Chapter Ten.Off to the West.That was really the prime difficulty in our leaving England—to keep Mrs Dean’s ideas of necessaries within bounds. Poor little woman! She could not, try how her son and I would to make her, understand what was the meaning of simple necessaries.“Now it’s of no use for you to fly in a passion with your poor mother, Esau,” she used to say. “I’ve consented to go with you to this wild savage land, but I must have a few things to make the house comfortable when we get there.”“But don’t I tell you you can’t take ’em, because they won’t have ’em aboard ship; and you can’t stuff ’em in a waggon and carry ’em millions of miles when you get across.”“If you wouldn’t be so unreasonable, Esau. There, I appeal to Mr Gordon.”“So do I,” roared Esau. “Does mother want a great ironing-board?”“No,” I said; “we can make you hundreds out there.”“Oh dear me. You’ll say next I mustn’t take my blankets and sheets.”“You must only take what you can pack in one big chest,” I said.“But no chest would hold what I want to take,” whimpered the poor little woman. “I declare if I’d known that I was to give up everything I have scraped together all these years I wouldn’t have consented to go. Here, Esau, what are you going to do with those ornaments?”“Set ’em aside for the broker.”“Esau, I must take them.”“All right, mother. We’ll have a ship on purpose for you, and you shall take the kitchen fender, the coal-scuttle, the big door-mat, and the old four-post bedstead.”“Oh, thank you, my dear; that is good of— Esau! you’re laughing at me, and you too, Mr Gordon. I declare it’s too bad.”“So it is, mother—of you. Once for all, I tell you that you must pack things that will be useful in one big chest, and you can take a few things that you’ll want on the voyage and in the waggon in a carpet bag.”“But it’s ruinous, my dear—all my beautiful things I’ve taken such pride in to be sacrificed.”“Oh, do hark at her!” cried Esau, sticking two fingers in his ears, and stamping about. “I wish to goodness I’d never had no mother.”“Then you’re a cruel, ungrateful boy, and you’ll break my heart before you’ve done. Mr Gordon, what am I to do?”“To try and think that we are going to start a new life, and that when Esau makes a new home for you, all these household things can be got together by degrees.”“But it’s ruin, my dear. All these things will go for nothing.”“They won’t, I tell you,” roared Esau. “How many more times am I to tell you that Dingle will give us fifty pounds for ’em? Him and another man’s joining, and they’re going to put ’em in sales; and if they don’t make so much, we’ve got to pay them, and if they make more, Dingle’s going to pay us. What more do you want?”“Nothing, my dear; I’ve done,” said Mrs Dean in a resigned tone, such as would have made a bystander think that the whole business was settled. It was not, however, for the next day most likely the whole argument would be gone through again about some trifle.Meanwhile I had been helping Mr John, and here Mr Dingle’s knowledge came in very helpful, and he devoted every spare minute he had, working so well, that he arranged with one of our well-known auctioneers to take the furniture of the cottage, and triumphantly brought Mr John a cheque for far more than he expected to receive.One way and another, Mr John was well provided with funds, laughingly telling me he had never been so rich before, as I went with him to his landlord’s to give up the key of the pleasant little house.For during the rapidly passing days of that fortnight everything had been settled, a passage had been secured for Mrs Dean in the same vessel by which Mr and Mrs John were going, and it had been finally decided that Esau and I were to go by quite a different route. For while they were to go by swift steamer across to Quebec, and from there through Canada with one or other of the waggon-trains right to Fort Elk, on the upper waters of the Fraser, we lads were, after seeing the little party off to Liverpool, to go on board theAlbatross, a clipper ship bound from London to the River Plate, and round by Cape Horn to San Francisco, from which port we were to find our way north the best way we could.There would be no difficulty, we were told, for vessels often sailed from the Golden Gate to the mouth of the Fraser, but our voyage would be slow.It would be rapid though compared to the land journey across the prairies. Our trip would probably last five months, more if our stay at San Francisco were long; but allowing for halts at the settlements, and the deliberate way in which, for Mrs John’s benefit, the journey was to be made, their trip would extend to a year—probably more.Mr John had gone through it all with me again and again, reading long extracts from his brother-in-law’s letter written expressly for their guidance, till I knew them pretty well by heart. In these he was told to hasten on to the high and mountainous lands, for it was there the advantage to Mrs John would be. They would find it cold as the autumn passed into winter during their journey, intensely cold, perhaps; but it would be bright and sunshiny as a rule, and the clear pure air of the elevated regions gave health and strength.I thought a great deal about it, and felt puzzled sometimes, wondering whether it could be wise to take a delicate woman all that tremendous distance. But I was too young, I thought, to have opinions worth consideration, and I always came to the conclusion that my elders must know best.Then came the day for parting, so quickly that I could hardly believe it. The luggage had gone on some days before to Liverpool, and there were Esau and I seeing after the few things that were to accompany the travellers in their cabins, as we stood on the platform at Euston.Mrs John looked terribly thin and worn, more suited, I thought, for going at once to her bed than to venture on such a terrible journey; but there was a bright, hopeful look in her eyes as I helped her to her seat, and she spoke quite cheerily as she held my hand, Mr John holding the other, and we occupied ourselves with our final good-byes, so as not to notice Mrs Dean and her son. But I could not help hearing Esau’s words—“Oh, I say, mother, don’t—don’t! You must get to your seat now. There, good-bye, dear. It isn’t so very far after all, and we’ll be there waiting for you, and ready to welcome you when you come.”“But is it right, dear?” she said; “is it right?”“’Course it is. Don’t turn coward. You must go now all the things are sold.”There was a final embrace; Mrs Dean was hurried into her seat, the door closed; Mr John pressed my hand hard without a word, and Mrs John put her arms about my neck and kissed me.“God bless you!au revoir!” she said.“Stand back, sir, please,” some one shouted; the engine gave a piercing shriek, and Esau and I stood on the stone platform watching the train glide away with many a head out of the window, and hand and kerchief waving growing more and more confused, while a sense of desolation and loneliness oppressed me till I quite started at my companion’s words.“Oh, won’t poor mother have a big cry up in a corner all the way down. It’s very rum, but I suppose she is fond of me.”“Fond of you?” I said; “of course.”“Well,” he said, “here we are, passages paid, and all that money in our pockets, and nothing to do for two days. What shall us do—go and have a bit of fun, or get on board at the docks?”“Get on board theAlbatross,” I said. “There don’t seem to me as if there is any more fun in the world.”“Well now, that is a strange thing,” said Esau; “that’s just how I feel. Look here.”“What at?”“I feel just in the humour for it—as cross and nasty as can be. Let’s go and say good-bye to old Demp.”But we did not; we went sadly to the docks, where our boxes already were, and that night took possession of our berths.
That was really the prime difficulty in our leaving England—to keep Mrs Dean’s ideas of necessaries within bounds. Poor little woman! She could not, try how her son and I would to make her, understand what was the meaning of simple necessaries.
“Now it’s of no use for you to fly in a passion with your poor mother, Esau,” she used to say. “I’ve consented to go with you to this wild savage land, but I must have a few things to make the house comfortable when we get there.”
“But don’t I tell you you can’t take ’em, because they won’t have ’em aboard ship; and you can’t stuff ’em in a waggon and carry ’em millions of miles when you get across.”
“If you wouldn’t be so unreasonable, Esau. There, I appeal to Mr Gordon.”
“So do I,” roared Esau. “Does mother want a great ironing-board?”
“No,” I said; “we can make you hundreds out there.”
“Oh dear me. You’ll say next I mustn’t take my blankets and sheets.”
“You must only take what you can pack in one big chest,” I said.
“But no chest would hold what I want to take,” whimpered the poor little woman. “I declare if I’d known that I was to give up everything I have scraped together all these years I wouldn’t have consented to go. Here, Esau, what are you going to do with those ornaments?”
“Set ’em aside for the broker.”
“Esau, I must take them.”
“All right, mother. We’ll have a ship on purpose for you, and you shall take the kitchen fender, the coal-scuttle, the big door-mat, and the old four-post bedstead.”
“Oh, thank you, my dear; that is good of— Esau! you’re laughing at me, and you too, Mr Gordon. I declare it’s too bad.”
“So it is, mother—of you. Once for all, I tell you that you must pack things that will be useful in one big chest, and you can take a few things that you’ll want on the voyage and in the waggon in a carpet bag.”
“But it’s ruinous, my dear—all my beautiful things I’ve taken such pride in to be sacrificed.”
“Oh, do hark at her!” cried Esau, sticking two fingers in his ears, and stamping about. “I wish to goodness I’d never had no mother.”
“Then you’re a cruel, ungrateful boy, and you’ll break my heart before you’ve done. Mr Gordon, what am I to do?”
“To try and think that we are going to start a new life, and that when Esau makes a new home for you, all these household things can be got together by degrees.”
“But it’s ruin, my dear. All these things will go for nothing.”
“They won’t, I tell you,” roared Esau. “How many more times am I to tell you that Dingle will give us fifty pounds for ’em? Him and another man’s joining, and they’re going to put ’em in sales; and if they don’t make so much, we’ve got to pay them, and if they make more, Dingle’s going to pay us. What more do you want?”
“Nothing, my dear; I’ve done,” said Mrs Dean in a resigned tone, such as would have made a bystander think that the whole business was settled. It was not, however, for the next day most likely the whole argument would be gone through again about some trifle.
Meanwhile I had been helping Mr John, and here Mr Dingle’s knowledge came in very helpful, and he devoted every spare minute he had, working so well, that he arranged with one of our well-known auctioneers to take the furniture of the cottage, and triumphantly brought Mr John a cheque for far more than he expected to receive.
One way and another, Mr John was well provided with funds, laughingly telling me he had never been so rich before, as I went with him to his landlord’s to give up the key of the pleasant little house.
For during the rapidly passing days of that fortnight everything had been settled, a passage had been secured for Mrs Dean in the same vessel by which Mr and Mrs John were going, and it had been finally decided that Esau and I were to go by quite a different route. For while they were to go by swift steamer across to Quebec, and from there through Canada with one or other of the waggon-trains right to Fort Elk, on the upper waters of the Fraser, we lads were, after seeing the little party off to Liverpool, to go on board theAlbatross, a clipper ship bound from London to the River Plate, and round by Cape Horn to San Francisco, from which port we were to find our way north the best way we could.
There would be no difficulty, we were told, for vessels often sailed from the Golden Gate to the mouth of the Fraser, but our voyage would be slow.
It would be rapid though compared to the land journey across the prairies. Our trip would probably last five months, more if our stay at San Francisco were long; but allowing for halts at the settlements, and the deliberate way in which, for Mrs John’s benefit, the journey was to be made, their trip would extend to a year—probably more.
Mr John had gone through it all with me again and again, reading long extracts from his brother-in-law’s letter written expressly for their guidance, till I knew them pretty well by heart. In these he was told to hasten on to the high and mountainous lands, for it was there the advantage to Mrs John would be. They would find it cold as the autumn passed into winter during their journey, intensely cold, perhaps; but it would be bright and sunshiny as a rule, and the clear pure air of the elevated regions gave health and strength.
I thought a great deal about it, and felt puzzled sometimes, wondering whether it could be wise to take a delicate woman all that tremendous distance. But I was too young, I thought, to have opinions worth consideration, and I always came to the conclusion that my elders must know best.
Then came the day for parting, so quickly that I could hardly believe it. The luggage had gone on some days before to Liverpool, and there were Esau and I seeing after the few things that were to accompany the travellers in their cabins, as we stood on the platform at Euston.
Mrs John looked terribly thin and worn, more suited, I thought, for going at once to her bed than to venture on such a terrible journey; but there was a bright, hopeful look in her eyes as I helped her to her seat, and she spoke quite cheerily as she held my hand, Mr John holding the other, and we occupied ourselves with our final good-byes, so as not to notice Mrs Dean and her son. But I could not help hearing Esau’s words—
“Oh, I say, mother, don’t—don’t! You must get to your seat now. There, good-bye, dear. It isn’t so very far after all, and we’ll be there waiting for you, and ready to welcome you when you come.”
“But is it right, dear?” she said; “is it right?”
“’Course it is. Don’t turn coward. You must go now all the things are sold.”
There was a final embrace; Mrs Dean was hurried into her seat, the door closed; Mr John pressed my hand hard without a word, and Mrs John put her arms about my neck and kissed me.
“God bless you!au revoir!” she said.
“Stand back, sir, please,” some one shouted; the engine gave a piercing shriek, and Esau and I stood on the stone platform watching the train glide away with many a head out of the window, and hand and kerchief waving growing more and more confused, while a sense of desolation and loneliness oppressed me till I quite started at my companion’s words.
“Oh, won’t poor mother have a big cry up in a corner all the way down. It’s very rum, but I suppose she is fond of me.”
“Fond of you?” I said; “of course.”
“Well,” he said, “here we are, passages paid, and all that money in our pockets, and nothing to do for two days. What shall us do—go and have a bit of fun, or get on board at the docks?”
“Get on board theAlbatross,” I said. “There don’t seem to me as if there is any more fun in the world.”
“Well now, that is a strange thing,” said Esau; “that’s just how I feel. Look here.”
“What at?”
“I feel just in the humour for it—as cross and nasty as can be. Let’s go and say good-bye to old Demp.”
But we did not; we went sadly to the docks, where our boxes already were, and that night took possession of our berths.
