Richard Gordon : an echo from the hills

Front matter

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Chapter I

On the morning of the 5th of November, 19 — , I stepped into my uncle's office and found him engaged in looking over a pile of legal-appearing documents, which he had taken from a tin box and placed in order upon his desk. I was not surprised to find him thus occupied, since my visit was the result of appointment ; and turning his pleasant face toward me, as I entered, he said :

“Good morning, Dick. Draw up a chair and let's review these papers before we go over to the County Court Clerk's office for final settlement. Twenty-one years of age to-day, eh? and a full-fledged American citizen. Well," continued he, semi-soliquizing, “that of itself is something to excite a feeling of pride ; and, when this fact is coupled with good health and a competency of mundane effects, you would be fully warranted in accepting congratulations."

“True," said I, “but the event has approached so gradually I have not as yet realized any radical change in my condition."

“No; and you will not feel the change until you have assumed the responsibility implied by, and involved in, this file of papers. As your guardian I have endeavored to keep a strict account of all transactions between us by means of an itemized statement, setting forth in full all receipts and disbursements. This, of necessity, has required no inconsiderable amount of pains and labor; and now that I am prepared to turn over to you the management of your own affairs I am satisfied with the condition of everything, except the timber and coal land in Warren county. In the last letter I received from Mr. Graham he said there were some irresponsible new-comers in that community who were disposed to squat on, and cut the timber from, this property. To what extent these depredators have operated against you up there he did not say, but suggested that as soon as you had attained your majority it would be advisable for you to make a trip to that county, and, by asserting your rights, put an end to such encroachments.”

Realizing, in a general sort of way, that a tilt with land-grabbing, timber-snaking mountaineers was by no means an enviable task, I remarked to my uncle that this feature of the business did not present a very rosy outlook.

“No;” said he, “I am frank to say there are some undertakings that I would much prefer to an attempt to oust a lot of trespassers from a tract of mountain land. However, armed as you will be with this judgment and conveyance, and with the assistance that Mr. Graham will be able to render you, I do not apprehend any great amount of trouble in establishing your metes and bounds. This accomplished, if the refractor} squatters do not vacate otherwise, then the only alternative left you will be to institute a series of ejectment suits and force them off by process of law. Such matters are not pleasant to contemplate, I know ; yet this property is too valuable, on account of its timber and mineral resources, to suffer these scamps to rob you in that way. They are a class of people who make it a rule to appropriate everything in sight, especially if the owner is out of sight, and have cunning enough to know that if they can bluff you in the game it will be that much made, since they have nothing to lose, but all to gain, by contention.

“While we are on that subject my advice is, that you drive up to Mr. Graham's home, which is situated about one mile west of McMinnville, before the bad weather begins, taking with you this sheriff's deed and this certified copy of a judgment of the Circuit Court of Warren county, and, after giving all adjoining property owners due and legal notice, in writing, of your intention to procession this land, employ the county surveyor to clearly establish your lines, being careful to fix permanent markers at all corners. A sheriff's deed does not purport to convey other rights than those held by the person whose property he has sold under execution; or, in other words, it is not a deed of general warranty. And as this land was purchased by your father under the hammer, it would be well to exercise prudence in seeking to establish a paramount claim.

“Before you leave I will give you a letter of introduction to Col. Mayhue, a prominent attorney of Mc- Minnville, whom I would suggest that you retain as counsel. This step may cost you something; yet it is always best and safest to start right; and the best lawyer is ever the cheapest lawyer. Col. Mayhue will induct you into all of the proceedings in the case, and advise you as to the proper course to pursue in perfecting your title. Once in possession of a perfect title, neither squatter, adverse claimant, nor any other agency can prevail against you ; provided the taxes have been paid and the chain of possession duly maintained. As for the former, here are the tax receipts from the trustee of Warren county for the past seven years, inclusive, of the present year. There is, therefore, no room for question on that score. And as for the chain of possession, I have been careful to keep a tenant by the name of Akers on the land, paying nominal rent. Possession has, consequently, been uninterrupted since I took charge of your property."

At the conclusion of the foregoing conversation we spent an hour or more looking over the numerous documents which my uncle had preserved for my personal inspection. I was gratified to learn that he had not only managed my affairs with scrupulous economy, but had invested the greater portion of my means in the stock of one of our local banks, the market value of which had risen fifty per cent, in the preceding seven years. After expressing my appreciation of the uniform kindness he had shown me, as well as my gratitude for the splendid judgment he had exercised in the direction of my business matters, we left his office and went over to the court house, where he made a final settlement with the clerk. So methodical had he been in every particular but little time was consumed by the clerk in balancing his account.

