Part 4

"She never got any inside a school-house," he replied; "but her great-grandpaw he had a sight of learning, and when he was a' old man, too feeble to do anything but set by the fire, he teached her how to read and write and figger, and was so proud of her being a scholar that when he come to die he left her what books he had,--there is several, all yallow and crumbly. One is a Bible; but the one I like is this-here about Christian and the devils. I used to lay and look at it by the hour, and learnt to read a-trying on it."

This is most interesting as being another proof that the early settlers of this country were men of an education impossible to their descendants. It also helps to account for Nucky's remarkable mentality. He grasps a thing almost before it is spoken, has only to read over his lessons once, and remembers the stories I tell and read with surprising minuteness.

_Wednesday._

I suppose I might have expected some ill effects from the hero-tales. When I went down to inspect the stable-lot this morning, I found three barn cats writhing in their death agonies, and Jason galloping off on a stick-horse, brandishing a shinny-bat. His explanation that he was Bellerophon, the stick Pegasus, and the cats the three heads of the Chimæra failed to mollify me. I gave him his first taste of "the rod," and did not "spar'" it. Evidently the child has a poetic imagination, which must not be permitted to run riot.

X

ABOUT MOTHERS

_Saturday Night._

The little Salyers, while really fond of one another, have queer ways sometimes of showing it. This afternoon Keats called up wearily from the back yard, where for eight hours he had been carrying water and keeping up fires for the wash-girls, to Hen in the doorway, "What time is it, son?" to receive the affectionate reply, "Time all dogs was dead,--haint you sick?"

To-night, sitting around our lamp, eating peppermint candy, the boys got to talking about their mothers, living or dead,--Keats and Hen of course about Nervesty, Taulbee, Killis and Hosea about their good mothers at home, Geordie and Absalom about theirs who is married again and lives in Virginia, and Philip, Joab, Iry and Jason about theirs who are dead. Nucky alone did not talk,--it seems impossible for him to speak of his mother.

Iry told many little incidents his remarkable memory enables him to recall, though his mother died when he was only three. One is, standing beside her while she fed him beans and sorghum from a spoon; another, having a small paddle and helping her "battle" the clothes as she washed them beside the branch; still another, being left by her in a pen made of rails and a log high up on the mountainside where she was hoeing corn, seeing a beautiful, shining, spotted thing come out on the log to sun itself, and amusing himself poking his finger at the pretty creature to make it lick out its tongue, rattle its tail, and "quile" itself up, till suddenly something fell on the bright head, and his mother, with a terrible scream, threw down her hoe and caught him to her bosom. These and other scraps of recollection the "pure scholar" treasures so tenderly it seems hard indeed that his mother should have taken the "breast-complaint,--some calls it the galloping consumpt'," and died so young, missing his love.

"You know," I said to him, "that being dead isn't really being dead, but just gone out of sight. Your dear mother still lives and loves and watches over you constantly, though you cannot see her."

"I allus heared dead folks was just h'ants, trying to layway and scare folks," said Iry.

"Nothing of the kind," I assured him; "they can never be seen by these eyes of ours, but they are near, quite near us always, to love and protect us, especially mothers their orphan children."

There was a long silence. Then, with a sigh, little Iry exclaimed, slowly, "Dag gone, I wisht somebody'd a-told me that before,--I wouldn't a-been so lonesome!"

Nucky, who had not spoken a word during the conversation, got up and hurried from the room. At bed-time, Hen slipped into my door to report, "I tracked Trojan to the hayloft, and heared him a-laying up there crying fit to kill for his maw."

Poor child,--the still waters run deep!

_Sunday Night._

Nucky asked for extra work during his playtime yesterday in order to make some money, and for three hours spaded flower-beds, receiving a dime in pay, and making a mysterious visit to the village after supper. This morning when I was ready for church, he came into my room with a yard of bright pink ribbon dangling from his hand. This he held out to me, saying,

"You allus go about with them old black strings on, and haint got no pretty fixings like t'other women,--I allow you're too poor to buy 'em. I want you to have something pretty."

