Round Anvil Rock: A Romance

by Nancy Huston Banks

  XXV

  THE PASSING OF PHILIP ALSTON

  The cold wind died down with the coming of dawn. Going to the window tocall the birds, she found the air grown unseasonably warm and saw thatit was filled with a dull mist. Leaning from the window, she looked upthe forest path, wondering if Paul had ridden along it during the nighton his way to the boat. The low, broad craft was still lying in the sameplace beside the island, with no movement about it. She thought of thesick man with pity, wishing that she could do something for him; but ifPaul had been called in time, all must be well--she had not a doubt ofthat; and an unconscious smile of pride touched her anxious face. Shehardly knew why she felt vaguely anxious and uneasy, but thought that itmight be on account of the gloom of the dreary morning, and the strangelook of the swollen river. How gray and dark it was, and how heavily itran, almost like molten lead.

  As her wandering gaze followed the stream, she saw something which wasstill grayer and darker than the troubled waters. She could not tell atfirst what it was, for it was a long way off, and far up the river.With her hands over her eyes, she strained her sight, but the distancewas too great, and the yellow haze too thick. She could make out only awide, dark line, wavering down from the woods to the water--a strange,moving thing without beginning or end--which seemed to be going fasterthan the river. The strangeness of the night alarmed her and as shegazed at it, fascinated, she saw David running toward the house andwaving his arms to call her attention.

  "Look! Look up the river!" he shouted as soon as he had come withinhearing. "I was afraid you wouldn't see it. It's an army of squirrelsmarching steadily, just like soldiers, millions and millions of them! Ithas been like that for hours. I have been watching it since daylight.The squirrels are trying to cross the river, and thousands and thousandsare already drowned. The water is brown with their bodies."

  "The poor little things! What in the world can it mean, David? And lookat the birds! They don't come at all when I call them. What is thematter with them? I don't see anything to disturb them, yet see how theylook! And hear the waterfowl screaming! And the trees, too. Why do theleaves droop like that? How can it be so hot in December? It was neverlike this before. There isn't a breath of air."

  "I have noticed how strange everything seems. The forest is stiller thanI ever saw it, but the wild things that live in it are strangelyrestless. I have been watching them all the morning, and I heard them inthe night."

  "But what does it mean, dear? Surely some dreadful thing must be goingto happen! I wish Paul would come. Have you seen him? He is alwaysriding, and the woods are dangerous in a storm, and it can't be anythingelse. Why don't you answer? I asked if you had seen him."

  The boy turned from gazing at the strange, dark line which was stillwavering ceaselessly from the woods to the water.

  "Yes, I saw him and Father Orin going home an hour or so ago. They hadbeen out all night." He said this absently, with his eyes turning backto the wonderful spectacle.

  "My Paul is wanted in many places at once," she said, forgetting heruneasiness in a woman's pride in the power of the man she loves. "But Ihope he found time to visit the sick man on uncle Philip's boat,"mindful even then of a woman's wish to draw together the men she loves."Can you see any clouds, David? I can't--and yet this strange yellowvapor that thickens the air is certainly growing heavier every moment.What can it be? It isn't at all like a fog. I am frightened. Comeindoors. I am coming downstairs. Maybe uncle Robert or William can tellus what all this means."

  But there was nothing to be learned in the great room below. The men ofthe family were as helpless as the women. All were waiting and watchingfor some nameless calamity, weighed down by that overwhelming,paralyzing dread of the unknown which unnerves the bravest and makes themost powerful utterly powerless. The old ladies, trembling and silent,clung close to the chimney-corner, scarcely looking at one another. Thejudge and his nephew were sitting in silence near the front door whichhad been opened on account of the sudden heat. They got up hurriedly,and turned nervously, startled even by the faint rustle of Ruth's skirtson the stairs. And before they could speak, the strained stillness wasviolently torn by a sudden loud, shrill sound, such as none of theterrified listeners had ever heard before--a long, unearthly shriek,which seemed to come from neither brute nor human. For a moment not acry was uttered, not a word was spoken, and terrified eyes staredunseeingly into whitening faces. And then the judge, suddenly realizingwhat the sound was, broke into shaken, painful laughter.

