CHAPTER VI
A BRITISHER
The beautiful Blue River came from the jagged depths of the mountains,full of light and liveliness. It had scarcely run six miles from itssource before it touched our mill-wheel; but in that space and time ithad gathered strong and copious volume. The lovely blue of the water(like the inner tint of a glacier) was partly due to its origin,perhaps, and partly to the rich, soft tone of the granite sand spreadunder it. Whatever the cause may have been, the river well deserved itstitle.
It was so bright and pure a blue, so limpid and pellucid, that it evenseemed to out-vie the tint of the sky which it reflected, and the myriadsparks of sunshine on it twinkled like a crystal rain. Plodding throughthe parched and scorching dust of the mountain-foot, through thestifling vapor and the blinding, ochreous glare, the traveler suddenlycame upon this cool and calm delight. It was not to be descried afar,for it lay below the level, and the oaks and other trees of shelterscarcely topped the narrow comb. There was no canyon, such as are--andsome of them known over all the world--both to the north and south ofit. The Blue River did not owe its birth to any fierce convulsion, butsparkled on its cheerful way without impending horrors. Standing hereas a child, and thinking, from the manner of my father, that strong mennever wept nor owned the conquest of emotion, I felt sometimes a fool'scontempt for the gushing transport of brave men. For instance, I haveseen a miner, or a tamer of horses, or a rough fur-hunter, or (perhapsthe bravest of all) a man of science and topography, jaded, worn, andnearly dead with drought and dearth and choking, suddenly, and beyondall hope, strike on this buried Eden. And then he dropped on his kneesand spread his starved hands upward, if he could, and thanked the Godwho made him, till his head went round, and who knows what remembranceof loved ones came to him? And then, if he had any moisture left, hefell to a passion of weeping.
In childish ignorance I thought that this man weakly degraded himself,and should have been born a woman. But since that time I have trulylearned that the bravest of men are those who feel their Maker's Landmost softly, and are not ashamed to pay the tribute of their weakness toHim.
Living, as we did, in a lonely place, and yet not far from a track alongthe crest of the great Californian plain from Sacramento southward,there was scarcely a week which did not bring us some traveler needingcomfort. Mr. Gundry used to be told that if he would set up a roughhotel, or house of call for cattle-drovers, miners, loafers, and soon, he might turn twice the money he could ever make by his thrivingsaw-mill. But he only used to laugh, and say that nature had made himtoo honest for that; and he never thought of charging any thing for hishospitality, though if a rich man left a gold piece, or even a nugget,upon a shelf, as happened very often, Sawyer Gundry did not disdainto set it aside for a rainy day. And one of his richest or most lavishguests arrived on my account, perhaps.
It happened when daylight was growing shorter, and the red heat of theearth was gone, and the snow-line of distant granite peaks had creptalready lower, and the chattering birds that spent their summer in ourband of oak-trees were beginning to find their food get short, and toprime swift wings for the lowland; and I, having never felt bitter cold,was trembling at what I heard of it. For now it was clear that I had nochoice but to stay where I was for the present, and be truly thankful toGod and man for having the chance of doing so. For the little relicsof my affairs--so far as I had any--had taken much time in arrangement,perhaps because it was so hard to find them. I knew nothing, exceptabout my own little common wardrobe, and could give no information aboutthe contents of my father's packages. But these, by dint of perseveranceon the part of Ephraim (who was very keen about all rights), had mainlybeen recovered, and Mr. Gundry had done the best that could be doneconcerning them. Whatever seemed of a private nature, or likely to proveimportant, had been brought home to Blue River Mills; the rest had beensold, and had fetched large prices, unless Mr. Gundry enlarged them.
He more than enlarged, he multiplied them, as I found out longafterward, to make me think myself rich and grand, while a beggar uponhis bounty. I had never been accustomed to think of money, and feltsome little contempt for it--not, indeed, a lofty hatred, but a carelesswonder why it seemed to be always thought of. It was one of the lastthings I ever thought of; and those who were waiting for it were--untilI got used to them--obliged in self-duty to remind me.
