Erema; Or, My Father's Sin

by R. D. Blackmore

  CHAPTER IX

  WATER-SPOUT

  If Mr. Gundry was in one way right, he was equally wrong in the other.Firm came home quite safe and sound, though smothered with snow andmost hungry; but he thought that he should have staid out all the night,because he had failed of his errand. Jowler also was full of discontentand trouble of conscience. He knew, when he kicked up his heels in thesnow, that his duty was to find somebody, and being of Alpine pedigree,and trained to act up to his ancestry, he now dropped his tail withfailure.

  "It comes to the same thing," said Sawyer Gundry; "it is foolish tobe so particular. A thousand better men have sunk through being sopig-headed. We shall find the rogue toward the end of March, or inApril, if the season suits. Firm, eat your supper and shake yourself."

  This was exactly the Sawyer's way--to take things quietly when convincedthat there was no chance to better them. He would always do his bestabout the smallest trifle; but after that, be the matter small or great,he had a smiling face for the end of it.

  The winter, with all its weight of sameness and of dreariness, went atlast, and the lovely spring from the soft Pacific found its gradual wayto us. Accustomed as I was to gentler climates and more easy changes,I lost myself in admiration of this my first Californian spring. Theflowers, the leagues and leagues of flowers, that burst into color andharmony--purple, yellow, and delicate lilac, woven with bright crimsonthreads, and fringed with emerald-green by the banks, and blue by thecourse of rivers, while deepened here and there by wooded shelter andcool places, with the silver-gray of the soft Pacific waning in fardistance, and silken vapor drawing toward the carding forks of themountain range; and over all the never-wearying azure of the limpid sky:child as I was, and full of little worldly troubles on my own account,these grand and noble sights enlarged me without any thinking.

  The wheat and the maize were grown apace, and beans come into fullblossom, and the peaches swinging in the western breeze were almost aslarge as walnuts, and all things in their prime of freshness, ere theyellow dust arrived, when a sudden melting of snow in some gully senta strong flood down our Blue River. The saw-mill happened to be hard atwork; and before the gear could be lifted, some damage was done to thefloats by the heavy, impetuous rush of the torrent. Uncle Sam was away,and so was Firm; from which, perhaps, the mischief grew. However, theblame was all put on the river, and little more was said of it.

  The following morning I went down before even Firm was out-of-doors,under some touch, perhaps, of natural desire to know things. The streamwas as pure and bright as ever, hastening down its gravel-path of finegranite just as usual, except that it had more volume and a strongersense of freshness. Only the bent of the grasses and the swath of thependulous twigs down stream remained to show that there must have beensome violence quite lately.

  All Mr. Gundry's strengthening piles and shores were as firm as needbe, and the clear blue water played around them as if they were noconstraint to it. And none but a practiced eye could see that the greatwheel had been wounded, being undershot, and lifted now above the powerof the current, according to the fine old plan of locking the door whenthe horse is gone.

  When I was looking up and wondering where to find the mischief, Martin,the foreman, came out and crossed the plank, with his mouth full ofbreakfast.

  "Show me," I said, with an air, perhaps, of very young importance,"where and what the damage is. Is there any strain to the iron-work?"

  "Lor' a mercy, young missus!" he answered, gruffly, being by no means apolished man, "where did you ever hear of ironwork? Needles and pins isenough for you. Now don't you go and make no mischief."

  "I have no idea what you mean," I answered. "If you have been careless,that is no concern of mine."

  "Careless, indeed! And the way I works, when others is a-snorin' intheir beds! I might just as well do nort, every bit, and get more thanksand better wages. That's the way of the world all over. Come Saturdayweek, I shall better myself."

  "But if it's the way of the world all over, how will you betteryourself, unless you go out of the world altogether!" I put thisquestion to Martin with the earnest simplicity of the young, meaning nokind of sarcasm, but knowing that scarcely a week went by without histhreatening to "better himself." And they said that he had done so forseven years or more.

  "Don't you be too sharp," he replied, with a grim smile, partly athimself, perhaps. "If half as I heard about you is true, you'll wantall your sharpness for yourself, Miss Remy. And the Britishers are worsethan we be."

  "Well, Martin, I am sure you would help me," I said, "if you saw anyperson injuring me. But what is it I am not to tell your master?"

  "My master, indeed! Well, you need not tell old Gundry any thing aboutwhat you have seen. It might lead to hard words; and hard words are notthe style of thing I put up with. If any man tries hard words with me, Iknocks him down, up sticks, and makes tracks."

  I could not help smiling at the poor man's talk. Sawyer Gundry couldhave taken him with one hand and tossed him over the undershot wheel.

  "You forget that I have not seen any thing," I said, "and understandnothing but 'needles and pins.' But, for fear of doing any harm, I willnot even say that I have been down here, unless I am asked about it."

  "Miss Remy, you are a good girl, and you shall have the mill some day.Lord, don't your little great eyes see the job they are a-doin' of?The finest stroke in all Californy, when the stubborn old chap takes toquartz-crushing."