  "It is the whistle of the steamboat--the first steamboat on the Ohio.How could we have forgotten?" he said. "It is the _Orleans_ passing downthe river. Come to the door. We must see it go by. It doesn't stop hereand none of us should miss seeing it, for the sight of the first steameron western waters is something to be stored in memory. Never mind thesigns of the storm. There will be many other storms, but never anotherfirst steamboat down the Ohio. Come out and see it."

  "We can get a better view from the river bank," cried Ruth. "Come along,David!"

  Holding hands, the girl and the boy ran to the shore, leaving the othersto watch the great spectacle from the doorstep. And thus all stood,marvelling like every living creature whose eyes followed it down thatlong river. But only the judge could partly grasp the greatness of theevent; only he could partly realize what it meant to the West and theworld. Yet every one waited and watched as if spellbound, till the lastof those first victorious banners of blue smoke thus unfurled over theconquered wilderness, had waved slowly out of sight around the greatriver's majestic bend.

  This had brought a momentary forgetfulness of the strange look of theheavens and the earth; but the consciousness of it now rushed back withincreased alarm. There were still no clouds to be seen anywhere, novisible signs of an approaching storm; but the thick veil of yellowishvapor was fast drawing an unnatural twilight over the noonday. Throughthis awful dimness the sun was shining faintly, like a great globe ofheated copper, thus shedding a strange light, even more alarming thanthe sinister darkness.

  Every soul in the wilderness must now have shrunk, shuddering andappalled, before this unmistakable approach of some frightfulconvulsion of nature. The people of Cedar House, like all the rest,could do nothing but wait in agony for the unknown blow to fall. Itseemed an endless time in falling; under the breathless, torturingsuspense the moments became hours, with no change except a darkening ofthe unnatural twilight, an increase of the unnatural sultriness, and adeepening of the unnatural stillness. The little group in the great roomof Cedar House sat still and silent, save as they unconsciously drewcloser together, moved by the instinct of humanity in common danger.

  The girl alone kept her post by the open door and her watch over theforest path, looking for the coming of her lover. She knew that but onething could keep him from her side, and with all her longing for hispresence, a thrill of happiness came from his absence. Through all itsdistress her heart exulted in the thought that he was faithful in hisservice to suffering humanity, even when love itself beckoned him away.A great tide of religious gratitude rose in her heart sweeping all fearbefore it. The love of a man who was both strong and good--the greatestgift that life could give to any woman--was safely hers. Holding thisassurance to her heart, she grew wonderfully calm. There could benothing to fear. In this world or the next, all was well. A wonderfulspiritual exaltation bore her upward on its strong, swift wings, highabove all the surrounding gloom and terror, till she rested on a whiteheight of perfect peace. There was a rapt look on her quiet, pale faceas she sat thus with it turned toward the forest path. She arose quietlyand stood in the door, gazing at a shadowy form which came suddenly fromunder the dark trees. The thick yellow mist wrapped it darkly, but shepresently knew by intuition rather than by sight that Paul was reallycoming at last, and she flew toward him like a homing bird. He wasurging his horse, but the animal held back with an unwillingness such ashe had never shown before; so that when the young man saw the girlflying toward him he leapt from the saddle, leaving the hors
e to followor not as he would, and ran to meet her. As soon as she could speak, shetold him that she was not afraid now that he had come, saying it overand over; yet she nevertheless clung to him as if she would never lethim go.

  "And you will take care of the others, too," she said. "Uncle Robertdoesn't know what to do, nor William. Oh! Look! The poor black people!There they come running up from the quarters. See how they are crowdinground the door, wild with terror! But you will know what to say to themas well as the others. I am not afraid, with you," quietly looking up inhis grave face. "Is it the end of the world, dear heart?"

  He said that he knew no more than herself what it could be, unless someterrific tempest might be near. They moved hurriedly on toward thehouse, and as they went he told her that he was going to the boat wherehe had been called to see a man ill of the plague. The call had comeduring the night, but he could not leave another patient to answer itmore quickly. And now he would not leave her, for all the rest of theworld, till they knew what this awful thing was which seemed about tohappen. The white people had come out of the house and stood speechlessand motionless, looking up at the heavens and down at the earth, seeingboth but dimly through that ghastly twilight so awfully lit by thatlurid ball of fire.

