Down the River; Or, Buck Bradford and His Tyrants Read online

  CHAPTER II.

  FLORA BRADFORD.

  I had never seen Mrs. Fishley use violence upon my poor sister before,though I afterwards learned that this was not the first time. I was asolid-built, stout fellow of sixteen; and when I seized the shrew by theshoulders, I was in real earnest. I had not made up my mind for thisoccasion to keep cool, and I did not keep so. I was as mad as a bearrobbed of her cubs.

  The idea of Mrs. Fishley's taking my poor deformed sister by the arm,and shaking her, was too revolting, and even horrible, to be endured. IfI could bear everything else, I could not bear that. At the presenttime, I have this pleasant consciousness, that I did not strike thewoman; I only grasped her by the shoulders, and hurled her away from hervictim. It was a vigorous movement on my part, and Mrs. Fishleystaggered till she saved herself by taking hold of a chair. She gatheredherself up, and her eyes flashed fire.

  "You rascal, you! What do you mean?" gasped she; and at the same instantshe rushed towards Flora, who was trembling with terror in her chair.

  "Stop a minute, Mrs. Fishley," I added.

  "You rascal, you!" repeated she, looking first at me, and then at Flora.

  "If you put the weight of your little finger on my sister again, I'lltear you in pieces," I continued, with both fists clinched.

  "What do you mean, you serpent, you?"

  "You touch her again, and you will know what I mean."

  "Don't, Buckland, don't," pleaded poor Flora, alarmed by the hostiledemonstration before her.

  "I should like to know!" cried Mrs. Fishley.

  As she did not tell me what she should like to know, I did not tell her.I stood upon the defensive between the virago and my sister's chair.

  SHE RUSHED TOWARDS FLORA.--Page 22.]

  "Did any one ever see such a boy!" continued the termagant, her tones awhole octave above the treble staff, as it seemed to me. "How dareyou put your hand on me?"

  "I dare."

  "You rascal, you!"

  "You may snap and snarl at me as much as you like; I don't mind it; butyou shall not abuse my sister."

  "Abuse your sister, you wretch!" said she, the words hissing from hermouth. "I should like to know!"

  "You will know if you touch Flora again," I answered.

  Somehow I felt as though Mrs. Fishley was not getting the better of mein this argument; and I soon came to the conclusion that she thought soherself, for she settled into a chair, and began to exhibit somesymptoms of hysterics.

  "O, dear me!" she groaned. "I don't have to work enough to kill commonfolks, I don't have more trials than any living being, but something newmust come upon me. There, I shall give up!"

  "You must give up abusing Flora," I put in.

  "How dare you tell me I abuse her?" snapped she. "Haven't I taken thebest of care of her? Haven't I made her clothes for her? Haven't Inursed her when she was sick? Haven't I done for her ever since she cameinto the house?"

  I don't think she had the least idea that she was not the best friendFlora had in the world, so blind are many people to their own errors andshortcomings.

  "She has had enough to eat, and enough to wear; and my brother has paidfor all she has had," I added. "But you are continually scolding at her,browbeating her, and making her as uncomfortable and unhappy as youcan."

  "Scolding her!" almost whistled Mrs. Fishley, so high was the key. "Inever scold at any one. I never was a scolding woman."

  "Gracious!" I exclaimed, mentally.

  "When things don't suit me, I'm apt to say so; but I never scold,"whined the shrew. "Whatever people may say of me, they can't call me ascolding woman."

  Was it possible she thought so!

  "I don't want to make any trouble, Mrs. Fishley," I replied, when shepaused, rather for want of breath than for any other reason.

  "Mercy! I shouldn't think you did! Ain't you ashamed of yourself totreat me as you did? You push me about as though you thought I wasn'tanybody."

  "Are you not ashamed of yourself for shaking that sick child?" Iretorted.

  "I didn't shake her."

  "Then I didn't push you."

  "You are getting to be a very bad boy, Buck Bradford; and you haven'theard the last of this," she said, rising from her chair, and restoringthe griddle to the stove, which Flora had taken off. "I should like toknow! Can't I speak to that girl without being treated in that manner?She would let the cakes all burn up before she would touch them."

  "I didn't know they were burning, Mrs. Fishley," pleaded Flora. "Youdidn't tell me to see to them."

  "Suppose I didn't tell you! Didn't you know enough not to let them burn?You are a careless, indifferent girl, and it don't make no differenceto you how much trouble you make for a body."

  "I would have seen to the cakes, if you had spoken to me."

  "I don't care anything about the cakes, anyhow," I interposed. "If youcan't help scolding Flora, you must keep your hands off her."

  "You don't care anything about the cakes! I should like to know! Well,we'll see about it! I'll know who rules here, I vum! I'll call Mr.Fishley! We'll see if you don't care!" rattled Mrs. Fishley, as shebolted from the kitchen through the entry into the store.

