A Sentimental Journey by Sherwood Anderson
My friend David, with his wife, Mildred, came to live in the
hills. She was a delicate little woman. I used to go often to the
cabin they had rented. Although David is a scholar, he and a
mountain man, named Joe, a man much older than David, became
friends. I sat in their cabin one evening, after I had first met
David, while he told me the story. Joe was not there and Mildred
was in the kitchen at work.
Joe is a thin mountain man of forty with the straight wiry
figure of a young boy. David spoke of the first time he ever saw
the man. He said: "I remember that he frightened me. It was a day
last Fall, when we had first come in here, and I was on the gray
horse riding the hills.
"I was a little nervous. You know how it is. Romantic tales of
mountain men shooting strangers from behind trees or from wooded
mountain-sides floated through my mind. Suddenly, out of an old
timber road, barely discernible, leading off up into the hills,
"He was mounted on a beautifully gaited but bony bay horse,
and while I admired the horse's gait I feared the rider.
"What a fierce-looking man! Stories of men taken for Federal
agents and killed by such fellows on lonely roads became suddenly
real. His face was long and lean and he had a huge nose. His thin
cheeks had not been shaved for weeks. He had on, I remember, an
old wide-brimmed black hat, pulled well down over his eyes, and
the eyes were cold and gray. The eyes stared at me. They were as
cold as the gray sky overhead.
"Out of the thick golden-brown trees, well up the side of the
mountain down which Joe had just come, I saw a thin column of
smoke floating up into the sky. 'He has a still up there,' I
thought. I felt myself in a dangerous position.
"Joe rode past me without speaking. My horse stood motionless
in the road. I did not dare take my eyes off the man. 'He will
shoot me in the back,' I thought. What a silly notion! My hands
were trembling. 'Well,' I thought. 'Howdy,' said Joe.
"Stopping the bay horse he waited for me and we rode together
down the mountain-side. He was curious about me. As to whether he
had a still concealed in the woods I do not now know and I
haven't asked. No doubt he had.
"And so Joe the mountain-man rode with me to my house here.
(It was a log cabin built on the bank of a creek.) Mildred was
inside cooking dinner. When we got to the little bridge that
crosses the creek I looked at the man who had ridden beside me
for half an hour without speaking and he looked at me. ''Light,'
I said, 'and come in and eat.' We walked across the bridge toward
the house. The night was turning cold. Before we entered the
house he touched my arm gently with his long bony hand. He made a
motion for me to stop and took a bottle from his coat pocket. I
took a sip, but it was raw new stuff and burned my throat. It
seemed to me that Joe took a half pint in one great gulp. 'It's
new, he'll get drunk,' I thought, 'he'll raise hell in the
house.' I was afraid for Mildred. She had been ill. That was the
reason we had come up here, into this country.
"We were sitting here in the house by the fireplace here and
could look through that open door. While we ate Mildred was
nervous and kept looking at Joe with frightened eyes. There was
the open door there, and Joe looked through it and into his
hills. Darkness was coming on fast and in the hills a strong wind
blew, but it did not come down into this valley. The air above
was filled with floating yellow and red leaves. The room here was
heavy with late Fall smells and the smell of moon whisky. That
was Joe's breath.
"He was curious about my typewriter and the row of books on
the shelves up there along the wall, but the fact that we were
living in this old log house put him at his ease. We were not too
grand. Mountain men are, as a rule, as you know, uncommunicative,
but it turned out that Joe is a talker. He wanted to talk. He
said that he had been wanting to come and see us for a long time.
Someone had told him we were from distant parts, that we had seen
the ocean and foreign lands. He had himself always wanted to go
wandering in the big world but had been afraid. The idea of his
being frightened of anything seemed absurd. I glanced at Mildred
and we both smiled. We were feeling easier.
"And now Joe began to talk to us of his one attempt to go out
of these mountains and into the outside world. It hadn't been
successful. He was a hill man and could not escape the hills, had
been raised in the hills and had never learned to read or write.