  "Here comes Father Orin!" cried the doctor. "Look at Toby and my horse;see how they are walking!"

  The horses could be indistinctly seen advancing slowly and reluctantlythrough the yellowish gloom with a curious, sliding motion, as ifstepping on ice. Paul started toward them, but paused, struckmotionless, and held by a sight still more strange. The same breathlessstillness brooded over everything; the windless air now weighed likelead, and yet at this moment the greatest trees and smallest bushessuddenly began to quiver from bottom to top. As far as the horror-struckeyes could reach through that unnatural twilight, the mightiestcottonwoods were now bending and nodding like the frailest reeds. Andthen there arose in the far northeast a faint rumbling which rushedswiftly onward toward the southeast, growing, louder as it came, andbreaking over Cedar House in a thunderous roar. At the deafening crashPaul turned and ran back to Ruth, catching her in his arms. The groundwas now sliding beneath their feet. The solid earth was waving andrising and falling like a stormy sea.

  "It's an earthquake," he whispered, with his lips against her cheek."Don't fear, it will pass."

  A second shock followed the first, and there was no lightening of thedreadful gloom which was one of the greatest horrors of that horribletime. But the men were rallying now that they knew what they had tomeet, and they quickly and firmly drew the terror-stricken, helpless oldwomen further away from the house, fearing that the massive logs of itswalls might be shaken down.

  "That isn't far enough," said Father Orin. "Come still farther,"glancing round for the safest refuge. "Merciful God! Look at the river!"

  The Ohio, beaten back by the lashed and maddened Mississippi, wasleaping in great furious waves, high and wild, as the ocean's in atempest. These monstrous, foaming billows were springing far up theshores on both sides of the river, and devouring vast stretches of landcovered with gigantic trees. The giants of the forest fell, groaning,into the boiling, swirling flood which leapt to catch them and swallowedthem up with a hideous, hissing noise. Sunken trees which had lain forages on the bottom of the river rose above the water like ghosts risingto meet the newly slain.

  "The boat," moaned Ruth. "Uncle Philip's boat, and the sick man!"

  Every eye turned in the direction of the island. No one spoke after thatfirst look. None marvelled to see that the boat was missing; nothingafloat could live in that seething maelstrom, thickened with meltedearth and tangled with fallen trees. The overwhelming thing which theirfaculties could not grasp was the fact that the island itself was gone.They could only stand staring, expecting to see it between themountainous waves, utterly unable to believe the truth, that it had sunkout of sight and was resting on the bottom of the river. And as theywere thus still searching the wild, dark flood with incredulous eyes,they suddenly saw a small row-boat in the middle of the stream. Itdarted down a towering wave and flew up the next, and came flying onlike some wild, winged thing, toward the Kentucky shore. Another and awilder wave caught it, lifted it aloft, and tossed it still nearer theland. It was not far away now, and there came a sudden lightening of thegloom, so that they could see two men in the little boat.

  "They can never live to reach the shore!" cried the doctor.

  "As God wills," said the priest.

  Instinctively every eye but the girl's was scanning the shore, trying tofind something that would float, something that might help to save themen in the boat. But there was nothing in sight; the fierce waves hadswallowed everything, and the helpless people on the bank could onlyturn again to watch the little boat. Ruth's gaze had never wandered fromit, and she still watched it flying from one wave to another, gazing asintently as she could through the tears that rained over her palecheeks. She saw it go up a gigantic wave with a flying leap and dartdown again, and then it was lost to sight so long that they thought itwas gone. But at last it came up near the shore, overturned, and withonly one man clinging to it. He was on the far side of the frail shell,so that they could not see him distinctly, although he was not far fromthe shore and there was more light. And then a swirl of the wild watersbrought him to the nearer side, and raised him higher.

  "It's an old man!" sobbed Ruth. "His head is white. Oh! Oh! It's unclePhilip! It's uncle Philip! He has been to the island. Save him, Paul!"

  The doctor had already thrown off his coat, and was throwing aside hisboots. He had not waited for her last words; he was not sure that itwas Philip Alston; but he knew that some fellow-creature was perishingalmost within reach of his arm. He was now running down the tremblingbank, and in another instant had plunged into the boiling, roaring,furious flood, and was swimming toward that wildly rising and fallingsilver head, which shone like a beacon, through the lurid light. It washard to keep anything in sight. He was a strong swimmer, but his fullstrength had not come back, and the fury of the waves was swirling treeslike straws.

