The hoodlum band, and other stories

ONE SHILLING.

BRET MARIE'S

LONDON: WARD, LOCK, AMD

University Library
University of California • Berkeley

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THE

HOODLUM BAND,

AND OTHER STOEIES.

BY

BEET iHAKTE,

AUTHOR OF "THE PAGAN CHILD," " HEATHEN CHINEE,"

ETC., ETC.

WARD, LOCK AND CO.,
LONDON, NEW YORK, AND MELBOURNE.

CONTENTS.

PAOP.

THE MAN ON THE BEACH 7

Two SAINTS OF THE FOOT-HILLS 42

"JINNY" .... 55

KOGER CATEON'S FHIEND 65

WHO WAS MY QUIET FRIEND ? . 80

A GHOST OF THE SIERRAS 89

THE HOODLUM BAND (a Condensed Novel) .... 98

THE MAN WHOSE YOKE WAS NOT EASY .... 117

MY FRIEND, THE TRAMP 125

THE MAN PROM SOLANO 137

THE OFFICE SEEKER 145

A SLEEPING-CAR EXPERIENCE 160

FIVE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING 167

WITH THE ENTRIES • • t • » • • •

THE MAN ON THE BEACH

|E lived beside a river that emptied into a great ocean.
The narrow strip of land that lay between him and
the estuary was covered at high tide by a shining
film of water, at low tide with the cast-up offerings
of sea and shore. Logs yet green, and saplings washed away
from inland banks, battered fragments of wrecks and orange
crates of bamboo, broken into tiny rafts yet odorous with
their lost freight, lay in long successive curves, — the fringes
and overlappings of the sea. At high noon the shadow of a
sea-gull's wing, or a sudden flurry and grey squall of sand-
pipers, themselves but shadows, was all that broke the
monotonous glare of the level sands.

He had lived there alone for a twelvemonth. Although but
a few miles from a thriving settlement, during that time his
retirement had never been intruded upon, his seclusion re-
mained unbroken. In any other community he might have
been the subject of rumour or criticism, but the miners at
Camp Rogue and the traders at Trinidad Head, themselves
individual and eccentric, were profoundly indifferent to all
other forms of eccentricity or heterodoxy that did not come
in contact with their own. And certainly there was no farm
of eccentricity less aggressive x,han that of a hermit, had ihe-y

8 THE MAN ON THE BEACH.

chosen to give him that appellation. But they did not even
do that, probably from lack of interest or perception. To
the various traders who supplied his small wants he was
known as " Kernel," " Judge," and " Boss." To the general
public " The Man on the Beach" was considered a sufficiently
distinguishing title. His name, his occupation, rank, or ante-
cedents, nobody cared to inquire. Whether this arose from a
fear of reciprocal inquiry and interest, or from the profound
indifference before referred to, I cannot say.

He did not look like a hermit. A man yet young, erect,
well-dressed, clean-shaven, with a low voice, and a smile half
melancholy, half cynical, was scarcely the conventional idea
of a solitary. His dwelling, a rude improvement on a fisher-
man's cabin, had all the severe exterior simplicity of frontier
architecture, but within it was comfortable and wholesome.
Three rooms — a kitchen, a living-room, and a bedroom — were
all it contained.

He had lived there long enough to see the dull monotony
of one season lapse into the dull monotony of the other. The
bleak northwest trade- winds had brought him mornings of
staring sunlight and nights of fog and silence. The warmer
southwest trades had brought him clouds, rain, and the tran-
sient glories of quick grasses and odorous beach blossoms.
But summer or winter, wet or dry season, on one side rose
always the sharply denned hills with their changeless back-
ground of evergreens ; on the other side stretched always the
illimitable ocean as sharply defined against the horizon, and
as unchanging in its hue. The onset of spring and autumn
tides, some changes among his feathered neighbours, the
footprints of certain wild animals along the river's bank, and
the hanging out of parti-coloured signals from the wooded
hill-side far inland, helped him to record the slow months.
On summer afternoons, when the sun sank behind a bank of
fog that, moving solemnly shoreward, at last encompassed
him aud blotted out sea and sky, his isolation was complete.

THE MAN ON THE BEACH. 9

The damp gray sea that flowed above and around and about
him always seemed to shut out an intangible world beyond,
and to be the only real presence. The booming of breakers
scarce a dozen rods from his dwelling was but a vague and
unintelligible sound, or the echo of something past for ever.
Every morning when the sun tore away the misty curtain he
awoke, dazed and bewildered, as upon a new world. The first
sense of oppression over, he came to love at last this subtle
spirit of oblivion ; and at night, when its cloudy wings were
folded over his cabin, he would sit alone with a sense of
security he had never felt before. On such occasions he was
apt to leave his door open, and listen as for footsteps, for
what might not come to him out of this vague, nebulous world
beyond? Perhaps even she, — for this strange solitary was
not insane nor visionary. He was never in spirit alone. For
night and day, sleeping or waking, pacing the beach or
crouching over his driftwood fire, a woman's face was always
before him, — the face for whose sake and for cause of whom
he sat there alone lie saw it in the morning sunlight ; it
was her white hant&v ^at were lifted from the crested breakers ;
it was the rustlta^ of her skirt when the sea wind swept
through the beacri grasses ; it was the loving whisper of her
low voice when the long waves sank and died among the
sedge and j ashes. She was as omnipresent as sea and
sky and level sand. Hence, when the fog wiped them away,
she seemed to draw closer to him in the darkness. On
one or two more gracious nights in midsummer, when the
influence of the fervid noonday sun was still felt on the heated
sands, the warm breath of the fog touched his cheek as if it
had been hers, and the tears started to his eyes.

Before the fogs came — for he arrived there in winter — he
had found surcease and rest in the steady glow of a light-
house upon the little promontory a league below his habitation.
Even on the darkest nights, and in the tumults of storm, it
spoke to him of a patience that was enduring and a stead-

10 THE MAN ON THE BEACH.

fastness that was immutable. Later on he found a certain
dumb companionship in an uprooted tree, which, floating
down the river, had stranded hopelessly upon his beach, but
in the evening had again drifted away. liowing across the
estuary a day or two afterward, he recognized the tree again
from a u blaze" of the settler's axe still upon its trunk. He
was not surprised a week later to find the same tree in the
sands before his dwelling, or that the next morning it should
be again launched on its purposeless wanderings. And so,
impelled by wind or tide, but always haunting his seclusion,
he would meet it voyaging up the river at the flood, or see it
tossing among the breakers on the bar, but always with the
confidence of its returning sooner or later to an anchorage
beside him. After the third month of his self-imposed exile,
he was forced into a more human companionship, that \vaa
brief but regular. He was obliged to have menial assistance.
While he might have eaten his bread " in sorrow" carelessly
and mechanically, if it had been prepared for him, the occu-
pation of cooking his own food brought the vulgarity and
materialness of existence so near to his morbid sensitiveness
that he could not eat the meal he had himself prepared. He
did not yet wish to die, and when starvation or society seemed
to be the only alternative, he chose the latter. An Indian
woman, so hideous as to scarcely suggest humanity, at stated
times performed for him these offices. When she did not
come, which was not infrequent, he did not eat.

Such was the mental and physical condition of the Man on
the Beach on the 1st of January, 1869.

It was a still, bright day, following a week of rain and
wind. Low down the horizon still lingered a few white
flecks— the flying squadrons of the storm— as vague as distant
sails. Southward the harbour bar whitened occasionally but
lazily ; even the turbulent Pacific swell stretched its length
wearily upon the shore. And toiling from the settlement

THE MAN ON THE BEACH. 11

over the low sand dunes, a carriage at last halted half a mile
from the solitary's dwelling.

"I reckon ye'll hev to git out here," said the driver,
pulling up to breathe his panting horses. " Ye can't git any
nigher."

There was a groan of execration from the interior of the
vehicle, a hysterical little shriek, and one or two shrill expres-
sions of feminine disapprobation, but the driver moved not.
At last a masculine head expostulated from the window :
"Look here; you agreed to take us to the house. Why it's
a mile away at least !"

"Thar, or tharabouts, I reckon," said the driver, coolly
crossing his legs on the box.

"It's no use talking; / can never walk through this sand
and horrid glare," said a female voice quickly and impera-
tively. Then, apprehensively, " Well, of all the places

" Well, I never !"

" This does exceed everything."

** It's really too idiotic for anything.*'

It was noticeable that while the voices betrayed the difference
of age and sex, they bore a singular resemblance to each
other, and a certain querulousness of pitch that was dominant.

" I reckon I've gone about as fur as I allow to go with them
hosses," continued the driver suggestively, ** and as time's
vallyble, ye'd better onload."

" The wretch does not mean to leave us here alone V" said
a female voice in shrill indignation. "You'll wait for us,
driver ?" said a masculine voice, confidently.

" How long?" asked the driver.

There was a hurried consultation within. The words
" Might send us packing !" " May take all night to get hirn to
listen to reason," " Bother ! whole thing over in ten minutes,"
came from the window. The driver meanwhile had settled
himself back in his seat, and whistled in patient contempt oi
ft fashionable fare that didn't know its own mind nor desti-

18 THE MAN ON THE BEACff.

nation. Finally, the masculine head was thrust out, and,
with a certain potential air of judicially ending a difficulty,
said : —

" You're to follow us slowly, and put up your horses in the
stable or barn until we want you."

An ironical laugh burst from the driver. ** Oh, yes — in
the stable or barn — in course. But, my eyes sorter failin'
me, mebbee, now, some ev you younger folks will kindly pint
out the stable or barn of the Kernel's. Woa! — will ye? —
woa! Give me a chance to pick out that there barn or stable
to put ye in 1" This in arch confidence to the horses, who
had not moved.

Here the previous speaker, rotund, dignified, and elderly,
alighted indignantly, closely followed by the rest of the party,
two ladies and a gentleman. One of the ladies was past the
age, but not the fashion, of youth, and her Parisian dress
clung over her wasted figure and well-bred bones artistically
if not gracefully ; the younger lady, evidently her daughter,
was crisp and pretty, and carried off the aquiline nose and
aristocratic emaciation of her mother with a certain piquancy
and a dash that was charming. The gentleman was young,
thin, with the family characteristics, but otherwise indis-
tinctive.

With one accord they all faced directly toward the spot
indicated by the driver's whip. Nothing but the bare, bleak,
rectangular outlines of the cabin of the Man on the Beach met
their eyes. All else was a desolate expanse, unrelieved by any
structure higher than the tussocks of scant beach grass that
clothed it. They were so utterly helpless that the driver's deri-
sive laughter gave way at last to good humour and suggestion.
"Look yer," he said finally, " I don't know ez it's your fault
you don't know this kentry ez well ez you do Yurup ; so I'll
drag this yer team over to Robinson's on the river, give the
horses a bite, and then meander down this yer ridge,
and wait for ye. Ye'll see me from the Kernel's." And

't*f# AAfT ON TH1 BEACH. 13

mtb out waiting for a reply, he swung his horses' heads toward
the river, and rolled away.

The same querulous protest that had C0me from tha
windows arose from the group, but vainly. Then followed
accusations and recrimination. "It's your fault; you might
have written, and had him meet us at the settlement." " You
wanted to take him by surprise !" •* I didn't." " You know
if I'd written that we were coming, he'd have taken good
care to run away from us." " Yes, to some more inaccessible
place." "There can be none worse than this," etc., etc
But it was so clearly evident that nothing was to be done but
to go forward, that even in the midst of their wrangling they
straggled on in Indian file toward the distant cabin, sinking
ankle-deep in the yielding sand, punctuating their verbal
altercation with sighs, and only abating it at a scream from
the elder lady.

"Where's Maria?"

" Gone on ahead !" grunted the younger gentleman, in a
boss voice, so incongruously large for him that it seemed
to have been a ventriloquistic contribution by somebody else.

It was too true. Maria, after adding her pungency to the
general conversation, had darted on ahead. But alas 1 that
swift Camilla, after scouring the plain some two hundred feet
with her demi-train, came to grief on an unbending tussock
and sat down, panting but savage. As they plodded wearily
toward her, she bit her red lips, smacked them on her cruel
little white teeth like a festive and sprightly ghoul, and
lisped: —

" You do look so like guys! For all the world like those
English shopkeepers we met on the Righi, doing the three-
guinea excursion in their Sunday clothes !"

Certainly the spectacle of these exotically plumed bipeds,
"^rhose fine feathers were already bedrabbled by sand and
growing limp in the sea breeze, was somewhat dissonant witk
the rudeness of the sea and sky and shore. A few gulls

14 TEE NAN ON TEE BEACE.

screamed at them ; a loon, startled from the lagoon, arose
shrieking and protesting, with painfully extended legs, in
obvious burlesque of the younger gentleman. The elder lady
felt the justice of her gentle daughter's criticism, and retaliated
with simple directness : —

" Your skirt is ruined, your hair is coming down, your hat
is half off your head, and your shoes — in Heaven's name,
Maria ! what have you done with your shoes ?"

Maria had exhibited a slim stockinged foot from under her
skirt. It was scarcely three fingers broad, with an arch as
patrician as her nose. " Somewhere between here and the
carriage," she answered; "Dick can run back and find
it, while he is looking for your brooch, mamma. Dick's so
obliging."

The robust voice of Dick thundered, but the wasted figure
of Dick feebly ploughed its way back, and returned with the
missing buskin.

" I may as well carry them in my hand like the market girls
at Saumur, for we have got to wade soon," said Miss Maria,
sinking her own terrors in the delightful contemplation of
the horror in her parent's face, as she pointed to a shining
film of water slowly deepening in a narrow swale in the
Bands between them and the cabin.

" It's the tide," said the elder gentleman. " If we intend
to go on we must hasten ; permit me, my dear madam," and
before she could reply he had lifted the astounded matron in
his arms, and made gallantly for the ford. The gentle Maria
cast an ominous eye on her brother, who, with manifest reluc-
tance, performed for her the same office. But that acute
young lady kept her eyes upon the preceding figure of the
elder gentleman, and seeing him suddenly and mysteriously
disappear to his armpits, unhesitatingly threw herself from
her brother's protecting arms, — an action which instantly
precipitated him into the water, — and paddled hastily to the
opposite bank, where she eventually assisted in pulling the

THE MAN ON THE BEACH. 15

elderly gentleman out of the hollow into which he had fallen,
and in rescuing her mother, who floated helplessly on the
surface, upheld by her skirts, like a gigantic and yariegated
vater-lily. Dick followed with a single gaiter. In another
minute they were safe on the opposite bank.

The elder lady gave way to tears ; Maria laughed hysteri-
cally ; Dick mingled a bass oath with the now audible surf ;
the elder gentleman, whose florid face the salt water had
bleached, and whose dignity seemed to have been washed
away, accounted for both by saying he thought it was a
quicksand.

*' It might have been," said a quiet voice behind them ,
" you should have followed the sand dunes half a mile further
to the estuary."

They turned instantly at the voice. It was that of the
Man on the Beach. They all rose to their feet and uttered
together, save one, the single exclamation, "James!" The
elder gentleman said "Mr. North," and, with a slight
resumption of his former dignity, buttoned his coat over
his damp shirt front.

There was a silence, in which the Man on the Beach
tooked gravely down upon them. If they had intended to
impress him by any suggestion of a gay, brilliant, and sen-
euous world beyond in their own persons, they had failed, and
they knew it. Keenly alive as they had always been to
external prepossession, they felt that they looked forlorn and
kudicrous, and that the situation lay in his hands. The
elderly lady aga'n burst into tears of genuine distress, Maria
coloured over her cheekbones, and Dick stared at the ground
in sullen disquiet.

"You had better get up," said the Man on the Beach,
after a moment's thought, u and come up to the cabin. I
cannot offer you a change of garments, but you can dry them
by the fire."

They all rose together, and again said in chorus, u James 1"

16 THE MA1T ON THS BEACH.

but this time with an evident effort to recall some speech or
action previously resolved upon and committed to memory.
The elderly lady got so far as to clasp her hands and add,
" You have not forgotten us — James, oh, James 1" the younger
gentleman to attempt a brusque " Why, Jim, old boy," that
ended in querulous incoherence ; the young lady to cast a
half-searching, half-coquettish look at him ; and the old gen-
tleman to begin, "Our desire, Mr. North"— but the effort
was futile. Mr. James North, standing before them with
folded arms, looked from the one to the other.

"I* have not thought much of you for a twelvemonth," he
said, quietly, " but I have not forgotten you. Come !"

He led the way a few steps in advance, they following
silently. In this brief interview they felt he had resumed thy
old dominance and independence, against which they had
rebelled ; moro than that, in this half failure of their ftxst
concerted action they had changed their querulous bickerings
to a sullen distrust of each other, and walked moodily apart ai
they followed James North into his house. A fire blazeo
brightly on the hearth ; a few extra seats were quickly extern*
porized from boxes aud chests, and the elder lady, with thf
skirt of her dress folded over her knees, — looking not unlike
an exceedingly overdressed jointed doll, — dried her flounces
and her tears together. Miss Maria took in the scant appoint-
ments of the house in one single glance, and then fixed her
eyes upon James North, who, the least concerned of the
party, stood before them, grave and patiently expectant.

" Well," began the elder lady in a high key, " after all this
worry and trouble you have given us, James, haven't you
anything to say ? Do you know — have you the least idea
what you are doing? what egregious folly you are commit-
ting? what everybody is saying? Eh? Heavens and earth!
— do you know who I am ?"

"You are my father's brother's widow, Aunt Mary,"
returned James, quietly. " If I am committing any folly it

TOT MAN OUT THE BEACH. 17

only concerns myself ; if I cared for what people said I should
not be here ; if I loved society enough to appreciate its good
report I should stay with it."

" But they say you have run away from society to pine
alone for a worthless creature — a woman who has used you, as
she nas used and thrown away others — a" —

" A woman," chimed in Dick, who had thrown himself on
James's bed while his patent leathers were drying, " a woman
that all the fellers know never intended" — here, however, he
met James North's eye, and muttering something about
" whole thing being too idiotic to talk about," relapsed into
silence.

44 You know," continued Mrs. North, " that while we and
all our set shut our eyes to your very obvious relations with
that woman, and while I myself often spoke of it to others as
a simple flirtation, and averted a scandal for your sake, and
when the climax was reached, and she herself gave you an
opportunity to sever your relations, and nobody need have
been wiser — and she'd have had all the blame — and it's
only what she's accustomed to — you — you ! you, James North !
—you must nonsensically go, and, by this extravagant piece
of idiocy and sentimental tomfoolery, let everybody see how
serious the whole affair was, and how deep it hurt you 1 and
here in this awful place, alone — where you're half drowned to
get to it, and are willing to be wholly drowned to get away I
Oh, don't talk to me 1 I won't hear it — it's just too idiotic
for anything !"

The subject of this outburst neither spoke nor moved a single
muscle.

" Your aunt, Mr. North, speaks excitedly," said the elder
gentleman ; " yet I think she does not overestimate the unfor-
tunate position in which your odd fancy places you. I know
nothing of the reasons that have impelled you to this step; I
only know that the popular opinion is that the cause is utterly
inadequate. You are still young, with a future before yon.

18 THE MAN Off THE BEACH.

1 need not say how your present conduct may imperil that.
If you expected to achieve any good — even to your own satis-
faction— by this conduct" — •

"Yes— if there was anything to be gained by it !" broke in
Mrs. North.

" If you ever thought she'd come back !— but that kind of
woman don't. They must have change. Why" — began Dick
suddenly, and as suddenly lying down again.

"Is this all you have come to say?" asked James North,
after a moment's patient silence, looking from one to the other.

" All?" screamed Mrs. North ; » is it not enough ?"

"Not to change my mind nor my residence at present," re-
plied North, coolly.

" Do you mean to continue this folly all your life ?"

*• And have a coroner's inquest, and advertisements and all
the facts in the papers ?"

" And have her read the melancholy details, and know that
you were faithful and she was not V"

This last shot was from the gentle Maria, who bit her lips
as it glanced from the immovable man.

" I believe there is nothing more to say," continued North,
quietly. *' I am willing to believe your intentions are aa
worthy aa your zeal. Let us say no more," he added, with
g uve weariness ; ** the tide is rising, and your coachman 13
signalling you from the bank."

There was no mistaking the unshaken positiveness of the
man, which was all the more noticeable from its gentle but
utter indifference to the wishes of the party. He turned nis
back upon them as they gathered hurriedly around the elder
gentleman, while the words, " He cannot be in his right mind,"
" It is your duty to do it," "It's sheer insanity," "Look at
his eye 1" all fell unconsciously upon his ear.

