“Children,” I cried, “what are you talking about? Are you mad, clean,
stark mad? I never rode a horse. I never saw a mountain trail. I should
starve on bacon and dry bread. I am afraid to death of rattlesnakes and
bears. Do you think I am an idiot? Of course I will not go!”
“Oh, now,” wheedled Tom, “don’t get excited. I’ll wager you will
enjoy it the best of any of us. I tell you the trail is nothing.
Rattlesnakes! and bears! Besides you are our guest, and _we_ can’t go
and leave you behind.”
“Only think of the view!” shouted the girls.
“Go to the mountains of the moon, if you feel inclined,” was my
steadfast answer, “and take the view with you. I shall never, never
leave Strawberry Valley on any such reckless venture.”
But even as I spoke I felt that sinking of the heart which portends
defeat to foolish souls. As for my objections, Tom swept them away as
though they were chaff and he a mighty wind. In mute despair I turned
to _pater_- and _materfamilias_ who had joined the group. Alas, for
the first time they failed me. So, when there was no longer help in
man--or woman--I yielded, firmly convinced that I should never see
friends or kindred again, railing at my own weakness of will. But my
good angel fluttered near, and so I went.
I need not dwell upon the perils of the way. Sliding stones and
slipping mules, frightened horses and snapping cinches--these are only
incidents. He is preparing a gruesome future for himself who asserts
that Tahquitch trail is “easy!” More than once, as my unwilling bronco
balked or stumbled or insisted upon a wholly untrod path, my frightened
lips framed--not a prayer! Then I girded anew the loins of my
resolution and clung yet more frantically to the neck of my disgusted
steed.
At noon we reached our first resting-place, a little valley just at the
base of old Tahquitch. Then, fear almost forgot, the glorious wonder
of the way took possession of me. Even now, as I recall that first
highland camp, a dreamy restfulness steals over mind and heart. The
soft, abundant verdure of that rugged floor; the girded strength of
the everlasting hills; the burden of myth and legend investing every
peak and rock and valley with half-suggested mystery--it was worth the
labor, was it worth the fear?
Our resting space was all too brief, and again we mounted our still
wearied horses. Another ride of terrors, and we camped for the night
at the very foot of the lordly peak we were to scale next day. Hardly
a more enchanting spot can be imagined than the little valley nest,
apparently created for our immediate needs. Huge cliffs of rock on one
side shut us protectingly from the lofty range of hills beyond. On the
side opposite, the hills came down to the very edge of the valley, but
lovingly, with no hint of the treacherous ravines which scar their
slopes. Beyond loomed the hoary head of San Jacinto--threatening,
awful, grand.
After our meager supper we prepared our beds of fragrant pine,
topped with enormous blankets. That done, we gathered around the
blazing camp-fire; and then followed tales of aboriginal California,
Tom’s valiant stunt--an alleged Indian waltz--songs and songs, and
bye-and-bye the glorious chant, “I will lift up mine eyes unto the
hills.” At ten o’clock the embers of our cook-fires and the flickering
camp blaze were the only visible signs of life.
Our sleeping-rooms were scattered here and there, marked by different
groups of stalwart trees. Mollie and I, for economy of warmth, made
our bed together under a clump of gigantic pines, taller and larger
than I had deemed it possible for pines to grow. Mollie, careful of
my health and comfort, went to sleep upon the windward side, and in
just compensation for her generosity claimed the heavier portion of
the clothing. I felt the force of her philosophy, but philosophy would
not keep me warm. My teeth chattered and I could not sleep. Moreover
visions of the return over Tahquitch trail haunted me. As the probable
catastrophes of descent were borne in upon my mind I groaned aloud.
Why had I undertaken this wild scheme? Could I ever ride down those
shelving rocks? Perhaps I should fall over the precipice where, the
guide assured us, a horse had rolled the year before. Perhaps, and
perhaps--I had lain awake too many weary hours not to recognize the
symptoms. I was in for a sleepless night.
