Chapter Four.Shows that the Tables are turned, and that Good and Bad Fortune continue to Commingle.One fortunate circumstance attending the capture of Wandering Will and his friends was that the Indians happened to follow the route which they had been pursuing, so that, whatever might be their ultimate fate, in the meantime they were advancing on their journey.Big Ben took occasion to point this out to his comrades the next night, when, after a severe day’s ride, they were allowed to sit down and eat a scanty meal surrounded by the Indian warriors. No fire was lighted, for the savages knew they were now approaching their enemies’ country. Their food, which consisted of dried buffalo meat, was eaten cold. In order to enable the captives to feed themselves, their hands had been loosed and refastened in front instead of behind them, but this did not in any degree improve their chance of escape, for they were guarded with extreme vigilance.“You see, Mr Osten,” said Big Ben, in a low tone, “it’s a piece of good luck that they’ve brought us this way, ’cause when we leave them we have nought to do but continue our journey.”“Leave them!” exclaimed Will in surprise. “How shall we manage to leave them?”“By escapin’,” answered the trapper. “How it is to be gone about no man can tell, for man is only mortal an’ don’t know nothin’ about the futur’, but we’ll find that out in good time.”“I hope we may,” returned Will sadly, as he gazed round on the stern faces of the savages, who ate their frugal meal in solemn silence; “but it seems to me that our case is hopeless.”“Faix, that’s what meself thinks too,” muttered Larry between his teeth, “for these cords on me wrists would howld a small frigate, an’ there’s a black thief just forenint me, who has never tuk his eyes off me since we wos catched. Ah, then, if I wor free I would make ye wink, ye ugly rascal. But how comes it, Mister Trapper, that ye seem to be so sure o’ escapin’?”“I’m not sure, but I’m hopeful,” replied Big Ben, with a smile.“Hopeful!” repeated the other, “it’s disapinted ye’ll be then. Haven’t ye often towld me that thim blackguards roast an’ tear and torture prisoners nowadays just as bad as they ever did?”“I have.”“Well,—d’ye think them Redskins look as if they would let us off, seein’ that we’ve shot wan of them already?”“They don’t.”“Sure, then, yer hope stands on a bad foundation, an’ the sooner we make up our minds to be skivered the better, for sartin am I that our doom is fixed. Don’t ’ee think so, Bunco?”The worthy appealed to was busily engaged in tearing to pieces and devouring a mass of dried buffalo meat, but he looked up, grinned, and nodded his head, as if to say that he believed Larry was right, and that in his opinion being roasted, torn, tortured, and skivered was rather a pleasant prospect than otherwise.“I have two reasons for bein’ hopeful,” observed Big Ben, after a short silence. “One is that I never got into a scrape in my life that I didn’t get out of somehow or another, and the other reason is that I have observed signs on the trees that tell me the enemies, for whom the Redskins are seeking, are aware of their bein’ on the trail and will give them a warm reception, perhaps sooner than they expect.”“What signs do you refer to?” asked Will Osten. “I see no sign of man having been here.”“Perhaps not, and by good luck neither do the Injuns, for why, they can’t read handwritin’ as is not meant for ’em, but I know somethin’ of the tribe they are after, an’ one or two small marks on the trees tell me that they are not far distant. No doubt they will attack the camp at night.”“Ochone!” groaned Larry, “an’ won’t they brain an’ scalp us wid the rest, an’ our hands tied so that we can’t do nothin’ to help ourselves?”“It is possible they may,” returned the trapper; “and if they do we can’t help it, but let me warn you all, comrades, if we are attacked suddenly, let each man drop flat on the grass where he sits or stands. It is ouronly chance.”Poor Larry O’Hale was so overcome by the gloomy prospects before him that he dropped flat on his back then and there, and gave vent to a grievous sigh, after which he lay perfectly still, gazing up at the stars and thinking of “Ould Ireland.” Being possessed of that happy temperament which can dismiss care at the shortest possible notice, and being also somewhat fatigued, he soon fell sound asleep. His companions were about to follow his example when they heard a whizzing sound which induced them suddenly to sink down among the grass. At the same moment an appalling shriek rudely broke the silence of the night, and two of the sentinels fell, transfixed with arrows. One of these lay dead where he fell, but the other sprang up and ran quickly, with staggering gait, after his comrades, who at the first alarm had leaped up and bounded into the nearest underwood, followed by a shower of arrows. That these deadly messengers had not been sent after them in vain was evinced by the yells which succeeded their discharge. A moment after, several dark and naked forms glided swiftly over the camp in pursuit. One of these, pausing for one moment beside the dead Indian, seized him by the hair, passed his knife swiftly round the head so as to cut the skin all round, tore off the scalp, and stuck it under his girdle as he leaped on in pursuit.Fortunately the prisoners were not observed. Larry on being awakened by the yell had half raised himself, but, recollecting Big Ben’s caution, dropped down again and remained perfectly still. The attacking party had, of course, seen the sentinels fall and the rest of the warriors spring up and dart away, and naturally supposing, doubtless, that no one would be so foolish as to remain in the camp, they had passed on without discovering the prisoners. When they had all passed, and the sounds of the fight were at a little distance, Big Ben leaped up and exclaimed:—“Comrades, look sharp, moments are golden. They’ll be back like a shot! Here, Larry, grip this in yer hand an’ stick the point of it agin’ that tree.”While he spoke in a cool, calm, almost jocular tone, the trapper acted with a degree of rapidity and vigour which showed that he thought the crisis a momentous one. With his fettered hands he plucked the knife from the girdle of the dead Indian and gave it to Larry O’Hale, who at once seized it with his right hand, and, as directed, thrust the point against the stem of a neighbouring tree. The trapper applied the stout cords that bound him to its edge, and, after a few seconds of energetic sawing, was free. He instantly liberated his companions.“Now, lads,” said he, “down the stream and into the water as fast as you can.”Our hero and Larry, being utterly ignorant of the manners and habits of the people amongst whom they were thrown, obeyed with the docility of little children—showing themselves, thereby, to be real men! Bunco, before darting away, seized an Indian gun, powder-horn, and shot-belt which had been left behind. The attack had been so sudden and unexpected that many of the savages had found it as much as they could do to save themselves, leaving their arms behind them. Of course, therefore, no one had thought of encumbering himself with the weapons of the prisoners. Big Ben had thought of all this. His wits had long been sharpened by practice. He also knew that his white comrades would think only of escaping, and that there was no time to waste in telling them to look after their weapons. Giving them, therefore, the general direction to rush down the banks of the stream and get into the water, he quietly but quickly seized his own piece and the guns of our hero and the Irishman, together with one of the large powder-horns and bullet-pouches of the war-party; also two smaller horns and pouches. The securing of these cost him only a few seconds. When Will Osten and Larry had run at full speed for several hundred yards down the stream which flowed near to the spot where the war-party had encamped, they stopped to take breath and receive further instructions. The active trapper and Bunco were at their heels in a moment.“You forgot your guns,” said the trapper, with a quiet chuckle, handing one to Larry and the other to Will.“What nixt?” asked Larry, with a strange mixture of determination and uncertainty in his tone—the former being founded on his character, the latter on his ignorance.“Follow me. Don’t touch a twig or a blade o’ grass on the banks, an’ make as little noise as you can. Running water leaves no trail.”Saying this, Big Ben stepped into the stream, which was a small shallow one, and flowed for nearly half a mile through a sort of meadow among the mountains. Down this they all waded, carefully avoiding the banks, until they reached a narrow part where the stream tumbled over a precipice. Here the trapper paused, and was about to give some directions to his comrades, when the sound of constrained breathing was heard near to him. With a sudden demonstration of being about to fire, he turned and cocked his gun. The sharp click was no sooner heard than three Indians burst out from beneath the bushes which overhung the water, and, springing up the bank, fled for their lives. The trapper could not refrain from chuckling.“These,” said he, “are some of the rascals that caught us, making their escape by the same way that we are, but they don’t know the ground as well as I do, and apparently have got perplexed at the top o’ the fall. ’Tis well. If the Redskins pursue, they will find the trail here as clear as a king’s highway—see what a gap in the bushes they have made in their fright at the sound o’ my lock! Well, well, it’s not many men that have pluck to keep quiet wi’ that sound in their ears, and the muzzle pointed at their heads! All we have to do now is to descend the precipice without disturbing the shrubs, and then—”A sound of horses galloping arrested him.“Hist! don’t move!”At that moment about a dozen of the horses belonging to the war-party came thundering down along the banks of the stream. They had broken loose, and were flying from the Indians who had attempted to catch them. On nearing the precipice, over which the stream leaped with noisy petulance, the snorting steeds drew up in alarm, as if undecided which way to turn.“A rare chance!” cried the trapper. “Every man for himself—keep well up the hill, comrades? an’ hem them in.”Saying this, he ran up the bank, the others followed, and, in a few minutes, they drove the steeds into a corner, from which they made a sudden rush, but as the long halter of each was trailing at its side, no difficulty was experienced in securing several of them as they passed by. Next moment the fugitives were mounted and hastening away from the scene of their late adventure as fast as the rugged nature of the ground would permit.It is not necessary that we should follow our adventurers in all their windings through the mighty fastnesses of the far West. Suffice it to say that they made good their escape from the Indians, and that, for many days, they travelled through scenes so beautiful and varied that they have been spoken of by those who know them well as a perfect paradise. Every description of lovely prospect met their admiring eyes in endless succession, but so wary were the lower animals, and so few the human inhabitants, that those realms were to all appearance absolute solitudes—created, apparently, for no end or purpose. Nevertheless, there was enough there to tell the Christian philosopher that God had made the deserts for the enjoyment of His creatures, for, although not always visible or audible, myriads of living beings were there—from the huge buffalo and grizzly bear to the sand-fly and mosquito—which rejoiced in the green pastures and luxuriated beside the sweet waters of the land.One afternoon the travellers came upon a small plain, which reminded them somewhat of the prairies. The first glance showed them that it was crowded with buffalos. Instantly a sensation of wild excitement passed through their frames, and showed itself in various ways. The Irishman uttered a shout of delight, and suggested an immediate onslaught; but it is due to his wisdom to say that the shout was a subdued one, and the suggestion was humbly made. Our hero became restless and flushed, while the eyes of Bunco and Big Ben alone served as outlets to the fire which burned within. The plain was surrounded by low wooded hills, and had a lake on one side winding with many an inlet amongst the hills and into the plain, while here and there a tiny promontory, richly clothed with pines and aspens, stretched out into the water. Among the bluffs, or wooded islets of the plain, were to be seen several herds of bulls feeding about a mile off, and other bands in the distance.“Tighten your girths,” said Big Ben, dismounting. The horse which the trapper had secured, though not his own, was almost equal to it in point of size and strength. He eyed it with evident satisfaction as he tightened the girth, saying that if it wasn’t for the difference in colour he would have thought it was the old one. The others having also seen to their harness mounted, and the cavalcade advanced at a walking pace into the plain. When they arrived within quarter of a mile of the largest band, the buffalo began to move slowly off. The scattered groups, seeing the horsemen, drew together, and, soon forming a large band, went off at a slow lumbering canter. The trapper, breaking into a trot, led the way, taking care to increase his speed gently, so as to gain on them insensibly, until he had got within about two hundred yards of the nearest, when he went off at full speed with a wild hurrah! The others followed, brandishing their arms and cheering in the excitement of the moment, while they hammered the horses’ ribs violently with their unarmed heels. As they closed with them, the herd broke into separate bands, and each man, selecting the animal nearest to him, pursued it with reckless indifference to badger-holes. Fortunately for the riders, the horses, being accustomed to the work, knew the danger, and kept a sharp look-out on their own account. Soon several shots told that the slaughter had begun, but each hunter was quickly separated from the other, and none knew aught of the success of the rest until the pun was over.There was something particularly ludicrous in the appearance of the bulls as they lumbered along in their heavy gallop; their small hindquarters, covered with short hair, being absurdly disproportioned to the enormous front with its hump and shaggy main. As they galloped along, their fringed dewlaps and long beards swayed from side to side, and their little eyes glanced viciously as they peeped from out a forest of hair at the pursuing foe. One of the bulls suddenly took it into his head to do more than peep! He raised his tail stiff in the air—a sign of wicked intentions—turned round, and received Larry’s horse on his forehead. Larry described the segment of a pretty large circle in the air, and fell flat on his back; but he jumped up unhurt, caught his horse, which was only a little stunned, and, remounting, continued the pursuit of the bull and killed it. He then pulled up, and looked round to see how it fared with his companions. Ben and Bunco were not in sight, but he observed Will Osten in hot pursuit of a large wolf. With a wild cheer, he made after him, and, by making a détour, came in front of the wolf, and turned it. Will fired at it quite close, but missed. Larry, who had reloaded, also fired and missed. Then they loaded and fired again, without success; so they endeavoured to ride over the animal, which they succeeded in doing, as well as in running against each other violently more than once, but without hurting the wolf, which dodged between the horses’ legs, snarling viciously. This game went on until the horses began to get exhausted. Then the wolf made straight off over the plain, and gained the mountains, still hotly followed, however, until it became evident to the pursuers that their steeds were blown, and that the wolf was distancing them at every stride.When they at length unwillingly pulled up, the shades of evening were beginning to descend on the scene, and neither buffalo nor comrades were within range of their vision.“Humph! we’ve got lost because of that rascal,” grumbled Will Osten.