The Shaybacks in camp; ten summers under canvas

Front matter

TH[-5HAYBACKVIN-(AMP

PAKi\ow5

Class P" /OS ^

Contents

CHAFTEB FAaS

I. GypsYiNQ IN Maine 1

II. A Gypsy Ciam-Bake .-<... 22

Chapter I. Gypsying In Maine

If all the items had been put down in the way-bill, they would have run somewhat in this wise : —

1 gypsy minister. 1 gj^sy minister's wife. 1 gypsy maiden, — Arline. 1 gypsy child, Pusskin, a four-year-oldster. 1 gypsy chum, Thomas. 1 trunk. 1 valise. 1 camp-stove. 1 tiny kerosene stove. 1 wall tent. 1 A tent. 125 feet lumber. 1 box canned fruit.

1 box crackers.

1 box utensils.

2 straw beds.

10 lbs. sugar, loose in a box.

2 loaves of bread on top of the sugar. 1 axe.

1 saw.

1 hammer.

1 gal. kerosene oil.

3 lbs. nails.

1 roll blankets and pillows. 1 lantern.

1 bundle waterproofs.

Various odds and ends.

At the time we contemplate it, the whole of the above-mentioned outfit is loaded on a hay-rack for the forward movement we are about to describe. The point of departure was a beautiful white birch grove on the banks of the Penobscot, which our Methodist brethren had preempted for camp-meeting purposes. Here, at the kind suggestion of Tom, we had spent a pleasant week with this zealous, openhearted tribe of Israel, worshiping under the same vine and birch-tree, and even singing the " Gospel Songs " in the Methodist choir.

The grove was thickly crowded with cottages and tents, the latter consisting for the most part of wooden frames covered with cotton cloth. The Shaybacks began by hiring one of the largest of these tents at the reasonable rate of two dollars a week. They had preceded the regular camp-meeting by about a week, and had caught but the auroral flush of the dawning excitement. The tribe was expected in great force after the formal opening. Mr. Shayback, being a minister, was delighted to be waked up at half-past four in the morning by the loud-voiced man in the next tent, who fervently poured out his spirit at that hour before going forth to fish. There was an unconditional frankness about it. This man had no secrets from the Lord; none from the rest of the camp-meeting. Mrs. Shayback, with slumbering impiety, could not share the delight of her husband at being roused so early in the morning. Arline likewise seemed to wish that the vociferous representative of early piety would pray, if pray he must, like ancient Hannah, who " spake in her heart ; only her lips moved, but her voice was not heard." There was a moving quality about this brother's prayers. It moved him early in the morning; it moved the Shaybacks also. It finally resulted in moving them out of the camp-ground altogether. They longed for more rest and soHtude ; they longed to listen to some of those secrets of Nature which she will only disclose in a private interview.

Thomas and Mr. Shayback went on an exploring expedition. They discovered a beautiful point some four miles down the river. It was promptly decided to migrate. The Shaybacks paid their bills, returned thanks to Mr. Calderwood, the kindly superintendent, hired a hay-rack, and loaded it with the afore-mentioned passengers and freight. A sorrel horse was invited to furnish the motive power, and Thomas undertook the responsible task of teamster. Of the religion of that horse there is great uncertainty. He either did not believe in the perseverance of the saints, or else modestly refused to consider himself of their number. Ready-to-Halt is the name which most nearlycorresponded with his character. His readiness in this direction was sometimes an inconvenience. Of the religion of Thomas I can speak with more certainty after having seen him drive this horse. Thomas has since maintained that the horse was maligned. He, however, did nothing to malign him. A mule, according to army notions, will not pull unless his character is blackened with opprobrious epithets. Thomas, however, drove his horse by reins, not curses.

