Erema; Or, My Father's SinBlackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
History
Erema; Or, My Father's Sin
Blackmore, R. D. (Richard Doddridge)
California -- History -- 19th century -- Fiction; Fathers and daughters -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
At present, however, I was not possessed with dread so much as I was
with joy, and even a secret exultation, at the power placed in my hands.
For I was too young to moralize or attempt philosophy. Here I had a
knowledge which the wisest of mankind might envy, much as they despise
it when they have no chance of getting it. I looked at my father's
grave, in the shadow of the quiet peach-trees, and I could not help
crying as I thought that this was come too late for him. Then I called
off Jowler, who wished (like a man) to have another tug at it; and home
I ran to tell my news, but failing of breath, had time to think.
It was lucky enough that this was so, for there might have been the
greatest mischief; and sadly excited as I was, the trouble I had seen
so much of came back to my beating heart and told me to be careful. But
surely there could be no harm in trusting Suan Isco. However, I looked
at her several times, and was not quite so sure about it. She was
wonderfully true and faithful, and scarcely seemed to concede to gold
its paramount rank and influence. But that might only have been because
she had never known the want of it, or had never seen a lump worth
stealing, which I was sure that this must be; and the unregenerate
state of all who have never been baptized had been impressed on me
continually. How could I mistrust a Christian, and place confidence in
an Indian? Therefore I tried to sleep without telling any one, but was
unable.
But, as it happened, my good discovery did not keep me so very long
awake, for on the following day our troop of horsemen returned from
San Francisco. Of course I have done very foolish things once and again
throughout my life, but perhaps I never did any thing more absurd than
during the whole of that day. To begin with, I was up before the
sun, and down at the mill, and along the plank, which I had removed
overnight, but now replaced as my bridge to the pine-wood pile. Then
I gazed with eager desire and fear--which was the stronger I scarcely
knew--for the yellow under-gleam, to show the safety of my treasure.
There it lay, as safe as could be, massive, grand, and beautiful, with
tones of varying richness as the ripples varied over it. The pale light
of the morning breathed a dewy lustre down the banks; the sun (although
unrisen yet) drew furrows through the mountain gaps; the birds from
every hanging tree addressed the day with melody; the crystal water,
purer than religion's brightest dream, went by; and here among them lay,
unmoved, unthought of, and inanimate, the thing which to a human being
is worth all the rest put together.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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