  All this was beyond me, and I told him so, and we parted good friends,while he shook his long head and went home to feed many pappooses.For the strangest thing of all things was, though I never at that timethought of it, that there was not any one about this place whom any onecould help liking. Martin took as long as any body to be liked, untilone understood him; but after that he was one of the best, in many waysthat can not be described. Also there was a pair of negroes, simply andsweetly delightful. They worked all day and they sang all night, thoughI had not the pleasure of hearing them; and the more Suan Isco despisedthem--because they were black, and she was only brown--the more theymade up to her, not at all because she governed the supply of victuals.It was childish to have such ideas, though Suan herself could never getrid of them. The truth, as I came to know afterward, was that a large,free-hearted, and determined man was at the head of every thing. Martinwas the only one who ever grumbled, and he had established a long rightto do so by never himself being grumbled at.

  "I'll be bound that poor fellow is in a sad way," Mr. Gundry said atbreakfast-time. "He knows how much he is to blame, and I fear that hewon't eat a bit for the day. Martin is a most conscientious man. He willoffer to give up his berth, although it would be his simple ruin."

  I was wise enough not to say a word, though Firm looked at me keenly. Heknew that I had been down at the mill, and expected me to say something.

  "We all must have our little mistakes," continued Sawyer Gundry; "but Inever like to push a man when he feels it. I shall not say a syllable toMartin; and, Ephraim, you will do the like. When a fellow sticks well tohis work like Martin, never blame him for a mere accident."

  Firm, according to his habit, made no answer when he did not quiteagree. In talking with his own age he might have argued, but he did notargue with his grandfather.

  "I shall just go down and put it right myself. Martin is a poor hand atrepairing. Firm, you go up the gulch, and see if the fresh has hurt thehurdles. Missy, you may come with me, if you please, and sketch me atwork in the mill-wheel. You have drawn that wheel such a sight of times,you must know every feather of it better than the man who made it."

  "Uncle Sam, you are too bad," I said. "I have never got it right, and Inever shall."

  I did not dare as yet to think what really proved to be true in theend--that I could not draw the wheel correctly because itself wasincorrect. In spite of all Mr. Gundry's skill and labor and ingenuity,the wheel was no true circle. The error began in the hub itself, andincreased, of course, with the distance; but still it
worked very well,like many other things that are not perfect.

  Having no idea of this as yet, and doubting nothing except my ownperception of "perspective," I sat down once more in my favorite spot,and waited for the master to appear as an active figure in the midstof it. The air was particularly bright and clear, even for that pureclimate, and I could even see the blue-winged flies darting in and outof the oozy floats. But half-way up the mountains a white cloud washanging, a cloud that kept on changing shape. I only observed it as athing to put in for my background, because I was fond of trying to toneand touch up my sketches with French chalks.

  Presently I heard a harsh metallic sound and creaking of machinery. Thebites, or clamps, or whatever they are called, were being put on, tokeep the wheel from revolving with the Sawyer's weight. Martin, theforeman, was grumbling and growling, according to his habit, and peeringthrough the slot, or channel of stone, in which the axle worked, and thecheery voice of Mr. Gundry was putting down his objections. Being muchtoo large to pass through the slot, Mr. Gundry came round the cornerof the building, with a heavy leathern bag of tools strapped round hisneck, and his canvas breeches girt above his knees. But the foremanstaid inside to hand him the needful material into the wheel.

  The Sawyer waded merrily down the shallow blue water, for he was alwayslike a boy when he was at work, and he waved his little skull-cap to me,and swung himself up into the wheel, as if he were nearer seventeen thanseventy. And presently I could only see his legs and arms as he fell towork. Therefore I also fell to work, with my best attempts at penciling,having been carefully taught enough of drawing to know that I could notdraw. And perhaps I caught from the old man's presence and the sound ofhis activity that strong desire to do my best which he seemed to impartto every one.

  At any rate, I was so engrossed that I scarcely observed the changinglight, except as a hindrance to my work and a trouble to my distance,till suddenly some great drops fell upon my paper and upon my hat, anda rush of dark wind almost swept me from the log upon which I sat. Thenagain all was a perfect calm, and the young leaves over the stream hungheavily on their tender foot-stalks, and the points of the breeze-sweptgrass turned back, and the ruffle of all things smoothed itself. Butthere seemed to be a sense of fear in the waiting silence of earth andair.

  This deep, unnatural stillness scared me, and I made up my mind torun away. But the hammer of the Sawyer sounded as I had never heard itsound. He was much too hard at work to pay any heed to sky or stream,and the fall of his strokes was dead and hollow, as if the placeresented them.

  "Come away, come away," I cried, as I ran and stood on the opposite bankto him; "there is something quite wrong in the weather, I am sure. Ientreat you to come away at once, Uncle Sam. Every thing is so strangeand odd."

  "Why, what's to do now?" asked the Sawyer, coming to my side of thewheel and looking at me, with his spectacles tilted up, and his apronwedged in a piece of timber, and his solid figure resting in theimpossibility of hurry. "Missy, don't you make a noise out there. Youcan't have your own way always."