This, however, was not my fault. I never dreamed of wronging them. ButI had earned no practical knowledge of the great world any where, muchthough I had wandered about, according to vague recollections. The dutyof paying had never been mine; that important part had been done for me.And my father had such a horror always of any growth of avarice that henever gave me sixpence.
And now, when I heard upon every side continual talk of money, from SuanIsco upward, I thought at first that the New World must be differentfrom the Old one, and that the gold mines in the neighborhood must havemade them full of it; and once or twice I asked Uncle Sam; but he onlynodded his head, and said that it was the practice every where. Andbefore very long I began to perceive that he did not exaggerate.
Nothing could prove this point more clearly than the circumstance abovereferred to--the arrival of a stranger, for the purpose of bribing evenUncle Sam himself. This happened in the month of November, when thepasses were beginning to be blocked with snow, and those of the highermountain tracts had long been overwhelmed with it. On this particularday the air was laden with gray, oppressive clouds, threatening a heavydownfall, and instead of faring forth, as usual, to my beloved river, Iwas kept in-doors, and even up stairs, by a violent snow-headache. Thisis a crushing weight of pain, which all new-comers, or almost all, areobliged to endure, sometimes for as much as eight-and-forty hours, whenthe first great snow of the winter is breeding, as they express it,overhead. But I was more lucky than most people are; for after abouttwelve hours of almost intolerable throbbing, during which the sweetestsound was odious, and the idea of food quite loathsome, the agony leftme, and a great desire for something to eat succeeded. Suan Isco, thekindest of the kind, was gone down stairs at last, for which I feltungrateful gratitude--because she had been doing her best to charmaway my pain by low, monotonous Indian ditties, which made it ten timesworse; and yet I could not find heart to tell her so.
Now it must have been past six o'clock in the evening of the Novemberday when the avalanche slid off my head, and I was able to lift it. Thelight of the west had been faint, and was dead; though often it usedto prolong our day by the backward glance of the ocean. With pangs ofyouthful hunger, but a head still weak and dazy, I groped my way in thedark through the passage and down the stairs of redwood.
At the bottom, where a railed landing was, and the door opened into thehouse-room, I was surprised to find that, instead of the usual cheerfulcompany enjoying themselves by the fire-light, there were only twopeople present. The Sawyer sat stiffly in his chair of state, delayingeven the indulgence of his pipe, and having his face set sternly, as Ihad never before beheld it. In the visitor's corner, as we called it,where people sat to dry themselves, there was a man, and only one.
Something told me that I had better keep back and not disturb them. Theroom was not in its usual state of comfort and hospitality. Some kind ofmeal had been made at the table, as always must be in these parts;but not of the genial, reckless sort which random travelers carriedon without any check from the Sawyer. For he of all men ever born ina civilized age was the finest host, and a guest beneath his roofwas sacred as a lady to a knight. Hence it happened that I was muchsurprised. Proper conduct almost compelled me to withdraw; but curiositymade me take just one more little peep, perhaps. Looking back at thesethings now, I can not be sure of every thing; and indeed if I could, Imust have an almost supernatural memory. But I remember many things; andthe headache may have cleared my mind.
The stranger who had brought Mr. Gundry's humor into such stiffcondition was sitting in the corner, a nook where light and shadow madean eddy. He seemed to be perfectly unconcerned about all the t
ricks ofthe hearth flame, presenting as he did a most solid face for any lightto play upon. To me it seemed to be a weather-beaten face of a bluff andresolute man, the like of which we attribute to John Bull. At any rate,he was like John Bull in one respect: he was sturdy and square, and fitto hold his own with any man.
Strangers of this sort had come (as Englishmen rove every where), andbeen kindly welcomed by Uncle Sam, who, being of recent English blood,had a kind of hankering after it, and would almost rather have such athis board than even a true-born American; and infinitely more welcomewere they than Frenchman, Spaniard, or German, or any man not to bedistinguished, as was the case with some of them. Even now it was clearthat the Sawyer had not grudged any tokens of honor, for the tall,square, brazen candlesticks, of Boston make, were on the table, andvery little light they gave. The fire, however, was grandly roaring ofstub-oak and pine antlers, and the black grill of the chimney brickswas fringed with lifting filaments. It was a rich, ripe light, affordingbreadth and play for shadow; and the faces of the two men glistened, anddarkened in their creases.
