No. XXV Taming a Shrew
The road from Amherst to Parrsboro’ is tedious and uninteresting. In places it is made so straight that you can see several miles of it before you, which produces an appearance of interminable length, while the stunted growth of the spruce and birch trees bespeaks a cold, thin soil, and invests the scene with a melancholy and sterile aspect. Here and there occurs a little valley, with its meandering stream, and verdant and fertile interval, which, though possessing nothing peculiar to distinguish it from many others of the same kind, strikes the traveller as superior to them all, from the contrast to the surrounding country. One of these secluded spots attracted my attention, from the number and neatness of the buildings, which its proprietor, a tanner and currier, had erected for the purposes of his trade. Mr. Slick said he knew him, and he guessed it was a pity he couldn’t keep his wife in as good order as he did his factory.
“They don’t hitch their horses together well at all. He is properly hen-pecked,” said he; “he is afeerd to call his soul his own, and he leads the life of a dog; you never seed the beat of it, I vow. Did you ever see a rooster hatch a brood of chickens?”
“No,” said I, “not that I can recollect.”
“Well then I have,” said he, “and if he don’t look like a fool all the time he is a-settin’ on the eggs, it’s a pity; no soul could help larfin’ to see him. Our old nigger, January Snow, had a spite agin one of father’s roosters, seein’ that he was a coward, and wouldn’t fight. He used to call him Dearborne, arter our General that behaved so ugly to Canada; and, says he one day, ‘I guess you are no better than a hen, you everlastin’ old chicken-hearted villain, and I’ll make you a larfin’ stock to all the poultry. I’ll put a trick on you you’ll bear in mind all your born days.’ So he catches old Dearborne, and pulls all the feathers off his breast, and strips him as naked as when he was born, from his throat clean down to his tail, and then takes a bundle of nettles and gives him a proper switchin’ that stung him, and made him smart like mad; then he warms some eggs and puts them in a nest, and sets the old cock right a top of ’em. Well, the warmth of the eggs felt good to the poor critter’s naked belly, and kinder kept the itchin’ of the nettles down, and he was glad to bide where he was; and whenever he was tired and got off his skin felt so cold, he’d run right back and squat down agin; and when his feathers began to grow, and he got obstropolous, he got another ticklin’ with the nettles, that made him return double quick to his location. In a little time he larnt the trade real complete. Now, this John Porter (and there he is on the bridge, I vow; I never seed the beat o’ that, speak of old Satan and he’s sure to appear), well, he’s jist like old Dearborne, only fit to hatch eggs.”
When we came to the Bridge, Mr. Slick stopped his horse, to shake hands with Porter, whom he recognized as an old acquaintance and customer. He enquired after a bark-mill he had smuggled from the States for him, and enlarged on the value of such a machine, and the cleverness of his countrymen who invented such useful and profitable articles; and was recommending a new process of tanning, when a female voice from the house was heard, vociferating, “John Porter, come here this minute.” “Coming, my dear,” said the husband. “Come here, I say, directly, why do you stand talking to that Yankee villain there.” The poor husband hung his head, looked silly, and bidding us good-bye, returned slowly to the house.
As we drove on, Mr. Slick said, “That was me—I did that.”
“Did what?” said I.
“That was me that sent him back; I called him and not his wife. I had that ’ere bestowment ever since I was knee high or so; I’m a real complete hand at ventriloquism; I can take off any man’s voice I ever heerd to the very nines. If there was a law agin forgin’ that as there is for handwritin’, I guess I should have been hanged long ago. I’ve had high goes with it many a time, but it’s plaguy dangersome, and I don’t pracTISE it now but seldom. I had a real bout with that ’ere citizen’s wife once, and completely broke her in for him; she went as gentle as a circus horse for a space, but he let her have her head agin, and she’s as bad as ever now. I’ll tell you how it was.
“I was down to the Island a-sellin’ clocks, and who should I meet but John Porter; well, I traded with him for one, part cash, part truck and proDUCE, and also put off on him that ’ere bark-mill you heerd me axin’ about, and it was pretty considerable on in the evenin’ afore we finished our trade. I came home along with him, and had the clock in the wagon to fix it up for him, and to show him how to regilate it. Well, as we neared his house, he began to fret and take on dreadful oneasy; says he, ‘I hope Jane won’t be abed, ’cause if she is she’ll act ugly, I do suppose.’ I had heerd tell of her afore; how she used to carry a stiff upper lip, and make him and the broomstick well acquainted together; and, says I, ‘Why do you put up with her tantrums, I’d make a fair division of the house with her, if it was me; I’d take the inside and allocate her the outside of it pretty quick, that’s a fact.’ Well, when we came to the house, there was no light in it, and the poor critter looked so streaked and down in the mouth, I felt proper sorry for him. When he rapped at the door, she called out, ‘Who’s there?’ ‘It’s me, dear,’ says Porter. ‘You, is it,’ said she, ‘then you may stay where you be, them as gave you your supper, may give you your bed, instead of sendin’ you sneakin’ home at night like a thief.’ Said I, in a whisper, says I, ‘Leave her to me, John Porter; jist take the horses up to the barn, and see after them, and I’ll manage her for you, I’ll make her as sweet as sugary candy, never fear.’ The barn, you see, is a good piece off to the eastward of the house; and, as soon as he was cleverly out of hearin’, says I, a-imitatin’ of his voice to the life, ‘Do let me in, Jane,’ says I, ‘that’s a dear critter; I’ve brought you home some things you’ll like, I know.’ Well, she was an awful jealous critter; says she, ‘Take ’em to her you spent the evenin’ with, I don’t want you nor your presents neither.’ Arter a good deal of coaxin’ I stood on t’other tack, and began to threaten to break the door down; says I, ‘You old unhansum lookin’ sinner, you vinerger cruet you, open the door this minit or I’ll smash it right in.’ That grigged her properly, it made her very wrathy (for nothin’ sets up a woman’s spunk like callin’ her ugly; she gets her back right up like a cat when a strange dog comes near her; she’s all eyes, claws and bristles).