Chapter Eleven.Seventeen Weeks at Sea.“Much better have let me had it my way, sir,” said Esau, who, ever since he had seen the John Dempsters and their treatment of me, had grown to behave as if I was his superior.He spoke those words one day when we had been at sea about a week, the weather having been terribly rough, and the passengers suffering severely.“Oh, I don’t know, Esau,” I said, rather dolefully.“I do, sir. If you’d done as I wanted you we should ha’ been walking about Woolwich now in uniform, with swords under our arms; and I don’t know how you get on, but I can’t walk at all.”“You should catch hold of something.”“Catch hold o’ something? What’s the good when the ship chucks you about just as if you were a ball. See that chap over there?”“What, that one-eyed man?”“Yes; he was going to hit me just now.”“What for?”“’Cause I run my head into his chest. I couldn’t help it. I’d got my legs precious wide apart, and was going steadily, when the ship gave a regular jump and then seemed to wag her tail, and sent me flying, and when I pollergized to him he said I was always doing it, and ought to sit down.”“Well, it is safest, Esau,” I said; “I’ve got several nasty bruises.”“Bruises! Why, I’m bruised all over, and haven’t got a place left clear for another, so I’ve begun again making fresh bruises top of the old ’uns.”I laughed.“Ah, I don’t see nothing to grin at. If you was as sore as I am you wouldn’t laugh. Wouldn’t have ketched me coming to sea if I’d known how bad it was. Why, it’s like being knocked about by old Demp, only worse, for you’ve got no one to hit back at.”“It’s only a storm, Esau, and you’ll like it when the weather’s fine again.”“Not me. Like it! Look here; I’ve read books about your yo-ho sailors and jolly tars, and your bright blue seas, but them as wrote ’em ought to be flogged. Why, it’s horrid. Oh, how ill I have been. I wouldn’t ha’ cared if mother had been here. She would ha’ been sorry for me; ’stead o’ everybody laughing, as if it was good fun.”“Well, you can laugh at them.”“Yes, and I just will too. Oh, hark at that. Here, hold tight, sir! we’re going.”For a tremendous wave struck the ship, making it quiver as tons of water washed over her, seeming to beat her down; but she rose as if shaking herself, and then made a pitch.“I say,” cried Esau, “I didn’t know ships went like fishes sometimes.”“What do you mean?” I said, as I listened to the rush and roar, and noticed that it seemed to be getting dark.“Why, swim right under water. Shall we ever come up again. Hah! that’s better,” for the light streamed in again through the thick round glass at the side by our heads. “I’ve had about enough of this, sir. What do you say to getting out at the next pier and walking back?”“Oh, Esau,” I cried, “don’t be such a Cockney. What pier? This is not a river steamer.”“I only wish it was. But I say, I can’t eat, and I can’t sleep, and I’m sore outside and in. Let’s go back and follow mother and them two in a waggon.”“But don’t you know that we should have a rough voyage across first?”“Couldn’t be so rough as this. Oh, there it goes again. I know we’re going to dive down right to the bottom. Wish we could, and then we might get out and walk. Here, let’s go on deck.”“We can’t,” I said.“No,” said the one-eyed man, a big, broad, Saxon-looking fellow, “we’re battened down.”“Oh, are we?” said Esau.“Yes; you can’t go up till this weather’s better. Want to be washed overboard?”“I should like to be washed somewhere,” said Esau, “for I feel very dirty and miserable.”“Sit down and wait patiently, my lad,” said the man; “and don’t you come butting that curly head of yours into me again, like an old Southdown ram coming at a man. I don’t want my ribs broke.”“Have you been at sea before?” I said to him, as he sat back smoking a short pipe.“Often. Been to ’Stralia, and New Zealand, and the Cape.”“Was it ever as rough as this?”“Worse,” he said, laconically.“But not so dangerous?” said Esau, in a questioning tone.“Worse,” said the man gruffly.“But we keep seeming as if we should go to the bottom,” said Esau, fretfully.“Well, if we do, we do, boy. We’re in for it, so what’s the good o’ making a fuss?”“I don’t see no good in being drowned without saying a word,” grumbled Esau. “We two paid ever so much for the passage, and a pretty passage it is.”“Oh, it’ll be all right if you keep quiet; but if you get wandering about as you do, we shall have you going right through the bulk-head, and have to get the carpenter to cut you out with a saw.”“Wish he was as ill as I am,” whispered Esau.“Thank ye,” said the man, nodding at him. “My eyes are a bit queer, but my ears are sharp.”“Where do you suppose we are?” I said.“Off Spain somewhere, and I dare say we shall be in smooth water before long. Shan’t be sorry for a little fresh air myself.”I was longing for it, our experience being not very pleasant down in the crowded steerage; and I must confess to feeling sorry a good many times that I had come.But after a couple more days of misery, I woke one morning to find that the ship was gliding along easily, and in the sweet, fresh air and warm sunshine we soon forgot the troubles of the storm.The weather grew from pleasantly warm to terribly hot, with calms and faint breezes; and then as we sailed slowly on we began to find the weather cooler again, till by slow degrees we began to pass into wintry weather, with high winds and showers of snow. And this all puzzled Esau, whose knowledge of the shape of the earth and a ship’s course were rather hazy.“Yes; it puzzles me,” he said. “We got from coolish weather into hotter; then into hot, and then it grew cooler again, and now it’s cold; and that Mr Gunson says as soon as we’re round the Horn we shall get into wet weather, and then it will be warmer every day once more.”And so it of course proved, for as we rounded the Cape, and got into the Pacific, we gradually left behind mountains with snow in the hollows and dark-looking pine trees, to go sailing on slowly day after day through dreary, foggy wet days. Then once more into sunshine, with distant peaks of mountain points on our right, as we sailed on within sight of the Andes; and then on for weeks till we entered the Golden Gates, and were soon after at anchor off San Francisco.Seventeen weeks after we had come out of the West India Docks, and every one said we had had a capital passage, and I suppose it was; but we passed through a very dreary time, and it is impossible to describe the feeling of delight that took possession of us as we looked from the deck at the bright, busy-looking city, with its forest of masts, tall houses, and dry, bare country round.Esau and I were leaning against the bulwarks, gazing at the shore, upon which we were longing to set foot, when Gunson, who had all through the voyage been distant and rather surly, came up behind us.“Well, youngsters,” he said, “going ashore?”“Yes,” I said, “as soon as we can get our chests.”“Well, good-bye, and good luck to you. Got any money?”“A little,” I replied, rather distantly, for I did not like the man’s manner.He saw it, and laughed.“Oh, I’m not going to beg or borrow,” he said roughly. “I was only going to say put it away safe, and only keep a little out for use.”“Oh, we’re not fools,” said Esau, shortly.“Don’t tell lies, boy,” said the man, giving him an angry look. “Don’t you be too clever, because you’ll always find some one cleverer. Look here,” he continued, turning to me, “perhaps you’re not quite so clever as he is. I thought I’d just say a word before I go about the people here. There’s plenty of a good sort, but there’s a set hanging about the wharfs and places that will be on the look-out to treat you two lads like oranges—suck you dry, and then throw away the skins. Going to stop here?”“No,” I said; “we are going up country to join some friends.”“Then you get up country and join your friends as soon as you can. That’s all. Good-bye.”He nodded shortly at me, but did not offer to shake hands.“Good-bye, sharp ’un,” he growled at Esau.“Good-bye,” said Esau, defiantly, and then the man turned away.“Never did like chaps with one eye,” said Esau. “Strikes me that he’s pretending to be so innocent, and all the while he’s just the sort of fellow to try and cheat you.”“Oh no,” I said; “he’s not a pleasant fellow, but I think he’s honest.”“I don’t,” cried Esau. “He took a fancy to that four-bladed knife of mine on the voyage, and he has been waiting till he was going to leave the ship. I’m not going to make a row about it, ’cause I might be wrong; but I had that knife last night, and this morning it’s gone.”“And you think he stole it?”“I shan’t say one thing nor I shan’t say another. All I know is, that my knife’s gone.”“But hadn’t you better have him stopped and searched?”“What, and if the knife ain’t found, have him glaring at me with that eye of his as if he would eat me? Not I. We’re in a strange country, with ’Mericans, and Indians, and Chinese all about, and we’ve got to be careful. All I say is, my knife’s gone.”“There, put it in your pocket,” I said, handing him the knife, “and don’t be so prejudiced against a man who wanted to give us a bit of friendly advice.”“Why! eh? How? You took the knife then.”“Nonsense; you lent it to me last night when I was packing up our things.”Esau doubled his fist, and gave himself a good punch on the head.“Of course I did,” he cried. “Well of all! Why how! I say, my head must be thick after all.”
“Much better have let me had it my way, sir,” said Esau, who, ever since he had seen the John Dempsters and their treatment of me, had grown to behave as if I was his superior.
He spoke those words one day when we had been at sea about a week, the weather having been terribly rough, and the passengers suffering severely.
“Oh, I don’t know, Esau,” I said, rather dolefully.
“I do, sir. If you’d done as I wanted you we should ha’ been walking about Woolwich now in uniform, with swords under our arms; and I don’t know how you get on, but I can’t walk at all.”
“You should catch hold of something.”
“Catch hold o’ something? What’s the good when the ship chucks you about just as if you were a ball. See that chap over there?”
“What, that one-eyed man?”
“Yes; he was going to hit me just now.”
“What for?”
“’Cause I run my head into his chest. I couldn’t help it. I’d got my legs precious wide apart, and was going steadily, when the ship gave a regular jump and then seemed to wag her tail, and sent me flying, and when I pollergized to him he said I was always doing it, and ought to sit down.”
“Well, it is safest, Esau,” I said; “I’ve got several nasty bruises.”
“Bruises! Why, I’m bruised all over, and haven’t got a place left clear for another, so I’ve begun again making fresh bruises top of the old ’uns.”
I laughed.
“Ah, I don’t see nothing to grin at. If you was as sore as I am you wouldn’t laugh. Wouldn’t have ketched me coming to sea if I’d known how bad it was. Why, it’s like being knocked about by old Demp, only worse, for you’ve got no one to hit back at.”
“It’s only a storm, Esau, and you’ll like it when the weather’s fine again.”
“Not me. Like it! Look here; I’ve read books about your yo-ho sailors and jolly tars, and your bright blue seas, but them as wrote ’em ought to be flogged. Why, it’s horrid. Oh, how ill I have been. I wouldn’t ha’ cared if mother had been here. She would ha’ been sorry for me; ’stead o’ everybody laughing, as if it was good fun.”
“Well, you can laugh at them.”
“Yes, and I just will too. Oh, hark at that. Here, hold tight, sir! we’re going.”
For a tremendous wave struck the ship, making it quiver as tons of water washed over her, seeming to beat her down; but she rose as if shaking herself, and then made a pitch.
“I say,” cried Esau, “I didn’t know ships went like fishes sometimes.”
“What do you mean?” I said, as I listened to the rush and roar, and noticed that it seemed to be getting dark.
“Why, swim right under water. Shall we ever come up again. Hah! that’s better,” for the light streamed in again through the thick round glass at the side by our heads. “I’ve had about enough of this, sir. What do you say to getting out at the next pier and walking back?”
“Oh, Esau,” I cried, “don’t be such a Cockney. What pier? This is not a river steamer.”
“I only wish it was. But I say, I can’t eat, and I can’t sleep, and I’m sore outside and in. Let’s go back and follow mother and them two in a waggon.”
“But don’t you know that we should have a rough voyage across first?”
“Couldn’t be so rough as this. Oh, there it goes again. I know we’re going to dive down right to the bottom. Wish we could, and then we might get out and walk. Here, let’s go on deck.”
“We can’t,” I said.
“No,” said the one-eyed man, a big, broad, Saxon-looking fellow, “we’re battened down.”
“Oh, are we?” said Esau.
“Yes; you can’t go up till this weather’s better. Want to be washed overboard?”
“I should like to be washed somewhere,” said Esau, “for I feel very dirty and miserable.”
“Sit down and wait patiently, my lad,” said the man; “and don’t you come butting that curly head of yours into me again, like an old Southdown ram coming at a man. I don’t want my ribs broke.”
“Have you been at sea before?” I said to him, as he sat back smoking a short pipe.
“Often. Been to ’Stralia, and New Zealand, and the Cape.”
“Was it ever as rough as this?”
“Worse,” he said, laconically.
“But not so dangerous?” said Esau, in a questioning tone.
“Worse,” said the man gruffly.
“But we keep seeming as if we should go to the bottom,” said Esau, fretfully.
“Well, if we do, we do, boy. We’re in for it, so what’s the good o’ making a fuss?”
“I don’t see no good in being drowned without saying a word,” grumbled Esau. “We two paid ever so much for the passage, and a pretty passage it is.”
“Oh, it’ll be all right if you keep quiet; but if you get wandering about as you do, we shall have you going right through the bulk-head, and have to get the carpenter to cut you out with a saw.”
“Wish he was as ill as I am,” whispered Esau.
“Thank ye,” said the man, nodding at him. “My eyes are a bit queer, but my ears are sharp.”
“Where do you suppose we are?” I said.
“Off Spain somewhere, and I dare say we shall be in smooth water before long. Shan’t be sorry for a little fresh air myself.”