«' One word more, Mr. North," said the elder gentleman, ^
little portentously, to conceal an evident embarrassment. " it
may be that your conduct might suggest to minds more pruo-

THE MAN ON THE BEACH. 19

tical than your own the existence of some aberration of the
intellect — some temporary mania— that might force your best
friends into a quasi-legal attitude of" —

"Declaring me insane," interrupted James North, with the
slight impatience of a man more anxious to end a prolix inter-
view than to combat an argument. " I think differently. As
my aunt's lawyer, you know that within the last year I have
deeded most of my property to her and her family. I cannot
believe that so shrewd an adviser as Mr. Edmund Carter
would ever permit proceedings that would invalidate that
conveyance."

Maria burst into a laugh of such wicked gratification that
James North, for the first time, raised his eyes with something
of interest to her face. She coloured under them, but re-
turned his glance with another like a bayonet flash. The party
slowly moved towards the door, James North following.

"Then this is your final answer?" asked Mrs. North,
stopping imperiously on the threshold.

*'I beg your pardon ?" queried North, half abstractedly.

"Your final answer?"

"Oh, certainly."

Mrs. North flounced away a dozen rods in rage. This was
unfortunate for North. It gave them the final attack in
detail. Dick began : " Come along 1 You know you can
advertise for her with a personal down there, and the old
woman wouldn't object as long as you were careful and put
in an appearance now and then !"

As Dick limped away, Mr. Carter thought, in confidence,
that the whole matter — even to suit Mr. North's sensitive
nature — might be settled there. " She evidently expects you
to return. My opinion is that she never left San Francisco.
You can't tell anything about these women."

With this last sentence on his indifferent ear, James North
seemed to be left free. Maria had rejoined her mother ; but
as they crossed the ford, and an intervening sand-hill hid the

20 THE MAN ON THE BEACH.

others from sight, that piquant young lady suddenly appeared
on the hill and stood before him.

" And you're not coming back ?" she said directly.

" No."

" Never?"

" I cannot say."

" Tell me 1 what is there about some wonen to make men
love them so ?"

*' Love," replied North, quietly.

" No, it cannot be— it is not that /"

North looked over the hill and round the hill, and looked
bored.

"Oh, I'm going now. But one moment, Jem! I didn't
want to come. They dragged me here. Good-bye."

She raised a burning face and eyes to his. He leaned
forward and imprinted the perfunctory, cousinly kiss of the
period upon her cheek.

" Not that way," she said angrily, clutching his wrists with
her long, thin fingers; ';you shan't kiss me in that way,
James North."

With the faintest, ghost-like passing of a twinkle in the
corners of his sad eyes, he touched his lips to hers. With the
contact, she caught him round the neck, pressed her burning
lips and face to his forehead, his cheeks, the very curves of hia
chin and throat, and— with a laugb was gone.

HAD the kinsfolk of James North any hope that their visit
might revive some lingering desire he still combated to enter
once more the world they represented, that hope would have
soon died. Whatever effect this episode had upon the solitary,
— and he had become so self-indulgent of his sorrow, and so
careless of all that came between him and it, as to meet oppo-
sition with profound indifference, — the only appreciable result

THE MAN ON THE BEACH. 21

was a greater attraction for the solitude that protected him,
and he grew even to love the bleak shore and barren sands
that had proved so inhospitable to others. There was a new
meaning to the roar of the surges, an honest, loyal sturdiness
in the unchanging persistency of the uncouth and blustering
trade-winds, and a mute fidelity in the shining sands, trea-
cherous to all but him. With such bandogs to lie in wait for
trespassers, should he not be grateful ?

If no bitterness was awakened by the repeated avowal of
the unfaithfulness of the woman he loved, it was because he
had always made the observation and experience of others
give way to the dominance of his own insight. No array of
contradictory facts ever shook his belief or unbelief ; like all
egotists, he accepted them as truths controlled by a larger
truth of which he alone was cognizant. His simplicity, which
was but another form of his egotism, was so complete as to
baffle ordinary malicious cunning, and so he was spared the
experience and knowledge that come to a lower nature, and
help debase it.

Exercise and the stimulus of the few wants that sent him
hunting or fishing kept up his physical health. Never a lover
of rude freedom or outdoor life, his sedentary predilections
and nice tastes kept him from lapsing into barbarian excess ;
never a sportsman, he followed the chase with no feverish
exaltation. Even dumb creatures found out his secret, and at
times, stalking moodily over the upland, the brown deer and
elk would cross his path without fear or molestation, or, idly
lounging in his canoe within the river bar, flocks of wild fowl
would settle within stroke of his listless oar. And so the
second winter of his hermitage drew near its close, and with
it came a storm that passed into local history, and is still
remembered. It uprooted giant trees along the river, and
with them the tiny rootlets of the life he was idly fostering.

The morning had been fitfully turbulent, the wind veering
several points south and west, with suspicious lulls, unlike

22 THE MAN ON THE BEACH.

the steady onset of the regular southwest trades. High over-
head the long manes of racing cirro stratus streamed with
flyiDg gulls and hurrying water-fowl; plover piped inces-
santly, and a flock of timorous sand-pipers sought the low
ridge of his cabin, while a wrecking crew of curlew hastily
manned the uprooted tree that tossed wearily beyond the bar.
By noon the flying clouds huddled together in masses, and
then were suddenly exploded in one vast opaque sheet over
the heavens. The sea became gray, and suddenly wrinkled
and old. There was a dumb, half-articulate cry in the air, —
rather a confusion of many sounds, as of the booming of
distant guns, the clangour of a bell, the trampling of many
waves, the creaking of timbers and soughing of leaves, that
sank and fell ere you could yet distinguish them. And then
it came on to blow. For two hours it blew strongly. At the
time the sun should have set the wind had increased ; in
fifteen minutes darkness shut down, even the white sands lost
their outlines, and sea and shore and sky lay in the grip of a
relentless and aggressive power.

Within his cabin, by the leaping light of his gusty fire,
North sat alone. His first curiosity past, the turmoil
without no longer carried his thought beyond its one con-
verging centre. She had come to him on the wings of the
storm, even as she had been borne to him on the summer
fog-cloud. Now and then the wind shook the cabin, but he
heeded it not. He had no fears for its safety ; it presented
its low gable to the full fury of the wind that year by year
had piled, and even now was piling, protecting buttresses of
sand against it. With each succeeding gust it seemed to
nestle more closely to its foundations, in the whirl of flying
sand that rattled against its roof and windows. It was nearly
midnight when a sudden thought brought him to his feet. What
if she were exposed to the fury of such a night as this? Whai
could he do to help her ? Perhaps even now, as he sat there
idle, she — Hark! was not that a gun — No? Yes, surely!

THE MAN ON THE BEACH. 23

He hurriedly unbolted the door, but tho strength of the
wind and the impact of drifted sand resisted his efforts. With
a new and feverish strength possessing him he forced it open
wide enough to permit his egress, when the wind caught him
as a feather, rolled him over and over, and then, grappling
him again, held him down hard and fast against the drift.
Unharmed, but unable to move, he lay there, hearing the
multitudinous roar of the storm, but unable to distinguish
one familiar sound in the savage medley. At last he managed
to crawl flat on his face to the cabin, and, refastening the
door, threw himself upon his bed.

He was awakened from a fitful dream of his Cousin Maria.
She with a supernatural strength seemed to be holding the
door against some unseen, unknown power that moaned an**
strove without, and threw itself in despairing force against
the cabin. He could see the lithe undulations of her form aa
she alternately yielded to its power, and again drew the door
against it, coiling herself around the log-hewn doorpost with
a hideous, snake-like suggestion. And then a struggle
and a heavy blow, which shook the very foundations of
the structure, awoke him. He leaped to his feet, and into
an inch of water ! By the flickering firelight he could see it
oozing and dripping from the crevices of the logs and broaden-
ing into a pool by the chimney. A scrap of paper torn from
an envelope was floating idly on its current. Was it the
overflow of the backed-up waters of the river ? He was not
left long in doubt. Another blow upon the gable of the
house, and a torrent of spray leaped down the chimney,
scattered the embers far and wide, and left him in utter
darkness. Some of the spray clung to his lips. It was salt.
The great ocean had beaten down the river bar and was upon
him !

Was there aught to fly to ? No ! The cabin stood upon
the highest point of the sand spit, and the low swale on one
ade crossed by his late visitors was a seething mass of

24 THE MAN ON THE BEACH.

breakers, while the estuary behind him was now the ocean
itself. There was nothing to do but to wait.

The very helplessness of his situation was, to a man of hia
peculiar temperament, an element of patient strength. The
instinct of self-preservation was still strong in him, but he
had no fear of death, nor, indeed, any presentiment of it ; yet
if it came, it was an easy solution of the problem that had
been troubling him, and it wiped off the slate! He thought
of the sarcastic prediction of his cousin, and death in the
form that threatened him was the obliteration of his home
and even the ground upon which it stood. There would be
nothing to record, no stain could come upon the living. The
instinct that kept him true to her would toll her how he died ;
if it did not, it was equally well. And with this simple
fatalism his only belief, this strange man groped his way to
his bed, lay down, and in a few moments was asleep. The
storm still roared without. Once again the surges leaped
against the cabin, but it was evident that the wind was
abating with the tide.

When he awoke it was high noon, and the sun was shining
brightly. For some time he lay in a delicious languor,
doubting if he was alive or dead, but feeling through every
nerve and fibre an exquisite sense of peace — a rest he had
not known since his boyhood — a relief he scarcely knew from
what. He felt that he was smiling, and yet his pillow was
wet with the tears that glittered still on his lashes. The
sand blocking up his doorway, he leaped lightly from his
window. A few clouds were still sailing slowly in the
heavens, the trailing plumes of a great benediction that lay
on sea and shore. He scarcely recognized the familiar
landscape ; a new bar had been formed in the river, and a
narrow causeway of sand that crossed the lagoon and marshes
to the river bank and the upland trail seemed to bring him
nearer to humanity again. He was conscious of a fresh,
childlike delight in all this, and when, a moment later, ho

THE MAN ON THE BEACH. 25

saw the old uprooted tree, now apparently for ever moored
and imbedded in the sand beside his cabiD, he ran to it with
a sense of joy.

Its trailing roots were festooned with clinging sea-weed
a^d the long, snaky, undulating stems of the sea-turnip ; and
fixed between two crossing roots was a bamboo orange crate,
almost intact. As he walked toward it he heard a strange
cry, unlike anything the barren sands had borne before.
Thinking it might be some strange sea bird caught in the
meshes of the sea-weed, he ran to the crate and looked
within. It was half filled with sea-moss and feathery algse.
The cry was repeated. He brushed aside the weeds with his
hands. It was not a wounded sea bird, but a living human
child !

As he lifted it from its damp enwrappings he saw that it
was an infant eight or nine months old. How and when it
had been brought there, or what force had guided that elfish
cradle to his very door, he could not determine ; but it must
have been left early, for it was quite warm, and its clothing
almost dried by the blazing morning sun. To wrap his coat
about it, to run to his cabin with it, to start out again with
the appalling conviction that nothing could be done for it
there, occupied some moments. His nearest neighbour was
Trinidad Joe, a "logger," three miles up the river. He
remembered to have heard vaguely that he was a man of
family. To half strangle the child with a few drops, from
his whisky flask, to extricate his canoe from the marsh, and
strike out into the river with his waif, was at least to d^
something. In half an hour he had reached the straggling
cabin and sheds of Trinidad Joe, and from the few scanty
flowers that mingled with the brushwood fence, and a surplus
of linen fluttering on the line, he knew that his surmise as to
Tiinidad Joe's domestic establishment was correct.

The door at which he knocked opened upon a neat, plainly-
furnished room, and the figure of a buxom woman of twenty-

28 THE MAN ON THE BEACH.

five. With an awkwardness new to him, North stammered
out the circumstances of his finding the infant, and the object
of his visit. Before he had finished, the woman, by some
feminine trick, had taken the child from his hands ere he
knew it ; and when he paused, out of breath, burst into a fit
of laughter. North tried to laugh too, but failed.

When the woman had wiped the tears from a pair of ven
frank blue eyes, and hidden two rows of very strong white
teeth again, she said : —

"Look yar! You're that looney sort o" chap that live
over on the spit yonder, ain't ye ?"

North hastened to admit all that the statement might
imply.

" And so ye've had a baby left ye to keep you company
Lordy !" Here she looked as if dangerously near a relapse
and then added, as if in explanation of her conduct, —

" When I saw ye paddlin' down here, — you thet ez shy as
elk in summer, — I sez, ' He's sick.' But a baby, — Oh,
Lordy!

For a moment North almost hated her. A woman who, w
this pathetic, perhaps almost tragic, picture saw only a
ludicrous image, and that image himself, was of another race
than that he had ever mingled with. Profoundly indifferent
as he had always been to the criticism of his equals in station,
the misc.hievous laughter of this illiterate woman jarred upon
him worse than his cousin's sarcasm. It was with a little
dignity that he pointed out the fact that at present the child
needed nourishment. " It's very young," he added. " I'm
afraid it wants its natural nourishment."

" Whar is it to get it?" asked the woman.

James North hesitated, and looked around. There should
be a baby somewhere ! there must be a baby somewhere ! "
thought that you," he stammered, conscious of an awkward
colouring, — " I — that is — I" — He stopped short, for she
was already cramming her apron into her mouth, too late,

THE MAN ON THE BEACH. 27

however, to stop the laugh that overflowed it» When she
found her breath again, she said, —

" Look yar ! I don't wonder they said you was looney 1
I'm Trinidad Joe's onmarried darter, and the only woman in
this house. Any fool could have told you that. Now, of
you can rig us up a baby out o' them facts, I'd like to see it
done."

Inwardly furious but outwardly polite, James North begged
her pardon, deplored his ignorance, and, with a courtly bow,
made a movement to take the child. But the woman as
quickly drew it away.

"Not much," she said, hastily. "What! trust that poor
critter to you? No, sir! Thar's more ways of feeding a
baby, young man, than you knows on, with all your 4 natfral
nourishment.' But it looks kinder logy and stupid."

North freezingly admitted that he had given the infant
whisky as a stimulant.

"You did? Come, now, that ain't so looney after all.
Well, I'll take the baby, and when Dad comes home we'll see
what can be done."

North hesitated. His dislike of the woman was intense,
and yet he knew no one else, and the baby needed instant
care. Besides, he began to see the ludicrousness of his making
a first call on his neighbours with a foundling to dispose of.
She saw his hesitation, and said, —

" Ye don't know me, in course. Well, I'm Bessy Robinson,
Trinidad Joe Robinson's daughter. I reckon Dad will give
me a character if you want references, or any of the boys on
the river."

" I'rn only thinking of the trouble I'm giving you, Miss
Robinson, I assure you. Any expense you may incur" —

" Young man," said Bessy Robinson, turning sharply on
her heel, and facing him with her black brows a little con-
tracted, "if it comes to expenses, I reckon I'll pay you for
ihat baby, or not take it at all. But I don't know you well

88 THB MAN ON THE BEACH.

enough to quarrel with you on sight. So leave the child to
me, and, if you choose, paddle down here to-morrow, after
sun up— the ride will do you good— aud see it, and Dad
thrown in. Good-bye !" and with one powerful but well-
shaped arm thrown around the child, and the other crooked
at the dimpled elbow a little aggressively, she swept by James
Horth and entered a bedroom, closing the door behind her.

When Mr. James North reached his cabin it was dark. As
he rebuilt his fire, and tried to rearrange the scattered and
disordered furniture, and remove the debris of last night's
storm, he was conscious for the first time of feeling lonely.
He did not miss the child. Beyond the instincts of humanity
and duty he had really no interest in its welfare or future.
He was rather glad to get rid of it, he would have preferred
to some one else, and yet she looked as if she were competent.
And then came the reflection that since the morning he had
not once thought of the woman he loved. The like had never
occurred in his twelvemonth solitude. So he set to work,
thinking of her and of his sorrows, until the word " Looney,"
in connection with his suffering, flashed across his memory.
" Looney 1" It was not a nice word. It suggested something
less than insanity ; something that might happen to a com-
mon, unintellectual sort of person. He remembered the loon,
an ungainly feathered neighbour, that was popularly supposed
to have lent its name to the adjective. Could it be possible
that people looked upon him as one too hopelessly and unin-
terestingly afflicted for sympathy or companionship, too
unimportant and common for even ridicule ; or was this but
the coarse interpretation of that vulgar girl ?

Nevertheless, the next morning "after sun up " James
North was at Trinidad Joe's cabin. That worthy proprietor
himself — a long, lank man, with even more than the ordinary
rural Western characteristics of ill health, ill feeding, and
melancholy — met him on the bank, clothed in a manner and
costume that was a singular combination of the frontiersman

THE MAN ON THE BEACH. »

and the sailor. When North had again related the story of
his finding the child, Trinidad Joe pondered.

" It mout hev been stowed away in one of them crates for
safe-keeping," he said, musingly, " and washed off the deck
o' one o' them Tahiti brigs goin' down fer oranges. Least-
ways, it never got thar from these parts."

" But it's a miracle its life was saved at all. It must have
been some hours in the water."

" Them brigs lays their course well inshore, and it was just
mebbe a toss up if the vessel clawed off the reef at all ! And
ez to the child keepin' up, why, dog my skin ! that's just the
contrariness o' things," continued Joe, in sententious cynicism.
" Ef an able seaman had fallen from the yard-arm that night
he'd been sunk in sight o' the ship, and thet baby ez can't
swim a stroke sails ashore, sound asleep, with the waves for a
baby-jumper."

North, who was half relieved, yet half awkwardly disap-
pointed at not seeing Bessy, ventured to ask how the child
was doing.

" She'll do all right now," said a frank voice above, and,
looking up, North discerned the round arms, blue eyes, and
white teeth of the daughter at the window. " She's all
hunky, and has an appetite— ef she hezn't got her * nat'ral
nourishment.' Come, Dad 1 heave ahead, and tell the stranger
what you and me allow we'll do, and don't stand there
swappin' lies with him."

" Weel," said Trinidad Joe, dejectedly, " Bess allows she
can rar that baby and do justice to it. And I don't say —
though I'm her father — that she can't. But when Bess wants
anything she wants it all, clean down ; no half -ways nor
leavin's for her."

"That's me! go on, Dad — you're chippin* in the same
notch every time," said Miss Robinson, with cheerful direct-

JSS.

«* W«ll, we agree to put the job up tnlg way. We'll tak«

SO THE MAN ON THE BEACH.

the child and you'll give us a paper or writin' makin' over all
your right and title. How's that?"

Without knowing exactly why he did, Mr. North objected
decidedly.

"Do you think we won't take good care of it?" asked
Miss Bessy, sharply.

" That is not the question," said North, a little hotly. " In
the first place, the child is not mine to give. It has fallen
into my hands as a1 trust, — the first hands that received it
from its parents. I do not think it right to allow any other
hands to come between theirs and mine."

Miss Bessy left the window. In another moment she
appeared from the house, and, walking directly toward North,
held out a somewhat substantial hand. "Good!" she said,
as she gave his fingers an honest squeeze. "You ain't so
looney after all. Dad, he's right ! He shan't gin it up, but
we'll go halves in it, he and me. He'll be father and I'll be
mother 'til death do us part, or the reg'lar family turns up.
Well— what do you say?"

More pleased than he dared confess to himself with the
praise of this common girl, Mr. James North assented. Then
would he see the baby? He would, and Trinidad Joe having
already seen the baby, and talked of the baby, and felt the
>aby, and indeed had the baby offered to him in every way
during the past night, concluded to give some of his valuable
time to logging, and left them together.

Mr. North was obliged to admit that the baby was thriving,
lie moreover listened with polite interest to the statement
that the baby's eyes were hazel, like his own ; that it had five
teeth ; that she was, for a girl of that probable age, a robust
child ; and yet Mr. North lingered. Finally, with his hand
on the door-lock, he turned to Bessy and said, —

" May I ask you an odd question, Miss Robinson^"*

" Go on."

«* Why did you think I was—' looney ?' "

THE MAN ON THE BEACH. 81

The frank Miss Robinson bent her head over the baby.
"Why?"

"Yes, why?"

" Because you were looney."

"Oh!"

"But"—

"Yes"—

" You'll get over it."

And under the shallow pretext of getting the baby's food,
«he retired to the kitchen, where Mr. North had the supreme
satisfaction of seeing her, as he passed the window, sitting oo
a chair with her apron over her head, shaking with laughter.

For the next two or three days he did not visit the
Robinsons, but gave himself up to past memories. On the
third day he had — it must be confessed not without some
effort — brought himself into that condition of patient sorrow
which had been his habit. The episode of the storm and the
finding of the baby began to fade, as had faded the visit of
his relatives. It had been a dull, wet day, and he was sitting
by his fire, when there came a tap at his door. " Flora," by
which juvenescent name his aged Indian handmaid was
known, usually announced her presence with an imitation of
a curlew's cry : it could not be her. He fancied he heard the
trailing of a woman's dress against the boards, and started to
his feet, deathly pale, with a name upon his lips. But the
door was impatiently thrown open, and showed Bessy
Robinson I And the baby 1

With a feeling of relief he could not understand, he offered
her a seat. She turned her frank eyes on him curiously.

