, and that stuck in the blood. The wild goose, with that strong, sharp bill, with which they will pull up eel-grass by the roots, had torn holes in the black silk stockings, and even torn the skin beneath.

Sally was affected to tears by this wholesale desecration of the person of one she had been accustomed from infancy to look up to with reverence. The wig, which had been the great object of her veneration, and the cocked hat were trampled under foot by the parson in his first attempts to escape. This, indeed, was no trifling matter, as the wig could only be dressed and curled once a year; and for this it was necessary to go to Boston, and it took a professional hairdresser a whole day.

The good man, however, was much less disturbed than Sally, and after he had been put to rights by her and Sally Merrithew, took quite a cheerful view of the matter, affirming, that though Paul passed through many perils, he much doubted whether he had ever been in peril by a wild gander.