The Saint of the Wilderness Chapter 13
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Page 272– Gander Pulling
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Upon returning to the Irish Settlement he found that his mail was again heavy, but only one letter spoke with any urgency, and that urgency seemed camouflaged with understatement. The letter said, “Brother Sheffey, come and talk to my man. I’d be obliged if you’d get here straightaway. If I’m departed give my children to my sister. Here is a map.” The letter was signed by a Mrs. Beamer.
Robert was not sure he remembered the woman, and the approximate place from which the letter came had been visited by him only two or three times over the past ten years. The area lay in the Bear Wallow section of West Virginia, and the ride would be a long one.
“That’s ranging out too far,” Eliza said when he told her the location of the place he was going.
“No place is too far to go to spread my Lord’s lovingkindness.”
“This letter has the aura of danger about it. The letter seems like an unusual distress call of some kind,” Eliza said, frowning.
He placed his arm around her waist and spoke calmly. “Now, Eliza, you know my sweet Lord would not let harm come to me unless it be His divine will. And if so, so be it.”
“The simplicity of your rebuttals leave me defenseless, Robert. I always end up saying, go do what you must do.”
“And that is the thing you want to hear yourself saying.”
“And how did you know that?” she asked.
“Because you’re all a part of it now – such a vital part, I’m obliged to say – and thank God for it.”
The population growth here had been rapid, he noticed as he rode along the turnpikes until it was time to turn onto the spur roads and then the still narrower mountain and ridge roads. After crossing into West Virginia he rode until he had reached Slate Creek. The territory looked more familiar to him now, for he remembered staying in the village of Harrisonville on a previous trip. He continued riding west to Bradshaw’s Creek, where the woman’s crude map directed him. Only an occasional cabin appeared in view and there were almost no travelers,
By midmorning of the next day, when Bradshaw’s Creek was reached, he saw a young mountaineer lounging on the creek bank and, further beyond him, a larger group of men who seemed to be participating excitedly in some enterprise out of his view.
“Can you tell me where Mrs. Beamer and her man live?” Robert asked.
“I’m new in these parts myself,” the younger man said. He pointed and added, “Maybe some of them yonder can tell you if they can get their minds offen that gander-pullin’ long enough to answer you.”
“Off of what?” Robert asked.
“Gander-pullin’. Ain’t you ever heerd of gander-pullin’ That’s the funninest game around.”
He rode up the creek to the gathering and watched for a few minutes until he understood exactly what was going on. A large male goose hung from a low tree limb by his feet, which were tied with rawhide string. His long feathery neck glistened with bear grease, and the mounted riders were thus far unsuccessful in stretching the helpless bird’s neck until it broke. After further passes of mounted riders, unmounted participants made runs, jumps, and stretching lunges. Which as yet were unsuccessful.
As the bird honked pitifully from pain and fright, Robert could stand the cruelty no longer. He rode into the midst of the men and boys, near to the hanging gander, and blocked any further passes at the defenseless fowl.
“Who’ll be man enough to cut the goose down – in the name of the Lord?” he demanded.
“If anybody does, you might just get put back up in its place.” A bearded older man spoke up.
“A gander exists for two reasons,” Robert said. “He is · to be eaten or used to help bring other little goslings into the world.”
“Now you ain’t exactly right, are you. Mister?” A youth stepped forward. “A gander is fer a gander-pullin’. You’re a mighty brave men a-stickin’ your nose in other folks’ business.”
“That is not my intent, my brothers, but our Lord does not sanction the use of his creatures for cruel sport. ‘Thou shalt not muzzle the ox when he treadeth out the corn,’ the Lord said, and He does not smile upon you as you stretch the gander’s neck until in great pain it breaks and he dies. If you are killing the goose to eat; do it quickly and without any greater pain than you yourselves would want to bear.”
There was a hushed silence then, but nobody moved to free the gander from his captivity. Finally a stout redheaded man of middle age stepped so close to Robert that he could smell the pungent odor of fermented corn upon the man’s breath. “You want him down, mister, you take him down.”
“My Creator has seen fit to make me a man of small stature. I don’t fight because I can’t do a very good job of it and because there is not use for it. I want you to cut the gander down because the Love of Jesus has spoken to your hearts and you know it is God’s will.”
Nobody in the group spoke for the longest while; each man seemed to be pondering the arrogance of a stranger who would ride in their midst and interrupt their sport with no fears whatever.
The first man who had spoken to him got up and moved a distance away, motioning his companions to join him in an encircled conference. When· the ring broke, the same man acted as spokesman. ‘’We ain’t goin’ to cut the gander down, but we’ll let you do it.”
Robert rode over and untied the rawhide string, handing the bird to the spokesman. “I want to ride back this way sometime. I will be anxious to know what you do with the gander.”
“Well, we sure ain’t goin’ to waste our time a-teachin’ him to lay eggs!” an old-timer called from the back of the group.
The humor broke the tension, and Robert had the feeling that this particular gander would live to an honorable old age and boast of more ancestors than any gander in the settlement
Before departing he asked the men whether or not they would come to a revival service later on in the summer – if he could find a place to hold it. Each man to the last said he would.
He rode away from them then with clear directions to his destination and a new warmth in his heart. “Oh, Gideon, the Lord be praised. Truly His gifts are boundless. It could have worked the other way, old friend, and I rather suspect the inhabitants of this wilderness do not really approve of us. Perhaps they would like to believe that they are so far removed from civilization that they need not give account to men or God. But we have spoiled it for them, Gideon; we remind them that no man hides from God, no matter how deep in the wilderness he may be.”
