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The Raid From Beausejour; And How The Carter Boys Lifted The Mortgage by Charles G. D. Roberts

C >> Charles G. D. Roberts >> The Raid From Beausejour; And How The Carter Boys Lifted The Mortgage

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"Is your head so taken up with scientific musings that you haven't
noticed how, lately, Will Hen Baizley has taken to going home this way
every afternoon, instead of by the short cut over the back road?
I expect he's got a girl down at the corners, or he wouldn't be coming
such a long way round. Anyway, when he gets to the top of the hill
he always sits down on our seat, and fills up his pipe. I've been
looking for a chance at him this long while!"

Will Hen Baizley was the most objectionable "tough" that Frosty Hollow
could boast. He was a bad-tempered bully, cruel in his propensities,
and delighting to interfere in all the innocent amusements of the
village youngsters. He was a loutish tyrant, and Ted had suffered
various petty annoyances at his hands for several years. In fact, the
boy was looking forward to the day when he might, without presumption,
undertake to give the bully a thrashing and deliver the neighbourhood
from his thraldom. As Will Hen, however, was about twenty years of age,
large, and not unskillful with his fists, Ted saw some years of waiting
yet ahead of him. Such suspense he could not endure. He preferred to
begin now, and trust to fate--and his brother Will--to pull him through.

Will raked the hay thoughtfully for a few minutes without replying.
He was a clear-headed youth, and he speedily caught the drift of
Ted's ideas.

"It'll be good enough for him," said Will, at length, "but you've got
a good deal of gall, it seems to me, young one! Why, Will Hen'll pound
you for it, sure. He'll know it's your doing."

"Let him pound, the brute!" answered Ted, defiantly. "Anyway, I don't
suppose _you_ are going to let him handle me _too_ rough! I dare
say he won't actually punch me, for fear of getting into a row
with you--though" (and here a wicked twinkle came into Ted's eye, for
he knew the pugnacity that lurked in his big brother's scientific
nature), "though he _does_ say he can particularly knock the
stuffing out of you!"

"Dear me," murmured Will, grinning thoughtfully. "If he talks to you
about it, tell him there isn't any stuffing in me to speak of."

During this conversation the boys had both, for a few minutes, forgotten
to watch the seat under the elm tree. Suddenly Ted glanced up, a thrill
of mingled apprehension and delight went through him as he saw Mr. Israel
Hand approaching the fatal spot.

"Look, quick!" he exclaimed, in a gleeful whisper.

Will looked. But Will was not amused.

"Hi! there! _Don't sit down_, Mr. Hand! Don't!" He yelled, jumping
into the air and waving his hay rake to attract additional attention.

But it was too late!

Mr. Israel Hand was tired and hot from his walk up the hill. He was vexed,
too, at the prospect of a disagreeable interview with Mrs. Carter, who
would not understand business matters. The seat beneath the elm was
a most inviting place. From it he could see the whole farm which he
meant presently to annex to his own broad acres. He was on the point
of seating himself when he heard Will's yell. He had a vague consciousness
that the boys did not love him, to say the least of it. He concluded
they were now making game of him. Why shouldn't he sit down? If it was
their seat now, it would soon be his, anyway.

"Impudent young scoundrels!" he muttered, and sat down firmly.

As the boys saw him crash through, and disappear, all but his head
and heels, in a great splash of leaves and blossoms and muddy water,
Ted fairly shrieked with uncontrollable mirth. But as for Will, he
was too angry to see the fun of the situation.

"There," he exclaimed, bitterly, with a ring in his voice that checked
Ted's laughter on the instant, "your tomfoolery has fixed us at last.
Out we'll go next spring, as sure as you want a licking. Hand'll
foreclose now, for sure; and I can't say I'll blame him. No use me
trying to stave him off now!"

Ted hung his head, feeling miserable enough, and casting about vainly
for an excuse.

"But I never--"

"O, don't wriggle, now," retorted Will, sternly. "You know you saw him
in time to warn him. You _wanted_ to get him into it. You just come along
with me, and apologize. If he _is_ an old skinflint, you've got to
remember he could have sold us out last year, only I succeeded in
begging off. Mother's high and mighty airs to him made the job twice
as hard as it might have been; but _you've_ made it _impossible_ to do
anything more. Now he'll have us out in a twelve-month--and I was just
getting things so into shape that with two years more I could have
saved the old place!"

