A Chilhowee Lily 1911 — A Reader’s Guide

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Craddock, Charles Egbert, 1850-1922 Project Gutenberg 2007 Not confirmed
Short stories; Mountain life -- Fiction; Cumberland Mountains -- Fiction Readers of public-domain and historical texts
Project Gutenberg digital edition en

Edition facts

Words 8,811
Reading time 39 min
Text sections 1

A Chilhowee Lily 1911 — A Reader’s Guide can be approached with a clearer sense of reading commitment from its source measurements: 8,811 words, 39 min estimated reading time, and 1 detected text section.

The text analysis averages about 22.2 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Short stories,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

A short story set in the Cumberland Mountains, where treasure-seekers dig for gold among Chilhowee lilies, and a young woman's loyalty is tested by a promise and a suitor's ultimatum.
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Editorial Edition Score 4.3/5

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Kinnicutt had killed the deer was still in his hands and he leaned upon it; he was a tall, finely formed, athletic young fellow with dark hair, keen, darkly greenish eyes, full of quickly glancing lights, and as he, too, scanned the sky, his attitude of mind also seemed dissuasive.

"'Pears like thar won't be no night, ez ye mought call night, till this moon goes down," he suggested. "'Pears nigh ez bright ez day!"

Ozias Crann's lank, angular frame; his narrow, bony face; his nose, long yet not large, sharp, pinched; his light grey eyes, set very closely together; his straggling reddish beard, all were fitting concomitants to accent the degree of caustic contempt he expressed. "Oh, to be sure!" he drawled. "It'll be powerful public up hyar in the mounting in the midnight,--that's a fac'!--an' moonlight is mighty inconvenient to them ez wants ter git spied on through totin' a lantern in cur'ous places."

This sarcasm left the two remonstrants out of countenance. Pete Swofford found a certain resource in the agitations of his bear, once more shrinking and protesting because of the dogs. "Call off yer hound-dogs, Rufe," he cried irritably, "or I'll gin 'em a bullet ter swallow."

"Ye air a plumb fool about that thar bar, Pete," Kinnicutt said sourly, calling off the hounds nevertheless.

"That thar bar?" exclaimed Swofford. "Why, thar never war sech a bar! That thar bar goes ter mill, an' kin fetch home grist,--ef I starts him out in the woods whar he won't meet no dogs nor contrairy cattle o' men he kin go ter mill all by his lone!--same ez folks an' the bes' kind o' folks, too!"

In fact the bear was even now begirt with a meal-bag, well filled, which although adding to his uncouth appearance and perhaps unduly afflicting the sensibilities of the horse, who snorted and reared at the sight of him, saved his master the labor of "packing" the heavy weight.

Swofford had his genial instincts and in return was willing to put up with the cubbishness of the transport,--would wait in the illimitable patience of the utterly idle for the bear to climb a tree if he liked and pleasantly share with him the persimmons of his quest;--would never interfere when the bear flung himself down and wallowed with the bag on his back, and would reply to the censorious at home, objecting to the dust and sand thus sifting in with the meal, with the time honored reminder that we are all destined "to eat a peck of dirt" in this world.

"Whenst ye fust spoke o' digging" said Kinnicutt, interrupting a lengthening account of the bear's mental and moral graces, "I 'lowed ez ye mought be sayin' ez they air layin' off ter work agin in the Tanglefoot Mine."

Ozias Crann lifted a scornful chin. "I reckon the last disasters thar hev interrupted the company so ez they hain't got much heart todes diggin' fur silver agin over in Tanglefoot Cove. Fust," he checked off these misfortunes, by laying the fingers of one hand successively in the palm of the other, "the timbers o' one o' the cross cuts fell an' the roof caved in an' them two men war kilt, an' thar famblies sued the company an' got mo' damages 'n the men war bodaciously wuth. Then the nex' thing the pay agent, ez war sent from Glaston, war held up in Tanglefoot an' robbed--some say by the miners. He got hyar whenst they war out on a strike, an' they robbed him 'cause they warn't paid cordin' ter thar lights, an' they _did_ shoot him up cornsider'ble. That happened jes' about a year ago. Then sence, thar hev been a awful cavin' in that deep shaft they hed sunk in the tunnel, an' the mine war flooded an' the machinery ruint--I reckon the company in Glaston ain 't a-layin' off ter fly in the face o' Providence and begin agin, arter all them leadin's ter quit."

"Some believe he warh't robbed at all," Kinnicutt said slowly. He had turned listlessly away, evidently meditating departure, his hand on his horse's mane, one foot in the stirrup.

"Ye know that gal named Loralindy Byars?" Crann said craftily.

