THE DAWN OF A NEW DAY
For many days, public attention had been centered upon Esther Bright,
the new teacher in Gila. Her grasp of the conditions of the school,
her power to cope with the lawless element there, and her absolute
mastery of the situation had now become matters of local history. Her
advent in Gila had been a nine days' wonder to the Gilaites; now, her
presence there had come to be regarded as a matter of course.
Every new feature introduced into the school life, every new
acquaintance made, deepened her hold upon the better life of the
community. Moreover, her vital interest in the people awakened in them
a responsive interest in her.
Fearlessly she tramped the foothills and canyons, returning laden with
flowers and geological specimens. Learning her interest in these
things, many people of the camp began to contribute to her
collections.
Here in the Rockies, Nature pours out her treasures with lavish hand.
White men had long dwelt in the midst of her marvelous wealth of
scenic beauty, amazingly ignorant of any values there save that which
had a purchasing power and could be counted in dollars and cents.
The mountains were ministering to the soul life of Esther Bright. The
strength of the hills became hers. Nature's pages of history lay open
before her; but more interesting to her than cell or crystal, or tree
or flower, or the shining company of the stars, were the human beings
she found fettered by ignorance and sin. The human element made
demands upon her mind and heart. Here was something for her to do. If
they had been a colony of blind folk or cripples, their condition
could not have appealed more strongly to her sympathy. Profanity,
gambling, drunkenness and immorality were about her everywhere. The
vices of the adults had long been imitated as play by the children. So
one of Esther Bright's first innovations in school work was to
organize play and teach games, and be in the midst of children at
play. She was philosopher enough to realize that evil habits of years
could not be uprooted at once; but she did such heroic weeding that
the playground soon became comparatively decent. How to save the
children, and how to help the older people of the community were
absorbing questions to her. She was a resourceful woman, and began at
once to plan wisely, and methodically carried out her plans. In her
conferences with Mr. Clayton, her school trustee, she repeatedly
expressed her conviction that the greatest work before them was to
bring this great human need into vital relation with God. So it came
about very naturally that a movement to organize a Bible school began
in Gila.
Into every home, far and near, went Esther Bright, always sympathetic,
earnest and enthusiastic. Her enthusiasm proved contagious. There had
been days of this house to house visitation, and now the day of the
organization of the Bible school was at hand.
In the morning, Esther went to the schoolhouse to see that all was in
readiness. She paused, as she so often did, to wonder at the glory of
the scene. The schoolhouse itself was a part of the picture. It was
built of huge blocks of reddish brown adobe, crumbled at the corners.
The red tile roof added a picturesque bit of color to the landscape.
Just above the roof, at the right, rose an ample chimney. At the left,
and a little back of the schoolhouse, towered two giant cactuses. To
the north, stretched great barren foothills, like vast sand dunes by
the sea, the dreariness of their gray-white, or reddish soil relieved
only by occasional bunches of gray-green sage, mesquite bushes, cacti
and the Spanish dagger, with its sword-like foliage, and tall spikes
of seed-pods.
Beyond the foothills, miles away, though seeming near, towered rugged,
cathedral-like masses of snow-capped mountains. The shadows flitted
over the earth, now darkening the mountain country, now leaving floods
of light.
All along the valley of the Gila River, stretched great fields of
green alfalfa. Here and there, above the green, towered feathery
pampas plumes.
The river, near the schoolhouse, made a bend northward. Along its
banks were cottonwood trees, aspen, and sycamore, covered with green
mistletoe, and tangles of vines. No wonder Esther paused to drink in
the beauty. It was a veritable garden of the gods.
At last she entered the schoolhouse. She carried with her Bibles, hymn
books, and lesson leaves, all contributions from her grandfather.
Already, the room was decorated with mountain asters of brilliant
colors. She looked around with apparent satisfaction, for the room had
been made beautiful with the flowers. She passed out, locked the door,
and returned to the Clayton home.
In the saloons, all that morning, the subject of gossip had been the
Bible school. John Harding and Kenneth Hastings, occasionally
sauntering in, gathered that serious trouble was brewing for the young
teacher.
The hour for the meeting drew near. As Esther approached the
schoolhouse, she found perhaps forty people, men, women and children,
grouped near the door. Some of the children ran to meet her, Wathemah,
the little Indian, outrunning all of them. He trudged along proudly by
his teacher's side.
Esther Bright heard groans and hisses. As she looked at the faces
before her, two stood out with peculiar distinctness,--one, a proud,
high-bred face; the other, a handsome, though dissipated one.
There were more hisses and then muttered insults. There was no
mistaking the sounds or meaning. The Indian child sprang forward,
transformed into a fury. He shook his little fist at the men, as he
shouted, "Ye Wathemah teacher hurt, Wathemah kill ye blankety blanked
devils."
A coarse laugh arose from several men.
"What're yer givin' us, kid?" said one man, staggering forward.
"Wathemah show ye, ye blankety blanked devil," shrieked he again.