I left him at the court-yard gate, moved by mingled feelings of esteem and regret — esteem for the man who had unselfishly planned and worked for my interest — regret at the thought of bidding him adieu in the capacity of guardian.

Cognizant of one of his weaknesses, I went immediately to all the sale stables in town, and soon succeeded in buying what I then considered, and still have reason to think was, the handsomest and best carriage horse in Rutherford county. This horse I sent up to his office, with my compliments.

Having thus, in some measure, relieved my sense of obligation by a guerdon which I had reason to believe would be acceptable, I resolved to act upon my uncle’s suggestion with regard to a trip to the mountains, and at once set about preparation for departure on the following morning. I concluded to use my own horse — a fine young Hamiltonian of four years — and rubber-tire “run-about” as a means of conveyance. I was aided in reaching this determination by the knowledge that the regular hack line did not extend beyond Woodbury, which was only nineteen miles from my home, and, so far as I knew, there was no public conveyance for the remaining twenty miles of the journey. And besides, I could not form any idea as to the length of time I should be away, and felt that I would be more independent with my own means of locomotion at hand.

At 9 o’clock a. m. on the next day I found myself in readiness to start on the thirty-nine-mile drive. By way of luggage I had provided myself with a large suitcase, in which were packed several suits of winter underwear; shirts, collars, cuffs, a box of cigars, two pounds of smoking, and a dozen plugs of chewing tobacco. In addition to these articles I squeezed in a private tonsorial outfit, an improved Colt’s revolver, a box of cartridges, and a quart bottle of old whiskey.

I will here add, parenthetically, that the last commodity was suggested not so much by the fear of dearth in the community to which I was destined, as by doubt as to the quality of the article procurable there. And my candor, in other respects, is rendered the more marked by a knowledge of the fact that an indictment against me -for carrying concealed weapons would now be barred by the Statute of Limitations.

In the bottom, or box, of the buggy I had stowed a saddle, bridle and blanket ; a double-barreled shotgun, a repeating rifle, a suit of hunting clothes and a thick pair of boots. What with all these, there would scarcely have been comfortable room for more than one passenger in the vehicle. So I took my departure alone.

The weather, though crisp and frosty, was bright and invigorating in the forenoon, the afternoon being marked by that peculiar, hazy appearance, commonly called Indian Summer. As I drove briskly along I amused and entertained myself surveying the green fields of fall-sown wheat. I found myself speculating as to the amount of cotton this and that farmer might expect to get picked per acre, or, how much they might hope to realize from their entire crop.

A drive through the country, and especially middle Tennessee country, at this season of the year is intensely interesting to a person who has the inclination to think and the capacity to enjoy the surroundings. On the one hand he will see a drove of hogs waddling and rolling about under the burden of their own ex-

IO cessive flesh, all unconsciously eating their abundant rations, that they may the sooner invite the butcher’s knife. On the other hand, a herd of fat, sleek cattle, quietly grazing in the meadow, are taking on the finishing pounds for an early winter market. Thus ruminating and surmising, the first nineteen miles were quickly and pleasantly traversed; and at noon I drove into Woodbury, where I took dinner and had my horse fed, watered and otherwise groomed for the afternoon trip. Here the pleasanter part of the route terminated, as the macadamized turnpike ended at this place; but here also the iniquitous toll-gate fees ceased, which, in a great measure, offset the inconvenience of rougher and slower travel.

I have often felt that Tennessee could never hope to take first rank as a State until these private turnpike monopolies — owned and operated as they are for the aggrandizement of a single individual, the superintendent — were, by some means, abolished. Kentucky has established a precedent; Tennessee should take the hint.

While standing in front of the hotel talking to a friend, my attention was diverted by a herd of cattle — ten or twelve in number — that was being driven into town by a man on horseback. Upon closer inspection, I saw that the drove was composed of old tough-looking bulls, together with three or four worn-out, worthless, lump- jawed cows, whose udders were spoiled by disease. Not only was this true of the cows, but I saw that the heads, necks and even portions of the bodies of some of the bulls were covered with wartlike knots, ranging in size from that of a pea to the dimensions of a full-grown Irish potato.

Astonished and disgusted, I asked my friend what that fellow intended to do with such cattle.

“Why,” said he, “that is the bull-beef man. That fellow — and, by the bye, he is from your county — makes it a business to scour this country for that kind of stock, which he gets for a song, and drives them down ii to the State Eleemosynary Institution and sells them there at a fair price for the consumption of the inmates.”