For seven years I have not had on a color,--I never supposed I could wear one again. But I slowly unfastened the black ribbon from my collar, and replaced it with the pink. Then I put my arms around Nucky, and kissed him.

"I _was_ poor,--horribly poor, Nucky," I said, "before I got you and the other boys. But I shall never feel poor again, after receiving such a precious gift as this!"

Precious indeed it is, not only as representing untold sacrifice on his part, but as showing that he really cares for me,--he is so reserved and self-contained I did not dream he did.

One thing is certain,--I will try to deserve his sacrifice and love,--to-morrow I will send away not only for bright ribbons, but for cheerful dresses which shall please his eyes and those of the others. No longer shall they see me in garments of heaviness.

_Tuesday._

This noon, Iry, who since our first talk about swearing, has been trying without much success to stop it--sometimes he bites off the tail of a swear-word, but generally the head and trunk escape him--ran into my room with big eyes. "Geordie and me was a-quarling over a shinny-bat he traded me out of, and I started to say a' awful cuss-word at him, and then I ricollected what you said about my maw a-watching me all the time, and I never said a thing to him but 'Dad burn your ole soul!'"

I congratulated the "pure scholar" on his great victory, and encouraged him to press on.

_Wednesday, Bed-time._

To-day was Mother's birthday. While I was placing a bowl of asters before her picture over my fireboard, Nucky came in, and I spoke to him about her, telling him how her love and courage had sustained me through deepest sorrow, and how terribly I miss her now. After a while he said, in a low voice, "I miss my maw, too."

"Tell me about her," I said.

Then, little by little, and often with great difficulty, and with long silences, he told me the story of his mother; how devoted she had been to her children, and how eager that they, and especially he, should get learning, teaching him what she could, getting a little district school established on Trigger three years ago, and coming over herself to this school last April to try and get him in here, being nag-flung on her way home, and sustaining injuries which caused her to die a month later when her last baby was born; how on her deathbed she had called her family around her, and given them her love and blessing and advice, asking her husband never to put a "step-maw" over her children, and leaving them all in Blant's charge, confiding to his special care the day-old baby, "your paw being too puny to set up with it of nights," and passing away at last clinging to them and weeping bitter tears that she must leave them. He also told how Blant had accepted his sacred trust; tenderly and tirelessly minding the younger children, cooking and cleaning; when not out tending the crop, clearing new-ground, logging and the like, and how, above all, he has devoted himself to "the babe," patiently walking the floor with it at night, warming its bottle, jolting it on his knee, toasting its little feet before the fire, sleeping with it on his arm, and "making it sugar-teats and soot-tea as good as a woman." This being the same Blant who "never goes out without a gun," and has done such notable slaughter in the hereditary "war" with the Cheevers!

I own to a large curiosity to behold this hero--more than ever since I heard what Nucky told me to-day. I am glad that the visit to Trigger comes the end of this week.

XI

OVER ON TRIGGER

_Monday Morning._

Soon after breakfast on Saturday we set out on our sixteen-mile ride to Trigger Branch, I on Mandy, Nucky walking,--he refused to ride behind, remarking, "I'm allus used to seeing the women ride there." The day was glorious, the way more and more beautiful as we proceeded. We crossed three mountains, stopping on the top of one, where the sunlight sifted down through translucent beech leaves, to eat our lunch, and then "followed" Powderhorn, a large creek, two or three miles, finally turning up Trigger Branch. At its mouth, Nucky pointed out the little log school-house in which he has received his education up to this term, and farther on he showed me various rocks and trees where he has delighted to "layway" and "ambush" infant Cheevers. Trigger Branch is the most picturesque creek I have yet seen; along its sides cliffs and "rock-houses" alternate with rich hollows, small strips of bottom, and steep but flourishing cornfields. All the houses we passed on the lower reaches belonged to Cheevers, sons of Israel, and last of all was Israel's home. Three "sights," or about a half-mile above this, is the disputed boundary-line, which runs down from a mountain spur on the right hand side, and then across a piece of bottom to the branch. The bone of contention is a triangular slice of bottom, with its apex at the foot of the spur, not an acre in extent, all told. As Nucky pointed it out to me, I looked with mingled curiosity and horror. The fence of course now stands on the ancient line claimed by the Marrses, where it has stood for nearly a century and a quarter.