  "Oh, Uncle Sam, don't talk like that. I am in such a fright about you.Do come out and look at the mountains."

  "I have seen the mountains often enough, and I am up to every trick ofthem. There may be a corn or two of rain; no more. My sea-weed was liketinder. There can't be no heavy storm when it is like that. Don't youmake pretense, missy, to know what is beyond you."

  Uncle Sam was so seldom cross that I always felt that he had a rightto be so. And he gave me one of his noble smiles to make up for thesharpness of his words, and then back he went to his work again. So Ihoped that I was altogether wrong, till a bolt of lightning, like a bluedagger, fell at my very feet, and a crash of thunder shook the earth andstunned me. These opened the sluice of the heavens, and before I couldcall out I was drenched with rain. Clinging to a bush, I saw the valleylashed with cloudy blasts, and a whirling mass of spiral darknessrushing like a giant toward me. And the hissing and tossing and roaringmixed whatever was in sight together.

  Such terror fell upon me at first that I could not look, and couldscarcely think, but cowered beneath the blaze of lightning as a singedmoth drops and shivers. And a storm of wind struck me from my hold, sothat I fell upon the wet earth. Every moment I expected to be killed,for I never could be brave in a thunder-storm, and had not been toldmuch in France of God's protection around me. And the darts of lightninghissed and crossed like a blue and red web over me. So I laid hold of alittle bent of weed, and twisted it round my dabbled wrist, and tried topray to the Virgin, although I had often been told it was vanity.

  Then suddenly wiping my eyes, I beheld a thing which entirely changedme. A vast, broad wall of brown water, nearly as high as the millitself, rushed down with a crest of foam from the mountains. It seemedto fill up all the valley and to swallow up all the trees; a whole hostof animals fled before it, and birds, like a volley of bullets, flew by.I lost not a moment in running away, and climbing a rock and hiding.It was base, ungrateful, and a nasty thing to do; but I did it almostwithout thinking. And if I had staid to cry out, what good could I havedone--only to be swept away?

  Now, as far as I can remember any thing out of so much horror, I musthave peeped over the summit of my rock when the head of the delugestruck the mill. But whether I saw it, or whether I knew it by any moresummary process, such as outruns the eyes sometimes, is more than I darepresume to say. Whichever way I learned it, it was thus:

  A solid mass of water, much bigger than the mill itself, burst on it,dashed it to atoms, leaped off with it, and spun away the great wheelanyhow, like the hoop of a child sent trundling. I heard no scream orshriek; and, indeed, the bellow of a lion would have been a mere whisperin the wild roar of the elements. Only, where the mill had been, therewas nothing except a black streak and a boil in the deluge. Then scoresof torn-up trees swept over, as a bush-harrow jumps on the clods of thefield; and the unrelenting flood cast its wrath, and shone quietly inthe lightning.

  "Oh, Uncle Sam! Uncle Sam!" I cried. But there was not a sign to be seenof him; and I thought of his gentle, good, obstinate ways, and my heartwas almost broken. "What a brute--what a wretch I am!" I kept saying, asif I could have helped it; and my fear of the lightning was gone, and Istood and raved with scorn and amazement.

  In this misery of confusion it was impossible to think, and instinctalone could have driven my despair to a desperate venture. With mysoaked clothes sticking between my legs, I ran as hard as they would go,by a short-cut over a field of corn, to a spot where the very last bluffor headland jutted into the river. This was a good mile below the millaccording to the bends of channel, but only a furlong or so from therock upon which I had taken refuge. However, the flood was there beforeme, and the wall of water dashed on to the plains, with a brindled combbehind it.

  Behind it also came all the ruin of the mill that had any floatage, andbodies of bears and great hogs and cattle, some of them alive, but themost part dead. A grand black bull tossed back his horns, and looked atme beseechingly: he had frightened me often in quiet days, but now I wastruly grieved for him. And then on a wattle of brush-wood I saw the formof a man--the Sawyer.

  His white hair draggled in the wild brown flood, and the hollow ofhis arms was heaped with froth, and his knotted legs hung helpless.Senseless he lay on his back, and sometimes the wash of the waves wentover him. His face was livid, but his brave eyes open, and a heavyweight hung round his neck. I had no time to think, and deserve nopraise, for I knew not what I did. But just as an eddy swept him nearme, I made a desperate leap at him, and clutched at something that toremy hands, and then I went under the water. My senses, however, werenot yet gone, and my weight on the wattle stopped it, and I came upgurgling, and flung one arm round a fat, woolly sheep going by me. Thesheep was water-logged, and could scarcely keep his own poor head fromdrowning, and he turned his mild eyes and looked at me, but I could notspare him. He struck for the shore in forlorn hope, and he towed us insome little.

  It is no go
od for me to pretend to say how things were managed for us,for of course I could do nothing. But the sheep must have piloted us toa tree, whose branches swept the torrent. Here I let him go, and caughtfast hold; and Uncle Sam's raft must have stuck there also, for whatcould my weak arm have done? I remember only to have felt the ground atlast, as the flood was exhausted; and good people came and found him andme, stretched side by side, upon rubbish and mud.