I raised myself upon my elbow and looked about me. When had I ever
seen such another night! The moon was full and almost at its zenith.
The tall pines waved their tops gently in the breezes of an upper
atmosphere. The lower mountain wind swept in gusts through the valley.
The camp-fire blaze still burned dully in the stronger light of the
glorious moon. The shadows of the mountain stood out in the clear
moonlight as sharply defined as in the day. I looked at my watch--it
was half-past twelve; one; two. The night grew every moment more
radiant, but would it never end?
I had just returned my watch to my pillow for the dozenth time, and had
risen at last to stir into circulation my frozen blood, when my ear
caught a low, peculiar rumble, unlike anything I had ever heard before.
I stood motionless, too frightened to rouse Mollie, yet consciously
wondering why she and the others did not wake. A moment--and then I
said to myself, “It is an earthquake”; but knew perfectly it was not.
Another rumble; another--louder, nearer, close at hand. My fear was
almost lost in wonder. Suddenly I cried:
“It is the Tahquitch spirits!”
Mollie moved uneasily, disturbed by my voice. I was on the point of
waking her still further when the noise ceased. I had forgotten the
cold, but my teeth chattered now from excitement. I waited five, ten
minutes--it seemed hours. Reluctantly I returned to my bed and nestled
under my pitiable corner of blanket, but it had no warmth for me and
in a moment I threw it off and sat up listening eagerly. Mollie still
slept on.
“I will not waken her if I hear the sound again,” I said to myself.
“Perhaps her lack of faith in unseen beings forbids any manifestation
in her presence.”
I had scarcely formed the thought when I heard once more the rumble,
more distinct, nearer every instant. In spite of my eagerness to hear
and see, I am confident that every hair of my head began to rise.
Audibly sounder slept my doughty cousin.
Suddenly the rumble ceased, and a sharp gust of wind swept down from
the mountain which lay at my right. I turned my face in that direction.
The height was enveloped in a mist, and a light mist, hardly more than
a haze, floated in the air around me. While I looked it began to assume
form and color. It was a horrible dragon with outstretched claws and
yawning mouth; no, a man-warrior with flecks of blood upon his shield.
But even as I looked the awful presence took the dim outlines of a
woman’s shape. I pinched myself. I was wide awake.
[Illustration: STRAWBERRY VALLEY CAMP
“My hammock swung under the centuried pines of Strawberry Valley.”]
A moment more, and the figure stood out, distinct as the clear
lines of the landscape--a woman having the dark copper skin and the
gleaming eyes of the Indian race, but with the height and bearing of
the stateliest Caucasian. Her long blanket of scarlet and white hung
trailing from her shoulder. Scarlet cords were around her wrists and
ankles. A glittering chain of shells and nuggets encircled her neck,
and a single massive nugget shone in her long, black hair which was
held in place by a scarlet band. She raised her arm in a gesture,
perhaps of silence. The hand was large and perfect and the arm well
moulded. She looked at me a moment and then spoke.
“I am the Tahquitch Maiden. My people have many legends regarding me,
but no Red man has seen my form nor heard my voice since the day I
disappeared from yonder valley. For many generations I have dwelt upon
the peak named for the Evil Spirit, whom my Indian kin believe I serve.
Often I have yearned to tell the story of my fate--a fate so strange
that none have guessed aright its cause and meaning. Often I have left
my rocky fortress to hover near to them who seemed of mind and spirit
like my own. But I have sought their comradeship in vain. In a long
round of years, once only am I seen or may I speak. Whenever, upon
the anniversary of the last night of my stay among my people, another
golden moon lights up these scenes of beauty, if any wander near these
mountain heights, whose hearts believe in truth and fortitude and noble
love; if, unsleeping, they have watched throughout the hours which mark
the time when last I suffered among mortals--to them I may appear and
tell in language of their own my story.
“This is the fateful night. For many scores of years no other has been
like it; and no one lives whose heart has heard my story.”