As the boys climbed the hillside Will's face was very white, and his
mouth twitched nervously. He had taken hold of affairs about two
years before, stopped a number of leaks, and displayed great tact
in neutralizing the effects of Mrs. Carter's aristocratic and exclusive
notions. Mrs. Carter was a woman of untiring industry, most capable
in all household matters, but superbly uncommercial. Having got the
management into his own hands, and having entirely won his mother's
confidence, Will was beginning to see a gleam of light ahead of him.
If he could keep Mr. Israel Hand pacified for two years more, and yet
prevent the schemer from imagining that the mortgage was going to be
paid in the end, he felt that victory was his. Mr. Hand wanted the
farm--but if he could win a reputation for forbearance, and get the
farm not less surely in the long run, he would be all the better
satisfied. It was thus Will had gauged him. The boy's ambition was
to clear off the debt, and then earn something wherewith to finish
his own education and Ted's. Now, seeing the whole scheme nipped in
the fair bud by Ted's recklessness, small wonder if his heart grew hard.
Presently, however, catching sight of Ted's face of misery, stained
with one or two furtive tears, his wrath began to melt.

"Well, Ted," said he, "never mind now. It's no use crying over spilt
milk. You hadn't much time to think. I know you wouldn't have had it
happen for a good deal if you'd had time to think. Brace up, and maybe
we'll find some way out of the scrape!"

At this Ted's face brightened a little, and he ejaculated fervently:

"I wish I wasn't such an idiot!"

"Don't fret!" replied Will, and the two trudged on to the little white
gate in front of the yellow cottage, carrying grievous apprehensions
in their hearts.

Meanwhile, Mr. Israel Hand had extricated himself from the tub. He was
not hurt saving as regards his dignity. But his heart was absolutely
bursting with righteous rage. And yet, and yet, it was sweet to think
of the revenge that lay so close within his grasp. No one now could
accuse him of being too severe. Public feeling would justify his
course--and Mr. Israel Hand had a good deal of respect for public
feeling.

He did not pause to remove one atom of the sticky creek mud that
plastered grotesquely his rusty but solemn suit of black. Drenched
and defiled, he felt himself an object of sympathy. He would not even
remove the occasional green leaves and rosebuds that clung to him here
and there with a most ludicrous effect, making one think of a too
festive picnicker. Mr. Hand was quite lacking in a sense of the
ridiculous.

When he reached the door he knocked imperiously, and after a second,
rapped again. Mrs. Carter was busy in the kitchen. She resented the
hastiness of the summons. Under no circumstances would she let herself
be seen in the role of kitchen girl. She clung to appearances with a
tenacity that nothing could shake. Long practice in this sort of thing,
however, had made her very expert; and by the time Mr. Hand had
thundered at the knocker four or five times, his wrath getting hotter
as his damp clothes got more chilly, Mrs. Carter had made herself
presentable and was ready to open the door.

Severe and stately in her widow's garments, cool of countenance as if
she had been but sitting in expectancy of callers, she opened the door
and confronted Mr. Hand. Recognizing her unwelcome visitor, she drew
herself up to her full height, and the little, dripping old man looked
the more grotesque and mean by contrast.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Hand," she began in tones of ice; "can I do
anything"--but at this point she took in the full absurdity of his
appearance. With all her stateliness she had a keen appreciation
of the ridiculous, and it was from her that Ted derived his excess
of humor and his love of mischief. Passionately as she scorned Mr. Hand,
she could forget herself so far as to let him amuse her. Her large face
melted into a smile. She struggled to keep from open laughter.

"Look at me, just look at me, at my condition!" burst forth Mr. Hand
"This is some of the work of your two brats of boys, madam. I'll
horsewhip them, I'll have them horsewhipped!"