“Is that possible?” I asked, unable to restrain my amazement.

“It is not only possible, but, without having actually witnessed such a transaction, I should say, upon the authority of the drover himself, that it is true.”

“Then why, in the name of humanity, does not somebody put a stop to the murderous business?” I inquired.

“Simply, I suppose, because the inmates do not complain, and for the further reason that what is every man's business is no man's business.”

“Well,” said I,” it is an infernal shame, and I will do my best to stop this nefarious traffic, if the effort makes the whole seven hills of Rome howl.”

With this, I turned away and followed the drover in the direction of the stable, for further confirmation of what I had just heard. Walking rapidly, I overtook him and said:

“Halloo, Moore, where did you get your cattle?”

“Oh, about an' about — different places.”

“What are you going to do with them? Feed and fatten them?”

“Naw; take 'em home and drive 'em down to market in a day or two.”

“Where do you find a market for cattle like those?”

“Oh, don’t ask so many questions. I've got a private market for 'em.”

“Where? In Nashville?”

“Naw ; not exactly.”

“A short distance outside of the city, eh?”

“Oh, well, if you know, what's the use of makin' a fellow tell everything?”

And with this he spurred his horse and rode on to catch up with his beeves.

I then went into the livery stable to order my horse and buggy, and, while waiting, asked the proprietor if it was a fact that that fellow made it a business to furnish the State of Tennessee with cattle in that condition.

“Yes, ; I reckon he does — that’s what he says he does with them,” was his answer.

Paying my bill, I got into the buggy and drove out of town. As I passed on I could not help reflecting upon the damnable iniquity in slaughtering such a lot of old, tough and diseased cattle to make a feast for the helpless and inane. Great God ! Has the world come to this?

We are quite prone to prate about rottenness in Denmark and other foreign countries, when, if we would but uncork our nostrils, we could detect a stench right under our own noses that might turn the stomach of a hyena.

My thoughts engrossed with this and kindred subjects, I was more or less unmindful of the flight of time, and before I realized it, about seventeen additional miles lay behind me. Consulting my watch, I found that it was nearly 4 o’clock, and just ahead of me stood a frame store-house, and a blacksmith’s shop, built of logs. As much out of curiosity as anything else, I drove up to the platform of the store and inquired of a man sitting on a goods-box the distance from that place to the home of Mr. Graham.

“A leetle better’n three mile,” he replied.

“Is the road very rough and hilly ?” I pursued.

“Ruther hilly, but not so powerful rough, bein’ as we hain’t had much rain lately.”

As I sat there in my buggy, plying this man with questions, I glanced into the house, through the open door, and saw, standing near the counter and looking intently at me, the most superbly beautiful specimen of girl- or young womanhood that it had ever been my fortune to behold. Attired, as she was, in a simple, dark blue calico dress, a cape of some grayishbrown material, and a ruffled gingham sun-bonnet, pushed back from her face, I was able to get a good impression of her form and features.

I use the word impression advisedly, for the picture that was photographed upon my mind on that November afternoon is a fixed realization today.

There was some inexplicable force, influence, agency — call it what you choose, but subtle and irresistible — that seemed to hold me riveted to my buggy seat. Candidly, I do not believe I could have moved if my life had depended upon the effort. At all events, I did not over-exert myself in an attempt to move, until she had lowered her eyes, passed out upon the platform, and down the road in the same direction as that in which my own course would lead me. I then saw that she was accompanied by a boy of about ten or eleven years, who carried a split basket on his arm. The spell of her eyes and presence being thus broken, I turned to the man whom I had been interrogating and inquired of him the name of the lady who had just left the store.

“That is Edith McLean, what ever'body here’bouts calls the Miller Girl of Rock Fork."

“You don't mean to tell me that she operates a mill?" I remarked, skeptically.

“I sartainly mean to tell you'ns that she runs her grandpap's mill over thar on the crick," he replied, with notable emphasis.

Thanking him for the information, I gathered up the lines and drove on. In a short while I had overtaken the two, as they were walking, and made a further effort to get a view of the girl's fascinating face. But this time I failed, since she seemed, purposely, to avoid my look of admiration. As I passed on I essayed to analyze her unique personal charm, and to account for its strange, forceful effect upon myself.