He got up and fingered one of my books cautiously and then sat
down again. 'Oh, Lord,' I thought, 'the man is lucky.' I had just
read the book he had touched and after the glowing blurb on the
jacket it had been a bitter disappointment.
"He told us that he had got married when he was sixteen and
suggested vaguely that there was a reason. There often is, I
guess, among these mountain people. Although he is yet a young
man he is the father of fourteen children. Back in the hills
somewhere he owned a little strip of land, some twenty acres, on
which he raised corn. Most of the corn, I fancy, goes into
whisky. A man who has fourteen children and but twenty acres of
land has to scratch hard to live. I imagined that the coming of
Prohibition and the rise in the price of moon has been a big help
"That first evening his being with us started his mind
reaching out into the world. He began talking of the journey he
had once taken--that time he tried to escape from the hills.
"It was when he had been married but a short time and had but
six children. Suddenly he decided to go out of the hills and into
the broad world. Leaving his wife and five of the children at
home in his mountain cabin, he set out--taking with him the
oldest, a boy of seven.
"He said he did it because his corn crop had failed and his
two hogs had died. It was an excuse. He really wanted to travel.
He had a bony horse, and taking the boy on behind him he set out
over the hills. I gathered that he had taken the boy because he
was afraid he would be too lonely in the big world without some
of his family. It was late Fall and the boy had no shoes.
"They went through the hills and down into a plain and then on
into other hills and came at last to a coal-mining town where
there were also factories. It was a large town. Joe got a job in
the mines at once and he got good wages. It must have been a good
year. He had never made so much money before. He told us, as
though it were a breath-taking statement, that he made four
dollars a day.
"It did not cost him much to live. He and the boy slept on the
floor in a miner's cabin. The house in which they slept must have
belonged to an Italian. Joe spoke of the people with whom he
lived as 'Tallies.'
"And there was Joe, the mountain man, in the big world and he
was afraid. There were the noises in the house at night. Joe and
the boy were accustomed to the silence of the hills. In another
room, during the evenings, men gathered and sat talking. They
drank and began to sing. Sometimes they fought. They seemed as
strange and terrible to Joe and his son as these mountain people
had seemed at first to Mildred and myself. At night he came home
from the mine, having bought some food at a store, and then he
and the boy sat on a bench and ate. There were tears of
loneliness in the boy's eyes. Joe hadn't put him in school. None
of his children ever went to school. He was ashamed. He was only
staying in the mining country to make money. His curiosity about
the outside world was quite gone. How sweet these distant hills
now seemed to him!
"On the streets of the mining town crowds of men were going
along. There was a huge factory with grim-looking walls. What a
noise it made! It kept going night and day. The air was filled
with black smoke. Freight trains were always switching up and
down a siding near the house where Joe and the boy lay on the
floor, under the patched quilts they had brought with them from
"And then winter came. It snowed and froze and then snowed
again. In the hills now the snow would be ten feet deep in
places. Joe was hungry for its whiteness. He was working in the
mines but he said he did not know how to get his money at the
week's end. He was shy about asking. You had to go to a certain
office where they had your name on a book. Joe said he did not
know where it was.
"At last he found out. What a lot of money he had! Clutching
it in his hand he went to the miner's house and got the boy. They
had left the horse with a small farmer across the plain at the
place where the hills began.
"They went there that evening, wading through the deep snow.
It was bitter cold. I asked Joe if he had got shoes for the boy
and he said 'no.' He said that by the time he got ready to start
back into the hills it was night and the stores were closed. He
figured he had enough money to buy a hog and some corn. He could
go back to making whisky, back to these hills. Both he and the
boy were half insane with desire.
"He cut up one of the quilts and made a covering for the boy's
feet. Sitting in our house here, as the darkness came, he
described the journey.
"It was an oddly dramatic recital. Joe had the gift. There was
really no necessity for his starting off in such a rush. He might
have waited until the roads were broken after the great snow.