I was longing for it, our experience being not very pleasant down in the crowded steerage; and I must confess to feeling sorry a good many times that I had come.
But after a couple more days of misery, I woke one morning to find that the ship was gliding along easily, and in the sweet, fresh air and warm sunshine we soon forgot the troubles of the storm.
The weather grew from pleasantly warm to terribly hot, with calms and faint breezes; and then as we sailed slowly on we began to find the weather cooler again, till by slow degrees we began to pass into wintry weather, with high winds and showers of snow. And this all puzzled Esau, whose knowledge of the shape of the earth and a ship’s course were rather hazy.
“Yes; it puzzles me,” he said. “We got from coolish weather into hotter; then into hot, and then it grew cooler again, and now it’s cold; and that Mr Gunson says as soon as we’re round the Horn we shall get into wet weather, and then it will be warmer every day once more.”
And so it of course proved, for as we rounded the Cape, and got into the Pacific, we gradually left behind mountains with snow in the hollows and dark-looking pine trees, to go sailing on slowly day after day through dreary, foggy wet days. Then once more into sunshine, with distant peaks of mountain points on our right, as we sailed on within sight of the Andes; and then on for weeks till we entered the Golden Gates, and were soon after at anchor off San Francisco.
Seventeen weeks after we had come out of the West India Docks, and every one said we had had a capital passage, and I suppose it was; but we passed through a very dreary time, and it is impossible to describe the feeling of delight that took possession of us as we looked from the deck at the bright, busy-looking city, with its forest of masts, tall houses, and dry, bare country round.
Esau and I were leaning against the bulwarks, gazing at the shore, upon which we were longing to set foot, when Gunson, who had all through the voyage been distant and rather surly, came up behind us.
“Well, youngsters,” he said, “going ashore?”
“Yes,” I said, “as soon as we can get our chests.”
“Well, good-bye, and good luck to you. Got any money?”
“A little,” I replied, rather distantly, for I did not like the man’s manner.
He saw it, and laughed.
“Oh, I’m not going to beg or borrow,” he said roughly. “I was only going to say put it away safe, and only keep a little out for use.”
“Oh, we’re not fools,” said Esau, shortly.
“Don’t tell lies, boy,” said the man, giving him an angry look. “Don’t you be too clever, because you’ll always find some one cleverer. Look here,” he continued, turning to me, “perhaps you’re not quite so clever as he is. I thought I’d just say a word before I go about the people here. There’s plenty of a good sort, but there’s a set hanging about the wharfs and places that will be on the look-out to treat you two lads like oranges—suck you dry, and then throw away the skins. Going to stop here?”
“No,” I said; “we are going up country to join some friends.”
“Then you get up country and join your friends as soon as you can. That’s all. Good-bye.”
He nodded shortly at me, but did not offer to shake hands.
“Good-bye, sharp ’un,” he growled at Esau.
“Good-bye,” said Esau, defiantly, and then the man turned away.
“Never did like chaps with one eye,” said Esau. “Strikes me that he’s pretending to be so innocent, and all the while he’s just the sort of fellow to try and cheat you.”
“Oh no,” I said; “he’s not a pleasant fellow, but I think he’s honest.”
“I don’t,” cried Esau. “He took a fancy to that four-bladed knife of mine on the voyage, and he has been waiting till he was going to leave the ship. I’m not going to make a row about it, ’cause I might be wrong; but I had that knife last night, and this morning it’s gone.”
“And you think he stole it?”
“I shan’t say one thing nor I shan’t say another. All I know is, that my knife’s gone.”
“But hadn’t you better have him stopped and searched?”
“What, and if the knife ain’t found, have him glaring at me with that eye of his as if he would eat me? Not I. We’re in a strange country, with ’Mericans, and Indians, and Chinese all about, and we’ve got to be careful. All I say is, my knife’s gone.”
“There, put it in your pocket,” I said, handing him the knife, “and don’t be so prejudiced against a man who wanted to give us a bit of friendly advice.”
“Why! eh? How? You took the knife then.”
“Nonsense; you lent it to me last night when I was packing up our things.”
Esau doubled his fist, and gave himself a good punch on the head.
“Of course I did,” he cried. “Well of all! Why how! I say, my head must be thick after all.”
Chapter Twelve.We get into hot Water.We were on shore next day, and, by the captain’s advice, went to a kind of hotel, where they undertook, not very willingly, to accommodate us, the captain having promised to help us in getting a ship for the Fraser River. But though day after day passed, and we went to him again and again, he was always too busy about his cargo being discharged, or seeing other people, to attend to us, and at last we sat one day on some timber on a wharf, talking about our affairs rather despondently.“We seem to be regularly stuck fast, Esau,” I said; “and one feels so helpless out in a strange place like this.”“Yes,” he said; “and the money goes so fast.”“Yes,” I said, “the money goes so fast. We must get away from here soon.”“Couldn’t walk up to what-its-name, could we?”“Walk? Nonsense! Many, many hundreds of miles through a wild country, and over mountains and rivers.”“Well, I shouldn’t mind that, lad. It would all be new.”“We shall have plenty of that when we get to British Columbia.”“What’s all this then?” he said.“Part of the United States—California.”“Oh, ah! of course. Seems to me I spent so much time learning to write a good hand, that I don’t know half so much of other things as I should.”“Plenty of time for learning more, Esau.”“Yes, plenty of time. Seem to have more time than we want, and I don’t enjoy going about much, though there’s plenty to see. One’s so unsettled like.”“Yes; we want to get to our journey’s end.”“So this is California, is it? That’s where they got so much gold. I say, let’s stop here.”“Nonsense! We must get to Fort Elk, and see what is to be done there till Mr John comes.”“All right, I’m ready for anything. Here’s one of the chaps coming who wanted us to let him get us a ship yesterday.”For just then a yellow-looking fellow, one of the many idlers who hung about the docks, came slouching along towards us; and as soon as I saw him I whispered a word or two to Esau, and we got up and walked away, with the man still following us at a little distance.“Those chaps smell money is my belief,” said Esau.“Yes, and Mr Gunson was right. We mustn’t trust any one, but wait till the Captain tells us of some respectable skipper who’s going up North and will take us.”“That’s it. I say, what rum-looking chaps these Chinees are,” continued Esau, as a man in blue, with a long pig-tail, passed us and smiled. “Why, he don’t know us, does he?”“We don’t know him,” I replied.We went on past the crowded wharves, where ships were loading and unloading, and then by the grey-tinted wooden buildings, all bright and fresh-looking in the sunshine. Everybody nearly seemed busy and in a hurry except us, and the idle-looking scoundrels who hung about the drinking and gambling saloons, into one or two of which Esau peered curiously as we went by; and then, as if attracted by the shipping, we made our way again down by the wharves in hopes of hearing of a vessel that would take us on.I have known well enough since, that had we been better instructed, all this would have been simple enough; but to us ignorant lads, fresh come from England, it was a terrible problem to solve, one which grew more difficult every day. In those days, when settlers were few, and Vancouver Island just coming into notice, there was no regular steamer, only a speculative trading-vessel now and then. Still there was communication, if we had only known where to apply.We were watching one vessel just setting out on her voyage, and thinking that in an hour or two she would be outside the great opening to the harbour, and abreast of the bare, whitish-looking cliffs which form that part of the Californian coast, when Esau said—“I wonder whether she’s going up to Fraser River. I say, why didn’t we find out she was going to sail, and ask?”“You want to go up the Fraser River?” said a voice close behind us. “Guess I never see such chaps as you. Why didn’t you say so sooner?”We both faced round at once, and found that the man who had been haunting us for days was close behind us, and had heard every word. “Look here,” said Esau, shortly. “There, don’t you got rusty, stranger. That’s the worst of you Englishers, you think everybody wants tew hurt you.”“Come along,” I whispered.“Yew just let him alone. He’s all right. Now here’s yew tew have landed here days, yew may say, outer theAlbytross, and yew goes to spensife hotel, wasting yew’re money, when we’ve got quite a home for strangers like yew for half what yew pay, and we’ll get yew a ship to Fraser, Skimalt, or wheer yew like.”As he was speaking three more men sauntered slowly up and stood looking on—men whom I felt sure I had seen with him before, and it made me uneasy, especially as a couple more came out of a low-looking saloon close by, and we were some distance from the better part of the city.“Look here,” I said sharply, “do you know of a ship going to sail to the Fraser River, or to Esquimalt?”“Why, of course I do. Here, where’s your money? It’s twenty-five dollars a-piece. Splendid berths, best of living. Like gentlemen aboard. Hand over, and I’ll take you to where they give out the tickets.”“Thank you,” I said. “I should like to see the ship, and an agent.”“But don’t I tell yew everything’s first chip, and I’ll do it for yew as yew’re strangers.”“Yes, it’s very kind of you,” I said; “but I won’t trouble you.”“Trouble? Oh, come, we’re not like that here to strangers. Nonsense, lad. Hand over.”“We’re not going to give twenty-five dollars a piece, I can tell you,” put in Esau.“Why, it’s next to nothing for a voyage like that. But there, never mind, you two are new-comers, and the skipper’s a friend of mine. I’ll put you right with him for twenty dollars each. Here, hi! Any of you know thePauliner?”“Know her? yes,” said one of the men hard by; and they all came up and surrounded us. “What about her?”“Sails for the Fraser, don’t she, to-morrow?”“Yes, of course.”“Splendid clipper, ain’t she, with cabins and all chip chop?”“Yes,” came in chorus.“There, what more do you want? Come along, lads; lucky I met you. Come and have a drink.”“No, thank you,” I said. “Come, Esau.”“Get,” said the man with a forced laugh. “What’s the good of being strangers. Come and have a drink. I’ll pay.”“Pay? Ah,” said the second man; “and we’ll all share in turn. Come on in here.”This fellow clapped his hand on my shoulder with a boisterous display of friendliness, while the firstcomer thrust his hand through Esau’s arm, and began to lead him toward the saloon.“That will do,” I said, trying to be cool, for I began to fear that we were being dragged into some disturbance, and felt that the time had come to be firm. “We are much obliged to you for your friendliness, but we neither of us drink. Be good enough to tell me where the agent of the ship lives, and I’ll give you half-a-dollar.”“Nonsense! come and have a drink, my lad.”“No, thank you,” I said. “Come, Esau.”“Why, what a fellow you are. Very well, then, hand over the twenty dollars each, if you can’t take a friendly drop. I’ll get the tickets for you all the same.”“No, no,” said the other man. “Let’s do no business without a drink first; they think we want to make them pay, but I’ll stand liquors for the lot.”“No, let ’em have their own way,” said the first man; “they’re not used to our customs. You let ’em alone. I’m going to get ’em passages in thePaulina, for twenty dollars each. Come, lads, where’s your money?”I glanced quickly to right and left, but we seemed to be away from help, and, strangers as we were, in the lower part of the port, quite at the mercy of these men. Then, having made up my mind what to do, I pressed up to Esau, pushing rather roughly by our first friend.“Now, Esau,” I said, “back to the hotel. Straight on,” I whispered. “Run!”“I bet you don’t,” said our first friend; “that trick won’t do here, stranger;” and his smooth looks and tones gave place to a scowl and the air of a bully. “Come along, Esau,” I said sharply. “No, nor you don’t come along neither,” said the man, as the others closed round us as if out of curiosity, but so as to effectually bar our retreat.“What’s matter?” said one who had not yet spoken.“Matter?” cried our friend. “Why jest this. These here tew have been holding me off and on for three days, wanting me to get ’em a ship to take ’em to Esquimalt. First they wanted to go for ten, then they’d give fifteen.”“Fifteen dollars to Skimalt?” cried the new man. “Gammon.”“That’s so,” said our friend. “Last they said they’d give twenty dollars a-piece, and after a deal o’ trouble we got ’em berths, and paid half the money down; now they want to back out of it.”“Oh, yes,” cried the second man; “that won’t do here, mates.”“It’s not true,” I said, indignantly. “And now wants to bounce me out of it. Here, yew wouldn’t hev that, mates, would yew?”There was a regular excited chorus here, and the men closed in upon us, so that we were quite helpless, and for a moment I felt that we must buy ourselves out of our awkward position. But a glance at Esau showed that he was stubborn and angry as I, and that if called upon he would be ready to fight for it, and make a dash for liberty.Those were only momentary thoughts, for we were two lads of sixteen or seventeen against a gang of strong men who were holding us now, and our position was hopeless.Just then our first friend said in a carneying tone—“There, don’t be hard on ’em, mates. They’re going to be reasonable. Now then, are you going to pay those twenty dollars each for your passages?”“No,” I said, choking with rage.“Yew don’t mean to go in thePauliner?”“No, we don’t,” cried Esau.“Very well, then, yew must each on yew pay the smart. I paid for yew—ten dollars each, and tew fur my trouble. That’s fair, ain’t it, mates?”“Ay, ay. Make ’em pay three dollars,” was chorussed.“There, yew hear ’em, so out with the spots, and no more nonsents.”“You won’t get no money out o’ me,” cried Esau, fiercely.“Nor from me,” I cried.“We’ll soon see that. Now quick!”It was broad daylight, but we seemed to be quite alone, and I was being forced back over a man’s knee, when I was jerked up again, and the man who was holding me went backwards, while a familiar voice said—“Hullo, boys; seem to be enjoying yourselves.”“Mr Gunson, help!” I cried, as I recognised our shipboard companion; “these men—”“I see, my lad, steady. Ah, would you!” For a quick look had passed among the men, and they were about to make a rush, when Gimson stepped back and whipped out a revolver.