Beginning Again (2 page)

“How convenient,” Papa said, smiling. “Captain Sherwood. Now he can show us exactly where our boundaries are. He surveyed this township.”

“I thought you said he built timber rafts,” Cade spoke up.

“By trade he's a surveyor, but like most people here he can turn his hand to anything. And so must we,” Papa replied.

“You mentioned township,” Mama said. “Is our land not in Elizabethtown?”

“No, dearest, in the next one west of it.”

“What's it called, Papa?” I asked.

“Township Number Nine,” he replied.

“Maybe we can name it after us. How about Seaman Township?” I added.

Papa thought this a huge joke, and we all joined in his laughter. “If Elizabethtown was named for Princess Elizabeth, and Augusta where Captain Sherwood lives, after Princess Augusta, do you think the government would allow a township to be named for nobodies such as us?”

“Why not?” Mama said, pretending to be indignant. “Once they run out of children of the King.”

By this time Captain Sherwood's canoe was drawing close. He was a tall and thin man with fair colouring sitting in the stern and dipping his paddle with long graceful strokes. Two boys were paddling at bow and centre thwart.

“You're just about there, Mr. Seaman,” Captain Sherwood called out with a Yankee twang stronger than Mr. Buell's. “My stake is just behind that point over yonder.”

“Let's down sail and row,” Papa said.

We had two pairs of oars, and I took my place at one set of locks with Smith, eager to man an oar, beside me. Papa and Stephen, as keen as Smith, took the other oars. As Papa sat on one side and I on the other, we kept the bateau going in a straight line. Cade, steering at the rear said he had little to do. Before long Sarah complained that she wanted to row and Papa had her change places with Stephen for a while.

“My, it seems a pretty spot,” Mama said, but we busy rowers facing the rear of the boat could see little.

“I can hardly wait to walk on our own property,” Cade agreed. “And those trees! They must be six feet thick at the base, some of them.”

“I hope you're not planning to cut all of them down,” Mama said. “That would ruin the look of the place.”

“Of course not,” Papa said., looking over his shoulder. “But we'll have to cut some in order to plant crops. We'll use them to build our raft, and we'll keep enough trees for plenty of shade.”

Mama was smiling as we beached the boat on a small crescent of sand. Meanwhile the canoe was being lifted from the water amidst Captain Sherwood's shouts to the boys with him not to damage the delicate birch bark. Once we were all ashore we were ready for introductions. Papa began with Mama, over whose hand Captain Sherwood gallantly bowed. Then he turned to smile at Elizabeth.

“My older son Samuel,” Captain Sherwood said as a lanky dark youth bowed to Mama. “And Levius, my younger son,” he continued as a slightly shorter fair-haired boy stepped forward. “It seems we have boys of about the same age, Mr. Seaman.”

“Caleb Junior, or Cade as we usually call him, is sixteen, nearly seventeen,” Papa said. Our Samuel, at home, is fifteen. Nehemiah, or Ned, is thirteen.”

“So'm I,” Levius broke in, sizing me up. “You're not very big.”

“Small but tough,” Cade answered for me, an icy edge to his voice, ever the protective older brother.

“How old is your other son Samuel, Captain Sherwood?” Mama enquired hastily. I knew she was hoping to distract Levius from trying to find where I'd fit in the pecking order.

“Samuel is fifteen but he seems older because of his height,” that officer replied.

Now the fun began as we started to explore! Mama set a slow pace, Stephen and Sarah capering around her as she guided Robert's steps beneath the tall white pines and overhanging oaks. Elizabeth trailed Cade, with Smith running to keep up. Because of a look Papa gave me, I played host to the Sherwood boys. Leaving them on their own would have been rude. While Captain Sherwood and Papa went to inspect the wooden stakes that marked our boundaries, Samuel, Levius and I explored the shore.

Cade's words in mind, Levius decided to be friendly. In fact I thought I could land him fairly readily for he was so slender. “You've got some nice beaches,” he said. “And the fishing's good. Lots of underwater grass where pike like to bask. And some bare rocks where you can dive into deep water.”

“I like what I've seen so far,” I agreed.

