Chapter XVII: Grubbing.—honest Mr. Grey

PICTURE to yourself a man of fifty, of medium height, stoutly built, square shoulders, black hair and eyes, long, hooked, knowledgeable nose, solemn physiognomy, grave step—Mr. Grey, of Minnesota, reader!

No more honest-looking face than his would you see among a thousand. And as for his eyes, a neighbor who had a theory on the subject, said she knew he was truthful from their shape; while his worn suit of black, of which its ancient swallow-tail was noticeable, had a sort of classical air tending to check any sense of the grotesque which might arise in the mind of the spectator.

He has of late been "hired man" to Mr. Parsons, the missionary at L—. He first introduced himself to the clergyman in a way that touched his sympathies. He hailed from Pennsylvania, where, he stated, his wife and children still lived, and whom he was anxious to bring to his present location, because the fever and ague prevailed in that part of the state. He said he had made "a claim" on the adjacent prairie, and "put up" a shanty on it, designing to make such "improvements" as the law required, and then from his earnings—for he was poor—meet the expense of preëmption and removal. He gave a glowing account of his family, whom he seemed greatly to miss, and was anxious that his companion should be informed as to his situation, and the character and prospects of the locality he had chosen.

"I am not used to writing," said he, "and I have called to ask if you will be so good as to write a line to my wife for me."

After some further conversation, the letter was written, met his approval, and, in accordance with his direction, addressed to the absent partner of his fortunes, Mrs. Angelina P. Grey, Readfield, Pa.

A few weeks passed, and he again made his appearance, full of trouble. No answer had been received to his affectionate epistle, and he was making little headway in his worldly affairs.

"Young men get all the jobs," he complained. "People don't like to hire old men like me. They think I can't do much now; but I can keep up my end with the best of them."

He then offered to engage himself to the missionary at a reasonable price, to do anything desired.

There was one department of "new country" enterprise which those who lived in the "oak openings" found difficult enough. It was "grubbing".—I do not mean "getting one's grub," although this was not any too easy. The fires, which from time immemorial had swept the prairies, burned off each year the embryo trees. But the roots, being comparatively uninjured, continued to grow, forming near the surface of the ground, woody accumulations, round, gnarled, and tough, called grubs. These must be removed by the grubbing-hoe—an implement having a pick on one side to remove the soil, and an axe on the other to assault the roots.

Mr. Grey's application was well timed, for Mr. Parsons had set his heart on a garden near his cabin, had spoken for a "breaking team," and was tying to do impossibilities in the grubbing line, when the sedate Pennsylvanian came up the path.

Taking up the hoe, which the minister had laid down, he said, pityingly,—

"Now this is too hard for such as you."

The fact was evident.

"It's what you don't know how to do," he continued, "provided you had strength for it. Grubbing is as much of a trade as blacksmithing, and a mighty sight harder. Just see here," added he, removing the earth from a beheaded grub; "the plough can never get through 'that.' 'Tisn't cut off deep enough; for the twigs on top of them, if not cut off, show just where the grubs are, and the ploughman can keep clear of some of them."

Which was all true.

"Let me show you how to do it," he exclaimed, heartily.

And suiting the action to the word, he extirpated, with surprising dexterity, grub after grub. Then leaning on the hoe-handle, and talking in a confidential tone, he said,—

"Why, I've cleared acres and acres of these 'ere. I was brought up to it, as I might say. When's the team comin' to tear up this bit of land?"

"A week to-day," replied the missionary.

"Well, you can't get these grubs out by that time yourself. Suppose, then, you let me do it for you. I'll have the piece all ready, smooth as a picter, if I have to dig to the centre of the earth. Only I shall have to board with you meanwhile. I ain't a mite particular what I eat."

Deferring the ploughing till a later day to give him ample time,—for the clergyman had heard that Mr. Grey was very slow; some called him lazy,—an unpardonable sin in the eyes of the energetic frontiersmen,—the good missionary set him at the task with the complacent feeling which one has when he helps himself and his neighbor at the same time.

At night, on inspecting Mr. Grey's work, it proved satisfactory. And as urgent engagements called Mr. Parsons from home each day until after nightfall, the grubbing was left wholly to the workman. But always, when he hurriedly returned at noon, the missionary could see him lustily toiling.

Once, however, entering the house at an unusual hour, his wife said, with a laugh,—

"Do see Mr. Grey perform. I have watched him till I have cried, laughing."

Stepping to the window, the preacher saw that Mr. Grey was indulging "the resistance which inactive matter makes to a change of state," to his heart's content. A prolonged look at the sky northward, then a rest; then moderately spitting on the ground "once;" next an examination of the horizon eastward, followed by an inspection of the hoe from top to edge; another gaze into space; spitting again; at length the hoe is raised, but only to repose a while on the capacious shoulder. At last, more by gravitation than muscular force, an ineffectual blow is struck.