" You look skeert !"

" I was startled. You know I see nobody here !"

" Thet's so. But look yar, do you ever use a doctor ?n

Not clearly understanding her, he in turn asked, " Why?"

" 'Cause you must rise up and get one now — thet's why.
i'his yer baby of ours is sick. We don't use a doctor at our

THE MAN ON THIS BEACH.

bouse, we don't beleeve in 'em, hain't no call for 'em — fcut
this yer baby's parents mebbee did. So rise up out o' that
cheer, and get one."

James North looked at Miss Robinson and rose, albeit a
little in doubt, and hesitating.

Miss Robinson saw it. "I shouldn't hev troubled ye, nor
ridden three mile to do it, if ther hed been any one else to
send. But Dad's over at Eureka buying logs, and I'm alone.
Hello — wher yer goin' ?"

North had seized his hat and opened the door. " For a
doctor •• he replied ainazedly.

4 Did ye kalkilate to walk six miles and back?"

*' Certainly — I have no horse."

" But / have, and you'll find her tethered outside. She
ain't much to look at, but when you strike the trail she'll go."

" But you — how will you return?"

"Well,'' said Miss Robinson, drawing her chair to the fire,
taking off her hat and shawl, and warming her knees by the
blaze, u I didn't reckon to return. You'll find me here when
you come back with the doctor. Go ! Skedaddle quick."

She did not have to repeat the command. In another
instant James North was in Miss Bessy's seat, — a man's dragoon
saddle, — and pounding away through the sand. Two facts
were in his mind : one was that he, the " looney," was about
to open communication with the wisdom and contemporary
criticism of the settlement, by going for a doctor to administer
to a sick and anonymous infant in his possession ; the other
was that his solitary house was in the hands of a self -invited,
large-limbed, illiterate, but rather comely young woman.
These facts he could not gallop away from, but to his credit
be it recorded that he fulfilled his mission zealously, if not
coherently, to the doctor, who during the rapid ride gathered
the idea that North had rescued a young married woman from
drowning, who had since given birth to a child.

The few words that set the doctor right when he arrived at

THE MAN ON THE BEACH. 33

the cabin might in any other community have required further
explanation, but Dr. Duchesne, an old army surgeon, waa
prepared for everything and indifferent to all. " The infant,'
he said, " was threatened with inflammation of the lungs ; at
present there was no danger, but the greatest care and caution
must be exercised. Particularly exposure should be avoided.*
**That settles the whole matter, then," said Bessy potentially.
Both gentlemen looked their surprise. " It means," she con-
descended to further explain, " that you must ride that filly
home, wait for the old man to come to-morrow, and then ride
back here with some of my duds, for thar's no 4 c^y-days' nor
picnicking for that baby outil she's better. And I reckon to
atay with her ontil she is."

"* She certainly is unable to bear any exposure at present,"
said the doctor, with an amused side glance at North's per-
plexed face. " Miss Robinson is right. I'll ride with you
over the sands as far as the trail."

" I'm afraid," said North, feeling it incumbent upon him
to say something, "that you'll hardly find it as comfortable
here as — '*

44 1 reckon not," she said simply, " but I didn't expect
much."

North turned a little wearily away. *4 Good night," sh«
said suddenly, extending her hand, with a gentler smile of lip
and eye than he had ever before noticed, 4'good night — takw
good care of Dad."

The doctor and North rode together some moments m
silence. North had another fact presented to him, i.e. that
he was going a- visiting, and that he had virtually abandoned
his former life ; also that it would be profanation to think of
his sacred woe in the house of a stranger.

**I dare say," said the doctor, suddenly, " you are not
familiar with the type of woman Miss Bessy presents so
perfectly. Your life has been spent among tu9 conventional

34 THE MAN ON THE BEACH.

North froze instantly at what seemed to be a probing of hits
secret. Disregarding the last suggestion, he made answer
simply and truthfully that he had never met any Western girl
like Bessy.

" That's your bad luck," said the doctor. " You think her
coarse and illiterate ?"

Mr. North had been so much struck with her kindness that
really he had not thought of it.

"That's not so," said the doctor, curtly; "although even
if you told her so she would not think any the less of you —
nor of herself. If she spoke rustic Greek instead of bad
English, and wore a cestus in place of an ill-fitting corset,
you'd swear she was a goddess. There's your trail. Good
night."

in.

JAMES NORTH did not sleep well that night. He had taken
Miss Bessy's bedroom, at her suggestion, there being but two,
and "Dad never using sheets and not bein' keerful in his
habits." It was neat, but that was all. The scant orna-
mentation was atrocious ; two or three highly coloured prints,
a shell work-box, a ghastly winter bouquet of skeleton leaves
and mosses, a star-fish, and two china vases hideous enough
to have been worshipped as Buddhist idols, exhibited the
gentle recreation of the fair occupant, and the possible future
education of the child. In the morning he was met by Joe,
who received the message of his daughter with his usual
dejection, and suggested that North stay with him until the
child was better. That event was still remote ; North found,
on his return to his cabin, that the child had been worse ; but
he did not know, until Miss Bessy dropped a casual remark,
that she had not closed her own eyes that night. It was a
week before he regained his own quarters, but an active week —
indeed, on the whole, a rather pleasant week. For there was
a delicate flattery in being domineered by a wholesome and

THE MAN ON THE BEACH. 85

handsome woman, and Mr. James North had by this time
made up his mind that she was both. Once or twice he
found himself contemplating her splendid figure with a re-
collection of the doctor's compliment, and later, emulating
her own frankness, told her of it.

44 And what did you say ?" she asked.

44 Oh, I laughed and said — nothing."

And so did she.

A month after this interchange of frankness, she asked him
if he could spend the next evening at her house. u You see,"
she said, " there's to be a dance down at the hall at Eureka,
and I haven't kicked a fut since last spring. Hank Fisher's
comin' up to taKe me over, and I'm goin' to let the shanty
slide for the night."

"But what's to become of the baby f" asked North, a little
testily.

*kWell," said Miss Robinson, fa , ing him somewhat ag-
gressively, u I reckon it won't hurt ye to take care of it for a
night. Dad can't — and if he could, ho don't know how. Liked
to have pizened me after mar died. No, young man, I don't
propose to ask Hank Fisher to tote thet child over to Eureka
and back, and spile his fun."

4'Then I suppose I must make way for Mr. Hank — Hank —
Fisher?" said North, with the least tinge of sarcasm in hia
*peech.

" Of course. You've got nothing else to do, you know."

North would have given worlds to have pleaded a previous
engagement on business of importance, but he knew that
Bessy spoke truly. He had nothing to do. " And Fisher has,
J suppose?" he asked.

tk Of course— to look after me!"

A more unpleasant evening James North had not spent
since the first day of his solitude. He almost began to hate
the unconscious cause of his absurd position, as he paced up
and down the floor with it. " Was there ever such egregious

33 THE MAN ON THE BEACH.

folly ?** hfe began, but remembering he was quoting Maria
North's favourite resume of his own conduct, he stopped. The
child cried, missing, no doubt, the full rounded curves and
plump arm of its nurse. North danced it violently, with an
inward accompaniment that was not musical, and thought of
the other dancers. "Doubtless," he mused, "she has toU
this beau of hers that she has left the baby with the * looney
Man on the Beach. Perhaps I may be offered a permanent
engagement as a harmless simpleton accustomed to the care o*
children. Mothers may cry for me. The doctor is at Eureka.
Of course, he will be there to see his untranslated goddess,
and condole with her over the imbecility of the Man on the
Beach." Once he carelessly asked Joe who the company were.

44 Well," said Joe, mournfully, " thar's Widder Higsby and
darter ; the four Stubbs gals ; in course Polly Doble will be
on hand with that fellow that's clerking over at the Head for
Jones, and Jones's wife. Then thar's French Pete, and
Whisky Ben, and that chap that shot Archer, — I disremember
his name — and the barber — what's that little mulatto's name
— that 'ar Kanaka ? I swow !" continued Joe, drearily, '* I'll
be forgettin' my own next — and" —

44 That will do," interrupted North, only half concealing
nis disgust as he rose and carried the baby to the other room f
beyond the reach of names that might shock its ladylike ears.
The next morning he met the froin-dance-returnmg Bessy
abstractedly, and soon took his leave, full of a disloyal plan,
conceived in the sleeplessness of her own bedchamber. He
•was satisfied that he owed a duty to its unknown parents to
remove the child from the degrading influences of the barber
Kanaka, and Hank Fisher especially, and he resolved to write
to his relatives, stating the case, asking a home for the waif
and assistance to find its parents. He addressed this letter to
his cousin Maria, partly in consideration of the dramatic
'farewell of that young lady, 0fd its possible influence in
turning her susceptible heart towards his protegee. He then

TIJJS MAN ON THE VEACH. 37

quietly settled back to his old solitary habits, and for a week
left the Robinsons unvisited. The result was a morning cau
by Trinidad Joe on the hermit. ** It's a whim of my gal's,
Mr. North," he said, dejectedly, " and ez I told you before
and warned ye, when that girl hez an idee, fower yoke of
oxen and seving men can't drag it outer her. She's got a
idee o' larnin' — never hevin' hed much schooling and we ony
takin' the papers, permiskiss like — and she says yon can teach
her — not hevin' anythin' else to do. Do ye folly me ?"

" Yes," said North, u certainly."

"Well, she allows ez mebbee you're proud, and didn't like
her taldn' care of the baby for nowt ; and she reckons that
ef you'll gin her some book larnin', and yet her to sling some
fancy talk in fash'n'ble style — why, she'll call it squar."

** You can tell her," said North, very honestly, " that I
phail be only too glad to help her in any way, without ever
hoping to cancel my debt of obligation to her."

*' Then it's a go ?" said the mystified Joe, with a desperate
attempt to convey the foregoing statement to his own intellect
in three Saxon words.

" It's a go," replied North, cheerfully.

And he felt relieved. For he was not quite satisfied with
his own want of frankness to her. But here was a way to
pay off the debt he owed her, and yet retain his own dignity.
And now he could tell her what he bad doue, and he trusted
to the ambitious instinct that prompted her to seek a better
education to explain his reasons for it.

He saw her that evening and confessed all to Ler frankly.
She kept her head averted, but when she turned her blue eyes
to him they were wet with honest tears. North had a man's
horror of a ready feminine lachrymal gland ; bul 't was not
like Bessy to cry, and it meant something ; and the^ sue did
it in a large, goddess-like way, without sniffling, or choking,
or getting her rose red, but rather with a gentle deliquescence,
» hanrop*'ou/ melting, so that he was fain to comfort her

THE MAN OX THE BEACH.

with nearer contact, gentleness in his own sad eyes, and •
pressure of her large hand.

" It's all right, I s'pose," she said, sadly ; "but I didn't reckon
or.yer havin'any relations, but thought you was alone, like rue.'
James North, thinking of Hank Fisher and the "mullater,"
could not help intimating that his relations were very wealthy
and fashionable people, and had visited him last summer. A
recollection of the manner in which they had so visited him,
and his own reception of them, prevented his saying more.
But Miss Bessy could not forego a certain feminine curiosity,
and asked, —

44 Did they come with Sam Baker's team ?"
"Yes."
" Last July ?"
" Yes."

" And Sam drove the horses here for a bite?"
" I believe so."
44 And them's your relations?"
44 They are."

Miss Robinson reached over the cradle, and enfolded the
sleeping infant in her powerful arms. Then she lifted her
eyes, wrathful through her still glittering tears, and said,
slowly, " They don't — have — this — child — then!"
"But why?"

11 Oh, why? 1 saw them ! That's why, and enough I Yon
can't play any ruch gay and festive skeletons on this poor
baby for flesh and blood parents. No, sir !"

*» I think you judge them hastily, Miss Bessy," said North,
secretly amused ; " my aunt may not, at first, favourably im-
press strangers, yet she has many friends. But surely you do
not object to my cousin Maria, the young lady?"

"What! that dried cuttle-fish, with nothin' living about
her but her eyes? James North, ye may be a fool like the
old woman,— perhaps it's in the family, — but ye ain't a devil,
like that gal 1 That ends it."

THE MAN ON THE BE AC 3. 3D

And it did. North despatched a second letter to Maria
Baying that he had already made other arrangements for
the baby. Pleased with her easy victory, Miss Bessy became
more than usually gracious, and the next day bowed her
shapely neck meekly to the yoke of her teacher, and became
a docile pupil. James North could not have helped noticing
her ready intelligence, even had he been less prejudiced in
her favour than he was fast becoming now. If he had found it
pleasant before to be admonished by her, there was still more
•ielicious flattery in her perfect trust in his omniscient skill as
a pilot over this unknown sea. There was a certain enjoy-
ment in guiding her hand over the writing-book, that I fear
he could not have obtained from an intellect less graciously
sustained by its physical nature. The weeks flew quickly by
on gossamer wings, and when she placed a bunch of larkspurs
and poppies in his hand one morning, he remembered for the
first time that it was spring.

I cannot say that there was more to record of Miss Bessy's
education than this. Once North, half jestingly, remarked
that he had never yet seen her admirer, Mr. Hank Fisher.
Miss Bessy (colouring but cool) — " You never will !" North
(white but hot)—" Why ?" Miss Bessy (faintly)— " I'd rather
not." North (resolutely) — " I insist." Bessy (yielding)—*4 As
my teacher?" North (hesitatingly, at the limitation of the epi-
thet)— " Y-e-e-s !" Bessy — " And you'll prorate never to speak
of it again?" North— "Never." Bessy (slowly)- ''Well,
he said I did an awful thing to go over to your cabin and
stay." North (in the genuine simplicity of a refined nature v~
"But how?" Miss Bessy (half piqued, but absolutely
admiring that nature) — " Quit! and keep your promise!"

They were so happy in these new relations that it occurred
to Mi.7* Bessy one day to take James North to task for
obliging her to ask to be his pupil. " You knew how igno-
rant I was," she added ; and Mr. North retorted by relating
to her the dQ«VVg criticism on her independence. ** To tell

40 THE MAN ON THE BEACH.

you the truth," he added, " I was afraid you would not take
it as kindly as he thought."

" That is, you thought me as vain as yourself. It seems to
me you and the doctor had a great deal to say to each other."

" On the contrary," laughed N orta, ** that was all we said."

" And you didn't make fun of me ?"

Perhaps it was not necessary for North to take her hand to
emphasize his denial, but he did.

Miss Bessy, being still reminiscent, perhaps did not notice
it. " If it hadn't been for that ar — I mean that thar— no,
that baby — I wouldn't have known you !" she said dreamily.

" No," returned North, mischievously, " but you still would
have known Hank Fisher."

No woman is perfect. Miss Bessy looked at kim with a
sudden — her first and last — flash of coquetry. Then stooped
and kissed — the baby.

James I^orth was a simple gentleman, but not altogether a
fool. He returned the kiss, but not vicariously.

There was a footstep on the porch. These two turned the
bues of a dying dolphin, and then laughed. It was Joe. Ho
held a newspaper in his hand. " I reckon ye woz right,
Mr. North, about my takin' these yar papers reg'lar. For I
allow here's suthin' that may clar up the mystery o' that baby's
parents." With the hesitation of a slowly grappling intellect,
Joe sat down on the table and read from the San Francisco
•* Herald" as follows : — " 4 It is now ascertained beyond d«ubt
that the wreck reported by the ^Eolus was the American
brig Pomare, bound hence to Tahiti. The worst surmises are
found correct. The body of the woman has been since iden-
tified as that of the beau-ti-ful daughter of —of — of — Terp —
Terp — Terpish' — Well 1 I swow that name just tackles me."

** Gin it to me, Dad," said Bessy pertly. " You never had
any education, any way. Hear your accomplished daughter."
With a mock bow to the new schoolmaster, and a capital bur-
lesque of a confident school girl, she strode to the middle of

THE MAN ON TEE BEACH. 41

the room, the paper held and folded book- wise in her hands.
"Ahem! Where did you leave off? Oh, 'the beautiful
daughter of Terpsichore — whose name was prom-i-nently
connected with a mysterious social scandal of last year —
the gifted but unfortunate Grace Chatterton' — No — don't
stop me — there's some more! 'The body of her child, a
lovely infant of six months, has not been recovered, and it is
supposed was washed overboard.' There ! maybe that's the
child, Mr. North. Why Dad! Look, O my Godl He's
falling. Catch him, Dad. Quick!"

But her strong arm had anticipated her father's. She
caught him, lifted him to the bed, on which he lay henceforth
for many days unconscious. Then fever supervened, and
delirium, and Dr. Duchesne telegraphed for his friends ; but
at the end of a week and the opening of a summer day tha
storm passed, as the other storm had passed, and he awoke,
enfeebled, but at peace. Bessy was at his side — he was glad
to see — alone. " Bessy, dear," he said hesitatingly, " when I
am stronger I have something to tell you."

"I know it all, Jem," she said with a trembling lip ; "I
heard it all — no, not from them, but from your own lips in
your delirium. I'm glad it came from you — even then."

44 Do you forgive me, Bessy?1

She pressed her lips to his forehead and said hastily and
then falteringly, as if afraid of her impulse :—

" Yes. Yes."

" And you will Btill be bother to the child?"

"Her child?"

" No dear, not hers, but mi'ne T*

She started, cried a little, and then putting her arms around
him, said: "Yes."

And as there was but one way of fulfilling that sacred
promise, they were married in the autumn.

TWO SAINTS OP THE FOOT-HILLS.

]T never was clearly ascertained how long they had
been there. The fiist settler of Rough-and-lleady
— one Low, playfully known to his familiars as
"The Poor Indian"— declared that the Saints were
afore his time, and occupied a cabin in the brush when he
" blazed" his way to the North Fork. It is certain that the
two wt-re present when the water was first turned on the
Union Ditch and then and there received the designation of
Daddy Downey and Mammy Downey, which they kept to the
last. As they tottered toward the refreshment tent, they were
welcomed with the greatest enthusiasm by the boys ; or, to
borrow the more refined language of the " Union Recorder/*
— u Their gray hairs and bent figures, recalling as they did
the happy paternal eastern homes of the spectators, and the
blessings that fell from venerable lips when they left those
homes to journey in quest of the Golden Fleece on Occidental
Slopes, caused many to burst into tears " The nearer facts,
that many of these spectators were orphans, that a few were
unable to establish any legal parentage whatever, that others
had enjoyed a State's guardianship and discipline, and that a
majority had left their paternal roofs without any embarrassing
preliminary formula, were mere passing clouds that did not
dim the golden imagery of the writer. From that day the
Saints were adopted as historical lay figures, and entered at once
into possession of uninterrupted gratuities and endowment.

It was not strange that, in a country largely made up of
ambitious and reckless youth, these two — types of conservative
and settled forms — should be thus celebrated. Apart from
any sentiment or veneration, they were admirable foils to the
eommunity's youthful progress and energy. They were put
forward at every social gathering, occupied proruioeub seats

TWO SAINTS OF THE FOOT-HILLS. 43

on the platform at every public meeting, walked first in every
procession, were conspicuous at the frequent funeral and rarer
wedding, and were godfather and godmother to the first baby
born in Rough-and-Ready. At the first poll opened in thut
precinct, Daddy Downey cast the first vote, and, as was his
custom on all momentous occasions, became volubly reminis-
cent. "The first vote I ever cast, "said Daddy, "was for Andrew
Jackson ; the father o' some on you peart young chaps wasn't
born then ; he ! he! that was 'way long in '33, wasn't it? I
di^remember now, but if Mammy was here, she bein1 a pcbool-
gal at the time, she could say. But my memory's failin' me.
I'm an old man, boys ; yet I likes to see the young ones go
ahead. I recklect that thar vote from a suckumstance.
Squire Adams was present, and seem' it was my first vote, he
put a goold piece into my hand, and sez he, sez Squire Adams,
*Let that always be a reminder of the exercise of a glorious
freeman's privilege !' He did ; he 1 he! Lord, boys ! I feel so
proud of ye, that I wish I had a hundred votes to cast for ye all."
It is hardly necessary to say that the memorial tribute of
Squire Adams was increased tenfold by the judges, inspectors,
and clerks, and that the old man tottered back to Mammy,
considerably heavier than he came. As both of the rival
candidates were equally sure of his vote, and each had called
upon him and offered a conveyance, it is but fair to presume
they were equally beneficent. But Daddy insisted upon
walking to the polls, — a distance of two miles, — as a moral
example, and a text for the California paragraphers, who
hastened to record that such was the influence of the foot-
hill climate, that " a citizen of Rough-and-Ready, aged eighty-
four, rose at six o'clock, and, after milking two cows, walked
a distance of twelve miles to the polls, and returned in time,
to chop a cord of wood before dinner." Slightly exaggerated
as this statement may have been, the fact that Daddy was
always found by the visitor to be engaged at his wood-pile,
which seemed neither to increase nor diminish under his ax«

44 TWO SAINTS OF THE FOOT-HILLS.

a fact, doubtless, owing to the activity of Mammy, who was
always at the same time making pies, seemed to give some
credence to the story. Indeed, the wood-pile of Daddy Downey
was a standing reproof to the indolent and sluggish miner.