“Bad luck to it!” exclaimed his companion.“Have you any idea of the way back?” asked Will, with a look of perplexity.“Not in the laste,” said Larry; “it’s always the way, when a man goes on a wild-goose chase he’s sure to come to grief, an’ a wild-wolf chase seems to belong to the same family.”Will was too much vexed to reply, so he urged his steed to a gallop, and tried to retrace his way to the little plain, but the more they wandered the deeper did they appear to stray into the mountains.Meanwhile, the trapper and Bunco, having cut off the best parts of the animals they had killed, made their encampment on the highest bluff they could find near the lake, and prepared supper; looking out now and then for their absent comrades. As the evening wore on they became anxious, and went out to search for them, but it was not till the following morning that they were discovered, almost falling out of their saddles from exhaustion, and wandering about they scarce knew whither. Conducting them to the camp, the trapper and Bunco gave them food, and then allowed them to sleep until the sun was high, after which, with recruited energies and spirits, they resumed their journey.Thus they travelled for many a day—now scaling rugged mountain passes where it seemed doubtful whether the horses would be able to clamber, anon traversing rich meadows, and frequently meeting with and shooting deer, bears, Rocky Mountain goats, and the other wild inhabitants of the region. But, in course of time, they reached a particularly barren part of the mountains, to travel through which was a matter of extreme difficulty, while, to add to their hardships, game became very scarce.One evening they met with an adventure of a rather warm description, through the carelessness of Larry, which well-nigh cost them their lives. They had reached a forest of small pines, through which they proceeded several miles, and then, finding that the trees grew so close together as to render progress very difficult, they resolved to encamp where they were, and, accordingly, cut down a clear space, in one part of which they fastened the horses, and at the other end made the camp. The weather had for a considerable time been hot and dry, and mosquitoes and gadflies were very troublesome. They therefore lighted a fire for the horses as well as for themselves, in order to let the poor creatures get the benefit of the smoke which, as long as it lasted, effectually cleared away the flies. It was Larry’s duty that night to hobble and secure the horses, but Larry was fatigued, and particularly anxious to commence supper with as little delay as possible. He therefore fastened the horses so insecurely that one of them got loose, and, without being perceived, kicked about some of the blazing embers in his anxiety to get into the thickest of the smoke, and so find relief from his tormentors. These embers set fire to the dry moss. While the travellers were busy with supper, they were startled by a loud, crackling sound. Before any of them could jump up, they heard a roar, which was followed by a mighty illumination. One of the neighbouring pines had caught fire, and blazed up as if it had been gun-cotton. The moment was critical. The little wind there was blew from the burning tree towards the spot where they sat. They had scarcely realised what had occurred when another and another of the trees flashed up, for, although green, they burned like the driest timber. To unloose and drive the horses out of danger, and carry off their camp equipage in time, was impossible. Big Ben, seeing this at a glance, seized his axe and shouted to the others to assist. He sprang at the intervening trees, and, exerting his enormous strength to the uttermost, cut them down as if they had been willow-wands—fortunately they were small; some of them were lopped through with a single crashing blow. Our hero was not slow to emulate Ben, and, although not so expert, he did such good execution that in a few minutes there was a wide gap between the camp and the burning trees.But the horses, meanwhile, were in danger of being suffocated, and the dry moss under foot was burning so fiercely that the fire threatened to spread in spite of their exertions. Seeing this, Bunco and Larry—first casting loose the horses—ran with their kettles and mugs to a neighbouring stream for water, which they poured on the moss. By this time they were nearly surrounded by fire and smoke; the flames roared with appalling fury; the horse that had done all the mischief got burnt about the legs, threw himself down in the very midst of the fire and rolled in agony. Axes and kettles were instantly dropped, and all sprang to the rescue; grasped the creature by the head and tail, but could not drag him out. In desperation, Larry seized a stick, and so belaboured him that he leaped up and rushed out of the smoke and flames, terribly singed, indeed, but not much hurt otherwise. After this the fire was again attacked, and gradually its progress was cut off, so that our travellers were ultimately enabled to remove to a place of safety. But the flames had only been checked; they soon spread again, and, away to leeward of them, set the whole region on fire. From their new encampment that night, they could see rolling clouds of smoke mingling with tongues of flame which shot up, ever and anon, above the trees, and brought out in strong relief, or cast into deep shadow, the crags, gorges, and caverns of the mountains—presenting a scene of terrible devastation and indescribable sublimity.
One fortunate circumstance attending the capture of Wandering Will and his friends was that the Indians happened to follow the route which they had been pursuing, so that, whatever might be their ultimate fate, in the meantime they were advancing on their journey.
Big Ben took occasion to point this out to his comrades the next night, when, after a severe day’s ride, they were allowed to sit down and eat a scanty meal surrounded by the Indian warriors. No fire was lighted, for the savages knew they were now approaching their enemies’ country. Their food, which consisted of dried buffalo meat, was eaten cold. In order to enable the captives to feed themselves, their hands had been loosed and refastened in front instead of behind them, but this did not in any degree improve their chance of escape, for they were guarded with extreme vigilance.
“You see, Mr Osten,” said Big Ben, in a low tone, “it’s a piece of good luck that they’ve brought us this way, ’cause when we leave them we have nought to do but continue our journey.”
“Leave them!” exclaimed Will in surprise. “How shall we manage to leave them?”
“By escapin’,” answered the trapper. “How it is to be gone about no man can tell, for man is only mortal an’ don’t know nothin’ about the futur’, but we’ll find that out in good time.”
“I hope we may,” returned Will sadly, as he gazed round on the stern faces of the savages, who ate their frugal meal in solemn silence; “but it seems to me that our case is hopeless.”
“Faix, that’s what meself thinks too,” muttered Larry between his teeth, “for these cords on me wrists would howld a small frigate, an’ there’s a black thief just forenint me, who has never tuk his eyes off me since we wos catched. Ah, then, if I wor free I would make ye wink, ye ugly rascal. But how comes it, Mister Trapper, that ye seem to be so sure o’ escapin’?”
“I’m not sure, but I’m hopeful,” replied Big Ben, with a smile.
“Hopeful!” repeated the other, “it’s disapinted ye’ll be then. Haven’t ye often towld me that thim blackguards roast an’ tear and torture prisoners nowadays just as bad as they ever did?”
“I have.”
“Well,—d’ye think them Redskins look as if they would let us off, seein’ that we’ve shot wan of them already?”
“They don’t.”
“Sure, then, yer hope stands on a bad foundation, an’ the sooner we make up our minds to be skivered the better, for sartin am I that our doom is fixed. Don’t ’ee think so, Bunco?”
The worthy appealed to was busily engaged in tearing to pieces and devouring a mass of dried buffalo meat, but he looked up, grinned, and nodded his head, as if to say that he believed Larry was right, and that in his opinion being roasted, torn, tortured, and skivered was rather a pleasant prospect than otherwise.
“I have two reasons for bein’ hopeful,” observed Big Ben, after a short silence. “One is that I never got into a scrape in my life that I didn’t get out of somehow or another, and the other reason is that I have observed signs on the trees that tell me the enemies, for whom the Redskins are seeking, are aware of their bein’ on the trail and will give them a warm reception, perhaps sooner than they expect.”
“What signs do you refer to?” asked Will Osten. “I see no sign of man having been here.”
“Perhaps not, and by good luck neither do the Injuns, for why, they can’t read handwritin’ as is not meant for ’em, but I know somethin’ of the tribe they are after, an’ one or two small marks on the trees tell me that they are not far distant. No doubt they will attack the camp at night.”
“Ochone!” groaned Larry, “an’ won’t they brain an’ scalp us wid the rest, an’ our hands tied so that we can’t do nothin’ to help ourselves?”
“It is possible they may,” returned the trapper; “and if they do we can’t help it, but let me warn you all, comrades, if we are attacked suddenly, let each man drop flat on the grass where he sits or stands. It is ouronly chance.”
Poor Larry O’Hale was so overcome by the gloomy prospects before him that he dropped flat on his back then and there, and gave vent to a grievous sigh, after which he lay perfectly still, gazing up at the stars and thinking of “Ould Ireland.” Being possessed of that happy temperament which can dismiss care at the shortest possible notice, and being also somewhat fatigued, he soon fell sound asleep. His companions were about to follow his example when they heard a whizzing sound which induced them suddenly to sink down among the grass. At the same moment an appalling shriek rudely broke the silence of the night, and two of the sentinels fell, transfixed with arrows. One of these lay dead where he fell, but the other sprang up and ran quickly, with staggering gait, after his comrades, who at the first alarm had leaped up and bounded into the nearest underwood, followed by a shower of arrows. That these deadly messengers had not been sent after them in vain was evinced by the yells which succeeded their discharge. A moment after, several dark and naked forms glided swiftly over the camp in pursuit. One of these, pausing for one moment beside the dead Indian, seized him by the hair, passed his knife swiftly round the head so as to cut the skin all round, tore off the scalp, and stuck it under his girdle as he leaped on in pursuit.
Fortunately the prisoners were not observed. Larry on being awakened by the yell had half raised himself, but, recollecting Big Ben’s caution, dropped down again and remained perfectly still. The attacking party had, of course, seen the sentinels fall and the rest of the warriors spring up and dart away, and naturally supposing, doubtless, that no one would be so foolish as to remain in the camp, they had passed on without discovering the prisoners. When they had all passed, and the sounds of the fight were at a little distance, Big Ben leaped up and exclaimed:—
“Comrades, look sharp, moments are golden. They’ll be back like a shot! Here, Larry, grip this in yer hand an’ stick the point of it agin’ that tree.”
While he spoke in a cool, calm, almost jocular tone, the trapper acted with a degree of rapidity and vigour which showed that he thought the crisis a momentous one. With his fettered hands he plucked the knife from the girdle of the dead Indian and gave it to Larry O’Hale, who at once seized it with his right hand, and, as directed, thrust the point against the stem of a neighbouring tree. The trapper applied the stout cords that bound him to its edge, and, after a few seconds of energetic sawing, was free. He instantly liberated his companions.
“Now, lads,” said he, “down the stream and into the water as fast as you can.”
Our hero and Larry, being utterly ignorant of the manners and habits of the people amongst whom they were thrown, obeyed with the docility of little children—showing themselves, thereby, to be real men! Bunco, before darting away, seized an Indian gun, powder-horn, and shot-belt which had been left behind. The attack had been so sudden and unexpected that many of the savages had found it as much as they could do to save themselves, leaving their arms behind them. Of course, therefore, no one had thought of encumbering himself with the weapons of the prisoners. Big Ben had thought of all this. His wits had long been sharpened by practice. He also knew that his white comrades would think only of escaping, and that there was no time to waste in telling them to look after their weapons. Giving them, therefore, the general direction to rush down the banks of the stream and get into the water, he quietly but quickly seized his own piece and the guns of our hero and the Irishman, together with one of the large powder-horns and bullet-pouches of the war-party; also two smaller horns and pouches. The securing of these cost him only a few seconds. When Will Osten and Larry had run at full speed for several hundred yards down the stream which flowed near to the spot where the war-party had encamped, they stopped to take breath and receive further instructions. The active trapper and Bunco were at their heels in a moment.
“You forgot your guns,” said the trapper, with a quiet chuckle, handing one to Larry and the other to Will.
“What nixt?” asked Larry, with a strange mixture of determination and uncertainty in his tone—the former being founded on his character, the latter on his ignorance.
“Follow me. Don’t touch a twig or a blade o’ grass on the banks, an’ make as little noise as you can. Running water leaves no trail.”
Saying this, Big Ben stepped into the stream, which was a small shallow one, and flowed for nearly half a mile through a sort of meadow among the mountains. Down this they all waded, carefully avoiding the banks, until they reached a narrow part where the stream tumbled over a precipice. Here the trapper paused, and was about to give some directions to his comrades, when the sound of constrained breathing was heard near to him. With a sudden demonstration of being about to fire, he turned and cocked his gun. The sharp click was no sooner heard than three Indians burst out from beneath the bushes which overhung the water, and, springing up the bank, fled for their lives. The trapper could not refrain from chuckling.
“These,” said he, “are some of the rascals that caught us, making their escape by the same way that we are, but they don’t know the ground as well as I do, and apparently have got perplexed at the top o’ the fall. ’Tis well. If the Redskins pursue, they will find the trail here as clear as a king’s highway—see what a gap in the bushes they have made in their fright at the sound o’ my lock! Well, well, it’s not many men that have pluck to keep quiet wi’ that sound in their ears, and the muzzle pointed at their heads! All we have to do now is to descend the precipice without disturbing the shrubs, and then—”
A sound of horses galloping arrested him.
“Hist! don’t move!”
At that moment about a dozen of the horses belonging to the war-party came thundering down along the banks of the stream. They had broken loose, and were flying from the Indians who had attempted to catch them. On nearing the precipice, over which the stream leaped with noisy petulance, the snorting steeds drew up in alarm, as if undecided which way to turn.
“A rare chance!” cried the trapper. “Every man for himself—keep well up the hill, comrades? an’ hem them in.”
Saying this, he ran up the bank, the others followed, and, in a few minutes, they drove the steeds into a corner, from which they made a sudden rush, but as the long halter of each was trailing at its side, no difficulty was experienced in securing several of them as they passed by. Next moment the fugitives were mounted and hastening away from the scene of their late adventure as fast as the rugged nature of the ground would permit.
