He cherished a bitter antipathy to the Tories, and, like all the people on the sea-coast of Maine, was inclined to dislike the inhabitants of Nova Scotia, among whom they sought refuge after they were driven from the colonies. This prejudice extended itself to Peter Clash, and was greatly strengthened by his treatment of his benefactors; he therefore never treated him with the cordiality he did the other boys. This Pete highly resented. He persuaded Fred, Jack Pettigrew, Ike Godsoe, and some others, to go with him in the evening, take the fish from the flakes, and throw them on the beach. It was a very difficult matter to persuade the boys to do this, for they all loved and respected Uncle Isaac; besides, he was not a person to be trifled with. After going once, all, except Fred, Jack, and Ike, refused to go again; and after Pete and his satellites had gone, Henry Griffin and the others went back and replaced the fish. Pete, with his crew, continued the sport, and enjoyed a malicious pleasure, as, hid in the bushes, they saw him picking up the fish, many of which, getting in the tide’s way, were spoiled.
Peter Clash and the Wolf Trap. Page 207.
Uncle Isaac set a wolf-trap beside the flake, covering it in the sand, and hid himself among the bushes. The boys manifested a great deal of caution, pretending they had merely come down to fling stones into the water. The conduct of Uncle Isaac, who continued quietly to pick up the fish, without saying a word, made them suspicious; they thought there must be something “under that heap of meal.” By and by they began to edge up towards the flake, often stopping to listen. At last Pete went up to the fish; walking along the edge of the flake, he threw off the fish as he went, crying, “There’s nobody here; why don’t you come on, you cowards.” The words were scarcely out of his mouth, when snap went the great iron jaws of the trap, and up jumped Uncle Isaac from the bushes. Pete roared with agony. Well he might; the trap would have cut off his leg, or crushed it to pomace, if Uncle Isaac had not tied down one of the springs, thus diminishing its force. His captor uttered never a word; but catching him up, trap and all, walked right into the water.
“O! Mr. Murch, I’ll never do so again! What be you going to do to me?”
“Drown you, you spawn of a Tory; your hide isn’t worth taking off.”
Pete poured forth agonizing entreaties for mercy, and made the most solemn promises of amendment, if his life could be spared.
“You’re a rotten egg; you’re spilin’ all our boys, you varmint,” said Uncle Isaac, chucking him right into the water, head and ears.
“Murder! murder!” screamed Pete, the moment he got his head out.
“Will you clear out in the spring, in the first fisherman that comes along, and go where you come from?”