  After that one involuntary appeal, Ruth was silent. Her heart almoststopped beating as she realized what her cry had done. A woman's mindacts with marvellous quickness when all she loves is at stake. As in alightning flash she knew that she had sent her lover to risk his lifefor her foster-father, without knowing what she did. What she would havedone had there been time to hesitate she could not tell, dared notthink. It must have been a bitter choice, this risking of her lover'slife against the certainty of her father's death. But now she realizednothing, felt nothing, except that the desperate die was cast. She didnot notice that the others followed as she flew after Paul to theriver's very brink. The earth had ceased quivering, but the shores werestill crumbling under the crushing blows of the maddened waves. Thethick, dark water coiled unheeded about her feet, as she stood silent,straining her eyes after her lover as he swam toward that silver headwhich still rose and fell with the waves. She did not move when she sawa gigantic cottonwood lean, uprooted and tottering. She did not utter acry when it fell behind him, cutting him off and hiding him, so thatneither he nor the silver head could be seen from the land. She stood asif turned to stone, waiting--only waiting--hardly hoping that it had notcarried them both down. She began to weep softly, and her hands weresuddenly and unconsciously clasped in silent prayer, when she saw himonce more swimming--still swimming--but coming back around the top ofthe tree.

  It had struck the little boat in its fall, sending it down to come up infragments, but the man was left hanging to a bough, and it was towardhim that Paul Colbert was struggling against the fury of the flood. Thetree hung to the bank by its loosened roots, but its trunk and brancheswere swaying wildly, fiercely tossed by the waves. The man was sinkinglower in the water, his strength almost was gone, and his hold wasgiving way, when Paul reached him. The white head, turning, revealedPhilip Alston's face and Paul Colbert thought that he shrank under histouch. Neither spoke for a moment; both ne
eded all their breath to reacha higher bough.

  "Let me help you," gasped Paul Colbert. "Try to climb to the next limb.It is stronger and steadier."

  "Thank you," panted Philip Alston.

  They reached it together and could now see the shore, and both looked atRuth through the swaying boughs and flying spray. The young man's heartleapt and his courage rose at the sight of the slender, girlish form. Hesaw her stretch out her arms, and remembering that she loved this oldman, panting and struggling at his side, he shouted with all the powerthat he had, telling her that he would do his best to bring him to land.Philip Alston gave him a strange look, and then turned his gaze againtoward the little figure on the shore. In a tone that was even morestrange than his look, he murmured something about being on his way backfrom the island. He also said something about going to the boat early inthe morning to countermand an order that he had given on the nightbefore.

  "I changed my mind--I found I couldn't do--"

  Paul Colbert did not understand, and scarcely heard the confused,gasping, hurried words. He was looking at Ruth, and longing to loose hishold on the bough, long enough to wave the assurance that his voicecould not carry across the roaring waters. And this was the instant thatNature chose to mock the pitting of his puny powers against herresistless forces. A fierce wave tore away the roots that the tree boundto the bank, and hurled it into the flood. It swung round and turnedpartly over, burying the bough that they clung to, deep under the water.Both went down with it and Paul Colbert thought, with the quickness andclearness of mind that comes to the drowning, that they could never comeup again. When he found his own head once more above water, with hishand grasping a bough of a smaller tree, which had been driven close tothe shore, he looked round for Philip Alston. There was no silver headanywhere to be seen now above the thick, dark river. Half stunned, hegazed again blankly, feeling vaguely that his own head must go down verysoon; his strength was wholly gone; he could not even see the shore,though it was very near, because he was not strong enough to lifthimself above the trunk of the tree which hid it from his sight. Andthen at last he heard Father Orin's voice:--

  "Hold fast, my boy. Hold fast just a moment longer. We are coming, Tobyand I. Try to hold on. We are almost there."

  They reached him as his hand let go and his head sunk, and they bore himto the shore and laid him down at Ruth's feet, unconscious, but alive.