I remembered that her hair was luxuriant, wavy and deeply black ; her skin, white, with that rich, creamy shade, peculiar to polished ivory. Her eyes, whether black or blue, I could not fully determine, as they were shaded by long, dark lashes that seemed jealous of revealing their exact color. A thin, delicately sculpured nose kept guard over a pair of full, red lips, and formed a fitting frontispiece to a profile of pronounced Castilian type.

Lost in thoughts of this kind, I was descending a rather steep declivity, and just in the act of entering a small stream, which crossed and ran at right angles with the road, when, in the twinkling of an eye, I was startled by that sound which no combination of letters in the English alphabet will exactly convey, yet with which most men are familiar and can easily imitate — the zv-o-o-f ! w-o-o-f ! of a lot of scared hogs, as they skedaddled off through the under-brush. Frightened by this unexpected noise, my horse shied wildly, and, jumping into a gully, overturned my buggy, throwing me against a rough bank, my head striking a sharp stone. The impact was so violent I was rendered unconscious.

Chapter II

I was completely stunned and nerveless. Just how long I lay, or might have lain there in that condition, I could not have known, except for subsequent developments. The first distinct impression I remember, or felt, at the time was that of being turned over on my right side. A hand was gently placed upon my forehead, and the hair brushed back from my face. At this touch I experienced a tingling sensation through my entire body, followed by intense pain in my head and left shoulder. I then heard the subdued voice of a child, asking:

“Is he dead, Edith?”

“No; I think not — but go and get some water from the branch. Dip it up in your cap. Hurry.”

During the few moments that the child was gone I felt that same electrical hand slip under my vest and rest over my heart, and I verily believe that if I had been dead its touch would have achieved a resurrection. There could be no mistake as to the fact that my heart was beating.

“Now hold your cap close — there,” said the girl; and dipping her handkerchief into the water, she began to bathe, first, my face and neck, then the wound on the side of my head.

“He's bled awful, hain't he, Edith?” This again from the boy, and I could almost hear him shudder as he looked on while the girl softly mopped the gash on my head in the endeavor to stanch the flow of blood.

“Run and bring more water,” she commanded; and off he went at a trot.

I began to move and groan in sheer agony, and with the hope of assuaging the pain.

i6

“Be still, if you can,” she said. Then gently lifting my head, she placed something soft under it. This article, as I afterward saw, was the cape which she had worn. With my head somewhat elevated I soon felt more comfortable; but up to this time I had not attempted to open my eyes. Indeed, I could not well have done so, as they seemed to be filled with a mixture of blood, dirt and water. But when the boy returned with the second supply of water, she laid the saturated cloth on my head and began to remove the obstruction from my eyes with her hands.

The cooling liquid, freely applied, soon had the effect of reviving me, and I looked up into the girl’s face, intending to thank her in some measure for her kindness. But she placed her hand over my mouth, saying :

“Don’t try to talk yet; exertion might start your head to bleeding afresh.”

I somehow felt that I was in the hands of a nurse who understood her business thoroughly, and I lay there several minutes longer, without essaying either to move or to speak. Meanwhile she continued to bathe my face ; then taking off the handkerchief, she held the lips of the wound together with the thumb and forefinger of one hand and allowed the water to drip upon the place from the cap, which she held in the other.

Although the pain in my head was still very great, that in my shoulder was even greater, and I made an effort to move my arm in order to ascertain if it was broken. I succeeded in raising it slightly, but the exertion made me wince and groan.

“Your arm, too, is injured,” said my nurse. “Let me see if it is fractured.”

And she took hold of my wrist, moving the member slowly up and down ; then stretched it out from the shoulder. Apparently satisfied, she laid it back on my side, and turning to the boy, said :

“Now, Zeb, run up the hill to where the horse and buggy are, examine the harness well, and if there is nothing greatly damaged, lead the horse back, and we will try to get the gentleman to the house."

“Did my horse stop, without tearing my buggy into pieces ?" I ventured to ask.

“Yes, strange to say, when the buggy was overturned and you fell out, the forewheel struck that large boulder over there and the vehicle was thrown back into an upright position. Your horse then ran up the hill until the wheel was caught against a tree, stopping him; and he has been standing there quietly ever since. That is a remarkable horse. I expected to see him kick the buggy into splinters. Some of your baggage was thrown out,” she continued, “but Zeb and I will put it all back, get you to the house and give you a more comfortable resting place."

“I can never hope to fully thank you for what you have done for me,” I faltered, my voice broken with a sob.

“Don't try," she said, simply. “Here comes Zeb, leading your horse, and I hope we shall find the buggy in such a condition as to make it safe for you to ride to the house."