“I heerd her bounce right out of bed, and she came to the door as she was, ondressed, and onbolted it; and, as I entered it, she fetched me a box right across my cheek with the flat of her hand, that made it tingle agin. ‘I’ll teach you to call names agin,’ says she, ‘you varmint.’ It was jist what I wanted; I pushed the door tu with my foot, and seizing her by the arm with one hand, I quilted her with the horsewhip real handsum, with the other. At first she roared like mad; ‘I’ll give you the ten commandments,’ says she (meaning her ten claws), ‘I’ll pay you for this, you cowardly villain, to strike a woman. How dare you lift your hand, John Porter, to your lawful wife!’ and so on; all the time runnin’ round and round, like a colt that’s a-breakin’, with the mouthin’ bit, rarein’, kickin’, and plungin’ like statiee. Then she began to give in. Says she, ‘I beg pardon, on my knees I beg pardon—don’t murder me, for Heaven’s sake—don’t, dear John, don’t murder your poor wife, that’s a dear. I’ll do as you bid me; I promise to behave well, upon my honour I do—oh! dear John, do forgive me, do dear.’ When I had her properly brought too, for havin’ nothin’ on but a thin under-garment, every crack of the whip told like a notch on a baker’s tally, says I, ‘Take that as a taste of what you’ll catch, when you act that way like Old Scratch. Now go and dress yourself, and get supper for me and a stranger I have brought home along with me, and be quick, for I vow I’ll be master in my own house.’ She moaned like a dog hit with a stone, half whine, half yelp; ‘Dear, dear,’ says she, ‘if I ain’t all covered over with welts as big as my finger, I do believe I’m flayed alive;’ and she boo-hoo’d right out like anything. ‘I guess,’ said I, ‘you’ve got ’em where folks won’t see ’em, anyhow, and I calculate you won’t be over forrard to show ’em where they be. But come,’ says I, ‘be a-stirrin’, or I’ll quilt you agin as sure as you’re alive; I’ll tan your hide for you, you may depend, you old ungainly tempered heifer you.’
“When I went to the barn, says I, ‘John Porter, your wife made right at me, like one ravin’ distracted mad, when I opened the door, thinkin’ it was you; and I was obliged to give her a crack or two of the cowskin to get clear of her. It has effectuated a cure completely; now foller it up, and don’t let on for your life it warn’t you that did it, and you’ll be master once more in your own house. She’s all docity jist now—keep her so.’ As we returned we saw a light in the keepin’ room, the fire was blazin’ up cheerfulsome, and Marm Porter moved about as brisk as a parched pea, though as silent as dumb, and our supper was ready in no time. As soon as she took her seat and sot down, she sprung right up on eend, as if she had sot on a pan of hot coals, and coloured all over; and then tears started in her eyes. Thinks I to myself, I calculate I wrote that ’ere lesson in large letters anyhow, I can read that writin’ without spellin’, and no mistake; I guess you’ve got pretty well warmed thereabouts this hitch. Then she tried it agin, first she sot on one leg then on t’other, quite oneasy, and then right atwixt both, a-fidgettin’ about dreadfully; like a man that’s rode all day on a bad saddle, and lost a little leather on the way. If you had seed how she stared at Porter, it would have made you snicker. She couldn’t credit her eyes. He warn’t drunk, and he warn’t crazy, but there he sot as peeked and as meechin’ as you please. She seemed all struck up of a heap at his rebellion. The next day when I was about startin’, I advised him to act like a man, and keep the weather gage now he had it, and all would be well, but the poor critter only held on a day or two, she soon got the upper hand of him, and made him confess all, and by all accounts he leads a worse life now than ever. I put that ’ere trick on him jist now to try him, and I see it’s gone goose with him; the jig is up with him, she’ll soon call him with a whistle like a dog. I often think of the hornpipe she danced there in the dark along with me, to the music of my whip—she touched it off in great style, that’s a fact. I shall mind that go one while, I promise you. It was actilly equal to a play at old Bowry. You may depend, Squire, the only way to tame a shrew is by the cowskin. Grandfather Slick was raised all along the coast of Kent in Old England, and he used to say there was an old saying there, which, I expect, is not far off the mark:
‘A woman, a dog, and a walnut tree,
The more you lick ’em, the better they be.’”