Young Edwards was hourly becoming more familiarized to his situation, and not infrequently mingled in the parties with an unconcern and gayety that for a short time would expel all unpleasant recollections from his mind.
Habit, and the buoyancy of youth, seemed to be getting the ascendency over the secret causes of his uneasiness; though there were moments when the same remarkable expression of disgust would cross his intercourse with Marmaduke, that had distinguished their conversations in the first days of their acquaintance.
It was at the close of the month of March, that the sheriff succeeded in persuading his cousin and her young friend to accompany him in a ride to a hill that was said to overhang the lake in a manner peculiar to itself.
“Besides, Cousin Bess,” continued the indefatigable Richard, “we will stop and see the ‘sugar bush’ of Billy Kirby; he is on the east end of the Ransom lot, making sugar for Jared Ransom.
There is not a better hand over a kettle in the county than that same Kirby.
You remember, ‘Duke, that I had him his first season in our camp; and it is not a wonder that he knows something of his trade.”
“He’s a good chopper, is Billy,” observed Benjamin, who held the bridle of the horse while the sheriff mounted; “and he handles an axe much the same as a forecastleman does his marling-spike, or a tailor his goose.
They say he’ll lift a potash-kettle off the arch alone, though I can’t say that I’ve ever seen him do it with my own eyes; but that is the say.
And I’ve seen sugar of his making, which, maybe, wasn’t as white as an old topgallant sail, but which my friend, Mistress Pettibones, within there, said had the true molasses smack to it; and you are not the one, Squire Dickens, to be told that Mistress Remarkable has a remarkable tooth for sweet things in her nut-grinder.”
The loud laugh that succeeded the wit of Benjamin, and in which he participated with no very harmonious sounds himself, very fully illustrated the congenial temper which existed between the pair.
Most of its point was, however, lost on the rest of the party, who were either mounting their horses or assisting the ladies at the moment.
When all were safely in their saddles, they moved through the village in great order.
They paused for a moment before the door of Monsieur Le Quoi, until he could bestride his steed, and then, issuing from the little cluster of houses, they took one of the principal of those highways that centred in the village.
As each night brought with it a severe frost, which the heat of the succeeding day served to dissipate, the equestrians were compelled to proceed singly along the margin of the road, where the turf, and firmness of the ground, gave the horses a secure footing.
Very trifling indications of vegetation were to be seen, the surface of the earth presenting a cold, wet, and cheerless aspect that chilled the blood.
The snow yet lay scattered over most of those distant clearings that were visible in different parts of the mountains; though here and there an opening might be seen where, as the white covering yielded to the season, the bright and lively green of the wheat served to enkindle the hopes of the husbandman.
Nothing could be more marked than the contrast between the earth and the heavens; for, while the former presented the dreary view that we have described, a warm and invigorating sun was dispensing his heats from a sky that contained but a solitary cloud, and through an atmosphere that softened the colors of the sensible horizon until it shone like a sea of blue.
Richard led the way on this, as on all other occasions that did not require the exercise of unusual abilities; and as he moved along, he essayed to enliven the party with the sounds of his experienced voice.
“This is your true sugar weather, ‘Duke,” he cried; “a frosty night and a sunshiny day.
I warrant me that the sap runs like a mill-tail up the maples this warm morning.
It is a pity, Judge, that you do not introduce a little more science into the manufactory of sugar among your tenants.
It might be done, sir, without knowing as much as Dr. Franklin—it might be done, Judge Temple.”
“The first object of my solicitude, friend Jones,” returned Marmaduke, “is to protect the sources of this great mine of comfort and wealth from the extravagance of the people themselves.
When this important point shall be achieved, it will be in season to turn our attention to an improvement in the manufacture of the article, But thou knowest, Richard, that I have already subjected our sugar to the process of the refiner, and that the result has produced loaves as white as the snow on yon fields, and possessing the saccharine quality in its utmost purity.”