With this she left me, and I saw, ev£n from my position, that she was gathering up my scattered effects. When Zeb had brought the horse and buggy down he turned them around and stopped near me, with the horse's head in the right direction. As the horse appeared to have entirely recovered from fright, he left him standing in the road and went to help Edith put my outfit into the vehicle.

“Wait a moment, Zeb," said the girl ; “come and let's put the gentleman in first; we can put his baggage in afterwards."

The two then came up to me. Edith placed her hand under my head, while Zeb lifted from holds caught under my right arm, and their combined efforts soon brought me to a sitting posture. Allowing me a few moments' rest and to become accustomed to the change in position, they then assisted me in getting on my feet. But the loss of blood, together with the shock, had greatly reduced my strength. My head began to swim. I grew faint and sick, and would have fallen had not Edith caught me.

“Zeb,” said she, “get on the other side and take hold of his coat. Now, sir, put your hand on my shoulder. Take one step, and rest. That’s good. Try again, you will soon be there. Just two more steps.” I took them.

“That’s all right,” she said, encouragingly. “Now rest you hand on the buggy seat — and do you support him, Zeb.”

Thereupon she slipped away and went around to the other side of the buggy. Springing in, she put one hand under my arm, and, with the other, took hold of my coat; then bracing herself with her knees, she seemed to lift me, heavy as I was, almost bodily into the vehicle. Zeb pushed and I pulled, but it was that girl’s super-feminine strength that got me into the buggy. When she had placed me on the seat she regarded me for a moment with smiling eyes, flushed face, and then exlaimed : “There, now !”

A long, full, breath was all the effort had cost her. Her bonnet had fallen back, hanging by the strings at her throat; and as she stood at the side of the buggy, watching the effect of the struggle upon me, I said in my heart that she was the most divinely beautiful creature I had ever seen.

“Let’s put in these things, Zeb. Get his hat, saddle, and bridle, but the suit-case you must carry on your shoulder; there isn’t room for that.”

With this she walked up to my horse’s head, patted him on the neck, rubbed his muzzle, and spoke to him in her strangely sweet voice. She then came back, got into the buggy beside me, took the lines and clucked to the horse, which, without manifesting the least sign of restiveness, moved off at a slow, steady walk. Sick and pained as I was I could not refrain from asking: “Are you not afraid my horse will run away with us after the scare he has just had?”

“No,” she replied, “I am not afraid of horses ; I love them, and they never try to hurt me.”

I had occasion afterward to learn what this statement implied.

As we drove up the hill I observed that she managed and directed the horse with as much dexterity as a trained horsewoman. Not once did she permit the wheels to strike a stone, or drop into a rut, that would have given me an unnecessary jolt. Once or twice she looked back to see if the boy was coming on with his load, and finding that he was keeping well up with the buggy, she directed her attention to the condition of the vehicle itself.

“One broken spoke is, I believe, about all the damage your buggy has sustained,” she remarked, after a close examination. “I am sorry you could not have fared as well.”

“I thank you most sincerely, yet I am almost tempted to say I do not regret the accident, since it has been the means of bringing me the pleasure of your acquaintance,” I replied, trying to be cheerful and gallant.

“Oh, don't flatter me, I simply did for you what I should have done for any one in like unfortunate condition.”

Reluctant as I was to receive this unwelcome assurance, I was nevertheless forced to believe that she had told the plain truth. My vanity had suffered by her retort; yet my sense of gratitude was too keenly alive to the measureless burden of obligation under which she had placed me ever to permit her to detect the first sign of irritability. In a few minutes thereafter we had stopped at the front gate of a yard in which stood a large, two-story house, built of hewn logs.

“This is my home,” she said.

At this juncture a pack of hounds — six or seven in number — came bounding towards the gate, with tails and bristles erect, yelping and barking at the appearance of a strange vehicle. Some leaped over the fence in their eagerness to get at the supposed intruders. But I noticed that there was one peculiarly marked, spotted bitch that remained behind, and, with head up and tail wagging, gave signs of recognizing friends. As the others rushed up to the buggy Edith quietly held up her hand, and, pointing in the direction of the house, exclaimed : “Back ! Back ! Begone !" Instantly every dog tucked his tail between his legs, and, bounding back over the fence, went skulking to the kennel.

“I trust you will not accept this noisy demonstration on the part of our dogs as an earnest of the character of welcome that awaits you from their owners/' she said, with a gentle smile.

“No, I shall not, of course. Yet I was struck with the fact that there was one that did not join the others in their protest," I remarked.