I was dressed in black, and could not be seen, though I could see themso clearly; and I doubted whether to pass through, upon my way to thelarder, or return to my room and starve a little longer; for I did notwish to interrupt, and had no idea of listening. But suddenly I wascompelled to stop; and to listen became an honest thing, when I knewwhat was spoken of--or, at any rate, I did it.
"Castlewood, Master Colonist; Castlewood is the name of the man that Ihave come to ask about. And you will find it worth your while to tell meall you know of him." Thus spoke the Englishman sitting in the corner;and he seemed to be certain of producing his effect.
"Wal," said Uncle Sam, assuming what all true Britons believe to be theuniversal Yankee tone, while I knew that he was laughing in his sleeve,"Squire, I guess that you may be right. Considerations of that 'ere kinddesarves to be considered of."
"Just so. I knew that you must see it," the stranger continued, bravely."A stiff upper lip, as you call it here, is all very well to begin with.But all you enlightened members of the great republic know what is what.It will bring you more than ten years' income of your saw-mill, andfarm, and so on, to deal honestly with me for ten minutes. No morebeating about the bush and fencing with me, as you have done. Now canyou see your own interest?"
"I never were reckoned a fool at that. Squire, make tracks, and be donewith it."
"Then, Master Colonist, or Colonel--for I believe you are all colonelshere--your task is very simple. We want clear proof, sworn properly andattested duly, of the death of a villain--George Castlewood, otherwisethe Honorable George Castlewood, otherwise Lord Castlewood: a man whomurdered his own father ten years ago this November: a man committedfor trial for the crime, but who bribed his jailers and escaped, andwandered all over the Continent. What is that noise? Have you got rats?"
"Plenty of foreign rats, and native 'coons, and skunks, and othervarmint. Wal, Squire, go on with it."
The voice of Uncle Sam was stern, and his face full of rising fury, asI, who had made that noise in my horror, tried to hush my heart withpatience.
"The story is well known," continued the stranger: "we need make nobones of it. George Castlewood went about under a curse--"
"Not quite so loud, Squire, if you please. My household is notaltogether seasoned."
"And perhaps you have got the young lady somewhere. I heard a report tothat effect. But here you think nothing of a dozen murders. Now, Gundry,let us have no squeamishness. We only want justice, and we can pay forit. Ten thousand dollars I am authorized to offer for a mere act of dutyon your part. We have an extradition treaty. If the man had been alive,we must have had him. But as he has cheated the hangman by dying, we canonly see his grave and have evidence. And all well-disposed people mustrejoice to have such a quiet end of it. For the family is so well known,you see."
"I see," Mr. Gundry answered, quietly, laying a finger on his lips."Guess you want something more than that, though, Squire. Is therenothing more than the grave to oblige a noble Britisher with?"
"Yes, Colonel; we want the girl as well. We know that she was with himin that caravan, or wagon train, or whatever you please to call it.We know that you have made oath of his death, produced his child, andobtained his trunks, and drawn his share in the insurance job. Your lawsmust be queer to let you do such things. In England it would have takenat least three years, and cost a deal more than the things were worth,even without a Chancery suit. However, of his papers I shall takepossession; they can be of no earthly use to you."
"To be sure. And possession of his darter too, without so much as aChancery suit. But what is to satisfy me, Squire, agin goin' wrong inthis little transaction?"
"I can very soon satisfy you," said the stranger, "as to their identity.Here is their full, particular, and correct description--names, weights,and colors of the parties."
With a broad grin at his own exquisite wit, the bluff man drew forth hispocket-book, and took out a paper, which he began to smooth on his kneequite leisurely. Meanwhile, in my hiding-place, I was trembling withterror and indignation. The sense of eavesdropping was wholly lost, inthat of my own jeopardy. I must know what was arranged about me; forI felt such a hatred and fear of that stranger that sooner than besurrendered to him I would rush back to my room and jump out of thewindow, and trust myself to the trackless forest and the snowy night.I was very nearly doing so, but just had sense enough to wait and hearwhat would be said of me. So I lurked in the darkness, behind the rails,while the stranger read slowly and pompously.
Erema; Or, My Father's Sin Page 6