Stuyvesant: A Franconia Story. Abbott Jacob

It was made of brown linen. He laid it aside upon a chair, and then began to put the things back into his trunk again. He laid them all in very carefully, each in its own place. When all were in, he shut down the lid of the trunk, locked it, and put the key in his pocket. Then he took the frock from the chair, and opening it, put it on.

      It was made somewhat like a cartman’s frock. Stuyvesant had had it made by the seamstress at his mother’s house, in New York, before he came away. He was a very neat and tidy boy about his dress, and always felt uncomfortable if his clothes were soiled or torn. He concluded, therefore, that if he had a good, strong, serviceable frock to put on over his other clothes, it would be very convenient for him at Franconia.

      As soon as his frock was on, he hastened down stairs and went out to the barn in search of Beechnut. He found him yoking up the cattle.

      “Why, Stuyvesant,” said Beechnut, when he saw him, “that is a capital frock that you have got. How much did it cost?”

      “I don’t know,” said Stuyvesant; “Mary made it for me.”

      “Who is Mary?” asked Beechnut.

      “She is the seamstress,” said Stuyvesant. “She lives at our house in New York.”

      “Do you have a seamstress there all the time?” said Beechnut.

      “Yes,” said Stuyvesant.

      “And her name is Mary,” said Beechnut.

      “Yes,” said Stuyvesant.

      “Well, I wish she would take it into her head to make me such a frock as that,” said Beechnut.

      During this conversation, Beechnut had been busily employed in yoking up the oxen. Stuyvesant looked on, watching the operations carefully, in order to see how the work of yoking up was done. He wished to see whether the process was such that he could learn to yoke up oxen himself; or whether any thing that was required was beyond his strength.

      “Can boys yoke up cattle?” said Stuyvesant at length.

      “It takes a pretty stout boy,” said Beechnut.

      “Could a boy as stout as I am do it?” asked Stuyvesant.

      “It would be rather hard work for you,” said Beechnut, “the yoke is pretty heavy.”

      The yoke was indeed quite heavy, and it was necessary to lift it – one end at a time – over the necks of the oxen. Stuyvesant observed that the oxen were fastened to the yoke, by means of bows shaped like the letter U. These bows were passed up under the necks of the oxen. The ends of them came up through the yokes and were fastened there by little pegs, which Beechnut called keys. There was a ring in the middle of the yoke on the under side to fasten the chain to, by which the cattle were to draw.

      When the oxen were yoked, Beechnut drove them to the corner of the yard, where there was a drag with a plow upon it. Beechnut put an axe also upon the drag.

      “What do you want an axe for,” asked Stuyvesant, “in going to plow?”

      “We always take an axe,” said Beechnut, “when we go away to work. We are pretty sure to want it for something or other.”

      Beechnut then gave Stuyvesant a goad stick, and told him that he might drive. Stuyvesant had observed very attentively what Beechnut had done in driving, and the gestures which he had made, and the calls which he had used, in speaking to the oxen, and though he had never attempted to drive such a team before, he succeeded quite well. His success, however, was partly owing to the sagacity of the oxen, who knew very well where they were to go and what they were to do.

      At length, after passing through one or two pairs of bars, they came to the field.

      “Which is the easiest,” said Stuyvesant, “to drive the team or hold the plow?”

      “That depends,” said Beechnut, “upon whether your capacity consists most in your strength or your skill.”

      “Why so?” asked Stuyvesant.

      “Because,” said Beechnut, “it requires more skill to drive, than to hold the plow, and more strength to hold the plow, than to drive. I think, therefore, that you had better drive, for as between you and I, it is I that have the most strength, and you that have the most skill.”

      Stuyvesant laughed.

      “Why you ought to have the most skill,” said Beechnut – “coming from such a great city.”

      Beechnut took the plow off from the drag, and laid the drag on one side. He then attached the cattle to the plow. They were standing, when they did this, in the middle of one side of the field.

      “Now,” said Beechnut, “we are going first straight through the middle of the field. Do you see that elm-tree, the other side of the fence?”

      “I see a large tree,” said Stuyvesant.

      “It is an elm,” said Beechnut.

      “There is a great bird upon the top of it,” said Stuyvesant.

      “Yes,” said Beechnut, “it is a crow. Now you must keep the oxen headed directly for that tree. Go as straight as you can, and I shall try to keep the plow straight behind you. The thing is to make a straight furrow.”

      When all was ready, Stuyvesant gave the word to his oxen to move on, and they began to draw. Stuyvesant went on, keeping his eye alternately upon the oxen and upon the tree. He had some curiosity to look round and see how Beechnut was getting along with the furrow, but he recollected that his business was to drive, and so he gave his whole attention to his driving, in order that he might go as straight as possible across the field.

      The crow flew away when he had got half across the field. He had a strong desire to know where she was going to fly to, but he did not look round to follow her in her flight. He went steadily on attending to his driving.

      When he was about two thirds across the field, he saw a stump at a short distance before him, with a small hornet’s nest upon one side of it. His course would lead him, he saw, very near this nest. His first impulse was to stop the oxen and tell Beechnut about the hornet’s nest. He did in fact hesitate a moment, but he was instantly reassured by hearing Beechnut call out to him from behind, saying,

      “Never mind the hornet’s nest, Stuyvesant. Drive the oxen right on. I don’t think the hornets will sting them.”

      Stuyvesant perceived by this, that Beechnut thought only of the oxen, when he saw a hornet’s nest, and he concluded to follow his example in this respect. So he drove steadily on.

      When they got to the end of the field the oxen stopped. Beechnut and Stuyvesant then looked round to see the furrow. It was very respectably straight.