"It is impossible to believe that more than a dozen lives have been sacrificed for this little piece of land," I said to Nucky, "why, I doubt if you could raise forty bushels of corn a year on it."

His face flushed. "It haint the money's worth," he said, proudly; "we don't care nothing about that. But it was granted to my great-great-great-grandpaw for fighting the British, and me'n' Blant would ruther die than part with a' inch of it."

He pointed to a thick, dark clump of hemlock near the foot of the spur, on the Marrs land. "That's where I keep lookout of moonlight nights when war is on," he said.

As we advanced, he showed me the steep cornfields tended by Blant and himself, the almost upright pastures where some cattle and sheep were feeding, and above, the virgin forest where Blant gets out yellow poplar and other fine timber, and on the very crest of the ridge, the gray, forbidding "high rocks" that are so fine for fox-hunts, and also, he says, for "hiding out" in if officers get too troublesome.

"Blant he has a whole passel of warrants hanging over him," he said, "and the sheriff and deputies they used to come over every now and then last winter a-hunting him. Of course he couldn't afford to give hisself up, or put in no time in jail, when he was so bad needed at home; and at first he would take to the rocks when he seed 'em a-coming. But that was a heap of trouble, and he got mighty tired of it, and so next time they rid up he tuck his pistol and stepped out and told 'em that, bad as he hated to do it, circumstances was such that he would have to fire on 'em if they kep' bothering around; that he had the living to make for the family, and no time to spend setting around enjoying hisself in jail,--that with him duty come before pleasure, and he would have to request 'em to leave him alone. And seeing how he felt about it, they never come again for quite a spell,--not till after he kilt Elhannon in April. Then they kotch him purely by accident, but he got away from 'em that night,--I'll tell you about it sometime."

We were now approaching the Marrs house, a large, substantial one of logs, built on the time-honored pattern of "two pens and a passage,"--that is, two huge rooms, with an open hallway, below, and a great "loft", large enough for six ordinary rooms, above. "Cap'n Enoch Marrs raised it, more'n a hundred year' gone," said Nucky.

Entering the open passage, which was hung with saddles, bridles and gearing of all sorts, and also with strings of beans and peppers, we passed into one of the lower rooms. Mr. Marrs arose, coughing, from one of the three large beds, upon which he had been resting, and welcomed me most kindly. In front of the great fireplace, four young children were gathered, and the eldest of these, a little woman of eight, held in her arms an infant, upon whom I looked with special interest. This, then, was "the babe,"--a beautiful, tiny girl-child of five months, with large gray eyes in a small white face, and the brightest of little smiles.

The room was bare save for the beds, some chairs, and a great homemade chest of drawers. On the fireboard were a clock and a few books, yellow and crumbly, as Nucky had said, and above, across wooden pegs set in the wall, rested a long, old-fashioned rifle, with a powderhorn slung on one end.

"This here's the gun Cap'n Enoch Marrs fit the British with," said Nucky, with bursting pride; "it's mine now,--paw give it to me on account of my name."

Half an hour later, the hero, Blant, came in from "saving" fodder. I gazed at him with all my might. He is a tall young man, with Nucky's fine gray eyes and dark hair, an open face and a resolute jaw. After greeting me in the gentlest of voices, he picked up the babe, who, clinging to him with cries and coos of joy, buried her little face in his bosom. He then went on with her across the passage and into the other large room, whither Nucky followed him, and the two began preparations for supper. Several times I saw Blant pass the open door, always with the babe on his left arm, and once with a bowl of cornmeal, once a stack of roasting-ears, once a skillet of meat, in the other. As I looked, I said to myself over and over, "Is it possible this is a slayer of men, an eluder and defier of the law?"

