POMP’S POND.

No matter what year we were at Andover. There was then, and I suppose is now, in that staid old town, a certain pond, called Pomp’s Pond, in which grew any quantity of pond lilies, and some small fish.

These lilies grew in deep water, which was black, full of sediment and slime, and withal not very pleasant to go into. These lilies were in great request among the theological and Phillips Academy students.

The Academy boys were also very fond of fishing there; and the only available boat was a wherry, belonging to a man by the name of Goldsmith, who, to keep the boys from getting her, kept her at his house near by.

When any parties wished to hire her, he hauled her down with his oxen, and, when their time was up, hauled her back again.

We were as fond of lilies and fishing as the next one; but the idea of being tied down to Goldsmith did not agree at all with our notions. We required a larger liberty, and altogether more searoom. We therefore resolved to build a wherry of our own, to go and come when we liked, moonlight nights and all. We had at first intended to make her large enough to take a friend or two with us, but the difficulty that presented itself at the outset was, where we should keep her. If we kept her at the pond, all the Academy boys would be in her from morning till night, and when we wanted her, they would be off in the pond, or the oars would be lost or broken, and besides, she would be too heavy to haul out and hide in the woods.

As a preliminary, we made a critical survey of the pond and surroundings, when it appeared that upon one side was a quagmire, abounding in cat-tail (cooper’s) flags, abutting on some sandy land covered with a thick growth of pitch-pine and brush. In view of these circumstances, we resolved to make a wherry only large enough to contain our own person, and so light that we could carry it on the shoulder, or, by tying the ends of our neckerchief together, and flinging it over the stem, drag it through this flag swamp, where no one could follow, and hide it in the woods. We had also ascertained a fact not known to the boys—that the roots of the flag will support one; but if you step between, down you go.

What a nice thing it would have been, then, to have had some one tell us how to make the boat! But there was no one, and, like Charlie on Elm Island, we were flung upon our own resources; nor was material so plentiful with us as with him: however, we procured some apple tree limbs, where Jacob Abbot had been trimming his orchard, for timbers, and went into Mr. Hidden’s carpenter’s shop to build her.

I shan’t tell you how wide she was, but when we sat in the middle of her, there was very little room between our body and the sides; and in order to have her as light as possible, the planks were only three sixteenths of an inch thick, and the timbers and knees in proportion. It was necessary to keep a little ballast in, both to keep her steady, and to put at one end when we were in the other, and which, to economize room, consisted of some flat, thick pieces of iron. In so narrow a craft, which it required almost the skill of a rope-dancer to keep on her bottom, it is evident the seat must be low: it consisted of a board laid across the bottom, with three cleats, three inches thick, nailed across the under side, to keep it up a little from the bottom; for though she was perfectly tight, as far as leakage was concerned, her planks were so thin, as, after a while, to soak water, which was at length in a great degree remedied by painting her; she was as light as an Indian canoe of the same size, which we, at one time, thought of making, but were prevented from want of bark.

When she was done, and a paddle made, one evening when there were stars, but no moon, we carried her on our shoulder to the sandy ground at the edge of the flag swamp, and dug a hole large enough to receive her, carrying all the earth dug out, in a basket, and throwing it into the pond; we then put her in the hole, and covered the mouth of it with brush that had lain a long time in the woods, so that nothing appeared to attract notice.

Great was the surprise of the visitors to the pond, the next Saturday afternoon, to see a person in a boat, anchored, and quietly fishing.

Strenuous were the efforts of the Academy students to find where this new craft was kept, increasing in vigor as pond-lily time drew near. Every nook and corner of the woods was searched, and every bush peeped under in vain.

It was equally idle to watch and see where he landed: all they knew was, that he disappeared among the flags, and before they could make their way through the mud and thick mat of bushes that margined that side of the pond, the boat was no longer visible, and he would be found sitting under a tree, or with his hands full of lilies.

Equally unsuccessful were all attempts to persuade him to let them get into her, a very good reason for which being the certainty of their upsetting, which the following occurrence will attest.

One sunshiny morning we were strolling with a friend, who has since made some stir in the world, along the shores of the pond in quest of berries. There were a great many lilies in bloom, some of which he desired to present to a friend.

“Come, K., go and get your boat and pick some of those lilies.”

“I will if you’ll give me your word that you will remain here, and not follow, to see where I take her from, or where I put her.”