“Don’t come too near, boys,” he said. “I’m rather a good shot.”The men stopped short at the sight of the revolver barrel covering first one and then another. But the first man said “Come on!” with quite a snarl, drew a knife, and flung himself at Gunson.I felt a horrible sensation run through me as I listened for the report; but instead of firing, Gunson struck up with his revolver, and the man went over sidewise, while our friend now fired over the heads of the others of the gang.This stopped them for the moment, but as they saw that no one fell, they came on again, and one of them seized Gunson before he could fire, or before he attempted to fire, for, as he told me afterwards, he did not want to feel that he had killed a man.In the struggle which followed I saw the pistol drop from our defender’s hand, and one of the men stooped to pick it up, but Esau was too quick for him. Making quite a leap, as if playing leap-frog, he pitched with his hands right on the man’s shoulders, sending him over and over, but falling himself, while I picked up the pistol and drew the trigger.The sharp report made my ears ring, and I stood back now with the weapon presented, expecting some of the others to rush at me. But the two reports had spread the alarm, and a couple of the officials came running up, whilst our assailants took to flight, giving Gunson an opportunity to rise and shake himself.“Hurt, my lads?” he said, as he took his pistol. “They were too many for me; I got the worst of it.”“I’m not hurt, sir; are you?” I said.“Only a bit bruised.”“I am,” grumbled Esau. “Feel as if my wrist’s out of joint.”By this time a crowd had assembled, and we were very glad to get away with our protector, after a few words of explanation to the two policemen, who told us we had better mind what company we got into, nodded to one another and laughed, as if it was all a good joke, and then went their way.“Here, come to my diggings,” said Gunson, rather gruffly. “I thought I told you two to mind what you were about, and what sort of customers you would meet with out here.”“Yes,” I said; “but—”“Wait till we get to my place, and we’ll sit down and talk there. Some one has been pretty foolish to let two boys like you come wandering round the world by yourselves.”In about ten minutes he stopped at so shabby looking a hotel that I half shrank from entering.Gunson noticed it.“Needn’t be scared,” he said. “Decent people. Germans;” and throwing off my hesitation, I followed him with Esau to his room, where he pointed to a chair and a stool, and seated himself upon a very homely-looking bed, taking out his revolver, and putting in two fresh cartridges.“Nasty thing to carry,” he said, “but it’s as good as a big dog. It can bark loudly as well as bite. Barking did this time. Now then,” he continued, as he replaced the pistol in his hip pocket, “I suppose you two know that those fellows were regular blackguards, who would have stripped you of every shilling you possessed—by fair means or foul. How was it you were with them?”I told him all that Esau would let me say, for he was very anxious to relate the story himself.“Oh, that was it, was it?” said Gunson. “Glad you were so sensible, but you see what this place is. It will be all right by and by, but at present it’s a regular sink for all the ruffians in the States to drain into. Why don’t you get out of it?”“That’s what we are trying to do—hard,” I said eagerly.“Why you can’t have tried much. There are plenty of ways out. Where do you want to go?”“To the Fraser River,” I said, “and then away north to Fort Elk.”“Ah,” he said, looking at us both curiously. “Fraser River, eh? That’s where I’m going.”I looked at him distrustfully, and he saw it.“Quite true, my lad,” he said, smiling good-humouredly; “and I sail by a vessel which starts the day after to-morrow. What did those rascals want twenty-five and then twenty dollars a-piece for your passage money? Humph! Well, I think I can do better for you than that.”“If you would give us the name of the agent,” I said.“I’ll do better—I’ll take you to him, and say you are friends of mine, if you are not ashamed of such a disreputable-looking character.”“I was not ashamed to take your help just now,” I said.“No,” he replied drily; “but you had no time then to examine my appearance. Where are you staying, my lads?”I told him, and he uttered a long low whistle. “Of course I don’t know what your friends are, but doesn’t the money run away very fast?”“Fast?” cried Esau; “why, I could live ten times as long on the same money in London.”“I dare say you could live twenty times as long, boy; I could. Look here; these people are decent, clean, and honest,—do as you like,—hadn’t you better come here? They’ll board you for half the money I’m paying—that is, they would you. I don’t know about him—he’s such a wolfish-looking fellow.”“Why, I don’t eat any more than he does!” cried Esau.“Don’t think you do, boy, you should say. Well, what do you think of it?”“Dunno,” said Esau, rather surlily. “Seems to me as if everybody here wants to rob you. How do I know you don’t?”“Ah, to be sure, boy, how do you know? Perhaps I do. Going to plan to get you somewhere all by yourselves, and then shoot you both. I am pretty good with a revolver.”“Didn’t seem like it just now.”“No, it didn’t,” said Gunson, coolly. “Ah, how like a boy that sounds. Do you know what shooting a man means?”“Killing him if you fire straight,” said Esau.“Right; and hurting him, eh?”“Of course.”“Well, look here, my lad; the man who shoots another hurts himself far more than he hurts his victim. You don’t understand that. Wait till you are as old as I am, and you will. I did not want to kill either of those ruffians. It was not a question of aiming, I had only to hold the pistol down, and it would have hit one of them. Well,” he continued, “shall I take you to the captain? and will you bring your things here? or will you go your own way?”I looked at him fixedly, for everything in the man’s appearance seemed to say, “Don’t trust him,” till his one eye lit up, and a smile began to curl his lip. Then my hand went out to him.“Yes,” I said, “you are an Englishman, and I’ll trust you.”He gripped my hand hard, and then turned to Esau.“Well,” he said, “what do you say? Think I shall do you a mischief?”“Yah! Not you,” said Esau. “I’m not afraid of you. Here, let’s get our things from that other place.”“Let’s have the landlady in first,” said Gunson, smiling; and he went to the door and called.A pleasant-looking German woman came, and in the most broken up English I ever heard, said we could come at once, but got into a muddle over terms till Gunson joined in, and spoke to her in German, when the difficulty was at an end.“Nice bright-looking place, and plenty of sunshine,” said Gunson, as he led us down to a wharf where a schooner was being laden with barrels, while a red-nosed, copper-complexioned man looked on smoking a cigar.“Here, skipper, two more passengers for you—friends of mine; will you have them?”The captain looked us both over, and then nodded.“How much?”The captain looked at us again, and then said a certain number of dollars for the two—a price which astonished us.“I’ll say right for them,” said Gunson. “They’ll send their chests on board.”“There!” said our new friend, as we walked back. “That matter was soon settled. Now go and pay your bills, get your traps, and come on to me.”
We were on shore next day, and, by the captain’s advice, went to a kind of hotel, where they undertook, not very willingly, to accommodate us, the captain having promised to help us in getting a ship for the Fraser River. But though day after day passed, and we went to him again and again, he was always too busy about his cargo being discharged, or seeing other people, to attend to us, and at last we sat one day on some timber on a wharf, talking about our affairs rather despondently.
“We seem to be regularly stuck fast, Esau,” I said; “and one feels so helpless out in a strange place like this.”
“Yes,” he said; “and the money goes so fast.”
“Yes,” I said, “the money goes so fast. We must get away from here soon.”
“Couldn’t walk up to what-its-name, could we?”
“Walk? Nonsense! Many, many hundreds of miles through a wild country, and over mountains and rivers.”
“Well, I shouldn’t mind that, lad. It would all be new.”
“We shall have plenty of that when we get to British Columbia.”
“What’s all this then?” he said.
“Part of the United States—California.”
“Oh, ah! of course. Seems to me I spent so much time learning to write a good hand, that I don’t know half so much of other things as I should.”
“Plenty of time for learning more, Esau.”
“Yes, plenty of time. Seem to have more time than we want, and I don’t enjoy going about much, though there’s plenty to see. One’s so unsettled like.”
“Yes; we want to get to our journey’s end.”
“So this is California, is it? That’s where they got so much gold. I say, let’s stop here.”
“Nonsense! We must get to Fort Elk, and see what is to be done there till Mr John comes.”
“All right, I’m ready for anything. Here’s one of the chaps coming who wanted us to let him get us a ship yesterday.”
For just then a yellow-looking fellow, one of the many idlers who hung about the docks, came slouching along towards us; and as soon as I saw him I whispered a word or two to Esau, and we got up and walked away, with the man still following us at a little distance.
“Those chaps smell money is my belief,” said Esau.
“Yes, and Mr Gunson was right. We mustn’t trust any one, but wait till the Captain tells us of some respectable skipper who’s going up North and will take us.”
“That’s it. I say, what rum-looking chaps these Chinees are,” continued Esau, as a man in blue, with a long pig-tail, passed us and smiled. “Why, he don’t know us, does he?”
“We don’t know him,” I replied.
We went on past the crowded wharves, where ships were loading and unloading, and then by the grey-tinted wooden buildings, all bright and fresh-looking in the sunshine. Everybody nearly seemed busy and in a hurry except us, and the idle-looking scoundrels who hung about the drinking and gambling saloons, into one or two of which Esau peered curiously as we went by; and then, as if attracted by the shipping, we made our way again down by the wharves in hopes of hearing of a vessel that would take us on.
I have known well enough since, that had we been better instructed, all this would have been simple enough; but to us ignorant lads, fresh come from England, it was a terrible problem to solve, one which grew more difficult every day. In those days, when settlers were few, and Vancouver Island just coming into notice, there was no regular steamer, only a speculative trading-vessel now and then. Still there was communication, if we had only known where to apply.
We were watching one vessel just setting out on her voyage, and thinking that in an hour or two she would be outside the great opening to the harbour, and abreast of the bare, whitish-looking cliffs which form that part of the Californian coast, when Esau said—
“I wonder whether she’s going up to Fraser River. I say, why didn’t we find out she was going to sail, and ask?”
“You want to go up the Fraser River?” said a voice close behind us. “Guess I never see such chaps as you. Why didn’t you say so sooner?”
We both faced round at once, and found that the man who had been haunting us for days was close behind us, and had heard every word. “Look here,” said Esau, shortly. “There, don’t you got rusty, stranger. That’s the worst of you Englishers, you think everybody wants tew hurt you.”
“Come along,” I whispered.
“Yew just let him alone. He’s all right. Now here’s yew tew have landed here days, yew may say, outer theAlbytross, and yew goes to spensife hotel, wasting yew’re money, when we’ve got quite a home for strangers like yew for half what yew pay, and we’ll get yew a ship to Fraser, Skimalt, or wheer yew like.”
As he was speaking three more men sauntered slowly up and stood looking on—men whom I felt sure I had seen with him before, and it made me uneasy, especially as a couple more came out of a low-looking saloon close by, and we were some distance from the better part of the city.
“Look here,” I said sharply, “do you know of a ship going to sail to the Fraser River, or to Esquimalt?”
“Why, of course I do. Here, where’s your money? It’s twenty-five dollars a-piece. Splendid berths, best of living. Like gentlemen aboard. Hand over, and I’ll take you to where they give out the tickets.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I should like to see the ship, and an agent.”
“But don’t I tell yew everything’s first chip, and I’ll do it for yew as yew’re strangers.”
“Yes, it’s very kind of you,” I said; “but I won’t trouble you.”
“Trouble? Oh, come, we’re not like that here to strangers. Nonsense, lad. Hand over.”
“We’re not going to give twenty-five dollars a piece, I can tell you,” put in Esau.
“Why, it’s next to nothing for a voyage like that. But there, never mind, you two are new-comers, and the skipper’s a friend of mine. I’ll put you right with him for twenty dollars each. Here, hi! Any of you know thePauliner?”
“Know her? yes,” said one of the men hard by; and they all came up and surrounded us. “What about her?”
“Sails for the Fraser, don’t she, to-morrow?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Splendid clipper, ain’t she, with cabins and all chip chop?”
“Yes,” came in chorus.
“There, what more do you want? Come along, lads; lucky I met you. Come and have a drink.”
“No, thank you,” I said. “Come, Esau.”
“Get,” said the man with a forced laugh. “What’s the good of being strangers. Come and have a drink. I’ll pay.”
“Pay? Ah,” said the second man; “and we’ll all share in turn. Come on in here.”
This fellow clapped his hand on my shoulder with a boisterous display of friendliness, while the firstcomer thrust his hand through Esau’s arm, and began to lead him toward the saloon.
“That will do,” I said, trying to be cool, for I began to fear that we were being dragged into some disturbance, and felt that the time had come to be firm. “We are much obliged to you for your friendliness, but we neither of us drink. Be good enough to tell me where the agent of the ship lives, and I’ll give you half-a-dollar.”
“Nonsense! come and have a drink, my lad.”
“No, thank you,” I said. “Come, Esau.”
“Why, what a fellow you are. Very well, then, hand over the twenty dollars each, if you can’t take a friendly drop. I’ll get the tickets for you all the same.”
“No, no,” said the other man. “Let’s do no business without a drink first; they think we want to make them pay, but I’ll stand liquors for the lot.”
“No, let ’em have their own way,” said the first man; “they’re not used to our customs. You let ’em alone. I’m going to get ’em passages in thePaulina, for twenty dollars each. Come, lads, where’s your money?”
I glanced quickly to right and left, but we seemed to be away from help, and, strangers as we were, in the lower part of the port, quite at the mercy of these men. Then, having made up my mind what to do, I pressed up to Esau, pushing rather roughly by our first friend.
