The William Henry Letters

A Letter from Tom Cush to Dorry

Dear Friend, —

I have not seen you for a great while. I hope you are in good health. Does William Henry go to school there now? And does Benjie go, and little Bubby Short? I hope they are in good health. Do the Two Betseys keep shop there now? Is Gapper Skyblue alive now? I am in very good health. I go to sea now. That's where I went when I went away from school. I suppose all the boys hate me, don't they? But I don't blame them any for hating me. I should think they would all of them hate me. For I didn't act very well when I went to that school. Our captain knows about that school, for he is uncle to a boy that has begun to go. He's sent a letter to him. I wish that boy would write a letter to him, because he might tell about the ones I know.

I've been making up my mind about telling you something. I've been thinking about it, and thinking about it. I don't like to tell things very well. But I am going to tell this to you. It isn't anything to tell. I mean it isn't like news, or anything happening to anybody. But it is something about when I was sick. For I had a fit of sickness. I don't mean afterwards, when I was so very sick, but at the first beginning of it.

The captain he took some books out of his chest and said I might have them to read if I wanted to. And I read about a man in one of them, and the king wanted him to do something that the man thought wasn't right to do; but the man said he would not do what was wrong. And for that he was sent to row in a very large boat among all kinds of bad man, thieves and murderers and the worst kind. They had to row every minute, and were chained to their oars, and above their waists they had no clothes on. They had overseers with long whips. The officers stayed on deck over the rowers' heads, and when they wanted the vessel to go faster, the overseers made their long whip-lashes cut into the men's backs till they were all raw and bleeding. Nights the chains were not taken off, and they slept all piled up on each other. Sometimes when the officers were in a hurry, or when there were soldiers aboard, going to fight the enemy's vessels, then the men wouldn't have even a minute to eat, and were almost starved to death, and got so weak they would fall over, but then they were whipped again. And when they got to the enemy's ships, they had to sit and have cannons fired in among them. Then the dead ones were picked up and thrown into the water. And the king told the man that if he wanted to be free, and have plenty to eat and a nice house, and good clothes to wear, all he had to do was to promise to do that wrong thing. But the man said no. For to be chained there would only hurt his body. But to do wrong would hurt his soul.

And I read about some people that lived many hundred years ago and the emperor of that country wanted these people to say that their religion was wrong and his religion was the right one. But they said, "No. We believe ours is true, and we cannot lie." Then the emperor took away all their property, and pierced them with red-hot irons, and threw some into a place where they kept wild beasts. But they still kept saying, "We cannot lie, we must speak what we believe." And one was a boy only fifteen years old. And the emperor thought he was so young they could scare him very easy. And he said to him, "Now say you believe the way I want you to, or I will have you shut up in a dark dungeon." But the boy said, "I will not say what is false." And he was shut up in a dark dungeon, underground. And one day the emperor said to him, "Say you believe the way I want you to, or I will have you stretched upon a rack." But the boy said, "I will not speak falsely." And he was stretched upon a rack till his bones were almost pulled apart. Then the emperor asked, "Now will you believe that my religion is right?" But the boy could not say so. And the emperor said, "Then you'll be burned alive!" The boy said, "I can suffer the burning, but I cannot lie." Then he was brought out and the wood was piled up round him, and set on fire, and the boy was burned up with the wood. And while he was burning up he thanked God for having strength enough to suffer and not lie.

Dorry, I want to tell you how much I've been thinking about that man and that boy ever since. And I want to ask you to do something. I've been thinking about how mean I was, and what I did there so as not to get punished. And I want you to go see my mother and tell her that I'm ashamed. Don't make any promises to my mother, but only just tell, "Tom's ashamed." That's all. I don't want to make promises. But I know myself just what I mean to do. But I sha' n't talk about that any. Give my regards to all inquiring friends.

P.S. Can't you tell things about me to William Henry and the others, for it is very hard to me to write a letter? Write soon.

