Mountain by Stephen Crane
A TALE OF SULLIVAN COUNTY.
On the brow of a pine-plumed hillock there sat a little man with his
back against a tree. A venerable pipe hung from his mouth, and
smoke-wreaths curled slowly skyward. He was muttering to himself with
his eyes fixed on an irregular black opening in the green wall of
forest at the foot of the hill. Two vague waggon ruts led into the
shadows. The little man took his pipe in his hands and addressed the
I wonder what the devil it leads to, said he.
A grey, fat rabbit came lazily from a thicket and sat in the
opening. Softly stroking his stomach with his paw, he looked at the
little man in a thoughtful manner. The little man threw a stone, and
the rabbit blinked and ran through an opening. Green, shadowy portals
seemed to close behind him.
The little man started. He's gone down that roadway, he said, with
ecstatic mystery to the pines. He sat a long time and contemplated the
door to the forest. Finally, he arose, and awakening his limbs, started
away. But he stopped and looked back.
I can't imagine what it leads to, muttered he. He trudged over the
brown mats of pine needles, to where, in a fringe of laurel, a tent was
pitched, and merry flames caroused about some logs. A pudgy man was
fuming over a collection of tin dishes. He came forward and waved a
plate furiously in the little man's face.
I've washed the dishes for three days. What do you think I am
He ended a red oration with a roar: Damned if I do it any more.
The little man gazed dim-eyed away. I've been wonderin' what it
That road out yonder. I've been wonderin' what it leads to. Maybe,
some discovery or something, said the little man.
The pudgy man laughed. You're an idiot. It leads to ol' Jim Boyd's
over on the Lumberland Pike.
Ho! said the little man, I don't believe that.
The pudgy man swore. Fool, what does it lead to, then?
I don't know just what, but I'm sure it leads to something great or
something. It looks like it.
While the pudgy man was cursing, two more men came from obscurity
with fish dangling from birch twigs. The pudgy man made an obviously
herculean struggle and a meal was prepared. As he was drinking his cup
of coffee, he suddenly spilled it and swore. The little man was
He's gone to look at that hole, cried the pudgy man.
The little man went to the edge of the pine-plumed hillock, and,
sitting down, began to make smoke and regard the door to the forest.
There was stillness for an hour. Compact clouds hung unstirred in the
sky. The pines stood motionless, and pondering.
Suddenly the little man slapped his knee and bit his tongue. He
stood up and determinedly filled his pipe, rolling his eye over the
bowl to the doorway. Keeping his eyes fixed he slid dangerously to the
foot of the hillock and walked down the waggon ruts. A moment later he
passed from the noise of the sunshine to the gloom of the woods.
The green portals closed, shutting out live things. The little man
trudged on alone.
Tall tangled grass grew in the roadway, and the trees bended
obstructing branches. The little man followed on over pine-clothed
ridges and down through water-soaked swales. His shoes were cut by
rocks of the mountains, and he sank ankle-deep in mud and moss of
swamps. A curve just ahead lured him miles.
Finally, as he wended the side of a ridge, the road disappeared from
beneath his feet. He battled with hordes of ignorant bushes on his way
to knolls and solitary trees which invited him. Once he came to a tall,
bearded pine. He climbed it, and perceived in the distance a peak. He
uttered an ejaculation and fell out.
He scrambled to his feet, and said: That's Jones's Mountain, I
guess. It's about six miles from our camp as the crow flies.
He changed his course away from the mountain, and attacked the
bushes again. He climbed over great logs, golden-brown in decay, and
was opposed by thickets of dark-green laurel. A brook slid through the
ooze of a swamp; cedars and hemlocks hung their sprays to the edges of
The little man began to stagger in his walk. After a time he stopped
and mopped his brow.
My legs are about to shrivel up and drop off, he said.... Still
if I keep on in this direction, I am safe to strike the Lumberland Pike
He dived at a clump of tag-alders, and emerging, confronted Jones's
The wanderer sat down in a clear place and fixed his eyes on the
summit. His mouth opened widely, and his body swayed at times. The
little man and the peak stared in silence.
A lazy lake lay asleep near the foot of the mountain. In its bed of
water-grass some frogs leered at the sky and crooned. The sun sank in
red silence, and the shadows of the pines grew formidable. The
expectant hush of evening, as if some thing were going to sing a hymn,
fell upon the peak and the little man.
A leaping pickerel off on the water created a silver circle that was
lost in black shadows. The little man shook himself and started to his
feet, crying: For the love of Mike, there's eyes in this mountain! I
feel 'em! Eyes!
He fell on his face.
When he looked again, he immediately sprang erect and ran.
The mountain was approaching.
The little man scurried, sobbing through the thick growth. He felt
his brain turning to water. He vanquished brambles with mighty bounds.
But after a time he came again to the foot of the mountain.
God! he howled, it's been follerin' me. He grovelled.
Casting his eyes upward made circles swirl in his blood.
I'm shackled I guess, he moaned. As he felt the heel of the
mountain about crush his head, he sprang again to his feet. He grasped
a handful of small stones and hurled them.
Damn you, he shrieked loudly. The pebbles rang against the face of
The little man then made an attack. He climbed with hands and feet
wildly. Brambles forced him back and stones slid from beneath his feet.
The peak swayed and tottered, and was ever about to smite with a
granite arm. The summit was a blaze of red wrath.
But the little man at last reached the top. Immediately he swaggered
with valour to the edge of the cliff. His hands were scornfully in his
He gazed at the western horizon, edged sharply against a yellow sky.
Ho! he said. There's Boyd's house and the Lumberland Pike.
The mountain under his feet was motionless.