Some Maple Sugar
King Philip, second son of Massasoit,
and the most remarkable of all the New England Indians, was
dead; but ''King Philip's" war went on. For after his death in
the Rhode Island swamp fortress on that August night in 1676,
many of his warriors fled to the Province of Maine and joined
the Abnaki Indians in their efforts to annihilate some six
thousand white settlers, whose hamlets or isolated cabins clung
tenaciously to the coast and the mouths of the principal rivers.
The tomahawk and torch threw a deadly blight over the land.
The Wells settlement was constantly
harassed. The Abnaki, thanks to Baron de Saint-Castin, were well
equipped for war; and the sturdy home-makers were in despair as
the planting season drew near and there was no surcease in the
vigilance of the red foe. Yet despite the horrors of the
predatory warfare paralyzing the land, the two Haskins boys,
William and John, and Abner Grover, their chum, were determined
to enjoy life. The three were accustomed to pioneering and
accepted savages as a part of the daily routine.
Like all lads they had a ''sweet tooth."
Their daily diet consisted of game and fish and, in season, a
few vegetables. When Indian raids interfered with hunting, the
family existed on short rations of the coarsest foods. The one
relief from the monotonous menu was afforded by the delicious
maple syrup and maple sugar.
The spring following King Philip's death
brought ideal weather conditions for "sapping"; clear, cold
nights and bright, mild days. As the boys gathered in Abner's
home. Nature coaxed and called them to visit the maple grove a
mile away. Imagine their delight when Mr. Haskins came in and
announced to his family and the Grovers that he had made a wide
circuit to the north and east without finding a single sign of
an Indian.
The following day, to their great joy,
Captain Petts, a veteran of Indian wars, returned from making a
wide reconnaissance and confidently reported the Indians had
left the vicinity of Wells. To clinch this reassuring news, a
messenger arrived from Portsmouth with word that the Indians had
expressed a willingness to talk peace with the English
commissioners.
With a shout, Abner sped away to find
his friends and impart the great news. ''Now we can go to the
brook and tap the maples,'' he exulted.
However, the boys bided their time until
one day Mr. Haskins and Mr. Grover held an earnest consultation
with the other men.
''Boys," abruptly called out Abner's
father, ''your elders have decided that you may go to the grove
to boil sap. You're to start for home each afternoon in time to
arrive here before sundown. Some of us will try to come to meet
you. Every other day one of us will range between the grove and
the Big Woods, and should you hear a gun-shot, you're to drop
your work and make for home. You will take two guns with you and
you're not to fire them unless you see Indians."
Early the next morning the boys tied a big kettle to a home-made
sled and lashed on the settlement's available supply of buckets
and wooden spouts, or spiles. Long before they arrived at the
brook they had apportioned the work. William was to tap the
trees with John arranging the spouts and buckets. Abner was to
hang the kettle on a green sapling, suspended between two forked
posts, and clean out the small log shed, built two years before.
All three were to turn to and accumulate the necessary fuel.
The grove followed the brook for two
miles, ending at a wide opening. Beyond this opening the Big
Woods began. Long before it was time to eat their midday lunch,
the buckets were in place, the shed cleaned and enough wood for
a day piled near the kettle.
Notwithstanding their display of
unconcern, the boys each experienced the same emotion when
beholding the mighty expanse of the Big Woods; a fear of the
unknown, the sensation of being watched by malignant eyes. This
depression quickly vanished, however, once the flames began
crackling and John commenced calling out there were several
inches of sap in each bucket. Lugging the kettle between them
they made the rounds, and after drinking in turn, they placed
what was left over the fire to boil. This was ''finished off"
late in the afternoon and carefully poured into a bucket.
At the end of the week no one in Wells felt there was danger of
a surprise attack; and it was voted to keep all the men at work
for the next three days. Two days without scout protection
passed uneventfully, but on the third, the glorious weather
changed and the boys knew a storm was brewing and that it might
be necessary to do the boiling in the shed. The wind was from
the north and carried a keen edge.
"If it starts snowing today we'd better
go home early," said Abner. "Some men from Portsmouth are on the
way and I want to be there when they come. The storm will hurry
them up."