Will any of the martyrs of travel tell us what are the glories of riding on a rail compared with those of riding on a rack ? The " hay " on this occasion was altogether a fiction ; the " rack " was a positive and jubilant fact. Thomas took his seat in the bow, Mrs. Shayback and the four-year-oldster amidships. Rev. Mr. Shayback and Arline sitting in the stern. Thomas gathered up the rudder lines and we rolled off. Up the slight incline the sorrel moved with much deliberation until we struck a level stretch of road, when our pilot called for more steam and the sorrel swung into a brisk trot. What an unreportable exhilaration, especially on the "hind end" of the rack ! There is no place where you can get so much motion out of the same amount of ride, especially if you discard all enervating cushions and ride on the top of a box of loose habits. When you first start you are conscious of sitting on the box. But this consciousness gradually leaves you as the vibration rises from your feet and ascends in a continuous ague through every bone in your body. You are no longer riding on a box, you are riding on a tremor. You are insulated from head to foot in an ecstatic thrill. Suddenly the hind wheels strike a rock or drop into a hole. You fly into the air. When you come down you feel perfectly certain that the box is under you, and that it succeeded in getting down first. If the ancient martyrs had only been put on a rack of this kind instead of those then in use, they might have ridden to heaven without jarring anybody's feelings but their own. " How invigorating this is," thought Mr. Shayback, as he bobbed up and down on the box with uncertain rhythm. "I don't be- Heve, though, that I should make a very good battering ram. A man needs an iron constitution to make a good hammer. One ought to wear his winter clothes and have his bones well sheathed in fat to do justice to the end of a hay-rack."

A cry of distress from Arline sent a thrill through every nerve.

^' Stop ! stop ! The sugar ! the sugar ! " Thomas brought old sorrel close up to the wind, threw out his anchor, seized a spoon, and sprang to the rescue. The box containing ten pounds of sugar (at thirteen cents a pound) had tumbled through the rack. There was a beautiful white wake of sugar in the middle of the road, and close by lay the mangled remains of a loaf of bread, — not much mangled, either, for the wheel had gone through it lengthwise, and cut it in two as clean almost as if it had been done with a knife. It was a melancholy sight, but we gathered the fragments and spooned up the dust with care (not more than one spoonful of sand to two of sugar), and Thomas, who knows some of the secrets of the grocery business, declared we had made money by the operation. When we started again, Arline thought there was a little too much staccato at the extreme end of the wagon, and moved forward to seek a smoother legato.

'' Port your helm, Tom ; port, my boy ; " and Thomas pulled out just in time to avoid a three-foot precipice at the edge of the road. The old sorrel did not seem to mind the rudder very well. He was too fond of tacking, even when he had a free wind.

Presently we came to the foot of a high and exceedingly steep bluff. Its angle was absolutely painful, and its great height discouraging to all aspiration. Ready-to-Halt seemed to lose heart when he looked at it. Job, in his masterly description of the horse, speaks of his swallowing the ground. He did not refer to this horse, for Ready-to-Halt seemed to have no appetite for this hill whatever ; and though the load was far from heavy, it did seem a big hill for one horse to swallow. Just at the foot of the slope was a little house. A blind man here had gained local repute by his skill in telling fortunes. Arline, though metaphorically a gypsy herself, was very desirous of testing his prophetic power, and, with Mrs. Shayback, proposed to do it as the load went up the hill. The fortune-teller would have had plenty of time to spin his fables had he waited for the accomplishment of this lofty intent. But Ready-to-Halt did not propose to go up there without all the help that he could get. He took a little bite of the slope and then stopped to digest it. Mr. Shayback shouted for the ladies. They came quickly to the rescue, and the fortune-teller was robbed of his gain. A man sitting listlessly in his doorway prophesied that we could " never get up the hill." This was a cheerful assurance to begin with. What should v/e do? If just then we could have borrowed a half mile of

Hoosac Tunnel ! But the biggest tunnel we had was a three-inch stovepipe. It would cost us a million dollars to cut a road through that hill^ and there was no time to spare. It would have taken us four miles out of our way to go round. So we chose the hill itself. No, we did not choose it; the choice was Hobson's. Happily the ladies had on their neat, pretty gymnastic suits, with skirts dropping to the top of their boots. They did not have to bind their hands in holding up their dresses.

" Now, Arline, take a stone and be ready to block the wheel when R. T. Halt comes to a stop ; and, Mrs. Shayback, take another, and meanwhile push all you can."