It is not necessary that we should follow our adventurers in all their windings through the mighty fastnesses of the far West. Suffice it to say that they made good their escape from the Indians, and that, for many days, they travelled through scenes so beautiful and varied that they have been spoken of by those who know them well as a perfect paradise. Every description of lovely prospect met their admiring eyes in endless succession, but so wary were the lower animals, and so few the human inhabitants, that those realms were to all appearance absolute solitudes—created, apparently, for no end or purpose. Nevertheless, there was enough there to tell the Christian philosopher that God had made the deserts for the enjoyment of His creatures, for, although not always visible or audible, myriads of living beings were there—from the huge buffalo and grizzly bear to the sand-fly and mosquito—which rejoiced in the green pastures and luxuriated beside the sweet waters of the land.
One afternoon the travellers came upon a small plain, which reminded them somewhat of the prairies. The first glance showed them that it was crowded with buffalos. Instantly a sensation of wild excitement passed through their frames, and showed itself in various ways. The Irishman uttered a shout of delight, and suggested an immediate onslaught; but it is due to his wisdom to say that the shout was a subdued one, and the suggestion was humbly made. Our hero became restless and flushed, while the eyes of Bunco and Big Ben alone served as outlets to the fire which burned within. The plain was surrounded by low wooded hills, and had a lake on one side winding with many an inlet amongst the hills and into the plain, while here and there a tiny promontory, richly clothed with pines and aspens, stretched out into the water. Among the bluffs, or wooded islets of the plain, were to be seen several herds of bulls feeding about a mile off, and other bands in the distance.
“Tighten your girths,” said Big Ben, dismounting. The horse which the trapper had secured, though not his own, was almost equal to it in point of size and strength. He eyed it with evident satisfaction as he tightened the girth, saying that if it wasn’t for the difference in colour he would have thought it was the old one. The others having also seen to their harness mounted, and the cavalcade advanced at a walking pace into the plain. When they arrived within quarter of a mile of the largest band, the buffalo began to move slowly off. The scattered groups, seeing the horsemen, drew together, and, soon forming a large band, went off at a slow lumbering canter. The trapper, breaking into a trot, led the way, taking care to increase his speed gently, so as to gain on them insensibly, until he had got within about two hundred yards of the nearest, when he went off at full speed with a wild hurrah! The others followed, brandishing their arms and cheering in the excitement of the moment, while they hammered the horses’ ribs violently with their unarmed heels. As they closed with them, the herd broke into separate bands, and each man, selecting the animal nearest to him, pursued it with reckless indifference to badger-holes. Fortunately for the riders, the horses, being accustomed to the work, knew the danger, and kept a sharp look-out on their own account. Soon several shots told that the slaughter had begun, but each hunter was quickly separated from the other, and none knew aught of the success of the rest until the pun was over.
There was something particularly ludicrous in the appearance of the bulls as they lumbered along in their heavy gallop; their small hindquarters, covered with short hair, being absurdly disproportioned to the enormous front with its hump and shaggy main. As they galloped along, their fringed dewlaps and long beards swayed from side to side, and their little eyes glanced viciously as they peeped from out a forest of hair at the pursuing foe. One of the bulls suddenly took it into his head to do more than peep! He raised his tail stiff in the air—a sign of wicked intentions—turned round, and received Larry’s horse on his forehead. Larry described the segment of a pretty large circle in the air, and fell flat on his back; but he jumped up unhurt, caught his horse, which was only a little stunned, and, remounting, continued the pursuit of the bull and killed it. He then pulled up, and looked round to see how it fared with his companions. Ben and Bunco were not in sight, but he observed Will Osten in hot pursuit of a large wolf. With a wild cheer, he made after him, and, by making a détour, came in front of the wolf, and turned it. Will fired at it quite close, but missed. Larry, who had reloaded, also fired and missed. Then they loaded and fired again, without success; so they endeavoured to ride over the animal, which they succeeded in doing, as well as in running against each other violently more than once, but without hurting the wolf, which dodged between the horses’ legs, snarling viciously. This game went on until the horses began to get exhausted. Then the wolf made straight off over the plain, and gained the mountains, still hotly followed, however, until it became evident to the pursuers that their steeds were blown, and that the wolf was distancing them at every stride.
When they at length unwillingly pulled up, the shades of evening were beginning to descend on the scene, and neither buffalo nor comrades were within range of their vision.
“Humph! we’ve got lost because of that rascal,” grumbled Will Osten.
“Bad luck to it!” exclaimed his companion.
“Have you any idea of the way back?” asked Will, with a look of perplexity.
“Not in the laste,” said Larry; “it’s always the way, when a man goes on a wild-goose chase he’s sure to come to grief, an’ a wild-wolf chase seems to belong to the same family.”
Will was too much vexed to reply, so he urged his steed to a gallop, and tried to retrace his way to the little plain, but the more they wandered the deeper did they appear to stray into the mountains.
Meanwhile, the trapper and Bunco, having cut off the best parts of the animals they had killed, made their encampment on the highest bluff they could find near the lake, and prepared supper; looking out now and then for their absent comrades. As the evening wore on they became anxious, and went out to search for them, but it was not till the following morning that they were discovered, almost falling out of their saddles from exhaustion, and wandering about they scarce knew whither. Conducting them to the camp, the trapper and Bunco gave them food, and then allowed them to sleep until the sun was high, after which, with recruited energies and spirits, they resumed their journey.
Thus they travelled for many a day—now scaling rugged mountain passes where it seemed doubtful whether the horses would be able to clamber, anon traversing rich meadows, and frequently meeting with and shooting deer, bears, Rocky Mountain goats, and the other wild inhabitants of the region. But, in course of time, they reached a particularly barren part of the mountains, to travel through which was a matter of extreme difficulty, while, to add to their hardships, game became very scarce.
One evening they met with an adventure of a rather warm description, through the carelessness of Larry, which well-nigh cost them their lives. They had reached a forest of small pines, through which they proceeded several miles, and then, finding that the trees grew so close together as to render progress very difficult, they resolved to encamp where they were, and, accordingly, cut down a clear space, in one part of which they fastened the horses, and at the other end made the camp. The weather had for a considerable time been hot and dry, and mosquitoes and gadflies were very troublesome. They therefore lighted a fire for the horses as well as for themselves, in order to let the poor creatures get the benefit of the smoke which, as long as it lasted, effectually cleared away the flies. It was Larry’s duty that night to hobble and secure the horses, but Larry was fatigued, and particularly anxious to commence supper with as little delay as possible. He therefore fastened the horses so insecurely that one of them got loose, and, without being perceived, kicked about some of the blazing embers in his anxiety to get into the thickest of the smoke, and so find relief from his tormentors. These embers set fire to the dry moss. While the travellers were busy with supper, they were startled by a loud, crackling sound. Before any of them could jump up, they heard a roar, which was followed by a mighty illumination. One of the neighbouring pines had caught fire, and blazed up as if it had been gun-cotton. The moment was critical. The little wind there was blew from the burning tree towards the spot where they sat. They had scarcely realised what had occurred when another and another of the trees flashed up, for, although green, they burned like the driest timber. To unloose and drive the horses out of danger, and carry off their camp equipage in time, was impossible. Big Ben, seeing this at a glance, seized his axe and shouted to the others to assist. He sprang at the intervening trees, and, exerting his enormous strength to the uttermost, cut them down as if they had been willow-wands—fortunately they were small; some of them were lopped through with a single crashing blow. Our hero was not slow to emulate Ben, and, although not so expert, he did such good execution that in a few minutes there was a wide gap between the camp and the burning trees.
But the horses, meanwhile, were in danger of being suffocated, and the dry moss under foot was burning so fiercely that the fire threatened to spread in spite of their exertions. Seeing this, Bunco and Larry—first casting loose the horses—ran with their kettles and mugs to a neighbouring stream for water, which they poured on the moss. By this time they were nearly surrounded by fire and smoke; the flames roared with appalling fury; the horse that had done all the mischief got burnt about the legs, threw himself down in the very midst of the fire and rolled in agony. Axes and kettles were instantly dropped, and all sprang to the rescue; grasped the creature by the head and tail, but could not drag him out. In desperation, Larry seized a stick, and so belaboured him that he leaped up and rushed out of the smoke and flames, terribly singed, indeed, but not much hurt otherwise. After this the fire was again attacked, and gradually its progress was cut off, so that our travellers were ultimately enabled to remove to a place of safety. But the flames had only been checked; they soon spread again, and, away to leeward of them, set the whole region on fire. From their new encampment that night, they could see rolling clouds of smoke mingling with tongues of flame which shot up, ever and anon, above the trees, and brought out in strong relief, or cast into deep shadow, the crags, gorges, and caverns of the mountains—presenting a scene of terrible devastation and indescribable sublimity.
Chapter Five.Describes a Quiet Nook, and shows how Larry came by a Double Loss, besides telling of Wonderful Discoveries of more Kinds than One.We must guard the reader, at this point, from supposing that our adventurers werealwaystumbling out of frying-pans into fires, or that theyneverenjoyed repose. By no means. The duty which lies upon us, to recount the mostpiquantand stirring of the incidents in their journeying, necessitates the omission of much that is deeply interesting, though unexciting and peaceful.For instance,—on one occasion, Larry and Bunco were deputed to fish for trout, while our hero and the trapper went after deer. The place selected by the anglers was a clear quiet pool in a small but deep rivulet, which flowed down the gentle slope of a wooded hill. The distant surroundings no doubt were wild enough, but the immediate spot to which we refer might have been a scene in bonnie Scotland, and would have gladdened the heart of a painter as being hisbeau idéal, perhaps, of a “quiet nook.” The day was quiet too; the little birds, apparently, were very happy, and the sun was very bright—so bright that it shone through the mirror-like surface of the pool right down to the bottom, and there revealed several large fat trout, which were teazed and tempted and even exhorted to meet their fate, by the earnest Larry. The converse on the occasion, too, was quiet and peaceful. It was what we may style a lazy sort of day, and the anglers felt lazy, and so did the fish, for, although they saw the baits which were held temptingly before their noses, they refused to bite. Trout in those regions are not timid. We speak from personal experience. They saw Larry and Bunco sitting astride the trunk of a fallen tree, with their toes in the water, bending earnestly over the pool, just as distinctly as these worthies saw the fish; but they cared not a drop of water for them! Larry, therefore, sought to beguile the time and entertain his friend by giving him glowing accounts of men and manners in the Green Isle. So this pleasant peaceful day passed by, and Pat’s heart had reached a state of sweet tranquillity, when, happening to bend a little too far over the pool, in order to see a peculiarly large trout which was looking at him, he lost his balance and fell into it, head first, with a heavy plunge, which scattered its occupants right and left! Bunco chuckled immensely as he assisted to haul him out, and even ventured to chaff him a little.“Yoo’s good for dive, me tink.”“True for ye, lad,” said Larry, smiling benignantly, as he resumed his seat on the tree-trunk, and squeezed the water out of his garments. “I was always good at that an’ it’s so hot here that I took a sudden fancy to spaik to the fishes, but the dirty spalpeens are too quick for me. I do belaive they’re comin’ back! Look there at that wan—six pound av he’s an ounce.”Not only did the six-pounder return to the pool almost immediately after Larry left it, but a large number of his brethren bore him company, and took up their former position as if nothing had happened. Nay, more, the surprise had apparently so far stirred them up and awakened them to a perception of their opportunities, that the six-pounder languidly swallowed Bunco’s hook and was in a moment whisked out of his native pool and landed on the bank,—for the anglers fished with stout cord and unbending rods!“Musha! but ye’ve got ’im,” exclaimed Larry.“Yoos better take noder dive,” suggested his friend.“Hooroo!” shouted Larry, as he whipped another large fish out of the pool.This, however, was the last for some time. The trout, ere long, appeared to have settleddown into their former lazy condition, and the anglers’ hopes were sinking, when it suddenly occurred to the Irishman, that if the fish were stirred up with a pole they might be again roused to an appreciation of their advantages. Accordingly a pole was cut, the trout were judiciously stirred up, and several of them actually took the bait in the course of the afternoon—whether under the influence of the unwonted excitement we do not pretend to say, but certain it is that before sunset an excellent dish was secured for supper!Equally peaceful and pleasant were the experiences of our hero and the trapper on that tranquil day. They wandered about in a state of silent happiness all the forenoon; then they shot a grizzly bear, the claws and teeth of which were claimed by Will, as he had drawn first blood. After that a deer chanced to come within range of the trapper, who brought it down, cut off the best parts of the meat, and, kindling a fire on the spot, sat down with his companion to a fat venison steak and a pipe.“This sort o’ life is what I calls happiness,” said Big Ben, puffing out a cloud, through the hazy curls of which he gazed at a sunny landscape of unrivalled beauty.“So it is,” assented Will Osten, with enthusiasm.“An’ yet,” pursued Big Ben, thoughtfully, “when I come to think on’t, this sort o’ life would be no happiness to an old man, or to a weak one.”“No, nor to a woman,” added Will.“Not so sure o’ that,” said the trapper; “I’ve know’d Injun women as was about as good hunters as their husbands, an’ enjoyed it quite as much.”“That may be so, Ben, but women of the civilised world would scarcely think this a happy sort of life.”“P’raps not,” returned Ben. “Happiness is a queer thing, after all. I’ve often thought that it’s neither huntin’ nor farmin’, nor fair weather nor foul, that brings it about in the heart o’ man or woman, but that it comes nat’ral to man, woman, and child, when they does what is best suited to their minds and bodies, and when they does it in the right way.”