I 'lowed the still war one place whar I'd be sure o' not meetin' ye.
Not ez I hev got ennything agin moonshinin' nuther," he added, hastily,
mindful of a seeming reflection on his refuge. "Moonshinin' _is
business_, though the United States don't seem ter know it. But I hev
hearn ye carry on so pious 'bout not lookin' on the wine whenst it be
red, that I 'lowed ye wouldn't like ter look on the still whenst--whenst
it's yaller." He pointed with a burst of callow merriment at the big
copper vessel, and once more the easily excited mirth of the circle
burst forth irrepressibly.
Encouraged by this applause, Leander resumed: "Why, _I_ even turns my
back on the still myself out'n respec' ter the family--Cap'n an'
Neighbor bein' so set agin liquor. Cap'n's ekal ter preachin' on it ef
ennything onexpected war ter happen ter Brother Vickers. An' when I
_hev_ ter view it, I look at it sorter cross-eyed." The flickering line
of light from the crevice of the furnace door showed that he was
squinting frightfully, with the much-admired eyes his mother had
bequeathed to him, at the rotund shadow, with the yellow gleams of the
metal barely suggested in the brown dusk. "So I tuk ter workin' at the
mill. An' _I_ hev got nuthin' ter do with the still." There was a pause.
Then, with a strained tone of appeal in his voice, for a future with
Uncle Nehemiah had seemed very terrible to him, "So ye warn't a-sarchin'
hyar fur me, war ye, Uncle Nehemiah?"
Nehemiah was at a loss. There is a peculiar glutinous quality in the
resolve of a certain type of character which is not allied to
steadfastness of purpose, nor has it the enlightened persistence of
obstinacy. In view of his earlier account of his purpose he could not
avow his errand; it bereft him of naught to disavow it, for Uncle
Nehemiah was one of those gifted people who, in common parlance, do not
mind what they say. Yet his reluctance to assure Leander that he was not
the quarry that had led him into these wilds so mastered him, the
spurious relinquishment had so the aspect of renunciation, that he
hesitated, started to speak, again hesitated, so palpably that Hilary
Tarbetts felt impelled to take a hand in the game.
"Why don't ye sati'fy the boy, Yerby?" he said, brusquely. He took his
pipe out of his mouth and turned to Leander. "Naw, bub. He's jes tradin'
fur bresh whiskey, that's all; he's sorter skeery 'bout bein' a
wild-catter, an' he didn't want ye ter know it."
The point of red light, the glow of his pipe, the only exponent of his
presence in the dusky recess where he sat, shifted with a quick,
decisive motion as he restored it to his lips.
The blood rushed to Nehemiah's head; he was dizzy for a moment; he heard
his heart thump heavily; he saw, or he fancied he saw, the luminous
distention of Leander's eyes as this Goliath of his battles was thus
delivered into his hands. To meet him here proved nothing; the law was
not violated by Nehemiah in the mere knowledge that illicit whiskey was
in process of manufacture; a dozen different errands might have brought
him. But this statement put a sword, as it were, into the boy's hands,
and he dared not deny it.
"'Pears ter me," he blurted out at last, "ez ye air powerful slack with
yer jaw."
"Lee-yander ain't," coolly returned Tarbetts. "He knows all thar is ter
know 'bout we-uns--an' why air ye not ter share our per'ls?"
"I ain't likely ter tell," Leander jocosely reassured him. "But I can't
help thinkin' how it would rejice that good Christian 'oman, Cap'n
Sudley, ez war made ter set on sech a low stool 'bout my pore old
fiddle."