“Now, Esau,” I said, “back to the hotel. Straight on,” I whispered. “Run!”
“I bet you don’t,” said our first friend; “that trick won’t do here, stranger;” and his smooth looks and tones gave place to a scowl and the air of a bully. “Come along, Esau,” I said sharply. “No, nor you don’t come along neither,” said the man, as the others closed round us as if out of curiosity, but so as to effectually bar our retreat.
“What’s matter?” said one who had not yet spoken.
“Matter?” cried our friend. “Why jest this. These here tew have been holding me off and on for three days, wanting me to get ’em a ship to take ’em to Esquimalt. First they wanted to go for ten, then they’d give fifteen.”
“Fifteen dollars to Skimalt?” cried the new man. “Gammon.”
“That’s so,” said our friend. “Last they said they’d give twenty dollars a-piece, and after a deal o’ trouble we got ’em berths, and paid half the money down; now they want to back out of it.”
“Oh, yes,” cried the second man; “that won’t do here, mates.”
“It’s not true,” I said, indignantly. “And now wants to bounce me out of it. Here, yew wouldn’t hev that, mates, would yew?”
There was a regular excited chorus here, and the men closed in upon us, so that we were quite helpless, and for a moment I felt that we must buy ourselves out of our awkward position. But a glance at Esau showed that he was stubborn and angry as I, and that if called upon he would be ready to fight for it, and make a dash for liberty.
Those were only momentary thoughts, for we were two lads of sixteen or seventeen against a gang of strong men who were holding us now, and our position was hopeless.
Just then our first friend said in a carneying tone—
“There, don’t be hard on ’em, mates. They’re going to be reasonable. Now then, are you going to pay those twenty dollars each for your passages?”
“No,” I said, choking with rage.
“Yew don’t mean to go in thePauliner?”
“No, we don’t,” cried Esau.
“Very well, then, yew must each on yew pay the smart. I paid for yew—ten dollars each, and tew fur my trouble. That’s fair, ain’t it, mates?”
“Ay, ay. Make ’em pay three dollars,” was chorussed.
“There, yew hear ’em, so out with the spots, and no more nonsents.”
“You won’t get no money out o’ me,” cried Esau, fiercely.
“Nor from me,” I cried.
“We’ll soon see that. Now quick!”
It was broad daylight, but we seemed to be quite alone, and I was being forced back over a man’s knee, when I was jerked up again, and the man who was holding me went backwards, while a familiar voice said—
“Hullo, boys; seem to be enjoying yourselves.”
“Mr Gunson, help!” I cried, as I recognised our shipboard companion; “these men—”
“I see, my lad, steady. Ah, would you!” For a quick look had passed among the men, and they were about to make a rush, when Gimson stepped back and whipped out a revolver.
“Don’t come too near, boys,” he said. “I’m rather a good shot.”
The men stopped short at the sight of the revolver barrel covering first one and then another. But the first man said “Come on!” with quite a snarl, drew a knife, and flung himself at Gunson.
I felt a horrible sensation run through me as I listened for the report; but instead of firing, Gunson struck up with his revolver, and the man went over sidewise, while our friend now fired over the heads of the others of the gang.
This stopped them for the moment, but as they saw that no one fell, they came on again, and one of them seized Gunson before he could fire, or before he attempted to fire, for, as he told me afterwards, he did not want to feel that he had killed a man.
In the struggle which followed I saw the pistol drop from our defender’s hand, and one of the men stooped to pick it up, but Esau was too quick for him. Making quite a leap, as if playing leap-frog, he pitched with his hands right on the man’s shoulders, sending him over and over, but falling himself, while I picked up the pistol and drew the trigger.
The sharp report made my ears ring, and I stood back now with the weapon presented, expecting some of the others to rush at me. But the two reports had spread the alarm, and a couple of the officials came running up, whilst our assailants took to flight, giving Gunson an opportunity to rise and shake himself.
“Hurt, my lads?” he said, as he took his pistol. “They were too many for me; I got the worst of it.”
“I’m not hurt, sir; are you?” I said.
“Only a bit bruised.”
“I am,” grumbled Esau. “Feel as if my wrist’s out of joint.”
By this time a crowd had assembled, and we were very glad to get away with our protector, after a few words of explanation to the two policemen, who told us we had better mind what company we got into, nodded to one another and laughed, as if it was all a good joke, and then went their way.
“Here, come to my diggings,” said Gunson, rather gruffly. “I thought I told you two to mind what you were about, and what sort of customers you would meet with out here.”
“Yes,” I said; “but—”
“Wait till we get to my place, and we’ll sit down and talk there. Some one has been pretty foolish to let two boys like you come wandering round the world by yourselves.”
In about ten minutes he stopped at so shabby looking a hotel that I half shrank from entering.
Gunson noticed it.
“Needn’t be scared,” he said. “Decent people. Germans;” and throwing off my hesitation, I followed him with Esau to his room, where he pointed to a chair and a stool, and seated himself upon a very homely-looking bed, taking out his revolver, and putting in two fresh cartridges.
“Nasty thing to carry,” he said, “but it’s as good as a big dog. It can bark loudly as well as bite. Barking did this time. Now then,” he continued, as he replaced the pistol in his hip pocket, “I suppose you two know that those fellows were regular blackguards, who would have stripped you of every shilling you possessed—by fair means or foul. How was it you were with them?”
I told him all that Esau would let me say, for he was very anxious to relate the story himself.
“Oh, that was it, was it?” said Gunson. “Glad you were so sensible, but you see what this place is. It will be all right by and by, but at present it’s a regular sink for all the ruffians in the States to drain into. Why don’t you get out of it?”
“That’s what we are trying to do—hard,” I said eagerly.
“Why you can’t have tried much. There are plenty of ways out. Where do you want to go?”
“To the Fraser River,” I said, “and then away north to Fort Elk.”
“Ah,” he said, looking at us both curiously. “Fraser River, eh? That’s where I’m going.”
I looked at him distrustfully, and he saw it.
“Quite true, my lad,” he said, smiling good-humouredly; “and I sail by a vessel which starts the day after to-morrow. What did those rascals want twenty-five and then twenty dollars a-piece for your passage money? Humph! Well, I think I can do better for you than that.”
“If you would give us the name of the agent,” I said.
“I’ll do better—I’ll take you to him, and say you are friends of mine, if you are not ashamed of such a disreputable-looking character.”
“I was not ashamed to take your help just now,” I said.
“No,” he replied drily; “but you had no time then to examine my appearance. Where are you staying, my lads?”
I told him, and he uttered a long low whistle. “Of course I don’t know what your friends are, but doesn’t the money run away very fast?”
“Fast?” cried Esau; “why, I could live ten times as long on the same money in London.”
“I dare say you could live twenty times as long, boy; I could. Look here; these people are decent, clean, and honest,—do as you like,—hadn’t you better come here? They’ll board you for half the money I’m paying—that is, they would you. I don’t know about him—he’s such a wolfish-looking fellow.”
“Why, I don’t eat any more than he does!” cried Esau.
“Don’t think you do, boy, you should say. Well, what do you think of it?”
“Dunno,” said Esau, rather surlily. “Seems to me as if everybody here wants to rob you. How do I know you don’t?”
“Ah, to be sure, boy, how do you know? Perhaps I do. Going to plan to get you somewhere all by yourselves, and then shoot you both. I am pretty good with a revolver.”
“Didn’t seem like it just now.”
“No, it didn’t,” said Gunson, coolly. “Ah, how like a boy that sounds. Do you know what shooting a man means?”
“Killing him if you fire straight,” said Esau.
“Right; and hurting him, eh?”
“Of course.”
“Well, look here, my lad; the man who shoots another hurts himself far more than he hurts his victim. You don’t understand that. Wait till you are as old as I am, and you will. I did not want to kill either of those ruffians. It was not a question of aiming, I had only to hold the pistol down, and it would have hit one of them. Well,” he continued, “shall I take you to the captain? and will you bring your things here? or will you go your own way?”
I looked at him fixedly, for everything in the man’s appearance seemed to say, “Don’t trust him,” till his one eye lit up, and a smile began to curl his lip. Then my hand went out to him.
“Yes,” I said, “you are an Englishman, and I’ll trust you.”
He gripped my hand hard, and then turned to Esau.
“Well,” he said, “what do you say? Think I shall do you a mischief?”
“Yah! Not you,” said Esau. “I’m not afraid of you. Here, let’s get our things from that other place.”
“Let’s have the landlady in first,” said Gunson, smiling; and he went to the door and called.
A pleasant-looking German woman came, and in the most broken up English I ever heard, said we could come at once, but got into a muddle over terms till Gunson joined in, and spoke to her in German, when the difficulty was at an end.
“Nice bright-looking place, and plenty of sunshine,” said Gunson, as he led us down to a wharf where a schooner was being laden with barrels, while a red-nosed, copper-complexioned man looked on smoking a cigar.
“Here, skipper, two more passengers for you—friends of mine; will you have them?”
The captain looked us both over, and then nodded.
“How much?”
The captain looked at us again, and then said a certain number of dollars for the two—a price which astonished us.
“I’ll say right for them,” said Gunson. “They’ll send their chests on board.”
“There!” said our new friend, as we walked back. “That matter was soon settled. Now go and pay your bills, get your traps, and come on to me.”
Chapter Thirteen.In New Quarters.Gunson nodded, and we parted, Esau keeping very quiet for a few minutes before speaking.“I suppose it’s all right,” he said; “but if ever a chap looked like bad company, he do.”“But he seems as friendly to us as can be.”“Yes,” said Esau. “But what does he want here with a pistol? Some of the people board ship was coming to keep shop, some to farm, and some to be servants. I want to know what he wants here?”“Perhaps the same as he would in New Zealand, and at the Cape of Good Hope. I should say he’s a traveller.”“What in? Yah! He don’t look the sort of man people would trust with goods to sell. Traveller? Why, you see dozens of ’em in the streets off Cheapside—big, good-looking fellows, with great curly whiskers and beards. He isn’t a traveller. Nobody would buy of him.”“I mean a man who goes through foreign countries.”“What for?”“To see them.”Esau shook his head.“I don’t think he’s a traveller of that sort. I say, look out.”“What is it?” I said, expecting to see a dray come along.“That chap.”Sure enough, there was the dark, yellow-looking scoundrel watching us, and he followed at a distance till he had seen us enter the hotel where we had been staying.We stated that we were going away, and went and packed up our few things at once, while from the corner of the window we had the satisfaction of seeing two more of our assailants come up, and remain in conversation with the first for a few minutes, after which they walked away.“Now, if we could get off at once, Esau,” I said, “they would not see us go, and when they return they might come and watch here as long as they liked.”Esau jumped at the idea, and went out to see if he could find a man to help us carry our boxes, while I paid our bill.Before I had done he was back with Gunson, whom he had met, and told what he was after, with the result that they had returned together.“I’m only a poor man,” said our friend, with a laugh, “so I thought I might as well come and earn half a dollar. I thought too,” he added, seriously, “that it would be better not to employ a stranger, who would be able to point out where you are staying, in case your acquaintances want to hunt you out to do you an ill turn.”We were only too glad of his offer, and in less than an hour we were safely in the shelter of our new resting-place; while upon Esau’s going out to reconnoitre, taking a good round so as not to be seen, he returned shortly in high glee, to tell us that the three men were seated on a stack of timber, watching the hotel we had left.“And ready for some mischief, I’ll be bound,” said Gunson. “These fellows work in clans, and I shall be very glad if we can get away without a crack on the head.”As we sat chatting with Gunson the rest of that day and evening, he seemed to puzzle me, for sometimes he talked quite like a steerage passenger, just as the rough-looking man he seemed should talk, while at others, words and ideas kept slipping out which made me think he must be one who had had a good education. He had travelled a great deal, as we knew, but he seemed singularly reserved about his intentions. That he was going to the Fraser River he made no secret; but though he kept us in the dark, he somehow or another, now that he was more with us, contrived to possess himself of all our projects.He seemed at times quite changed, and his manner set me wondering why it was that, though we had passed nearly five months together on board theAlbatross, seeing us every day, he had rarely spoken to us then, and we parted almost as much strangers as on the first day when we encountered each other in the dark cabin of the ship.First one and then the other would think he had found a clue to our companion’s intentions; but when we parted for the night we felt far from sure, but more curious than ever.“So you are going hunting, are you?” he said, in the course of our conversation.“No,” I said.“What do you call it then, a chase—wild-goose chase?”“I don’t see that it’s a wild-goose chase for two lads to come to a new country to try and get on,” I said.“Not a bit, my lad, but a very worthy thing to do. I meant it was rather a wild-goose chase for this friend of yours to send you in the hope of his brother-in-law helping you. Isn’t he rather an inconsistent sort of a gentleman?”“Mr John Dempster is one of the best of men,” I said warmly.“Perhaps so; but the best of men make mistakes sometimes, and it looks like one to me for him to be taking a sick wife right across the country to this new home. Tried it before, perhaps?”“No,” I said; “Mr John was never out of England. He told me so.”“Then he will have rather a startling experience, and I wish him well through with it.”“I say, don’t talk like that,” said Esau, suddenly, “because my mother’s there.”“Then I wish her well out of it too.”“Have you ever made the journey?” I said eagerly.“Yes, once,” said Gunson, quietly. “Once was enough.”“But Mrs John’s brother told them he thought it would do his sister good.”“Well, it may. I’m not a doctor; but after what I went through I should hesitate about taking a delicate woman such a route. And you too. When you get to the Fraser, how do you mean to journey hundreds of miles up to Fort Elk?”I was silent, for it seemed to me as if we were for the first time coming face to face with the difficulties of our task.“Dunno,” said Esau, thoughtfully. “S’pose there ain’t no ’buses.”“No, nor yet cabs,” said Gunson, laughing.“Might be a stage-coach running now and then, p’r’aps.”“My good lad, there isn’t even a road. Perhaps there is a trail. There is sure to be that, of course, for the Indians would go to the Fort with their pelting.”“With their what?” said Esau.“Pelts—skins, to sell to the company’s agent.”“Oh,” said Esau.“But the river,” I said suddenly. “We could go up that by a boat, couldn’t we?”Gunson laughed.“Yes, there is a river,” he said; “but, like all mountain streams, boats cannot go up very far for the torrents and falls and rocks. Have you any arms?”“Of course,” said Esau.“I mean weapons.”“No,” I said.“Humph! Perhaps better without them—at your age.”“You have,” I said, as I glanced toward his hip-pocket.Gunson nodded.“Got a gun too?” said Esau.“A rifle or two,” replied our companion, rather reluctantly; and he rose then and left the room, as if to avoid being questioned.“Hunting and shooting, that’s what he’s after,” said Esau triumphantly, as soon as we were alone.And at that moment I could not help thinking that he was right, and that we had hit upon a very satisfactory companion, for part of our journey at least, if it did not turn out that Gunson had some designs of his own.