The shore was a delight, and we waded in shallows, the golden sand kind to our bare feet, minnows scattering as we moved. Goggie, who had left Elizabeth's side for once, was fascinated. He stood with one front paw raised, stock still. Then when the minnows swam close, he would lunge in a vain attempt to catch one. Up he came, muzzle dripping, a look of bewilderment on his black and white spotted face.

“We once had a dog that did that, too,” Samuel Sherwood said. “Never did catch anything.”

“Do you help your father with the surveying?” I asked them.

“In summer,” Samuel replied. “We have to go to school for part of the year.”

“School? Where?” I enquired in alarm. I did not know of any school within miles.

“At Kingston,” Levius said, pointing to the west. I reckon it's some thirty miles that way.”

“I suppose it's expensive,” I went on, still apprehensive.

“Yes,” Samuel agreed. “About the only folks who can afford schooling are the half-pay officers like our Pa.”

“Then I guess I won't have to go,” I said gleefully.

“I wish I didn't,” Levius added gloomily.

“By the bye, what do you mean by half-pay?” I asked now.

“The government sends him half the sum he received as a captain in the Loyal Rangers,” Samuel explained. “It's a pension, really.”

Now Papa called, and we made our way back to the canoe where the Sherwoods bid us farewell. They set off up the river in their canoe to continue surveying farm lots in the township.

“Look what we found!” Elizabeth looked triumphant.

“Apple blossoms!” I exclaimed as I looked into the fold in her apron. “Apple trees right here on our land?”

“Yes,” she replied. “The trees seem old and gnarled, and the fruit will be small and scabbed. But Mama thinks, if we take cuttings and plant them in a proper field, they'll grow into fine trees. I found these onion shoots, too,” she added, holding them up.

“I wonder how they got here?” I said, looking at Papa.

“The French must have planted them years ago,” he said. “They travelled along here often before Canada was captured by the British back in 1760. I bet, if we hunt some more, we'll find other vegetables growing wild like these onions.”

“This must be very good land,” Mama remarked.

“Part of it is,” Papa said. “A lot of the land near the shore hasn't much soil on it, and is only fit for pasture, but Captain Sherwood showed me some deep spots that will make fine fields. We'll have a good farm here in a few years' time.”

We stayed three more days on what Mama still maintained was our estate even though it was really a dark 208-acre forest. We slept each night in the open air, some in the bateau, others round a fire to discourage mosquitos. Stars winked down on us, and luckily it did not rain and the dew was not heavy. We swam, though the water beyond the shallows was still icy cold, much colder than in the swimming hole downstream from Coleman's Corners. What we enjoyed most was the fishing. Thick-bodied black bass were great fighters as well as better eating than pike. Once, while fishing from the bateau, Cade hooked a massive muskellunge that took my help and Papa's to land.

“He must weigh fifty pounds!” Papa exclaimed, breathless.

Mama picked a spot where she hoped our house would stand one day, with a fine view of the river and the many islands. “I can hardly wait to see them in their autumn colours,” she said. “All those maples and oaks will stand out against the pines behind them.”

Much too soon the holiday was over and we had to return to reality. Sadly we packed up and piled into the bateau and began to float back down the river to Buell's Bay. After a night in our cabin, Cade and I set off on foot for the McNish place while Papa took our stallion to the Sherwood farm in Augusta. The big, sturdy horse would be of great service in moving logs, and Captain Sherwood had agreed to pay Papa for the use of him. We had had a thin time for a year. Now we could glimpse an end to hardship, to making do with worn out clothes and a cramped cabin for shelter.

At the heart of all our dreams lay our expectations for the timber on our land. From it we would make a vast raft such as we had seen passing Buell's Bay. At Quebec, timber merchants would pay hard cash for our logs, and we would have the money to carry out our plans..

I
remember the summer of 1790 best as the season when I began to grow. By the time harvest was over at the McNishes, the sleeves of my coat were partway to my elbows. The legs of my breeches would no longer fasten and the ends flapped at my kneecaps. I don't know if all the farm work helped, or if I would have grown anyway had I been helping Papa in our shop. Whatever the cause, I might not be the runt of the family as I had long feared.

