Authors: Shelton Johnson

Gloryland (33 page)

BOOK: Gloryland

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Now we were looking at each other eye to eye. The sow, eyes dark with glints of silver, glared at me. I slowly realized that it was moonlight reflecting in her eyes. I could feel that she was considering. I know it sounds crazy, but that’s what she was doing, considering. And her cubs were still running cross the trail, but everything was happening so slow, it seemed to take forever for those cubs to cross the trail and disappear into the bushes.

Still she was staring into me with those eyes, and I could almost hear her say, “Should I kill you, or let you live? I just don’t know.” She seemed to sway as she thought this, at least she never fully stopped moving but was standing and walking to the side at the same time. Like she wanted to stop to consider if I needed to die, but also wanted to stay at all times with her cubs. And her cubs weren’t the cute, sweet-looking black bear cubs I remember seeing before, no, they were bigger than the biggest dog I’d ever seen, and I wouldn’t be calling them “cubs” if I hadn’t seen Mama.

All in the same moment, and this was only seconds, mind you, she dropped down to all fours again, and there was no sound in it, no sound at all of any of them moving or running, but suddenly she was gone into the place her cubs had gone.

I was still standing there bleeding from my hands, and there was a tightness in my chest that I couldn’t figure out till I realized I wasn’t breathing at all. So I took a breath, lots of breaths, feeling the coldness rushing into my lungs, the ache in my busted hands, feeling a warmth spreading outward from my crotch and down my thighs.

Then I really was irritated. In less than one minute I got bucked off Satan, busted up my hands, tore up my uniform, got charged by a grizzly, and pissed on myself. It took another minute or so for me
to realize that I was lucky. I could’ve been dead. That grizzly had me cold. But she seemed torn between staying with her cubs and taking me out. I guess she decided to run off with her cubs. But it might’ve been otherwise.

What bothered me most was that I got lucky only because I was bucked off here and not up there, where they ran out of the brush. If Satan hadn’t dumped me on
this
cold, hard, ground, we would’ve been alongside those bears just as they were crossing the trail. Satan saved my life.

Mama always taught me that Jesus was my savior, and I believed her and the deacon too. How could I ever let her know that when salvation finally came, Jesus was nowhere in sight, and Satan could take credit for me being round long enough to write these words? I’ll tell you one thing. Being saved by the grace of a mule hurts deeper than you can imagine.

Then I considered something else. That grizzly could’ve killed me but didn’t. Lieutenant Resnick said that people round here had shot all those bears, that none were left. Maybe this was the last mother grizzly? Maybe she’d seen all her kind get killed one by one, the adults and their children. I’d be angry at any person I ran into if I was a bear. You hurt me and mine, I’ll hurt you! But when she had a chance to do that, she let me go.

When you’re in front of a grizzly bear, you’re bout as close to the heart of these mountains as you can get without dying. The Ahwahneechee call the grizzly
Uzumati
, and I got close to it, right up to the edge, and was let go. It wasn’t death that had me in its grip that night, it was life. I never felt more alive than in those few seconds when Yosemite itself rose up on its haunches and looked me in the eye, and I was foolish enough to look back.

I can’t forget that as long as I live.

And no, I’m not going to thank that mule. He didn’t have to buck me off, he could’ve just stopped on the trail. There was no reason to throw me to the ground. I started getting angry again when I felt
something behind me, something close. I turned and drew my Colt out of its holster, quickly raised it chest high, and nearly shot Satan in the head. Now that would’ve required some explaining. That mule had walked up while I was thinking, and I hadn’t heard a thing.

Satan just looked at me, then lowered his head to nuzzle his left front leg. I could see the white of his teeth as he bit at whatever was irritating him. I knew the feeling.

Patrol report on Yosemite Park stationery, under “Remarks,” Jerseydale, Cal., July 14, 1904

To the Adjutant

Sir I have the honor to inform you that the place on the Gov. Land is not a very suitable place to build a corral you cannot get up there with a wagon to feed them but the place the Comdg Officer look at is the best place. The owner was here to meet me when I arrived and says it will cost nothing to build their. Start cutting poles this afternoon waiting your orders will be ready to put it up when I hear from my Comdg Officer.

Your Obedient Servant.
Sgt. Morris,
Sgt in Charge of Jersey Dale

PS please forward me some Official Envelopes.

letter from Yosemite

D
ear Mama and Daddy and Grandma Sara,

I know it’s been a long time since you’ve heard from me, and I’m sorry bout that. I really didn’t have much to say. But since I got to Yosemite, I’ve been wanting to tell somebody bout it, cause it’s news I really need to share. Kind of like a neighbor’s house is on fire and they don’t know it, except this is good news, being here in all this beauty and peacefulness.