With a ringing laugh, the wife declared that, with certain characteristic variations, the same movements had been enacted and reënacted throughout the entire morning.

"Poor man," she kindly ejaculated, "let him favor his old frame. He has time enough to get the land ready. And," she added, "he seems to make good progress, after all. How clear the ground is behind him! Not a grub-sprout to be seen."

One feature in the character of the hired man, which covered a multitude of infirmities, was his godly inclinations. He did not profess to be a Christian, but described Mrs. Grey as a model disciple, sighing because he was unlike her in this respect. When his day's work was done, he would take the large Bible, seat himself by the light, spread open the book reverently on his knees, and read, quite absorbed. No other reading could tempt him from that. At family devotions, he knelt devoutly. And carefully washed, shaved, and "dickied," he greeted the Sabbath and its services. His conversation was mostly on religious topics.

"I do not know," he contemplatively observed one day, "as I did right in not having my babies baptized, it would have been such a comfort to their mother." And a tear glistened in his honest eye.

Listening to his domestic portraitures, the clergyman and wife soon felt quite acquainted with Mr. Grey's estimable spouse, and his well-trained Sophronia,—a successful school-teacher,—and certainly sympathized with him in the miscarriage of his first letter; and a second was despatched to Mrs. Angelina P. Grey, county as well as town being specified.

At dinner, at tea, Mr. Grey would groan over grubbing. "It was the most 'strainingest' business that ever a man did," he declared.

How his back ached, his listeners could only imagine by his woful grimaces, and the expressive habit he had of pressing his hand upon that part of the body whenever he straightened up from a stooping posture. Even the famous liniment which a pitying hand furnished him gave only temporary relief.

"It is because he gets so tired through the day," his gentle-minded critic would suggest, as his stentorian snoring set the baby crying in the room below, and spread panic among the rest of the youngsters.

And the clergyman, with stately humor, said, "I must say that I have listened to many competitors in these unwelcome serenades, but never till now heard the leader of the world's nasal orchestra."

"I would like my pay for the grubbing," said Mr. Grey, as the missionary came in one evening.

"Are the grubs all taken out?" he asked.

"Not one left," was the reply.

"But I stumbled against some in crossing the lot."

"Yes," answered the workman, "there were a few small ones left in that corner, because they were of no account. The plough will go through them without trouble. When I work for a man, I wish to do by him just as I would do for myself. I could have spent time in cutting out every little stub, but it would be a needless expense to you."

"Well," said his employer, "I will slip down and see how things look."

And holding the lantern close to the ground as he went, he found that not a grub had been disturbed in that part of the enclosure.

"What does this mean?" he inquired; for the workman had followed.

He replied, unabashed,—

"I thought I would just knock off the twigs on this side, my back was so lame; but I shan't charge you anything for that, if you'll pay me for the rest of the field."

"I'll examine the remainder first," rejoined the minister.

And to his amazement, it was revealed that after the first day's labor, the whole had been gone over in the same deceptive manner!

"Pay me for 'that,'" demanded Mr. Grey.

"Pay me for your board," exclaimed the indignant clergyman, "and the damage you hove caused by breaking off the twigs and leaving the roots in the soil out of sight."

The dishonest workman raised the ponderous hoe threateningly—for he had it with him. A sardonic smile played over his face, a murderous light gleamed from his eyes. He kept the weapon poised a moment, as if weighing the pros and cons, then put it down, and silently departed.

The missionary felt that the man would have killed him, had he thought he could have done so safely to himself.

Not long after, an acquaintance accosted Mr. Parsons, saying,—

"Mr. Grey worked for you a few weeks since, I believe. How did he do while in your employ?"

Unsuspectingly stating what his conduct had been, the missionary was subpœnaed the next day, as witness in a case in law, in which, I think, Mr. Grey was plaintiff.

The defendant had caused the minister to be summoned, he said, to "impeach" Mr. Grey. The county seat was some fifteen miles distant, and Mr. Parsons found that quite a number were going over on the same errand as himself, having also been defrauded by the crafty Pennsylvanian.

A brisk ride behind the village store's fine span, across solitary stretches of rolling prairie, brought them to their destination, an unfinished story-and-a-half house, hidden by an irregular growth of native trees. It stood on a slight swell in the outskirts of the town, and had a pleasant, well-to-do air, with its thrifty surroundings of ploughed fields, grazing cattle, and domestic fowl. It was also the village tavern, as one might judge by the loungers.