Bradshaw, WV...
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Page 272– Gander Pulling
===============================
Upon returning to the Irish Settlement he found that his mail was again heavy, but only one letter spoke with any urgency, and that urgency seemed camouflaged with understatement. The letter said, “Brother Sheffey, come and talk to my man. I’d be obliged if you’d get here straightaway. If I’m departed give my children to my sister. Here is a map.” The letter was signed by a Mrs. Beamer.
Robert was not sure he remembered the woman, and the approximate place from which the letter came had been visited by him only two or three times over the past ten years. The area lay in the Bear Wallow section of West Virginia, and the ride would be a long one.
“That’s ranging out too far,” Eliza said when he told her the location of the place he was going.
“No place is too far to go to spread my Lord’s lovingkindness.”
“This letter has the aura of danger about it. The letter seems like an unusual distress call of some kind,” Eliza said, frowning.
He placed his arm around her waist and spoke calmly. “Now, Eliza, you know my sweet Lord would not let harm come to me unless it be His divine will. And if so, so be it.”
“The simplicity of your rebuttals leave me defenseless, Robert. I always end up saying, go do what you must do.”
“And that is the thing you want to hear yourself saying.”
“And how did you know that?” she asked.
“Because you’re all a part of it now – such a vital part, I’m obliged to say – and thank God for it.”
The population growth here had been rapid, he noticed as he rode along the turnpikes until it was time to turn onto the spur roads and then the still narrower mountain and ridge roads. After crossing into West Virginia he rode until he had reached Slate Creek. The territory looked more familiar to him now, for he remembered staying in the village of Harrisonville on a previous trip. He continued riding west to Bradshaw’s Creek, where the woman’s crude map directed him. Only an occasional cabin appeared in view and there were almost no travelers,
By midmorning of the next day, when Bradshaw’s Creek was reached, he saw a young mountaineer lounging on the creek bank and, further beyond him, a larger group of men who seemed to be participating excitedly in some enterprise out of his view.
“Can you tell me where Mrs. Beamer and her man live?” Robert asked.
“I’m new in these parts myself,” the younger man said. He pointed and added, “Maybe some of them yonder can tell you if they can get their minds offen that gander-pullin’ long enough to answer you.”
“Off of what?” Robert asked.
“Gander-pullin’. Ain’t you ever heerd of gander-pullin’ That’s the funninest game around.”
He rode up the creek to the gathering and watched for a few minutes until he understood exactly what was going on. A large male goose hung from a low tree limb by his feet, which were tied with rawhide string. His long feathery neck glistened with bear grease, and the mounted riders were thus far unsuccessful in stretching the helpless bird’s neck until it broke. After further passes of mounted riders, unmounted participants made runs, jumps, and stretching lunges. Which as yet were unsuccessful.
As the bird honked pitifully from pain and fright, Robert could stand the cruelty no longer. He rode into the midst of the men and boys, near to the hanging gander, and blocked any further passes at the defenseless fowl.
“Who’ll be man enough to cut the goose down – in the name of the Lord?” he demanded.
“If anybody does, you might just get put back up in its place.” A bearded older man spoke up.
“A gander exists for two reasons,” Robert said. “He is · to be eaten or used to help bring other little goslings into the world.”
“Now you ain’t exactly right, are you. Mister?” A youth stepped forward. “A gander is fer a gander-pullin’. You’re a mighty brave men a-stickin’ your nose in other folks’ business.”
“That is not my intent, my brothers, but our Lord does not sanction the use of his creatures for cruel sport. ‘Thou shalt not muzzle the ox when he treadeth out the corn,’ the Lord said, and He does not smile upon you as you stretch the gander’s neck until in great pain it breaks and he dies. If you are killing the goose to eat; do it quickly and without any greater pain than you yourselves would want to bear.”
There was a hushed silence then, but nobody moved to free the gander from his captivity. Finally a stout redheaded man of middle age stepped so close to Robert that he could smell the pungent odor of fermented corn upon the man’s breath. “You want him down, mister, you take him down.”
“My Creator has seen fit to make me a man of small stature. I don’t fight because I can’t do a very good job of it and because there is not use for it. I want you to cut the gander down because the Love of Jesus has spoken to your hearts and you know it is God’s will.”
Nobody in the group spoke for the longest while; each man seemed to be pondering the arrogance of a stranger who would ride in their midst and interrupt their sport with no fears whatever.
The first man who had spoken to him got up and moved a distance away, motioning his companions to join him in an encircled conference. When· the ring broke, the same man acted as spokesman. ‘’We ain’t goin’ to cut the gander down, but we’ll let you do it.”
Robert rode over and untied the rawhide string, handing the bird to the spokesman. “I want to ride back this way sometime. I will be anxious to know what you do with the gander.”
“Well, we sure ain’t goin’ to waste our time a-teachin’ him to lay eggs!” an old-timer called from the back of the group.
The humor broke the tension, and Robert had the feeling that this particular gander would live to an honorable old age and boast of more ancestors than any gander in the settlement
Before departing he asked the men whether or not they would come to a revival service later on in the summer – if he could find a place to hold it. Each man to the last said he would.
He rode away from them then with clear directions to his destination and a new warmth in his heart. “Oh, Gideon, the Lord be praised. Truly His gifts are boundless. It could have worked the other way, old friend, and I rather suspect the inhabitants of this wilderness do not really approve of us. Perhaps they would like to believe that they are so far removed from civilization that they need not give account to men or God. But we have spoiled it for them, Gideon; we remind them that no man hides from God, no matter how deep in the wilderness he may be.”
Bradshaw, WV...
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