Gunson nodded, and we parted, Esau keeping very quiet for a few minutes before speaking.
“I suppose it’s all right,” he said; “but if ever a chap looked like bad company, he do.”
“But he seems as friendly to us as can be.”
“Yes,” said Esau. “But what does he want here with a pistol? Some of the people board ship was coming to keep shop, some to farm, and some to be servants. I want to know what he wants here?”
“Perhaps the same as he would in New Zealand, and at the Cape of Good Hope. I should say he’s a traveller.”
“What in? Yah! He don’t look the sort of man people would trust with goods to sell. Traveller? Why, you see dozens of ’em in the streets off Cheapside—big, good-looking fellows, with great curly whiskers and beards. He isn’t a traveller. Nobody would buy of him.”
“I mean a man who goes through foreign countries.”
“What for?”
“To see them.”
Esau shook his head.
“I don’t think he’s a traveller of that sort. I say, look out.”
“What is it?” I said, expecting to see a dray come along.
“That chap.”
Sure enough, there was the dark, yellow-looking scoundrel watching us, and he followed at a distance till he had seen us enter the hotel where we had been staying.
We stated that we were going away, and went and packed up our few things at once, while from the corner of the window we had the satisfaction of seeing two more of our assailants come up, and remain in conversation with the first for a few minutes, after which they walked away.
“Now, if we could get off at once, Esau,” I said, “they would not see us go, and when they return they might come and watch here as long as they liked.”
Esau jumped at the idea, and went out to see if he could find a man to help us carry our boxes, while I paid our bill.
Before I had done he was back with Gunson, whom he had met, and told what he was after, with the result that they had returned together.
“I’m only a poor man,” said our friend, with a laugh, “so I thought I might as well come and earn half a dollar. I thought too,” he added, seriously, “that it would be better not to employ a stranger, who would be able to point out where you are staying, in case your acquaintances want to hunt you out to do you an ill turn.”
We were only too glad of his offer, and in less than an hour we were safely in the shelter of our new resting-place; while upon Esau’s going out to reconnoitre, taking a good round so as not to be seen, he returned shortly in high glee, to tell us that the three men were seated on a stack of timber, watching the hotel we had left.
“And ready for some mischief, I’ll be bound,” said Gunson. “These fellows work in clans, and I shall be very glad if we can get away without a crack on the head.”
As we sat chatting with Gunson the rest of that day and evening, he seemed to puzzle me, for sometimes he talked quite like a steerage passenger, just as the rough-looking man he seemed should talk, while at others, words and ideas kept slipping out which made me think he must be one who had had a good education. He had travelled a great deal, as we knew, but he seemed singularly reserved about his intentions. That he was going to the Fraser River he made no secret; but though he kept us in the dark, he somehow or another, now that he was more with us, contrived to possess himself of all our projects.
He seemed at times quite changed, and his manner set me wondering why it was that, though we had passed nearly five months together on board theAlbatross, seeing us every day, he had rarely spoken to us then, and we parted almost as much strangers as on the first day when we encountered each other in the dark cabin of the ship.
First one and then the other would think he had found a clue to our companion’s intentions; but when we parted for the night we felt far from sure, but more curious than ever.
“So you are going hunting, are you?” he said, in the course of our conversation.
“No,” I said.
“What do you call it then, a chase—wild-goose chase?”
“I don’t see that it’s a wild-goose chase for two lads to come to a new country to try and get on,” I said.
“Not a bit, my lad, but a very worthy thing to do. I meant it was rather a wild-goose chase for this friend of yours to send you in the hope of his brother-in-law helping you. Isn’t he rather an inconsistent sort of a gentleman?”
“Mr John Dempster is one of the best of men,” I said warmly.
“Perhaps so; but the best of men make mistakes sometimes, and it looks like one to me for him to be taking a sick wife right across the country to this new home. Tried it before, perhaps?”
“No,” I said; “Mr John was never out of England. He told me so.”
“Then he will have rather a startling experience, and I wish him well through with it.”
“I say, don’t talk like that,” said Esau, suddenly, “because my mother’s there.”
“Then I wish her well out of it too.”
“Have you ever made the journey?” I said eagerly.
“Yes, once,” said Gunson, quietly. “Once was enough.”
“But Mrs John’s brother told them he thought it would do his sister good.”
“Well, it may. I’m not a doctor; but after what I went through I should hesitate about taking a delicate woman such a route. And you too. When you get to the Fraser, how do you mean to journey hundreds of miles up to Fort Elk?”
I was silent, for it seemed to me as if we were for the first time coming face to face with the difficulties of our task.
“Dunno,” said Esau, thoughtfully. “S’pose there ain’t no ’buses.”
“No, nor yet cabs,” said Gunson, laughing.
“Might be a stage-coach running now and then, p’r’aps.”
“My good lad, there isn’t even a road. Perhaps there is a trail. There is sure to be that, of course, for the Indians would go to the Fort with their pelting.”
“With their what?” said Esau.
“Pelts—skins, to sell to the company’s agent.”
“Oh,” said Esau.
“But the river,” I said suddenly. “We could go up that by a boat, couldn’t we?”
Gunson laughed.
“Yes, there is a river,” he said; “but, like all mountain streams, boats cannot go up very far for the torrents and falls and rocks. Have you any arms?”
“Of course,” said Esau.
“I mean weapons.”
“No,” I said.
“Humph! Perhaps better without them—at your age.”
“You have,” I said, as I glanced toward his hip-pocket.
Gunson nodded.
“Got a gun too?” said Esau.
“A rifle or two,” replied our companion, rather reluctantly; and he rose then and left the room, as if to avoid being questioned.
“Hunting and shooting, that’s what he’s after,” said Esau triumphantly, as soon as we were alone.
And at that moment I could not help thinking that he was right, and that we had hit upon a very satisfactory companion, for part of our journey at least, if it did not turn out that Gunson had some designs of his own.
Chapter Fourteen.A Serious Trouble.Esau took it all coolly enough. I believe he thought hard sometimes, but it was soon over; and to him the most serious things in life seemed to be making a big meal and having a good sleep.Now for my part I could not help thinking a great deal, and worrying so much about the future that my thoughts would not let me sleep.My thoughts generally took this form—“Suppose—” And then I used to be supposing: suppose Mrs John were taken much worse and died; suppose the party were attacked by Indians; suppose they never got across all that great stretch of country; suppose Esau and I were lost in the woods, to starve to death, or drowned in the river, and so on, and so on; till toward morning sleep would come, and I began dreaming about that long-haired dark Yankee loafer, who had got hold of me, and was banging my head against the ground, and trying to kill me, till I opened my eyes the next morning and found that it was Esau.“I say,” he cried, grinning, “don’t you ever call me a sleepy-headed chap again. Why, I’ve been shaking you, and doing everything I could to rouse you up.”“Oh,” I exclaimed, “I am so glad! I was dreaming.”“As if I didn’t know. Why, you were on your back snorting, and puffing, and talking all sorts of nonsense. That’s eating ’Merican pie for supper.”“I couldn’t go to sleep for hours.”“Yah! that’s what mother always said when she was late of a morning, and I had to light the fire. I say, wonder how they are getting on?”“So do I. I lay thinking about them last night, hoping they wouldn’t be attacked by Indians.”“I don’t think an Indian would like to attack my mother again. She ain’t a big woman, but she has got a temper when it’s roused. Make haste; I want my breakfast.”I was not long in dressing, and on going down we found Mr Gunson waiting for us, and looking more sour, fierce, and forbidding than ever.“Come, young sirs,” he said, “you must learn to see the sun rise regularly out here in the West. Sit down, and let’s have breakfast. I’ve a lot to do ready for starting to-morrow.”“I’m sorry I am so late,” I said. “I could not sleep last night.”“Why? Let’s look at you. Not ill?”“Oh, no,” I said, beginning on my breakfast to try and overtake Esau.“No,” he said, “you’re not ill, or you couldn’t eat like that. Why couldn’t you sleep?”“I was thinking so much of what you said about the difficulties before us. I never thought of them before.”“Oh!” he said, looking at me curiously. “Well, I’m glad of it. But don’t worry yourself. The troubles will not come all at once. You can fight them one at a time, and get over them, I dare say.”“Then you think we shall be able to get up to Fort Elk somehow?”“If you make up your minds to it, and say you will do it. That’s the way. There, make a good breakfast, and then perhaps you can help me a bit. I want to finish buying a few things that one can’t get up the country. By the way, you will have to leave those chests of yours up at one of the settlements.”“Leave our chests?” said Esau, staring.“Why, you don’t expect to be able to carry a great box each on your head, do you, through such a country as you’ll have to travel. Never thought of that, I suppose?”“I’m afraid I did not,” I said.“Of course you did not. Look here, while I think of it. Have you both got blankets?”“No,” I said. “I thought we need not buy them till we built a house.”“And don’t you want to go to sleep till you’ve built a house? My good lads, a thoroughly well made thick blanket—a dark-coloured one—is a man’s best friend out here. It’s bed, greatcoat, seat, cushion, carpet-bag, everything. It’s even food sometimes.”“Go on,” cried Esau, laughing. “You can’t eat your blanket.”“There was a snake at the Zoo once thought differently,” said Gunson, laughing. “No, you can’t eat your blanket, but you can roll yourself up warm in it sometimes when there’s no food, and have a good sleep.Qui dort dine, the French folk say.”“But do you mean to say that up there we shan’t get anything to eat sometimes?” cried Esau, who looked aghast.“Yes, often. A man who wants to get on in a new country must not think of eating and drinking. Why, I went three days once with nothing but a drop of water now and then, and a bit of stick to chew, so as to keep my mouth moist.”I burst out into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, and Gunson looked annoyed.“It’s no joke, young fellow,” he said; “and I’m not romancing.”“No, no, no,” I panted out; “not—laughing—at you. Look—look!”I pointed at Esau, and Mr Gunson’s face relaxed into a smile, and then he too laughed heartily at the comical, horror-stricken countenance before us.“What are you laughing at?” cried Esau. “I say, though, do you mean it? Shall we have to go without sometimes like that?”“Of course you will.”“I say, Mr Gordon,” said Esau, in despondent tones, “hadn’t we better go back?”“Go back?—no!” I cried. “It will not be very pleasant, but we can eat all the more afterwards.”Esau brightened up.“Yes,” he said. “I didn’t think of that.”“You neither of you seem to have thought anything about what’s before you, my lads.”“Then you think we have done very foolishly in coming?” I said.“Not I. You have done wisely; and if you make up your minds to take everything as it comes, I have no doubt that you will grow up into well-to-do hearty men. There, now, let’s talk business. I’ll go with you and see that you are not cheated while you buy yourselves a blanket apiece. Have you knives?”“Yes,” I said; and we each produced one.“Ah, well, you can keep those in your pockets to pick your teeth with when you do get anything to eat. You must buy yourselves each a good strong case-knife, big enough to chop wood or skin an animal, and to use for your food.”“Anything else, sir?”“There are other things you’ll want, but you can wait till you join your friend up at Fort Elk. I dare say he will be able to supply you out of his store.”“But he does not keep a store,” I ventured to observe. “He is the head man over one of the Hudson’s Bay Company’s depôts.”“Exactly. Then he keeps a store. You don’t suppose he gives the Indians dollars for the skins they bring in, do you? He keeps a store of blankets and cutlery, and all kinds of useful things for barter with the people. Blankets up yonder are like bank-notes. Well, what are you looking at?”“I was wishing I knew as much about the place as you do.”“Have patience,” he said, laughing, “and I dare say you’ll know a good deal more.”We went out soon after breakfast, and I had my first lesson in frontier life in watching Gunson make his purchases after he had helped us make ours; and the rest of the day was occupied in overhauling our chests, and repacking them with things our new friend assured us that we should not want, while he pointed out to us those we did, and showed us how to make a light package of them that we could easily carry.Twice over that day I caught sight of the man I wanted to avoid, but fortunately he did not see us, and at last night came, and we sat down to our supper with our chests on board the schooner, and nothing to do the next morning but walk on board.I slept well that night, and we were down in good time, Mr Gunson nodding his approval, and after breakfast he said—“Look here, my lads, I’ve seen those roughs hanging about as if they meant mischief. Of course we could get the protection of the law, but that might mean detaining us, and as the schooner sails at noon, we don’t want any complications of that sort.”“Of course not,” I said.“So my advice is, that you stop here quietly till nearly the time, and then we’ll go on board, though I dare say it will be evening before we really start.”I agreed at once, but Esau looked disappointed.