By this time Mrs. Carter was laughing unreservedly. She was consumed
with mirth, as Mr. Hand continued:

"O, yes! I don't doubt you put them up to it! I don't doubt you think
it is a great joke; a great joke, madam. But I'll make you smart for it!
You think there's no one in Frosty Hollow fit to associate with you, eh!
You're a pauper, and your brats are paupers! That's what you are.
I'll foreclose that mortgage at once, and out you'll go, just as quickly
as the course of law will permit. This time next year you'll have no
roof over your head, and everyone in the village will say I have done
quite right by you! I--"

"Really, Mr. Hand" exclaimed Mrs. Carter, interrupting, "you have
no right to appear before me in such a shocking condition. If you wish
to talk to me you must call again, and in more suitable attire. Excuse
me!" And she shut the door in his face.

Mr. Hand shook his fist at the big brass knocker, then turned to go.
The boys were just opening the little white gate. Mr. Hand paused
between the beds of sweet williams and canterbury bells. He was
in doubt as to the attitude he had better assume to Will and Ted.
Glancing along the road he saw the figure of Will Hen Baizley
inspecting curiously the ruins of the seat beneath the elm. Here
was an ally if need should arise. He decided on prompt retribution,
and seized his stick in a firmer grasp.




CHAPTER II.

THE HAND OF THE LAW.


"You pauper brats," began Mr. Hand, advancing along the garden path,
"I'll teach you to play your dirty tricks on me!" And he raised his
heavy cane.

With a quick movement of his arm, Will had the stick firmly in his
grip so that Mr. Hand could not stir it.

"Stop that, Mr. Hand!" said Will, quietly. "You mustn't do that, sir.
It was never intended _you_ should fall into that trap, sir. It was
set for another person altogether. You know, sir, you heard me yell
to you not to sit down on it!"

"Let go of my stick, you young scoundrel!" exclaimed Mr. Hand, somewhat
less outrageously than he had spoken before. The firmness of Will's
grasp and the steadiness of his glance had a quieting effect on the
money lender's temper.

"Certainly, sir," said Will, releasing the cane. "Only don't do anything
foolish. I don't wonder you are angry, very angry indeed. But I tried
to stop you. And now we want to apologize and tell you how sorry we--"

"Indeed, indeed we are sorry, sir," burst in Ted, impetuously. "We
wouldn't have had it happen for worlds, Mr. Hand!"

"Very likely not--not for a farm, in fact," retorted Mr. Hand with
elaborate sarcasm.

"But it was only I did it, and I'm the only one to blame, sir," urged
Ted, desperately, catching the full meaning of the last remark.

By this time Will Hen Baizley had approached. He paused in the middle
of the road, filled with curiosity. Catching sight of Mr. Hand's absurd
appearance, he understood what had happened. He saw the whole thing,
as he thought, and he relished the joke hugely. Shaking and cackling
with laughter, he came over and leaned against the picket fence. His
ridicule exasperated Mr. Hand, who suddenly resolved that he did not
want Mr. Baizley's assistance. He scowled menacingly at the young
ruffian, and then replied to Ted's beseeching plea:

"You needn't talk to me, and think you're going to come round me with
your soft soap. You're all alike, the whole lot of you. You play a
disgraceful trick on me, and then your mother slams the door in my face.
You're a pack of fools. When you're just paupers, at my mercy for the
roof that covers you, one'd think, even if you hadn't any decency,
you might know what side your bread was buttered on. I reckon you
expect everyone to lick your shoes because your name's Carter! Well,
your name's mud now. I'm going to foreclose right off, and out you'll
go next spring. And I don't want to hear no talk about it."

Ted's face got very red, and it was with difficulty he kept back the
tears of shame and bitterness, as he realized the consequences of
his folly. But Will Hen Baizley was there, so he held himself manfully
erect, and glared defiantly at the tough who was grinning over the fence.
Mr. Hand pushed past and was about to open the gate, when Will spoke:

"That's all right, Mr. Hand," said the tactful youth, soothingly. "Of
course I can't blame you. Don't think I blame you. Business is business,
and you might have honestly enough turned us out a year ago. We are
grateful to you, Ted and I, for having been so forbearing in the past.
_We_ won't complain a bit. And as for mother, why, sir, you mustn't
think hard of her if _she_ complains, because you know she doesn't
understand business. And then, she's had such a lot of trouble it has
made her a little quick tempered to some people."