Mr. Carver's visit to the Crooked Pond School alluded to in the following letter was quite an event for my Summer Sweeting friends, and caused an extra amount of cooking to be done in both families. Boys don't half appreciate the blessing of not being too old to have goodies sent them. Now goodies taste good to me, very good, but I haven't a friend in the world who would think of boiling up a kettleful of molasses into candy, or of making a waiterful of seed-cakes to send me. Too old, they say, – in actions, if not in words. How cruelly we are misjudged sometimes, and by those who ought to know us best! I shall never be too old to receive a box like that of William Henry's, never, never! – unless my whole constitution is altered and several clauses taken out of it.

I remember of seeing that waiter of "good seed-cakes" on grandmother's best room table, between the front windows, waiting to be packed in Mr. Carver's valise. Mr. Carver's black silk neck-handkerchief, tall hat, clean dickies, stockings, two red and white silk pocket-handkerchiefs, and various other articles were distributed over the adjacent chairs, and his umbrella, in a brown cambric covering, stood near by. I have the impression that most of these things were ironed over, five or six times, as grandmother felt that apparel going away from home could not be too much ironed. Besides, it seemed to her impossible that such an event as Billy's father setting out on his travels should take place without extra exertions in some quarter.

Mr. Carver had other business which took him from home, but as "going to see Billy" was thought enough to tell Mrs. Paulina, why, it is enough for me to tell. "Mrs. Paulina" was an elderly woman, the wife of Mr. John Slade, one of the neighbors, and she was called "Mrs. Paulina," to distinguish her from several other Mrs. Slades.

Mrs. Paulina had her own opinion as to how money and time should be spent, – everybody's money and time. She was one of the prying sort, and had wonderful skill in ferreting out all the whys and wherefores of her neighbor's proceedings. It was a common thing at the Farm to say, when undertaking some new scheme, "Well, how much shall we tell Mrs. Paulina?" It being a matter of course that she would inquire into it. The girls often amused themselves by giving her blinding answers just to see how she would contrive to carry her point. I remember their having great fun doing this, just after William Henry went away to school. Lucy Maria said 't was just like a conundrum to Mrs. Paulina, a great mammoth conundrum, and the poor thing must be told about "Old Uncle Wallace," or she would wear herself out, wondering "how Mr. Carver could possibly afford the money."

The "Old Uncle Wallace" thus brought to the rescue of Mrs. Paulina would probably not have came to her rescue, or to any woman's rescue, had he been free to choose, seeing that he lived and died a bachelor, and a stingy bachelor at that! The old miser was a distant uncle, – either half-uncle, or grand-uncle, or half grand-uncle of the Mr. Carvers, and lived, that is before he died, in a town some twenty miles off. Billy's father was named for Uncle Wallace, and when a little boy, lived in the same neighborhood, and was quite a favorite with him.

The acquaintance with that distant branch of the family, however, had not been kept up, in fact I have no recollection of a single member of it ever coming to the Farm. They were people well to do in the world, and neither Mr. Carver nor Uncle Jacob were men to "honey round" rich relations. Certainly they never would have fawned upon the miserly old fellow, who had the reputation of being mean and tricky as well as miserly.

It seems, however, that "Uncle Wallace" did not wholly forget his namesake, for in his will he left him quite a valuable wood-lot near Corry's Pond, – some six or eight miles from the Farm, – and a few hundred dollars besides.

This occurred not a great while before my first ride out with Uncle Jacob. Mr. Carver had long felt that Billy was being spoiled at home, and the Crooked Pond School being recommended at that time as "really good," and "not too expensive," he resolved that while feeling rich he would place his son at that institution. And he was more especially inclined to do so for the reason that an old friend of his lived near there, and this friend's wife promised to see that the boy did not go about in actual rags. She is probably the person to whom William Henry refers in his first letters, as "the woman I go to have my buttons sewed on to."

The above circumstances were duly imparted to Mrs. Paulina, yet that perplexed woman got no relief. True, it was something to know where the money came from, but "How could a man," she asked, "spend so much money on eddication, when it might be drawing interest, or put into land?"

