CHAPTER X
A NUGGET
In a sacred corner (as soon as ever we could attend to any thing) wehung up the leathern bag of tools, which had done much more towardsaving the life of Uncle Sam than I did; for this had served as a kindof kedge, or drag, upon his little craft, retarding it from the greatroll of billows, in which he must have been drowned outright. And evenas it was, he took some days before he was like himself again.
Firm, who had been at the head of the valley, repairing some brokenhurdles, declared that a water-spout had burst in the bosom of themountain gorge where the Blue River has its origin, and the whole of itspower got ponded back by a dam, which the Sawyer himself had made, atabout five furlongs above the mill. Ephraim, being further up the gulch,and high above the roaring flood, did his utmost with the keen edge ofhis eyes to pierce into the mischief; but it rained so hard, and at thesame time blew so violently around him, that he could see nothing ofwhat went on, but hoped for the best, with uneasiness.
Now when the Sawyer came round so well as to have a clear mind ofthings, and learn that his mill was gone and his business lost, andhimself, at this ripe time of life, almost driven to begin the worldagain, it was natural to expect that he ought to indulge in a good dealof grumbling. Many people came to comfort him, and to offer him deepcondolence and the truest of true sympathy, and every thing that couldbe thought of, unless it were a loan of money. Of that they neverthought, because it was such a trifling matter; and they all hadconfidence in his power to do any thing but pay them. They told him thathe was a young man still, and Providence watched over him; in a year ortwo he would be all the better for this sad visitation. And he said yesto their excellent advice, and was very much obliged to them. At thesame time it was clear to me, who watched him like a daughter, that hebecame heavy in his mind, and sighed, as these kind friends, one afterthe other, enjoyed what he still could do for them, but rode away out ofhis gate with too much delicacy to draw purse-strings. Not that he wouldhave accepted a loan from the heartiest heart of all of them, only thathe would have liked the offer, to understand their meaning. And severalof them were men--as Firm, in his young indignation, told me--who hadbeen altogether set up in life by the kindness of Sampson Gundry.
Perhaps the Sawyer, after all his years, had no right to be vexed bythis. But whether he was right or wrong, I am sure that it preyed uponhis mind, though he was too proud to speak of it. He knew that he wasnot ruined, although these friends assumed that he must be; and some ofthem were quite angry with him because they had vainly warned him. Hecould not remember these warnings, yet he contradicted none of them; andfully believing in the goodness of the world, he became convinced thathe must have been hard in the days of his prosperity.
No sooner was he able to get about again than he went to San Franciscoto raise money on his house and property for the rebuilding of the mill.Firm rode with him to escort him back, and so did Martin, the foreman;for although the times were not so bad as they used to be some ten yearsback, in the height of the gold fever, it still was a highly undesirablething for a man who was known to have money about him to ride forthalone from San Francisco, or even Sacramento town. And having mentionedthe foreman Martin, in justice to him I ought to say that although hisentire loss from the disaster amounted only to a worn-out waistcoat ofthe value of about twenty cents, his vehemence in grumbling could onlybe equaled by his lofty persistence. By his great activity in runningaway and leaving his employer to meet the brunt, he had saved not onlyhimself, but his wife and children and goods and chattels. This failed,however, to remove or even assuage his regret for the waistcoat; and hemoaned and threatened to such good purpose that a speedy subscriptionwas raised, which must have found him in clothes for the rest of hislife, as well as a silver tea-pot with an inscription about his bravery.
When the three were gone, after strict injunctions from Mr. Gundry, andhis grandson too, that I was on no account to venture beyond callingdistance from the house, for fear of being run away with, I found theplace so sad and lonesome that I scarcely knew what to do. I had no fearof robbers, though there were plenty in the neighborhood; for we stillhad three or four men about, who could be thoroughly trusted, andwho staid with us on half wages rather than abandon the Sawyer in histrouble. Suan Isco, also, was as brave as any man, and could shoot wellwith a rifle. Moreover, the great dog Jowler was known and dreaded byall his enemies. He could pull down an Indian, or two half-castes, orthree Mexicans, in about a second; and now he always went about with me,having formed a sacred friendship.
Uncle Sam had kissed me very warmly when he said "good-by," and Firm hadshown some disposition to follow his example; but much as I liked andadmired Firm, I had my own ideas as to what was unbecoming, and nowin my lonely little walks I began to think about it. My father'sresting-place had not been invaded by the imperious flood, although aline of driftage, in a zigzag swath, lay near the mound. This was myfavorite spot for thinking, when I felt perplexed and downcast in myyoung unaided mind. For although I have not spoken of my musings verycopiously, any one would do me wrong who fancied that I was indifferent.Through the great kindness of Mr. Gundry and other good friends aroundme, I had no bitter sense as yet of my own dependence and poverty. Butthe vile thing I had heard about my father, the horrible slanderand wicked falsehood--for such I was certain it must be--this wascontinually in my thoughts, and quite destroyed my cheerfulness. Andthe worst of it was that I never could get my host to enter into it.Whenever I began, his face would change and his manner grow constrained,and his chief desire always seemed to lead me to some other subject.