And thus reminded of the instrument, he picked it up, and once more,
with the bow held aloft in his hand, he dexterously twanged the strings,
and with his deft fingers rapidly and discriminatingly turned the
screws, this one up and that one down. The earnest would-be musician,
who had languished while the discussion was in progress, now plucked up
a freshened interest, and begged that the furnace door might be set ajar
to enable him to watch the process of tuning and perchance to detect its
subtle secret. No objection was made, for the still was nearly empty,
and arrangements tending to replenishment were beginning to be
inaugurated by several of the men, who were examining the mash in tubs
in the further recesses of the place. They were lighted by a lantern
which, swinging to and fro as they moved, sometimes so swiftly as to
induce a temporary fluctuation threatening eclipse, suggested in the
dusk the erratic orbit of an abnormally magnified fire-fly. It barely
glimmered, the dullest point of white light, when the rich flare from
the opening door of the furnace gushed forth and the whole rugged
interior was illumined with its color. The inadequate moonlight fell
away; the chastened white splendor on the foam of the cataract, the
crystalline glitter, timorously and elusively shifting, were
annihilated; the swiftly descending water showed from within only a
continuously moving glow of yellow light, all the brighter from the
dark-seeming background of the world glimpsed without. A wind had risen,
unfelt in these recesses and on the weighty volume of the main sheet of
falling water, but at its verge the fitful gusts diverted its downward
course, tossing slender jets aslant, and sending now and again a shower
of spray into the cavern. Nehemiah remembered his rheumatism with a
shiver. The shadows of the men, instead of an unintelligible
comminglement with the dusk, were now sharp and distinct, and the light
grotesquely duplicated them till the cave seemed full of beings who were
not there a moment before--strange gnomes, clumsy and burly, slow of
movement, but swift and mysterious of appearance and disappearance. The
beetling ledges here and there imprinted strong black similitudes of
their jagged contours on the floor; with the glowing, weird illumination
the place seemed far more uncanny than before, and Leander, with his
face pensive once more in response to the gentle strains slowly elicited
by the bow trembling with responsive ecstasy, his large eyes full of
dreamy lights, his curling hair falling about his cheek as it rested
upon the violin, his figure, tall and slender and of an adolescent
grace, might have suggested to the imagination a reminiscence of Orpheus
in Hades. They all listened in languid pleasure, without the effort to
appraise the music or to compare it with other performances--the bane of
more cultured audiences; only the ardent amateur, seated close at hand
on a bowlder, watched the bowing with a scrutiny which betokened
earnest anxiety that no mechanical trick might elude him. The miller's
half-grown son, whose ear for any fine distinctions in sound might be
presumed to have been destroyed by the clamors of the mill, sat a trifle
in the background, and sawed away on an imaginary violin with many
flourishes and all the exaggerations of mimicry; he thus furnished the
zest of burlesque relished by the devotees of horse-play and simple
jests, and was altogether unaware that he had a caricature in his shadow
just behind him, and was doing double duty in making both Leander and
himself ridiculous. Sometimes he paused in excess of interest when the
music elicited an amusement more to his mind than the long-drawn,
pathetic cadences which the violinist so much affected. For in sudden
changes of mood and in effective contrast the tones came showering forth
in keen, quick staccato, every one as round and distinct as a globule,
but as unindividualized in the swift exuberance of the whole as a drop
in a summer's rain; the bow was but a glancing line of light in its
rapidity, and the bounding movement of the theme set many a foot astir
marking time. At last one young fellow, an artist too in his way, laid
aside his pipe and came out to dance. A queer _pas seul_ it might have
been esteemed, but he was light and agile and not ungraceful, and he
danced with an air of elation--albeit with a grave face--which added to
the enjoyment of the spectator, for it seemed so slight an effort. He
was long-winded, and was still bounding about in the double-shuffle and
the pigeon-wing, his shadow on the wall nimbly following every motion,
when the violin's cadence quavered off in a discordant wail, and
Leander, the bow pointed at the water-fall, exclaimed: "Look out!
Somebody's thar! Out thar on the rocks!"
It was upon the instant, with the evident intention of a surprise, that
a dozen armed men rushed precipitately into the place. Nehemiah, his
head awhirl, hardly distinguished the events as they were confusedly
enacted before him. There were loud, excited calls, unintelligible,
mouthing back in the turbulent echoes of the place, the repeated word
"Surrender!" alone conveying meaning to his mind. The sharp, succinct
note of a pistol-shot was a short answer. Some quick hand closed the
door of the furnace and threw the place into protective gloom. He was
vaguely aware that a prolonged struggle that took place amongst a group
of men near him was the effort of the intruders to reopen it. All
unavailing. He presently saw figures drawing back to the doorway out of
the _melee_, for moonshiner and raider were alike indistinguishable, and
he became aware that both parties were equally desirous to gain the
outer air. Once more pistol-shots--outside this time--then a tumult of
frenzied voices. Struck by a pistol-ball, Tarbetts had fallen from the
ledge under the weight of the cataract and into the deep abysses below.
