Asleep at Lone Mountain

Asleep at Lone Mountain by H.D. Umbstaetter

H.D. Umbstaetter's "Asleep at Lone Mountain" is a narrator's recollection of a cross-continental train journey, begun nearly fourteen years earlier, that was shaped by a silent, motherless toddler. Having just returned from Australia, the narrator sits in a sleeping-car at Oakland with two friends when two Sisters of Mercy hurry aboard carrying a sleeping child and a small bundle wrapped in a gray shawl. They plead with the sleeping-car conductor, who agrees to their request after reading a ticket and a letter. When the whistle sounds, the sisters kneel, embrace the awakened child with sobs and blessings, and rush from the moving car in tears. The conductor tells the curious passengers the boy's story. His mother died in a foothill town near San Francisco, a short time after bringing him west as a baby of a few weeks. The Sisters of Mercy gave him a temporary home. His father, who lives humbly in a small New England manufacturing town, now wants him back and will meet the train at Omaha. The conductor has promised to guard the child during the five-day trip. The boy, eighteen months old, is plain, plump, red-cheeked and flaxen-haired, with large blue eyes. He is still learning to walk and speaks only a few words. His one notable gift is silence, and the passengers take to him quickly. He has no Christian name and has been called only "Baby." An elderly man with the look of a pioneer proposes auctioning the right to name the boy for the trip, so that the money can give him a start in life. The bidding runs up to fifty dollars, when the auctioneer, who bids for Ohio, is outdone by the old man, who bids for California and pays one hundred dollars. He names the boy Grit. Passengers from other cars bring fruit, photographs and Indian toys. A group of cowboys at an eating station ask to see "the silent kid," and one gives him his spurs. During the second night, in the snow-sheds of the Sierra Nevada, the car goes dark and Grit wakes screaming, the first time he has cried. The narrator finds him, calms him in his own berth, and gives milk from the lunch basket the passengers had given the boy at Sacramento. After that Grit shares the narrator's section each night. He amuses himself for hours with toys and a railway map, and he tugs at the narrator's coat and says "Mum-mum" when he wants something. At breakfast in Cheyenne a little girl slaps his hand when he takes her orange, and he weeps. The old Californian is furious, and the girl and her mother come to apologize and give him the orange. By then the passengers have grown close to one another as well as to the boy. On the last afternoon, on the cattle plains some hours short of Omaha, the train collides with stray cattle. The car lurches, windows break and passengers are thrown about. Hearing cries of "Save Grit!", no one leaves the car until they know he is safe. They find him on the floor, pale and struggling to breathe, still gripping his Indian doll. No marks show on him, but moving him causes pain. No doctor can be found on the train. One man is fatally hurt and many are bruised. The train runs on at top speed with Grit in an improvised swinging bed. That night the father boards the train at Omaha and is gently told the child is hurt. Grit is carried to a hotel, where a doctor, summoned by the pioneer, finds an internal injury of unknown extent. The pioneer begs him to save the boy at any cost. Through the night the father tells of his young wife's death and her wish that the family might lie together in California. Toward morning Grit coughs violently and slips back into semi-consciousness. Just after dawn a beam of light crosses his face, he smiles, and he dies. His friends, mostly through the generosity of one man, secure a permanent home in California for the father. Grit is buried beside his mother, near Lone Mountain, where the waves can be heard.

By H.D. Umbstaetter · First published 1895 · Genre: Sentimental fiction, Short story, Western fiction · 5,664 words

First lines

It occurred nearly fourteen years ago, yet I never enter a sleeping-car without being confronted by that innocent face. It clings to me all the more because I have always looked upon partings and leave-takings as mile-posts of sorrow in the journeys of life. I dislike good-bys. I hate farewells.

I had just returned from Australia and was about to start on my journey across the continent. In company with two old friends who had crossed the ferry from San Francisco to Oakland to see me off, I sat chatting in my sleeper, when two Sisters of Mercy hurriedly entered the car.

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transcontinental train journey · sleeping car · Sisters of Mercy · orphaned child · childhood silence · charity auction · shared kindness among strangers · Sierra Nevada · train collision · death of a child · grief and farewell · sentimental sketch

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Asleep at Lone Mountain is listed on Textopian as a short story by H.D. Umbstaetter, dated 1895 CE.

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