CHAPTER XIII
THE SAWYER'S PRAYER
The darkness of young summer night was falling on earth and tree andstream. Every thing looked of a different form and color from those ofan hour ago, and the rich bloom of shadow mixed with color, and castby snowy mountains, which have stored the purple adieu of the sun, wasfilling the air with delicious calm. The Sawyer ran out with his shirtsleeves shining, so that any sneaking foe might shoot him; but, withthe instinct of a settler, he had caught up his rifle. I stood beneatha carob-tree, which had been planted near the porch, and flung fantastictassels down, like the ear-rings of a negress. And not having senseenough to do good, I was only able to be frightened.
Listening intently, I heard the sound of skirring steps on the otherside of and some way down the river; and the peculiar tread, even thusfar off, was plainly Suan Isco's. And then in the stillness a weary andheavy foot went toiling after it. Before I could follow, which I longedto do, to learn at once the worst of it, I saw the figure of a man muchnearer, and even within twenty yards of me, gliding along without anysound. Faint as the light was, I felt sure that it was not one of ourown men, and the barrel of a long gun upon his shoulder made a blackline among silver leaves. I longed to run forth and stop him, but mycourage was not prompt enough, and I shamefully shrank away behindthe trunk of the carob-tree. Like a sleuth, compact, and calm-heartedvillain, he went along without any breath of sound, stealing his escapewith skill, till a white bower-tent made a background for him, and heleaped up and fell flat without a groan. The crack of a rifle came laterthan his leap, and a curl of white smoke shone against a black rock,and the Sawyer, in the distance, cried, "Well, now!" as he generally didwhen satisfied.
So scared was I that I caught hold of a cluster of pods to steady me;and then, without any more fear for myself, I ran to see whether it waspossible to help. But the poor man lay beyond earthly help; he was toodead to palpitate. His life must have left him in the air, and he couldnot even have felt his fall.
In violent terror, I burst into tears, and lifted his heavy head, andstrove to force his hot hands open, and did I know not what, withoutthinking, laboring only to recall his life.
"Are you grieving for the skulk who has shot my Firm?" said a sternvoice quite unknown to me; and rising, I looked at the face of Mr.Gundry, unlike the countenance of Uncle Sam. I tried to speak to him,but was too frightened. The wrath of blood was in his face, and all hiskind desires were gone.
"Yes, like a girl, you are sorry for a man who has stained this earth,till his only atonement is to stain it with his blood. Captain Pedro,there you lie, shot, like a coward, through the back. I wish you werealive to taste my boots. Murderer of men and filthy ravisher of women,miscreant of God, how can I keep from trampling on you?"
It never had been in my dream that a good man could so entirely forgethimself. I wanted to think that it must be somebody else, and not ourUncle Sam. But he looked toward the west, as all men do when theirspirits are full of death, and the wan light showed that his chin wastriple.
Whether it may have been right or wrong, I made all haste to get away.The face of the dead man was quite a pleasant thing, compared with theface of the old man living. He may not have meant it, and I hope henever did, but beyond all controversy he looked barbarous for themoment.
As I slipped away, to know the worst, there I saw him standing still,longing to kick the vile man's corpse, but quieted by the great awe ofdeath. If the man had stirred, or breathed, or even moaned, the livingman would have lost all reverence in his fury. But the power of theother world was greater than even revenge could trample on. He let itlie there, and he stooped his head, and went away quite softly.
My little foolish heart was bitterly visited by a thing like this. TheSawyer, though not of great human rank, was gifted with the largesthuman nature that I had ever met with. And though it was impossible asyet to think, a hollow depression, as at the loss of some great ideal,came over me.
Returning wretchedly to the house, I met Suan Isco and two men bringingthe body of poor Firm. His head and both his arms hung down, and theywanted somebody to lift them; and this I ran to do, although they calledout to me not to meddle. The body was carried in, and laid upon threechairs, with a pillow at the head; and then a light was struck, and acandle brought by somebody or other. And Suan Isco sat upon the floor,and set up a miserable Indian dirge.
"Stow away that," cried Martin of the mill, for he was one of those twomen; "wait till the lad is dead, and then pipe up to your liking. I felthim try to kick while we carried him along. He come forth on a arrand ofthat sort, and he seem to 'a been disappointed. A very fine young chapI call him, for to try to do it still, howsomever his mind might bewandering. Missy, keep his head up."