" Ole Daddy must use up a pow'ful sight of wood ; every
time I've passed by his shanty he's been makin' the chips fly.
But what gets me is, that the pile dbii't seem to come down,"
gaid Whisky Dick to his neighbour.

"Well, you dernedfool!" growled his neighbour, " spos<j
some chap happens to pass by thar, and sees the ole man
doin' a man's work at eighty, and slouches like you and me
lying round drunk, and that chap, ftelin' kinder humped, goes
up some dark night and heaves a load of cut pine over his fence,
who's got anything to say about it? SayV" Certainly uob
the speaker, who had done the act suggested, nor the penitent
and remorseful hearer, who repeated it next day.

The pies and cakes made by the old woman were, I think,
remarkable rather for their inducing the same loyal and
generous spirit than for their intrinsic excellence, and it may
be said appealed more strongly to the nobler aspirations of
humanity than its vulgar appetite. Howbeit, everybody ate
Mammy Downey's pies, and thought of his childhood. " Take
'eni, dear boys," the old lady would say ; " it does me good
to see you eat 'em ; reminds me kinder of my poor Sammy,
that, ef he'd lived, would hev been ez strong and big ez you
be, but was taken down with lung fever, at Sweetwater. I
kin see him yet ; that's forty year ago, dear ! comiu' out o' the
lot to the bakehouse, and smilin' such a beautiful smile, like
yours, dear boy, as I handed him a mince or a lemming
turnover. Dear, dear, how I do run on ! and those days is
past I but I seems to live in you again I" The wife of the
hotel-keeper, actuated by a low jealousy, had suggested that
ehe u seemed to live off them ;" bu* as that person tried to
demonstrate the truth of her statement by reference to the
oust of the raw material used by the old lady, it was con-

TWO SA.NTS OF THE FOOT-HILLS. 45

Bidered by the camp as too practical and economical for con-
sideration. *4 Besides," added Cy Perkins, u ef old Mammy
wants to turn an honest penny in her old age, let her do it.
How would you like your old mother to make pies on grub
wages ? eh ?" A suggestion that so affected his hearer (who
had no mother) that he bought three on the spot. The
quality of these pies had never been discussed but once. It
is related that a young lawyer from San Francisco, dining
at the Palmetto restaurant, pushed away one of Mammy
Downey's pies with every expression of disgust and dissatis-
faction. At this juncture, Whisky Dick, considerably affected
by his favourite stimulant, approached the stranger's table,
and, drawing up a chair, sat uninvited before him.

u Mebbee, young man," he began gravely, " ye don't like
Mammy Downey's pies V"

The stranger replied curtly, and in some astonishment, that
he did not, as a rule, *' eat pie."

"Young man," continued Dick, with drunken gravity,
" mebbee you're accustomed to Charlotte rusks and blue
mange ; mebbee ye can't eat unless your grub is got up by
one o' them French cooks? Yet we — us boys yar in this
camp — calls that pie — a good — a cora-pe-tent pie !"

The stranger again disclaimed anything but a general
dislike of that form of pastry.

"Young man," continued Dick, utterly unheeding the
explanation, — " your g man, mebbee you onst had an ole — a
very ole mother, who, tottering down the vale o' years, made
pies. Mebbee, and it's like your blank epicurean soul, ye
turned up your nose on the ole woman, and went back on the
pies, and on her! She that dandled ye when ye woz a
baby, — a little babyl Mebbee ye went back on her, and
shook her, and played off on her, and gave her away — dead
away I And now, mebbee, young man — I wouldn't hurt ye
for the world, but mebbee, afore ye leave this yar table,
YE'LL EAT THAT PIE*"

4« TWO SAINTS OF THE FOOT-HILLS.

The stranger rose to hia feet, but the muzzle of a dragoon
revolver in the unsteady hands of Whisky Dick, caused him
to sit down again. He ate the pie, and lost his case likewise,
before a Rough-and-Ready jury.

Indeed, far from exhibiting the cynical doubts and distrusts
of age, Daddy Downey received always with child-like
delight the progress of modern improvement and energy.
"In my day, long back in the tv.pnties, it took us nigh a
week — a week, boys — to get up a barn, and all the young
ones — I was one then — for miles 'round at the raisin' ; and
yer's you boys — rascals ye are, ioo — runs up this yer shanty
for Mammy and me 'twixt sun-np and dark! Eh, eh, you're
teachin' the old folks newtric;^, are ye? Ah, get along,
you!" and in playful simulation of anger he would shake hia
white hair and his hickory stall at the " rascals." The only
indication of the conservative tendencies of age was visible in
his continual protest against the extravagance of the boys.
" Why," he would say, " a family, a hull family, — leavin'
alone me and the old woman, — might be supported on what
you young rascals throw away in a single spree. Ah, you
young dogs, didn't I hear about your scattering half-dollars
on the stage the other night when that Eyetalian Papist was
singin' ? And that money goes out of Ameriky — ivry cent !"

There was little doubt that the old couple were saving, if
not avaricious. But when it was known, through the in-
discreet volubility of Mammy Downey, that Daddy Downey
sent the bulk of their savings, gratuities, and gifts to a
dissipated and prodigal son in the East, — whose photograph
the old man always carried with him, it rather elevated him
in their regard. " When ye write to that gay and festive
son o' yourn, Daddy," said Joe Robinson, " send him this
yer specimen. Give him my compliments, and tell him, ef he
kin spend money faster than I can, I call him 1 Tell him, ef
he wants a first-class jamboree, to kern out here, and me
and the boys will Bhow him what a square drunk is 1" In

TWO SAINTS OF THE FOOT-HILLS. 47

vain would the old man continue to protest against the spirit
of the gift ; the miner generally returned with his pockets
that much the lighter, and it is not improbable a little less
intoxicated than he otherwise might have been. It may be
premised that Daddy Downey was strictly temperate. The
only way he managed to avoid hurting the feelings of the
camp was by accepting the frequent donations of whisky to
be used for the purposes of liniment.

"Next to snake-oil, my son," he would say, *' and clilberry-
juice, — and ye don't seem to pro-duce 'em hereabouts, —
whisky is good for rabbin' onto old bones to make 'em limber.
But pure cold water, * sparklin' and bright in its liquid light,*
and, so to speak, reflectin' of God's own linyments on its
surfiss, is the best, onless, like poor ol' Mammy and me, ye
gets the dumb-agur from over-use."

The fame of the Downey couple was not confined to the
foot-hills. The Rev. Henry Gushington, D.D., of Boston,
making a bronchial tour of California, wrote to the "Christian,
Pathfinder" an affecting account of his visit to them, placed
Daddy Downey's age at 102, and attributed the recent con-
versions in Rough-and-Ready to their influence. That gifted
literary Hessian, Bill Smith, travelling in the interests of
various capitalists, and the trustworthy correspondent of four
" only independent American journals," quoted him as an
evidence of the longevity superinduced by the climate, offered
him as an example of the security of helpless life and property
in the mountains, used him as an advertisement of the Union
Ditch, and it is said, in some vague way cited him as. proving
the collateral facts of a timber and ore-producing region
existing in the foot-hills worthy the attention of Eastern
capitalist?,

Praised thus by the lips of distinguished report, fostered
by the care and sustained by the pecuniary offerings of their
fellow-citizens, the Saints led for two years a peaceful life of
gentle absorption. To relieve them from the embarrassing

43 TWO SAINTS OF THE FOOT-HILLS.

appearance of eleemosynary receipts, — an embarrassment felt
more by the givers than the recipients, — the postmastership
of Rough-and-Ready was procured for Daddy, and the duty
of receiving and delivering the United States mails performed
by him, with the advice and assistance of the boys. If a few
letters went astray at this time, it was easily attributed to
this undisciplined 'aid, and the boys themselves were always
ready to make up the value of a missing money-letter and
** keep the old man's accounts square." To these functions
presently were added the treasurerships of the Masons' and
Odd Fellows' charitable funds, — the old man being far
advanced in their respective degrees, — and even the position
of almoner of their bounties was superadded. Here, unfor-
tunately, Daddy's habits of economy and avaricious pro-
pensity came near making him unpopular, and very often
needy brothers were forced to object to the quantity and
quality of the help extended. They always met with more
generous relief from the private hands of the brothers them-
selves, and the remark, «' that the ol' man was trying to set
an" example,— that be meant well,"— and that they would
yet be thankful for his zealous care and economy. A few, I
think, suffered in noble silence, rather than bring the old
man's infirmity to the public notice.

And so with this honour of Daddy and Mammy, the days
of the miners were long and profitable in the land of the foot-
hills. The mines yielded their abundance, the winters were
singularly open, and yet there was no drouth nor lack of
water, and peace and plenty smiled on the Sierrean foot-hills,
from their highest sunny upland to the trailing falda of wild
oats and poppies. If a certain superstition got abroad among
the other camps, connecting the fortunes of Rough-and-Ready
with Daddy and Mammy, it was a gentle, harmless fancy,
and was not, I think, altogether rejected by the old people.
A certain large, patriarchal, bountiful manner, of late visible
in Daddy, and the increase of much white hair a?id heard.

TWO SAINTS OF THE FOOT-HILLS. 49

kept up the poetic illusion, while Mammy, clay by day, grew
more and more like somebody's fairy godmother. An attempt
was made by a rival camp to emulate these paying virtues of
reverence, and an aged mariner was procured from the Sailor's
Snug Harbour in San Francisco, on trial. But the unfortunate
seaman was more or less diseased, was not always presentable,
through -a weakness for ardent spirits, and finally, to use the
powerful idiom of one of his disappointed foster-children, " up
and died in a week, without clinging ary blessin'."

But vicissitude reaches young and old alike. Youthful
Rough-and-Ready and the Saints had climbed to their
meridian together, and it seemed fit that they should together
decline. The first shadow fell with the immigration to Rough-
and-Ready of a second aged pair. The landlady of the
Independence Hotel had not abated her malevolence towards
the Saints, and had imported at considerable expense ht-r
grand-aunt and grand-uncle, who had been enjoying for some
years a sequestered retirement in the poor-house at East
JMachias. They were indeed very old. By what miracle, even
as anatomical specimens, they had been preserved during their
long journey was a mystery to the camp. In some respects
they had superior memories and reminiscences. The old man
— Abner Trix — had shouldered a musket at the war of 1812 ;
his wife, Abigail, had seen Lady Washington. She could sing
hymns; he knew every text between " the leds" of a Bible.
There is little doubt but that in many respects, to the super*
ficial and giddy crowd of youthful spectators, they were th*
more interesting spectacle.

Whether it was jealousy, distrust, or timidity that over-
came the Saints, was never known, but they studiously de-
clined to meet the strangers. When directly approached
upon the subject, Daddy Downey pleaded illness, kept himself
in close seclusion, and the Sunday that the Trixes attended
church in the school-house on the hill, the triumph of the
Trix party was mitigated by the fact that the Downeya were

60 TWO SAINTS OF THE FOOT-HILLS.

not in their accustomed pew. " You bet that Daddy and
Mammy is lying low jest to ketch them old mummies yet,"
explained a Downeyite. For by this time schism and division
had crept into the camp ; the younger and later members of
the settlement adhering to the Trixes, while the older pioneers
htood not only loyal to their own favourites, but even, in the
true spirit of partisanship, began to seek for a principle
underlying their personal feelings. '* I tell ye what, boys,"
observed Sweetwater Joe, "if this yer camp is goin' to be
run by greenhorns, and old pioneers, like Daddy and the rest
of us, must take back seats, it's time we emigrated and shoved
out, and tuk Daddy with us. Why, they're talkin' of rotation
iu offiss, and of putting that skeleton that Ma'am Decker sets
up at the table, to take her boarders' appetites away, into the
post-office in place o' Daddy." And, indeed, there were some
fears of such a conclusion ; the newer men of Rough-and-
Ready were in the majority, and wielded a more than equal
influence of wealth and outside enterprise. " Frisco," as a
Downeyite bitterly remarked, " already owned half the town."
The old friends that rallied around Daddy and Mammy were,
like most loyal friends in adversity, in bad case themselves,
and were beginning to look and act, it was observed, not
unlike their old favourites.

At this juncture Mammy died.

The sudden blow for a few days seemed to re-unite dis-
severed Rougk- and- Ready. Both factions hastened to the
bereaved Daddy with coudolements, and offers of aid and
assistance. But the old man received them sternly. A change
had come over the weak and yielding octogenarian. Those
who expected to find him maudlin, helpless, disconsolate,
shrank from the cold, hard eyes and truculent voice that bade
them " begone," and " leave him with his dead." Even his
own friends failed to make him respond to their sympathy,
and were fain to content themselves with his cold intimation
that both the wishes of his dead wife and his own instincts

TWO SAINTS OF THE FOOT-HILLS. 5t

were against any display, or the reception of any favour from
the camp that might tend to keep up the divisions they had
innocently created. The refusal of Daddy to accept any
service offered was so unlike him as to have but one dreadful
meaning ! The sudden shock had turned his brain ! Yet so
impressed were they with his resolution that they permitted
him to perform the last sad offices himself, and only a select
few of his nearer neighbours assisted him in carrying the
plain deal coffin from his lonely cabin in the woods to the still
lonelier cemetery on the hill-top. When the shallow grave
was filled, he dismissed even these curtly, shut himself up ia
Lis cabin, and for days remained unseen. It was evident that
he was no longer in his right mind.

His harmless aberration was accepted and treated with a
degree of intelligent delicacy hardiy to be believed of so
rough a community. During his wife's sudden and severe
illness, the safe containing the funds entrusted to his care by
the various benevolent associations was broken into and
robbed, and although the act was clearly attributable to his
carelessness and preoccupation, all allusion to the fact waa
withheld from him in his severe affliction. When he appeared
again before the camp, and the circumstances were consider-
ably explained to him, with the remark that " the boys had
made it all right," the vacant, hopeless, unintelligent eye that
he turned upon the speaker showed too pkinly that he had
forgotten all about it. " Don't trouble the old man," said
Whisky Dick, with a burst of honest poetry. "Don't ye
see his memory's dead, and lying there in the coffin with
Mammy?" Perhaps the speaker was nearer right than he
imagined.

Failing in religious consolation, they took various means
of diverting his mind with worldly amusements, and one was
ft visit to a travelling variety troupe, then performing in the
town. The result of the visit was briefly told by Whisky
Dick. " Well, sir, we went in, and I sot the old man down

63 TWO SAINTS OF THE FOOT-HILLS.

in a front seat, and kinder propped him up with some other of
the fellers round him, and there he sot as silent and awful ea
the grave. And then that fancy dancer, Miss Grace Somerset,
comes in. and dern my skin, ef the old man didn't get to
trembling and fidgeting all over, as she cut them pidgin
wings., "i tell ye what, boys, men is men, way down to their
boots — whether they're crazy or not ! Well, he took on so, that
I'm blamed if at last that gal herself didn't notice him ! and
she tips, suddenly, and blows him a kiss — so 1 with her fingers !"

Whether this narration were exaggerated or not, it is certain
that the old man Downey every succeeding night of the per-
formance was a spectator. That he may have aspired to
more than that was suggested a day or two later in the follow-
ing incident : A number of boys were sitting around the stove
in the Magnolia saloon, listening to the onset of a winter
storm against the windows, when Whisky Dick, tremulous,
excited, and bristling with rain-drops and information, broke
in upon them.

" Well, boys, I've got just the biggest thing out. Ef I
hadn't seed it myself, I wouldn't hev believed it!"

"It ain't thet ghost ag'in?" growled Robinson, from the
depths of his arm-chair ; " thet ghost's about played."

" Wot ghost?'* asked a new-comer.

" Why, ole Mammy's ghost, that every feller about yer sees
when he's half full and out late o' nights."

"Where?"

"Where? Why, where should a ghost be? Meanderin'
round her grave on the hill, yander, in course."

"It's suthin' bigger nor thet, pard," said Dick confidently;
" no ghost kin rake down the pot ag'in the keerda I've got
here. This ain't no bluff !"

" Well, go on !" said a dozen excited voices.

Dick paused a moment, diffidently, with the hesitation of
an artistic raconteur.

«* Well," he said, with affected deliberation, " let's see ! It's

TWO SAINTS OF THE FOOT-HILLS. 83

nigh onto an hour ago ez I was down thar at the variety
show. When the curtain was down betwixt the ax, I looka
round fer Daddy. No Daddy thar! I goes out and aska
some o' the boys. * Daddy was there a minnit ago,' they say;
* must hev gone home.' Bein' kinder responsible for the old
man, I hangs around, and goes out in the hall and sees a
passage leadin' behind the scenes. Now the queer thing about
J)is, boys, ez that suthin' in my bones tells me the old man 19
thar. I pushes in, and, sure as a gun, I hears his voice.
Kinder pathetic, kinder pleadin', kinder"

" Love-matin' !" broke in the impatient Robinson.

" You've hit ) t, pard, — you've rung the bell every time !
But she says, * 1 wants thet money down, or I'll' — and here I
couldn't get to Lear the rest. And then he kinder coaxes,
and she says, sorter &as?y, but- listenin' all the time, — woman
like, ye know, Ev< and the sarpint ! — and she says, ' I'll see to-
morrow.' And he says, ' You won't blow on me?' and I gets
excited and peeps in, and may I be teetotally durned ef I
didn't see"

" What ?" yelled the crowd.

"Why, Daddy on his knees to that there fancy dancer, Grace
Somerset! Now, if Mammy's ghost is meanderin' round,
why, et's about time she left the cemetery and put in an
appearance in Jackson's Hall. Thet's all."

" Look yar, boys," said Robinson, rising, " I don't know ez
it's the square thing to spile Daddy's fun. I don't object to
it, provided she ain't takiri' in the old man, and givin' him
dead away. But ez we're his guardeens, I propose that we
go down thar and see the lady, and find out ef her intentions
is honourable. If she means marry, and the old man persists,
why, I reckon we kin give the young couple a send-off thet
won't disgrace this yer camp! Hey, boys?"

It is unnecessary to say that the proposition was received
with acclamation, and that the crowd at once departed on
their discreet mission. But the result was never known, for

54 TWO SAINTS OF THE FOOT-HILLS.

the next morning brought a shock to Rough-and-Ready before
which all other interest paled to nothingness.

The grave of Mammy Downey was found violated and
despoiled; the coffin opened, and half filled with the papers
and accounts of the robbed benevolent associations ; but the
body of Mammy was gone! Nor, on examination, did it
appear that the sacred and ancient form of that female had
ever reposed in its recesses !

Daddy Downey was not to be found, nor is it necessary to
say that the ingenuous Grace Somerset was also missing.

For three days the reason of Rough-and-Ready trembled
in the balance. No work was done in the ditches, in the
flume, nor in the mills. Groups of men stood by the grave of
the lamented relict of Daddy Downey, as open-mouthed and
vacant as that sepulchre. Never since the great earthquake
of '52 had Rough-and-Ready been so stirred to its deepest
foundations.

On fche third day the sheriff of Calaveras — a quiet, gentle,
thoughtful man — arrived iu town, and passed from one to the
other of excited groups, dropping here and there detached but
concise and practicft.1 information.

"Yes, gentlemen, you are right, Mrs. Downey is not d--ad,
because there wasn't any Mrs. Downey ! Her part was played
by George F. Fenwick, of Sydney, — a * ticket- of-leave mau,'
who was, they say, a good actor. Do»rney? Oh, yes!
Downey was Jem Flanigaa, who, in '52, used to run tho
variety troupe in Australia, where Misa Somerset made her
debut. Stand back a little, boys. Steady ! * The money ?*
Oh, yes, they've got away with that, sure ! How are ye,
Joe? Why, you're looking well and hearty! I rather ex '
pected ye court week. How's things your way ?"

u Then they were only play-actors, Joe HaH ?" broke in a
dozen voices.

" I reckon !" returned the sheriff, coolly.

" And for a matter o' five blank years," said Whisky Dick,
sadly, ** they played this camp I"

"JINNY.*

THINK: that the few who were permitted to know
and love the object of this sketch spent the rest of
their days not only in an attitude of apology for
having at first failed to recognize her higher nature,
but of remorse that they should have ever lent a credulous
ear to a priori tradition concerning her family characteristics.
She had not escaped that calumny which she shared with the
rest of her sex for those youthful follies, levities, and indis-
cretions which belong to immaturity. It is very probable that
the firmness that distinguished her maturer will in youth
might have been taken for obstinacy, that her nice discrimi-
nation might at the same period have been taken for ado
lescent caprice, and that the positive expression of her quick
intellect might have been thought youthful impertinence before
her years had won respect for her judgment.