“Which is very much like saying,” observed Will, “that happiness consists in obeying the laws of God, both natural and revealed.”“Just so,” assented the trapper, after a few moments’ consideration, “though I never quite thought of it in that light before.”Thus they conversed—or, rather, in somewhat similar strains they chatted, for they did not pursue any subject long, but allowed their minds to rove where fancy led—until evening began to close; then they carried their meat into camp and closed the day with a sumptuous feast of fish, flesh, and fowl, round a blazing fire, while the stream, which formed their beverage, warbled sweet music in their ears.This, reader, is a specimen of one of their quiet days, and many such they had; but as these days of peace bore no proportion to the days of toil and trouble, we must beg you to be content with the account of this one as a fair sample of the rest, while we carry you over the Rocky Mountains and bear you down their western slopes towards the Pacific Ocean.The mountains being crossed, the future course of our travellers was down hill, but in some respects it was more toilsome than their uphill journey had been. The scenery changed considerably in respect of the character of its vegetation, and was even more rugged than heretofore, while the trees were larger and the underwood more dense. Many a narrow escape had Will and his friends during the weeks that followed, and many a wild adventure, all of which, however, terminated happily—except one, to which we now request attention.They had reached the Fraser River—that celebrated stream of British Columbia which waters a country that was destined in after years to become one of the great gold-mining regions of the world. On the afternoon of which we write, the party rode with difficulty down the rugged banks of the river, which, roaring through a narrow valley, had overflowed its banks, so that the trail was completely covered, the horses being frequently up to the girths in water. In the course of the day they came to a place where the trail passed along the face of a lofty cliff of crumbling slate. The path was only just wide enough for the horses to pass. On the right rose a perpendicular precipice. On the left, a few yards below, the swollen waters of the Fraser roared and boiled down their rocky bed with tremendous velocity. On turning a projection they found the track barred by a huge rock which had recently slipped down the mountain side. As it was impossible to pass the obstacle either above or below, there was nothing for it but to cut down trees, use them as levers, and dislodge the mass. It was discovered, when they dismounted to undertake this task, that Larry O’Hale was amissing. Will Osten had just uttered an exclamation of surprise, and the others had not had time to reply to the question, “Hallo! what’s become of Larry?” when that worthy’s voice was heard shouting in the distance, and his horse’s hoofs were heard clattering along the narrow track as he approached at full gallop.“Hooroo! howld on, doctor; hi’ Bunco an’ Ben, look here. Goold, avic, goold, I’ve got it at long last, sure enough!”“You’ve got rid of your senses at last,” said Will, as his comrade almost rode him down. “Have a care, man! What makes you ride at such a pace?”“Goold! goold! goold!” cried the excited Irishman, plucking a little bag from his breast, leaping off his horse, and pouring the contents—a mass of glittering lumps and particles—on a flat stone. “Didn’t I tell ye I was born to make my fortin’ out o’ goold? There’s plenty more where that comed from. Come back an’ I’ll show ’ee the place!”“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Larry,” said Will, examining the so-called gold, “but I have seen this stuff before, and I believe it to be a substance which is not worth its weight in brass. Many poor fellows have been deceived by it beforenow.”Larry’s face elongated very much at this. “What sayyou, Ben?” he inquired.“I fear me that it an’t worth picking up,” replied the trapper, fingering the shining particles. “Leastwise I once collected a bag o’ the same an’ showed it to a man in the settlements who got the credit o’ bein’ a knowin’ fellow in regard to metals. He told me it was somethin’ that I don’t remember the name of, but worth nothing, so I heaved it away.”Thus doubly assured, Larry sighed deeply as he collected the shining metal into the bag,and stood eyeing it disconsolately. At this point Bunco chuckled.“Worse luck to it,” cried Larry, starting and tossing the bag violently into the stream, where it sank and vanished for ever. Little did any of the party imagine, at that time, that they had actually cast away some hundred pounds worth of pure gold, yet such was actually the case!As it left Larry’s hand, the bag touched the nose of his horse, which shied, slipped over the bank, fell into the river, and was swept away. Instantly they all clapped their shoulders to the big stone, and pushed with such good-will that it slipped and went crashing into the stream, while the party went off at full speed after the horse. The poor animal was found at last stranded amid a mass of driftwood, with its saddle and baggage gone, but beyond this and the fright, no harm was done.“Misfortin’s niver come single. ’Tis always the way. Howsiver, niver say die; better luck nixt time; ye’ll make yer fortin’ yit, av ye only parsevair an’ kape up yer heart, ould boy.” Thus soliloquising, the unfortunate man remounted his wet and bare-backed steed, and rode away.Time and tide are usually understood to wait for no man; we therefore decline to wait either for time or tide, but, sweeping onward in advance of both, convey our readers at once to the sea coast near Vancouver’s Island, where our adventurers arrived after an unusual share of toil and trouble, and found a small craft about to sail for California—took passage in her, and, in due time, arrived at San Francisco. The gold-fever had just set in there. The whole town was in an uproar of confusion. Excitable men had given up their ordinary work, or shut their shops, and gone off to the diggings. Ships were lying idle in the bay, having been deserted by their crews, who had gone to the same point of attraction, and new arrivals were constantly swelling the tide of gold-seekers. Here Will Osten found his father’s agent—a staid old gentleman of Spanish extraction, who, being infirm as well as old, was fever-proof. Being somewhat taciturn, however, and rendered irritable by the upheavings of social life which were going on around him, he only vouchsafed the information that the estate which belonged to the late Mr Osten was near the goldfields; that it was not a rich one by any means, and that his advice to Will was to go and see it for himself. Accepting the advice, our hero expended the greater part of his remaining cash in purchasing provisions, etcetera, for the journey to the Sacramento River. By steamer they accomplished the first part of it, and on horseback progressed north-eastward until they drew near to the mighty mountain range named the Sierra Nevada.On the way they had more than enough of company, for men of every clime and of all ages, between sixteen and fifty, were travelling on every description of horse and mule in the same direction. From most of these, however, they parted on reaching the entrance to the narrow valley in which the estate was said to lie.“Is it far up the valley?” asked Will Osten of the landlord of the last ranche, or inn (a small hovel) in which they had passed the night.“Not far,” replied the innkeeper, a shrewd intelligent Yankee, with a touch of the nasal tone for which the race is noted; “guess it’s about three leagues off.”“A wild gloomy sort o’ place, no doubt?” asked Larry.“Rayther. It’ll stand tamin’ a bit. There’s nobody lives in the whole valley ’xcept a band o’ miners who have been prospectin’ all over it an’ locatin’ themselves in the house without leave.”“Locatin’, is it?” exclaimed Larry, “faix, it’s vacatin’ it they’ll be, widout so much as ‘by yer lave,’ this night.”“Have they found much gold, do you know?” asked Will Osten.“Believe not,” replied the innkeeper. “It’s not a likely place—though theremaybe some, for gold has been found below this, as you would see, I s’pose, when you passed the diggers on Cocktail Creek.”Bidding the host good-bye, our hero and his friends rode off to take possession of the estate. They were well armed, for, in these days, might, not right, was the law of the land.It was evening before they reached the head of the valley where stood the house or wooden cottage which had been the abode of Will’s eccentric old relative. The scenery was savage and forbidding in the extreme. Lofty mountains rose on every side, and only a small portion of the land in the neighbourhood of the dwelling had been brought under cultivation. The house itself was a low long-shaped building, and stood on the banks of a stream which gushed and tumbled furiously along its rocky bed, as if in hot haste to escape from the dark mountain gorges which gave it birth. A hut near by was the residence of an old native who had been the owner’s only servant, and a few cattle grazing in the meadow behind the house were tended by him with as much solicitude as though his late master had been still alive. The only cheering point in the scene was a gleam of ruddy light which shot from a window of the house and lost itself in the deepening gloom of evening.“A most lugubrious spot,” said Will, surveying it sadly as he rode forward.“Faix, I’d recommend ye to sell it to the miners for whativer it’ll fetch,” said Larry, in a disappointed tone.“They’re a jovial set of squatters, whatever else they may be,” said Big Ben, as an uproarious chorus issued from the house. “Hallo! Bunco, what d’ye hear, lad?”Bunco’s visage displayed at that moment a compound expression of surprise and deep attention. Again the chorus swelled out and came down on the breeze, inducing Bunco to mutter a few words to Big Ben in his native tongue.“What is it?” inquired Will, eagerly, on beholding the huge frame of the trapper quivering with suppressed laughter.“Nothin’, nothin’,” said Ben, dismounting, “only the redskin’s ears are sharp, and he has heard surprisin’ sounds. Go with him on foot. I’ll hold the horses.”“Come ’long, foller me quick as you can,” said Bunco, in a whisper—“no take gum?—no use for dem.”Filled with surprise and curiosity, Will and Larry followed their comrade, who went straight towards the window from which the light streamed. A voice was heard singing within, but it was not loud, and the air could not be distinguished until the chorus burst forth from, a number of powerful lungs:—“Hearts of oak are our ships, Jolly tars are our men—”At the first note, Larry sprang past his companions, and peeped into the room. The sight that met his gaze was indeed well calculated to strike him dumb, for there, in a circle on the floor, with the remains of a roast of beef in the centre—red-shirted, long-booted, uncombed, and deeply bronzed—sat six old comrades, whom they had not seen for such a length of time that they had almost forgotten their existence—namely, Captain Dall, long David Cupples, old Peter, Captain Blathers, Muggins, and Buckawanga! They were seated, in every variety of attitude, round a packing-box, which did duty for a table, and each held in his hand a tin mug, from which he drained a long draught at the end of the chorus. The last shout of the chorus was given with such vigour that Larry O’Hale was unable to restrain himself. He flung open the door, leaped into the room with a cheer and a yell that caused every man to spring up and seize the nearest weapon, and Captain Dall, in a burst of fiery indignation, was in the act of bringing a huge mass of firewood down on the Irishman’s skull when Will Osten sprang in and arrested his arm. At the same moment Muggins recognised his old messmate, and, rushing at him, seized him with a hug worthy of a black bear!To describe the scene of surprise, confusion, and delight that followed were impossible. The questions put that were never answered; the answers given to questions never put; the exclamations; the cross purposes; the inextricable conglomeration of past, present, and future history—public, personal, and local; uttered, ejaculated and gasped, in short, or incomplete, or disjointed sentences—all this baffles description. After a few minutes, however, they quieted down, and, while the new arrivals attacked the roast of beef, their former messmates talked incessantly, and all at once!“You’re the laird of a splendid estate of rocks and scrub,” said Captain Dall to Will.“Not to mention the river,” replied Will, smiling.“Without fish in it, ha!” groaned Cupples.“But lots o’ goold,” suggested Larry, with a wink; “give us a drop o’ yer grog, lads, it’s dry work meetin’ so many friends all at wanst.”“Nothin’ but water here!” said Muggins.“What! wos ye singin’ like that on cowld wather?”“We wos!” returned Muggins.“An’ what’s more,” said Old Peter, “we’ve got used to it, an’ don’t feel the want of grog at all. ‘What’s in a name,’ as Jonathan Edwards says in his play of ‘Have it yer own way,’ or somethin’ like that. Why, if you call it grog an’ make believe, it goes down like—like—”“Wather,” suggested Larry; “well, well, let’s have a drop, whativer it is.”“But how comes it to pass,” inquired Will, “that we should all meet here just as people are made to do in a novel, or at the end of the last scene in a play?”“Nothing more natural,” said Captain Blathers. “You know, when we were cast adrift by the scoundrels that took my ship, Captain Dall, Mr Cupples, and I, made the coast, and got to San Francisco, where we remained, working at what we could, to scrape together a little money before leaving for England, as we had no heart for the goldfields. Some months after that we were surprised to see Old Peter and Muggins wandering about the town like beggars. They had come in a small craft from South America, and were very glad to join us. We were soon persuaded by them to go to the goldfields, and were about to start when we heard of this estate that had been left to a Mr Osten by his brother. I made inquiries, found it was your father it was left to, and, having heard from Muggins of your father’s death, I wrote a letter to let you know we were here, and to ask advice—which letter, by the way, is about half seas over to England by this time, if all’s well. Then we agreed to come here, and prospect for gold all over the estate—the which we have done, but without much luck as yet, I’m sorry to say.”“But you have not yet accounted for the appearance of Buckawanga?” said Will.“Oh, as to that, Muggins recognised him one day in the street. We found he had come over from them rascally Cannibal Islands, in the service of a missionary—”“What!” exclaimed Will, dropping his knife and fork.“The missionary, you know,” said Captain Dall; “Mr Westwood, who—”“Is he—is hisfamily—in San Francisco?” asked Will, recovering himself and pretending to be busy with his supper.“Ay, he is on his way to England—waiting for a ship, I believe; but Buckawanga prefers the goldfields, and so, has come with us, as you see.”“Are the Westwoods well—allof them?”“So far as we know, they are. But in regard to the gold hereabouts—”“Ay, that’s the thing,” said Larry, who had glanced at our hero with twinkling eyes when reference was made to the Westwoods; “nothin’ like goold to warm the heart of a poor man an’ gladden the eyes of a rich wan. It’s that same as’ll interest the doctor most.”“Well,” resumed the captain, “as I was about to say—”“Didn’t I hear you say something about going to San Francisco for fresh supplies and more tools a few minutes ago?” asked Will, abruptly.“You did; we are short of provender and hard up for tools. I meant to start to-morrow, but now that you’ve come I’ll delay—”“We’ll not delay an hour,” cried Will, with unusual energy. “It will never do to waste time here when people are making fortunes all round us. The rest of the party can remain to prospect—but you and I, captain, will start for San Franciscoto-morrow!”“Ho, ho!” said Larry to himself that night, as he smoked his pipe after retiring to rest; “it’s neck or nothin’ is it—never ventur’ never win, is the word? Well, well, ’tis the way o’ the world. My blessin’ go wid ye, doctor.” With this benediction on his lips he turned round, shook the ashes out of his pipe and went to sleep.
