The Mystic Shining Cup
One fine June morning, after the spawning run
was over, Eton Jones, as was his custom
when running low on stone coal for his forge,
took up his pickax, shovel, several sacks,
and rode his packhorse up near Dial Rock
to dig as many lumps of shiny black
slow-burning anthracite as he might need
to get him through the month. His wife, Rebecca,
had given birth to their first child, a girl
they named Susannah, just the day before.
As he approached the outcrop site, the warmth
of the noonday sun upon his back, the scent
of laurel blossoms, and the lively chorus
of nesting thrush and warblers filled the man
with such a sense of cheer and raw contentment
that his wild rendition of the Liberty Song
rang through the air and echoed off the hills.
He made a mental note to gather up
an armload of the laurel for his wife
on his return trip to the settlement.
Afterwards, as Eton Jones was loading
the sacks of coal and tools into his cart,
three Seneca appeared, unhitched the horse,
shot Eton through the heart, and took his scalp.
Later in the day, another blacksmith,
Ishmael Bennet, came upon the scene
and brought the body back to the stockade.
Eton’s brother, Alden, buried him
and urged Rebecca, numb with grief and fear,
to gear up for a move to Fort Augusta.
The chapter title The Mystic Shining Cup comes from this poem:
When
with proud joy we lift Life's red wine
To drink deep of the mystic
shining cup
And ecstasy through all our
being leaps—
Death bows his head and weeps.
~Rainer Maria Rilke, from “Death”
COMING SOON: PART THREE, CHAPTER THREE
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