“Well, I will; I’ll sit down on this rock, and won’t stir from it till you return. Let me go and get them,” he said, as we brought the little affair to the beach.

“You can’t go in her; you’ll upset.”

“Tell me I can’t go in a boat! I was born and brought up on Cape Cod, and have been used to boats all my life.”

“Can’t help where you were born; going in a thing like that isn’t a matter of birthright. I have a cousin who is a watchmaker, and I used to sleep with him, but I can’t make a watch for all that; you’d have her bottom up in five minutes.”

“Nonsense; take my gun, and let me get the lilies.”

We took the gun and went into the woods; but it was not long before we heard the cries of, “Help! help!” and returning to the pond, found the surface covered with floating lilies, in the midst of which was a broad-brimmed hat, the boat bottom up, and our Cape Cod friend clinging to her.

Those were pleasant days, rainbow-tinted; and though more sombre hues have since succeeded, I love to look even on the sky from which they have faded.

There was a fine set of boys at Phillips Academy then, many of whom have nobly justified their early promise; while others, the centre of many loving hearts, have gone to early graves, like a leaf that falls in June. It is sometimes hard to keep back the tears, as I recall those bright faces, and the pleasant hours we have spent together, especially in the Sunday school.

Gus Daniels was a splendid boy: how we all loved him! Well do I remember when he came to the mansion-house, fresh from home, a shrinking, diffident boy, and was set down at the breakfast-table, with a large company of theological students, too frightened to ask for anything, and trying to make himself as small as possible. We helped the little fellow, endeavored to converse with and assure him, and at dinner found him again beside us. The next Sunday morning found him in my class in Sunday school; and, as those will who are like attempered, we gradually grew together: how I loved him! and perceiving what was in him, I began to stimulate and encourage him to worthy effort; he leaped under it like a generous horse to the pressure of his rider’s knee. Many a Phillips Academy boy and Harvard student will remember him, who died just as he was putting on his harness. But then there was no shadow of the sepulchre, nor taint of disease, upon him. There was an innate attractiveness which made it pleasant even to sit in the same room with him, though no word was spoken, and his lovable and taking ways won every heart.

The lilies were now in full bloom, and he, with others, had resolved upon a mighty and combined attempt to find the whereabouts of that mysterious boat. I was made aware, while quietly fishing, of the presence of a great number of boys on the the shore.

“Mr. K.!”

No reply.

“Mr. K.!”

“In Zanadu did Kubla Khan

A stately pleasure dome decree,

Where Alph, the sacred river, ran,

Through caverns measureless to man,

Down to a sunless sea.”

“Speak louder, Gus.”

“Mr. K.!”

“O’er TempÉ’s god-frequented streams

There broods a holy spell,

And still in Greece, the land of dreams,

Heroic memories dwell.”

“He’s talking to the fishes, Gus: he don’t hear.”

“He don’t want to hear: he suspects what we are after.”

A universal shout, that made the woods ring, now compelled attention.

“Good afternoon, boys.”

“Good afternoon, sir.”

“This afternoon is so delightful, the place so quiet and conducive to reverie, I have insensibly fallen into reflection respecting a subject that has often been a matter of thought, and as often caused perplexity.”

“What may that be, sir?”

“Whether Vulcan didn’t dull his axe when he split Jupiter’s head open.”

“We have a matter that has caused us no little perplexity we want to know where you keep that boat, and we’re not going to leave till we do know.”

“I am glad to see young people, the strength of the country, have wants; wants are the foundation of all progress, both in science and the arts.”

“How so, Mr. K?”

“Because, Gus, when men begin to have wants they naturally try to gratify them, and the more they gratify them the more they have, and thus they better their position. For instance, I wanted pond lilies, and to catch fish; so I built this boat: that bettered my position, as you perceive,”—pulling up a pout,—“else, instead of sitting here quietly fishing and reflecting, I should, like you, be standing on the shore, looking and longing.”

“Well, we’re going to see.”

“It would be very desirable, as it would remove a great deal of perplexity from your minds, and restore universal peace and satisfaction.”

“Why so?”

“Because you are now very much perplexed in opinion, and confused in your notions; some of you think I keep this boat under water, others in the top of a tree, and a few, that I have an ointment I got of an Indian, which, being rubbed on her, turns her into a cat-tail flag; but seeing is believing, and would at once remove all doubts and reconcile all conflicting opinions.”