We must guard the reader, at this point, from supposing that our adventurers werealwaystumbling out of frying-pans into fires, or that theyneverenjoyed repose. By no means. The duty which lies upon us, to recount the mostpiquantand stirring of the incidents in their journeying, necessitates the omission of much that is deeply interesting, though unexciting and peaceful.
For instance,—on one occasion, Larry and Bunco were deputed to fish for trout, while our hero and the trapper went after deer. The place selected by the anglers was a clear quiet pool in a small but deep rivulet, which flowed down the gentle slope of a wooded hill. The distant surroundings no doubt were wild enough, but the immediate spot to which we refer might have been a scene in bonnie Scotland, and would have gladdened the heart of a painter as being hisbeau idéal, perhaps, of a “quiet nook.” The day was quiet too; the little birds, apparently, were very happy, and the sun was very bright—so bright that it shone through the mirror-like surface of the pool right down to the bottom, and there revealed several large fat trout, which were teazed and tempted and even exhorted to meet their fate, by the earnest Larry. The converse on the occasion, too, was quiet and peaceful. It was what we may style a lazy sort of day, and the anglers felt lazy, and so did the fish, for, although they saw the baits which were held temptingly before their noses, they refused to bite. Trout in those regions are not timid. We speak from personal experience. They saw Larry and Bunco sitting astride the trunk of a fallen tree, with their toes in the water, bending earnestly over the pool, just as distinctly as these worthies saw the fish; but they cared not a drop of water for them! Larry, therefore, sought to beguile the time and entertain his friend by giving him glowing accounts of men and manners in the Green Isle. So this pleasant peaceful day passed by, and Pat’s heart had reached a state of sweet tranquillity, when, happening to bend a little too far over the pool, in order to see a peculiarly large trout which was looking at him, he lost his balance and fell into it, head first, with a heavy plunge, which scattered its occupants right and left! Bunco chuckled immensely as he assisted to haul him out, and even ventured to chaff him a little.
“Yoo’s good for dive, me tink.”
“True for ye, lad,” said Larry, smiling benignantly, as he resumed his seat on the tree-trunk, and squeezed the water out of his garments. “I was always good at that an’ it’s so hot here that I took a sudden fancy to spaik to the fishes, but the dirty spalpeens are too quick for me. I do belaive they’re comin’ back! Look there at that wan—six pound av he’s an ounce.”
Not only did the six-pounder return to the pool almost immediately after Larry left it, but a large number of his brethren bore him company, and took up their former position as if nothing had happened. Nay, more, the surprise had apparently so far stirred them up and awakened them to a perception of their opportunities, that the six-pounder languidly swallowed Bunco’s hook and was in a moment whisked out of his native pool and landed on the bank,—for the anglers fished with stout cord and unbending rods!
“Musha! but ye’ve got ’im,” exclaimed Larry.
“Yoos better take noder dive,” suggested his friend.
“Hooroo!” shouted Larry, as he whipped another large fish out of the pool.
This, however, was the last for some time. The trout, ere long, appeared to have settleddown into their former lazy condition, and the anglers’ hopes were sinking, when it suddenly occurred to the Irishman, that if the fish were stirred up with a pole they might be again roused to an appreciation of their advantages. Accordingly a pole was cut, the trout were judiciously stirred up, and several of them actually took the bait in the course of the afternoon—whether under the influence of the unwonted excitement we do not pretend to say, but certain it is that before sunset an excellent dish was secured for supper!
Equally peaceful and pleasant were the experiences of our hero and the trapper on that tranquil day. They wandered about in a state of silent happiness all the forenoon; then they shot a grizzly bear, the claws and teeth of which were claimed by Will, as he had drawn first blood. After that a deer chanced to come within range of the trapper, who brought it down, cut off the best parts of the meat, and, kindling a fire on the spot, sat down with his companion to a fat venison steak and a pipe.
“This sort o’ life is what I calls happiness,” said Big Ben, puffing out a cloud, through the hazy curls of which he gazed at a sunny landscape of unrivalled beauty.
“So it is,” assented Will Osten, with enthusiasm.
“An’ yet,” pursued Big Ben, thoughtfully, “when I come to think on’t, this sort o’ life would be no happiness to an old man, or to a weak one.”
“No, nor to a woman,” added Will.
“Not so sure o’ that,” said the trapper; “I’ve know’d Injun women as was about as good hunters as their husbands, an’ enjoyed it quite as much.”
“That may be so, Ben, but women of the civilised world would scarcely think this a happy sort of life.”
“P’raps not,” returned Ben. “Happiness is a queer thing, after all. I’ve often thought that it’s neither huntin’ nor farmin’, nor fair weather nor foul, that brings it about in the heart o’ man or woman, but that it comes nat’ral to man, woman, and child, when they does what is best suited to their minds and bodies, and when they does it in the right way.”
“Which is very much like saying,” observed Will, “that happiness consists in obeying the laws of God, both natural and revealed.”
“Just so,” assented the trapper, after a few moments’ consideration, “though I never quite thought of it in that light before.”
Thus they conversed—or, rather, in somewhat similar strains they chatted, for they did not pursue any subject long, but allowed their minds to rove where fancy led—until evening began to close; then they carried their meat into camp and closed the day with a sumptuous feast of fish, flesh, and fowl, round a blazing fire, while the stream, which formed their beverage, warbled sweet music in their ears.
This, reader, is a specimen of one of their quiet days, and many such they had; but as these days of peace bore no proportion to the days of toil and trouble, we must beg you to be content with the account of this one as a fair sample of the rest, while we carry you over the Rocky Mountains and bear you down their western slopes towards the Pacific Ocean.
The mountains being crossed, the future course of our travellers was down hill, but in some respects it was more toilsome than their uphill journey had been. The scenery changed considerably in respect of the character of its vegetation, and was even more rugged than heretofore, while the trees were larger and the underwood more dense. Many a narrow escape had Will and his friends during the weeks that followed, and many a wild adventure, all of which, however, terminated happily—except one, to which we now request attention.
They had reached the Fraser River—that celebrated stream of British Columbia which waters a country that was destined in after years to become one of the great gold-mining regions of the world. On the afternoon of which we write, the party rode with difficulty down the rugged banks of the river, which, roaring through a narrow valley, had overflowed its banks, so that the trail was completely covered, the horses being frequently up to the girths in water. In the course of the day they came to a place where the trail passed along the face of a lofty cliff of crumbling slate. The path was only just wide enough for the horses to pass. On the right rose a perpendicular precipice. On the left, a few yards below, the swollen waters of the Fraser roared and boiled down their rocky bed with tremendous velocity. On turning a projection they found the track barred by a huge rock which had recently slipped down the mountain side. As it was impossible to pass the obstacle either above or below, there was nothing for it but to cut down trees, use them as levers, and dislodge the mass. It was discovered, when they dismounted to undertake this task, that Larry O’Hale was amissing. Will Osten had just uttered an exclamation of surprise, and the others had not had time to reply to the question, “Hallo! what’s become of Larry?” when that worthy’s voice was heard shouting in the distance, and his horse’s hoofs were heard clattering along the narrow track as he approached at full gallop.
“Hooroo! howld on, doctor; hi’ Bunco an’ Ben, look here. Goold, avic, goold, I’ve got it at long last, sure enough!”
“You’ve got rid of your senses at last,” said Will, as his comrade almost rode him down. “Have a care, man! What makes you ride at such a pace?”
“Goold! goold! goold!” cried the excited Irishman, plucking a little bag from his breast, leaping off his horse, and pouring the contents—a mass of glittering lumps and particles—on a flat stone. “Didn’t I tell ye I was born to make my fortin’ out o’ goold? There’s plenty more where that comed from. Come back an’ I’ll show ’ee the place!”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Larry,” said Will, examining the so-called gold, “but I have seen this stuff before, and I believe it to be a substance which is not worth its weight in brass. Many poor fellows have been deceived by it beforenow.”
Larry’s face elongated very much at this. “What sayyou, Ben?” he inquired.
“I fear me that it an’t worth picking up,” replied the trapper, fingering the shining particles. “Leastwise I once collected a bag o’ the same an’ showed it to a man in the settlements who got the credit o’ bein’ a knowin’ fellow in regard to metals. He told me it was somethin’ that I don’t remember the name of, but worth nothing, so I heaved it away.”
Thus doubly assured, Larry sighed deeply as he collected the shining metal into the bag,and stood eyeing it disconsolately. At this point Bunco chuckled.
“Worse luck to it,” cried Larry, starting and tossing the bag violently into the stream, where it sank and vanished for ever. Little did any of the party imagine, at that time, that they had actually cast away some hundred pounds worth of pure gold, yet such was actually the case!
As it left Larry’s hand, the bag touched the nose of his horse, which shied, slipped over the bank, fell into the river, and was swept away. Instantly they all clapped their shoulders to the big stone, and pushed with such good-will that it slipped and went crashing into the stream, while the party went off at full speed after the horse. The poor animal was found at last stranded amid a mass of driftwood, with its saddle and baggage gone, but beyond this and the fright, no harm was done.
“Misfortin’s niver come single. ’Tis always the way. Howsiver, niver say die; better luck nixt time; ye’ll make yer fortin’ yit, av ye only parsevair an’ kape up yer heart, ould boy.” Thus soliloquising, the unfortunate man remounted his wet and bare-backed steed, and rode away.
Time and tide are usually understood to wait for no man; we therefore decline to wait either for time or tide, but, sweeping onward in advance of both, convey our readers at once to the sea coast near Vancouver’s Island, where our adventurers arrived after an unusual share of toil and trouble, and found a small craft about to sail for California—took passage in her, and, in due time, arrived at San Francisco. The gold-fever had just set in there. The whole town was in an uproar of confusion. Excitable men had given up their ordinary work, or shut their shops, and gone off to the diggings. Ships were lying idle in the bay, having been deserted by their crews, who had gone to the same point of attraction, and new arrivals were constantly swelling the tide of gold-seekers. Here Will Osten found his father’s agent—a staid old gentleman of Spanish extraction, who, being infirm as well as old, was fever-proof. Being somewhat taciturn, however, and rendered irritable by the upheavings of social life which were going on around him, he only vouchsafed the information that the estate which belonged to the late Mr Osten was near the goldfields; that it was not a rich one by any means, and that his advice to Will was to go and see it for himself. Accepting the advice, our hero expended the greater part of his remaining cash in purchasing provisions, etcetera, for the journey to the Sacramento River. By steamer they accomplished the first part of it, and on horseback progressed north-eastward until they drew near to the mighty mountain range named the Sierra Nevada.
On the way they had more than enough of company, for men of every clime and of all ages, between sixteen and fifty, were travelling on every description of horse and mule in the same direction. From most of these, however, they parted on reaching the entrance to the narrow valley in which the estate was said to lie.
“Is it far up the valley?” asked Will Osten of the landlord of the last ranche, or inn (a small hovel) in which they had passed the night.
“Not far,” replied the innkeeper, a shrewd intelligent Yankee, with a touch of the nasal tone for which the race is noted; “guess it’s about three leagues off.”
“A wild gloomy sort o’ place, no doubt?” asked Larry.
“Rayther. It’ll stand tamin’ a bit. There’s nobody lives in the whole valley ’xcept a band o’ miners who have been prospectin’ all over it an’ locatin’ themselves in the house without leave.”
“Locatin’, is it?” exclaimed Larry, “faix, it’s vacatin’ it they’ll be, widout so much as ‘by yer lave,’ this night.”
“Have they found much gold, do you know?” asked Will Osten.
“Believe not,” replied the innkeeper. “It’s not a likely place—though theremaybe some, for gold has been found below this, as you would see, I s’pose, when you passed the diggers on Cocktail Creek.”
Bidding the host good-bye, our hero and his friends rode off to take possession of the estate. They were well armed, for, in these days, might, not right, was the law of the land.
It was evening before they reached the head of the valley where stood the house or wooden cottage which had been the abode of Will’s eccentric old relative. The scenery was savage and forbidding in the extreme. Lofty mountains rose on every side, and only a small portion of the land in the neighbourhood of the dwelling had been brought under cultivation. The house itself was a low long-shaped building, and stood on the banks of a stream which gushed and tumbled furiously along its rocky bed, as if in hot haste to escape from the dark mountain gorges which gave it birth. A hut near by was the residence of an old native who had been the owner’s only servant, and a few cattle grazing in the meadow behind the house were tended by him with as much solicitude as though his late master had been still alive. The only cheering point in the scene was a gleam of ruddy light which shot from a window of the house and lost itself in the deepening gloom of evening.
“A most lugubrious spot,” said Will, surveying it sadly as he rode forward.
“Faix, I’d recommend ye to sell it to the miners for whativer it’ll fetch,” said Larry, in a disappointed tone.
“They’re a jovial set of squatters, whatever else they may be,” said Big Ben, as an uproarious chorus issued from the house. “Hallo! Bunco, what d’ye hear, lad?”