The work on the farm was hard, and lasted from he moment the McNish rooster crowed until the shadows were long. In the District of Luneburg in July and August, that meant from just after five each morning till about eight in the evening. Afterwards we joined the McNish boys on straw mattresses in the loft of their old cabin and never stirred until roused by the rooster crowing from the log barn. How I grew to hate that bird! Mr. and Mrs. McNish and their girls slept in a newly built house of timbers that had been squared at the Coleman sawmill. There we ate our meals, but all the boys preferred the old cabin where they could make as much noise as they pleased. Cade and I were as well treated as the McNish boys, and more important, well fed. And we learned a lot in those few months.

Most of the ploughing, if you could call it that, had been finished before we arrived. The few acres where trees had been felled were full of stumps, and you had to dig the ground between them. We did have a plough and an elderly cow to pull it. But often it was worse than useless because it kept getting caught on tree roots.

Mr. McNish apologized over the stumps. “They're so big the best way to get rid of them is to wait a few years till they rot,” he told me.

I found I could work more soil loose with a wooden spade. We were in time to help plant the seed wheat and seed potatoes, and a few carrots and turnips, and in more than enough to help clear land. I thought my hands were tough from wielding a blacksmith's hammer, but chopping with an axe or pulling one end of a saw while Cade pulled the other soon had them well blistered. Cade's were not quite as bad as mine, since he had spent more time working with Papa, but he found chopping and sawing a trial.

“My shoulder's killing me,” he complained one afternoon when we had been sawing most of the day.

“I'm not surprised,” said I, wondering at his seeming lapse of memory. “That's the shoulder the militiaman hit last year.”

“So it is,” he replied, rubbing it. “Haven't thought of that for some time.”

He certainly was a cool one. If a soldier had put a bullet in me, I would not have overlooked it so casually. “I think we should stop now,” I said. “We've plenty of brush to clean up and that'll be easier on you.”

Cade frowned. “I hope this doesn't mean I won't be able to pull my weight when we clear our own land.”

The tree felling was the part I liked the least, though I knew how much of it lay ahead. What I did like was caring for the animals. The McNishes, like almost everyone else, had only a few and some were old. The cow had long been dry, and was too aged to be bred if there had been a bull in the country. There were a sow with a litter of fourteen squealing piglets, some hens with their fluffy chicks scratching around the buildings, and a duck with downy yellow ducklings which swam about on a pond created by digging a big hole and letting it fill with water. Mr. McNish had kept some seed wheat to feed the fowl, and the adult ones were fat, their feathers shiny. One of my tasks was to split rails and build an enclosure for the pigs. When Mr. McNish showed me how big he wanted it, I was surprised.

“If it's too small,” he told me. “They'll soon have it all churned to mud. Pigs love to be clean, and I hate to see them lying about in filth with nothing to do. I want them to have room to root about and to stay dry.”

“In Schenectady everyone let their pigs run loose,” I told Mr. McNish.

“That's against the law here,” he replied. “If an animal is found on someone else's property, its owner can be fined. The magistrates insist on cash, which hardly anybody has.”

Each Saturday at dusk, Cade and I set out for home. Mama was usually standing on the stoop below the cabin door, waiting for us and smiling. By the time we had washed in a wooden basin on a stand outside, Elizabeth would have a meal served. We seated ourselves at the round butternut table Papa had made and tucked into fresh bread that had been baked in an iron kettle on the hearth. With it went hearty stew, lumpy with carrots, onions and potatoes, and fish which the younger boys had caught, or, if we were lucky, venison. We had brought some plates and cups from Schenectady, but most of the food was served on wooden trenchers which we had made after we finished the cabin.

“I've missed you,” I told Elizabeth as she ladled out a second helping into my trencher. “Being away all week doesn't leave us much time to talk.”

Of all the people in my family, I was closest to Elizabeth. On those rare occasions when we were by ourselves, we sometimes talked about our old home in Schenectady. But when the rest of the family was present we avoided the subject. It pained Papa to remember the way his own countrymen had treated him. Mama, too, usually didn't want to be reminded of the past. Some day, we told each other, when we were grown up we would make our home together. We would live in peace and quiet and be able to talk about the things that interested us whenever we liked.