She was foaled at Indian Creek, and one month later, when
she was brought over to Sawyer's Bar, was considered the
smallest donkey ever seen in the foot-hills. The legend that
she was brought over in one of k'Dan the Quartz Crusher's"
boots required corroboration from that gentleman ; but his
denial being evidently based upon a masculine vanity regard-
ing the size of his foot rather than a desire to be historically
accurate, it went for nothing. It is certain that for the next
two months she occupied the cabin of Dan, until, perhaps
incensed at this and other scandals, she one night made her
way out. "I hadn't the least idee wot woz cominV said
Dan, "but about midnight I seemed to hear hail onto the

66 « JINNY."

roof, and a shower of rocks and stones like to a blast started
in the cafion. When I got up and struck a light, thar was
suthin' like onto a cord o' kindlin' wood and splinters whar
she'd stood asleep, and a hole in the side o' the shanty, and —
no Jinny ! Lookin' at them hoofs o' hern — and maghty porty
they is to look at, too— you would allow she could do it !" 1
fear that this performance laid the foundation of her later
infelicitous reputation, and perhaps awakened in her youthful
breast a misplaced ambition, and an emulation which might
at that time have been diverted into a nobler channel. For
the fame of this juvenile performance — and its possible pro-
mise in the future — brought at once upon her the dangerous
flattery and attention of the whole camp. Under intelligently
directed provocatioa she would repeat her misguided exercise,
until most of the scanty furniture of the cabin was reduced
to a hopeless wreck, and sprains and callosities were developed
upon the limbs of her admirers, Yet even at this early stage
of her history, that penetrating intellect which was in after
years her dominant quality was evident to all. She could not
be made to kick at quartz tailings, at a barrel of Boston
crackers, or at the head or shin of " Nigger Pete." An artistic
discrimination economized her surplus energy. "Ef you'll
notiss," said Dan, with a large parental softness, " she never
lets herself out to onst like them mules or any jackass ez I've
heerd of, but kinder holds herself in, and so to speak, takes
her bearings — sorter feels round gently with that off foot,
takes her distance and her rest, and then with that ar' foot
hoverin' round in the air softly, like an angel's wing, and a
gentle, dreamy kind o' look in them eyes, she lites out ! Don't
ye, Jinny ? Thar ! jist ez I told ye," continued Dan, with an
artist's noble forgetfulness of self, as he slowly crawled from
the splintered ruin of the barrel on which he had been sitting.
"Thar! did ye ever see the like! Did ye dream that all the
while I was talkin' she was a-meditatin' that ?"

The same artistic perception and noble reticence distm-

"JINN7." 57

guished her bray. It was one of which a less saga clous animal
would have been foolishly vain or ostentatiously prodigal. It
was a contralto of great compass and profundity — reaching
from low G to high C — perhaps a trifle stronger in the lower
register, and not altogether free from a nasal falsetto in the
upper. Daring and brilliant as it was in the middle notes, it
was perhaps more musically remarkable for its great sustain-
ing power. The element of surprise always entered into the
hearer's enjoyment ; long after any ordinary strain of human
origin would have ceased, faint echoes of Jinnj's last uote
were perpetually rccun ing. But it was as an intellectual and
moral expression that her bray was perfect. As far beyond
her size as were her aspirations, it was a free and running
commentary of scorn at all created things extant, with ironical
and sardonic additions that were terrible. It reviled all
human endeavour, it quenched all sentiment, it suspended
frivolity, it scattered reverie, it paralyzed action. It was
omnipotent. More wonderful and characteristic than all, tho
very existence of this tremeadous organ was unknown to tho
camp for six months after the arrival of its modest owner,
and only revealed to them under circumstances that seemed
to point more conclusively than ever to her rare discretion.

It was the beginning of a warm night and the middle of a
heated political discussion. Sawyer's Bar had gathered in
force at the Crossing, and by the light of flaring pine torches,
cheered and applauded the rival speakers who from a rude
platform addressed the excited multitude. Partisan spirit at
that time ran high in the foot-hills ; crimination and recrimi-
nation, challenge, reply, accusation, and retort had already
inflamed the meeting, and Colonel Bungstarter, after a
withering review of his opponent's policy, culminated with a
personal attack upon the career and private character of the
eloquent and chivalrous Colonel Culpepper Starbottle of
Siskiyou That eloquent and chivalrous gentleman wa*
known to be present ; it was rumoured that the attacV was

68 "JINNY*

expected to provoke a challenge from Colonel Starbottle
which would give BuDgstarter the choice of weapons, and
deprive Starbottle of his advantage as a dead shot. It was
whispered also that the sagacious Starbottle, aware of this
fact, would retaliate in kind so outrageously as to leave
Bungstarter no recourse but to demand satisfaction on the
spot. As Colonel Starbottle rose, the eager crowd drew
together, elbowing each other in rapt and ecstatic expectancy.
" He can't get even on Buogstarter, onless be allows his
sister ran off with a nigger, or that he put up his grand-
mother at draw poker and lost her," whispered the Quart's
Crusher; "kin he?" All ears were alert, particularly the
very long and hairy ones just rising above the railing of the
speaker's platform ; for Jinny, having a feminine distrust of
Bolitude and a fondness for show, had followed her master to
the meeting and had insinuated herself upon the platform,
where way was made for her with that frontier courtesy always
extended to her age and sex.

Colonel Starbottle, stertorous and purple, advanced to the
railing. There he unbuttoned his collar and laid his neck-
cloth aside, then with his eye fixed on his antagonist he
drew off his blue frock coat, and thrusting one hand into his
ruffled shirt front, and raising the other to the dark canopy
above him, he opened his vindictive lips. The action, the
attitude, were Starbottle's. But the voice was not. For at
that supreme moment, a bray — so profound, so appalling, so
utterly soul-subduing, so paralyzing that everything else sank
to mere insignificance beside it — filled woods, and eky, and
air. For a moment only the multitude gasped in ppeechlesa
astonishment — it was a moment only — and then the welkin
roared with their shouts. In vain silence was commanded,
in vain Colonel Starbottle, with a ghastly smile, remarked
that he recognized in the interruption the voice and the
intellect of the opposition ; the laugh continued, the move aa
it was discovered that Jinny had not yet finished, and was

*JINN7." 59

Btill recurring to her original theme. " Gentlemen," gasped
Starbottle, " any attempt by [Hee-haw ! from Jinny] brutal
buffoonery to restrict the right of free speech to all [a pro-
It uged assent from Jinny] is worthy only the dastardly" —
but here a diminuendo so long drawn, as to appear a striking
imitation of the Colonel's own apoplectic sentences drowned
Lis voice with shrieks of laughter.

It must not be supposed that during this performance a
vigorous attempt was not made to oust Jinny from the plat-
form. But all in vain. Equally demoralizing in either
extremity, Jinny speedily cleared a circle with her flying
hoofs, smashed the speaker's table and water pitcher, sent
the railing flying in fragments over the cheering crowd, and
only succumbed to two blankets, in which, with her head
concealed, she was finally dragged, half captive, half victor,
from the field. Even then a muffled and supplemental bray
that came from the woods at intervals drew half the crowd
away and reduced the other half to mere perfunctory hearers.
The demoralized meeting was adjourned ; Colonel Starbottle'a
withering reply remained unuttered, and the Bungstarter
party were triumphant.

For the rest of the evening Jinny was the heroine of the
hour, but no cajolery nor flattery could induce her to again
exhibit her powers. In vain did Dean of Angel's extemporize
a short harangue in the hope that Jinuy would be tempted to
reply; in vain was every provocation offered that might sting
her sensitive nature to eloquent revolt. She replied only
with her heels. Whether or not this was simple caprice, or
whether she was satisfied with her maiden effort, or indignant
at her subsequent treatment, she remained silent. "She
made her little game," said Dan, who was a political adherent
of Starbottle's, and who yet from that day enjoyed the greas
ipeater s undying hatred, "and even if me and her don't
agree on politics — you let her alone." Alas, it would have
been well for Dan if he could have been true to his instincts,

60 "JINNY*

but the offer of one hundred dollars from th« Bungstarter
party proved too tempting. She passed irrevocably from hia
hands into those of the enemy. But any reader of these linea
will, I trust, rejoice to hear that this attempt to restrain free
political expression in the foot-hills failed signally. For,
although she was again covertly introduced on the platform
by the Bungstarters, and placed face to face with Colonel
Starbottle £.'«. idurphy's Camp, she was dumb. Even a brass
band failed to excite her emulation. Either she had become
disgusted with politics or the higher prices paid by the party
to other and less effective speakers aroused her jealousy and
shocked her self-esteem, but she remained a passive spectator.
"When the Hon. Sylvester Rourback, who received, for the use
of his political faculties for a single night, double the sum for
•which she was purchased outright, appeared on the same
platform with herself, she forsook it hurriedly and took to
the woods. Here she might have starved but for the inter-
vention of one McCarty, a poor market gardener, who found
her, and gave her food and shelter under the implied contract
that she should forsake politics and go to work. The latter
she for a long time resisted, but as she was considered large
enough by this time to draw a cart, McCarty broke her to single
harness, with a severe fracture of his leg and the loss of four
teeth and a small spring waggon. At length, when sshe could
jbe trusted to carry his wares to Murphy's Camp, and could
be checked from entering a shop with the cart attached to
her, — a fact of which she always affected perfect disbelief, —
her education was considered as complete as that of the
average California donkey. It was still unsafe to leave her
alone, as she disliked solitude, and always made it a point to
join any group of loungers with her unnecessary cart, and
even to follow some good-looking miner to his cabin. The
first time this peculiarity was discovered by her owner was on
his return to the street after driving a bargain within the
walls ( f the Tt-mpernnce H<v*el. Jinny was nowhere to be

"JINNY." 61

seen. Her devious course, however, was pleasingly indicated
by vegetables that strewed the road until she was at last
tracked to the veranda of the Arcade saloon, where she was
found looking through the window at a game of euchre, and
only deterred by the impeding cart from entering the build-
ing. A visit one Sunday to the little Catholic chapel at
French Camp, where she attempted to introduce an antiphonal
service and the ^nri, brought shame and disgrace upon her
unlucky mastei. For Uie cart contained freshly-gathered
vegetables, anc the fact UKI*" McCarty had been Sabbath-
breaking was i/aiuiuily evident. Father Sullivan was ^nick-
to turn an incident that provoked only th« risibthUea ol in*
audienco v.nto a moral lesson. '* It's the poor dumb beuai,
that has a more Christian sowl than Michael," he commented ,
but here Jinny assented so positively that they were f<»ni to
drag her away by main force.

To her eccentric and thoughtless youth succeeded a cairn
maturity in which her conservative sagacity was steadily
developed. She now worked for her living, subject, however,
to a nice discrimination by which she limited herself to a
certain amount of work, beyond which neither threats,
beatings, nor cajoleries would force her. At certain hours
she would start for the stable witii or without the incum-
brances of the cart or Michael, turning two long and deaf ears
on all expostulation or entreaty. " Now, God be good to
me," said Michael, one day, picking himself out from a ditch
as he gazed sorrowfully after the flying heels of Jinny, " but
it's only the second load of cabbages I'm bringin' the day, and
if she's shtruck now, it's ruined I am entoirely." But he was
mistaken ; after two hours of rumination Jinny returned of
her own free will, having evidently mistaken the time, and it
is said even consented to draw an extra load to make up the
deficiency. It may be imaginea from this and other circum-
stances that Michael stood a little in awe of Jinny's superior
intellect, and that Jinny occasionally, with the instinct of her

62 "JINNY."

sex, presumed upon it. After the Sunday episode, already
referred to, she was given her liberty on that day, a privilege
she gracefully recognized by somewhat unbending her usual
austerity in the indulgence of a saturnine humour. She would
visit the mining camps, and, grazing lazily and thoughtfully
before the cabins, would, by various artifices and coquetries
known to the female heart, induce some credulous stranger
to approach her with the intention of taking a ride. She
would submit hesitatingly to a halter, allow him to mount her
back, and, with every expression of timid and fearful reluctance,
at last permit him to guide her in a laborious trot out of sight
of human habitation. What happened then was never clearly
known. In a few moments the camp would be aroused by
shouts and execrations, and the spectacle of Jinny tearing by
at a frightful pace, with the stranger clinging with his arms
around her neck, afraid to slip off, from terror of her circum-
volving heels, and vainly imploring assistance. Again and
again she would dash by the applauding groups, adding the
aggravation of her voice to the danger ,of her heels, until
suddenly wheeling, she would gallop to Carter's Pond, and
deposit her luckless freight in the muddy ditch. This
practical joke was repeated until one Sunday she was
approached by Juan Ramirez, a Mexican vaqnero, booted and
spurred, and carrying a riata. A croud was assembled to see
her discomfiture. But, to the intense disappointment of the
camp, Jinny, after quietly surveying the stranger, uttered a
sardonic bray, and ambled away to the little cemetery on the
hill, whose tangled chapparal effectually prevented all pursuit
by her skilled antagonist. From that day she forsook the
camp, and spent her Sabbaths in mortuary reflections among
the pine head-boards and cold "hicjacets" of the dead.

Happy would it have been if this circumstance, which
resulted in the one poetic episode of her life, had occurred
earlier ; for the cemetery was the favourite resort of Miss Jessie
Lawton, a gentle invalid from San Francisco; who had sought

riie foot-hills for the balsam of pine and fir, and iu the faint
hope that the freshness of the wild roses might call back her
own. The extended views from the cemetery satisfied Miss
Lawton's artistic taste, and here frequently, with her sketch-
book in hand, she indulged that taste and a certain shy reserve
which kept her from contact with strangers. On one of the
leaves of that sketch-book appears a study of a donkey's head ,
being none other than the grave features of Jinny, as onco
projected timidly over the artist's shoulder. The preliminaries
of this intimacy have never transpired, nor is it a settled fact
if Jinny made the first advances. The result was only known
to the men of Sawyer's Bar by a vision which remained fresh
in their memories long after the gentle la-iy and her four-
footed friend had passed beyond their voices. As two of the
tunnel-men were returning from work one evening, they
chanced to look up the little trail, kept sacred from secular
intrusion, that led from the cemetery to the settlement. In
the dim twilight, against a sunset sky, they beheld a pale-
faced girl riding slowly toward them. With a delicate instinct*
new to these rough men, they drew closer in the shadow of
the bushes until she passed. There was no mistaking the
familiar grotesqueness of Jinnjv, there was no mistaking the
languid grace of Miss Lawton. But a wreath of wild roses
was around Jinny's neck, from her long ears floated Miss
Jessie's hat ribbons, and a mischievous, girlish smile was upon
Miss Jessie's face, as fresh as the azaleas in her hair. By the
next day the story of this gentle apparition was known to a
dozen miners in camp, and all were sworn to secrecy. But the
next evening, and the next, from the safe shadows of the woods
they watched and drank in the beauty of that fanciful and
all unconscious procession. They kept their secret, and never
a whisper or footfall from these rough men broke its charm or
betrayed their presence. The man who could have shocked the
sensitive reserve of the young girl would have paid for it with
his life.

64

Aud then one day the character of the pi. ^cession changed,
and this little incident having been told, it was permitted
that Jinny should follow her friend, caparisoned even as
before, but this time by the rougher but no less loving hands
of men. When the cortege reached the ferry where the
gentle girl was to begin her silent journey to the sea, Jinny
broke from those who held her, and after a frantic effort to
mount the barge fell into the swiftly rushing Stanislaus. A
dozen stout arms were stretched to save her, and a rop».
skilfully thrown was caught around her feet. For an instant
8he was passive, and, as it seemed, saved. But the next
moment her dominant instinct returned, and with one strotct
of her powerful heel she suapped the rope in ttraia and so
drifted with her mistress to the sea

ROGER CATKON'S FRIEND.

THINK that, from the beginning, we all knew how
it would end. He had always been so quiet and
conventional, although by nature an impulsive
man ; always so temperate and abstemious, although
a man with a quick appreciation of pleasure ; always so
cautious and practical, although an imaginative man^ that
when, at last, one by one he loosed these bands, and gave
himself up to a life, perhaps not worse than other live?,
•which the world has accepted as the natural expression of
their various owners, we at once decided that the case was a
hopeless one. And when one night we picked him up out of
the Union Ditch, a begrimed and weather-worn drunkard, a
hopeless debtor, a self-confessed spendthrift, and a half-
conscious, maudlin imbecile, we knew that the end had come.
The wife he bad abandoned had in turn deserted him ; tho
woman he had misled had already realized her folly, and left
him with her reproaches ; the associates of his reckless life,
who had used and abused him, had found him DO longer of
service, or even amusement, and clearly there was nothing
left to do but to hand him over to the state, and we took him
to the nearest penitential asylum. Conscious of the Samaritan
deed, we went back to our respective wives, and told his
story. It is only just to say that these sympathetic creatures
were more interested in the philanthropy of their respective*
nusbands than in its miserable object. "It was good and
kind in you, dear," said loving Mrs. Maston to her spouse, as
returning home that night he flung his coat on a chair with,
an air of fatigued righteousness ; " it was like your kind
heart to care for that beast; but after he left that good wife
of his— that perfect saint — to take up with that awful woman,

5

66 ROGER OATROira FRIEND.

I think I'd have left him to die in the ditch. Only to think
of it, dear, a woman that you wouldn't speak tol" Here
Mr. Maston coughed slightly, coloured a little, mumbled
something about "women not understanding some things,"
•' that men were men," etc., and then went comfortably to
sleep, leaving the outcast, happily oblivious of all things,
and especially this criticism, locked up in Hangtown Jail.

F«r the next twelve hours he lay there, apathetic and half-
conscious. Recovering from this after a while, he became
furious, vengeful, and unmanageable, filling the cell and
corridor with maledictions of friend and enemy ; and again
pullen, morose, and watchful. Then he refused food, and did
not sleep, pacing his limits with the incessant, feverish tread
of a caged tiger. Two physicians, diagnosing his case from
the scant facts, pronounced him insane, and he was accord-
ingly transported to Sacramento. But on the way thither he
managed to elude the vigilance of his guards, and escaped.
The alarm was given, a hue and cry followed him, the best
detectives of San Francisco were on his track, and finally
recovered his dead body — emaciated and wasted by exhaustion
and fever — in the Stanislaus Marshes, identified it, aodf
receiving the reward of 1,000 dollars offered by his surviving
relatives and family, assisted in legally establishing the end
we had predicted.

Unfortunately for the moral, the facts were somewhat
inconsistent with the theory. A day or two after the remains
v.'ere discovered and identified, the real body of <v Roger
Catron, aged 52 years, slight, iron-gray hair, and shabby in
apparel," as the advertisement read, dragged itself, travel-
vorn, trembling, and dishevelled, up the steep slope of Dead-
wood Hill. How he should do it, he had long since deter-
mined,— ever since he had hidden his Derringer, a mere baby
pistol, from the vigilance of his keepers. Where he should
do it, he had settled within his mind only within the last few
moments. Deadwood Hill was seldom frequented : his body
««ight lie there for months before it was discovered. He had

ROGER CATRON'S FRIEND. 67

once thought of the river, but he remembered it had an ugly
way of exposing its secrets on sandbar and shallow, and that
the body of Whisky Jim, bloated and disfigured almost
beyond recognition, had been once delivered to the eyea of
Sandy Bar, before breakfast, on the left bank of the Stanis-
laus. He toiled up through the chimisal that clothed the
southern slope of the hill until he reached the bald, storm-
scarred cap of the mountain, ironically decked with the
picked, featherless plumes of a few dying pines. One, stripped
of all but two lateral branches, brought a boyish recollection
to his fevered brain. Against a background of dull sunset
fire, it extended two gaunt arms — black, rigid, and pathetic.
Calvary!

With the very word upon his lips, he threw himself, face
downwards, on the ground beneath it, and, with his fingers
clutched in the soil, lay there for some moments, silent and
still. In this attitude, albeit a sceptic and unorthodox man,
he prayed. I cannot say — indeed I dare not say — that his
prayer was heard, or that God visited him thus. Let us
rather hope that all there was of God in him, in this crucial
moment of agony and shame, strove outward and upward.
Howbeit, when the moon rose he rose too, perhaps a trifle
less steady than the planet, and began to descend the hill with
feverish haste, yet with this marked difference between his
present haste and his former recklessness, that it seemed to
have a well-defined purpose. When he reached the road
again, he struck into a well-worn trail, where, in the dis-
tance, a light faintly twinkled. Following this beacon, he
kept on, and at last flung himself heavily against the door of
the little cabin from whose window the light had shone. As
he did so, it opened upon the figure of a square, thickset
man, who, in the impetuosity of Catron's onset, received him,
literally, in hia arms.