The maiden paused, and turned her face toward the mists of Tahquitch
Mountain. I held my breath in silence, but my gaze followed hers. The
distant peaks remained wrapped in clouds, which seemed too dense for
sun ever to lighten.
“Until they melt away,” she said, following my thought, “none call me
to return.”
Then she began her story.
“My father was the chief of a noble tribe, now vanished from the earth,
then filling the valley named for its burden of wild strawberry.
My mother was a maiden of a tribe removed from here, far to the
east--perhaps a tribe of your own race. At least she differed much from
my father’s people in face and form and mind. I have heard few words
regarding her, and my memory of her grace and beauty is but the memory
of a child. Of gentle heart she must have been, and my father, a stern,
strong warrior among warlike men, made her his idol.
“I was an only child, and I grew up as other Indian children, with few
events to make my years remembered. By my mother I was fondly loved; my
father gave me little care or notice. Nothing stands clear in my past
until one day, while I was still a child, there came a great change in
my life. My father, with many stalwart braves, had gone upon a bloody
expedition against a powerful foe some distance to the south, leaving
behind a small band of men to guard our camp. These set out one morning
to hunt the deer which then, more fearlessly than now, roamed over the
neighboring hills. At nightfall they had not returned, nor did they
ever come.
“All that day, haunted by a prophecy of evil, my mother wandered pale
and anxious about the camp. The stolid Indian women, themselves unmoved
by threat of danger, grumbled together at her restlessness and fear,
but to her they said no word. As the afternoon wore away she could
control herself no longer. Taking my hand she led me into the little
teepee which, contrary to the custom of Indian men, my father had built
for her with his own hands, beside the valley stream.
“When we were alone and sheltered from the gaze of her hard-faced
companions, she took me in her arms and threw herself with me upon her
couch of skins. Then she wept. I, who had never seen a man or woman
weep, was filled with a strange, wild fear. I struggled in her arms,
and when her tight clasp forced me to lie still, I lay panting with
fright. Soon, seeing my terror, she checked her sobs and stroked my
long shining hair until my fears were hushed. Then she said:
“‘Child, you are of your father’s mould and spirit. You will become his
pride and joy, as I have been his love. Something tells me that soon
I shall go far from you, into another land, among another people. You
will know little of your mother’s life or love; for death will seal her
lips, and pride and love and grief your father’s. Her kindred will be
strangers to you, for they are far distant from this place and people,
and when she left them to follow one she better loved, they ceased to
speak, perhaps to think of her. Yet they are noble and true and tender,
and sometime they will bring to you, perhaps, sympathy more than your
father’s race can give. But this is not the thing I long to say. I
would leave with you another message straight from your mother’s heart.
“‘Love fills the measure of a woman’s life. Fear not to take and give.
But when suitors come to you from this and other tribes, choose from
them not at all or else choose worthily. Rank, possessions, power are
glittering ornaments, but look not long on them. Let your heart rest on
him whose soul meets yours and at its best.’
“That night our camp was entered by the stealthy foe who had surprised
and killed our band of hunters. My mother slew with her own hands the
dark-faced warrior who had rushed into our tent to take me captive. She
in turn was pierced by the poisoned arrow of another of the enemy. At
midnight she lay dead.
“Before the first glow of another sunrise had touched yon peak, my
father returned laden with spoils from a vanquished foe. But his chant
of victory was changed to wailing. All that day he mourned alone; but
when midnight came again, he summoned all his people, and, with solemn
dance and dirge, they buried my mother beside the stream where she
had dwelt. Then he wreaked upon the enemy who had despoiled his home,
vengeance unspeakable.
“After my mother’s death my father’s heart was turned toward me. I
became his frequent companion. Near the spot where my mother’s teepee
once stood, one was reared for me. Indian maidens waited upon me to do
my bidding. Indian youths brought gifts from the forest and the sea.