It also occurred to me for the first time that I was adding to his already heavy burdens; and I reproached myself for coming; but there was no help for it now.

Supper at last being ready, Mr. Marrs, leaning feebly on his crutch, conducted me into "t'other house," the children took their stands and we our seats about the table, and Blant, still with the babe on his arm, did the honors, pouring the coffee, and then impartially sharing with the babe the beans, fat meat, roasting-ears and sweet-potatoes on his plate. While of course the house in many ways shows the absence of woman's care, Blant's filling of his mother's place is indeed remarkable.

Later, my offer of help in the dish-washing being kindly but firmly refused, I returned to the first room with Mr. Marrs and the children, and we sat and talked. Of course I made no reference to the family "war," but I did inquire as much as possible in regard to ancient family history, and was shown the old Bible, the records of which go back to Captain Enoch Marrs, the first settler here. Mr. Marrs, however, told me that there are traditions that before the Marrses came to America, they were brave and gentle folk for five hundred years in Old England, and poured out their blood like water for the glory of their country. "I allow from what I have heared that we have always been a fighting race," he said. "My great-grandpaw used to set up and tell big tales, which he got from his paw, how first one and then t'other of us fit for his king in ancient days, and won glory and renown,--I mind there was a famous admiral under Good Queen Bess, and before him a general that licked out the French nation--but I haint able to ricollect names and circumstances, having been too young and unknowing when I heared them tales to take proper interest, which I regret now."

I shared his regret,--with so many good and aristocratic English names in this mountain country, I have been quite sure that some of them harked back to a brave and honorable past, and it would be especially pleasing to me to trace Nucky's line to its old English home, and through its brave deeds for king and country.

While we talked, Blant returned, with the babe and Nucky, and a little later, Blant's bosom friend, Richard Tarrant, came in from across the mountain. He is a strikingly attractive young man. Before he had stayed long, he said,

"I have got bad news for you, Blant,--it is being talked that Todd and Dalt Cheever has got powerful homesick out west, and is aiming to come back before long. I hope it haint so,--I had looked forward to a right smart spell of peace for you,--God knows you have got your hands full, without no further warfare."

"I think Todd and Dalt will be satisfied to stay away a while yet," replied Blant, quietly; "I allow this is just one of Israel's lies."

"Well, I hope so," said Rich; "but forewarned is forearmed, and I thought you ought to know the talk."

"I want to know about it quick as they come," spoke up Nucky, hastily; "you can't no way get along without me to keep lookout."

Blant turned sternly upon him. "No matter what the news is, son," he admonished, "you stay right there where you air, and don't dare to leave and come home. You know maw's desires in regards to your getting l'arning. I promised her I'd carry 'em out, and now I aim to do it. You stay over there, or you'll have me to reckon with. I got Rich here to help me if need be, and likewise Uncle Billy's boys,--what I haint able to tend to myself."

Nucky's face flushed angrily; but he said no more.

When bed-time came, the family slept downstairs--besides the three beds in one room, there was another in the kitchen--and I was shown up to a comfortable feather-bed in the great loft. Long after everybody else was asleep, I heard the poor little babe wailing pitiably below, and Blant softly walking the floor with it, jolting it back and forth in his chair, and trotting it on his knees before the fire. No wonder the little creature suffered agonies after eating the things it got for supper.

After breakfast in the morning, Nucky invited me to go for a walk. We ascended one of the spurs of the mountain in the rear of the house,--never have I seen a more beautiful site for a home than in that hollow--and a third of the way up, on a small "bench," came upon what appeared to be a play-village. Beneath spreading trees, were a dozen or more diminutive houses, with latticed sides and roofs of riven oak boards. Some were crumbling into decay, some new and substantial. The one to which Nucky led me was still yellow. "Here's where Maw lays," he said, almost in a whisper (I judge that one reason he finds it so hard to speak of her is his feeling that he, or rather, her desire for his education, was in a way the cause of her death), and I knew that this must be the family burying-ground, and these the grave-houses once so necessary for the protection of the dead from wild beasts, and still surviving here in the customs of the mountain country.

