Produced by Donald Lainson
ON THE FRONTIER
By Bret Harte
CONTENTS
AT THE MISSION OF SAN CARMEL
A BLUE GRASS PENELOPE
LEFT OUT ON LONE STAR MOUNTAIN
AT THE MISSION OF SAN CARMEL
PROLOGUE
It was noon of the 10th of August, 1838. The monotonous coast linebetween Monterey and San Diego had set its hard outlines against thesteady glare of the Californian sky and the metallic glitter ofthe Pacific Ocean. The weary succession of rounded, dome-like hillsobliterated all sense of distance; the rare whaling vessel or stillrarer trader, drifting past, saw no change in these rusty undulations,barren of distinguishing peak or headland, and bald of wooded crest ortimbered ravine. The withered ranks of wild oats gave a dull processionof uniform color to the hills, unbroken by any relief of shadow in theirsmooth, round curves. As far as the eye could reach, sea and shore metin one bleak monotony, flecked by no passing cloud, stirred by no signof life or motion. Even sound was absent; the Angelus, rung from theinvisible Mission tower far inland, was driven back again by the steadynorthwest trades, that for half the year had swept the coast line andleft it abraded of all umbrage and color.
But even this monotony soon gave way to a change and another monotony asuniform and depressing. The western horizon, slowly contracting beforea wall of vapor, by four o'clock had become a mere cold, steely strip ofsea, into which gradually the northern trend of the coast faded and waslost. As the fog stole with soft step southward, all distance, space,character, and locality again vanished; the hills upon which the sunstill shone bore the same monotonous outlines as those just wiped intospace. Last of all, before the red sun sank like the descending host,it gleamed upon the sails of a trading vessel close in shore. It was thelast object visible. A damp breath breathed upon it, a soft hand passedover the slate, the sharp pencilling of the picture faded and became aconfused gray cloud.
The wind and waves, too, went down in the fog; the now invisible andhushed breakers occasionally sent the surf over the sand in a quickwhisper, with grave intervals of silence, but with no continuous murmuras before. In a curving bight of the shore the creaking of oars in theirrowlocks began to be distinctly heard, but the boat itself, althoughapparently only its length from the sands, was invisible.
"Steady, now; way enough." The voice came from the sea, and was low, asif unconsciously affected by the fog. "Silence!"
The sound of a keel grating the sand was followed by the order, "Sternall!" from the invisible speaker.
"Shall we beach her?" asked another vague voice.
"Not yet. Hail again, and all together."
"Ah hoy--oi--oi--oy!"
There were four voices, but the hail appeared weak and ineffectual, likea cry in a dream, and seemed hardly to reach beyond the surf beforeit was suffocated in the creeping cloud. A silence followed, but noresponse.
"It's no use to beach her and go ashore until we find the boat," saidthe first voice, gravely; "and we'll do that if the current has broughther here. Are you sure you've got the right bearings?"
"As near as a man could off a shore with not a blasted pint to take hisbearings by."
There was a long silence again, broken only by the occasional dip ofoars, keeping the invisible boat-head to the sea.
"Take my word for it, lads, it's the last we'll see of that boat again,or of Jack Cranch, or the captain's baby."
"It DOES look mighty queer that the painter should slip. Jack Cranchain't the man to tie a granny knot."
"Silence!" said the invisible leader. "Listen."
A hail, so faint and uncertain that it might have been thelong-deferred, far-off echo of their own, came from the sea, abreast ofthem.
"It's the captain. He hasn't found anything, or he couldn't be so farnorth. Hark!"
The hail was repeated again faintly, dreamily. To the seamen's trainedears it seemed to have an intelligent significance, for the first voicegravely responded, "Aye, aye!" and then said softly, "Oars."
The word was followed by a splash. The oars clicked sharply andsimultaneously in the rowlocks, then more faintly, then still fainter,and then passed out into the darkness.
The silence and shadow both fell together; for hours sea and shore wereimpenetrable. Yet at times the air was softly moved and troubled, thesurrounding gloom faintly lightened as with a misty dawn, and then wasdark again; or drowsy, far-off cries and confused noises seemed to growout of the silence, and, when they had attracted the weary ear, sankaway as in a mocking dream, and showed themselves unreal. Nebulousgatherings in the fog seemed to indicate stationary objects that, evenas one gazed, moved away; the recurring lap and ripple on the shinglesometimes took upon itself the semblance of faint articulate laughteror spoken words. But towards morning a certain monotonous grating on thesand, that had for many minutes alternately cheated and piqued the ear,asserted itself more strongly, and a moving, vacillating shadow in thegloom became an opaque object on the shore.
With the first rays of the morning light the fog lifted. As the undrapedhills one by one bared their cold bosoms to the sun, the long line ofcoast struggled back to life again. Everything was unchanged, exceptthat a stranded boat lay upon the sands, and in its stern sheets asleeping child.