“If you don’t let us see, we won’t come to your Sunday school class to-morrow.”

“Yes, you will, Gus, because you’ll have to; if you’re absent, you’ll be marked absent, and Uncle Sam will know the reason why.

‘Are ye not marked, ye men of Dalecarlia?’”

“O, if we could only find out, wouldn’t we hide her where he couldn’t find her!”

“This is a world of perplexities and disappointments; there is one thing I have always wanted to ascertain, but latterly have quite despaired of it; therefore I know how to sympathize with you.”

“What is that, Mr. K.?”

“Where Hannibal got his vinegar.”

“If I live, I mean to ask Uncle Sam; he thinks he’s great on the classics; that’ll stick him.”

“I’ll get you all the lilies you want, boys.”

“That is not what we want; we want to have the boat, and get them ourselves.”

“I can appreciate that moral sentiment, Will Gunton, just as I receive greater enjoyment hauling up this fish,”—pulling in a pickerel,—“than you do from merely looking at me.”

“O, ye gods and little fishes, if he is not enough to provoke a saint.”

“I assent to that opinion likewise, for I vexed Dr. Woods yesterday.”

“In what way?”

“By asking him what the difference was between whoever and whosoever.”

“Well, if you won’t let us have the boat, or do anything for us, we won’t love you as we have done; Uncle Sam can’t mark us for that.”

“Yes, you will, Gus, for you can’t help it.”

“What’s the reason we can’t help it?”

“Can you help loving honey?”

“No, sir; because that is natural.”

“Is it not as natural to love those who love us?”

“If you loved us, you would gratify us, and let us have the boat.”

“That is just the reason I don’t let you have it, because I know you would be drowned.”

“You only say that because you don’t want us to have the boat. You love us, but you won’t do anything for us.”

“No, I never did anything for you! Who writes your dialogues and declamations, and does a host of other unmentionable things? There is not a great deal of gratitude this year, I suppose, because it is so dry.”

“O, Mr. K., I’ll take it all back! I’m sorry I said it, and sorrier that I thought it.”

“If I don’t want you to be drowned, I am disposed to contribute to your enjoyment. I’ll take you all over to the North Parish Pond, where is a large boat, and sail you to your hearts’ content; that is, if you’ll be good boys and go away.”

“We are very much obliged to you, but we’ve made up our minds to see where you keep that boat, and we can’t give it up; that is what we came for. There are enough of us to surround the pond, flag swamp and all. You will have to give it up, Mr. K. We are resolved to know, if we stay here all night.”

“Resolution is a great thing in a young man. Resolution carried the great Washington across the Delaware. As I understand it, you are, one and all, resolved to know where I keep this boat.”

“So say we all of us.”

“If I will let you see where I put her, will you be satisfied?”

A unanimous shout testified their assent.

“Well, then, look and see where I put her.”

The boatman, after stringing the fish, and hanging them around his neck, placing iron on the seat and paddle in order to keep them from floating up, pulled the plug out of the bottom of the boat, the ballast carried her down, and he swam ashore. There was one little detail of these proceedings that even their sharp eyes failed to notice. They did not see him fasten the plug of the boat to a fishing-line, the other end of which was attached to the boat, and drop it overboard to mark the spot. When the little piece of wood, only two inches long, was in the water, it was no longer visible from the shore, and would not be easily found, except by one who had taken the bearings of some objects on the shore from the boat itself. The boys on their way home congratulated themselves that Mr. K. had disappointed himself as much as them. At any rate, they would no more be tantalized by witnessing sport which they could not share. But the Fourth of July morning there was Mr. K. in the boat, getting lilies!

“We might as well give it up, boys,” said Will Gunton; “we shall find where he keeps her when we find where Hannibal got his vinegar.”

Upon leaving those parts, we buried her like an Indian chief, with the paddle and anchor in her, and no Phillips Academy boy, or prowling theological student, has ever found the grave till this day, nor ever will.

We haven’t forgotten how these boys felt; therefore we would give such outlines that any boy of mechanical turn, who has tools, pluck, and patience, may by their aid build himself a safe and serviceable boat.

Charlie’s boat, the dimensions of which will be given, is rather narrow, but it was all his log would allow, and he had not yet had experience enough to deviate from the copy.

But if a boy is to build a boat, he had better make her wider, five feet beam instead of four, to eighteen of length, or four feet six inches beam and fourteen feet in length; then she will be stiff, and need less ballast.