" Captain Dick," said Roger Catron, hoarsely, " Captain
Dick, save me ! For God's sake, save me 1"

Captain Dick, without a word, placed a large, protecting

08 ROGER CATRON'S FRIEND.

hand upon Catron's shoulder, allowed it to slip to his wai^t,
and then drew hia visitor quietly, but firmly, within the
cabin. Yet, in the very movement, he had managed to gently
and unobtrusively possess himself of Catron's pistol.

44 Save ye 1 From which?" asked Captain Dick, as quietly
and unobtrusively dropping the Derringer in a flour sack.

"From everything," gasped Catron, 4tfrom the men that
are hounding me, from my family, from my friends, but most
of all — from, from — myself!"

He had, in turn, grasped Captain Dick, and forced him
frenziedly against the wall. The captain released himself,
and, taking the hands of his excited visitor, said slowly, —

44 Ye want some blue mass — suthin' to onload your liver4.
I'll get it up for ye."

44 But, Captain Dick, I'm an outcast, shamed, disgraced"—

"Two on them pills taken now, and two in the morning."
continued the captain, gravely, rolling a bolus in his fingers,
44 will bring yer head to the wind again. Yer fallin' to lee-
ward all the time, and ye want to brace up."

44 But, Captain," continued the agonized man, again clutch-
ing the sinewy arms of his host, and forcing his li vid face
and fixed eyes within a few inches of Captain Dick's, 4* hear
me ! You must and shall hear me. I've been in jail— do you
hear ? — in jail, like a common felon. I've been sent to th?
asylum, like a demented pauper. I've" —

" Two now and two in the morning," continued the cap-
tain, quietly releasing one hand only to place two enormous
pills in the mouth of the excited Catrpn, " thar now — a driuk
o' whisky — thar, that'll do — just enough to take the taste
put of yer mouth, wash it down, and belay it, so to speak.
And how are the mills running, gin'rally, over at the Bar V"

4k Captain Dick, hear me — if you are my friend, for God's
sake hear me ! An hour ago I should have been a dead, man"—

"They say that Sam Bolin hez sold out of the Excelsior"-—

** Captain x>v?k ! Listen, for God's sake j I have suffered"--*

ROGER CATRON'S FRIEND. 69

But Captain Dick was engaged in critically examining hi&
man. " I guess I'll ladle ye out some o' that soothin' mixture
I bought down at Simpson's t'other day," he said, reflectively.
'* And I onderstand the boys up on the Bar think the raina
will set in airly."

But here Nature was omnipotent. Worn by exhaustion,
excitement, and fever, and possibly a little affected by Captain
Dick's later potion, Roger Catron turned white, and lapsed
against the wall. In an instant Captain Dick had caught
?iim, as a child, lifted him in his stalwart arms, wrapped a
blanket around him, and deposited him in his bunk. Yet,
even in his prostration, Catron made one more despairing
appeal for mental sympathy from his host.

"I know I'm sick — dying, perhaps," he gasped, from under
the blankets; "but promise me, whatever comes, tell my wife
— say to" —

44 It has been lookin' consid'ble like rain, lately, hereabouts,11
continued the captain, coolly, in a kind of amphibious slang,
characteristic of the man, " but in these yer latitudes no man
kin set up to be a weather sharp."

" Captain ! will you hear me ?"

44 Yer goin' to sleep, now," said the captain, potentially.

44 But, Captain, they are pursuing me! If they should
track me here?"

44 Thar is a rifle over thar, and yer's my navy revolver.
When I've emptied them, and want you to bear a hand, I'll
call ye. Just now your lay is to turn in. It's my watch."

There was something so positive, strong, assuring, and a
little awesome in the captain's manner, that the trembling,
nervously-prostrated man beneath the blankets forbore to
question further. In a few moments his breathing, albeit
hurried and irregular, announced that he slept. The captain
then arose, for a moment critically examined the sleeping man,
holding his head ^a, little on one syle, whistling softly, and
stepping backwards to get a good perepective, but always

70 ROGER CATROWS FRIEND.

with contemplative good humour, as if Catron wer« a work
of art, which he (the captain) had created, yet one that ho
was r.ot yet entirely satisfied with. Then he put a large pea-
jacket over his flannel blouse, dragged a Mexican serapf from
the corner, and putting it over his shoulders, opened the
cabin door, sat down on the door-step, and leaning back
•against the door-post, composed himself to meditation. The
moon lifted herself slowly over the crest of Deadwood Hill,
and looked down, not unkindly, on his broad white shaven
face, round and smooth as her own disc, encircled with a thiu
fringe of white hair and whiskers. Indeed, he looked so like
the prevailing caricatures in a comic almanac of planets, with
dimly outlined features, that the moon would have been quite
justified in flirting with him, as she clearly did, insinuating a
twinkle into hia keen gray eyes, making the shadow of a
dimple on his broad, fat chin, and otherwise idealizing him
after the fashion of her hero-worshipping sex. Touched v.y
these benign influences, Captain Dick presently broke forth V/
melody. His song was various, but chiefly, I think, confined
to the recital of the exploits of one "Lorenzo," who, as
related by himself, —

" Shipped on bonrd of a Liner,

'Renzo, boys, 'ilenzo," — •

a fact that seemed to have deprived him at onee of all metre,
grammar, or even the power of coherent narration. At tii»'*s
a groan or a half-articulate cry would come from the u bunk"
whereou Roger Catron lay, a circumstance that always seemed
to excite Captain Dick to greater effort and more rapid vocali-
zation. Toward morning, in the midst of a prolonged howl
from the captain, who was finishing the u Starboard Watch,
ahoy 1" in three different keys, Roger Catron's voice broke
suddenly and sharply from his en wrappings :—

" Dry up, you d — d old fool, will you?''

Captain Dick stopped instantly. Rising to his feet, and
looking over the landscape, Jie took all nature into hia con-

ROGER CATRON*S FRIEND. 71

fidence in one inconceivably arch and crafty wink. " He'a
coming up to the wind," he said softly, rubbing his hand.-*.
44 The pills is fetchin' him. Steady now, boys, steady. Steady
as she goes on her course," and with another wink of ineffable
wisdom, he entered the cabin and locked the door.

Meanwhile the best society of Sandy Bar was kind to the
newly-made widow. Without being definitely expressed, it
was generally felt that sympathy with her was now safe, and
carried no moral responsibility with it. Even practical and
pecuniary aid, which before had been withheld, lest it should
be diverted from its proper intent, and, perhaps through the
weakness of the wife, made to minister to the wickedness of
the husband, — even that was now openly suggested. Every-
body felt that somebody should do something for the widow.
A few did it. Her own sex rallied to her side, generally witu
large sympathy, but, unfortunately, small pecuniary or prac-
tical result. At last, when the feasibility of her taking a
boarding- house in San Francisco, and identifying herself with
that large class of American gentlewomen who have seen
better (lays, but clearly are on the road never to see them
again, was suggested, a few of her own and her husband's
rich relatives came to the front to rehabilitate her. It was
ea-ier to take her into their homes as an e^ual than to refuse
to call upon her as the mistress of a lodging-house in the
adjoining street. And upon inspection it was found that she
was still quite an eligible partie, prepossessing, and withal, in
her widow's weeds, a kind of poetical and sentimental presence,
as necessary in a wealthy and fashionable American family as
a work of art. ** Yes, poor Caroline has had a sad, sad history,"
the languid Mrs. Walker Catron would say, " and we all
sympathize with her deeply ; Walker always regards her as a
sister." What was this dark history never came out, but its
very mystery always thrilled the visitor, and seemed to indicate
plainly the respectability of the hostess. An American family

72 ROGER CATRON' S FRIEND.

without a genteel skeleton in its closet could scarcely add to
that gossip which keeps society from forgetting its members.
Nor was it altogether unnatural that presently Mrs. Roger
Catron lent herself to this sentimental deception *nd began
to think that she really was a more exquisitely aggrieved
woman than she had imagined. At times, when this vague
load of iniquity put upou her dead husband assumed, through
the mystery of her friends, the rumour of murder and highway
robbery, and even an attempt upon her own life, she went to
her room, a little frightened, and had " a good cry, "reappear-
ing more mournful and pathetic than ever, and corroborating
the suspicious of her friends. Indeed, one or two impulsive
gentlemen, fired by her pathetic eyelids, openly regretted that
the deceased had not been hanged, to which Mrs. Walker
Catron responded that, " Thank Heaven, they were spared a0
least that disgrace !" and so sent conviction into the minds of
her hearers.

It was scarcely two months after this painful close of her
matrimonial life that one rainy February morning the servant
brought a card to Mrs. Roger Catron, bearing the following
inscription : —

" PucharJ Graeme Macleod."

Women are more readily affected by names than we ar<%
and there was a certain Highland respectability about this
that, albeit not knowing its possessor, impelled Mrs: Catron
to send word that she " would be down in a few moments."
At the end of this femininely indefinite period, — a quarter of
an hour by the French clock on the mantel-piece, — Mrs. Roger
Ca'ron ma le her appearance in the reception-room. it was a
dull, wet day, as I have said before, bnt on the Contra COSTA
hills the greens and a few flowers were already showing a
promise of rejuvenescence and an early spring There was
something of this, I think, in Mrs. Catron's presence, shown
perhaps in the coquettish bow of a ribbon, in a larger and
more delicate ruche, in a tighter belting of her black cashmere

ROGEh CATRON'S FRIEND. 73

gown ; but still there was a suggestion of recent rain injlie
eyes, and threateoing weather. As she entered the room, the
eun came out, too, and revealed the prettiness and delicacy of
her figure, and I regret to state, also, the somewhat obtrusive
plainness of her visitor.

"I knew ye'd be sorter disapp'inted at first, not gettin' the
regular bearings o' my name, but I'm 4 Captain Dick.' Mebbe
ye've heard your husband — that is, your husband ez waz,
Roger Catron — speak o' me?"

Mrs. Catron, feeling herself outraged and deceived in belt,
ruche, and ribbon, freezingly admitted that she had heard of
him before.

"In course," said the captain; " why, Lord love ye, Mrs,
Catron, — ez waz, — he used to be all the time talkin' of ye.
And allers in a free, easy, confidential way. Why, one
night— don't ye remember ? — when he came home, carryin',
mebbe, more canvas than was seamanlike, and you shet him
out the house, and laid for him with a broomstick, or one
o' them crokay mallets, I disremember which, and he kem
over to me, ole Captain Dick, and I sez to him, sez I, * Why,
Roger, them's only love pats, and yer condishun is such ez to
make any woman mad-like.' Why, Lord bless ye ! there ain't
enny of them mootool differences you and him hed ez I doesn't
knows on, and didn't always stand by, and lend ye a hand,
and heave in a word or two of advice when called on."

Mrs. Catron, ice everywhere but in her pink cheeks, was
glad that Mr. Catron seemed to have always a friend to
whom he confided everything, even the base falsehoods he had
invented.

u Mebbe now they waz falsehoods," said the captain,
thoughtfully. " But don't ye go to think," he added con-
scientiously, " that he kept on that tack all the time. Why,
that day he made a raise, gambling, I think, over at Dutch Flat,
and give ye them bracelets,— regular solid gold, — why, it
would have done your heart good to have heard him talk

74 ROGER CATROJTS FRIEND.

about you — said you had the prettiest arm in Californy,
Well," said the captain, looking around for a suitable climax,
" well, you'd have thought that he was sorter proud of ye !
Why, I woz with him in 'Frisco when he bought that A 1 prize
bonnet for ye for 75 dollars, and not hevin' over 50 dollars in
his pocket, borryed the other 25 dollars outer me. Mebbe it
was a little fancy for a bonnet ; but I allers thought he took
it a little too much to heart when you swopped it off for that
Dollar Varden dress, just because that Lawyer Maxwell sail
the Dollar Varderfs was becomin' to ye. Ye know, I reckon,
he was always sorter jealous of that thar shark" —

" May I venture to ask what your business is with me?"
interrupted Mrs. Catron, sharply.

*' In course," said the captain, rising. *' Ye see," he said,
apologetically, " we got to talking o' Roger and ole times,
and I got a little out o' my course. It's a matter of" — ha
began to fumble in bis pockets, and finally produced a small
memorandum-book, which he glanced over, — " it's a matter of
250 dollars."

" I don't understand you," said Mrs. Catron, in indignant
astonishment.

"On the 15th of July," said the captain, consulting his
memorandum-book, " Roger sold his claim at Nye's Ford for
1,500 dollars. Now, le's see. Thar was nigh on 350 dollars
ez he admitted to me he lost at poker, and we'll add 50 dollars
to that for treating, suppers, and drinks gin'rally — put Roger
down for 400 dollars. Then there was you. Now you speab
250 dollars on your trip to 'Frisco thet summer; then
200 dollars went for them presents you sent your Aunt Jane,
and thar was 400 dollars for house expenses. Well, thet
foots up 1,250 dollp^fl. Now, what's become of thet other
250 dollars?"

Mrs. Catron's woman's impulse to retaliate sharply over-
came her first natural indignation at her visitor's impudence.
Therein she lost, woman-like, her ground of vantage.

ROGER CATROtfS FRIEND. 75

11 Perhaps the woman he fled with can tell you," she said
savagely.

•' Thet," said the captain, slowly, " is a good, a reasonable
idee. But it ain't true ; from all I can gather she lent 1dm
money. It didn't go thar."

•l Roger Catron left me penniless," said Mrs. Catron hotly.

*4 Thet's jist what gets me. You oughter have 250 dollars
somewhar lying round."

Mrs. Catron saw her error. " May I ask what right you
have to question me ? If you have any, I must refer you to
iny lawyer or my brother-in-law ; if you have none, I hope
you will not oblige me to call the servants to put you from
the house.'*

" Thet sounds reasonable and square, too," said the captain,
thoughtfully ; " I've a power of attorney from Roger Catron
to settle up his affairs and pay his debts, given a week afore
them detectives handed ye over his dead body. But I thought
that you and me might save lawyer's fees and all fuss and
feathers, ef , in a sociable, sad-like way, — lookin' back sortei
on Roger ez you and me once knew him, — we had a quiet talk
together."

*4 Good morning, sir," said Mrs. Catron, rising stiffly.
The captain hesitated a moment, a slight flush of colour came
in his face as he at last rose as the lady backed out of the
room. ** Good morning, ma'am," said the captain, and
departed.

Very little was known of this interview except the general
impression in the family that Mrs. Catron had successfully
lesisted a vague attempt at blackmail from one of her
husband's former dissolute companions. Yet it is only fair to
say that Mrs. Catron snapped up, quite savagely, two male
sympathizers on this subject, and cried a good deal for two
days afterward, and once, in the hearing of her sister-in-law,
to that lady's great horror, " wished she was dead."

A week after this interview, as Lawyer Phillips sat in hia

76 ROGER CATROFS FRIEND.

office, he was visited by Macleod. Recognizing, possibly,
some practical difference between the widow and the lawyer,
Captain Dick this time first produced his credentials, — a
41 power of attorney." "I need not tell you," said Phillips,
"that the death of your principal renders this instrument
invalid, and I suppose you know that, leaving no will, and no
property, his estate has not been administered upon."

"Mebbe it is, and mebbe it isn't. But I hain't askin' for
anythin' but information. There was a bit o' prop'ty and a
mill onto it, over at Heavytree, ez sold for 10,000 dollars. I
don't see," said the captain, consulting his memorandum-
book, " ez he got anything out of it."

"It was mortgaged for 7,000 dollars," said the lawyer,
. quickly, " and the interest and fees amount to about 3,000
dollars more."

44 The mortgage was given as security for a note ?"

•« Yes, a gambling debt," said the lawyer, sharply.

44 Thet's so, and my belief ez that it wasn't a square game.
He shouldn't hev given no note. Why don't ye mind, 'way
back in *60, when you and me waz in Marysville, that night
that you bucked agin faro, and lost seving hundred dollars,
and then refoosed to take up your checks, saying it was a
fraud and a gambling debt ? And don't ye mind when that
chap kicked ye, and I helped to drag him off ye — and"—

*' I'm busy now, Mr. Macleod," said Phillips, hastily ; " my
clerk will give you all the information you require. Good
morning."

" It's mighty queer," said the captain, thoughtfully, as he
descended the stairs, " but the moment the conversation gets
limber and sociable-like, and I gets to runnin' free under
easy sail, it's always 'Good morning, Captain,' and we're
becalmed."

By some occult influence, however, all the foregoing con-
versation, slightly exaggerated, and the whole interview of
the captain with the widow, with sundry additions, became

ROGER CATRON'S FRIEND. 77

the common property of Sandy Bar, to the great delight of
the boys. There was scarcely a person who had ever had
business or social relations with Roger Catron, whom "The
Frozen Truth," as Sandy Bar delighted to designate the
captain, had not "interviewed," as simply and directly. It is
said that he closed a conversation with one of the San Fran-
cisco detectives, who had found Roger Catron's body, in these
words: "And now hevin' got throo' bizness, I was goin' to
ask ye what's gone of Matt. Jones, who was with ye in the
bush in Austraily. Lord, how he got me quite interested in
ye, telling me how you and him got out on a ticket-of -leave,
und was chased by them milishy guards, and at last swam out
to a San Francisco bark and escaped ;" but here the inevit-
\ble pressure of previous business always stopped the captain's
conversational flow. The natural result of this was a singular
reaction in favour of the late Roger Catron in the public
sentiment of Sandy Bar, so strong, indeed, as to induce the
Rev. Mr. Joshua McSnagly, the next Sunday, to combat it
with the moral of Catron's life. After the service, he was
approached in the vestibule, and in the hearing of some of his
audience, by Captain Dick, with the following compliment :
" In many pints ye bed jess got Roger Catron down to a
hair. I knew ye'd do it: why, Lord love ye, you and him
bad pints in common ; and when he giv' ye that hundred
dollars arter the fire in Sacramento, to help ye rebuild the
parsonage, he said to me, — me not likin' ye on account o* my
being on the committee that invited ye to resign from Marys-
ville all along o' that affair with Deacon Pursell's darter ; and
a piece she was, parson ! eh ? — well, Roger, he ups and sez to
me, * Every man hez his faults,' sez he ; and sez he, * there's
no reason why a parson ain't a human being like us, and that
gal o' PurseU's is pizen, ez I know/ So ye see, I seed that
ye was hittin' yourself over Catron's shoulder, like them
early martyrs." But here, as Captain Dick was clearly
blocking up all egress from the church, the sexton obliged

T8 ROGER CATRON1 8 FRIEND.

him to move on, and again he was stopped in his conversa-
tional career.

But only for a time. Before long, it was whispered that
Captain Dick had ordered a meeting of the creditors, debtors,
and friends of Roger Catron at Robinson's Hall. It was
suggested, with some show of reason, that this had been done
at the instigation of various practical jokers of Sandy Bar,
who had imposed on the simple directness of the captain, and
the attendance that night certainly indicated something more
than a mere business meeting. All of Sandy Bar crowded
into Robinson's Hall, and long before Captain Dick made his
appearance on the platform, with his inevitable memorandum-
book, every inch of floor was crowded.

The captain began to read the expenditures of Roger Catron
with relentless fidelity of detail. The several losses by poker,
the whisky bills, and the record of a "jamboree" at Tooley's,
the vague expenses whereof footed up 275 dollars, were
received with enthusiastic cheers by the audience. A single
milliner's bill for 125 dollars was hailed with delight; 100
dollars expended in treating the Vestal Virgin Combination
Troupe almost canonized his memory ; 50 dollars for a simple
buggy ride with Deacon Fisk brought down the house ; 500
dollars advanced, without security, and unpaid, for the elec-
tioneering expenses of Assemblyman Jones, who had recently
introduced a bill to prevent gambling and the sale of lager
"heer on Sundays, was received with an ominous groan. One
or two other items of money loaned occasioned the withdrawal
of several gentlemen from the audience amidst the hisses or
ironical cheers of the others.

At last Captaia Dick stopped and advanced to the foot-
lights.

11 Gentlemen and friends," he said, slowly, " I foots up
25,000 dollars as Roger Catron hez made, fair and square, in
this yer county. I foots up 27,000 dollars ez he has spent iu
this yer county. I puts it to you ez men,— far-minded men,—

ROGER CATRON'S FRIEND. 78

ef this man was a pauper and debtor ? I put it to you ez
far- minded men, — ez free and easy men, — ez political econo-
mists,—ez this the kind of men to impoverish a county?"

An overwhelming and instantaneous "No 1" almost drowned
the last utterance of the speaker.

" Thar is only one item," said Captain Dick, slowly, " only
one item, that ez men, — ez far-minded men, — ez political
economists, — it seems to me we hez the right to question.
It's this : Thar is an item, read to you by me, of 2,000 dollars
paid to certing San Francisco detectives, paid out o' the assets
o' Roger Catron, for the finding of Roger Catron's body.
Gentlemen of Sandy Bar and friends, 1 found that body, and
yer it is !"

