The Hermit of Sawmill Mountain [pp. 152-162]

8'he Hermit of Sawmill Mountain.
but beyond that there was very little intercourse between them. Of course, Charles
exerted himself to spare his father as much
of fatigue and annoyance as possible, and of
course Judge Sydney watched narrowly that
no temptation to indulge his fatal appetite
was thrown in the way of his son. The
scenery and the strange new country through
which they passed interested them but little.
Each, but for a different reason, longed eagerly for the end of the journey.
II.
THEY made Santa Barbara without accident. Of course, there was much canvassing
as to locality, and number of sheep, and purchase price thereof; but all these details
were adjusted with but little friction, and
Charles Sydney was comfortably settled upon
a corner of General Beale's immense ranch
in Kern County, and given charge of something like five thousand head of sheep. It
was a most excellent range, and the new venture bade fair to be a prosperous one.
Upon one of the northern spurs of Sawmill Mountain, Charles built his cabin-a
very cosy affair of rustic redwood and, with
a touch of the poetry of old college days, he
christened it "The Hermitage." Naturally
enough, then, the neighbors fell into the practice of calling him "the Hermit." He bore
out the character for the first few months,
too, showing little disposition to form acquaintances or to fraternize with his neighbors. Surrounding himself with books and
pictures and newspapers, he sought to find
in them and in his letters a solace for the
human companionship which he had voluntarily renounced.
The experiment was a failure, however.
He was of a companionable nature, and the
joys of solitude palled upon him. There
came a time, indeed, when he could almost
have shrieked aloud in utter loneliness. The
grand music of the wind among the pines
upon the mountain side, which at first had
seemed like the deep notes of some old organ, grew inexpressibly weird and dreary.
His soul sickened of the messages which the
night-wind whispered to the trees, and which
the waving, bending, writhing needles told
again to him.' Nay, even his meerschaum
had ceased to give him comfort-so that it
will readily be seen he was in a very bad
way. Ah Yup, the genius of the kitchen,
was no company for a white man. Ah Yup
was but a symphony in white and yellowand a monotonously aggravating one at that.
It was at this time Charles sought the
company of his herders-finding, to his sorrow, that they could speak no word of English. Feeling the need of a medium of communication, of course, he set to work to master the Spanish language. There was nothing else for it. The herders would not, or
could not, learn English. Being used to solitude, possibly they felt no need for sympathy, and consequently none for company.
It was but natural that the acquirement of
this strangely beautiful language, so musical
and so fascinating for itself alone, should
awaken in Sydney a desire to practice his
new accomplishment.
As he became proficient himself in the
tongue, he could readily discern that the vocabulary of his dusky retainers was very limited-even in their own mongrel dialect.
What easier of accomplishment, then, than
an acquaintance with the courtly Don Seior
Jose de Carillo? Courtly and elegant, refined and intelligent, proud in spirit, though
broken in purse, Don Jose was a Castilian
gentleman of the old school-once so common; now, alas, becoming so rare in California. Once, in the old days, he had held
in his own right all the broad domain of
General Beale, and a score of others equally
princely.
As did all his class, Don Jose had welcomed the coming of "Los Americanos" to
the country. They had come and had
brought him-ruin. It was the old story of
vexatious lawsuits, grasping attorneys, land
thieves, and the extravagance of a large family reveling in new and costly luxuries. Of
all his great possessions, he retained but the
old adobe ranch house, large and roomy, of
La Roblar, and a few, a very few, acres of
land surrounding it.
1885.],
165