  * * * * *

  When Nature has thus rent the trembling earth and thus smitten appalledhumanity by some stupendous convulsion, the outburst of passion nearlyalways passes quickly, and she hastens to console by concealing itstraces. These fatal throes were hardly over before she was quelling thefrenzied river by her sudden coldness, and only a few days had passedbefore she was covering its subdued waters with a heavy white sheet ofglittering ice. And then, as if to make the torn land lovely again atonce, she wrapped it in a dazzling robe of spotless snow. Above this shehurriedly hung the broken boughs of the wrecked cottonwoods withcountless flashing prisms, encrusting the smallest twigs to the very topin sparkling crystal; and coming down she stilled the murmur of thereeds under icy helmets--binding all together with crystalline cables offrost. So that under the rainbow light of the brilliant winter sun theworld was once more radiant with peace and joy and beauty unspeakable.

  And Cedar House, too, was now just as it had been before. From its opendoor nothing could be seen of the marks left by Nature's passionatefury; marks which must remain forever unless some more furious passionshould come to erase them. It was hard to tell just how and wherein thewhole face of the country had been so greatly changed. The people ofCedar House knew that a great lake nearly seventy miles in length anddeeper in places than the height of the tallest trees whose tops barelyshowed above the water, had taken the place of a range of high hillscovered with primeval forest. But this was too far away to be seen fromCedar House, and no one there had the heart to approach it. One sadpilgrimage had been made, and that was to the ruins of Philip Alston'shouse. It was now a mere heap of fallen logs, and although these werelifted and laid in orderly rows, and the ground searched over inch byinch, there was nothing but his fine clothes and some simple furnitureto show that it had ever been occupied.

  "To think that he lived like this--that he gave me everything and keptnothing for himself," Ruth said softly through her tears, looking up inPaul Colbert's troubled face. "Such a desolate, lonely life. It breaksmy heart to think of it. But I would have lived in his house if I could.I wanted to live in it--I wouldn't have cared how plain and rough itwas. I wanted to live with him and cheer him and make him happy, as ifhe had been my own father. I couldn't have loved him more dearly if hehad been. And you would have loved him, too, if you had known himbetter. I am sure that you would. You couldn't have helped lovinghim--if only for his goodness to me. And he was kind to every one. Inever heard him speak a harsh word of any living thing. It was in beingkind that he lost his life; he must have gone to see the man who was illon the boat."

  The young doctor looked away and fixed his eyes on the men who weregoing over the ground around the cabin.

  "Who are those men, Paul? And what are they doing here?" she askedsuddenly, observing that they seemed to be looking for something. "Ithurts me to have strangers handling these things that belonged to him.What are they looking for? Who are they?"

  "Dearest, when a thing like this happens the law has to take certain--"

  "What has the law to do with my uncle Philip's clothes? No one shalltouch them but me or you!" bending over the garments and gathering themup in her arms. "What are they digging for? Make them stop. Oh, stopthem; this spot is like his grave, the only grave he can ever have."

  * * * * *

  Paul could not tell her then, nor for months afterward, that it wasimpossible to stop the search for the gold which was believed to beburied in the earth of the forest near the ruined cabin. He waited tillthe forest was once more quivering with tender young leaves and theriver was gentle and warm again--and she had become his wife. When hegently told her at last, she looked at him wonderingly like a child, andwas silent for some time. She knew so little about money or theeagerness for riches. And then she smiled and said that she herselfwould certainly claim any gold belonging to Philip Alston that evermight be found, and that David and the Sisters and Father Orin and Tobyshould have the spending of it.

  "For that is what he would like and we have no need of more, now thatyou are becoming famous. We have all and more than we want. Uncle Roberthas plenty for himself and his sisters. William will soon be going toCongress, if you and uncle Robert work hard for him. Yes, David and theSisters and Father Orin and Toby shall have dear uncle Philip's gold. Hewould wish them to have it. Think how generous he always was to them andevery one, and how kind to all. If you only could have known him just alittle longer, dear heart! Knowing him better, you would have known, asI do, how truly he loved everything fine and noble and great."

  He did not reply but silently laid his hand on hers. Sighing andsmiling, she nestled closer to his side. And then as they sat thus withtheir eyes on the glorious afterglow, the Angelus began to peal softlythrough the shadows, and the Beautiful River seemed in the softenedlight to curve its majestic arm more closely around this wonderful newcountry, from which a blighting shadow was lifted forever.