The raiders were swiftly getting to saddle again. Now and then a crack
mountain shot drew a bead upon them from the bushes; but mists were
gathering, the moon was uncertain, and the flickering beams deflected
the aim. Two or three of the horses lay dead on the river-bank, and
others carried double, ridden by men with riddled hats. They were in
full retreat, for the catastrophe on the ledge of the cliff struck
dismay to their hearts. Had the man been shot, according to the
expectation of those who resist arrest, this would be merely the logical
sequence of events. But to be hurled from a crag into a cataract savored
of atrocity, and they dreaded the reprisals of capture.
[Illustration: "'LOOK OUT! SOMEBODY'S THAR!'"]
It was soon over. The whole occurrence, charged with all the
definitiveness of fate, was scant ten minutes in transition. A laggard
hoof-beat, a faint echo amidst the silent gathering of the moonlit
mists, and the loud plaint of Hoho-hebee Falls were the only sounds that
caught Nehemiah's anxious ear when he crept out from behind the empty
barrels and tremulously took his way along the solitary ledges, ever and
anon looking askance at his shadow, that more than once startled him
with a sense of unwelcome companionship. The mists, ever thickening,
received him into their midst. However threatening to the retreat of the
raiders, they were friendly to him. Once, indeed, they parted, showing
through the gauzy involutions of their illumined folds the pale moon
high in the sky, and close at hand a horse's head just above his own,
with wild, dilated eyes and quivering nostrils. Its effect was as
detached as if it were only drawn upon a canvas; the mists rolled over
anew, and but that he heard the subdued voice of the rider urging the
animal on, and the thud of the hoofs farther away, he might have thought
this straggler from the revenue party some wild illusion born of his
terrors.
The fate of Hilary Tarbetts remained a mystery. When the stream was
dragged for his body it was deemed strange that it should not be found,
since the bowlders that lay all adown the rocky gorge so interrupted the
sweep of the current that so heavy a weight seemed likely to be caught
amongst them. Others commented on the strength and great momentum of the
flow, and for this reason it was thought that in some dark underground
channel of Hide-and-Seek Creek the moonshiner had found his sepulchre. A
story of his capture was circulated after a time; it was supposed that
he dived and swam ashore after his fall, and that the raiders overtook
him on their retreat, and that he was now immured, a Federal prisoner.
The still and all the effects of the brush-whiskey trade disappeared as
mysteriously, and doubtless this silent flitting gave rise to the
hopeful rumor that Tarbetts had been seen alive and well since that
fateful night, and that in some farther recesses of the wilderness,
undiscovered by the law, he and like comrades continue their chosen
vocation. However that may be, the vicinity of Hoho-hebee Falls, always
a lonely place, is now even a deeper solitude. The beavers, unmolested,
haunt the ledges; along their precipitous ways the deer come down to
drink; on bright days the rainbow hovers about the falls; on bright
nights they glimmer in the moon; but never again have they glowed with
the shoaling orange light of the furnace, intensifying to the deep tawny
tints of its hot heart, like the rich glamours of some great topaz.
This alien glow it was thought had betrayed the place to the raiders,
and Nehemiah's instrumentality was never discovered. The post-office
appointment was bestowed upon his rival for the position, and it was
thought somewhat strange that he should endure the defeat with such
exemplary resignation. No one seemed to connect his candidacy with his
bootless search for his nephew. When Leander chanced to be mentioned,
however, he observed with some rancor that he reckoned it was just as
well he didn't come up with Lee-yander; there was generally mighty
little good in a runaway boy, and Lee-yander had the name of being
disobejent an' turr'ble bad.
Leander found a warm welcome at home. His violin had been broken in the
_melee_, and the miller, though ardently urged, never could remember the
spot where he had hidden the book--such havoc had the confusion of that
momentous night wrought in his mental processes. Therefore, unhampered
by music or literature, Leander addressed himself to the plough-handles,
and together that season he and "Neighbor" made the best crop of their
lives.
Laurelia sighed for the violin and Leander's music, though, as she
always made haste to say, some pious people misdoubted whether it were
not a sinful pastime. On such occasions it went hard with Leander not to
divulge his late experiences and the connection of the pious Uncle
Nehemiah therewith. But he always remembered in time Laurelia's
disability to receive confidences, being a woman, and consequently
unable to keep a secret, and he desisted.
One day, however, when he and Ty Sudley, ploughing the corn, now
knee-high, were pausing to rest in the turn-row, a few furrows apart, in
an ebullition of filial feeling he told all that had befallen him in
his absence. Ty Sudley, divided between wrath toward Nehemiah and
quaking anxiety for the dangers that Leander had been constrained to
run--_ex post facto_ tremors, but none the less acute--felt moved now
and then to complacence in his prodigy.
