University of Virginia Library

29. CHAPTER XXIX.

As I have never made any remarkable progress in
the heights and depths of meteorology, I am unable to
speak with confidence as to the concatenation of causes
which may withhold from this fertile peninsula the
treasures of the clouds, in the early spring-time, when
our land elsewhere, is saturated even to repletion with the
“milky nutriment.” In plain terms, I cannot tell any
thing about the reason why we have such dry Springs
in Michigan, I can only advert to the fact as occasioning
scenes rather striking to the new comer.

In April, instead of the “misty-moisty morning,”
which proverbially heralds the “uncertain glory” of
the day in that much belied month, the sun, day after
day, and week after week, shows his jolly red face, at
the proper hour, little by little above the horizon, casting
a scarlet glory on the leafless trees, and investing
the well-piled brush-heaps with a burning splendour
before their time. Now and then a brisk shower occurs,

but it is short-lived, and not very abundant; and
after being here through a season or two, one begins to
wonder that the soil is so fertile. My own private
theory is, that when the peninsula was covered with
water, as it doubtless was before the Niagara met
with such a fall, the porous mass became so thoroughly
soaked, that the sun performs the office of rain, by
drawing from below to the rich surface, the supplies of
moisture which, under ordinary circumstances, are necessarily
furnished from the aerial reservoirs. Such
are my views, which I offer with the diffidence becoming
a tyro; but at the same time avowing frankly that
I shall not even consider an opposing hypothesis, until
my antagonist shall have traversed the entire state, and
counted the marshes and cat-holes from which I triumphantly
draw my conclusion.

Leaving this question, then, I will make an effort to
regain the floating end of my broken thread. These
exceedingly dry Spring-times—all sun and a very little
east-wind—leave every tree, bush, brier and blade of
grass, dry as new tinder. They are as combustible as
the heart of a Sophomore; as ready for a blaze as a
conclave of ancient ladies who have swallowed the
first cup of Hyson, and only wait one single word to
begin.

At this very suitable time, it is one of the customs
of the country for every man that has an acre of
marsh, to burn it over, in order to prepare for a new
crop of grass; and a handful of fire thus applied, wants
but a cap-full of wind, to send it miles in any or all
directions. The decayed trees, and those which may
have been some time felled, catch the swift destruction,

and aid the roaring flame; and while the earth seems
covered with writhing serpents of living fire, ever and
anon an undulating pyramid flares wildly upward, as
if threatening the very skies, only to fall the next moment
in crashing fragments, which serve to further the
spreading ruin.

These scenes have a terrible splendour by night; but
the effect by day is particularly curious. The air is
so filled with the widely-diffused smoke, that the soft
sunshine of April is mellowed into the ruddy glow of
Autumn, and the mist which seems to hand heavy
over the distant hills and woods, completes the illusion.
One's associations are those of approaching winter, and
it seems really a solecism to be making garden under
such a sky. But this is not all.

We were all busy in the rough, pole-fenced acre,
which we had begun to call our garden;—one with a
spade, another with a hoe or rake, and the least useful,—videlicet,
I,—with a trowel and a paper of celery-seed,
when a rough neighbour of ours shouted over the
fence:—

“What be you a potterin' there for? You 'd a
plaguy sight better be a fighting fire, I tell ye! The
wind is this way, and that fire'll be on your haystacks
in less than no time, if you don't mind.”

Thus warned, we gazed at the dark smoke which
had been wavering over the north-west all day, and
saw that it had indeed made fearful advances. But
two well-travelled roads still lay between us and the
burning marshes, and these generally prove tolerably
effectual barriers when the wind is low. So our operatives
took their way toward the scene of action, carrying

with them the gardening implements, as the
most efficient weapons in “fighting fire.”

They had to walk a long distance, but the fire was
very obliging and advanced more than two steps to
meet them. In short, the first barrier was overleapt
before they reached the second, and the air had become
so heated that they could only use the hoes and spades
in widening the road nearest our dwelling, by scraping
away the leaves and bushes; and even there they
found it necessary to retreat more rapidly than was
consistent with a thorough performance of the work.
The winds, though light, favoured the destroyer, and
the more experienced of the neighbours, who had
turned out for the general good, declared there was
nothing now but to make a “back-fire!” So homeward
all ran, and set about kindling an opposing serpent
which should “swallow up the rest;” but it
proved too late. The flames only reached our stable
and haystacks the sooner, and all that we could now
accomplish was to preserve the cottage and its immediate
appurtenances.

I scarce remember a blanker hour. I could not be
glad that the house and horses were safe, so vexed did I
feel to think that a rational attention to the advance of
that black threatening column, would have prevented
the disaster. I sat gazing out of the back window,
watching the gradual blackening of the remains of our
stores of hay—scolding the while most vehemently, at
myself and every body else, for having been so stupidly
negligent; declaring that I should not take the
slightest interest in the garden which had so engrossed
us, and wishing most heartily that the fellow who set

the marsh on fire, could be detected and fined “not
more than one thousand dollars,” as the law directs;
when our neighbour, long Sam Jennings, the slowest
talker in Michigan, came sauntering across the yard
with his rusty fowling-piece on his shoulder, and
drawled out—

“I should think your dam was broke some; I see
the water in the creek look dreadful muddy.” And
while Sam took his leisurely way to the woods, the tired
fire-fighters raced, one and all, to the dam, where they
found the water pouring through a hole near the head-gate,
at a rate which seemed likely to carry off the
entire structure in a very short time.

But I have purposely refrained from troubling the
reader with a detail of any of the various accidents
which attended our own particular debût, in the back-woods.
I mentioned the fire because it is an annual
occurrence throughout the country, and often consumes
wheat-stacks, and even solitary dwellings;
and I was drawn in to record the first breach in the
mill-dam, as occurring on the very day of the disaster
by fire.

I shall spare my friends any account of the many
troubles and vexatious delays attendant on repairing
that necessary evil, the dam; and even a transcript
of the three astounding figures which footed the account
of expenses on the occasion. I shall only
observe, that if long Sam Jennings did not get a ducking
for not giving intelligence of the impending evil a
full half-hour before it suited his convenience to stroll
our way, it was not because he did not richly deserve
it—and so I close my chapter of accidents.