“Well, what is it?” said Gunson.“I did want to go back to that store and buy something else before we started.”“Money burning your pocket?”“No, it aren’t that,” said Esau, turning a little red.“Well, you are your own master, my lad. Go and buy what you want, and make haste back.”Esau brightened up, and I rose to go with him.“No, no; I don’t want you to come,” said Esau. “You stop with Mr Gunson. I shan’t be long.”It struck me that this was rather curious on my companion’s part, but I said nothing, only sat and looked out at the lovely bay, while Gunson busied himself with writing a letter.“There,” he said, when he had done; “want to write too?”I shook my head.“Better,” he said. “Mayn’t have another chance to write home for mouths.”“I have no home,” I said sadly, “and no one to whom I could write.”He clapped me on the shoulder, and looked down at me searchingly as I thought.“Never mind, lad; you are going to make a home and friends too. Some day you may have more friends to write to than you want.”I walked away to the window, to stand looking out at the shipping, wondering how long Esau would be, and what the article was that had taken his fancy, till all of a sudden the idea came to me that it must be a revolver.“Do you know what your young mate has gone to buy?” said Mr Gunson just then, but I avowed my ignorance. “I hope he will not be very long, because we may as well be getting on board and settling down. Our chests are all right. The captain told me that they were right down in the hold, and well above the chance of getting any bilge water upon them.”He went to the window I had just left.“Looks like fine weather,” he said, “with perhaps a little wind. You must try and be a better sailor this time.”The last look round was given, the bill paid, and as we waited, I congratulated myself upon the fact that we were going to escape without another encounter with the loafers, for I felt sure they had been watching for us, so as to pick a quarrel. But the time glided on, and Esau did not return.Gunson got up and went to the door twice, coming back each time with a very severe look on his countenance, as I saw at a glance, for I avoided his eyes, feeling, as I did, unwilling to meet some angry outburst, and hoping every moment to have an end put to a very unpleasant state of affairs.Over and over again I started at some impatient movement on the part of Gunson; but he did not speak, contenting himself with walking impatiently up and down like some animal in a cage.“Have you no idea what Dean has gone to buy?” he said at last.“Not the least, unless he has fancied that he would like a revolver.”“Absurd!” cried Gunson; and there was another pause, during which I listened to every passing step, hoping against hope that it might be Esau.My position was growing more and more painful, and at last I could bear it no longer.“What is it? What are you going to do?” said Gunson, as I suddenly jumped up.“Look for Esau,” I said.“Sit still, boy. What do you know about the place, and which way will you go?”I was obliged to say that I didn’t know, but I would hunt for him well.“It is now close upon twelve o’clock,” said Gunson, angrily, “and he has been gone nearly three hours. If he is coming back it must be directly, and then, with you gone, we shall miss the boat, and all our belongings will go on up north without us. Hang him, he must be mad!”“But I would not go far without coming back,” I said.“I think, my lad, you may save yourself the trouble.”“What do you mean? He will be back here directly?”“No. I’m afraid,” said Gunson, bitterly, “that we have been talking too much for him lately.”“Mr Gunson?”“We have scared him with our account of the troubles, and he has backed out.”“Backed out?” I faltered, quite horrified at the idea of being left alone.“Yes, and gone into hiding until we have sailed.”“Oh, impossible!”“No, my lad, quite possible. You saw how startled he was at the idea of a journey through a wild country.”“No, no, I think not,” I said.“I feel nearly sure of it. He had no real reason for going out this morning, and his excuses to get away were as slippery as could be. Depend upon it we shall not see him again—at least, I shall not, for of course you will wait for him.”“If I thought he could play such a mean, deceitful trick I should go without him,” I said hotly.“Indeed? Well then, my lad, you had better come, for it is high time we were off.”I stared at him wildly, for what he had said seemed terribly likely. Esau had been startled on hearing the real difficulties and dangers that we had to go through, and much as he seemed to like me, he might have been overcome by his thoughts, and at the last moment felt that he must turn tail.“Well?” said Gunson, “what do you say? Will you come? I must be off almost directly.”“Yes,” I said, “you must go, but I’m sure Esau is in some trouble. He could not be such a coward as that.”“Then you will not go with me?”“I would if I could think as you do,” I said; “but I’m sure he would not forsake me.”“Human nature, boy.”“It isn’t his human nature,” I said boldly. “If he had wanted to back out he would have confided in me, and wanted me to go with him till you had sailed.”“I have no time to argue,” said Gunson sternly. “What are you going to do?”“I must try and find my companion.”“But your chests?—they will be taken on to Esquimalt.”“We should have to go up and claim them afterwards.”“You believe, then, that he is staunch?”“I am sure of it, sir.”“Well, then, good-bye, my lad. I’ll speak to the captain about your chests, and have them left with the agents of the ship, but you will have to give up your passage-money. There will be no getting that back.”“I’m afraid not,” I said gloomily.“Yes, they may sail at any time,” said Gunson, impatiently. “Better go with me, boy.”“No,” I said.“You are giving up your passage and your chances for the sake of a fellow not worth his salt.”“You don’t know him as I do,” I replied. “I will not believe it of him.”“Well, if he is not staunch you are, at all events, my lad. Good-bye. If he does come back run down to the wharf at once, the schooner may not have sailed.”“He has got into some trouble, I’m sure,” I cried.“Good-bye.”“Good-bye,” I said, holding out my hand; but my lips quivered, for I was horribly disappointed.“Once more,” cried Mr Gunson, as he gripped my hand hard, “I tell you he is playing you false. You had better come.”“No.”“You are not afraid, are you?”I flung his hand away.“No,” he said, smiling, “not a bit. There, Mayne, my lad, he has thrown you over, but I can’t. If you stay, I’ll stay too.”“Mr Gunson!” I cried.“Yes, my lad, and we’ll see if he comes back.”“He will if he can, I’m sure,” I cried. “Well, we shall see.”“I am sure he has got into some trouble; I am certain of it. Ah, here he is!”For the door opened at that moment, but it was not Esau, only the landlady, who in broken German-English, told us that a message had arrived from the captain to say we were to go on board.“Thank you.Gut!” said Gunson, laconically. And then, as the woman left the room, he continued, “Well, I’ll take your view of it, my lad. We’ll say he has got into some trouble and cannot get back.”“Yes; I’m sure of it,” I cried. “Very well, then, we must get him out of it. Of course it is no use for us to waste time by going from house to house. I’ll go and see the chief man in the police, and see if they can find him for us.”“Yes,” I said, eagerly; “come on.”“No, no, you stay. He may, as you say, return, and you must be here to meet him, or he may go off again, and matters be worse.”“He’d go to the schooner then.”“If the schooner had not sailed. You stop, and I hope he will turn up hero.”Anxious as I was to go in search of Esau, I was obliged to obey, and I was directly after left to myself to pass quite a couple of hours before Gunson came back.“No news yet,” he said; “the police are trying what they can do, but if he is in hiding they are not likely to succeed.”“Then he is not in prison?”“Oh, no; as far as I can hear, nothing has been seen of him.”“I thought he might have got in some trouble, and been arrested. Then those men must be at the bottom of it, Mr Gunson.”“Yes, I thought so, but what could I do? I told one of the chiefs of the police that I was afraid he had been attacked, and the man looked serious, and said ‘Very likely.’ Then he asked me to describe the men, and I did.”“Well?” I said eagerly.“He told me that my description was like that of hundreds of scoundrels about the place.”“Let’s go and see if we can meet them anywhere about,” I said. “They were watching our hotel yesterday where we stayed.”“Yes, I know,” said Gunson, thoughtfully. “It hardly seems likely. I don’t know, though, there are always men hanging about ports ready to do anything for the sake of a few shillings, all the world over.”I felt a shiver run through me at his words, as my busy brain began to suggest endless horrors that might have befallen poor Esau; and as I followed Gunson out into the road, these thoughts grew and grew till I found myself telling poor little Mrs Dean about the loss of her son, and hearing her reproaches as she told me that it was all my fault, and that if it had not been for me Esau would have stayed at home.We went along the road, and down to the wharves, and to and fro about the hotel where we had been staying, and there was no sign of either of the men who had assailed us. There were, as the police had said, plenty of a similar class, many of whom resembled them somewhat in appearance; but our search was entirely in vain, while towards evening, as we came out once more where we had a full view of the beautiful bay, I saw something which made me start, and, full of misery and self-reproach, I stopped and looked up at Gunson.“Yes,” he said, frowning heavily, “I see. There she goes, and with a good wind too. Nice clean-sailing little vessel. We ought to have been on board.”For there, a mile now from the shore, with her sails set, and looking half-transparent in the light of the setting sun, was the graceful-looking schooner, which I felt must be ours, heeling over gently, and taking with her our few belongings.“Pretty good waste of time as well as money, Gordon, my lad,” said my strange-looking companion, harshly. “But there, it is of no use to cry over spilt milk. You could not go off and leave your mate in this way, and I, as an Englishman, could not leave a fellow-countryman—I mean boy—in trouble.”I tried to thank him, but suitable words would not come, and he clapped me on the shoulder in a friendly way.“There,” he said, “come back to our friend the Frau. You are faint and hungry, and so am I. She shall give us a good square meal, as they call it out here, and then we shall be rested, and better able to think.”I was faint, certainly, but the idea of eating anything seemed to make me feel heart-sick; but I said nothing, only followed my companion back to the little hotel, feeling as if this was after all only some bad, confused dream.
Esau took it all coolly enough. I believe he thought hard sometimes, but it was soon over; and to him the most serious things in life seemed to be making a big meal and having a good sleep.
Now for my part I could not help thinking a great deal, and worrying so much about the future that my thoughts would not let me sleep.
My thoughts generally took this form—“Suppose—” And then I used to be supposing: suppose Mrs John were taken much worse and died; suppose the party were attacked by Indians; suppose they never got across all that great stretch of country; suppose Esau and I were lost in the woods, to starve to death, or drowned in the river, and so on, and so on; till toward morning sleep would come, and I began dreaming about that long-haired dark Yankee loafer, who had got hold of me, and was banging my head against the ground, and trying to kill me, till I opened my eyes the next morning and found that it was Esau.
“I say,” he cried, grinning, “don’t you ever call me a sleepy-headed chap again. Why, I’ve been shaking you, and doing everything I could to rouse you up.”
“Oh,” I exclaimed, “I am so glad! I was dreaming.”
“As if I didn’t know. Why, you were on your back snorting, and puffing, and talking all sorts of nonsense. That’s eating ’Merican pie for supper.”
“I couldn’t go to sleep for hours.”
“Yah! that’s what mother always said when she was late of a morning, and I had to light the fire. I say, wonder how they are getting on?”
“So do I. I lay thinking about them last night, hoping they wouldn’t be attacked by Indians.”
“I don’t think an Indian would like to attack my mother again. She ain’t a big woman, but she has got a temper when it’s roused. Make haste; I want my breakfast.”
I was not long in dressing, and on going down we found Mr Gunson waiting for us, and looking more sour, fierce, and forbidding than ever.
“Come, young sirs,” he said, “you must learn to see the sun rise regularly out here in the West. Sit down, and let’s have breakfast. I’ve a lot to do ready for starting to-morrow.”
“I’m sorry I am so late,” I said. “I could not sleep last night.”
“Why? Let’s look at you. Not ill?”
“Oh, no,” I said, beginning on my breakfast to try and overtake Esau.
“No,” he said, “you’re not ill, or you couldn’t eat like that. Why couldn’t you sleep?”
“I was thinking so much of what you said about the difficulties before us. I never thought of them before.”
“Oh!” he said, looking at me curiously. “Well, I’m glad of it. But don’t worry yourself. The troubles will not come all at once. You can fight them one at a time, and get over them, I dare say.”
“Then you think we shall be able to get up to Fort Elk somehow?”
“If you make up your minds to it, and say you will do it. That’s the way. There, make a good breakfast, and then perhaps you can help me a bit. I want to finish buying a few things that one can’t get up the country. By the way, you will have to leave those chests of yours up at one of the settlements.”
“Leave our chests?” said Esau, staring.
“Why, you don’t expect to be able to carry a great box each on your head, do you, through such a country as you’ll have to travel. Never thought of that, I suppose?”
“I’m afraid I did not,” I said.
“Of course you did not. Look here, while I think of it. Have you both got blankets?”
“No,” I said. “I thought we need not buy them till we built a house.”
