For the contrast betwixt that dreadful scene and the one on which my dim eyes slowly opened, three days afterward2, first I thank the Lord in heaven, whose gracious care was over me, and after Him some very simple members of humanity.
A bronze-colored woman, with soft, sad eyes, was looking at me steadfastly3. She had seen that, under tender care, I was just beginning to revive, and being acquainted with many troubles, she had learned to succor5 all of them. This I knew not then, but felt that kindness was around me.
“Arauna, arauna, my shild,” she said, in a strange but sweet and soothing6 voice, “you are with the good man in the safe, good house. Let old Suan give you the good food, my shild.”
“Where is my father? Oh, show me my father?” I whispered faintly, as she raised me in the bed and held a large spoon to my lips.
“You shall — you shall; it is too very much Inglese; me tell you when have long Sunday time to think. My shild, take the good food from poor old Suan.”
She looked at me with such beseeching7 eyes that, even if food had been loathsome8 to me, I could not have resisted her; whereas I was now in the quick-reviving agony of starvation. The Indian woman fed me with far greater care than I was worth, and hushed me, with some soothing process, into another abyss of sleep.
More than a week passed by me thus, in the struggle between life and death, before I was able to get clear knowledge of any body or any thing. No one, in my wakeful hours, came into my little bedroom except this careful Indian nurse, who hushed me off to sleep whenever I wanted to ask questions. Suan Isco, as she was called, possessed9 a more than mesmeric power of soothing a weary frame to rest; and this was seconded, where I lay, by the soft, incessant10 cadence11 and abundant roar of water. Thus every day I recovered strength and natural impatience12.
“The master is coming to see you, shild,” Suan said to me one day, when I had sat up and done my hair, and longed to be down by the water-fall; “if, if — too much Inglese — old Suan say no more can now.”
“If I am ready and able and willing! Oh, Suan, run and tell him not to lose one moment.”
“No sure; Suan no sure at all,” she answered, looking at me calmly, as if there were centuries yet to spare. “Suan no hurry; shild no hurry; master no hurry: come last of all.”
“I tell you, Suan, I want to see him. And I am not accustomed to be kept waiting. My dear father insisted always — But oh, Suan, Suan, he is dead — I am almost sure of it.”
“Him old man quite dead enough, and big hole dug in the land for him. Very good; more good than could be. Suan no more Inglese.”
Well as I had known it long, a catching13 of the breath and hollow, helpless pain came through me, to meet in dry words thus the dread1 which might have been but a hovering14 dream. I turned my face to the wall, and begged her not to send the master in.
But presently a large, firm hand was laid on my shoulder softly, and turning sharply round, I beheld15 an elderly man looking down at me. His face was plain and square and solid, with short white curls on a rugged16 forehead, and fresh red cheeks, and a triple chin — fit base for remarkably17 massive jaws18. His frame was in keeping with his face, being very large and powerful, though not of my father’s commanding height. His dress and appearance were those of a working — and a really hard-working — man, sober, steadfast4, and self-respecting; but what engaged my attention most was the frank yet shrewd gaze of deep-set eyes. I speak of things as I observed them later, for I could not pay much heed19 just then.
“’Tis a poor little missy,” he said, with a gentle tone. “What things she hath been through! Will you take an old man’s hand, my dear? Your father hath often taken it, though different from his rank of life. Sampson Gundry is my name, missy. Have you ever heard your father tell of it?”
“Many and many a time,” I said, as I placed my hot little hand in his. “He never found more than one man true on earth, and it was you, Sir.”
“Come, now,” he replied, with his eyes for a moment sparkling at my warmth of words; “you must not have that in your young head, missy. It leads to a miserable20 life. Your father hath always been unlucky — the most unlucky that ever I did know. And luck cometh out in nothing clearer than in the kind of folk we meet. But the Lord in heaven ordereth all. I speak like a poor heathen.”
“Oh, never mind that!” I cried: “only tell me, were you in time to save — to save —” I could not bear to say what I wanted.
“In plenty of time, my dear; thanks to you. You must have fought when you could not fight: the real stuff, I call it. Your poor father lies where none can harm him. Come, missy, missy, you must not take on so. It is the best thing that could befall a man so bound up with calamity21. It is what he hath prayed for for many a year — if only it were not for you. And now you are safe, and for sure he knows it, if the angels heed their business.”
With these words he withdrew, and kindly22 sent Suan back to me, knowing that her soothing ways would help me more than argument. To my mind all things lay in deep confusion and abasement23. Overcome with bodily weakness and with bitter self-reproach, I even feared that to ask any questions might show want of gratitude24. But a thing of that sort could not always last, and before very long I was quite at home with the history of Mr. Gundry.
Solomon Gundry, of Mevagissey, in the county of Cornwall, in England, betook himself to the United States in the last year of the last century. He had always been a most upright man, as well as a first-rate fisherman; and his family had made a rule — as most respectable families at that time did — to run a nice cargo25 of contraband26 goods not more than twice in one season. A highly querulous old lieutenant27 of the British navy (who had served under Nelson and lost both, arms, yet kept “the rheumatics” in either stump) was appointed, in an evil hour, to the Cornish coast-guard; and he never rested until he had caught all the best county families smuggling28. Through this he lost his situation, and had to go to the workhouse; nevertheless, such a stir had been roused that (to satisfy public opinion) they made a large sacrifice of inferior people, and among them this Solomon Gundry. Now the Gundries had long been a thickset race, and had furnished some champion wrestlers; and Solomon kept to the family stamp in the matter of obstinacy29. He made a bold mark at the foot of a bond for 150 pounds; and with no other sign than that, his partner in their stanch30 herring-smack (the Good Hope, of Mevagissey) allowed him to make sail across the Atlantic with all he cared for.