These remarks were very gratifying to Mr. Israel Hand. They did not
alter his determination in the slightest degree, but they soothed
his sense of injury. They largely removed his desire for revenge,
and left nothing but his desire to possess the farm as soon as possible.
The astute Will rightly judged that an opponent with two motives for
hostility would be more difficult to handle than one with but a single
motive.

"Well," said Mr. Hand, "you know now exactly what I'm going to do.
You seem to be a very sensible young man, William, and please remember
it was only on your representations and at your earnest request that
I waited so long as I have. I look to you to prevent unnecessary fuss.
You must yield to the inevitable. So don't let your mother raise any
useless trouble. It won't do any good."

With a sense of satisfaction that quite outweighed the humiliations
he had suffered, Mr. Hand strode off down the hill, ignoring Will Hen
Baizley, and forgetful of the mud and rose leaves on his raiment.

"Haw!" exclaimed Will Hen Baizley. "That's a good un! You done that
slick! An' the old fellow b'lieved yer, too! Couldn't 'a lied out'n
it slicker'n that myself!"

"There was no lying about it," answered Ted, fiercely, flushing redder
than ever. But Will replied more calmly:

"What we told Mr. Hand was the exact truth, Will Hen. You can just bet
we didn't want to let _him_ in for that. No, sir-ee! It was another
lad altogether that little surprise party was intended for!"

And Will grinned mysteriously.

"Mebbe 'twas me you was after!" suggested Will Hen Baizley, with
a snarl.

"I wouldn't bother my head about who it was intended for, if I were
you," said Will, in a good-natured voice.

"Ef't had been me stidder old Hand, I'd 'a' broke every bone in yer
carkus," growled Baizley.

"It wasn't Will that fixed the trap, anyway," said Ted. "It was me,
and Will never saw it till he came up the hill just now!"

"O, 'twas you, was it!" remarked Will Hen Baizley. "_I_ see, I see!
Thought yer'd git square, eh? So it _was_ me you expected to see
flounderin' in that there old tub! I've 'most a mind to lick you fur it
right now!"

Ted laughed; and the tough made a motion to spring over the fence.

"Baizley!" said Will. And the fellow paused.

"Go slow, now!" continued Will, with an amiable smile, but with a
significant look in his eye. "I dare say you'd sooner fight than eat,
but you'd better go home to your supper just now. Anyway, you mustn't
come in here, for I don't want to be bothered!"

"Do you want to fight?" queried Will Hen Baizley, defiantly, but at
the same time withdrawing from the fence. "I can lick you out o'
yer skin!"

"But I don't want to be licked out of my skin, thank you, not this
evening!" responded Will, sweetly.

"Yer dars'n't come out here an' stand up to me," said the tough.

"O, go along, Will Hen, and quit talking to your hat," laughed Will,
picking up the hoe and beginning to attack some weeds. "Do you suppose
I've nothing better to do than punching your soft head? Maybe I'll
fight you some day when there's something to fight about, and then
you won't be half as eager. Bye-bye!"

At this Ted tittered with delight. As for Will Hen Baizley, he was
impressed by Will's confidence and coolness so much that he did not
really wish just then to try conclusions with him. Therefore he
contented himself with repeating his taunt of "you dars'n't!" and
swaggered slowly away. The boys went into the house.

They found their mother in high good humor. She felt that she had
come off victorious in the encounter with Mr. Hand, and she gave the
boys a spirited account of the interview. This was received by Ted
with unfeigned relish, but Will smiled rather grimly.

"And what was the impertinent old man saying to you out in the garden?"
inquired the lady at length.

"O, nothing more than we expected to hear, mother," replied Will.
"He merely gave us formal notice that he could let matters run on no
longer, but would foreclose instantly."

"By all means let him foreclose, as he calls it!" said Mrs. Carter,
loftily.

"We've got to let him, as we can do nothing else," answered Will.
"But it's a little tough to think we'll have to leave the old place
next spring!"

"Leave this place!" exclaimed Mrs. Carter, warmly. "Indeed, we won't
do anything of the sort. I should like to see him try to turn us out!
Old Hand, whose father used to blacken your poor grandfather's boots,
turn _us_ out of our own house! You don't know what you are talking
about, Willie!"