  "O, Buckland, what will become of us!" exclaimed Flora, rising withdifficulty from her chair, and throwing herself upon my breast.

  "Don't be afraid, Flora," I replied, pressing her to my heart, while thetears started in my eyes. "She shall not abuse you, whatever happens tome. While she did it only with her tongue, I bore it; but when she tookhold of you, I couldn't stand that, Flora--no, I could not."

  "I can bear it very well, Buckland." She never called me "Buck," aseverybody else did about the place. "I only fear what they will do toyou."

  "I can take care of myself, dearest Flora. I am strong and tough, and Ican stand almost anything," I answered, pressing her to my heart again,for she seemed to be the only person in the world who loved me.

  And how I loved her--poor orphan child, weak, sick, and deformed! Itseemed to me it would have been different if she had been well andstrong, and able to fight her own battle with the hard and cruel world.She was helpless and dependent, and that which shut her out from therest of the world endeared her to me, and wound her in with every fibreand tendril of my heart.

  Mrs. Fishley did not immediately return; neither did her husband appearupon the battle-field; and I concluded that she could not find him.

  While, folded in each other's arms, we waited in almost breathlessanxiety for the coming of our tyrants, let me give the reader a fewnecessary particulars in regard to our antecedents and surroundings.

  Torrentville, where the story opens, is situated in the south-westernpart of Wisconsin, though, for obvious reasons, it will not be found onthe map. It was located on a stream, which we called the "Creek," thoughit has since received a more dignified and specific name, about sevenmiles from Riverport, on the Wisconsin River. At the time of which Iwrite it contained two thousand inhabitants. Captain Fishley--he hadbeen an officer in the militia in some eastern state, and his title hadgone west with him--kept the principal store in the place, and was thepostmaster.

  My father had moved from the State of New York to Torrentville when Iwas eight years old, and soon after the death of my mother. He had threechildren, Clarence, Flora, and myself. He bought a farm just out of thevillage, employed a housekeeper, and for four years got along very well.But he was too ambitious, and worked too hard for his constitution.After a four years' residence in the west, he died. That was a sad dayto us, for he was the kindest of fathers. Poor Flora scarcely ceased toweep, at times, for a year, over the loss of her only parent.

  Captain Fishley was appointed administrator of the estate, and when itwas settled there was hardly fifteen hundred dollars left. My brotherClarence was just twenty-one when my father died, and he was appointedthe guardian of Flora and myself. He was considered a very smart youngman, and no one doubted his ability to take care of us. But he wasdissatisfied with Torrentville; there was not room enough
for a youngman of his ability to expand himself. He had no taste for farming, andfor two years had been a clerk in Captain Fishley's store. He wanted togo to New Orleans, where he believed he could make his fortune. About ayear after the death of his father, he decided to try his luck in themetropolis of the south-west.

  Clarence was a good brother, and I am sure he would not have gone, if hehad not felt satisfied that Flora and myself were well provided for. Iwas then a boy of thirteen, handy at almost anything about the farm, thehouse, and the garden, and Captain Fishley wanted me to come and livewith him. Clarence agreed to pay Flora's board, so that she was aboarder at the house of the Fishleys. It was stipulated that I shouldgo to school, and do certain "chores" for my board, while Clarence paidfor my clothes. My principal work, and all that the captain said Ishould be required to do, was to take care of the horse, and go afterthe mail every evening.

  Instead of this, I was compelled to be at the beck and call of all uponthe place, including Ham, the captain's only son, and miserably spoiledat that. Before I had been a year in my new home, I was dissatisfied,for the cloven heels of the three members of the family had appeared. Iwas crowded with work, picked upon, insulted, and trodden under foot.Perhaps I could have endured my fate, if poor Flora, upon whom ourtyrants had no claims, had fared well.

  We heard from Clarence occasionally, and learned in general terms, fromhis letters, that he was doing very well. I did not like to bother himwith complaints, and I did not do so till existence had become almost aburden. I think Clarence wrote back to the captain, and for a time therewas some improvement in our condition; but it soon became worse thanbefore. I repeated my complaint. My brother wished us to get along aswell as we could till he could spare the time to visit us; but that timehad not yet arrived.

  A few days before my story opens, early in April, I had a letter fromhim, saying that he was well established in business for himself, andthat he would certainly come to Torrentville in October, as soon as thesickly season was over, and take us to New Orleans. He added that heshould be married before that time, and would bring his wife with him.This was joyful news, but it was a dreary while to wait.

  The door suddenly opened, and Mrs. Fishley bounced into the kitchen,followed by her husband, both of them apparently wrought up to thehighest pitch of anger by my misdeeds.