CHAPTER XX.
HEAVEN HELPS THOSE WHO TRUST IN PROVIDENCE.
In the far depths of a Californian forest, the timber roof of a solitary log-hut peeped through the trees.
It was a dreary dilapidated building, which had been deserted by former settlers, and neglected by those who now dwelt in it.
The rough wooden shutters that sheltered the one solitary window were rotting upon their hinges; the wind whistled in shrill cadences through the crevices of the logs.
As far as the eye could reach there was no vestige of any human habitation, while the rustling of the leaves and the hungry howls of the wolves only broke the silence of the night.
It was difficult to imagine this place to be the dwelling of any civilized being; but yet it was tenanted by two men, who had lived in it for the best part of the year, attended by a negro slave, an honest fellow, who served them as faithfully in that dreary retreat as if they had dwelt in a palace.
The night had fallen; the winds shrieked, like some troubled spirit, amid the branches of the trees; red streaks of light gleamed through the cracks of the window shutters and the crevices of the rude timber edifice; the door of the hut is securely closed, though in that lonely region there is little need of bolt or bar.
Let us peep into the neglected building, and gaze unseen upon its occupants.
The two men are seated on either side of a blazing fire of brushwood and broken timber, while the negro sits on a low stool, at a respectful distance, waiting till his masters may have need of his services.
His honest face beams with good temper and contentment, even in that dreary abode.
But it is not so with his masters.
They are both smoking long cherry-stemmed meerschaum pipes, and they sit in silence, their eyes gloomily fixed upon the blazing fire.
It is impossible to judge of their rank in life, for they are both dressed in cutaway velveteen coats, corduroy breeches, and great hob-nail boots—serviceable garments suited to their rude life, but which elsewhere would be worn only by laboring men.
They are both in the prime of life, and one is rather handsome; but they have allowed their hair and whiskers to grow in the roughest fashion, and their faces are bronzed by constant exposure to every variety of weather.
The elder of the two is the first to speak.
"Well, Brown," he says, with a sigh of weariness, "nearly a year gone since we set foot in this dreary district and no good done yet."
The younger man shrugged his shoulders as he removed his pipe from his mouth and knocked out the ashes of tobacco upon the rough stone hearth.
"Yes, a year, a year," he muttered, "and no hope of return yet. No hope of justice being done to the innocent, and punishment and confusion brought upon the guilty."
"Brown," said his companion, "do you remember our first meeting?"
"Yes, we met in the streets of San Francisco; both penniless, yet both determined to conquer fortune, and to wring from the bowels of our mother earth the gold which should enable us to achieve the purposes of our lives."
"You remember we formed a chance acquaintance, which afterward ripened into friendship."
"It did," answered the other man. "But at the same time we entered into a singular agreement. We resolved that whatever our past history might be, it should remain buried in oblivion, so long as we dwelt together in the wilds of California. We agreed that neither should tell his companion the secrets of his life, or the purpose which he had to accomplish in the future; that even our names should be unknown to each other, and that though living together upon the footing of friends and brothers, we should address each other merely as Brown and Smith."
"Yes, this was our bond."
"We further resolved that we would spend the last dollars we possessed in the purchase of a set of implements, and that we would penetrate into the loneliest tract in the continent, into recesses never visited by the herd of gold-diggers, whose labors exhaust the soil in districts where the precious ore has been found. We determined to search for our prize where none had sought before us, and we resolved to brave every hardship, to endure every peril, for the several ends of our lives."
"We did."
"At San Francisco, we picked up our faithful Sambo yonder," said the man known as Brown, looking to the negro, "and we got a bargain."
"Because poor Sambo was lame, massa. Very few gentlemen will buy lame niggers."
"Lame or not, we found you a treasure, Sambo, and between us we soon contrived to cure your lame leg, and made you as sound as the best of us."
"Yes," cried the negro, grinning from ear to ear, "you did, massa, you did. Kind good massa, Sambo never forget."
"Well, Smith, after eight good months' labor in this district we find ourselves—"
"About as well off as when we came here," answered the other; "we contrived to find a little gold dust during our first month's work, and that has enabled us to pay for the supplies we've had from the nearest village, and to keep up the war all the time; but beyond that we've had no luck whatever."
"None; therefore my proposal is that we leave this place to-morrow at daybreak, and try a fresh district."
