Erema; Or, My Father's Sin

by R. D. Blackmore

  CHAPTER IV

  THE "KING OF THE MOUNTAINS."

  If I think, and try to write forever with the strongest words, I can notexpress to any other mind a thousandth part of the gratitude which wasand is, and ought to be forever, in my own poor mind toward those whowere so good to me. From time to time it is said (whenever any man withpower of speech or fancy gets some little grievances) that all mankindare simply selfish, miserly, and miserable. To contradict that sayingneeds experience even larger, perhaps, than that which has suggested it;and this I can not have, and therefore only know that I have not foundmen or women behave at all according to that view of them.

  Whether Sampson Gundry owed any debt, either of gratitude or of loyalty,to my father, I did not ask; and he seemed to be (like every one else)reserved and silent as to my father's history. But he always treated meas if I belonged to a rank of life quite different from and much abovehis own. For instance, it was long before he would allow me to have mymeals at the table of the household.

  But as soon as I began in earnest to recover from starvation, loss, andloneliness, my heart was drawn to this grand old man, who had seen somany troubles. He had been here and there in the world so much, anddealt with so many people, that the natural frankness of his mind wassharpened into caution. But any weak and helpless person still could getthe best of him; and his shrewdness certainly did not spring from anyform of bitterness. He was rough in his ways sometimes, and couldnot bear to be contradicted when he was sure that he was right, whichgenerally happened to him. But above all things he had one verygreat peculiarity, to my mind highly vexatious, because it seemedso unaccountable. Sampson Gundry had a very low opinion of feminineintellect. He never showed this contempt in any unpleasant way, andindeed he never, perhaps, displayed it in any positive sayings. But asI grew older and began to argue, sure I was that it was there; and italways provoked me tenfold as much by seeming to need no assertion, butto stand as some great axiom.

  The other members of the household were his grandson Ephraim (or "Firm"Gundry), the Indian woman Suan Isco, and a couple of helps, of race ornation almost unknown to themselves. Suan Isco belonged to a tribe ofrespectable Black Rock Indians, and had been the wife of a chief amongthem, and the mother of several children. But Klamath Indians, enemiesof theirs (who carried off the lady of the cattle ranch, and afterwardshot Elijah), had Suan Isco in their possession, having murdered herhusband and children, and were using her as a mere beast of burden, whenSampson Gundry fell on them. He, with his followers, being enragedat the cold-blooded death of Elijah, fell on those miscreants to suchpurpose that women and children alone were left to hand down their badpropensities.

  But the white men rescued and brought away the stolen wife of thestockman, and also the widow of the Black Rock chief. She was in suchpoor condition and so broken-hearted that none but the finest humanitywould have considered her worth a quarter of the trouble of hercarriage. But she proved to be worth it a thousandfold; and SawyerGundry (as now he was called) knew by this time all the value ofuncultivated gratitude. And her virtues were so many that it took along time to find them out, for she never put them forward, not knowingwhether they were good or bad.

  Until I knew these people, and the pure depth of their kindness, it wasa continual grief to me to be a burden upon them. But when I came tounderstand them and their simple greatness, the only thing I was ashamedof was my own mistrust of them. Not that I expected ever that any harmwould be done to me, only that I knew myself to have no claim on anyone.

  One day, when I was fit for nothing but to dwell on trouble, SampsonGundry's grandson "Firm"--as he was called for Ephraim--ran up thestairs to the little room where I was sitting by myself.

  "Miss Rema, will you come with us?" he said, in his deep, slow style ofspeech. "We are going up the mountain, to haul down the great tree tothe mill."

  "To be sure I will come," I answered, gladly. "What great tree is it,Mr. Ephraim?"

  "The largest tree any where near here--the one we cut down last winter.Ten days it took to cut it down. If I could have saved it, it shouldhave stood. But grandfather did it to prove his rights. We shall have arare job to lead it home, and I doubt if we can tackle it. I thought youmight like to see us try."

  In less than a minute I was ready, for the warmth and softness of theair made cloak or shawl unbearable. But when I ran down to the yardof the mill, Mr. Gundry, who was giving orders, came up and gave me anorder too.

  "You must not go like this, my dear. We have three thousand feet to goupward. The air will be sharp up there, and I doubt if we shall be homeby night-fall. Run, Suan, and fetch the young lady's cloak, and a pairof thicker boots for change."

  Suan Isco never ran. That manner of motion was foreign to her, atleast as we accomplish it. When speed was required, she attained itby increased length of stride and great vigor of heel. In this way sheconquered distance steadily, and with very little noise.