“And don’t you want to go to sleep till you’ve built a house? My good lads, a thoroughly well made thick blanket—a dark-coloured one—is a man’s best friend out here. It’s bed, greatcoat, seat, cushion, carpet-bag, everything. It’s even food sometimes.”
“Go on,” cried Esau, laughing. “You can’t eat your blanket.”
“There was a snake at the Zoo once thought differently,” said Gunson, laughing. “No, you can’t eat your blanket, but you can roll yourself up warm in it sometimes when there’s no food, and have a good sleep.Qui dort dine, the French folk say.”
“But do you mean to say that up there we shan’t get anything to eat sometimes?” cried Esau, who looked aghast.
“Yes, often. A man who wants to get on in a new country must not think of eating and drinking. Why, I went three days once with nothing but a drop of water now and then, and a bit of stick to chew, so as to keep my mouth moist.”
I burst out into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, and Gunson looked annoyed.
“It’s no joke, young fellow,” he said; “and I’m not romancing.”
“No, no, no,” I panted out; “not—laughing—at you. Look—look!”
I pointed at Esau, and Mr Gunson’s face relaxed into a smile, and then he too laughed heartily at the comical, horror-stricken countenance before us.
“What are you laughing at?” cried Esau. “I say, though, do you mean it? Shall we have to go without sometimes like that?”
“Of course you will.”
“I say, Mr Gordon,” said Esau, in despondent tones, “hadn’t we better go back?”
“Go back?—no!” I cried. “It will not be very pleasant, but we can eat all the more afterwards.”
Esau brightened up.
“Yes,” he said. “I didn’t think of that.”
“You neither of you seem to have thought anything about what’s before you, my lads.”
“Then you think we have done very foolishly in coming?” I said.
“Not I. You have done wisely; and if you make up your minds to take everything as it comes, I have no doubt that you will grow up into well-to-do hearty men. There, now, let’s talk business. I’ll go with you and see that you are not cheated while you buy yourselves a blanket apiece. Have you knives?”
“Yes,” I said; and we each produced one.
“Ah, well, you can keep those in your pockets to pick your teeth with when you do get anything to eat. You must buy yourselves each a good strong case-knife, big enough to chop wood or skin an animal, and to use for your food.”
“Anything else, sir?”
“There are other things you’ll want, but you can wait till you join your friend up at Fort Elk. I dare say he will be able to supply you out of his store.”
“But he does not keep a store,” I ventured to observe. “He is the head man over one of the Hudson’s Bay Company’s depôts.”
“Exactly. Then he keeps a store. You don’t suppose he gives the Indians dollars for the skins they bring in, do you? He keeps a store of blankets and cutlery, and all kinds of useful things for barter with the people. Blankets up yonder are like bank-notes. Well, what are you looking at?”
“I was wishing I knew as much about the place as you do.”
“Have patience,” he said, laughing, “and I dare say you’ll know a good deal more.”
We went out soon after breakfast, and I had my first lesson in frontier life in watching Gunson make his purchases after he had helped us make ours; and the rest of the day was occupied in overhauling our chests, and repacking them with things our new friend assured us that we should not want, while he pointed out to us those we did, and showed us how to make a light package of them that we could easily carry.
Twice over that day I caught sight of the man I wanted to avoid, but fortunately he did not see us, and at last night came, and we sat down to our supper with our chests on board the schooner, and nothing to do the next morning but walk on board.
I slept well that night, and we were down in good time, Mr Gunson nodding his approval, and after breakfast he said—
“Look here, my lads, I’ve seen those roughs hanging about as if they meant mischief. Of course we could get the protection of the law, but that might mean detaining us, and as the schooner sails at noon, we don’t want any complications of that sort.”
“Of course not,” I said.
“So my advice is, that you stop here quietly till nearly the time, and then we’ll go on board, though I dare say it will be evening before we really start.”
I agreed at once, but Esau looked disappointed.
“Well, what is it?” said Gunson.
“I did want to go back to that store and buy something else before we started.”
“Money burning your pocket?”
“No, it aren’t that,” said Esau, turning a little red.
“Well, you are your own master, my lad. Go and buy what you want, and make haste back.”
Esau brightened up, and I rose to go with him.
“No, no; I don’t want you to come,” said Esau. “You stop with Mr Gunson. I shan’t be long.”
It struck me that this was rather curious on my companion’s part, but I said nothing, only sat and looked out at the lovely bay, while Gunson busied himself with writing a letter.
“There,” he said, when he had done; “want to write too?”
I shook my head.
“Better,” he said. “Mayn’t have another chance to write home for mouths.”
“I have no home,” I said sadly, “and no one to whom I could write.”
He clapped me on the shoulder, and looked down at me searchingly as I thought.
“Never mind, lad; you are going to make a home and friends too. Some day you may have more friends to write to than you want.”
I walked away to the window, to stand looking out at the shipping, wondering how long Esau would be, and what the article was that had taken his fancy, till all of a sudden the idea came to me that it must be a revolver.
“Do you know what your young mate has gone to buy?” said Mr Gunson just then, but I avowed my ignorance. “I hope he will not be very long, because we may as well be getting on board and settling down. Our chests are all right. The captain told me that they were right down in the hold, and well above the chance of getting any bilge water upon them.”
He went to the window I had just left.
“Looks like fine weather,” he said, “with perhaps a little wind. You must try and be a better sailor this time.”
The last look round was given, the bill paid, and as we waited, I congratulated myself upon the fact that we were going to escape without another encounter with the loafers, for I felt sure they had been watching for us, so as to pick a quarrel. But the time glided on, and Esau did not return.
Gunson got up and went to the door twice, coming back each time with a very severe look on his countenance, as I saw at a glance, for I avoided his eyes, feeling, as I did, unwilling to meet some angry outburst, and hoping every moment to have an end put to a very unpleasant state of affairs.
Over and over again I started at some impatient movement on the part of Gunson; but he did not speak, contenting himself with walking impatiently up and down like some animal in a cage.
“Have you no idea what Dean has gone to buy?” he said at last.
“Not the least, unless he has fancied that he would like a revolver.”
“Absurd!” cried Gunson; and there was another pause, during which I listened to every passing step, hoping against hope that it might be Esau.
My position was growing more and more painful, and at last I could bear it no longer.
“What is it? What are you going to do?” said Gunson, as I suddenly jumped up.
“Look for Esau,” I said.
“Sit still, boy. What do you know about the place, and which way will you go?”
I was obliged to say that I didn’t know, but I would hunt for him well.
“It is now close upon twelve o’clock,” said Gunson, angrily, “and he has been gone nearly three hours. If he is coming back it must be directly, and then, with you gone, we shall miss the boat, and all our belongings will go on up north without us. Hang him, he must be mad!”
“But I would not go far without coming back,” I said.
“I think, my lad, you may save yourself the trouble.”
“What do you mean? He will be back here directly?”
“No. I’m afraid,” said Gunson, bitterly, “that we have been talking too much for him lately.”
“Mr Gunson?”
“We have scared him with our account of the troubles, and he has backed out.”
“Backed out?” I faltered, quite horrified at the idea of being left alone.
“Yes, and gone into hiding until we have sailed.”
“Oh, impossible!”
“No, my lad, quite possible. You saw how startled he was at the idea of a journey through a wild country.”
“No, no, I think not,” I said.
“I feel nearly sure of it. He had no real reason for going out this morning, and his excuses to get away were as slippery as could be. Depend upon it we shall not see him again—at least, I shall not, for of course you will wait for him.”
“If I thought he could play such a mean, deceitful trick I should go without him,” I said hotly.
“Indeed? Well then, my lad, you had better come, for it is high time we were off.”
I stared at him wildly, for what he had said seemed terribly likely. Esau had been startled on hearing the real difficulties and dangers that we had to go through, and much as he seemed to like me, he might have been overcome by his thoughts, and at the last moment felt that he must turn tail.
“Well?” said Gunson, “what do you say? Will you come? I must be off almost directly.”
“Yes,” I said, “you must go, but I’m sure Esau is in some trouble. He could not be such a coward as that.”
“Then you will not go with me?”
“I would if I could think as you do,” I said; “but I’m sure he would not forsake me.”
“Human nature, boy.”
“It isn’t his human nature,” I said boldly. “If he had wanted to back out he would have confided in me, and wanted me to go with him till you had sailed.”
“I have no time to argue,” said Gunson sternly. “What are you going to do?”
“I must try and find my companion.”
“But your chests?—they will be taken on to Esquimalt.”
“We should have to go up and claim them afterwards.”
“You believe, then, that he is staunch?”
“I am sure of it, sir.”
“Well, then, good-bye, my lad. I’ll speak to the captain about your chests, and have them left with the agents of the ship, but you will have to give up your passage-money. There will be no getting that back.”
“I’m afraid not,” I said gloomily.
“Yes, they may sail at any time,” said Gunson, impatiently. “Better go with me, boy.”
“No,” I said.
“You are giving up your passage and your chances for the sake of a fellow not worth his salt.”
“You don’t know him as I do,” I replied. “I will not believe it of him.”
“Well, if he is not staunch you are, at all events, my lad. Good-bye. If he does come back run down to the wharf at once, the schooner may not have sailed.”
“He has got into some trouble, I’m sure,” I cried.
“Good-bye.”
“Good-bye,” I said, holding out my hand; but my lips quivered, for I was horribly disappointed.
“Once more,” cried Mr Gunson, as he gripped my hand hard, “I tell you he is playing you false. You had better come.”
“No.”
“You are not afraid, are you?”
I flung his hand away.
“No,” he said, smiling, “not a bit. There, Mayne, my lad, he has thrown you over, but I can’t. If you stay, I’ll stay too.”
“Mr Gunson!” I cried.
“Yes, my lad, and we’ll see if he comes back.”
“He will if he can, I’m sure,” I cried. “Well, we shall see.”
“I am sure he has got into some trouble; I am certain of it. Ah, here he is!”
For the door opened at that moment, but it was not Esau, only the landlady, who in broken German-English, told us that a message had arrived from the captain to say we were to go on board.
“Thank you.Gut!” said Gunson, laconically. And then, as the woman left the room, he continued, “Well, I’ll take your view of it, my lad. We’ll say he has got into some trouble and cannot get back.”
“Yes; I’m sure of it,” I cried. “Very well, then, we must get him out of it. Of course it is no use for us to waste time by going from house to house. I’ll go and see the chief man in the police, and see if they can find him for us.”
“Yes,” I said, eagerly; “come on.”
“No, no, you stay. He may, as you say, return, and you must be here to meet him, or he may go off again, and matters be worse.”
“He’d go to the schooner then.”
“If the schooner had not sailed. You stop, and I hope he will turn up hero.”
Anxious as I was to go in search of Esau, I was obliged to obey, and I was directly after left to myself to pass quite a couple of hours before Gunson came back.
“No news yet,” he said; “the police are trying what they can do, but if he is in hiding they are not likely to succeed.”
“Then he is not in prison?”
“Oh, no; as far as I can hear, nothing has been seen of him.”
“I thought he might have got in some trouble, and been arrested. Then those men must be at the bottom of it, Mr Gunson.”
“Yes, I thought so, but what could I do? I told one of the chiefs of the police that I was afraid he had been attacked, and the man looked serious, and said ‘Very likely.’ Then he asked me to describe the men, and I did.”
“Well?” I said eagerly.
“He told me that my description was like that of hundreds of scoundrels about the place.”
“Let’s go and see if we can meet them anywhere about,” I said. “They were watching our hotel yesterday where we stayed.”
“Yes, I know,” said Gunson, thoughtfully. “It hardly seems likely. I don’t know, though, there are always men hanging about ports ready to do anything for the sake of a few shillings, all the world over.”
I felt a shiver run through me at his words, as my busy brain began to suggest endless horrors that might have befallen poor Esau; and as I followed Gunson out into the road, these thoughts grew and grew till I found myself telling poor little Mrs Dean about the loss of her son, and hearing her reproaches as she told me that it was all my fault, and that if it had not been for me Esau would have stayed at home.
We went along the road, and down to the wharves, and to and fro about the hotel where we had been staying, and there was no sign of either of the men who had assailed us. There were, as the police had said, plenty of a similar class, many of whom resembled them somewhat in appearance; but our search was entirely in vain, while towards evening, as we came out once more where we had a full view of the beautiful bay, I saw something which made me start, and, full of misery and self-reproach, I stopped and looked up at Gunson.
“Yes,” he said, frowning heavily, “I see. There she goes, and with a good wind too. Nice clean-sailing little vessel. We ought to have been on board.”
For there, a mile now from the shore, with her sails set, and looking half-transparent in the light of the setting sun, was the graceful-looking schooner, which I felt must be ours, heeling over gently, and taking with her our few belongings.
“Pretty good waste of time as well as money, Gordon, my lad,” said my strange-looking companion, harshly. “But there, it is of no use to cry over spilt milk. You could not go off and leave your mate in this way, and I, as an Englishman, could not leave a fellow-countryman—I mean boy—in trouble.”
I tried to thank him, but suitable words would not come, and he clapped me on the shoulder in a friendly way.
“There,” he said, “come back to our friend the Frau. You are faint and hungry, and so am I. She shall give us a good square meal, as they call it out here, and then we shall be rested, and better able to think.”
I was faint, certainly, but the idea of eating anything seemed to make me feel heart-sick; but I said nothing, only followed my companion back to the little hotel, feeling as if this was after all only some bad, confused dream.