Kinnicutt paused abruptly. Then as the schemer remained silent he demanded, frowning darkly, "What's Loralindy Byars got ter do with it?"

"Mighty nigh all!" Crann exclaimed, triumphantly.

The story opens with Ozias Crann pausing before a single Chilhowee lily growing in a rocky niche on a precipice. The flower is described with botanical precision—'trumpet-shaped and crowned with its flaring and many-cleft paracorolla'—yet its whiteness and isolation also carry a symbolic weight. Crann's sigh and his remark that the lilies are 'bloomin' bodaciously all over the mounting' immediately link the flower to the treasure hunt that drives the plot.

The narrative moves between expansive mountain vistas and cramped interiors, from the 'moon of exceeding lustre' and 'gorgeous reflections' in the sky to the muddy, littered door-yard of the Byars cabin. This oscillation between the sublime and the squalid shapes the story's atmosphere.

The Lily as a Recurring Image

The Chilhowee lily appears at key moments, always in contrast to its surroundings. Early on, it is a single bloom 'distinct against the densely blue sky,' fragile yet upright. Later, the treasure-seekers search wherever 'a drift of the snowy blossoms might glimmer,' and the flower becomes a lure. In the final scenes, the lily is absent, but its earlier appearances have established a pattern: the flower signals both beauty and deception, a natural phenomenon that the characters misinterpret as a sign of hidden gold.

The descriptions emphasize texture and light: the lily's 'keen whiteness' against 'heavy ocherous water stain' on rocks, its 'fragility of texture' shared with 'the unheeded weed.' This attention to the flower's material qualities grounds its symbolic role in the physical world.

Movement Between Mountain and Cabin

The story shifts repeatedly between the open mountain slopes and the confined spaces of the Byars cabin. The treasure hunt takes place in 'the illuminated wilderness, all solitary, silent, remote,' where the men dig in 'marshy spots' and 'low ground.' In contrast, the cabin is a place of domestic tension: Loralinda sits at her spinning wheel, the grandmother complains, and the dogs bark. The contrast is sharpest after the moonlit night, when 'by daylight the dreary little hut had no longer poetic or picturesque suggestion.'

This movement is not just geographic but emotional. The characters' hopes rise with the mountain vistas and fall within the cabin's grimy walls. The narrative uses these shifts to underscore the gap between expectation and reality.

Dialect and Voice as Structural Markers

The dialogue is rendered in a thick mountain dialect—'Hy're Rufe!', 'hain't ye in an' about finished yer visit t—or yer visitation'—that distinguishes characters and anchors the story in a specific region. The speech patterns are consistent: Pete Swolford's 'powerful public,' Ozias Crann's 'bloomin' bodaciously,' and Old Byars's cracked voice and laugh ('He, he, he!').

The dialect also serves a structural purpose. Moments of heightened emotion, such as the confrontation between Rufe Kinnicutt and Loralinda, are carried by the rhythm of their speech: 'Choose a-twixt us! Choose a-twixt the promise ye made ter that man—or the word ye deny ter me!' The vernacular gives the conflict a raw, immediate quality that contrasts with the more formal narrative passages describing the landscape.

Light and Weather as Scene Dividers

The story uses changes in light and weather to mark transitions between scenes. The opening is set in 'late in August; a moon of exceeding lustre was in the sky, while still the sun was going down.' The western clouds are 'aflare with gorgeous reflections,' and the mountains shift from blue to 'variant amethystine hue.' This vivid sunset gives way to a 'splendid night' of moonlight.

Then comes a sharp break: 'A dreary morrow ensued on the splendid night. The world was full of mists; the clouds were resolved into drizzling rain.' The shift from brilliant to gloomy weather mirrors the treasure-seekers' loss of hope. The cabin, once picturesque in moonlight, is now 'muddy and littered,' with 'the clap-boards of the shiny roof oozing and steaming with dampness.' The weather does not just set atmosphere; it structures the narrative's emotional arc.

Readers attentive to the story's structure will notice how Craddock uses the lily as a hinge between the natural world and human desire. The flower never changes, but the characters' interpretations of it do—from a sign of treasure to a reminder of loss. The movement between mountain and cabin, and between brilliant light and dreary rain, reinforces this pattern. The story rewards close attention to its shifts in setting and mood, which are as carefully crafted as its dialect.

There’s something about the quiet loyalty in A Chilhowee Lily—the way a promise holds its ground against a golden lure—that drifts, unbidden, to the salt-streaked decks of Marmaduke Merry: A Tale of Naval Adventures in Bygone Days — Key Ideas to Explore. Both worlds test a young heart with a choice of honor versus get-rich fever, and I find myself remembering how gently those old stories let such choices linger, unanswered, like a hilltop breeze.

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