Ready-to-Halt makes a start. We put all our strength into the wheel ; up we go, about thirty feet, when the horse suddenly halts, and the whole load comes upon our shoulders, and horse, too, for that matter, as he leans comfortably back upon the rack. The wagon begins to back. It is a precarious moment. If it once gets under way, no one knows what will become of the load. Just in the nick of time the women cleverly throw the stones under the wheels, and we breathe freer.

The listless man at the foot of the hill shouts, " You can never get up that hill ! "

We begin to think there is some truth in his statement. We also think he would be kinder if he were to come up and put his shoulder to the wheel. We give Ready a good rest, and try it again. Ready is not balky, but he insists on having plenty of blowing stops, and we cannot tell just when he thinks one necessary till he halts, and that is generally at the wrong place. We have no whip, but Mr. Shayback shouts at the top of his lungs in a manner to frighten the beast out of his wits, if he were a horse of any tenderness of hearing. How we toil and sweat ! How bravely the women work ! And the four-year-oldster bears it very patiently, too, trudging along by the side of the road. If we could only hitch up some of that strong camp-meeting butter with the sorrel, how smartly they could draw that load !

We worked at it over an hour. It was truly a Hill of Difficulty, and the original hill of that name never tried the patience of Christian more than this tried ours. When half-way up we came to the most critical point, a section so steep that ascent seemed impossible. We took a good rest. Then summoning all the strength we could command, tongue-power, hand-power, foot-power, we gained this strategic point.

As we sat there panting by the roadside, the horse the least weary of the group, a man came up with a yoke of oxen and stopped a little distance behind our wagon. His attitude and bearing were mercenary rather than generous or helpful.

"A fine day," said we.

" Fine day," said he.

'' Pretty big hill to climb."

" Yes ; are you stuck ? "

" Stuck ! stuck ! " we exclaimed, with wellfeigned surprise, "What made you think so?"

" Well, a man down there said you were stuck. He said you never could get up that hill."

What a strange man ! What could have put such a notion in his head ?

The oxen-driver seemed very sorry that we were not stuck. We had a tough little piece of hill to climb yet, but he did not offer to help us. He was waiting for a bargain, the best bargain he could get. His team could be hired for a dollar. Had he offered to give us a lift we should have been glad to pay him for his generosity ; but when he insinuated that we could not get up without him, he raised all the pluck we had left. Arline was especially indignant. We started up old Ready ; the ladies took hold ; we carried the hill in triumph.

Oh, glorious vision of beauty ! We sat a moment on the hard-won summit to enjoy it. Below us the beautiful Penobscot, dotted with sails, cleft with wood-crowned isles, and indented with lovely coves. There is Islesboro, parting the waters of the broad bay, sprinkled here and there with cottages, and covered with groves. It hangs together by a little thread of land in the middle, over which the tide might almost wash. A dozen poetic little islands, with prosaic names (Flat, Highland, Seventy-five Acre, Hog Island, etc.), form the satellites in this beautiful archipelago. Five miles away Searsport nestles on the hillside, glistening in the sun. Below it we catch a view of Belfast Bay. Just; opposite, Castine is marked by that white lighthouse which in the distance looks like a little salt-cruet. Off to the east lies Sedgwick, and farther to the south. Deer Island. The bold outlines of the Camden hills are capped with mists as they rise into the sky, which to the east bends down to kiss the sleeping ocean. Hill and dale, isle, cove, and peninsula, the peaceful river, the ample bay, and the oceanbreadth beyond, all bathed in sunlight or toned with shade, formed one of the most lovely panoramic views we had ever seen.

" A man must climb," said Mr. Shayback, " if he is going to have a broad view of either moral or physical relations. It costs work to climb ; but it pays." I suspect that Mr. Shayback will be carting this hill into one of his sermons, or selling it to the religious press at so much a ton.

We were on the hill ; how were we to get down ? No lock-chain, no break. We tried to extemporize one. Mr. Shayback undertook to hold the wheels with a tent-pole. His ministry was not very successful. It would have been a sin to break a tent-pole. If he sinned at all he determined, in the words of the Prophet, to sin " with a cart-rope." We found the cart-rope in the wagon, and tied it to the back axle. Mr. Shayback and the ladies took hold and held back with all their strength.