Wild with rage, the child rushed forward, uttering oaths that made his
teacher shudder. She too stepped rapidly forward, and clasped her arms
about him. He fought desperately for release, but she held him,
speaking to him in low, firm tones, apparently trying to quiet him. At
last, he burst into tears of anger.
For a moment, the mutterings and hisses ceased, but they burst forth
again with greater strength. The child sprang from his teacher, leaped
like a squirrel to the back of one of the ruffians, climbed to his
shoulder, and dealt lightning blows upon his eyes and nose and mouth.
The man grasped him and hurled him with terrific force to the ground.
The little fellow lay in a helpless heap where he had fallen. Esther
rushed to the child and bent over him. All the brute seemed roused in
the drunken man. He lunged toward her with menacing fists, and a
torrent of oaths.
"Blank yer!" he said, "Yer needn't interfere with me. Blank y'r hide.
Yer'll git out o' Gila ter-morrer, blank yer!"
But he did not observe the three stern faces at the right and left of
Esther Bright and the prostrate child. Three men with guns drawn
protected them.
The men who had come to insult and annoy knew well that if they
offered further violence to the young teacher and the unconscious
child, they would have to reckon with John Clayton, Kenneth Hastings
and John Harding. Wordless messages were telegraphed from eye to eye,
and one by one the ruffians disappeared.
Esther still knelt by Wathemah. He had been stunned by the fall. Water
revived him; and after a time, he was able to walk into the
schoolhouse.
Oh, little child of the Open, so many years misunderstood, how
generously you respond with love to a little human kindness! How
bitterly you resent a wrong!
Afterwards, in describing what Miss Bright did during this trying
ordeal, a Scotch miner said:
"The lass's smile fair warmed the heart. It was na muckle, but when
she comforted the Indian bairn I could na be her enemy."
As Esther entered the door, she saw two middle-aged Scotch women clasp
hands and exchange words of greeting. She did not dream then, nor did
she know until months after, how each of these longed for her old
home in Scotland; nor did she know, at that time, how the heart of
each one of them had warmed towards her.
Several women and children and a few men followed the teacher into the
schoolroom. All looked around curiously.
Esther looked into the faces before her, some dull, others hard; some
worn by toil and exposure; others disfigured by dissipation. They were
to her, above everything else, human beings to be helped; and
ministration to their needs became of supreme interest to her.
There were several Scotch people in the audience. As the books and
lesson leaves were passed, Esther gave out a hymn the children knew,
and which she fancied might be familiar to the Scotch people
present,--"My Ain Countrie."
She lifted her guitar, played a few opening chords, and sang,
"I am far frae my hame, an' I'm weary aftenwhiles
For the longed-for hame-bringin', an' my Faither's welcome
smiles;
An' I'll ne'er be fu' content, until mine een do see
The gowden gates o' Heaven, an' my ain countrie."
At first a few children sang with her, but finding their elders did
not sing, they, too, stopped to listen.
The two Scotch women, who sat side by side, listened intently. One
reached out and clasped the hand of the other; and then, over the
cheeks furrowed by toil, privation and heart-hunger, tears found their
unaccustomed way.
The singer sang to the close of the stanza, then urged all to sing
with her. A sturdy Scotchman, after clearing his throat, spoke up:
"Please, Miss, an' will ye sing it all through y'rsel? It reminds me
o' hame."
Applause followed. The singer smiled, then lifting her guitar, sang in
a musical voice, the remaining stanzas.
When she prayed, the room grew still. The low, tender voice was
speaking as to a loving, compassionate Father. One miner lifted his
head to see the Being she addressed, and whose presence seemed to fill
the room. All he saw was the shining face of the teacher. Months
later, he said confidentially to a companion that he would acknowledge
that though he had never believed in "such rot as a God an' all them
things," yet when the teacher prayed that day, he somehow felt that
there was a God, and that he was right there in that room. And he
added:
"I felt mighty queer. I reckon I wasn't quite ready ter have Him look
me through an' through."
From similar testimony given by others at various times, it is clear
that many that day heard themselves prayed for for the first time in
their lives. And they did not resent it.
The prayer ended. A hush followed. Then the lesson of the day was
taught, and the school was organized. At the close, the teacher asked
all who wished to help in the Bible school to remain a few moments.
Many came to express their good will. One Scotch woman said, "I dinna
wonder the bairns love ye. Yir talk the day was as gude as the sermons
i' the Free Kirk at hame."
Then another Scotch woman took both of Esther Bright's hands in her
own, and assured her it was a long day since she had listened to the
Word.
"But," she added, "whatever Jane Carmichael can dae tae help ye,
Lassie, she'll dae wi' a' her heart."
The first of the two stepped forward, saying apologetically, "I forgot
tae say as I am Mistress Burns, mither o' Marget an' Jamesie."
"And I," added the other, "am the mither o' Donald."
Mr. Clayton, elected superintendent at the organization of the Bible
school, now joined the group about the teacher. At last the workers
only remained, and after a brief business meeting, they went their
several ways. Evidently they were thinking new thoughts.
Mrs. Burns overtook Mrs. Carmichael and remarked to her, "I dinna ken
why the Almighty came sae near my heart the day, for I hae wandered.