  The air, and the light, and the beauty of the mountains were a suddenjoy to me. In front of us all strode Sampson Gundry, clearing alltangles with a short, sharp axe, and mounting steep places as iftwoscore were struck off his threescore years and five. From time totime he turned round to laugh, or see that his men and trained bullockswere right; and then, as his bright eyes met my dark ones, he seemedto be sorry for the noise he made. On the other hand, I was ashamed ofdamping any one's pleasure by being there.

  But I need not have felt any fear about this. Like all other children,I wrapped myself up too much in my own importance, and behaved as ifmy state of mind was a thing to be considered. But the longer we rosethrough the freedom and the height, the lighter grew the heart of everyone, until the thick forest of pines closed round us, and we walked in asilence that might be felt.

  Hence we issued forth upon the rough bare rock, and after much troublewith the cattle, and some bruises, stood panting on a rugged cone, orcrest, which had once been crowned with a Titan of a tree. The treewas still there, but not its glory; for, alas! the mighty trunk layprostrate--a grander column than ever was or will be built by humanhands. The tapering shaft stretched out of sight for something like afurlong, and the bulk of the butt rose over us so that we could not seethe mountains. Having never seen any such tree before, I must have beenamazed if I had been old enough to comprehend it.

  Sampson Gundry, large as he was, and accustomed to almost every thing,collected his men and the whole of his team on the ground-floor or areaof the stump before he would say any thing. Here we all looked sosadly small that several of the men began to laugh; the bullocks seemednothing but raccoons or beavers to run on the branches or the fibres ofthe tree; and the chains and the shackles, and the blocks and cranes,and all the rest of the things they meant to use, seemed nothingwhatever, or at all to be considered, except as a spider's web upon thistree.

  The sagacious bullocks, who knew quite well what they were expected todo, looked blank. Some rubbed their horns into one another's sadly, andsome cocked their tails because they felt that they could not be calledupon to work. The light of the afternoon sun came glancing along thevast pillar, and lit its dying hues--cinnamon, purple, and glabrous red,and soft gray where the lichens grew.

  Every body looked at Mr. Gundry, and he began to cough a little, havinghad lately some trouble with his throat. Then in his sturdy mannerhe spoke the truth, according to his nature. He set his great squareshoulders against the butt of the tree, and delivered himself:

  "Friends and neighbors, and hands of my own, I am taken in here, and Iown to it. It serves me right for disbelieving what my grandson, FirmGundry, said. I knew that the tree was a big one, of course, as everybody else does; but till you see a tree laid upon earth you get no gripof his girth, no more than you do of a man till he lieth a corpse.At the time of felling I could not come anigh him, by reason of anaccident; and I had some words with this boy about it, which kept meaway ever since that time. Firm, you were right, and I was wrong. It wasa real shame, now I see it, to throw down the 'King of the Mo
untains.'But, for all that, being down, we must use him. He shall be sawn intofifty-foot lengths. And I invite you all to come again, for six or sevengood turns at him."

  At the hearing of this, a cheer arose, not only for the Sawyer's manlytruth, but also for his hospitality; because on each of these visits tothe mountain he was the host, and his supplies were good. But before thedescent with the empty teams began, young Ephraim did what appeared tome to be a gallant and straightforward thing. He stood on the chineof the fallen monster, forty feet above us, having gained the post ofvantage by activity and strength, and he asked if he might say a word ortwo.

  "Say away, lad," cried his grandfather, supposing, perhaps, in hisobstinate way (for truly he was very obstinate), that his grandsonwas going now to clear himself from art or part in the murder of thattree--an act which had roused indignation over a hundred leagues oflowland.

  "Neighbors," said Firm, in a clear young voice, which shook at firstwith diffidence, "we all have to thank you, more than I can tell, forcoming to help us with this job. It was a job which required to be donefor legal reasons which I do not understand, but no doubt they were goodones. For that we have my grandfather's word; and no one, I think, willgainsay it. Now, having gone so far, we will not be beaten by it, orelse we shall not be Americans."

  These simple words were received with great applause; and an orator,standing on the largest stump to be found even in America, delivered aspeech which was very good to hear, but need not now be repeated. AndMr. Gundry's eyes were moist with pleasure at his grandson's conduct.

  "Firm knoweth the right thing to do," he said; "and like a man he doethit. But whatever aileth you, Miss Rema, and what can 'e see in thedistance yonner? Never mind, my dear, then. Tell me by-and-by, when noneof these folk is 'longside of us."

  But I could not bear to tell him, till he forced it from me under painof his displeasure. I had spied on the sky-line far above us, in thedesert track of mountain, the very gap in which my father stood and bademe seek this landmark. His memory was true, and his eyesight also; butthe great tree had been felled. The death of the "King of the Mountains"had led to the death of the king of mankind, so far as my little worldcontained one.