"So 'twar _you-uns_ ez war smart enough ter slam the furnace door an'
throw the whole place inter darkness! That saved them moonshiners and
raiders from killin' each other. It saved a deal o' bloodshed--ez sure
ez shootin'. 'Twar mighty smart in ye. But"--suddenly bethinking himself
of sundry unfilial gibes at Uncle Nehemiah and the facetious account of
his plight--"Lee-yander, ye mustn't be so turr'ble bad, sonny; ye
_mustn't_ be so _turr'ble_ bad."
"Naw, ma'am, Neighbor, I won't," Leander protested.
And he went on following the plough down the furrow and singing loud and
clear.
THE RIDDLE OF THE ROCKS
Upon the steep slope of a certain "bald" among the Great Smoky Mountains
there lie, just at the verge of the strange stunted woods from which the
treeless dome emerges to touch the clouds, two great tilted blocks of
sandstone. They are of marked regularity of shape, as square as if hewn
with a chisel. Both are splintered and fissured; one is broken in twain.
No other rock is near. The earth in which they are embedded is the rich
black soil not unfrequently found upon the summits. Nevertheless no
great significance might seem to attach to their isolation--an
outcropping of ledges, perhaps; a fracture of the freeze; a trace of
ancient denudation by the waters of the spring in the gap, flowing now
down the trough of the gorge in a silvery braid of currents, and with a
murmur that is earnest of a song.
It may have been some distortion of the story heard only from the lips
of the circuit rider, some fantasy of tradition invested with the
urgency of fact, but Roger Purdee could not remember the time when he
did not believe that these were the stone tables of the Law that Moses
flung down from the mountain-top in his wrath. In the dense ignorance of
the mountaineer, and his secluded life, he knew of no foreign
countries, no land holier than the land of his home. There was no
incongruity to his mind that it should have been in the solemn silence
and austere solitude of the "bald," in the magnificent ascendency of the
Great Smoky, that the law-giver had met the Lord and spoken with Him.
Often as he lay at length on the strange barren place, veiled with the
clouds that frequented it, a sudden sunburst in their midst would
suggest anew what supernal splendors had once been here vouchsafed to
the faltering eye of man. The illusion had come to be very dear to him;
in this insistent localization of his faith it was all very near. And so
he would go down to the slope below, among the weird, stunted trees, and
look once more upon the broken tables, and ponder upon the strange signs
written by time thereon. The insistent fall of the rain, the incisive
blasts of the wind, coming again and again, though the centuries went,
were registered here in mystic runes. The surface had weathered to a
whitish-gray, but still in tiny depressions its pristine dark color
showed in rugose characters. A splintered fissure held delicate fucoid
impressions in fine script full of meaning. A series of worm-holes
traced erratic hieroglyphics across a scaling corner; all the varied
texts were illuminated by quartzose particles glittering in the sun, and
here and there fine green grains of glauconite. He knew no names like
these, and naught of meteorological potency. He had studied no other
rock. His casual notice had been arrested nowhere by similar signs.
Under the influence of his ignorant superstition, his cherished
illusion, the lonely wilderness, what wonder that, as he pondered upon
the rocks, strange mysteries seemed revealed to him? He found
significance in these cabalistic scriptures--nay, he read inspired
words! With the ramrod of his gun he sought to follow the fine tracings
of the letters writ by the finger of the Lord on the stone tables that
Moses flung down from the mountain-top in his wrath.