Bunco’s visage displayed at that moment a compound expression of surprise and deep attention. Again the chorus swelled out and came down on the breeze, inducing Bunco to mutter a few words to Big Ben in his native tongue.
“What is it?” inquired Will, eagerly, on beholding the huge frame of the trapper quivering with suppressed laughter.
“Nothin’, nothin’,” said Ben, dismounting, “only the redskin’s ears are sharp, and he has heard surprisin’ sounds. Go with him on foot. I’ll hold the horses.”
“Come ’long, foller me quick as you can,” said Bunco, in a whisper—“no take gum?—no use for dem.”
Filled with surprise and curiosity, Will and Larry followed their comrade, who went straight towards the window from which the light streamed. A voice was heard singing within, but it was not loud, and the air could not be distinguished until the chorus burst forth from, a number of powerful lungs:—
“Hearts of oak are our ships, Jolly tars are our men—”
At the first note, Larry sprang past his companions, and peeped into the room. The sight that met his gaze was indeed well calculated to strike him dumb, for there, in a circle on the floor, with the remains of a roast of beef in the centre—red-shirted, long-booted, uncombed, and deeply bronzed—sat six old comrades, whom they had not seen for such a length of time that they had almost forgotten their existence—namely, Captain Dall, long David Cupples, old Peter, Captain Blathers, Muggins, and Buckawanga! They were seated, in every variety of attitude, round a packing-box, which did duty for a table, and each held in his hand a tin mug, from which he drained a long draught at the end of the chorus. The last shout of the chorus was given with such vigour that Larry O’Hale was unable to restrain himself. He flung open the door, leaped into the room with a cheer and a yell that caused every man to spring up and seize the nearest weapon, and Captain Dall, in a burst of fiery indignation, was in the act of bringing a huge mass of firewood down on the Irishman’s skull when Will Osten sprang in and arrested his arm. At the same moment Muggins recognised his old messmate, and, rushing at him, seized him with a hug worthy of a black bear!
To describe the scene of surprise, confusion, and delight that followed were impossible. The questions put that were never answered; the answers given to questions never put; the exclamations; the cross purposes; the inextricable conglomeration of past, present, and future history—public, personal, and local; uttered, ejaculated and gasped, in short, or incomplete, or disjointed sentences—all this baffles description. After a few minutes, however, they quieted down, and, while the new arrivals attacked the roast of beef, their former messmates talked incessantly, and all at once!
“You’re the laird of a splendid estate of rocks and scrub,” said Captain Dall to Will.
“Not to mention the river,” replied Will, smiling.
“Without fish in it, ha!” groaned Cupples.
“But lots o’ goold,” suggested Larry, with a wink; “give us a drop o’ yer grog, lads, it’s dry work meetin’ so many friends all at wanst.”
“Nothin’ but water here!” said Muggins.
“What! wos ye singin’ like that on cowld wather?”
“We wos!” returned Muggins.
“An’ what’s more,” said Old Peter, “we’ve got used to it, an’ don’t feel the want of grog at all. ‘What’s in a name,’ as Jonathan Edwards says in his play of ‘Have it yer own way,’ or somethin’ like that. Why, if you call it grog an’ make believe, it goes down like—like—”
“Wather,” suggested Larry; “well, well, let’s have a drop, whativer it is.”
“But how comes it to pass,” inquired Will, “that we should all meet here just as people are made to do in a novel, or at the end of the last scene in a play?”
“Nothing more natural,” said Captain Blathers. “You know, when we were cast adrift by the scoundrels that took my ship, Captain Dall, Mr Cupples, and I, made the coast, and got to San Francisco, where we remained, working at what we could, to scrape together a little money before leaving for England, as we had no heart for the goldfields. Some months after that we were surprised to see Old Peter and Muggins wandering about the town like beggars. They had come in a small craft from South America, and were very glad to join us. We were soon persuaded by them to go to the goldfields, and were about to start when we heard of this estate that had been left to a Mr Osten by his brother. I made inquiries, found it was your father it was left to, and, having heard from Muggins of your father’s death, I wrote a letter to let you know we were here, and to ask advice—which letter, by the way, is about half seas over to England by this time, if all’s well. Then we agreed to come here, and prospect for gold all over the estate—the which we have done, but without much luck as yet, I’m sorry to say.”
“But you have not yet accounted for the appearance of Buckawanga?” said Will.
“Oh, as to that, Muggins recognised him one day in the street. We found he had come over from them rascally Cannibal Islands, in the service of a missionary—”
“What!” exclaimed Will, dropping his knife and fork.
“The missionary, you know,” said Captain Dall; “Mr Westwood, who—”
“Is he—is hisfamily—in San Francisco?” asked Will, recovering himself and pretending to be busy with his supper.
“Ay, he is on his way to England—waiting for a ship, I believe; but Buckawanga prefers the goldfields, and so, has come with us, as you see.”
“Are the Westwoods well—allof them?”
“So far as we know, they are. But in regard to the gold hereabouts—”
“Ay, that’s the thing,” said Larry, who had glanced at our hero with twinkling eyes when reference was made to the Westwoods; “nothin’ like goold to warm the heart of a poor man an’ gladden the eyes of a rich wan. It’s that same as’ll interest the doctor most.”
“Well,” resumed the captain, “as I was about to say—”
“Didn’t I hear you say something about going to San Francisco for fresh supplies and more tools a few minutes ago?” asked Will, abruptly.
“You did; we are short of provender and hard up for tools. I meant to start to-morrow, but now that you’ve come I’ll delay—”
“We’ll not delay an hour,” cried Will, with unusual energy. “It will never do to waste time here when people are making fortunes all round us. The rest of the party can remain to prospect—but you and I, captain, will start for San Franciscoto-morrow!”
“Ho, ho!” said Larry to himself that night, as he smoked his pipe after retiring to rest; “it’s neck or nothin’ is it—never ventur’ never win, is the word? Well, well, ’tis the way o’ the world. My blessin’ go wid ye, doctor.” With this benediction on his lips he turned round, shook the ashes out of his pipe and went to sleep.
Chapter Six.In which Will makes a Retrograde Movement, and things come to a Pretty Pass—A Sudden and Decisive Step.Next morning, true to his word, Will Osten started off to retrace his steps to San Francisco, much to the regret as well as surprise of all his friends, except Larry O’Hale and Bunco, both of whom, being aware of his motive, chuckled mightily in their sleeves but wisely said nothing. Will was accompanied by Captain Dall and Mr Cupples, the former of whom gave him an account of his adventures since the period of their separation in the South Seas. As most of these adventures, however, were not particularly striking, and as they do not bear upon our tale, we will not inflict them on the reader, but merely refer to that part of the captain’s career which was mixed up with our hero’s new possessions in the Grizzly Bear Gulch, as his valley was named.“You see, doctor,” said Captain Dall, as they cantered easily over the soft turf of a wide plain, which, a little beyond the entrance to the gulch, spread out for a considerable distance along the base of the Sierra Nevada, “you see, when we discovered that this valley, or gulch, as they call it here, was yours—or your father’s, which I suppose means the same thing—Captain Blathers, Mr Cupples, Muggins, Old Peter, and I held a council of war, and came to the conclusion that we would go up an’ have a look at it, hopin’ to find gold, but first of all we went to the regular diggin’s on the Sacramento River to learn how to wash out the dirt an’ make enough to keep us goin’. When we had done this an’ lined our pockets with enough of gold-dust to set us up, we started for Grizzly Bear Gulch, where we found nobody but Old Timothy, the native that had been your uncle’s servant.”“Timothy,” said Will, “was that his name?”“No, but he could not tell us his name, for the good reason that he does not understand a word of English, so we christened him Timothy, and he answers to it. The old man cut up rusty at first, and seemed disposed to drive us away, but by howling the name of Osten into his ears and giving him a little gold, we converted him into a friend, and got him to allow us to squat in the empty house. Then we went off prospecting, and found gold, sure enough, in the stream in front of the door, but there was not much in the places we tried—little more than enough to pay.”“Then you don’t think much of the property, I suppose,” said Will, “for it is evident that in regard to agriculture it is not worth a straw?”“I’m not so sure of that,” returned the captain. “What doyouthink, Mr Cupples?”The mate, whose melancholy tones and expressions had increased with his shore-going experiences, said that he did not know; that he was no judge of such matters, but that goldmightbe found in quantity, and, if so, the place would be worth something!“A safe conclusion,” said the captain, laughing; “but that is just the point. Goldhasturned up in all directions near the valley, and why should we not find it there? Besides, there is a pretty fair bit of land under cultivation, and vegetables fetch fabulous prices at the diggin’s; in addition to which there are a good many cattle on the ground, and provisions of all kinds are as good as gold just now—so, you see, I think that even if we don’t find more of the dust on it, there is some chance that you may raise the wind by the property if you act wisely.”“Well, we shall see,” said Will; “at all events I intend to make the most of my opportunities—and, talking of that, Captain Dall, as I see that Mr Cupples is lagging behind, a word in your ear—I’ll tell you a secret.”Hereupon our hero made the captain his confidant; told him of the object of his journey, and begged his advice and assistance, both of which the worthy man agreed to give him, to any extent, at any time, and under all circumstances—proving the sincerity of his assurances on the spot by at once offering several pieces of advice. One of these was, that Will should hasten on the consummation of his wishes without delay. This, as may be believed, was so consonant with Will’s own opinion that he accepted it at once, and acted upon it then and there, as far as was possible, by plying whip and spur so vigorously that his steed skimmed over the plain more like a swallow than a quadruped.Progressing thus they were not long in reaching the city of Sacramento, which was four or five days’ journey from Grizzly Bear Gulch. Here they embarked in a small schooner, and descended the noble Sacramento River, into which all the other rivers in California flow. Thence they coasted along the bay of San Francisco, which is a land-locked sea of more than forty miles in length, and, finally, anchored off the town of the same name. And a wonderful town it was! The news of the discovery of gold had drawn so many thousands of ships and men to the port, that the hamlet of former days had become a city of tents and iron and wooden edifices of every kind. Gold can indeed work wonders—and never was its power more wonderfully displayed than in the rapid growth of San Francisco.But our hero took small note of such matters. He was bent on a mission which engrossed his whole soul and all his faculties, and the fear that the Westwoods had found a homeward-bound ship, and perhaps had already set sail, induced him to go about everything he did in feverish haste. During the few weeks that had passed since he last saw it, the town had so changed its features that Will could scarce find his way, but at last he managed to discover the office of the agent who had advised him to go and see his property. Mr Zulino, as he was named, received his visitor with his wonted crustiness mingled with surprise, which was somewhat increased when he found that Will could not give a very comprehensible reason for his sudden return to the city. He could give no information as to the Westwoods, knew nothing about them, but advised that Will should make inquiry at the principal hotels in the town and at the shipping office, adding that he believed one of the ships which had long been lying in the port, unable to sail for want of hands, had at last succeeded in getting up a crew, and was to sail in a day or two for England, but he did not know her name or anything about her.“It is plain we can make nothing out of Mr Zulino,” said Will, with a look of chagrin, on quitting the office. “Come, let us go hunt up the hotels.”“Agreed,” cried Captain Dall. Mr Cupples groaned his readiness to follow, so they set off.All that day the three wandered about the city into every hotel and shipping office, and every public place they could find, until they were thoroughly exhausted, but without success.“Now, doctor,” said the captain, wiping his heated brow, “if we are to gain our ends, it is plain that we must feed. I feel like a ship’s hold without a cargo. See, here is a comfortable-looking inn; let us go and stow away something solid, have a pipe, and then turn in, so as to go at it fresh to-morrow morning early.”“Very well,” said Will, languidly; “but I cannot rest, so do you go and order something while I try to cool myself by taking a stroll up this hill; I’ll be back before supper is ready.”“I will go with you,” said Mr Cupples, gloomily.Poor Will would have gladly gone alone, but as he had no good reason for declining the companionship of his tall and solemn friend, he merely said “Very good,” and walked away. Passing over the hill they came to a neat little cottage with a small garden in front, in which were a variety of flowers that evidently were well tended. The windows and doors of the cottage were invitingly open. As they passed the garden-gate a voice suddenly exclaimed, “Walk in.”They stopped abruptly, looked at the open door, and then at each other in surprise.“Walk in,” repeated the voice, louder than before.“Well, really, I don’t see why we should refuse so pressing an invitation,” said Will with a smile.“You may go in; I’ll wait for you,” said Mr Cupples.In another minute our hero was in the lobby of the cottage, and then he discovered,—on the words “walk in” being reiterated very gruffly,—that it was a grey parrot which had been thus taught to use the language of hospitality! Will laughed, and was about to turn on his heel when he observed a female reclining on a couch in one of the rooms. She looked up quickly on hearing his step and laugh, and Will, hesitating for a moment, advanced with the intention of explaining and apologising.“Forgive my apparent intrusion, madam,” he said, “but your parrot deceived—what!—am I—Flora—Miss Westwood!” he exclaimed in amazement, leaping forward and seizing her hand.“Mr Osten!” said Flora, with a look of unfeigned surprise, “can it be—I—I—did not know—really—”Now, reader, it would be ungenerous were we to give you a detailed account of all the absurd things that were uttered at the commencement of the conversation. Suffice it to say that Will and Flora stammered and blushed, and grew hot and cold, and tried to look cool and failed, signally, and then, feeling how very awkward their position was, made a desperate effort to be commonplace, and so began to talk with intense solicitude about “the weather!” Will soon perceived, however, that in the circumstances this was utterly ridiculous, so he made another effort and asked about Flora’s father and mother, and then, happy thought, he suddenly remembered Buckawanga, and began to descant upon him, after which he naturally slid into ships and voyaging, and so came abruptly to the question:—“By the way, Miss Westwood, is it true that you are trying to secure a passage to England just now?”