Mrs. Paulina couldn't guess. She gave it up.

William Henry's Letter to his Grandmother

My Dear Grandmother, —

I suppose my father has got home again by this time. I like to have my father come to see me. The boys all say my father is a tip-top one. I guess they like to have a man treat them with so many peanuts and good seed-cakes. I got back here to-day from Dorry's cousin's party. My father let me go. I wish my sister could have seen that party. Tell her when I get there I will tell her all about the little girls, and tell her how cunning the little ones, as small as she, looked dancing, and about the good things we had. O, I never saw such good things before! I didn't know there were such kinds of good things in the world.

Did my father tell you all about that letter that Tom Cush wrote to Dorry? Ask him to. Dorry sent that letter right to Tom Cush's mother. And when Dorry and I were walking along together the next morning after the party, she was sitting at her window, and as soon as she saw us she said, "Won't you come in, boys? Do come in!" And looked so glad! And laughed, and about half cried, after we went in, and it was that same room where we went before. But it didn't seem so lonesome now, not half. It looked about as sunshiny as our kitchen does, and they had flower-vases. I wish I could get some of those pretty seeds for my sister, for she hasn't got any of that kind of flowers.

She seemed just as glad to see us! And shook hands and looked so smiling, and so did Tom's father when he came into the room. He had a belt in his hand that Tom used to wear when he used to belong to that Base-ball Club. And when we saw that Dorry said, "Why! has Tom got back?" Tom's mother said, "O no." But his father said, "O yes! Tom's got back. He hasn't got back to our house, but he's got back. He hasn't got back to town, but he's got back. He hasn't got back to his own country, but he's got back. For I call that getting back," says he, "when a boy gets back to the right way of feeling."

Then Tom's mother took that belt and hung it up where it used to be before, for it had been taken down and put away, because they didn't want to have it make them think of Tom so much.

She said when Tom got back in earnest, back to the house, that we two, Dorry and I, must come there and make a visit, and I hope we shall, for they've got a pond at the bottom of their garden, and Tom's father owns a boat, and you mustn't think I should tip over, for I sha' n't, and no matter if I should, I can swim to shore easy.

P.S. Bubby Short didn't mean to, but he sat down on my speckled straw hat, and we couldn't get it out even again, and I didn't want him to, but he would go to buy me a new one, and I went with him, but the man didn't have any, for he said the man that made speckled straw hats was dead and his shop was burnt down, and we found a brown straw hat, but I wouldn't let Bubby Short pay any of his money, only eight cents, because I didn't have quite enough. Don't shopkeepers have the most money of all kinds of men? Wouldn't you be a shopkeeper when I grow up? It seems just as easy! If you was me would you swap off your white-handled jack-knife your father bought you for a four-blader? My sister said to send some of W. B.'s good things. He wrote a very good composition about heads, the teacher said, and I am going to send it, for that will be sending one of his good things. It's got in it about two dozen kinds of heads besides our own heads. W. B. is willing for me to copy it off. And Bubby Short wrote a very cunning little one, and if you want to, you may read it. The teacher told us a good deal about heads.

W. B.'s Composition

Heads are of different shapes and different sizes. They are full of notions. Large heads do not always hold the most. Some persons can tell just what a man is by the shape of his head. High heads are the best kind. Very knowing people are called long-headed. A fellow that won't stop for anything or anybody is called hot-headed. If he isn't quite so bright, they call him soft-headed; if he won't be coaxed nor turned, they call him pig-headed. Animals have very small heads. The heads of fools slant back. When your head is cut off you are beheaded. Our heads are all covered with hair, except baldheads. There are other kinds of heads besides our heads.