Ready was a splendid horse on the breechins:. There is a difference in horses as in men. You find horses that are good on the breeching that are not much on the tug, and horses that are good on the tug that are not much on the breeching ; just as you find men that have go-ahead power but not much stay-power, or men that have stay-power who have no forward vim. Ready was a stay-back horse. As Tom said, " He went backward pretty well, going forwards." We descended the hill as slowly as a respectable funeral, presenting, I dare say, a very comical appearance, and reminding one of the appendage to Captain Crosstree in Robson's " Black-eyed Susan." Stretched out like the tail of a kite, grasping the knotted line till hands were almost blistered, Mr. Shayback, Mrs. Shayback, and Arline lay back on the rope till they almost touched the ground, and disputed every foot of the way. Completely begrimed with dust, the coatless Mr. Shayback looked more like a deacon than a minister, if we cling to the old derivation of " deacon " {hid, xovtg, ''one loJio is dusty ivith running"). The little four-year-old trudging after, the fat hands filled with asters and golden-rod, was the one bright spot in the picture. When Thomas let the sorrel out, as we reached the bottom, we were jerked around in a very lively manner, like a fish on the end of a line. It was very well for him to shout, " Let her run now." It was quite another thing, under the downward impulse, to stop " running ourselves.

We threw up our hats when we reached Captain Wright's gate. The sun had set. It was too late to pitch the tents. We had been three hours and a quarter in coming the four miles ! At this rate, Thomas will never be elected to a membership in the Society for the Promotion of Cruelty to Animals. We thanked him for his care, were sorry he had to go back, and besought him not to drive so fast on his way home. Captain Wright, an old seaman, and his wife gave us a cordial welcome. We never found a more hospitable roof, though it is doubtful if they had ever read the story of Baucis and Philemon, or expected reward for their trouble.

The next morning the two tents were pitched side by side on a beautiful spot, which was christened " Fern Point." As Thomas was obliged to remain at Northport with his family, the gypsy camp was reduced to Mr. and Mrs. Shayback, Pusskin, and Arline. Mr. Shayback had camped before for months on the Western plains ; Mrs. Shayback had camped in India ; but this was the first attempt of the Shayback family to camp together. As we recall that first family camp on the banks of the Penobscot the party seems small, the outfit meagre, the appliances rude. But the situation was lovely, the companionship delightful, and the rest and quietude grateful. When the camp historian wrote his letter to the " Christian Register " he gave a pen-and-ink sketch of the situation which we like to preserve in the vividness of the present tense : —

" And now our tents are pitched on a beautiful, grassy peninsula, whose rocky feet are washed by the waters of the bay. The little cove which it shelters is fringed with woods of spruce and cedar. In this cove we find a delightful bathing-place. Reposing beneath its bed are thousands of delicious clams waiting for the revealing spade. In this cove, Charles, the fisherman, anchors his wherry and his lobster-car. Charles is a kind, obliging fellow, who has a trawl out in mid-river with a line half a mile long and some five hundred hooks. He hauls it twice a day, and brings up varying quantities of cod, haddock, hake, etc., sometimes a dozen, sometimes one hundred and fifty at a haul. He gets plenty of mackerel with his jig. We are sure of a good supply of fish. Indeed, we can take our poles, and from the rocks before our tentdoor can catch a mess of cunner at almost any time. Milk and eggs grow on our neighbor's farm. Children bring us blueberries, whortleberries, and raspberries. Our little kerosene stove is a treasure, especially on a stormy day. It is suprising how much that stove can achieve under the tuition of Mrs. Shayback and Arline, though so small it could go under a silk hat. We have plenty of drift-wood on the shore when we need the larger camp stove. Our furniture is simple. Arline sawed the boards, Mrs. Shayback measured and fitted them, and Mr. Shayback nailed them down to the joists to make a ofood floor for the wall-tent. An inclosure of boards in the corner was filled with spruce boughs. On this was placed the fresh straw mattress, and the combination makes a springy, fragrant bed. Mr. Shayback occupies the A tent, where he sleeps on a rude bedstead of his own manufacture. Fresh moss dotted with violet leaves forms a beautiful carpet. The little one sleeps in a hammock suspended from stakes. Thomas made us a rough pine table, and Mr. Shayback has made a knock-kneed bench. In addition we have several very original camp-stools, contrived from driftwood by Mrs. Shayback. Bits of boards laid across fruit-cans, two or three stories high, make an excellent cupboard for the shining array of tin-ware. In good weather we cook and eat out-of-doors, and then we would not change dining-rooms with any hotel in the country. We are half a mile from the road ; we see no teams, we have no dust, no interruption^. The river in front is our roadway. The steamboats salute us as they pass. In the fogs voices from bewildered schooners sometimes shout to us to know their way. Storm or shine, we never lack for amusement. We have a compact little library in the valise. There is a great book all about us, which, for a reverent reader, hath ' a voice of gladness, and a smile and eloquence of beauty.' Now let the rain descend and the floods come and the winds blow ; we shall only lengthen our cords and strengthen our stakes. Here in this verdant, breezy solitude, far from the noise and the bustle of the world, we bid dull care away."