One day, when the heat of the summer came forth, and the peaches beganto blush toward it, and bronze-ribbed figs grew damask-gray with aglobule of sirup in their eyes, and melons and pumpkins already hadcurved their fluted stalks with heaviness, and the dust of the plainswas beginning to fly, and the bright spring flowers were dead moreswiftly even than they first were born, I sat with Suan Isco at myfather's cross, and told her to make me cry with some of all the manysad things she knew. She knew a wondrous number of things insatiably sadand wild; and the quiet way in which she told them (not only without anyhorror, but as if they were rightly to be expected), also the deep andrather guttural tone of voice, and the stillness of the form, made itimpossible to help believing verily every word she said.
That there should be in the world such things, so dark, unjust, andfull of woe, was enough to puzzle a child brought up among the noblestphilosophers; whereas I had simply been educated by good unpretentiouswomen, who had partly retired from the world, but not to such a depth asto drown all thought of what was left behind them. These were ready atany time to return upon good opportunity; and some of them had done so,with many tears, when they came into property.
"Please to tell me no more now," I said at last to Suan; "my eyes areso sore they will be quite red, and perhaps Uncle Sam will come hometo-night. I am afraid he has found some trouble with the money, or heought to have been at home before. Don't you think so, Suan?"
"Yes, yes; trouble with the money. Always with the white mans that."
"Very well. I shall go and look for some money. I had a most wonderfuldream last night. Only I must go quite alone. You had better go and lookto the larder, Suan. If they come, they are sure to be hungry."
"Yes, yes; the white mans always hungry, sep when thirsty."
The Indian woman, who had in her heart a general contempt for the whiterace, save those of our own household, drew her bright-colored shawlaround her, and set off with her peculiar walk. Her walk was notungraceful, because it was so purely natural; but it differed almost asmuch as the step of a quadruped from what we are taught. I, with heavythoughts but careless steps, set off on my wanderings. I wanted to tryto have no set purpose, course, or consideration, but to go whereverchance should lead me, without choice, as in my dream. And after manyvague turns, and even closings of rebellious eyes, I found myself,perhaps by the force of habit, at the ruins of the mill.
I
seemed to recognize some resemblance (which is as much as one canexpect) to the scene which had been in my sleep before me. But sleepingI had seen roaring torrents; waking, I beheld a quiet stream. The littleriver, as blue as ever, and shrinking from all thoughts of wrath, showednothing in its pure gaze now but a gladness to refresh and cool. In manynicely sheltered corners it was full of soft reflection as to the goodit had to do; and then, in silver and golden runnels, on it went to doit. And the happy voice and many sweetly flashing little glances toldthat it knew of the lovely lives beside it, created and comforted byitself.
But I looked at the dark ruin it had wrought, and like a child I wasangry with it for the sake of Uncle Sam. Only the foundations and thebig heavy stones of the mill were left, and the clear bright waterpurled around, or made little eddies among them. All were touchedwith silvery sound, and soft caressing dimples. But I looked at thepassionate mountains first, to be sure of no more violence; for if aburned child dreads the fire, one half drowned may be excused for littlefaith in water. The mountains in the sunshine looked as if nothing couldmove their grandeur, and so I stepped from stone to stone, in the bed ofthe placid brightness.
Presently I came to a place where one of the great black piles, drivenin by order of the Sawyer, to serve as a back-stay for his walls, hadbeen swept by the flood from its vertical sinking, but had not beenswept away. The square tarred post of mountain pine reclined downstream, and gently nodded to the current's impact. But overthrown as itwas, it could not make its exit and float away, as all its brethrenhad done. At this I had wondered before, and now I went to see what thereason was. By throwing a short piece of plank from one of the shatteredfoundations into a nick in the shoulder of the reclining pile, I managedto get there and sit upon it, and search for its obstruction.
The water was flowing smoothly toward me, and as clear as crystal, beingscarcely more than a foot in depth. And there, on the upper verge of thehole, raised by the leverage of the butt from the granite sand of theriver-bed, I saw a great bowlder of rich yellow light. I was so muchamazed that I cried out at once, "Oh! what a beautiful great yellowfish!" And I shouted to Jowler, who had found where I was, and followedme, as usual. The great dog was famous for his love of fishing, and hadoften brought a fine salmon forth.
Jowler was always a zealous fellow, and he answered eagerly to my callby dashing at once into the water, and following the guidance of myhand. But when he saw what I pointed at, he was bitterly disappointed,and gave me to understand as much by looking at me foolishly. "Now don'tbe a stupid dog," I said; "do what I tell you immediately. Whatever itis, bring it out, Sir."
Jowler knew that I would be obeyed whenever I called him "Sir;" so heducked his great head under the water, and tugged with his teeth at theobject. His back corded up, and his tail grew rigid with the intensityof his labor, but the task was quite beyond him. He could not evenstir the mighty mass at which he struggled, but he bit off a littleprojecting corner, and came to me with it in his mouth. Then he laid hisdripping jaws on my lap, and his ears fell back, and his tail hung downwith utter sense of failure.
I patted his broad intelligent forehead, and wiped his black eyes withhis ears, and took from his lips what he offered to me. Then I sawthat his grinders were framed with gold, as if he had been to a dentistregardless of expense, and into my hand he dropped a lump of solidglittering virgin ore. He had not the smallest idea of having done anything worthy of human applause; and he put out his long red tongue andlicked his teeth to get rid of uneatable dross, and gave me a quietnudge to ask what more I wanted of him.
Erema; Or, My Father's Sin Page 10