I did as I was told, and watched poor Firm as if my own life hung uponany sign of life in him. When I look back at these things, I think thatfright and grief and pity must have turned an excitable girl almost intoa real woman. But I had no sense of such things then.
"I tell you he ain't dead," cried Martin; "no more dead than I be. Hefeels the young gal's hand below him, and I see him try to turn up hiseyes. He has taken a very bad knock, no doubt, and trouble about hisbreathing. I seed a fellow scalped once, and shot through the heart;but he came all round in about six months, and protected his head with adocument. Firm, now, don't you be a fool. I have had worse things in myfamily."
Ephraim Gundry seemed to know that some one was upbraiding him. Atany rate, his white lips trembled with a weak desire to breathe, and alittle shadow of life appeared to flicker in his open eyes. And on mysleeve, beneath his back, some hot bright blood came trickling.
"Keep him to that," said Martin, with some carpenter sort of surgery;"less fear of the life when the blood begins to run. Don't move him,missy; never mind your arm. It will be the saving of him."
I was not strong enough to hold him up, but Suan ran to help me; andthey told me afterward that I fell faint, and no doubt it must have beenso. But when the rest were gone, and had taken poor Firm to his strawmattress, the cold night air must have flowed into the room, and that,perhaps, revived me. I went to the bottom of the stairs and listened,and then stole up to the landing, and heard Suan Isco, who had taken thecommand, speaking cheerfully in her worst English. Then I hoped for thebest, and, without any knowledge, wandered forth into the open air.
Walking quite as in a dream this time (which I had vainly striven to dowhen seeking for my nugget), I came to the bank of the gleaming river,and saw the water just in time to stop from stepping into it. Carelessabout this and every other thing for the moment, I threw myself onthe sod, and listened to the mournful melody of night. Sundry unknowncreatures, which by day keep timid silence, were sending timid soundsinto the darkness, holding quiet converse with themselves, or it, or oneanother. And the silvery murmur of the wavelets soothed the twinklingsleep of leaves.
I also, being worn and weary, and having a frock which improved withwashing, and was spoiled already by nursing Firm, was well content tothrow myself into a niche of river-bank and let all things flow past me.But before any thing had found time to flow far, or the lullaby of nighthad lulled me, there came to me a sadder sound than plaintive Nature canproduce without her Master's aid, the saddest sound in all creation--astrong man's wail.
Child as I was--and, perhaps, all the more for that reason as knowingso little of mankind--I might have been more frightened, but I could nothave been a bit more shocked, by the roaring of a lion. For I knew ina moment whose voice it was, and that made it pierce me tenfold. It wasUncle Sam, lamenting to himself, and to his God alone, the loss of hislast hope on earth. He could not dream that any other than his Maker(and his Maker's works, if ever they have any sympathy) listened tothe wild outpourings of an aged but still very natural heart, which hadalways been proud of controlling itself. I could see his great framethrough a willow-tree, with the sere grass and withered reeds around,and the faint gleam of fugitive water beyond. He was kneeling toward hisshattered mill
, having rolled his shirt sleeves back to pray, and hiswhite locks shone in the starlight; then, after trying several times, hemanaged to pray a little. First (perhaps partly from habit), he said theprayer of Our Lord pretty firmly, and then he went on to his own specialcase, with a doubting whether he should mention it. But as he went on hegathered courage, or received it from above, and was able to say what hewanted.
"Almighty Father of the living and the dead, I have lived long, andshall soon be dead, and my days have been full of trouble. But I neverhad such trouble as this here before, and I don't think I ever shall getover it. I have sinned every day of my life, and not thought of Thee,but of victuals, and money, and stuff; and nobody knows, but myself andThou, all the little bad things inside of me. I cared a deal more to berespectable and get on with my business than to be prepared for kingdomcome. And I have just been proud about the shooting of a villain, whomight 'a gone free and repented. There is nobody left to me in my oldage. Thou hast taken all of them. Wife, and son, and mill, and grandson,and my brother who robbed me--the whole of it may have been for my good,but I have got no good out of it. Show me the way for a little time, OLord, to make the best of it; and teach me to bear it like a man, andnot break down at this time of life. Thou knowest what is right. Pleaseto do it. Amen."
Erema; Or, My Father's Sin Page 13