It’s early October, sky blue and clear. I’ve been out every day patrolling between Rogers Lake and Return Canyon. The country is empty now, but I like it that way. There are aspen leaves on the ground, and when the wind sweeps them away they make a crackling sound like women moving in their starched white dresses. Makes me think of being in church back home every time the wind blows!

Mama, you’ll be happy to know I’m a churchgoing man again, cause every day feels like Sunday here. It’s got that hush like when the deacon would pause in the middle of his sermon. Not too long ago I passed some time round the Big Trees in what they call the Mariposa Grove, down by Wawona, and it felt like having lunch with angels. Those trees are so tall and bigger than anything except maybe God, but peaceful, like they don’t have to prove nothing to no one. Whatever was bothering me that day didn’t seem to matter after a few minutes sitting by this one tree called the Grizzly Giant.

Speaking of grizzlies, they do got bears here. I had a run-in with a big grizzly bear and her cubs not too long ago. It turned out all right, but that mama bear scared me so bad I . . . well, I’d rather not tell you about that. It’s embarrassing. She reminded me a little bit of you, Grandma Sara,
and I hope you’re still around to get mad at me for saying that, but I don’t know if you are.

There’s been a lot worse things happened to me here, but none of that mattered too much. It’s hard to tell you why, but up here in the high country feels like home to me. You can see more stars than I ever imagined could be, and they seem so close. I think they’re closer cause these mountains are the highest in America, according to the Lieutenant, anyway. They so high you don’t have to die to get to paradise. Here in Yosemite all you need to get to heaven is a good horse, though a mule will do just fine.

But now it’s getting close to the time when us soldiers have to head back down to San Francisco. Every morning I can feel winter coming on, there’s ice in my socks and shirt making them cold and stiff. I don’t need a message from the Lieutenant telling me it’s time to leave. Anyway, maybe you remember when I last wrote, I was still garrisoned at the Presidio, and I’d just seen President Roosevelt march through town? That was something, but I like it much better here, and I’m feeling sad bout leaving. I only ever had two real homes, back in Spartanburg with you, and here. My heart’s still there with you, and it’s here in Yosemite too. It’s lying on some granite dome with a view of El Capitan or Yosemite Falls, and it’ll never leave even if I have to.

I miss you, and I’ll see you one day, you can depend on it, cause you’re where I come from and where I’ll go back to in some life. But Daddy, you were right bout me and South Carolina. I could never go back there and not walk on that sidewalk, not tell people what I think about them. My spirit’s too big for Spartanburg, especially now. It would be like planting a giant sequoia in Mama’s garden. I’m a sergeant in the Ninth Cavalry, and I’ve been in charge of what people do and can’t do here in this national park, and that’s a good kind of power to have. I can’t be powerful in South Carolina, I’d just end up dead. Like that mama grizzly bear I run into. All those bears are supposed to be killed off, but apparently she never got the word. People aren’t comfortable being round something so big and strong that it don’t care what kind of money you got, or what fancy clothes you
wear, it’ll kill you and maybe eat you too! Folks in Spartanburg would think I was just as dangerous as that mama bear.

That’s why I never came home. I know you understand that. But when I sleep and dream at night I’m with you. When I’m riding on some high trail or lying by a fire or sitting in the Big Trees, I’m with you. You’re in my blood and every time I take a breath, you’re moving in my heart. My hands are big and rough like Daddy’s now. I got your eyes, Mama, and my spirit is strong like you, Grandma Sara. I got you all for company every day and every night. Yeah, I’m sort of my own homecoming walking round California, looking for a good place to throw a party.

I don’t know where I’ll get sent after San Francisco. They might be having some trouble down in Mexico pretty soon, the officers say. But right now I’m going to spend as much time as I can up in the high country, before it gets too cold. I wish I could show it to you. Anyway, I got to go feed the horses, but I’ll write again soon enough.

Love always,
Your Elijah

Manual of Arms at a Halt

At the command, SABRE, draw quickly the sabre, raising the arm
to its full length at an angle of 45 degrees, the sabre in a straight line
with the arm; hold the sabre in this position an instant, then carry
it to the right shoulder, the back of the blade supported against the
hollow of the shoulder, the wrist upon the top of the thigh, the little
finger on the outside of the grip.

from
Cavalry Tactics