“We have succeeded in securing one,” said Flora, with a deep blush and a peculiar look. “We sailto-morrow.”“To-morrow!” cried Will, in consternation.There was for a moment a great swelling ofsomethingin our hero’s breast; then a sudden thought occurred, “Never venture never—;” next instant he seized Flora’s hand. “Oh, Miss West— Flora,dearestFlora—forgive—nay, do not turn away, I entreat, I beseech—”“Old rascal!” exclaimed a stern voice at his back at that moment.Will sprang up, burning with anger, and turning sharply round, observed the parrot gazing at him in mute surprise.“Walk in—old rascal,” repeated the bird.Will laughed, but there was a touch of bitterness in his tone as he turned again to Flora, who had risen from the couch.“This is an awkward interruption, Flo—Miss Westwood, but necessity constrains me. I must, Iwillspeak now, if—bear with me, dear girl, I did not mean to be rude, but—”A footstep was heard in the passage.“Supper will be cooling, I fear,” said the hollow voice of Mr Cupples. “Oh! I beg pardon. I did not know—I—”Will turned, and rushed at his friend with savage intentions. At the same moment the figure of a man darkened the doorway. Mr Cupples vanished out of the house, Flora glided away, and Will Osten found himself face to face with Mr Westwood!It might have been expected that the scene which followed would have been an embarrassing one, but such was not the case. Our hero had reached that point of nervous and mental turmoil and exasperation in which extremes meet. As the strong current of a river meets the rush of the rising tide, and at a certain point produces dead calm, so the conflicting currents in Will’s bosom reached the flood, and he became desperately serene, insomuch that he held out his hand to Mr Westwood, and, with a smile of candour and a tone of deep earnestness, explained “the situation,” and made “a clean breast of it.” The result was, that Mr and Mrs Westwood received his advances favourably, but, being naturally cautious and solicitous about the happiness of their daughter, they pointed out that it was impossible to come to any conclusion at that time, because, in the first place, Will was, by his own showing, a poor wanderer with only the prospect of an income at his mother’s death, and without professional practice; and, in the second place, as they were to set sail for England on the morrow, there was no time left even for consideration. Mr Westwood, therefore, said that he could not permit Will to see Flora again, except to bid her farewell, and advised him to have patience until he should return to England, where, he said frankly, he would be happy to see him. Will thereupon left the cottage, in a state of distraction, to lay his case before Captain Dall.“So you see, captain,” he added, after detailing all the circumstances, “there is only one course open to me, and that I am resolved to pursue. I shall sail for England in the—the what’s the name of the ship the Westwoods are to sail in?”“Don’t know,” answered the captain.“Of course not—no matter. We shall find out. She sails to-morrow at all events, and I go with her. You will go back with Mr Cupples to Grizzly Bear Gulch, work the gold, make what you can out of it, pay yourselves, and hold the estate for me. I’ll get that legally arranged to-night. You’ll tell my comrades how sorry I am to leave them so abruptly, but under the circumstances they will—”“Softly,” interrupted Captain Dall; “if all this is to be settled to-night, we had better set about it at once, and not waste time with words.”“Right, captain. Let us off to search for the captain of the ship.”Leaving Mr Cupples to eat the supper alone, our hero and his friend went out in hot haste, and soon found themselves in the presence of the captain of the Roving Bess, which was to sail next day.“By the way,” whispered Will to his friend, as they were entering the room in which the skipper sat, “do you happen to have any cash? forIhave only twenty pounds.”“Not a rap,” whispered the captain.“You are the captain of the Roving Bess, I am told?” said Will, addressing a big rawboned man, who sat at a table solacing himself with a glass of spirits and water and a cigar.“Ya–a–s, Cap’n Bra–a–o–wn, at y’r sarvice.”Captain Brown drawled this out so slowly that one might have supposed he did it on principle, as a sort of general protest against the high-pressure speed and hurry that influenced every one around him.“You have passengers going, I understand?”“Ya–a–s. Reverend genlm’n an’ two ladies.”“Can you take another?”“A dozen mo–a–r, if need be.”“Then put my name down. How much is the passage fare?”“Fo–a–g–sl two hundred, cabin three hundred pa–o–unds.”“What!” exclaimed Will.Captain Brown smiled. “You see,” said he, “it c–a–unt be done for less—ha— ’Bliged to give fa-bu-lous wages to crew, and only too thankful to get ’em at any price. Provisions cost their weight, a-most, in gold.”“Will you be here an hour hence?” asked our hero.“Ya–a–s, two hours hence,” drawled Captain Brown, lighting a fresh cigar at the stump of the old one.Will Osten linked his arm through that of Captain Dall, and hurried him into the street.“Now to the agent,” he said. “Ifhefails me, all is lost—stay! no; I can offer to work my passage. That did not occur to me till now. I shall keep it in reserve.”A few minutes more and they stood in the presence of Mr Zulino.“Is it possible,” said Will, with an anxious expression of face, “to sell the property in Grizzly Bear Gulchimmediately?”The dry visage of the agent wrinkled into a sarcastic smile as he replied “Ha! I see, you are like all the rest—wish to turn everything into gold. Well, itispossible to sell it, I make no doubt, because it is well situated and will increase in value; but what, do you mean byimmediately?”“To-night,” said Will.“Impossible.”“What’s to be done?” cried our hero, turning to Captain Dall with a look of such perplexity and disappointment that even the hard heart of Mr Zulino was touched.“Why such haste?” he inquired.“Because business of the most urgent kind requires that I should embark for England in a vessel which sails to-morrow, and I have not money enough to pay for my passage.”“I can lend you some on the property, at a high rate of interest,” said the agent.“Then do so, my dear sir,” said Will earnestly, “at any rate of interest you choose, and I will sign any papers you may require. My friend here, Captain Dall, will see that you are regularly paid. I assure you that I shallneverforget the obligation.”“Follow me,” said Mr Zulino, rising and putting on his hat.He led them to the office of a man who appeared to be connected with the law, and who drew up a paper which, being duly signed and witnessed, Mr Zulino put in his pocket, at the same time handing Will Osten a cheque for four hundred pounds.“Now, captain,” said Will, with a deep sigh of relief, as they, once more issued into the street, “we’ll go and enjoy our supper.”Next morning Will Osten, with a small portmanteau containing his little all in his hand, and accompanied by Captain Dall and Mr Cupples, pushed his way through the crowded streets to the quay, where a boat awaited him.“Once more, Captain Dall,” he said, turning round and grasping his friend’s hand, “farewell! I am sorry—more so than I can tell—to leave you. May God prosper you wherever you go. Remember my messages to our friends at the gulch. Tell Larry and Bunco, and the trapper especially, that I feel almost like a criminal for giving them the slip thus. But how can I help it?”“Of course, of course,” said Captain Dall, returning the hearty squeeze of Will’s hand, “how could you? Love, like necessity, has no law—or, rather, itself is a law which all must obey. Good-bye, lad, and good luck attend ee.”Silently shaking hands with Mr Cupples, whose lugubrious expression seemed appropriate to the occasion, Will leaped into the boat and was soon rowing over the bay to the spot where the Roving Bess lay with her anchor tripped and her sails loose. On approaching, he saw that Mr Westwood and his wife were pacing the quarterdeck, but Flora was not visible, the reason being that that busy little woman was down in her father’s berth putting it to rights—arranging and re-arranging everything, and puzzling her brains with numerous little contrivances which were all meant to add to the comfort and snugness of the place—wonderfully ingenious contrivances, which could not have emanated from the brain of any woman but one who possessed a warm heart, an earnest soul, a sweet face, and a turned-up nose! She was a good deal dishevelled about the head, in consequence of her exertions, and rather flushed, and her eyes were a little moist. Perhaps she was sad at the thought of leaving San Francisco—but no—she was leaving no friends behind her there.Thatcould not have been the cause!The little round port-hole of the berth was open, and she stopped ever and anon in the midst of her operations to look out and listen to the variety of shouts and songs that came from the boats, vessels, and barges in the bay. Suddenly she stopped, turned her head the least bit to one side, and listened intently.“My dear,” said Mr Westwood to his wife, standing on the deck and leaning over the bulwarks, exactly above the open port near to which Flora stood, “canthat be Mr Osten in yonder boat?”Flora’s bosom heaved, and her colour vanished.“I think it is—stay—no—it looks like—yes, itishe,” said Mrs Westwood.Flora’s face and neck became scarlet.Presently the plash of oars were heard near the vessel, and next moment a boat approached, but not from such a quarter as to be visible from the port-hole.“Mind your starboard oar,” said a deep voice, which caused Flora’s heart to beat against her chest, as if that dear little receptacle of good thoughts and warm feelings were too small to contain it, and it wanted to get out.“Good morning, Mr Osten,” cried Mr Westwood, looking down.“Good morning, sir,—good morning, Mrs Westwood,” answered Will, looking up.“It is very kind of you to take the trouble to come off to bid us good-bye,” said Mr Westwood.Flora trembled a little, and leaned upon the side of the berth.“I have not come to say good-bye,” said Will (Flora’s eyes opened wide with astonishment), “I am going—fend off, men, fend off, mind what you are about—I am going,” he said, looking up with a smile, “to sail with you to England.”A peculiar gleam shot from Flora’s eyes; the blood mantled again on her brow, and, sinking into a chair, she pressed her hands to her face and buried her head in her father’s pillow!
Next morning, true to his word, Will Osten started off to retrace his steps to San Francisco, much to the regret as well as surprise of all his friends, except Larry O’Hale and Bunco, both of whom, being aware of his motive, chuckled mightily in their sleeves but wisely said nothing. Will was accompanied by Captain Dall and Mr Cupples, the former of whom gave him an account of his adventures since the period of their separation in the South Seas. As most of these adventures, however, were not particularly striking, and as they do not bear upon our tale, we will not inflict them on the reader, but merely refer to that part of the captain’s career which was mixed up with our hero’s new possessions in the Grizzly Bear Gulch, as his valley was named.
“You see, doctor,” said Captain Dall, as they cantered easily over the soft turf of a wide plain, which, a little beyond the entrance to the gulch, spread out for a considerable distance along the base of the Sierra Nevada, “you see, when we discovered that this valley, or gulch, as they call it here, was yours—or your father’s, which I suppose means the same thing—Captain Blathers, Mr Cupples, Muggins, Old Peter, and I held a council of war, and came to the conclusion that we would go up an’ have a look at it, hopin’ to find gold, but first of all we went to the regular diggin’s on the Sacramento River to learn how to wash out the dirt an’ make enough to keep us goin’. When we had done this an’ lined our pockets with enough of gold-dust to set us up, we started for Grizzly Bear Gulch, where we found nobody but Old Timothy, the native that had been your uncle’s servant.”
“Timothy,” said Will, “was that his name?”
“No, but he could not tell us his name, for the good reason that he does not understand a word of English, so we christened him Timothy, and he answers to it. The old man cut up rusty at first, and seemed disposed to drive us away, but by howling the name of Osten into his ears and giving him a little gold, we converted him into a friend, and got him to allow us to squat in the empty house. Then we went off prospecting, and found gold, sure enough, in the stream in front of the door, but there was not much in the places we tried—little more than enough to pay.”
“Then you don’t think much of the property, I suppose,” said Will, “for it is evident that in regard to agriculture it is not worth a straw?”
“I’m not so sure of that,” returned the captain. “What doyouthink, Mr Cupples?”
The mate, whose melancholy tones and expressions had increased with his shore-going experiences, said that he did not know; that he was no judge of such matters, but that goldmightbe found in quantity, and, if so, the place would be worth something!
“A safe conclusion,” said the captain, laughing; “but that is just the point. Goldhasturned up in all directions near the valley, and why should we not find it there? Besides, there is a pretty fair bit of land under cultivation, and vegetables fetch fabulous prices at the diggin’s; in addition to which there are a good many cattle on the ground, and provisions of all kinds are as good as gold just now—so, you see, I think that even if we don’t find more of the dust on it, there is some chance that you may raise the wind by the property if you act wisely.”
“Well, we shall see,” said Will; “at all events I intend to make the most of my opportunities—and, talking of that, Captain Dall, as I see that Mr Cupples is lagging behind, a word in your ear—I’ll tell you a secret.”
Hereupon our hero made the captain his confidant; told him of the object of his journey, and begged his advice and assistance, both of which the worthy man agreed to give him, to any extent, at any time, and under all circumstances—proving the sincerity of his assurances on the spot by at once offering several pieces of advice. One of these was, that Will should hasten on the consummation of his wishes without delay. This, as may be believed, was so consonant with Will’s own opinion that he accepted it at once, and acted upon it then and there, as far as was possible, by plying whip and spur so vigorously that his steed skimmed over the plain more like a swallow than a quadruped.
Progressing thus they were not long in reaching the city of Sacramento, which was four or five days’ journey from Grizzly Bear Gulch. Here they embarked in a small schooner, and descended the noble Sacramento River, into which all the other rivers in California flow. Thence they coasted along the bay of San Francisco, which is a land-locked sea of more than forty miles in length, and, finally, anchored off the town of the same name. And a wonderful town it was! The news of the discovery of gold had drawn so many thousands of ships and men to the port, that the hamlet of former days had become a city of tents and iron and wooden edifices of every kind. Gold can indeed work wonders—and never was its power more wonderfully displayed than in the rapid growth of San Francisco.
