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第16章

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were still clear cut upon the eastern sky。



Through the Toll House gap and over the near ridges on the 

other side; the deluge was immense。  A spray of thin vapour 

was thrown high above it; rising and falling; and blown into 

fantastic shapes。  The speed of its course was like a 

mountain torrent。  Here and there a few treetops were 

discovered and then whelmed again; and for one second; the 

bough of a dead pine beckoned out of the spray like the arm 

of a drowning man。  But still the imagination was 

dissatisfied; still the ear waited for something more。  Had 

this indeed been water (as it seemed so; to the eye); with 

what a plunge of reverberating thunder would it have rolled 

upon its course; disembowelling mountains and deracinating 

pines!  And yet water it was; and sea…water at that … true 

Pacific billows; only somewhat rarefied; rolling in mid air 

among the hilltops。



I climbed still higher; among the red rattling gravel and 

dwarf underwood of Mount Saint Helena; until I could look 

right down upon Silverado; and admire the favoured nook in 

which it lay。  The sunny plain of fog was several hundred 

feet higher; behind the protecting spur a gigantic 

accumulation of cottony vapour threatened; with every second; 

to blow over and submerge our homestead; but the vortex 

setting past the Toll House was too strong; and there lay our 

little platform; in the arms of the deluge; but still 

enjoying its unbroken sunshine。  About eleven; however; thin 

spray came flying over the friendly buttress; and I began to 

think the fog had hunted out its Jonah after all。  But it was 

the last effort。  The wind veered while we were at dinner; 

and began to blow squally from the mountain summit; and by 

half…past one; all that world of sea…fogs was utterly routed 

and flying here and there into the south in little rags of 

cloud。  And instead of a lone sea…beach; we found ourselves 

once more inhabiting a high mountainside; with the clear 

green country far below us; and the light smoke of Calistoga 

blowing in the air。



This was the great Russian campaign for that season。  Now and 

then; in the early morning; a little white lakelet of fog 

would be seen far down in Napa Valley; but the heights were 

not again assailed; nor was the surrounding world again shut 

off from Silverado。







THE TOLL HOUSE







THE Toll House; standing alone by the wayside under nodding 

pines; with its streamlet and water…tank; its backwoods; 

toll…bar; and well trodden croquet ground; the ostler 

standing by the stable door; chewing a straw; a glimpse of 

the Chinese cook in the back parts; and Mr。 Hoddy in the bar; 

gravely alert and serviceable; and equally anxious to lend or 

borrow books; … dozed all day in the dusty sunshine; more 

than half asleep。  There were no neighbours; except the 

Hansons up the hill。  The traffic on the road was 

infinitesimal; only; at rare intervals; a couple in a waggon; 

or a dusty farmer on a springboard; toiling over 〃the grade〃 

to that metropolitan hamlet; Calistoga; and; at the fixed 

hours; the passage of the stages。



The nearest building was the school…house; down the road; and 

the school…ma'am boarded at the Toll House; walking thence in 

the morning to the little brown shanty; where she taught the 

young ones of the district; and returning thither pretty 

weary in the afternoon。  She had chosen this outlying 

situation; I understood; for her health。  Mr。 Corwin was 

consumptive; so was Rufe; so was Mr。 Jennings; the engineer。  

In short; the place was a kind of small Davos:  consumptive 

folk consorting on a hilltop in the most unbroken idleness。  

Jennings never did anything that I could see; except now and 

then to fish; and generally to sit about in the bar and the 

verandah; waiting for something to happen。  Corwin and Rufe 

did as little as possible; and if the school…ma'am; poor 

lady; had to work pretty hard all morning; she subsided when 

it was over into much the same dazed beatitude as all the 

rest。



Her special corner was the parlour … a very genteel room; 

with Bible prints; a crayon portrait of Mrs。 Corwin in the 

height of fashion; a few years ago; another of her son (Mr。 

Corwin was not represented); a mirror; and a selection of 

dried grasses。  A large book was laid religiously on the 

table … 〃From Palace to Hovel;〃 I believe; its name … full of 

the raciest experiences in England。  The author had mingled 

freely with all classes; the nobility particularly meeting 

him with open arms; and I must say that traveller had ill 

requited his reception。  His book; in short; was a capital 

instance of the Penny Messalina school of literature; and 

there arose from it; in that cool parlour; in that silent; 

wayside; mountain inn; a rank atmosphere of gold and blood 

and 〃Jenkins;〃 and the 〃Mysteries of London;〃 and sickening; 

inverted snobbery; fit to knock you down。  The mention of 

this book reminds me of another and far racier picture of our 

island life。  The latter parts of ROCAMBOLE are surely too 

sparingly consulted in the country which they celebrate。  No 

man's education can be said to be complete; nor can he 

pronounce the world yet emptied of enjoyment; till he has 

made the acquaintance of 〃the Reverend Patterson; director of 

the Evangelical Society。〃  To follow the evolutions of that 

reverend gentleman; who goes through scenes in which even Mr。 

Duffield would hesitate to place a bishop; is to rise to new 

ideas。  But; alas! there was no Patterson about the Toll 

House。  Only; alongside of 〃From Palace to Hovel;〃 a sixpenny 

〃Ouida〃 figured。  So literature; you see; was not 

unrepresented。



The school…ma'am had friends to stay with her; other school…

ma'ams enjoying their holidays; quite a bevy of damsels。  

They seemed never to go out; or not beyond the verandah; but 

sat close in the little parlour; quietly talking or listening 

to the wind among the trees。  Sleep dwelt in the Toll House; 

like a fixture:  summer sleep; shallow; soft; and dreamless。  

A cuckoo…clock; a great rarity in such a place; hooted at 

intervals about the echoing house; and Mr。 Jenning would open 

his eyes for a moment in the bar; and turn the leaf of a 

newspaper; and the resting school…ma'ams in the parlour would 

be recalled to the consciousness of their inaction。  Busy 

Mrs。 Corwin and her busy Chinaman might be heard indeed; in 

the penetralia; pounding dough or rattling dishes; or perhaps 

Rufe had called up some of the sleepers for a game of 

croquet; and the hollow strokes of the mallet sounded far 

away among the woods:  but with these exceptions; it was 

sleep and sunshine and dust; and the wind in the pine trees; 

all day long。



A little before stage time; that castle of indolence awoke。  

The ostler threw his straw away and set to his preparations。  

Mr。 Jennings rubbed his eyes; happy Mr。 Jennings; the 

something he had been waiting for all day about to happen at 

last!  The boarders gathered in the verandah; silently giving 

ear; and gazing down the road with shaded eyes。  And as yet 

there was no sign for the senses; not a sound; not a tremor 

of the mountain road。  The birds; to whom the secret of the 

hooting cuckoo is unknown; must have set down to instinct 

this premonitory bustle。



And then the first of the two stages swooped upon the Toll 

House with a roar and in a cloud of dust; and the shock had 

not yet time to subside; before the second was abreast of it。  

Huge concerns they were; well…horsed and loaded; the men in 

their shirt…sleeves; the women swathed in veils; the long 

whip cracking like a pistol; and as they charged upon that 

slumbering hostelry; each shepherding a dust storm; the dead 

place blossomed into life and talk and clatter。  This the 

Toll House? … with its city throng; its jostling shoulders; 

its infinity of instant business in the 

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