As I grew into womanhood, I kept my mother’s skill and quickness; I
was like her, too, in form and bearing. But I was like my father in my
dark face and hair and, most of all, in my unconquerable spirit. As
my mother had predicted, I became his pride and joy. Braves from our
own tribe sought my hand, but I gave no sign of pleasure; and for a
time my father seemed content. At length my haughty beauty was known
outside my people, and dark-browed warriors came from other tribes
to win my favor. Some brought gifts of skins and shells, gold, woven
blankets, and trophies of their strifes, and lay them at my feet. Some
performed before me feats of skill or of endurance; some boasted their
rank and power. When they told my father of their gifts or asked him
for my hand, at first he smoked in silence. Then, when many went away
unsatisfied or displeased, he turned questioningly to me.
“‘What would you have?’ he asked, and a gleam of anger showed itself in
his dark face.
“‘I would have the one I choose, as strong and brave as these,’ I
answered proudly, ‘but something more. No one of these has touched my
heart. They are all selfish and untrue. Something tells me to choose no
one among them.’
“This I said truly; but more than spoken cause was the remembrance of
my mother’s words, ‘Set your heart on him whose soul meets yours and at
its best.’
“My father uttered only the grim ‘Ugh!’ which meant, I knew, a latent
wrath; and for the first time I was touched with a vague uneasiness.
“Soon other suitors came and went. I grew at length anxious and
unhappy. When _would_ a lover come whose soul was true, whose heart
moved mine? My father made me daily less his companion. At last, when a
young chief from the most powerful of our neighboring tribes, offering
his gifts in vain, turned wrathfully away, my father looked at me a
moment in dark displeasure. Then he led me to the mighty oak which
grew upon the outskirts of our camp. It was the Tree of Judgment, and
underneath its spreading boughs had many a trembling victim heard his
direful sentence.
“‘No maiden of our tribe has lived unwedded,’ he began. ‘You shall
not disgrace me nor my people. Other maidens are given, without wish
of their own, by chief or parent to whom these will. _You_ are the
daughter of a chief. To you I grant the gift of choosing; but choose
you must. Though you were ten times worthy; though your beauty moved
the gods above,--one from the mortals who seek your hand you still
shall wed. Or, if you fail, in three moons you shall die.’
“He said, but his words fell upon a heart as proud as his; a will as
strong as his to do or to endure. Yet I loved life, and longed, too,
with all a maiden’s fervor, for a heart which should control my own.
The days went on, and no one appeared whom I could love and trust. The
warriors and maidens of our tribe perceived my father’s anger and held
me in contempt. Those who had served me ceased to do my bidding. Old
women turned hard faces toward me and muttered curses whenever I went
near them. But my will was still unconquered and my pride unbent. Like
a queen I moved among the petty beings whom once I had ruled. My father
no longer looked upon me. My heart yearned for his love but I could not
speak; I would not yield. No human being praised, nor gave me words
of sympathy, save one alone.
[Illustration: UNDER SAN JACINTO
“The shadows of the mountain stood out in the clear moonlight.”]
“One day as I walked near the stream, beside whose channel had flowed
the good and evil of my life, a crippled youth, a white captive whom my
father, moved by strange feeling, once had saved from death, suddenly
appeared before me from behind a neighboring tree. Without the word of
formal welcome wherewith he had been used to greet me, he said, and
looked not at me as he spoke, but at the mountain rock which hung above
our camp:
“‘Brave daughter of your mother’s people, you have done well. Endure.
God--Manitou--will not forget.’
“In a moment he was gone. I, who had heard for long days no friendly
voice and who, hidden within my heart, carried no little of my mother’s
tenderness, sank upon the spot where I was standing and wept for joy.
“That night the youth was burned beneath the Judgment Tree.
“At last arrived the day when I must die; for none had come whom I
could choose, and the strong words of the dead youth had helped me to
endure. At sunrise of the fatal day, my father called a meeting of his
people. Me he led before them into the shadow of the dreaded oak. When
every woman and man and child had come into his presence, he spoke
briefly:
“‘This maid, no longer child of mine, has refused to do my will. She
shall die; but she shall die as befits the time when she moved among
you, the daughter of a chief. When the moon rises full, come again into
this place.’