Chapter II. A Gypsy* Clam-bake

The Rev. Mr. Shayback was standing shoeless on the rocks — lest, like the wicked, his feet should slide — inviting, with his fishingpole, a few cunners to dine with him at one o'clock. The ladies had gone out to sail with George William, the young skipper. A thin veil of fog hung over the river and the hills. The landscape here is of the utmost modesty, and veils of this material are deemed indispensable at this season of the year. The sound of oars up the river attracted the reverend angler's attention. Tom had not visited them at Fern Point since the eventful journey with the sorrel some days before. He had promised to come by water the next time. His presence was daily hoped for. There was a rent in the curtain of fog, and the long-expected boat, still wrapped in a haze of filmy blue, hove in sight. A welcoming war-whoop rang over the rocks, and was answered from the boat and by the tireless echoes in the neighboring hills, always on the watch to mimic our voices, yet doing it in such a natural and lovable way that we could not find fault with their mockery. The boat soon landed, with Tom, his wife, little Carl, and a friend. The camp was inspected, and pronounced a success ; the scenery was viewed, and extolled beyond measure ; but it was noticed that Tom's eyes seemed to rest with fondest admiration upon the shores of our cove.

"Clams?"

" Yes, a splendid clam-yard."

"Mr. Shayback," said Tom, with the tenderest emotion, " there is a void within which longs to be filled ; the fact is, I am in a half -starved condition, and nothinof will satisfy the unusual demands of my appetite but about half a bushel of those clams."

" Thomas," said Mr. Shayback, with comforting assurance, " you can draw on that clam-bank to any amount you wish. Your draft shall be honored. I will indorse your check immediately with a good spade."

" A clam-bake, then it is ! "

We borrowed a spade and a hoe from Captain Wright. It is easy to borrow when you are camping, — much easier to borrow than it is to return. This clam-bank possessed an unusual amount of deposits, and, as the tide was low, we were just in banking hours, and found a ready payment. Mrs. Tom picked up and washed the bivalvular coin as it issued from the mint.

" Poor creatures buried alive here under the soil, how thankful they must be to be exhumed from their living graves and commended to a more honorable destiny ! " And Mr. Shayback worked with that excess of zeal which many people exercise when they mistake their own pleasure for an act of charity to others.