"The only explanation he could give us was that he could not
wait and the boy was sick with loneliness.
"And so, since he had been a boy, Joe had wanted to see the
outside world, and now, having seen it, he wanted back his hills.
He spoke of the happiness of himself and the boy trudging in the
darkness in the deep snow.
"There was his woman in his cabin some eighty miles away in
the hills. What of her? No one in the family could read or write.
She might be getting out of wood. It was absurd. Such mountain
women can fell trees as well as a man.
"It was all sentimentality on Joe's part. He knew that. At
midnight he and the boy reached the cabin where they had left the
horse and getting on the horse rode all of that night. When they
were afraid they would freeze they got off the horse and
struggled forward afoot. Joe said it warmed them up.
"They kept it up like that all the way home. Occasionally they
came to a mountain cabin where there was a fire.
"Joe said the trip took three days and three nights and that
he lost his way but he had no desire to sleep. The boy and the
horse had, however, to have rest. At one place, while the boy
slept on the floor of a mountain house before a fire and the
horse ate and rested in a stable, Joe sat up with another
mountain man and played cards from after midnight until four in
the morning. He said he won two dollars.
"All the people in the mountain cabins on the way welcomed him
and there was but one house where he had trouble. Looking at
Mildred and myself, Joe smiled when he spoke of that night. It
was when he had lost his way and had got down out of the hills
and into a valley. The people of that house were outsiders. They
were not hill people. I fancy they were afraid of Joe, as Mildred
and I had been afraid, and that being afraid they had wanted to
close the door on him and the boy.
"When he stopped at the house and called from the road a man
put his head out at a window and told him to go away. The boy was
almost frozen. Joe laughed. It was two in the morning.
"What he did was to take the boy in his arms and walk to the
front door. Then he put his shoulder to the door and pushed. He
got in. There was a little fireplace in a large front room and he
went through the house to the back door and got wood.
"The man and his wife, dressed, Joe said, like city
folks--that is to say, evidently in night clothes, pajamas
perhaps--came to the door of a bedroom and looked at him. What he
looked like, standing there in the firelight with the old hat
pulled down over his face--the long lean face and the cold
eyes--you may imagine.
"He stayed in the house three hours, warming himself and the
boy. He went into a stable and fed the horse. The people in the
house never showed themselves again. They had taken the one look
at Joe and then going quickly back into the bedroom had closed
and locked the door.
"Joe was curious. He said it was a grand house. I gathered it
was much grander than my place. The whole inside of the house, he
said, was like one big grand piece of furniture. Joe went into
the kitchen but would not touch the food he found. He said he
reckoned the people of the house were higher toned than we were.
They were, he said, so high and mighty that he would not touch
their food. What they were doing with such a house in that
country he did not know. In some places, in the valleys among the
hills, he said high-toned people like us were now coming in. He
looked at Mildred and smiled when he said that.
"And, anyway, as Joe said, the people of the grand house
evidently did not have any better food than he sometimes had at
home. He had been curious and had gone into the kitchen and the
pantry to look. I looked at Mildred. I was glad he had seemed to
like our food.
"And so Joe and the boy were warmed and the horse was fed and
they left the house as they had found it, the two strange people,
who might also have heard or read tales of the dangerous
character of mountain people, trembling in the room in which they
had locked themselves.
"They got, Joe said, to their own house late on the next
evening and they were almost starved. The snow had grown deeper.
After the first heavy snow there had been a rain followed by
sleet and then came more snow. In some of the mountain passes he
and the boy had to go ahead of the horse, breaking the way.
"They got home at last and Joe did nothing but sleep for two
days. He said the boy was all right. He also slept. Joe tried to
explain to us that he had taken the desperate trip out of the
mining country back into his own hills in such a hurry because he
was afraid his wife, back in her cabin in the hills, would be out
of firewood, but when he said it he had to smile.
"'Pshaw,' he said, grinning sheepishly, 'there was plenty of
wood in the house.'"