First, there are Barrel-heads. Second, there are Pin-heads. Third, Heads of sermons, – sometimes a minister used to have fifteen heads to one sermon. Fourth, Headwind. Fifth, Head of cattle, – when a farmer reckons up his cows and oxen he calls them so many head of cattle. Sixth, Drumheads, – drumheads are made of sheepskin. Seventh, Heads or tails, – when you toss up pennies. Eighth, Doubleheaders, – when you let off rockets. Ninth, Come to a head – like a boil or a rebellion. Tenth, Cabbageheads, – dunces are called cabbageheads, and good enough for them. Eleventh, At Loggerheads, – when you don't agree. Twelfth, Heads of chapters. Thirteenth, Head him off, – when you want to stop a horse, or a boy. Fourteenth, Head of the family. Fifteenth, A Blunderhead. Sixteenth, The Masthead, – where they send sailors to punish them. Seventeenth, get up to the head, – when you spell the word right. Eighteenth, The Head of a stream, – where it begins. Nineteenth, Down by the head, – when a vessel is deep loaded at the bows. Twentieth, a Figurehead carved on a vessel. Twenty-first, The Cathead, and that's the end of a stick of timber that a ship's anchor hangs by. Twenty-second, A Headland, or cape. Twenty-third, A Head of tobacco. Twenty-fourth, A Bulkhead, which is a partition in a ship. Twenty-fifth, Go ahead, – but first be sure you are right.

Bubby Short's Composition

It is very pleasant to get up in the morning and walk in the green fields, and hear the birds sing. The morning is the earliest part of the day. The sun rises in the morning. It is very good for our health to get up early. It is very pleasant to see the sun rise in the morning. In the morning the flowers bloom out and smell very good. If it thunders in the morning, or there's a rainbow, 't will be rainy weather. Fish bite best in the morning, when you go a fishing. I like to sleep in the morning.

Here is a letter which, judging from the improvement shown in handwriting, and from its rather more dashing style, seems to have been written during William Henry's second school year.

William Henry's Letter about the "Charade."

My Dear Grandmother, —

I never did in all my life have such a real tiptop time as we fellers had last night. We acted charades, and I never did any before, and the word was – no, I mustn't tell you, because it has to be guessed by actions, and when you get the paper that I'm going to send you, soon as I buy a two-cent stamp, then you'll see it all printed out in that paper. The teacher the fellers call Wedding Cake, because he's such a good one, asked all the ones that board here to come to his house last night, and we acted charades, and his sister told us what to be, and what things to put on, and everything. You'll see it printed there, but you must please to send it back, for I promised to return.

There weren't females enough, and so Dorry he was the Fat Woman, and we all liked to ha' died a laughing, getting ready, but when we were – there, I 'most told!

O if you could ha' seen Bubby Short, a fiddling away, with old ragged clothes and old shoes and his cap turned wrong side out, then he passed round that cap – just as sober – much as we could do to keep in! I was a clerk and had a real handsome mustache done under my nose with a piece of burnt cork-stopple burned over the light. And she told me to act big, like a clerk, and I did.

Mr. Augustus was the dandy, and if he didn't strut, but he struts other times too, but more then, and made all of us laugh.

Old Wonder Boy was the boy that sold candy, and he spoke up smart and quick, just as she told him to, and the teacher was the country feller and acted just as funny, and so did his sister; his sister was the shopping woman. Both of them like to play with boys, and they're grown up, too. Should you think they would? And they like candy same as we do. And when it came to the end, just as the curtain was dropping down, we all took hold of the rounds of our chairs, and jerked ourselves all of a sudden up in a heap together, and groaned, and so forth.

I wish you all and Aunt Phebe's folks had been there. We had a treat, and O, if 't wasn't a treat, why, I'll agree to treat myself. Three kinds of ice-creams shaped up into pyramids and rabbits, and scalloped cakes and candy, and such a great floating island in a platter! – Dorry said 't was a floating continent! – and had red jelly round the platter's edge, and some of that red jelly was dipped out every dip. O, if he isn't a tiptop teacher! Dorry says we ought to be ashamed of ourselves if we have missing lessons, or cut up any for much as a week, and more too, I say.

And so I can't tell any more now, for I mean to study hard if I possibly can,

Please lend it to Aunt Phebe's folks.