To this Will made no reply. He merely smiled very slightly, and thrust
his chin forward with an expression of mingled doggedness and good humor.
His mother felt that he was not convinced.

"But, mother," began Ted, "Will does know all about it. Old Hand _is_
going to--"

"You hush at once, Teddie," interrupted Mrs. Carter. "You are only
a little boy. As for Hand, if he attempts to interfere with me I will
drive over to Barchester and see the Hon. Mr. Germain about it. I will
go to law, if necessary, to defend our rights!"

"The trouble is, mother, in this matter we haven't any rights left
to speak of. It is the rights of Mr. Hand that the law will think of,"
said Will, gently.

"Willie," said his mother with severity, "I don't want to hear any
more nonsense. I'm sure it was not so when _I_ was young, that the
law would allow our domestics to trample upon us. The judges in those
days were all gentlemen. I'm sure, Willie, I don't know where you get
those low, radical ideas. I fear I have been foolish not to look more
closely into the kind of books you read!"

"Now, mother," began Ted, pugnaciously, fired as usual with indiscreet
zeal to make his mother see things with Will's eyes.

But Will interrupted him. "Come off, Ted," said he, "mother's right.
The very best thing she can do is to go and see Mr. Germain. Come along
now, it's time the cattle were tended."

"Hurry in again, then," said Mrs. Carter, mollified. "I'm going to have
pancakes for you to-night, because you've been working so hard."

"Bully for you, muz!" cried Ted, joyously, regardless of his mother's
aversion to slang. And Will smiled back his gratification as they
started for the barn.

In a few minutes the cow stable was musical with the recurrent bubbling
swish of the streams of milk which the boys' skilled hands were directing
into their tin pails.

"Say, Ted," exclaimed Will, from under the red and white flank of his cow.

"What's up now?" inquired Ted.

"I've just got hold of a brilliant idea," continued Will. "We may escape
old Hand yet, and come out of this scrape fairly and creditably."

"But you _are_ a clever old beggar!" responded Ted, in a voice of
admiration. "You've got the brains of the family! What is it?"

"Come down to the crick with me after tea, and I'll explain," said Will.
"But don't say anything to mother. It's no use worrying her, and she's
got enough to attend to!"

"Now don't keep me dying with curiosity," urged Ted, pausing in his
milking and turning round. "Just give me a hint, to keep me from
'bursting,' so to speak!"

"Well," answered Will, "it's _new marsh_ I'm after. Some more dike.
See? Now wait till we're on the spot. I'm thinking."

"By all means, _let_ it think if it can think like that," exclaimed
Ted, jubilantly, and went on with his milking. Already he saw the
mortgage lifted, and all their difficulties at an end, so unbounded
was his confidence in Will's resources.

After tea Will led his brother down to the marsh. Along the breezy
top of the dike the boys walked rapidly, one behind the other, the dike
top being narrow. It was near low tide, and the creek clamored cheerfully
along the bottom of its naked red channel. A crisp, salty fragrance came
from the moist slopes and gullies; and here and there a little pond, left
behind by the ebb, gleamed like flames in the low sunset.

Toward the upper end of the Carter farm the dike curved sharply inland
till it joined the steep slope of their pasture lot. Here was a spacious
cove, inclosed by the Carter's pasture lot on the south and west, by
their dike on the east, and on the north by the channel of the creek.
At the time the dike was built the channel had lain close in along
the foot of the upland, but it had gradually moved out to a straight
course as the cove filled up with sediment. Of this change the dike
itself had been the main cause. Now the cove appeared at high water
as a bay or lagoon; but very early in the ebb its whole surface was
uncovered, and, except along the outermost edge, thin patches of salt
grass were already beginning to appear.

To this spot the boys betook themselves, treading the way gingerly
over the tenacious but slippery surface. Will pointed to a half barrel
sunk level in the ooze. It was full to the brim with fine silt.

"What do you think of that?" inquired Will, mysteriously.

Ted racked his brain for a suitable reply. He could gather no clew
to Will's purpose, so he remarked:

"Very nice, healthy looking mud, seems to me? Going to sell it for
brown paint?"

"Paint!" exclaimed Will, scornfully. "But how long do you suppose
that tub has been there?"