Near the grave-house of his mother were three smaller ones, still good and new. "Our three young uns betwixt Blant and me died of typhoid one summer, about five year' gone," Nucky explained. China-asters were blossoming gaily among the weeds about these grave-houses. "Maw she sot 'em there," Nucky said, "she liked to come here and rest a spell when she was hoeing corn, and set with these young uns."

The tragedy of the life of Nucky's mother was brought forcibly before me as I stood there. An eager-minded, loving-hearted woman, shut off from all opportunity, the bringer of ten new lives into the world, laboring and drudging as only these mountain women know how to for the sustenance and clothing of her family, suffering constant anxiety as to the very lives of her loved ones by reason of the family "war," and finally having to go out into the darkness of death and bid them all farewell,--surely it is a sad and tragic history.

As we turned away, Nucky added, "With them three young uns around her, I allow she haint so lonesome as she would be all by herself."

"No," I said, "having her loved ones with her, she is happier far, even in heaven. For it is that which makes heaven."

Blant had dinner for us at eleven, and soon afterward we were ready to depart. "Come over and see us sometime at the school," I called to Blant, as he stood with the babe on his arm by the gate. He thanked me gravely, but did not say he would come.

"Gee," said Nucky, as we rode on, "he can't never do that,--why they'd just _have_ to arrest him if he run into the jaws of the sheriff and the jail that way!"

We made the last hour or two of our journey through moonlight in which the mist-hung mountains and shadowed valleys lay entrancingly lovely.

"This is the kind of nights I allus keep watch for the Cheevers," said Nucky.

I wondered if these were the sole thoughts aroused in him by the wondrous beauty in which he had been born and bred. Presently I knew.

"If maw is in heaven, like you say, do you allow the country round about there is any prettier than this here?" he asked.

"No, I am sure not," I replied, emphatically.

XII

THE FIGHTINGEST BOY

_Tuesday Night_.

Nucky ran in to-night from shinny, to have a "broke" ankle tied up, (it seems to me I am always tying up either "risings," "biles," sores or hurts) and said to me while I did it,

"That 'ere little Jason is just a-chawing up and spitting out them little day-schools. This morning at recess I seed him whup out five-at-a-time. Yes, sir, five was on him, and by Ned if he didn't lay out the last one. He's the fightingest boy you got!"

"I thought you were that," I said.

"Dad burn ole Heck if ever I seed the day I could lay out five of my size at a time! Going to school there on Trigger, I have whupped out as many as three Cheever young uns at a time; but five! Gee! I wisht I knowed how he done it!"

These accounts of Jason's prowess seem unbelievable; but from the mouths of many witnesses I gather that they must be true. I, too, wonder how he does it.

_Wednesday._

Evidently Jason's success with the little primaries is going to his head, for to-day he attacked Hen Salyer, who is a head taller, and would have vanquished him had not Keats come to the rescue. As it was, he gave the Salyers a lively battle, and enormously increased their respect for him. My most vigorous applications of the rod appear powerless to curb this aggressiveness.

_Thursday._

While we were out in force this afternoon, digging the ditch which is to drain our garden, Nucky spoke up, apropos of nothing,

"'F I had a boy 't wouldn't fight, I'd tie him to a good sapling and fill him so full of bullets the buzzards wouldn't eat him!"

Having observed anything but a lack of the "fighting edge" since my arrival on Perilous, I saw no point in this remark, and let it pass. Nucky spoke again, accusingly,

"You got one," he said; "you got a boy 't won't fight!"

"I?" I demanded in amazement.

"Iry Atkins yander. Little Jason Wyatt's been a-picking on him for three days, and he's afeared to fight him back, by Ned!"

"You're a liar, Trojan!" spoke up the "pure scholar," hotly; "I haint fit him because I'm a-minding her. She said for us not to fight him because he were so little. I can fight as good as you, dag gone you!"

"Le's see you then, dad swinge you!"

Iry rushed upon Nucky with murder in his eye, and it took Taulbee and me, aided by a hoe-handle, to separate them.