Chairs placed in two rows, to represent seats of cars. Passengers enter and take their seats. Placard stuck up, "Beware of Pickpockets," in capitals.

First. Enter two school-girls, M. and A., with books strapped about, lunch-box, &c. They are laughing and chatting. M. gives A. a letter to read. A. smiles while reading it, M. watching her face, then both look over it together. Afterwards, study their lessons. All this must be going on while the other passengers are entering.

Second. Business man and two clerks, one at a time. One takes out little account-book, another reads paper, another sits quietly, after putting ticket in his hat-band.

Third. Fat woman, with old-fashioned carpet-bag, umbrella, and bundles tied up in handkerchiefs; seats herself with difficulty.

Fourth. A clergyman, all in black, very solemn, with white neckcloth and spectacles.

Fifth. Yankee fellow from the country, staring at all new-comers.

Sixth. Dandy, with yellow gloves, slender cane, stunning necktie, watch-chain, and eyeglass comes in with a flourish, lolls back in his seat, using his eyeglass frequently.

Seventh. Lady with infant (very large rag-baby, in cloak and sunbonnet) and nurse girl. Baby, being fussy, has to be amused, trotted, changed from one to the other. Lady takes things from her pocket to please it, dancing them up and down before its face.

Eighth. Plainly dressed, industrious woman, who knits.

Ninth. Fashionable young lady, dressed in the extreme of fashion. She minces up the aisle, looks at the others, seats herself apart from them, first brushing the seat. Shakes the dust from her garments, fans herself, takes out smelling-bottle, &c. (Shout is heard.) "All aboard!"

Tenth. In a hurry, Lady that's been a-shopping, leading or pulling along her little boy or girl. She carries a waterproof on her arm, and has a shopping-bag and all sorts of paper parcels, besides a portfolio, a roller cart, a wooden horse on wheels, a drum, a toy-whip (and various other things). Doll's heads stick out of a paper. Lady drops a package. Dandy picks it up with polite bow. Drops another. Yankee picks it up, imitating Dandy's polite bow. Gets seated at last, arranges her bonnet-strings, takes off the child's hat, smooths its hair, &c.

Steam-whistle heard. Every passenger now begins the jerking, up-and-down motion peculiar to the cars. This motion must be kept up by all, whatever they are doing, and by every one who enters.

Enter Conductor with an immense badge on his hat, or coat. Calls out "Have your tickets ready!" Then passes along the aisle, and calls out again, "Tickets!" The tickets must be large and absurd. Passengers take them from pocket-books, gloves, &c. Fat old woman fumbles long for hers in different bundles, finds it at last in a huge leather pocket-book. Conductor, after nipping the tickets, passes out.

Enter boy with papers, "Mornin' papers! Herald, Journal, Traveller!" (Business man buys one.) "Mornin' papers! Herald, Journal, Traveller!" (Clerk buys one.) Paper boy passes out. Conductor appears, calls out, "Warburton! Warburton! Passengers for Bantam change cars!" (Noise heard of brakes, jerking motion ceases, school-girls leave, with those little hopping motions peculiar to school-girls. Yankee moves nearer fashionable miss. Two laborers enter. Steam-whistle heard, jerking motion resumed.) Candy boy enters. "Jessup's candy! All flavors! Five cents a stick!" (Lady buys one for baby.) "Jessup's candy! All flavors! Lemon, vanilla, pineapple, strorbry!" (Yankee buys one, offers half to fashionable miss. She declines. Crunches it himself.) Boy passes out.

Enter boy with picture-papers, which he distributes. Some examine them, others let them lie. (Dandy buys one.) Boy collects them and passes out. Enter a very little ragged boy, with fiddle, or accordion. After playing awhile, passes round his hat. Most of the passengers drop something in it. Exit boy.

Enter Conductor. "Tickets!" Collects tickets. (Steam-whistle heard.) Passengers pick up their things. Curtain drops just as the last one goes out. (This scene might be ended by the passengers, at a given signal, pulling their seats together, pitching over, and having the curtain fall on a smash-up.)