And Roger Catron, a little pale and nervous, but palpably
in the flesh, stepped upon the platform.

Of course the newspapers were full of it the next day. Of
course, in due time, it appeared as a garbled and romantic
item in the San Francisco press. Of course Mrs. Catron, on
reading it, fainted, and for two days said that this last cruel
blow ended all relations between her husband and herself.
On the third day she expressed her belief that, if he had had
the slightest feeling for her, he would, long since, for the
pake of mere decency, have communicated with her. On the
fourth day she thought she had been, perhaps, badly advised,
bad an open quarrel with her relatives, and intimated that a
wife had certain obligations, etc. On the sixth day, still not
hearing from him, she quoted Scripture, spoke of a seventy-
times-seven forgiveness, and went generally into mild hys-
terics. On the seventh, she left in the morning train for
Sandy Bar.

And really I don't know as I have anything more to tell.
T dined with them recently, and, upon my word, a more
decorous, correct, conventional, and dull dinner I ner^r ate in
flay life.

"WHO WAS MY QUIET FEIEND?"

URANGER!"

The voice was not loud, but clear and pene-
trating. I looked vainly up and down the narrow,
darkening trail. No one in the fringe of alder
ahead ; no one on the gullied slope behind.

" O ! stranger 1"

This time a little impatiently. The California classical
vocative, " O," always meant business.

I looked up, and perceived for the first time on the ledge,
thirty feet above me, another trail parallel with my own, and
looking down upon me through the buckeye bushes a small
man on a black horse.

Five things to be here noted by the circumspect moun-
taineer. First, the locality, lonely and inaccessible, and
away from the regular faring of teamsters and miners.
Secondly, the stranger's superior knowledge of the road, from
the fact that the other trail was unknown to the ordinary
traveller. Thirdly, that he was well armed and equipped.
Fourthly, that he was better mounted. Fifthly, that any
distrust or timidity arising from the contemplation of these
facts had better be kept to one's self.

All this passed rapidly through my mind as I returned
his salutation.

" Got any tobacco ?" he asked.

I had, and signified the fact, holding up the pouch in-
quiringly.

" All right, I'll come down. Ride on, and I'll jine ye oil
the slide."

"WKO WAS MY QUIET FRIEND?" 81

" The slide !" Here was a new geographical discovery as
odd as the second trail. I had ridden over the trail a dozen
times, and seen no communication between the ledge and
trail. Nevertheless, I went on a hundred yards or so, when
there was a sharp crackling in the underbrush, a shower of
stones on the trail, and my friend plunged through the bushes
to my side, down a grade that I should scarcely have dared
to lead my horse. There was no doubt he was an accom-
plished rider, — another fact to be noted.

As he ranged beside me, I found I was not mistaken as to
his size ; he was quite under the medium height, and but for
a pair of cold, gray eyes, was rather commonplace in feature.

" You've got a good horse there," I suggested.

He was filling his pipe from my pouch, but looked up a
little surprised, and said, " Of course." He then puffed away
with the nervous eagerness of a man long deprived of that
sedative. Finally, between the puffs, he asked me whence
I came.

I replied, *' From Lagrange."

He looked at me a few moments curiously, but on my
adding that I had only halted there for a few hours, he said :
*' I thought I knew every man between Lagrange and Indian
Spring, but somehow I sorter disremember your face and
your name. "

Not particularly caring that he should remember either, I
replied half laughingly, that, as I lived the other side of
•Indian Spring, it was quite natural. He took the rebuff, if
such it was, so quietly that as an act of mere perfunctory
politeness I asked him where he came from.

u Lagrange."

" And you are going to" —

** Well! that depends pretty much on how things pan out,
and whether I can make the riffle." He let his hand rest
quite unconsciously on the leathern holster of his dragoon
revolver, yet with a strong suggestion to me of his ability "to

.82 "WHO WAS MY QUIET FRIEND?"

make the riffle" if be wanted to, and added : " But just now
I was reck'nin' on taking a little pasear with you."

There was nothing offensive in his speech save its fami-
liarity, and the reflection, perhaps, that whether I objected
or not, he was quite able to do as he said. I only replied
ihat if our pasear was prolonged beyond Heavytree Hill, I
should have to borrow his beast. To my surprise he replied
quietly, "That's so," adding that the horse was at my dis-
posal when he wasn't using it, and half of it when he was.
" Dick has carried double many a time before this," he con-
tinued, " and kin do it again ; when your mustang gives out
I'll give you a lift and room to spare."

I could not help smiling at the idea of appearing before
the boys at Red Gulch en croupe with the stranger; but
neither could I help being oddly affected by the suggestion
that his horse had done double duty before. " On what
occasion, and why?" was a question I kept to myself. We
were ascending the long, rocky flank of the divide ; the nar-
rowness of the trail obliged us to proceed slowly, and in file,
BO that there was little chance for conversation, had he been
disposed to satisfy my curiosity.

We toiled on in silence, the buckeye giving way to chimisal,
the westering sun, reflected again from the blank walls beside
us, blinding our eyes with its glare. The pines in the cafion
below were olive gulfs of heat, over which a hawk here and
there drifted lazily, or, rising to our level, cast a weird and
gigantic shadow of slowly moving wings on the mountain side.
The superiority of the stranger's horse led him often far in
advance, and made me hope that he might forget me entirely,
or push on, growing weary of waiting. But regularly he would
halt by a boulder, or reappear from some chimisal, where he
had patiently halted. I was beginning to hate him mildly,
when at one of those reappearances he drew up to my side,
and asked me how I liked Dickens !

Had he asked my opinion of Huxley or Darwin, I could not

"WHO WAS 2fY QUIET JtoOOtDI* 83

hare been more astonished. Thinking it were possible that
he referred to some local celebrity of Lagrange, I said, hesi-
tatingly :—

*' You mean" —

"Charles Dickens, Of course you've read him ? Which of
Lis books do you like best ?"

I replied with considerable embarrassment that I liked them
all, — as I certainly did.

He grasped my hand for a moment with a fervour quite
unlike his usual phlegm, and said, »* That's me, old man.
Dickens ain't no slouch. You can count on him pretty much
all the time."

With this rough preface, he launched into a criticism of
the novelist, which for intelligent sympathy and hearty appre-
ciation I had rarely heard equalled. Not only did he dwell
upon the exuberance of his humour, but upon the power of
his pathos and the all-pervading element of his poetry. I
looked at the man in astonishment. I had considered myself
a rather diligent student of the great master of fiction, but
the stranger's felicity of quotation and illustration staggered
me. It is true, that his thought was not always clothed in
the best language, and often appeared in the slouching, slangy
undress of the place and period, yet it never was rustic noi
homespun, and sometimes struck me with its precision and
fitness. Considerably softened toward him, I tried him with
other literature. But vaiuly. Beyond a few of the lyrical
and emotional poets, he knew nothing. Under the influence
and enthusiasm of his own speech, he himself had softened
considerably ; offered to change horses with me, readjusted
uiy saddle with professional skill, transferred my pack to his
own horse, insisted upon my sharing the contents of his whisky
flask, and, noticing that I was unarmed, pressed upon me a
silver-mounted Derringer, which he assured me he could
" warrant." These various offices of good will and the di-
version of his talk beguiled me from noticing the fact that the

84 "WHO WAS M7 QUIET FRIEND?"

trail was beginning to become obscure and unrecognizable.
We were evidently pursuing a route unknown before to me. I
pointed out the fact to my companion, a little impatiently.
He instantly resumed his old manner and dialect.

'* Well, I reckon one trail's as good as another, and what
hev ye got to say about it ?"

I pointed out, with some dignity, that I preferred the old
trail.

" Mebbe you did. But you're jiss now takin' a pasear with
me. This yer trail will bring you right into Indian Spring,
and onnoticed, and no questions asked. Don't you mind now,
I'll see you through."

It was necessary here to make some stand against my strange
companion. I said firmly, yet as politely as I could, that I
had proposed stopping over night with a friend.

"Whar?"

I hesitated. The friend was an eccentric Eastern man, well
known in the locality for his fastidiousness and his habits as a
recluse. A misanthrope, of ample family and ample means,
he had chosen a secluded but picturesque valley in the Sierras
where he could rail against the world without opposition.
"Lone Valley," or "Boston llanch," as it was familiarly
called, was the one spot that the average miner both respected
and feared. Mr. Sylvester, its proprietor, had never affiliated
with "the boys," nor had he ever lost their respect by any
active opposition to their ideas. If seclusion had been his
object, he certainly was gratified. Nevertheless, .in the
darkening shadows of the night, and on a lonely and unknown
trail, I hesitated a little at repeating his name to a stranger
of whom I knew so little. But my mysterious companion
took the matter out of my hands.

" Look yar," he said, suddenly, " thar ain't but one place
twixt yer and Indian Spring whar ye can stop, and th^* ;*
Sylvester's."

I assented, a little sullenly.

"WHO WAS MY QUIET FRIEND?" 85

"Well," said the stranger, quietly, and with a slight
suggestion of conferring a favour on me, " ef yer pointed for
Sylvester's — why—/ don't mind stopping thar icith ye. It's a
little off the road— I'll lose some time— but taking it by and
large, I don't much mind."

I stated, as rapidly and as strongly as I could, that my
acquaintance with Mr. Sylvester did not justify the intro-
duction of a stranger to his hospitality ; that he was unlike
most of the people here, — in short, that he was a queer man,
etc., etc.

To my surprise my companion answered quietly: " Ob^
that's all right. I've heerd of him. Ef you don't feel like
checking me through, or if you'd rather put ' C. O. D.' on my
back, why it's all the same to me. I'll play it alone. Only
you just count me in. Say 4 Sylvester' all the time. That's
me!"

What could I oppose to this man's quiet assurance ? I felt
myself growing red with anger and nervous with embarrass-
ment. What would the correct Sylvester say to me ? What
•would the girls, — I was a young man then, and had won an
entrfe to their domestic circle by my reserve,— known by a less
complimentary adjective among "the boys," — what would
they say to my new acquaintance ? Yet I certainly could not
object to his assuming all risks on his own personal recogni-
zances, nor could I resist a certain feeling of shame at my
embarrassment.

We were beginning to descend. In the distanca below us
already twinkled the lights in the solitary rancho of Lone
Valley. I turned to my companion. " But you have forgotten
that I don't even know your name. WThat am I to call you?'
" That's so," he said, musingly. " Now, let's see. * Kear-
ney' would be a good name. It's short and easy like. Thar'a
a street in 'Frisco the same title ; Kearney it is."
" But'* — I began impatiently.
" Now you leave all that to me," he interrupted, with a

86 "WHO WAS ZI7 QUIET FRIEND?"

superb self-confidence that I could not but admire. " The
name ain't no account. It's the man that's responsible. Kf I
was to lay for a man that I reckoned was named Jones, and
after I fetched him I found out on the inquest that his real
name was Smith, that wouldn't make no matter, as long as I
got the man."

The illustration, forcible as it was, did not strike me as
offering a prepossessing introduction, but we were already at
the rancho. The barking of dogs brought Sylvester to the
door of the pretty little cottage which his taste had adorned.
I briefly introduced Mr. Kearney. '* Kearney will do —
Kearney's good enough for me," commented the soi-disant
Kearney half-aloud, to my own horror and Sylvester's evident
mystification, and then he blandly excused himself for a
moment that he might personally supervise the care of his
own beast. When he was out of ear-shot I drew the puzzled
Sylvester aside.

*' I have picked up — 1 mean I have been picked up on the
road by a gentle maniac, whose name is not Kearney. He is
well armed and quotes Dickens. With care, acquiescence in
his views on all subjects, and general submission to his
commands, he may be placated. Doubtless the spectacle of
your helpless family, the contemplation of your daughter's
beauty and innocence, may touch his fine sense of humour
and pathos. Mear.while, Heaven help you, and forgive me."
I ran upstairs to the little den that my hospitable host had
kept always reserved for me in my wanderings. I lingered
some time over my ablutions, hearing the languid, gentle-
manly drawl of Sylvester below, mingled with the equally cool,
easy slang of my mysterious acquaintance. When I came
down to the sitting-room I was surprised, however, to find
the self-styled Kearney quietly seated on the sofa, the gentle
May Sylvester, the "Lily of Lone Valley," Bitting with
maidenly awe and unaffected interest on one side of him,
while on the other that arrant flirt, her cousin Kate, was*

"WHO WAS MY QUIET FRiEND?" 87

practising the pitiless archery of her eyes, with an excitement
that seemed almost real.

" Who is your deliciously cool friend ?" she managed to
whisper to me at supper, as 1 sat utterly dazed and bewildered
between the enrapt May Sylvester, who seemed to hang upon
his words, and this giddy girl of the period, who was emptying
the battery of her charms in active rivalry upon him. " Of
course we know his name isn't Kearney. But how romantic !
And isn't he perfectly lovely? And who is he ?"

I replied with severe irony that I was not aware what foreign
potentate was then travelling incognito in the Sierras of Cali-
fornia, but that when his royal highness was pleased to inform
me, I should be glad to introduce him properly. * ' Until then,"
I added, "I fear the acquaintance must be Morganatic."

" You're only jealous of him," she said pertly. " Look at
May— she is completely fascinated. And her father, too."
And actually, the languid, world-sick, cynical Sylvester was
regarding him with a boyish interest and enthusiasm almost
incompatible with his nature. Yet I submit honestly to the
clear-headed reason of my own sex, that I could see nothing
more in the man than I have already delivered to the reader.

In the middle of an exciting story of adventure, of which
he, to the already prejudiced mind of his fair auditors, was
evidently the hero, he stopped suddenly.

" It's only some pack train passing the bridge on the lower
trail," explained Sylvester ; " go on."

" It may be my horse is a trifle oneasy in the stable," said
the alleged Kearney ; " he ain't used to boards and covering."
Heaven only knows what wild and delicious revelation lay in
the statement of this fact, but the girls looked at each other
with cheeks pink with excitement as Kearney arose, and, with
quiet absence of ceremony, quitted the table,

"Ain't he just lovely?" said Kate, gasping for breath,
" and so witty."

«* Witty !" said the gentle May, with just the slightest trace

88 " WHO WAS MY QUIET FRIEND ?"

of defiance in her sweet voice ; " witty, my dear ? why, don't
you see tbat his heart is just breaking with pathos? Witty,
indeed; why, when he was speaking of that poor Mexican
woman that was hung, I saw the tears gather in his eyes.
Witty, indeed !"

" Tears," laughed the cynical Sylvester, " tears, idle tears.
Why, you silly children, the man is a man of the world, a
philosopher, quiet, observant, unassuming."

" Unassuming !" Was Sylvester intoxicated, or had the
mysterious stranger mixed the ** insane verb" with the family
pottage? He returned before I could answer this self -asked
inquiry, and resumed coolly his broken narrative. Finding
myself forgotten in the man I had so long hesitated to intro-
duce to my friends, I retired to rest early, only to hear,
through the thin partitions, two hours later, enthusiastic
praises of the new guest from the voluble lips of the girls, as
they chatted in the next room before retiring.

At midnight I was startled by the sound of horses' hoofs
and the jingling of spurs below. A conversation between my
host and some mysterious personage in the darkness was
carried on in such a low tone that I could not learn its import.
As the cavalcade rode away I raised the window.

" What's the matter ?"

" Nothing," said Sylvester, coolly, "only another one of those
playful homicidal freaks peculiar to the country. A man was
shot by Cherokee Jack over at Lagrange this morning, and
that was the sheriff of Calaveras and his posse hunting him.
I told him I'd seen nobody but you and your friend. By the
way, I hope the cursed noise hasn't disturbed him. The poor
fellow looked as if he wanted rest."

I thought so too. Nevertheless, I went softly to his room.
It was empty. My impression was that he had distanced the
sheriff of Calaveras about two hours.

A GHOST OF THE SIEEEAS.

was a vast silence of pines, redolent with balsamio
breath, and muffled with the dry dust of dead bark
and matted mosses. Lying on our backs, wo
looked upward through a hundred feet of clear,
unbroken interval to the first lateral branches that formed the
flat canopy above us. Here and there the fierce sun, from
whose active persecution we had jnst escaped, searched for us
through the woods, but its keen blade was dulled and turned
aside by intercostal boughs, and its brightness dissipated in
wbulous mista throughout the roofing of the dim, brown
ainles around us. We were in another atmosphere, under
another sky ; indeed, in another world than the dazzliug one
we had jnst quitted. The grave silence seemed so much a
part of the grateful coolness, that we hesitated to speak, and
for some moments lay quietly outstretched on the pine tassels
where we had first thrown ourselves. Finally, a voice broke
the silence : —

u Ask the old Major ; he knows all about it !n
The person here alluded to under that military title was
myself. I need hardly explain to any Californian that it by
no means slowed that I waa a "Major," or that I was
" old," or that I knew anything about «* it," or indeed what
** it" referred to. The whole remark was merely one of the
usual conventional feelers to conversation, — a kind of social
preamble, ^uvte common to our slangy camp intercourse.
Nevertheless, as I was always known as the Major, perhaps
for no better reason than that the speaker, an old journalist,
vas always called Doctor, I recognized the fact so far as to

90 A OHOST OF THE SIERRAS.

kick aside an intervening saddle, so that I could see the
speaker's face on a level with my own, and said nothing.

" About ghosts!" said the Doctor, after a pause, which no-
body broke or was expected to break. *' Ghosts, sir! That's
what we want to know. What are we doing here in this
old mausoleum of Calaveras County, if it isn't to find out
something about 'ein, eh ?"

Nobody replied.

" Thar's that haunted house at Cave City. Can't be more
than a mile or two away, anyhow. Used to be just off the trail."

A dead silence.

The Doctor (addressing space generally): "Yes, sir; it
was a mighty queer story."

Still the same reposeful indifference. We all knew the
Doctor's skill as a raconteur; we all knew that a story was
coming, and we all knew that any interruption would be fatal.
Time and time again, in our prospecting experience, had a
word of polite encouragement, a rash expression of interest,
even a too eager attitude of silent expectancy, brought the
Doctor to a sud-len change of subject. Time and time a^ain
have we seen the unwary stranger stand amazed and bewil-
dered between our own indifference and the sudden termina-
tion of a promising anecdote, through his own unlucky inter-
ference. So we said nothing. ** The Judge" — another
instance of arbitrary nomenclature — pretended to sleep. Jack
began to twist a cigarrito. Thornton bit off the ends of pine
needles reflectively.

"Yes, sir," continued the Doctor, coolly resting the back of
his head on the palms of his hands, '• it was rather curious.
All except the murder. That's what gets me, for the murder
had no new points, no fancy touches, no sentiment, no mys-
tery. Was just one of the old style, * sub-head' paragraphs.
Old-fashioned miner scrubs along on hard-tack and beans, and
saves up a little money to go home and see relations. Old-
fashioned assassin sharpens up knife, old style ; loads old flint-

A GHOST .OF THE SIERRAS. $1

lock, brass-mounted pistol ; walks in on old-fashioned miner
one dark night, sends him home to his relations away back to
several generations, and walks off with the swag. No mystery
there; nothing to clear up ; subsequent revelations only
impertinence. Nothing for any ghost to do — who meant
business. More than that, over forty murders, same old kind,
committed every year in Calaveras, and no spiritual post
obits coming due every anniversary ; no assessments made on
the peace and quiet of the surviving community. I tell you
what, boys, I've always been inclined to throw off on the
Cave City ghost for that alone. It's a bad precedent, sir. If
that kind o' thing is going to obtain in the foot-hills, we'll
have the trails full of chaps formerly knocked over by Mexi-
cans and road agents ; every little camp and grocery will have
stock enough on hand to go into business, and where's there
any security for surviving life and property, eh? What's
your opinion, Judge, as a fair-minded legislator ?"

Of course there was no response. Yet it was part of the
Doctor's system of aggravation to become discursive at these
moments, in the hope of interruption, and he continued for
some moments to dwell on the terrible possibility of a state
of affairs in which a gentleman could no longer settle a
dispute with an enemy without being subjected to succeeding
spiritual embarrassment. But all this digression fell upon
apparently inattentive ears.

" Well, sir, after the murder, the cabin stood for a long
time deserted and tenautless. Popular opinion was against
it. One day a ragged prospector, savage with hard labour
and harder luck, came to the camp, looking for a place to live
and a chance to prospect. After the boys had taken his
measure, they concluded that he'd already tackled so much in
the way of difficulties that a ghost more or less wouldn't be of
much account, So they sent him to the haunted cabin. He
had a big yellow dog with him, about as ugly and as savage as
fcimself 5 and the boys sort o' congratulated themselves, from

92 A GHOST OF THE SIERRAS.

a practical view point, that while they were giving the old
ruffian a shelter, they were helping in the cause of Chris-
tianity against ghosts and goblins. They had little faith in
the old man, but went their whole pile on that dog. That's
\vhere they were mistaken.