With a devout thankfulness Purdee realized that he owned the land where
they lay. It was worth, perhaps, a few cents an acre; it was utterly
untillable, almost inaccessible, and his gratulation owed its fervor
only to its spiritual values. He was an idle and shiftless fellow, and
had known no glow of acquisition, no other pride of possession. He
herded cattle much of the time in the summer, and he hunted in the
winter--wolves chiefly, their hair being long and finer at this season,
and the smaller furry gentry; for he dealt in peltry. And so, despite
the vastness of the mountain wilds, he often came and knelt beside the
rocks with his rifle in his hand, and sought anew to decipher the mystic
legends. His face, bending over the tables of the Law with the earnest
research of a student, with the chastened subduement of devotion, with
all the calm sentiments of reverie, lacked something of its normal
aspect. When a sudden stir of the leaves or the breaking of a twig
recalled him to the world, and he would lift his head, it might hardly
seem the same face, so heavy was the lower jaw, so insistent and
coercive his eye. But if he took off his hat to place therein his cotton
bandana handkerchief or (if he were in luck and burdened with game) the
scalp of a wild-cat--valuable for the bounty offered by the State--he
showed a broad, massive forehead that added the complement of
expression, and suggested a doubt if it were ferocity his countenance
bespoke or force. His long black hair hung to his shoulders, and he wore
a tangled black beard; his deep-set dark blue eyes were kindled with the
fires of imagination. He was tall, and of a commanding presence but for
his stoop and his slouch. His garments seemed a trifle less well ordered
than those of his class, and bore here and there the traces of the blood
of beasts; on his trousers were grass stains deeply grounded, for he
knelt often to get a shot, and in meditation beside the rocks. He spent
little time otherwise upon his knees, and perhaps it was some intuition
of this fact that roused the wrath of certain brethren of the
camp-meeting when he suddenly appeared among them, arrogating to himself
peculiar spiritual experiences, proclaiming that his mind had been
opened to strange lore, repeating thrilling, quickening words that he
declared he had read on the dead rocks whereon were graven the
commandments of the Lord. The tumultuous tide of his rude eloquence, his
wild imagery, his ecstasy of faith, rolled over the assembly and awoke
it anew to enthusiasms. Much that he said was accepted by the more
intelligent ministers who led the meeting as figurative, as the finer
fervors of truth, and they felt the responsive glow of emotion and
quiver of sympathy. He intended it in its simple, literal significance.
And to the more local members of the congregation the fact was patent.
"Sech a pack o' lies hev seldom been tole in the hearin' o' Almighty
Gawd," said Job Grinnell, a few days after the breaking up of camp. He
was rehearsing the proceedings at the meeting partly for the joy of
hearing himself talk, and partly at the instance of his wife, who had
been prevented from attending by the inopportune illness of one of the
children. "Ez I loant my ear ter the words o' that thar brazen buzzard I
eyed him constant. Fur I looked ter see the jedgmint o' the Lord descend
upon him like S'phira an' An'ias."
"_Who?_" asked his wife, pausing in her task of picking up chips. He had
spoken of them so familiarly that one might imagine they lived close by
in the cove.
"An'ias an' S'phira--them in the Bible ez war streck by lightnin' fur
lyin'," he explained.
"I 'member _her_," she said. "S'phia, I calls her."
"Waal, A'gusta, _S'phira_ do me jes ez well," he said, with the
momentary sulkiness of one corrected. "Thar war a man along, though. An'
'pears ter me thar war powerful leetle jestice in thar takin' off, ef
Roger Purdee be 'lowed ter stan' up thar in the face o' the meetin' an'
lie so ez no yearthly critter in the worl' could b'lieve him--'ceptin'
Brother Jacob Page, ez 'peared plumb out'n his head with religion, an'
got ter shoutin' when this Purdee tuk ter tellin' the law he read on
them rocks--Moses' tables, folks calls 'em--up yander in the mounting."
He nodded upward toward the great looming range above them. His house
was on a spur of the mountain, overshadowed by it; shielded. It was to
him the Almoner of Fate. One by one it doled out the days, dawning from
its summit; and thence, too, came the darkness and the glooms of night.
One by one it liberated from the enmeshments of its tangled wooded
heights the constellations to gladden the eye and lure the fancy. Its
largess of silver torrents flung down its slopes made fertile the little
fields, and bestowed a lilting song on the silence, and took a turn at
the mill-wheel, and did not disdain the thirst of the humble cattle. It
gave pasturage in summer, and shelter from the winds of the winter. It
was the assertive feature of his life; he could hardly have imagined
existence without "the mounting."
"Tole what he read on them rocks--yes, sir, ez glib ez swallerin' a
persimmon. 'Twarn't the reg'lar ten comman'ments--some cur'ous new
texts--jes a-rollin' 'em out ez sanctified ez ef he hed been called ter
preach the gospel! An' thar war Brother Eden Bates a-answerin' 'Amen'
ter every one. An' Brother Jacob Page: 'Glory, brother! Ye hev received
the outpourin' of the Sperit! Shake hands, brother!' An' sech ez that.
Ter hev hearn the commotion they raised about that thar derned lyin'
sinner ye'd hev 'lowed the meetin' war held ter glorify him stiddier the
Lord."