But our hero took small note of such matters. He was bent on a mission which engrossed his whole soul and all his faculties, and the fear that the Westwoods had found a homeward-bound ship, and perhaps had already set sail, induced him to go about everything he did in feverish haste. During the few weeks that had passed since he last saw it, the town had so changed its features that Will could scarce find his way, but at last he managed to discover the office of the agent who had advised him to go and see his property. Mr Zulino, as he was named, received his visitor with his wonted crustiness mingled with surprise, which was somewhat increased when he found that Will could not give a very comprehensible reason for his sudden return to the city. He could give no information as to the Westwoods, knew nothing about them, but advised that Will should make inquiry at the principal hotels in the town and at the shipping office, adding that he believed one of the ships which had long been lying in the port, unable to sail for want of hands, had at last succeeded in getting up a crew, and was to sail in a day or two for England, but he did not know her name or anything about her.
“It is plain we can make nothing out of Mr Zulino,” said Will, with a look of chagrin, on quitting the office. “Come, let us go hunt up the hotels.”
“Agreed,” cried Captain Dall. Mr Cupples groaned his readiness to follow, so they set off.
All that day the three wandered about the city into every hotel and shipping office, and every public place they could find, until they were thoroughly exhausted, but without success.
“Now, doctor,” said the captain, wiping his heated brow, “if we are to gain our ends, it is plain that we must feed. I feel like a ship’s hold without a cargo. See, here is a comfortable-looking inn; let us go and stow away something solid, have a pipe, and then turn in, so as to go at it fresh to-morrow morning early.”
“Very well,” said Will, languidly; “but I cannot rest, so do you go and order something while I try to cool myself by taking a stroll up this hill; I’ll be back before supper is ready.”
“I will go with you,” said Mr Cupples, gloomily.
Poor Will would have gladly gone alone, but as he had no good reason for declining the companionship of his tall and solemn friend, he merely said “Very good,” and walked away. Passing over the hill they came to a neat little cottage with a small garden in front, in which were a variety of flowers that evidently were well tended. The windows and doors of the cottage were invitingly open. As they passed the garden-gate a voice suddenly exclaimed, “Walk in.”
They stopped abruptly, looked at the open door, and then at each other in surprise.
“Walk in,” repeated the voice, louder than before.
“Well, really, I don’t see why we should refuse so pressing an invitation,” said Will with a smile.
“You may go in; I’ll wait for you,” said Mr Cupples.
In another minute our hero was in the lobby of the cottage, and then he discovered,—on the words “walk in” being reiterated very gruffly,—that it was a grey parrot which had been thus taught to use the language of hospitality! Will laughed, and was about to turn on his heel when he observed a female reclining on a couch in one of the rooms. She looked up quickly on hearing his step and laugh, and Will, hesitating for a moment, advanced with the intention of explaining and apologising.
“Forgive my apparent intrusion, madam,” he said, “but your parrot deceived—what!—am I—Flora—Miss Westwood!” he exclaimed in amazement, leaping forward and seizing her hand.
“Mr Osten!” said Flora, with a look of unfeigned surprise, “can it be—I—I—did not know—really—”
Now, reader, it would be ungenerous were we to give you a detailed account of all the absurd things that were uttered at the commencement of the conversation. Suffice it to say that Will and Flora stammered and blushed, and grew hot and cold, and tried to look cool and failed, signally, and then, feeling how very awkward their position was, made a desperate effort to be commonplace, and so began to talk with intense solicitude about “the weather!” Will soon perceived, however, that in the circumstances this was utterly ridiculous, so he made another effort and asked about Flora’s father and mother, and then, happy thought, he suddenly remembered Buckawanga, and began to descant upon him, after which he naturally slid into ships and voyaging, and so came abruptly to the question:—
“By the way, Miss Westwood, is it true that you are trying to secure a passage to England just now?”
“We have succeeded in securing one,” said Flora, with a deep blush and a peculiar look. “We sailto-morrow.”
“To-morrow!” cried Will, in consternation.
There was for a moment a great swelling ofsomethingin our hero’s breast; then a sudden thought occurred, “Never venture never—;” next instant he seized Flora’s hand. “Oh, Miss West— Flora,dearestFlora—forgive—nay, do not turn away, I entreat, I beseech—”
“Old rascal!” exclaimed a stern voice at his back at that moment.
Will sprang up, burning with anger, and turning sharply round, observed the parrot gazing at him in mute surprise.
“Walk in—old rascal,” repeated the bird.
Will laughed, but there was a touch of bitterness in his tone as he turned again to Flora, who had risen from the couch.
“This is an awkward interruption, Flo—Miss Westwood, but necessity constrains me. I must, Iwillspeak now, if—bear with me, dear girl, I did not mean to be rude, but—”
A footstep was heard in the passage.
“Supper will be cooling, I fear,” said the hollow voice of Mr Cupples. “Oh! I beg pardon. I did not know—I—”
Will turned, and rushed at his friend with savage intentions. At the same moment the figure of a man darkened the doorway. Mr Cupples vanished out of the house, Flora glided away, and Will Osten found himself face to face with Mr Westwood!
It might have been expected that the scene which followed would have been an embarrassing one, but such was not the case. Our hero had reached that point of nervous and mental turmoil and exasperation in which extremes meet. As the strong current of a river meets the rush of the rising tide, and at a certain point produces dead calm, so the conflicting currents in Will’s bosom reached the flood, and he became desperately serene, insomuch that he held out his hand to Mr Westwood, and, with a smile of candour and a tone of deep earnestness, explained “the situation,” and made “a clean breast of it.” The result was, that Mr and Mrs Westwood received his advances favourably, but, being naturally cautious and solicitous about the happiness of their daughter, they pointed out that it was impossible to come to any conclusion at that time, because, in the first place, Will was, by his own showing, a poor wanderer with only the prospect of an income at his mother’s death, and without professional practice; and, in the second place, as they were to set sail for England on the morrow, there was no time left even for consideration. Mr Westwood, therefore, said that he could not permit Will to see Flora again, except to bid her farewell, and advised him to have patience until he should return to England, where, he said frankly, he would be happy to see him. Will thereupon left the cottage, in a state of distraction, to lay his case before Captain Dall.
“So you see, captain,” he added, after detailing all the circumstances, “there is only one course open to me, and that I am resolved to pursue. I shall sail for England in the—the what’s the name of the ship the Westwoods are to sail in?”
“Don’t know,” answered the captain.
“Of course not—no matter. We shall find out. She sails to-morrow at all events, and I go with her. You will go back with Mr Cupples to Grizzly Bear Gulch, work the gold, make what you can out of it, pay yourselves, and hold the estate for me. I’ll get that legally arranged to-night. You’ll tell my comrades how sorry I am to leave them so abruptly, but under the circumstances they will—”
“Softly,” interrupted Captain Dall; “if all this is to be settled to-night, we had better set about it at once, and not waste time with words.”
“Right, captain. Let us off to search for the captain of the ship.”
Leaving Mr Cupples to eat the supper alone, our hero and his friend went out in hot haste, and soon found themselves in the presence of the captain of the Roving Bess, which was to sail next day.
“By the way,” whispered Will to his friend, as they were entering the room in which the skipper sat, “do you happen to have any cash? forIhave only twenty pounds.”
“Not a rap,” whispered the captain.
“You are the captain of the Roving Bess, I am told?” said Will, addressing a big rawboned man, who sat at a table solacing himself with a glass of spirits and water and a cigar.
“Ya–a–s, Cap’n Bra–a–o–wn, at y’r sarvice.”
Captain Brown drawled this out so slowly that one might have supposed he did it on principle, as a sort of general protest against the high-pressure speed and hurry that influenced every one around him.
“You have passengers going, I understand?”
“Ya–a–s. Reverend genlm’n an’ two ladies.”
“Can you take another?”
“A dozen mo–a–r, if need be.”
“Then put my name down. How much is the passage fare?”
“Fo–a–g–sl two hundred, cabin three hundred pa–o–unds.”
“What!” exclaimed Will.
Captain Brown smiled. “You see,” said he, “it c–a–unt be done for less—ha— ’Bliged to give fa-bu-lous wages to crew, and only too thankful to get ’em at any price. Provisions cost their weight, a-most, in gold.”
“Will you be here an hour hence?” asked our hero.
“Ya–a–s, two hours hence,” drawled Captain Brown, lighting a fresh cigar at the stump of the old one.
Will Osten linked his arm through that of Captain Dall, and hurried him into the street.
“Now to the agent,” he said. “Ifhefails me, all is lost—stay! no; I can offer to work my passage. That did not occur to me till now. I shall keep it in reserve.”
A few minutes more and they stood in the presence of Mr Zulino.
“Is it possible,” said Will, with an anxious expression of face, “to sell the property in Grizzly Bear Gulchimmediately?”
The dry visage of the agent wrinkled into a sarcastic smile as he replied “Ha! I see, you are like all the rest—wish to turn everything into gold. Well, itispossible to sell it, I make no doubt, because it is well situated and will increase in value; but what, do you mean byimmediately?”
“To-night,” said Will.
“Impossible.”
“What’s to be done?” cried our hero, turning to Captain Dall with a look of such perplexity and disappointment that even the hard heart of Mr Zulino was touched.
“Why such haste?” he inquired.
“Because business of the most urgent kind requires that I should embark for England in a vessel which sails to-morrow, and I have not money enough to pay for my passage.”
“I can lend you some on the property, at a high rate of interest,” said the agent.
“Then do so, my dear sir,” said Will earnestly, “at any rate of interest you choose, and I will sign any papers you may require. My friend here, Captain Dall, will see that you are regularly paid. I assure you that I shallneverforget the obligation.”
“Follow me,” said Mr Zulino, rising and putting on his hat.
He led them to the office of a man who appeared to be connected with the law, and who drew up a paper which, being duly signed and witnessed, Mr Zulino put in his pocket, at the same time handing Will Osten a cheque for four hundred pounds.
“Now, captain,” said Will, with a deep sigh of relief, as they, once more issued into the street, “we’ll go and enjoy our supper.”
Next morning Will Osten, with a small portmanteau containing his little all in his hand, and accompanied by Captain Dall and Mr Cupples, pushed his way through the crowded streets to the quay, where a boat awaited him.
“Once more, Captain Dall,” he said, turning round and grasping his friend’s hand, “farewell! I am sorry—more so than I can tell—to leave you. May God prosper you wherever you go. Remember my messages to our friends at the gulch. Tell Larry and Bunco, and the trapper especially, that I feel almost like a criminal for giving them the slip thus. But how can I help it?”
“Of course, of course,” said Captain Dall, returning the hearty squeeze of Will’s hand, “how could you? Love, like necessity, has no law—or, rather, itself is a law which all must obey. Good-bye, lad, and good luck attend ee.”
Silently shaking hands with Mr Cupples, whose lugubrious expression seemed appropriate to the occasion, Will leaped into the boat and was soon rowing over the bay to the spot where the Roving Bess lay with her anchor tripped and her sails loose. On approaching, he saw that Mr Westwood and his wife were pacing the quarterdeck, but Flora was not visible, the reason being that that busy little woman was down in her father’s berth putting it to rights—arranging and re-arranging everything, and puzzling her brains with numerous little contrivances which were all meant to add to the comfort and snugness of the place—wonderfully ingenious contrivances, which could not have emanated from the brain of any woman but one who possessed a warm heart, an earnest soul, a sweet face, and a turned-up nose! She was a good deal dishevelled about the head, in consequence of her exertions, and rather flushed, and her eyes were a little moist. Perhaps she was sad at the thought of leaving San Francisco—but no—she was leaving no friends behind her there.Thatcould not have been the cause!
The little round port-hole of the berth was open, and she stopped ever and anon in the midst of her operations to look out and listen to the variety of shouts and songs that came from the boats, vessels, and barges in the bay. Suddenly she stopped, turned her head the least bit to one side, and listened intently.
“My dear,” said Mr Westwood to his wife, standing on the deck and leaning over the bulwarks, exactly above the open port near to which Flora stood, “canthat be Mr Osten in yonder boat?”
Flora’s bosom heaved, and her colour vanished.
“I think it is—stay—no—it looks like—yes, itishe,” said Mrs Westwood.
Flora’s face and neck became scarlet.
Presently the plash of oars were heard near the vessel, and next moment a boat approached, but not from such a quarter as to be visible from the port-hole.
“Mind your starboard oar,” said a deep voice, which caused Flora’s heart to beat against her chest, as if that dear little receptacle of good thoughts and warm feelings were too small to contain it, and it wanted to get out.
“Good morning, Mr Osten,” cried Mr Westwood, looking down.
“Good morning, sir,—good morning, Mrs Westwood,” answered Will, looking up.
“It is very kind of you to take the trouble to come off to bid us good-bye,” said Mr Westwood.
Flora trembled a little, and leaned upon the side of the berth.
“I have not come to say good-bye,” said Will (Flora’s eyes opened wide with astonishment), “I am going—fend off, men, fend off, mind what you are about—I am going,” he said, looking up with a smile, “to sail with you to England.”
A peculiar gleam shot from Flora’s eyes; the blood mantled again on her brow, and, sinking into a chair, she pressed her hands to her face and buried her head in her father’s pillow!