“I've missed you, too, Ned,” Elizabeth said. “Now I've no one I can confide in when things get me down.”

“You two always were thicker than thieves,” Cade said with a chuckle. “Well, you'll have to share her one day.”

“What do you mean by that?” I demanded sharply, not liking his tone.

My question was answered by a thump on the door. Sam, dozing in a chair nearby, jumped up and opened it. In marched big, brawny Dave Shipman, and Elizabeth rose from the table.

“I won't be a moment,” she said.

“Where're you going?” I asked our visitor.

“To the dance in Coleman's new barn,” Dave replied.

“Who else is going with you?” Mama asked him.

“Just about everyone, Ma'am,” Dave said. “They're all waiting outside now. Why don't you come, too, Ned?”

I went to look out, and some dozen lads and girls were milling about. For a moment I was tempted, but I decided I was too bone weary to dance after working all week.

Elizabeth donned a shawl and a straw bonnet and they left. I sprawled, elbows on the table, watching Cade and Sam stuff their pipes. The food had dulled my senses and my head began to nod. “I'm for bed,” I said, rising, moving towards the ladder to our loft.

Divided in two by a partition, it was sleeping space for all but Mama, Papa and Robert. They shared our groundfloor bedroom. Boys slept in one half of the loft, Elizabeth and five-year-old Sarah in the other, along with anything Mama wanted stored there. I had barely landed on my straw mattress before I lost consciousness.

“Sleepyheads!” It was Sam's voice, and I sat up slowly. “If you want breakfast before the service look sharp.”

Cade was stretching and rubbing his eyes. Of Smith and Stephen there was no sign.

Each Sunday morning people gathered together in a field that belonged to one of our neighbours, Mr. Boyce. We had no church, and most of the time no preacher. One of the men would read from the Bible. Then we groaned through a tuneless hymn, and someone else led us in prayer. Afterwards we had a better than usual dinner. The rest of the day we spent quietly. Only essential chores, like feeding our few animals, interfered with our day of rest.

The second Sunday in August turned out to be different. When we got home from the McNishes on Saturday, our stallion, sleek from a good rubbing down, was in our small fenced paddock. In the cabin we found Papa seated at the butternut table, eating, Mama beside him and looking happy to have him home.

“We're to have a special service tomorrow,” she said.

“Yes indeed,” Papa added. “I rode here with Elder Heck, the Methodist circuit rider from Augusta, near the Sherwood's. He's going to preach tomorrow.”

The next morning as we ate our breakfast, Mama eyed our worn garments with dismay. “How I wish we had some decent clothing. And I must make Ned some new breeches. Fortunately I have enough deerskin on hand. Remind me to measure you before you leave tonight for the McNishes.”

“We won't be this hard up forever,” Papa said lightly. “Anyway, most of our neighbours look the same. Elder Heck's concerned about our souls, not our appearances.”

Once fed, we washed at the stand outside, and hair combed we were ready to accompany our parents to Mr. Boyce's field. There Elder Samuel Heck was awaiting his congregation of the morning. He was a lanky, earnest-looking man. Very young for his calling, he had high cheekbones and a long nose as slim as himself. A generous Adam's apple bobbed up and down when he swallowed, and in his black suit he looked like a crow. Just before he was to begin, Mama placed Sarah and Robert off by themselves at the edge of the field and told them to make daisy chains until she came back for them. Sarah, the monkey of the family, would never listen to a service, and people around would be distracted by her antics. Mama knew she would be better behaved playing with our youngest brother.

Elder Heck's sermon was filled with hellfire and damnation, but most of the time the men thought him funny and they roared in delight. Whenever Mr. Heck asked a question, they shouted back answers. I enjoyed myself, for this was much more lively than our usual services. Papa, too, looked happy, but Mama's lips were sometimes pursed in disapproval.