Arrived at the grove, John, with his
usual exuberance, started to examine the buckets and William
whittled some shavings from a pine stick preparatory to starting
the fire. For some reason unknown even by himself, Abner was
downcast; when William finished pouring the sap into the kettle
and began rallying him for not aiding in the work, he started
convulsively and stared with wide eyes at something at the end
of the shed. It was scarcely discernible in the clutter of
tracks left by the boys, and yet it had not been there up to the
time of their leaving the day before.
William chattered on. Abner glared at
the alien foot-print. No settlement foot-gear had left that
impress, it was made by an Abnaki moccasin. Slowly lifting his
head and endeavoring to conceal his alarm, he swept his gaze
about in a circle. He fully expected to behold dark forms
flitting towards them through the maples; and his heart thumped
rapidly as he saw little John making towards the north end of
the line of buckets.
Picking up two buckets he gave them to
William and said, ''Put those in the shed for me." William was a
bit puzzled but stepped inside. Abner halted in the door, and
now that no lurking savage could observe his friend's alarm he
quickly explained, "I've seen Injun tracks. Don't make a sound.
Whistle something. If they're watching, they mustn't know we
suspect. Straighten out your face. Now listen; you must come out
and get John and tell him to help you bring sap from the other
end of the line. Act careless until you get to the opening then
run for your lives and warn the settlement. Now, come out.''
''But you!" huskily whispered William, a
terrible fear creeping into his eyes.
''If we all leave they will suspect
something. I'll stay and give you two a start. I'll keep both
guns as you're to run, not fight. Get John now but don't let him
know."
William ran after his brother, but John
was loath to turn back. Then William made a snow-ball and threw
it and challenged the youngster to catch him. This bait was
irresistible and John started in full pursuit. Abner by the fire
cheered them on, crying, ''Catch him, John! You can catch him!"
He saw John make a rush which William easily eluded. Then they
passed behind some trees and were out of sight.
Overhead the gray clouds were racing
towards the sea. The wind began spitting snow. The boy felt
strangely alone and helpless. The sap was bubbling. He piled on
more fuel until the syrup boiled. Still believing he was being
watched, he began piling the fuel in tiers, whistling as he
worked. Entering the shed, he peeped through a crack between the
logs. He gave a little choking cry as he saw three bowed figures
approaching the rear of the shed. They came on in a zig-zag,
darting from tree to tree. He snatched up one of the guns but at
once realized it would be useless for him to fire at such
elusive targets. Then, before he could prepare for it, the three
warriors were at the back of the shed to spy upon him.
Abner felt his lips tremble but managed
to resume his whistling. He knew their sharp eyes were following
every movement he made. Ignoring the guns he stepped to the
door, and, in doing so made sure that the bar was in place. He
believed the Indians would come around the corner and seize him,
and to prevent this he called out, as though hailing the boys,
and wave his hand and beckoned them to join him. He hoped the
Indians would be deceived and remain quiet, thinking to bag
three instead of one.
No sound came from the rear of the shed.
The sap boiled over and gave Abner an inspiration. Drawing on
his mittens of deer-skin, he seized the bail, removed the kettle
and placed it on the piled-up fuel. He had made the tier some
three feet high, and by standing upon it he believed he could
attack the enemy in a surprising fashion. Leaping up beside the
kettle he seized it with both hands, and with a mighty effort of
his strong, young arms, hurled it over the edge of the sloping
roof.
As he leaped to the ground and jumped
through the doorway, pandemonium broke out back of the shed.
With horrible screeches the three savages plunged into the snow
to ease the pains of the scalding sap. Their clamor was answered
by wild war-whoops deep in the grove. Abner closed the door,
made it fast and stepped to a small loop-hole with one of the
guns. Three dark forms were groaning and writhing in the snow
close by. Other figures, but vaguely visible because of the
gathering storm, were rapidly drawing near. Aiming at these he
fired, snatched up the second gun and fired again, then
hurriedly reloaded.
Instantly the woods became deathly quiet
except for the noise of the storm. The scalded Indians vanished
with the first shot. The boy knew they were circling the cabin,
but so adroitly did they maneuver that he caught no glimpse of
them. Then there came a crashing volley, followed by the cheers
of white men. In another minute his father was shouting his
name. He threw open the door and stepped out and beheld not only
the settlers but a score of strangers; and he knew they were the
men from Portsmouth. Whatever might have been the designs of the
Indians, they were not seen again, although their trail was
followed for many miles towards the Kennebec.
Hugh Pendexter
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