“Saccharine, or turpentine, or any other ‘ine, Judge Temple, you have never made a loaf larger than a good-sized sugar-plum,” returned the sheriff.
“Now, sir, I assert that no experiment is fairly tried, until it be reduced to practical purposes.
If, sir, I owned a hundred, or, for that matter, two hundred thousand acres of land, as you do. I would build a sugar house in the village; I would invite learned men to an investigation of the subject—and such are easily to be found, sir; yes, sir, they are not difficult to find—men who unite theory with practice; and I would select a wood of young and thrifty trees; and, instead of making loaves of the size of a lump of candy, dam’me, ‘Duke, but I’d have them as big as a haycock.”
“And purchase the cargo of one of those ships that they say are going to China,” cried Elizabeth; “turn your pot ash-kettles into teacups, the scows on the lake into saucers, bake your cake in yonder lime-kiln, and invite the county to a tea-party.
How wonderful are the projects of genius!
Really, sir, the world is of opinion that Judge Temple has tried the experiment fairly, though he did not cause his loaves to be cast in moulds of the magnitude that would suit your magnificent conceptions.”
“You may laugh, Cousin Elizabeth—you may laugh, madam,” retorted Richard, turning himself so much in his saddle as to face the party, and making dignified gestures with his whip; “but I appeal to common sense, good sense, or, what is of more importance than either, to the sense of taste, which is one of the five natural senses, whether a big loaf of sugar is not likely to contain a better illustration of a proposition than such a lump as one of your Dutch women puts under her tongue when she drinks her tea.
There are two ways of doing everything, the right way and the wrong way.
You make sugar now, I will admit, and you may, possibly, make loaf-sugar; but I take the question to be, whether you make the best possible sugar, and in the best possible loaves.”
“Thou art very right, Richard,” observed Marmaduke, with a gravity in his air that proved how much he was interested in the subject.
“It is very true that we manufacture sugar, and the inquiry is quite useful, how much? and in what manner? I hope to live to see the day when farms and plantations shall be devoted to this branch of business.
Little is known concerning the properties of the tree itself, the source of all this wealth; how much it may be improved by cultivation, by the use of the hoe and plough.”
“Hoe and plough!” roared the sheriff; “would you set a man hoeing round the root of a maple like this?” pointing to one of the noble trees that occur so frequently in that part of the country.
“Hoeing trees! are you mad, ‘Duke?
This is next to hunting for coal!
Poh! poh! my dear cousin, hear reason, and leave the management of the sugar-bush to me.
Here is Mr. Le Quoi—he has been in the West Indies, and has seen sugar made.
Let him give an account of how it is made there, and you will hear the philosophy of the thing. Well, monsieur, how is it that you make sugar in the West Indies; anything in Judge Temples fashion?”
The gentleman to whom this query was put was mounted on a small horse, of no very fiery temperament, and was riding with his stirrups so short as to bring his knees, while the animal rose a small ascent in the wood-path they were now travelling, into a somewhat hazardous vicinity to his chin.
There was no room for gesticulation or grace in the delivery of his reply, for the mountain was steep and slippery; and, although the Frenchman had an eye of uncommon magnitude on either side of his face, they did not seem to be half competent to forewarn him of the impediments of bushes, twigs, and fallen trees, that were momentarily crossing his path.
With one hand employed in averting these dangers, and the other grasping his bridle to check an untoward speed that his horse was assuming, the native of France responded as follows:
“Sucre! dey do make sucre in Martinique; mais—mais ce n’est pas one tree—ah—ah—vat you call—je voudrois que ces chemins fussent au diable—vat you call—steeck pour la promenade?”
“Cane,” said Elizabeth, smiling at the imprecation which the wary Frenchman supposed was understood only by himself.
“Oui, mam’selle, cane.”
“Yes, yes,” cried Richard, “cane is the vulgar name for it, but the real term is saccharum officinarum; and what we call the sugar, or hard maple, is acer saccharinum.
These are the learned names, monsieur, and are such as, doubtless, you well understand.”