This Cornish partner deserved to get all his money back; and so he did, together with good interest. Solomon Gundry throve among a thrifty31 race at Boston; he married a sweet New England lass, and his eldest32 son was Sampson. Sampson, in the prime of life, and at its headstrong period, sought the far West, overland, through not much less of distance, and through even more of danger, than his English father had gone through. His name was known on the western side of the mighty33 chain of mountains before Colonel Fremont was heard of there, and before there was any gleam of gold on the lonely sunset frontage.
Here Sampson Gundry lived by tillage of the nobly fertile soil ere Sacramento or San Francisco had any name to speak of. And though he did not show regard for any kind of society, he managed to have a wife and son, and keep them free from danger. But (as it appears to me the more, the more I think of every thing) no one must assume to be aside the reach of Fortune because he has gathered himself so small that she should not care to strike at him. At any rate, good or evil powers smote34 Sampson Gundry heavily.
First he lost his wife, which was a “great denial” to him. She fell from a cliff while she was pegging35 out the linen36, and the substance of her frame prevented her from ever getting over it. And after that he lost his son, his only son — for all the Gundries were particular as to quality; and the way in which he lost his son made it still more sad for him.
A reputable and valued woman had disappeared in a hasty way from a cattle-place down the same side of the hills. The desire of the Indians was to enlarge her value and get it. There were very few white men as yet within any distance to do good; but Sampson Gundry vowed37 that, if the will of the Lord went with him, that woman should come back to her family without robbing them of sixpence. To this intent he started with a company of some twenty men — white or black or middle-colored (according to circumstances). He was their captain, and his son Elijah their lieutenant. Elijah had only been married for a fortnight, but was full of spirit, and eager to fight with enemies; and he seems to have carried this too far; for all that came back to his poor bride was a lock of his hair and his blessing38. He was buried in a bed of lava39 on the western slope of Shasta, and his wife died in her confinement40, and was buried by the Blue River.
It was said at the time and long afterward that Elijah Gundry — thus cut short — was the finest and noblest young man to be found from the mountains to the ocean. His father, in whose arms he died, led a sad and lonely life for years, and scarcely even cared (although of Cornish and New England race) to seize the glorious chance of wealth which lay at his feet beseeching him. By settlement he had possessed himself of a large and fertile district, sloping from the mountain-foot along the banks of the swift Blue River, a tributary41 of the San Joaquin. And this was not all; for he also claimed the ownership of the upper valley, the whole of the mountain gorge42 and spring head, whence that sparkling water flows. And when that fury of gold-digging in 1849 arose, very few men could have done what he did without even thinking twice of it.
For Sampson Gundry stood, like a bull, on the banks of his own river, and defied the worst and most desperate men of all nations to pollute it. He had scarcely any followers43 or steadfast friends to back him; but his fame for stern courage was clear and strong, and his bodily presence most manifest. Not a shovel44 was thrust nor a cradle rocked in the bed of the Blue River.
But when a year or two had passed, and all the towns and villages, and even hovels and way-side huts, began to clink with money, Mr. Gundry gradually recovered a wholesome45 desire to have some. For now his grandson Ephraim was growing into biped shape, and having lost his mother when he first came into the world, was sure to need the more natural and maternal46 nutriment of money.
Therefore Sampson Gundry, though he would not dig for gold, wrought47 out a plan which he had long thought of. Nature helped him with all her powers of mountain, forest, and headlong stream. He set up a saw-mill, and built it himself; and there was no other to be found for twelve degrees of latitude48 and perhaps a score of longitude49.
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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steadfastly
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| adv.踏实地，不变地；岿然；坚定不渝 | |
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steadfast
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| adj.固定的，不变的，不动摇的；忠实的；坚贞不移的 | |
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succor
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| n.援助，帮助；v.给予帮助 | |
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soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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beseeching
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| adj.恳求似的v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的现在分词 ) | |
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8
loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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incessant
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| adj.不停的，连续的 | |
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cadence
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| n.（说话声调的）抑扬顿挫 | |
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impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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abasement
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| n.滥用 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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contraband
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| n.违禁品，走私品 | |
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lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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smuggling
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| n.走私 | |
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obstinacy
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| n.顽固；（病痛等）难治 | |
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stanch
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| v.止住（血等）；adj.坚固的；坚定的 | |
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thrifty
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| adj.节俭的；兴旺的；健壮的 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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pegging
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| n.外汇钉住，固定证券价格v.用夹子或钉子固定( peg的现在分词 )；使固定在某水平 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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lava
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| n.熔岩，火山岩 | |
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confinement
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| n.幽禁，拘留，监禁；分娩；限制，局限 | |
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tributary
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| n.支流；纳贡国；adj.附庸的；辅助的；支流的 | |
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gorge
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| n.咽喉，胃，暴食，山峡；v.塞饱，狼吞虎咽地吃 | |
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followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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45
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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46
maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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wrought
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| v.引起；以…原料制作；运转；adj.制造的 | |
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48
latitude
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| n.纬度，行动或言论的自由(范围)，(pl.)地区 | |
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49
longitude
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| n.经线，经度 | |
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