God be thankit, that He has sent the lassie amang us."
"Aye," responded Mrs. Carmichael, "let us be thankfu', an' come back
hame tae God."
Esther Bright was the last to leave the schoolhouse. As she strolled
along slowly, deep in thought over the events of the day, she was
arrested by the magnificence of the sunset. She stopped and stood
looking into the crystal clearness of the sky, so deep, so
illimitable. Across the heavens, which were suddenly aflame with
crimson and gold, floated delicate, fleecy clouds. Soon, all the
colors of the rainbow were caught and softened by these swift-winged
messengers of the sky. Away on the mountains, the snow glowed as if on
fire. Slowly the colors faded. Still she stood, with face uplifted.
Then she turned, her face shining, as though she had stood in the very
presence of God.
Suddenly, in her path, stepped the little Indian, his arms full of
goldenrod. He waited for her, saying as he offered the flowers:
"_Flowers_, me teacher."
She stooped, drew him to her, and kissed his dirty face, saying as she
did so, "Flowers? How lovely!"
He clasped her hand, and they walked on together.
The life story of the little Indian had deeply touched her. It was now
three years since he had been found, a baby of three, up in Line
Canyon. That was just after one of the Apache raids. It was believed
that he was the child of Geronimo. When the babe was discovered by the
white men who pursued the Indians, he was blinking in the sun. A
cowboy, one Jack Harding, had insisted upon taking the child back to
the camp with them. Then the boy had found a sort of home in Keith's
saloon, where he had since lived. There he had been teased and petted,
and cuffed and beaten, and cursed by turns, and being a child of
unusually bright mind, and the constant companion of rough men, he had
learned every form of evil a child can possibly know. His naturally
winsome nature had been changed by teasing and abuse until he seemed
to deserve the sobriquet they gave him,--"little savage." Now at the
age of perhaps six years, he had been sent to the Gila school; and
there Esther Bright found him. The teacher was at once attracted to
the child.
Many years after, when Wathemah had become a distinguished man, he
would tell how his life began when a lovely New England girl, a
remarkable teacher, found him in that little school in Gila. He never
failed to add that all that he was or might become, he owed entirely
to her.
The Indian child's devotion to the teacher began that first day at
school, and was so marked it drew upon him persecution from the other
children. Never could they make him ashamed. When the teacher was
present, he ignored their comments and glances, and carried himself as
proudly as a prince of the realm; but when she was absent, many a boy,
often a boy larger than himself, staggered under his furious attacks.
The child had splendid physical courage. Take him for all in all, he
was no easy problem to solve. The teacher studied him, listened to
him, reasoned with him, loved him; and from the first, he seemed to
know intuitively that she was to be trusted and obeyed.
On this day, he was especially happy as he trudged along, his hand in
that of his Beloved.
"Did you see how beautiful the sunset is, Wathemah?" asked the
teacher, looking down at the picturesque urchin by her side. He gave a
little grunt, and looked into the sky.
"Flowers in sky," he said, his face full of delight. "God canyon put
flowers, he Wathemah love?"
"Yes, dear. God put flowers in the canyon because he loves you."
They stopped, and both looked up into the sky. Then, after a moment,
she continued:
"You are like the flowers of the canyon, Wathemah. God put you here
for me to find and love."
"Love Wathemah?"
"Yes."
Then she stooped and gathered him into her arms. He nestled to her.
"You be Wathemah's mother?" he questioned.
She put her cheek against the little dirty one. The child felt tears.
As he patted her cheek with his dirty hand, he repeated anxiously:
"Me teacher be Wathemah mother?"
"Yes," she answered, as though making a sacred covenant, "I,
Wathemah's teacher, promise to be Wathemah's mother, so help me God."
The child was coming into his birthright, the birthright of every
child born into the world,--a mother's love. Who shall measure its
power in the development of a child's life?
They had reached the Clayton home. Wathemah turned reluctantly,
lingering and drawing figures in the road with his bare feet, a
picture one would long remember.
He was a slender child, full of sinuous grace. His large, lustrous
dark eyes, as well as his features, showed a strain of Spanish blood.
He was dressed in cowboy fashion, but with more color than one sees in
the cowboy costume. His trousers were of brown corduroy, slightly
ragged. He wore a blue and white striped blouse, almost new. Around
his neck, tied jauntily in front, was a red silk handkerchief, a gift
from a cowboy. He smoothed it caressingly, as though he delighted in
it. His straight, glossy black hair, except where cut short over the
forehead, fell to his shoulders. Large loop-like ear-rings dangled
from his ears; but the crowning feature of his costume, and his
especial pride, was a new sombrero hat, trimmed with a scarlet ribbon
and a white quill. He suddenly looked at his teacher, his face
lighting with a radiant smile, and said:
"Mother, _me_ mother."
"Tell me, Wathemah," she said, "what you learned to-day in the Bible
school."
He turned and said softly:
"Jesus love."
Then the little child of the Open walked back to the camp, repeating
softly to himself:
"Jesus love! Mother love!"