The pigeons flew toward the flutterer, made a swirl in the air, and began to light on the pigeon pole. We took up our guns, and as they were hovering about the pole, trying to get a foothold, we fired, and ran out and picked up twenty-nine pigeons.

"That isn't bad," said Davy. "I tell you, Pigeon Tuesday is the day.

There will be more along soon."

The sky was all crimson and gold in the east. We looked toward Mt.

Gilboa; the red face of the sun began to show itself. As it rose above the hill, we heard the stroke of the bell.

"Some one's d-dead.--Hark! Only one stroke. It's a child. One for a c-child, two for a woman, and three strokes for a man."

"I know who it is. Father was called up to Sam Hadley's last night.

Little Benoni Mead was very poorly, and they didn't think he'd last through the night."

Poor little Benoni! His father, Cornelius Mead, had died of camp fever in the war; his mother and he had come on the town for support, and had been boarded with her brother, Sam Hadley, not far from Bull Meadow Hill. Benoni had always been ailing, and of late had failed rapidly.

[Sidenote: ANOTHER FLIGHT OF PIGEONS]

"Well, boys," said Davy, "let's get back to work. It won't do Benoni any good to be mooning round."

We watched for pigeons again, and another small flight came along. We worked our decoys and got twenty.

After that we waited a long time,--till nearly nine o'clock. Then Davy and I gave it up, and decided to go home. Davy had some work to do. But Amos said he would stay a little while longer. We made a division of our pigeons, and Davy and I started for home.

We had not gone more than half a mile when we saw a terrible big flight.

"I wonder if Amos will get a shot at them, Ben. Let's get back as quick as we can. We may be in time."

We threw down our pigeons, and made through the woods as fast as we could. As we were running up the hill, we heard a bang.

"Confound the luck," said Davy, "we're just too late! Let's hurry up and help Amos."

When we got to the top of the hill Amos was running round, twisting the necks of the wounded pigeons. As soon as he saw us, he stood up and began:--

"H-H-He--" But he was too excited, and couldn't get the words out. He pointed to the pigeons, and kept on catching them and twisting their necks. We did the same. When we got through, Davy asked, "What was it that you were saying to us when we got here? I didn't quite catch it."

"No! It sort er st-stuck on the way; 'h-help me' is pretty hard to say sometimes. I t-t-tell you, b-boys, there was millions of 'em, an-and I guess I shot a barrel full. When I saw that b-big flight coming, I wished you were here, and then I was g-glad you were not. For I w-wanted to see h-how many I should get. They came just like a b-big cloud, and began to light on that p-pole, and the air was just f-full of them. You c-couldn't see anything but pigeons. I blazed away, and the ground was c-covered with them.

"I was t-tickled enough to see you fellows jump in and help me. I w-wonder how many there are. Let's count them."

[Sidenote: AMOS MAKES A GREAT SHOT]

We gathered them up, and there were fifty-two.

"Hurrah! One f-for every week in the year!"

Amos had a good many adventures in his life afterward, fighting with the French and Indians. But that shot was the one particular thing that made life a joy to him.

CHAPTER VI

A PAUPER'S FUNERAL--BEN'S FRIEND THE MINISTER, AND BEN'S VICTORY IN WRESTLING

When I returned to the shop, Mr. Harrington said: "I'm glad you're back, Ben. The rest of the selectmen have left the care of Benoni Mead's funeral to me, and I've got a lot of things to do. We must have some gloves and scarves for the bearers, and you'll have to ride down to Charlestown to buy them."

I mounted a horse and rode through Menotomy and over the Plains. There was a sharp breeze blowing; and as I neared the Neck, I heard a creaking as if a rusty hinge was being turned.

Looking to the left, I saw a negro hanging in gibbets at the foot of a ledge. The wind made the body sway to and fro, and the grating of the chains caused the noise. The sight made cold shivers go up my back, and I hurried on till I reached Cheever's store near the Boston ferry and bought the gloves and scarves.

[Sidenote: BENONI'S FUNERAL]

On the next day little Benoni was buried. Days on which there were funerals were half-holidays, that every one might attend. When I arrived at the Hadley house, there were a number of men near the door, and others leaning on the fence. The town bier stood in front of the house, and the pall was over it.

I went into the house and looked at Benoni. His thin little face was peaceful and happy as if he had found rest and an end of pain. Old Seth Green slouched in after me. Winter pig we used to call him, he was so sleek and fat. He looked at Benoni with a woe-begone expression, and, turning away, helped himself to some liquor which stood on a table.

I followed him out and heard him say to Amos Muzzy: "Have you been in to see Benoni? Looks real sweet and pretty. Mighty good rum the town provided. Some of Buckman's best. Poor little fellow! I think I'll go in and take another look at him."

The minister, Mr. Clark, now came. He made a short prayer, and then the coffin was placed on the bier and covered with the pall. Some of the most prominent men in the town were the pall-bearers. They placed the bier on their shoulders, and the procession followed them. As we pa.s.sed the meeting-house, the bell tolled. When we reached the burying-yard, the coffin was lowered into the grave. The minister made another short prayer. Earth was thrown on the coffin, the grave was filled in, and we departed.

I say the minister, Mr. Clark. For some time after the death of Mr.

Hanc.o.c.k we had no settled pastor. Ministers came and preached awhile for us and then departed. We had become so accustomed to the old bishop that it seemed as if no one could satisfy us or fill his place. It was not till late in the previous year that we found the man who suited.

Mr. Jonas Clark, a young college graduate, preached to us, and we were mutually pleased. The town voted to request him to become our pastor. He accepted, and was ordained in November. The town voted one hundred pounds for the celebration. The Governor's Council came out from Boston.

Deputations were sent from the surrounding towns, and we had a great time, hours of preaching and hours of feasting. People loved Mr. Hanc.o.c.k for his great common sense, his bluff, hearty, jovial manner, and the wit and humour that abounded in him at a time when most ministers thought it their duty to look as solemn as a gravestone.

[Sidenote: THE NEW MINISTER]

Mr. Clark became as much beloved and respected as Mr. Hanc.o.c.k, and yet he did not resemble him. His manners were elegant. He was learned, able, and very polite. Neat as wax, he made us feel ashamed of our slovenly ways. He was not the bluff, hale fellow the old bishop was, who compelled us to do what he knew was right.

Mr. Clark had a kind heart, a keen, clear mind. Though he guided us with a firm hand, it was done in such a gentle and polite manner, that we rarely felt how completely we were under his control.

And though he was a student and his tastes were delicate, still he did not frown upon our rude sports, provided they were not low or brutal.

"They make the body erect and supple and give strength and elasticity to the muscles. The body should be cultivated as well as the mind. What we want is a sound mind in a sound body."

Wrestling was the great sport in those days, and I was always fond of it. I was very strong naturally, and my trade as blacksmith had toughened my muscles wonderfully.

Our strongest man and best wrestler was Jonas Parker. You would hardly have suspected it; for though he had rather a grim, determined look, he was a quiet, staid, religious man and a great lover of reading.

A few years before, he had bought some land of Dr. Fiske and built a house not far from Bishop Hanc.o.c.k's and constantly borrowed and read his books.

He was also a great lover of wrestling, knew all the tricks, and had the reputation of being the best man in our county at it.

[Sidenote: BEN PRACTISES WRESTLING]

He watched me wrestling with the other boys, and one day said to me: "Ben, you've got the making of a great wrestler in you. Come up to my house when you can, and I'll teach you what I know about it."

On holidays and whenever I got a chance, I went up to his place, and we would walk down to a grove back of his barn and wrestle. We kept this up all the spring and summer, and he taught me the different throws.