Chapter 2 Farmer Ned

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?”

“You want all three of us to stay on our land, Papa?” I asked.

“Most of the time,” he replied. “You'll have to take turns being with Mama and at the shop, but our efforts this winter will be preparing timber for the raft. I expect to be home to stay some time in November. I intend accompanying the Sherwoods to Quebec, to learn how to sail a raft.”

“That's a good idea,” Cade said. “From what I've heard, the Long Sault Rapids are colossal, and sometimes rafts break up on them. The more we know about the river the better.”

The others went inside but I hung back and touched Papa's arm as he was turning to follow them. “I must speak to you alone,” I whispered. “About Cade.”

Papa's brow furrowed. “What about him, Ned?”

“His shoulder, where he was shot. It's paining him.”

“Oh, no,” Papa groaned. “I've been afraid he might have trouble after such a wound.”

“It's the sawing that bothers him the most,” I went on.

Papa's face brightened. “Then we mustn't let him do too much of it.”

“You know he'll want to do his share. He's like that.”

“Don't worry, Ned. There'll be plenty of other things he can do that will be easier on his shoulder. I haven't told you everything we'll be doing. Whenever Cade has had enough he can keep watch on the fire we'll need to burn the branches. We're going to make potash from the wood ashes, as the Sherwoods do. Captain Sherwood went to Montreal for a few days, and on his return he gave me a contract from a Montreal merchant to buy whatever potash we can make. There's a great demand for it, and it brings hard cash. We'll have some money even before the raft's ready.”

That night Mama measured me for the breeches, as she had promised. “The old ones will do for the summer, and you'll have new ones before you go to our estate this fall,” she said.

The rest of August and all of September passed with agonizing slowness as we went about our chores at the McNishes. First came oats, which we cut with scythes and thrashed by hand, beating the sheaves on large stones and collecting the kernels. Then came the wheat, and we carried the sacks to Coleman's grist mill, returning for the flour when it was ready. I had tried staying in the mill, but the dust made my eyes so sore and I sneezed so much that I kept out of there as much as I could.

We pulled carrots and dug the potatoes and stored them in the McNish root cellar. We gathered the ears of Indian corn, the squashes and pumpkins. The corn was hung from rafters in the old cabin; the squashes and pumpkins were preserved in salty brine. At last October dawned and our work was over.

We knew we had been working to learn, but to our delight Mr. McNish gave us some produce as payment. To Cade he presented one of the young pigs, and to me a pair of chickens. Mrs. McNish, who was Mr. Bueir's sister, pressed a pair of ducks on us.

“The chicks and ducklings are a bit young to tell what sex they are,” she said. “If we haven't given you a male and female of each so you can start your own flocks, let us know and we'll make a trade.”

They decided to add some seed for the poultry, and we set off, first with the animals, making a second trip for the feed.

Next came the task of moving the items needed for winter to Buell's Bay for transport to our land. We were also taking some boards cut at Coleman's mill to floor and roof the cabin we were to build. For this, Sam had a surprise for us. During the summer Mama had had him build a two-wheeled cart and fashion iron rims for the wheels. Thus we were able to take our supplies to the river more easily than if we had had to carry them on our backs.

“I wanted to make a proper wagon,” Sam said. “But Mama pointed out, with the stallion away, a one-horse cart would make more sense.”

We borrowed Mr. Buell's bateau again. Sam would float back in it after dropping us on our land, carried along by the river's strong current. “I plan to start building our own boat as soon as I get back,” Sam told us. “Mr. Buell's promised to help out if I have any problems.”

Cade and I exchanged glances, both with the same thought. Was it possible that Sam was growing up and becoming more responsible? Below the hubbub of the others' talking, Cade nudged me. “I think Mama manages him better when Papa's out of the way.”

We had a time finding our land, for the days were so much shorter in October than on our visit of last May. When it grew too dark to see any longer, we drew the bateau up on a sandy beach, hoping it was ours. In the morning we found we had not gone quite far enough and set out again. When we reached our own beach, two lads a bit older than us were standing watching.

“I'm Elisha Mallory,” the taller one said, helping us draw up the bateau. “And this is my brother Jeremiah. We call the spot where we built our jetty Mallorytown Landing I reckon this should be Seaman's Landing.”

“That does have a nice ring about it” said I.

“Let's get started,” Cade said. “It's almost too cold now to sleep outdoors even with all the blankets we've brought.

“I guess, as the eldest Seaman on the job, you're the boss, Cade,” Elisha said. “Just say what you want done.”