"Looks as if it had been there from the year one," replied Ted, still
hopelessly adrift.

"_I_ put _it_ there just three weeks ago!" said Will, watching
his brother's face.

"You _did!_" said Ted, blankly. Then a light dawned upon him.
"But that's mighty quick work!" he continued. "You don't mean to tell
me that all that mud was deposited by the tide in three weeks!"

"Every bit of it!" averred Will. "You see the Tantramar water is just
loaded with silt. It has so much that the moment it stops to rest
it throws down as much of the load as it can. When it gets moving,
regularly under way, it has to pick it up again. But the longer it
stops the more it throws down; and the slower it moves the less it
picks up again. Inside the tub it is always slack water, so whatever
falls there stays there. That's why the tub has filled up so quick.
Nearly a foot and a half in three weeks! Why, Ted, a raise of a foot
and a half along the outer slope of this cove, and we could dike in
the whole cove. See?"

Ted's eyes grew round and triumphant at the suggestion.

"But how can it be done?" he asked

"Won't we have to wait till the tide does it for us?" and his tone
dropped gradually from elation to dejection.

"Not much!" said Will, turning back to the dike. "Just look here a
minute!"

Seating himself on the dike top, he took a book from his pocket and
began making rough diagrams on the fly leaf.

[Illustration: Diagram of Warping Dykes.]




CHAPTER III.

A PIECE OF ENGINEERING.


Ted craned his neck eagerly to watch the movements of Will's pencil.

"You know," began Will, with his head on one side, "in some parts of
the world, when they want to make the tide work for them, they use
things they call 'warping dikes.' These run on a slant out from the
shore toward the channel. They generally slope up stream pretty sharply.
The tide comes in, loaded right up with fine mud, flows over and into
and around the long lines of warping dike, then stops and begins to
unload. Now, you see, when there are no warping dikes, the current
has nothing to delay it, so it soon gets going on the ebb so fast that
it washes away pretty near all it has deposited. But these warping dikes
bring in a new state of affairs. They so hinder the ebb that there is
more silt deposited, and at the same time there is less current on the
flats to carry the mud away. As the engineers say, there is not so much
'scouring'--a first-rate word to express it. Haven't you noticed how,
in some spots, the current seems to scour away all the mud and leave
naked stones and pebbles?"

Pages:
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John Crace digests A Question of Upbringing by Anthony Powell

My English teacher is wearing a barrister's wig. He turns and points towards me as I sit trembling in the dock. "Members of the jury, I put it to you that this man, Tom Robinson, is innocent," he says, rather lugubriously. I want to protest. I want to shout that no, I am not Tom Robinson, but yes, I am innocent! But the words won't come out.

Then I wake up. It's another literary dream – one that's troubled me ever since I studied Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird for GCSE.

Most of the time I'm disappointed to leave my literary dreams, waking to realise that I'm not really ensconced with with the boozing Welsh pensioners from Kingsley Amis's The Old Devils or haven't really been thrashing Harry Potter's Quidditch team. I remember with fondness a skiing trip with William Shakespeare and the delightful discovery that Don DeLillo was serving drinks behind the bar in my local pub.

It's not all sunshine, though. Tom Wolfe once ruined a trip to New York, shouting at me across Fifth Avenue: "You're not even familiar with my work – get outta town, asshole!" But that's nothing on Howard Jacobson. I spent a summer discovering his novels during my waking hours and bumping into him in my sleep. I'd see him in a local restaurant and tell him how much I was enjoying his novels. "Oh right," he'd snap, "that old chestnut, huh?" When I met him for real last year he was, in fact, charm personified. I didn't tell him about the dreams.

But enough about my subconscious, what about yours? It's Friday: forget about work and tell me all about your literary dreams. Don't hold back – it's not like we'll read anything into it.

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John Crace digests The Catcher in the Rye by JD Salinger
1000 novels is a seven-part series free with the Guardian and the Observer. Each day covers a different genre: love, crime, comedy, family & the self, state of the nation, sci-fi & fantasy and travel & adventure.

John Crace digests Love in a Cold Climate by Nancy Mitford

John Crace cuts Holden Caulfield's struggles with the phonies down to size

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