The court sat in the bar-room. As the company from L— entered, they were received with hostile demonstrations by the residents assembled, for Mr. Grey had taken up his abode in the place,—boarding at the tavern,—and having ingratiated himself in the esteem of the people, they supposed him a worthy and injured man. He did look prepossessing, Mr. Parsons thought, as, entering, he saw him parading the apartment, calm and neat. He was, however, a little disconcerted as one after another of his victims filed in. Such a meeting he had not anticipated. He had engaged shrewd counsel who seemed at the outset to have confidence in him.

"I move," said a rowdy, full of fight, "that the services be opened with prayer," glancing defiantly at the missionary.

Mr. Grey's opponent, a swearing, loud-voiced boaster from New England, chose to conduct his own case. He soon got the justice enraged beyond self-control by his blunders, interruptions, and insults, as he raved around the room, law-book in hand, goading the court with his insolence. The lawyer evidently enjoyed this aspect of the case hugely. Confusion reigned.

Meanwhile, there was much private discussion, in which Mr. Grey's history was being rapidly unsealed. Seizing a good chance, the missionary got Mr. Grey's ear, told him that his character was well-known, and advised him to settle the matter with his adversary as soon as possible. He grew frightened. Popular feeling began to turn against him. The case suddenly closed, I can scarcely tell how—in some summary frontier way, however.

Mr. Grey's counsel, disgusted with him, and finding that he could get no fee, called for his horse, and, as the crowd stood watching his management of the high-spirited animal, he started for his distant home. Off dashed the advocate; but before he had got fairly under way, Mr. Grey, the picture of terror, ran frantically after, shouting, while the spectators cheered him on,—

"Hold on! Hold on! Don't leave me! Take me in!" And catching hold of the back of the vehicle with a desperate grasp, as the astonished lawyer slackened his pace, he clambered in, and was soon out of sight. And that was the last they saw of Mr. Grey.

I scarcely need say that there was no evidence that Mr. Grey was from Pennsylvania, that Mrs. Angelina P. Grey was other than a myth. He was, it was thought, an escaped jail-bird, his vices being, perhaps, the natural fruit of that parent sin—laziness.

"And," said Mr. Parsons's right hand man, good Deacon Palmer, "St. Paul's rule that 'if any would not work, neither should he eat,' is wise and just in more senses than one. The sluggard is ever a covetous man; as Solomon says, 'He coveteth greedily all the day long;' and as 'his hands refuse to labor,' and he is thereby brought to want, who so tempted to crime as he? The indolent man is by logical necessity a dangerous man, and I always give him a wide berth. You preachers, however, have so little practical knowledge of human nature, that though you preached 'total depravity' Sunday, next day a knave would make you think him an angel. You need to be taken in occasionally to reform this professional weakness."

He added, after a moment's pause, "Many persons fling at the church because there are hypocrites in it, but Mr. Grey's case shows that there is now and then one 'out' of it."

But when next the storekeeper and missionary met, the former, his coal-black eyes streaming lightning, and both arms in vigorous motion,—as was his manner when excited,—took the latter to task for advising Mr. Grey to close the case at the justice's.

"He's a double-dyed rascal, parson; and we ought to have nabbed him when we had the chance. Why, sir, a squab-up morsel of humanity, with voice like an asthmatic chicken, and pipe-stem legs, tracked that chap more than fifteen miles afoot, to expose his wickedness and save his folks from the villain's claws."

"Who did you say it was?"

"A young hunchback. It appears that this deceiver gave his name in that settlement as Simmons, and representing himself as a well-to-do bachelor in search of a wife, tried to inveigle a respectable maiden lady into matrimony. He was designing also to jump a claim belonging to two lone women, and had secreted a stolen—but no matter about that now. It looks mightily as if this Grey, 'alias' Simmons, 'alias' Grimes,—another of his names,—was in league with a horde of Mississippi River cutthroats. He won't trouble people this way again very soon, I'm thinking—more's the pity. I'd like to help string him up!"

"Did you learn the Hunchback's name?" asked the clergyman.

"Willard," replied Mr. Cowles.

"Where is the Willard claim?"

"Customers came in, and I forgot to find out. In fact, as the Hunchback promised to be on hand with his mother and aunt, in season for Grey's case, I expected then to be better informed about them. Why he didn't come, I can't decipher—'fraid something has happened to the brave little squatty. I meant to have helped him on his way back a piece, but he went away before I was aware."

"I have wondered that I heard nothing from that family," said Mr. Parsons. "Tom Jones made their acquaintance at the Landing, and directed them near us. He particularly commended them to the sympathy and kind offices of the settlers here. I must look them up."