“To me he said no word, nor looked upon me. All the long hours till
night I spent in secret dread, but with no signs of fear upon my face.
When night approached I robed myself as now, and when the messengers
came to lead me to my death, I walked erect and calm as I had done in
days of yore. As we passed the spot whereon my mother’s teepee once had
stood, I thought I saw her there with hand upraised in blessing. I
felt no longer dread or fear.
“Beside the tree where I had stood in judgment twice before, was reared
a lofty pyre. Thither I walked and with firm step mounted to its top
unbound; for the proud heart of my father knew that I would never
quail, even before the deadly flames. He, clad in the garments of his
rank, stood beside the towering mass, and when I reached its summit he
gave a gesture of command. At once a slow and mournful dirge began, but
it was one of curses, not of grief.
“Then gathered round the spot all whom I had known in youth and
childhood--warriors whose favor I had slighted; maidens jealous of
my power; women who had known my mother and despised her for her
gentleness and beauty; children, half-grown youths who looked in
taunting wonder. On all their faces was visible exulting joy. Long the
fearful dirge continued, and with each succeeding measure the looks of
hatred and of triumph deepened.
“When at last the dread midnight came and passed, my father hushed the
crowd to silence. Then he stooped and lighted my pyre with his own
hand. Once only his eyes sought mine, and in that loveless glance I
saw--not pity, but unbounded pride. As the flames rose high around me,
then, indeed, the frenzied triumph of the crowd below burst from all
bonds. They danced and shouted and waved their clumsy weapons in the
air.
“Suddenly a crash louder than the loudest thunder, broke through the
shouts of wild excitement. A rumble followed, growing every moment
nearer. The men and women threw themselves upon the ground and shrieked
with terror. The fire at my feet was quenched. A lurid mist encircled
Tahquitch Mountain. The moon’s light was covered with a cloud. Then a
voice from out the darkness hushed to frightened stillness the cries of
the prostrate people.
“‘O child of noble heart,’ it said, ‘you have been true. Your reward
shall be beyond the thought of mortals.’
“In an instant I had left the earth, borne in the strong arms of wingèd
warriors. They carried me to the peak which, from that time, men have
named, in mistaken faith, for the Spirit of wrath and evil doing.
“Since that day, from behind my stony fortress, I have looked down upon
the deeds and ways of men; but no earthly care touches me with sorrow.
Sheltered from mortal strife, serene among the gods I live--happy,
content, save for the sometime yearning of my still human heart for
human warmth and understanding.
“The tribe of my people, smitten upon the day I disappeared, I have
seen die, and their name has been forgotten. The oak under which I
stood, captive to truth and purity, has crumbled to the earth; but I
live on and shall ever live, blessed with unfading youth and happiness.”
Again I heard the low, long rumble which had startled me at first.
The clouds on my right were lifted. The first rays of the rising sun
touched the camp with glory. I turned my eyes, brimming with tears, to
meet its splendor, and when I looked again, the maid had vanished.
Mollie still slept on. The stern lines of San Jacinto stood out,
more threatening than beautiful. Our camping horses neighed, restive
under their night-long tethers. The trail we had passed the day
before, remained a vague, still dreadful memory; but my heart was free
from terror. I was conscious of a strange, exultant joy. What to me
were crags and stones and bursting cinches? What--hardship, hunger,
weariness? What--the matchless mountain vision we should soon behold?
_I had seen the Tahquitch Maiden!_
HERE ENDS THE TAHQUITCH MAIDEN A TALE OF THE SAN JACINTOS TOLD BY
PHEBE ESTELLE SPALDING. THE DECORATIONS BY JEAN OLIVER. PUBLISHED
BY PAUL ELDER & COMPANY AND PRINTED FOR THEM BY THEIR TOMOYE PRESS,
UNDER THE DIRECTION OF JOHN HENRY NASH, IN THE CITY OF SAN FRANCISCO,
DURING THE MONTH OF JULY AND YEAR MCMXI.
* * * * * *
Transcriber’s note:
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.