The sermon ended and the hymn began. By the time the prayer started my stomach was grumbling. Smith, standing beside me, spluttered. This brought a stern look in our direction from Papa. The reproof could not silence my hunger rumblings, but it did curb Smith's mirth. To my dismay, even after the service was over the gathering did not break up. Everyone wanted a chance to thank Elder Heck for coming.

“A fine sermon,” Papa told our visitor when were able to get close. “You surely have a way with words, Elder Heck.”

When Mama had her turn to speak with the preacher, Elizabeth fetched Sarah and Robert, and Papa lined us up according to age to be introduced. “Caleb Junior,” he began, using Cade's real name. “Samuel, Elizabeth, Nehemiah, Smith, Sarah, Stephen and Robert.”

“A fine family, Mr. Seaman,” the elder commented. “You are much blessed.”

Afterwards Mama chatted with some of the other women, and I joined Elijah Coleman and my other crony, Jesse Boyce. Seeing Elizabeth deep in conversation with Dave Shipman, Elijah poked me in the ribs. “Dave's sweet on your sister,” he jeered.

I ignored him, and also the stab of jealousy I felt. Anyway, Elizabeth was only fourteen, and I knew Mama would never have let her go to the dance with just Dave. She had agreed because they were with a crowd. Now I longed to be off. Mama did not show signs of leaving until Robert, as starving as I, began to whine and pull at her skirts. Finally we were digging into two fat chickens that Mama had left keeping warm in an iron pot and downing mugs of cider, a special treat.

That afternoon I was lying under our big oak tree dozing over
Pilgrim's Progress
which Mama had borrowed from the Colemans. The adventures of Christian kept putting me to sleep, but Mama wanted me persevere. She said the book might improve my mind. I was released when Cade roused me.

“Papa wants to talk to us about the timber raft,” he said.

Papa was outside the cabin with Sam, and we four seated ourselves on the front stoop. “Is the work for Captain Sherwood very hard, Papa?” I asked him.

“Not really,” he replied. “The chopping and sawing are heavy, but we pace ourselves. Handling such large logs has to be done carefully, and we take plenty of time. I think that building our raft will take much longer than I anticipated. I had thought we might have one ready by next spring, but now I think the summer or autumn of '92 is more likely.”

Sam looked crestfallen. “So long before we can hope for hard cash,” he murmured.

“Disappointing,” Cade agreed. “How big a raft do you want, Papa?”

“The same size as Captain Sherwood's,” Papa said. “His will have four hundred large logs, and he started it last winter. I don't think we can work as fast as he can. He owns three hefty black servants, and he can afford to hire other men besides myself.”

“By servants don't you mean slaves?” I asked.

“Calling them servants is a polite way of covering up what they really are,” Papa agreed. “I don't hold with slavery. The first Seamans on Long Island were Quakers. Ever since those days our family has refused to own human beings.”

“I still think we could have a raft by next spring,” Sam argued, returning to the subject of the raft. “We only took a few days to build one during our journey from Schenectady.”

“Come on, Sam,” Cade broke in. “That was just a little raft, to carry our things when the ground became too rough for a wagon. For the life of me I can't imagine how we'll handle some of those huge pines.”

“I'm learning to use levers, pulleys and ropes which make the work a lot lighter,” Papa told us. “And to work safely. That's most important. And I don't think there's much point in taking a smaller raft all the way to Quebec, more than three hundred miles. I say we take more logs and reap a higher return for the journey. Remember, we have to sleep at inns on the way back and pay our fares on the stage coach and the bateau brigade no matter how small the raft.”

That made good sense to Papa, but not quite so much to us. At thirteen, having to look ahead as much as a month daunted me. Sam's patience was tried as quickly as mine though Cade seemed resigned. Being the eldest he had grown up faster than Sam or me.

“Now,” Papa continued. “Once the harvest is in, we'll need a cabin on our land, for shelter throughout the winter. I hope you, Ned, and Cade, with the help of the Mallory boys, will be able to do that when you finish work at the McNishes. The Mallorys have a land grant just four miles east of ours. I met Mr. Mallory at Johnstown recently. He's agreed to loan us his sons, Elisha and Jeremiah, in return for our selling some logs from their land, which we'll build into the raft. Have you any questions?”