The eyes of the man who called himself Smith sparkled at this proposition, but the negro interposed with an exclamation of terror:
"You'll nebber go to-morrow, massa," he cried; "'scuse poor nigger what ought to mind his own business, but surely massa will nebber go to-morrow?"
"And why not to-morrow?" asked Brown.
"Because to-morrow Friday; massa, Friday bery unlucky day."
"An unlucky day, Sambo, is it?" answered his master; "faith, I think every day has been precious unlucky to us for the last eight months."
The negro shook his woolly head, and showed two rows of white teeth.
"Friday bery unlucky day, massa," he said.
"But," answered Brown, laughing, "if it's an unlucky day for leaving this place, I suppose it's just as unlucky for staying and doing another turn at the pickax."
"Don't know that, massa," said the negro, "but Friday bery unlucky day."
"I'll tell you what, then," continued Brown, "suppose we take Sambo's advice, for once in a way, Smith, and put off moving to new quarters till the day after to-morrow. We can spend to-morrow in digging the ground about that little creek three miles to the east of this. You remember our passing the spot once on our way home after a hard day's work."
"Perfectly! A miserable, unlikely-looking place enough; I don't fancy if we dug for a twelvemonth we should ever get any good out of it. However, we've wasted so many days that we can't grudge one more, so I'm quite agreeable to stop."
"So be it, then," answered Brown. "Sambo, get our tools in order before you go to bed, and be sure you call us early to-morrow morning."
The two friends flung themselves down upon a couple of rough straw mattresses, and the negro brought out a heap of dried grass and withered leaves which served him as a bed, and upon which he laid himself down after carefully preparing the tools for the morning's work.
The two diggers, before they lay down, offered up a short but heartfelt prayer, that heaven would be pleased to smile upon their honest endeavors and bless their labors.
During the eight months in which they had dwelt in that dreary region they had never once failed to make this supplication, and, fruitless as their toil had been hitherto, their faith had never failed them.
They still trusted that a divine and gracious Providence would, in due time, reward their efforts.
At daybreak the next morning the three men set out, and walked to the creek at which they were to work before they eat their rough breakfast.
Then, after offering up another prayer, they took their spades and pickaxes and went to work with a will.
But the day wore on and no result attended their labors.
The negro, Sambo, worked untiringly, and cheered his masters' toil by his merry songs and grotesque capers.
It grew toward evening, and Brown proposed that they should collect their tools and walk homeward, but Smith was anxious to work for half an hour longer, and his companion was too good-natured to oppose his fancy.
The half hour had nearly expired, the dusk was rapidly gathering around them, the lower branches of the trees were streaked with crimson and gold by the last rays of the setting sun, and Brown was thinking sadly how many a day such as this they had wasted, and how many a sun had gone down upon their disappointment, when he was aroused from his reverie by a loud exclamation from Smith, and a wild shout of joy from the negro.
His companion's spade had struck against a nugget of gold.
He had dug the precious lump of ore from its watery bed, and he had fallen upon his knees in the clay and dirt to offer up a thanksgiving to that Eternal Being who alone can give or withhold all blessings.
The man called Brown clasped his hands and lifted his eyes to Heaven, "Oh, merciful Providence!" he cried, "we have waited Thy good pleasure, hopefully, for we knew Thy unfailing justice.
"It has pleased Thee to smile upon us, and the innocent may now be restored to the happiness of which guilt and chicanery have deprived them."
The three men worked till the moon rose high above their heads. They had struck upon a vein of gold, and their labors were amply rewarded.
They returned home laden with the dull yellow metal, which is the master key of all earthly power, the magic influence which can make all men slaves.
They returned the next day to the same spot, and worked again, and continued to do so till they were rich beyond their wildest hopes.
Then they packed their wealth in such a manner as to escape suspicion from any unscrupulous travelers they might encounter, and still followed by their faithful follower, Sambo, set out for San Francisco.
"When we once more set foot in the United States," said Brown, as they turned their backs on the dilapidated log-hut, "I will tell you my past history, the secret of my life, and the purpose I have to achieve in the future. In the meantime let us remain as we have been before, ignorant of all concerning each other, save that we are both honest men who trust in Providence. Shall it be so?"
"Yes," answered Smith; "friend, brother, it shall be as you say. Heaven shield those we go to save."
"And Heaven help those we go to punish."
"I say, Massa Smith, Massa Brown, Nigger Sambo is a big old fool; nebber say Friday bery unlucky day again."