" This is the tru3 symbol of missionary work," thought Mr. Shayback ; " it is the minister's work to raise people from the mud ; " and he dug with still greater enthusiasm. But when he thought of the roast which was to follow he found it more difficult to reconcile it with his notions of salvation. However, he knew that the roast was but a finite evil, and that the bivalvular martyrs simply suffered translation to a higher form of existence. What better use can be made of a clam or a fish than to make it minister, through the great law of sacrifice, to human development? Mr. Shayback has no sympathy with the wanton sportsman who destroys merely for the sake of the destruction he wreaks ; who kills harmless creatures which neither he nor any one else can appropriate. It seems to him only a lower form of murder when he hears of men shooting right and left into a herd of buffalo simply to see who can make the largest score. The same is true of superfluous fishing simply to get the largest catch. But when, at the suggestion of a hungry stomach, the bullet speeds to its mark, the hook establishes a welcome communication, — welcome, alas ! at but one end, — or the inquisitive spade prosaically turns over a few fat clams, the moral conditions are altered. Think of the dignity to which this clam is elected. He leaves the low, earthy, brainless life which he has led, and by a process of rational, human selection leaps at one bound clear over centuries of differentiation and myriads of intermediate forms, and incorporates his life with that of humanity. His bland juices mingle with the ascending chyle, pulse through the gateways of the heart, bound on the crimson tide which bears fuel to bone and nerve, or burns with intellectual flame in the thought fires of the brain. Sudden and exalted ascension! Instead of mounting the slow ladder of evolution, he is Elijah-like swiftly translated into a higher realm of being. How much better than dying of stupidity in a mud flat !

Dame Shayback, Arline, and little Pusskin soon returned from their sail and assisted in excavating our seashore dinner. Meanwhile,

Tom had gathered some stones and piled them up into a round, flat pile on a convenient rock near the shore, and built a good fire upon them. In thirty minutes the stones were thoroughly heated. The fire was then put out, the embers removed, the stones brushed perfectly clean with boughs, and a bushel of clams was dumped on the hot stones and completely covered with sea-weed. How they sizzled and steamed, and, opening their clammy mouths, prophesied of good things to come !

Bread and butter, crackers and condiments, were brought down from the tents. After ten minutes the sea-weed was removed, and our dinner was before us, spread upon its rocky table.

The man who sits down at a clam-bake must have a digestion void of offense. He must ask no question for conscience' sake, but abandon himself with reckless temerity to the inviting opportunity. Thomas seemed to be exactly such a man. There was a heroism in his appetite which reminded one of the Charge of the Six Hundred, only it was the clams that entered the jaws of death. Some blueberries, a patent " surprise pudding " of Mrs. Shayback's invention, and a variety of incidentals, which if named would only excite envy, furnished the aftermath. So far as the dinner was concerned the motto of the company seemed to be, " Let justice be done though the heavens fall." But the heavens did not fall ; there was no rain and scarcely a cloud to mar the beauty of the day.

The subsequent events of that day I will not describe ; but when we retired to our luxurious couches that evening, Mrs. Shayback and Arline wrote in their journals as follows : —

Rose in the morning.

[Time omitted, but fact undoubted.]

Breakfast on mackerel, cunner, silver hake, rock cod, with oatmeal, milk, crackers, eggs, and blueberries.

Sail with George William.

Delightful clam-bake at noon with Mr. and Mrs. Tom.

Bath in the cove at four o'clock.

Fish chowder at five at Capt. Wright's.

Game of croquet till 6.30 ; were beaten. [This part of the entry was written very indistinctly.]

Sing at Mrs. H 's till 7.30.

Swinging the hammock, drying dew-damp shoes over the kerosene stove, driving in tent-pins till 8.30. Goodnight.

Three weeks of delightful camping on the Penobscot, and then the stars of heaven — not these faint imitations of the printer — and Mars with his red lantern and retinue of moons, looking down on Fern Point, failed to see the gypsies' home. And the good-natured pilot of the Cambridge, who so faithfully whistled a salute every time he passed the camp, missed one morning the gypsies' welcome. We had folded our tents like the Arabs and silently stolen away.

Chapter III. A Raid On Canada

Mr. and Mrs. Shayback had tried a salt water camp ; they concluded that the next year they would try one on fresh water. The reverend gentleman, as summer approached, began to play " hickory dickory dock " on the maps of a much-neglected geography. But somehow his pencil nearly always landed too near some one of those little rings which on most maps are appropriately used to designate cities. He was considering the expediency of consulting some map with fewer places on it, when suddenly his pencil dropped plump into the centre of "Lake Memphrema-