4 'The house stood almost three hundred feet from the
nearest cave, and on dark nights, being in a hollow, was as
lonely as if it had been on the top of Shasta. Jf you ever
saw the spot when there was just moon enough to bring out the
little surrounding clumps of chapparal until they looked like
crouching figures, and make the bits of broken quartz glisten
like skulls, you'd begin to understand how big a contract that
man and that yellow dog undertook.

" They went into possession that afternoon, and old Hard
Times set out to cook his supper. When it was over he sat
down by the embers and lit his pipe, the yellow dog lying
at his feet. Suddeuly * Rap ! rap !' comes from the door.
* Come in,' says the man, gruffly. * Rap !' again. * Come in
and be d — d to you,' says the man, who has no idea of getting
up to open the door. But no one responded, and the next
moment smash goes the only sound pane in the only window.
Seeing this, old Hard Times gets up, with the devil in his
eye, and a revolver in his hand, followed by the yellow dog,
with every tooth showing, and swings open the door. ]So
one there ! But as the man opened the door, that yellow dog,
that had been so chipper before, suddenly begins to croucli
and step backward, step by step, trembling and shivering,
and at last crouches down in the chimney, without even so
much as looking at his master. The man slams the door shut
again, but there comes another smash. This time it seems
to come from inside the cabin, and it isn't until the man looks
around and sees everything quiet that he gets up, without
speaking, and makes a dash for the door, and tears roukd out-
Bide the cabin like mad, but finds nothing but silence and
darkness. Then he comes back swearing and calls the dog.

A GHOST OF THE SIERRAS. 93

But that great yellow dog that the boys would have staked
all their money on is crouching under the bunk, and has to be
dragged out like a coon from a hollow tree, and lies there,
his eyes starting from their sockets ; every limb and muscle
quivering with fear, and his very hair drawn up in bristling
ridges. The man calls him to the door. He drags himself a
few steps, stops, sniffs, and refuses to go further. The man
calls him again, with an oath and a threat. Then, what does
that yellow dog do? He crawk edgewise towards the door,
crouching himself against the bunk till he's flatter than a
knife blade ; then, half way, he stops. Then that d — d yellow
dog begins to walk gingerly — lifting each foot up in the a'r,
one after the other, still trembling in every limb. Then he
stops again. Then he crouches. Then he gives one little
shuddering leap, — not straightforward, but up, clearing the
floor about six inches, as if" —

44 Over something," interrupted the Judge, hastily, lifting
himself on his elbow.

The Doctor stopped instantly. "Juan," he said coolly, to
one of the Mexican packers, " quit fool in' with that riata.
You'll have that stake out and that mule loose in another
minute. Come over this way !"

The Mexican turned a scared, white face to the Doctor,
mattering something, and let go the deerskin hide. We all
up-raised our voices with one accord, the Judge most peni-
tently and apologetically, and implored the Doctor to go on.
44 I'll shoot the first man who interrupts you again," added
Thornton, persuasively.

ifj^ the Doctor, with his hands languidly under his head,
.had Jost his interest. u Well, the dog ran off to the hills, and
neither the threats nor cajoleries of his master could ever make
him enter the cabin again. The next day the man left the camp.
What time is it? Getting on to sundown, ain't it? Keep
off my leg, will you, you d — d Greaser, and stop stumbling
round there 1 Lie down."

94 A GHOST OF THE SIERRAS.

But we knew that the Doctor had not completely finished
his story, and we waited patiently for the conclusion. Mean-
while the old, gray silence of the woods again asserted itself, but
shadows were now beginning to gather in the heavy beams of
the roof above, and the dim. aisles seemed to be narrowing ana
closing in around us. Presently the Doctor recommenced
lazily, as if no interruption had occurred.

" As I said before, I never put much faith in that story,
and shouldn't have told it, but for a rather curious experience
of my own. It was in the spring of '62, and I was one of a
party of four, coming up from O'NeilTi?, when we had been
snowed up. It was awful weather ; the snow had changed
to sleet and rain after we crossed the divide, and the water
was out everywhere ; every ditch was a creek, every creek a
river. We had lost two horses on the North Fork, we were
dead beat, off the trail, and sloshing round, with night coming
on, and the level hail like shot in our faces. Things were
looking bleak and scary when, riding a little ahead of the
party, I saw a light twinkling in a hollow beyond. My horse
was still fresh, and calling out to the boys to follow me and
bear for the light, I struck out for it. In another moment I
was before a little cabin that half burrowed in the black
chapparal ; I dismounted and rapped at the door. There was
no response. I then tried to force the door, but it was
fastened securely from within. I was all the more surprised
when one of the boys, who had overtaken me, told me that he
had just seen through a window a man reading by the fire.
Indignant at this inhospitality, we both made a resolute onset
against the door, at the same time raising our angry voices to
a yell. Suddenly there was a quick response, the hurried
withdrawing of a bolt, and the door opened.

" The occupant was a short, thick-set man, with a pale1,
careworn face, whose prevailing expression was one of gentla
good humour and patient suffering. When we entered, h«
asked us hastily why we had not ' sung out' before.

A QHOST OF THE SIERRAS. 0,5

" 'But we knocked!' I said, impatiently, * and almost drovo
your door in.'

" * That's nothing,' he said, patiently. ' I'm used to that.'

" I looked again at the man's patient, fateful face, and then
around the cabin. In an instant the whole situation flashed
before me. * Are we not near Cave City?' I asked.

"'Yes,' he replied, 'it's just below. You must have
passed it in the storm.'

" ' I see.' I again looked around the cabin. * Isn't this
what they call the haunted house?'

4k lie looked at me curiously. * It is,' he said, simply.

" You can imagine my delight ! Here was an opportunity
to test the whole story, to work down to the bed rock, and
see how it would pan out! We were t^o many and too well
armed to fear tricks or dangers from outsiders. If — as one
theory had been held — the disturbance was kept up by a band
of concealed marauders or road agents, whose purpose waa
to preserve their haunts from intrusion, we were quite able to
pay them back in kind for any asstult. I need not say that
the boys were delighted with this prospect when the fact was
revealed to them. The only one doubtful or apathetic spirit
there was our host, who quietly resumed his s-at and his book,
with his old expression of patient martyrdom. It would have
been easy for me to have drawn him out, but I felt that I did
not want to corroborate anybody else's experience ; only to
record my own. And I thought it better to keep the boys
from any predisposing terrors.

kt We ate our supper, and then sat, patiently and expectant,
around the fire. An hour slipped away, but no disturbance ;
another hour passed as monotonously. Our host read his book ;
only the dash of hail against the roof broke the silence. Bat" —

The Doctor stopped. Since the last interruption, I noticed
he had changed the easy slangy style of his story to a more
perfect, artistic, and even studied manner. He dropped now
euddenly into his old colloquial speech, and quietly said : " If

96 A GHOST OF THE SIERRAS.

you don't quit stumbling over those riatas, Juan, I'll hobble
you. Come here, there ; lie down, will you?"

We all turned fiercely on the cause of this second dangerous
interruption, but a sight of the poor fellow's pale and
frightened face withheld our vindictive tongues. And the
Doctor, happily, of his own accord, went on : —

4' But I had forgotten that it was no easy matter to keep
these high-spirited boys, bent on a row, in decent subjection ;
and after the third hour passed without a supernatural exhi-
bition, I observed, from certain winks and whispers, that
they were determined to get up indications of their own. Jn
a few moments violent rappings were heard from all parts of
the cabin ; large stones (airoitly thrown up the chimney) fell
with a heavy thul on the roof. Strange groans and ominous
yells seemed to come from the outside (where the interstices
between the logs were wide enough). Yet, through all this
uproar, our host sat still and patient, with no sign of indig-
nation or reproach upon his good-humoured but haggard
features. Before long it became evident that this exhibition
was exclusively for 1m benefit. Under the thin disguise
of asking him to assist them in discovering the disturbers
outside the cabin, those inside took advantage of his absence
to turn the cabin topsy-turvy.

" ' You see what the spirits have done, old man,' said the
arch leader of this mischief. ' They've upset that there flour
barrel while we wasn't looking, and then kicked over the
water jug and spilled all the water !'

"The patient man lifted his head and looked at the flour-
ptrewn walls. Then he glanced down at the floor, but dretf
back with a slight tremor.

" ' It ain't water !' he said, quietly.

«* 4 What is it, then ?'

" ' It's BLOOD I Look !'

"The nearest man gave a sudden start and sank back white
as a sheet.

A QHOST OF THE SIERRAS. 97

" For there, gentlemen, on the floor, just before the door,
where the old man had seen the dog hesitate and lift his feet,
there ! there ! — gentlemen — upon my honour, slowly widcneJ
fcnd broadened a dark red pool of human blood ! Stop him
Quick 1 Stop him, I say !"

There was a blinding flash that lit up the dark woods, and
a sharp report 1 When we reached the Doctor's side he was
holding the smoking pistol, just discharged, in one hand,
while with the other he was pointing to the rapidly dis-
appearing figure of Juan, our Mexican vaquero !

" Missed him ! by G — d 1" said the Doctor. " But did you
hear him ? Did you see his livid face as he rose up at the
name of blood? Did you see his guilty conscience in his
face ? Eh ? Why don't you speak ? What are you staring
at?"

" Was it the murdered man's ghost, Doctor?" we all panted
in one quick breath.

"Ghost be d— d! No! But in that Mexican vaquero —
that cursed Juan Ramirez! — I saw and shot at his murderer !7'

THE HOODLUM BAND;

OE,

THE BOY CHIEF, THE INFANT POLITICIAN, ANIL
THE PIKATE PRODIGY.

BY JACK WHACKAWAY,

Author of " The Boy Slaver," " The Immature Incendiary,"
" Tl^e Precocious Pugilist," etc., etc.

CHAPTER I

jT was a quiet New England village. Nowhere in
the valley of the Connecticut the autumn sun shone
upon a more peaceful, pastoral, manufacturing
community. The wooden nutmegs were slowly
ripening on the trees, and the white pine hams for Western
consumption were gradually rounding into form under the
deft manipulation of the hardy American artisan. The
honest Connecticut farmer was quietly gathering from his
threshing floor the shoe-pegs, which, when intermixed with a
fair proportion of oats, offered a pleasing substitute for fodder
to the effete civilizations of Europe. An almost Sabbath-like
stillness prevailed. Doemville was only seven miles from
Hartford, and the surrounding landscape smiled with the
conviction of being fully insured.

Few would have thought that this peaceful village was the
home of the three young heroes whose exploits would here-
after— but we anticipate.

Doemville Academy was the principal seat of learning in
the county. Under the grave and gentle administration of

THE HOODLUM BAND. 99

the venerable Doctor Context, it had attained just popularity.
Yet the increasing infirmities of age obliged the doctor to
relinquish much of his trust to his assistants, who, it is need-
loss to say, abused his confidence. Before long their brutal
tyranny and deep-laid malevolence became apparent. Boys
were absolutely forced to study their lessons. The sickening
fact will hardly be believed, but during school hours they
were obliged to remain in their seats with the appearance at
least of discipline. It is stated by good authority that the
rolling of croquet balls across the floor during recitation was
objected to, under the fiendish excuse of its interfering with
their studies. The breaking of windows by base balls, and
the beating of small scholars with bats, were declared against-
At last, bloated and arrogant with success; the under-teachers
threw aside all disguise, and revealed themselves in their true
colours. A cigar was actually taken out of a day scholar's
mouth during prayers ! A flask of whisky was dragged from
another's desk, and then thrown out of the window. And
finally, Profanity, Hazing, Theft, and Lying were almost
discouraged !

Could the youth of America, conscious of their power and
a literature of their own, tamely submit to this tyranny ?
Never! We repeat it firmly. Never! We repeat it to
parents and guardians. Never! But the fiendish tutors,
chuckling in their glee, little knew what was passing through
the cold, haughty intellect of Charles Faduel Hall Golightly,
aged ten ; what curled the lip of Benjamin Franklin Jenkins,
aged seven ; or what shone in the bold blue eyes of Bromley
Chitterlings, aged six and a half, as they sat in the corner of
the playground at recess. Their only other companion and
confidant was the negro porter and janitor of the school,
known as " Pirate Jim."

Fitly, indeed, was he named, as the secrets of his early
wild career — confessed freely to his noble young friends —
plainly showed. A slaver at the age of seventeen, the ring-

100 THE HOODLUM BAND.

leader of a mutiny on the African Coast at the age of twenty,
a privateersman during the last war with England, the com-
mander of a fire-ship and its sole survivor at twenty-five,
with a wild intermediate career of unmixed piracy, until the
Rebellion called him to civil service again as a blockade-
runner, and peace and a desire for rural repose led him to
seek the janitorship of the Doemville Academy, where no
questions were asked and references not exchanged : he was,
indeed, a fit mentor for our daring youth. Although a man
whose days had exceeded the usual space allotted to humanity,
the various episodes of his career footing his age up to nearly
one hundred and fifty-nine years, he scarcely looked it, and
was still hale and vigorous.

"Yes," continued Pirate Jim, critically, " I don't think he
was any bigger nor you, Master Chitterlings, if as big, when
he stood on the fork'stle of my ship, and shot the captain o*
that East Injymen dead. We used to call him little Weevils,
he was so young-like. But, bless your hearts, boys ! he
wa'n't anything to little Sammy Barlow, ez once crep' up
inter the captain's stateroom on a llooshin frigate, stabbed
him to the heart with a jack-knife, then put on the captain's
uniform and his cocked hat, took command of the ship and
fout her hisself."

" Wasn't the captain's clothes big for him?" asked B.
Franklin Jenkins, anxiously.

The janitor eyed young Jenkins with pained dignity.

" Didn't I say the Rooshin captain was a small, a very small
man? Rooshins is small, likewise Greeks."

A noble enthusiasm beamed in the faces of the youthful
heroes.

" Was Barlow as large as me ?" asked C. F. Hall Golightly,
lifting his curls from his Jove-like brow.

" Yes ; but then he hed hed, so to speak, experiences. It
was allowed that he had pizened his schoolmaster afore he
went to sea. But it's dry talking, boys."

THE HOODLUM BAND. 101

Golightly drew a flask from his jacket and handed it to
the janitor. It was his father's best brandy. The heart of
the honest old seaman was touched.

" Bless ye, my own pirate boy 1" he said, in a voice suffo-
cating with emotion.

" I've got some tobacco," said the youthful Jenkins, " but
it's fine- cut ; I use only that now."

" I kin buy some plug at the corner grocery," said Pirate
Jim, " only I left my port-money at home."

"Take this watch," said young Golightly; " 'tis my
father's. Since he became a tyrant and usurper, and forced
me to join a corsair's band, I've begun by dividing the pro-
perty."

"This is idle trifling," said young Chitterlings, mildly.
** Every moment is precious. Is this an hour to give to wine
and wassail ? Ha, we want action — action ! We must strike
the blow for freedom to-night — aye, this very night. The
scow is already anchored in the mill-dam, freighted with
provisions f jr a three months' voyage. I have a black flag in
my pocket. Why, then, this cowardly delay ?"

The two elder youths turned with a slight feeling of awe
and shame to gaze on the glowing cheeks, and high, haughty
crest of their youngest comrade — the bright, the beautiful
Bromley Chitterlings. Alas! that very moment of forget-
fulness and mutual admiration was fraught with danger. A
thin, dyspeptic, half-starved tutor approached.

" It is time to resume your studies, young gentlemen," he
said, with fiendish politeness.

They were his last words ou earth.

"Down, tyrant!" screamed Chitterlings.

" Sic him — I mean, Sic semper tyrannisl" said the classical
Golightly.

A heavy blow on the head from a base -ball bat, and the
rapid projection of a base ball against his empty stomach,
brought the tutor a limp and lifeless mass to the ground.

103 THE HOODLUM BAND.

Golightly shuddered. Let not my young readers blame him
too rashly. It was his first homicide.

" Search his pockets," said the practical Jenkins.

They did so, and found nothing but a Harvard Triennial
Catalogue.

" Let us fly," said Jenkins.

" Forward to the boats !" cried the enthusiastic Chitterlings.

But C. F. Hall Golightly stood gaziug thoughtfully at the
prostrate tutor.

"This," he said calmly, " is the result of a too free govern-
ment and the common school system. What the country
needs is reform. I cannot go with you, boys."

"Traitor!" screamed the others.

C. F. H. Golightly smiled slightly.

** You know me not I shall not become a pirate — but a
Congressman !"

Jenkins and Chitterlings turned pale.

" I have already organized two caucuses in a base ball club,
and bribed the delegates of another. Nay, turn not away.
Let us be friends, pursuing through various ways one common
end. Farewell 1" They shook hands.

" But where is Pirate Jem ?" asked Jenkins.

** He left us but for a moment to raise money on the watch
to purchase armament for the scow. Farewell !"

And so the gallant, youthful spirits parted, bright with the
sunrise of hope.

That night a conflagration raged in Doemville. The Doem-
ville Academy, mysteriously fired, first fell a victim to the
devouring element. The candy shop and cigar store, both
holding heavy liabilities against the academy, quickly fol-
lowed. By the lurid gleams of the flames, a long, low, sloop-
rigged scow, with every mast gone except one, slowly worked
her way out of the mill-dam towards the Sound. The next
day three boys were missing — C. F. Hall Golightly, B. F.
Jenkins, and Bromley Chitterlings. Had they perished in

THE HOODLUM BAND. 103

the flames ? Who shall say I Enough that never more under
these names did they again appear in the homes of their
ancestors.

Happy, indeed, would it have been for Doemville had the
mystery ended here. But a darker interest and scandal
rested upon the peaceful village. During that awful night
the boarding-school of Madame Brimborion was visited
stealthily, and two of the fairest heiresses of Connecticut —
daughters of the president of a savings bank, and insurance
director — were the next morning found to have eloped-
With them also disappeared the entire contents of the Savings
Bank, and on the following day the Flamingo Fire Insurance
Company failed.

CHAPTER II.

LET my young readers now sail with me to warmer and
more hospitable climes. Off the coast of Patagonia a long,
low, black schooner proudly rides the seas, that break softly
upon the vine-clad shores of that luxuriant land. Who is
that, wrapped in Persian rugs, and dressed in the most ex.
pensive manner, calmly reclines on the quarter-deck of the
schooner, toying lightly ever and anon with the luscious
fruits of the vicinity, held in baskets of solid gold by Nubian
slaves ? or at intervals, with daring grace, guides an ebony
velocipede over the polished black walnut decks, and in and
out the intricacies of the rigging ? Who is it ? well may be
asked. What name is it that blanches with terror the cheeks
of the Patagonian navy V Who but the Pirate Prodigy — the
relentless Boy Scourer of Patagonian seas ? Voyagers slowly
drifting by the Silurian beach, coasters along the Devonian
shore, still shudder at the name of Brornley Chitterlings —
the Boy Avenger, late of Hartford, Connecticut.

It has been often asked by the idly curious, Why Avenger,
and of what ? Let us not seek to disclose the awful secret

104 THE HOODLUM BAND.

hidden under that youthful jacket. Enough that there may
have been that of bitterness in his past life that he

" Whose soul would sicken o'er the heaving wave,"
or " whose soul would heave above the sickening wave," did
not understand. Only one knew him, perhaps too well — a
queen of the Amazons, taken prisoner off Terra del Fuego a
week previous. She loved the Boy Avenger. But in vain ;
his youthful heart seemed obdurate.

" Hear me," at last he said, when she had for the seventh
time wildly proffered her hand and her kingdom in marriage ,
44 and know once and for ever why I must decline your natter-
ing proposal : I love another."

With a wild, despairing cry, she leaped into the sea, but
was instantly rescued by the Pirate Prodigy. Yet, even in
that supreme moment, such was his coolness that on his way
to the surface he captured a mermaid, and, placing her in
charge of his steward, with directions to give her a stateroom,
with hot and cold water, calmly resumed his place by the
Amazon's side. When the cabin door closed on his faithful
servant, bringing champagne and ices to the interesting
stranger. Chitterlings resumed his narrative with a choking
voice : —

" When I first fled from the root or a tyrannical parent, I
loved the beautiful and accomplished Eliza J. Sniff en. Her
father was president of the Working-men's Savings Bank, and
it was perfectly understood that in the course of time the
entire deposits would be his. But, like a vain fool, I wished
to anticipate the future, and in a wild moment persuaded
Miss Sniffen to elope with me ; and with the entire cash assets
of the bank, we fled together." He paused, overcome with
emotion. "But fate decreed it otherwise. In my feverish
haste, I had forgotten to place among the stores of my pirate
craft that peculiar kind of chocolate caramel to which Eliza
Jane was most partial. We were obliged to put into New
Rochelle on the second day out, to enable Miss Sniffen to pro-

THE HOODLUM SAND. 106

cure that delicacy at the nearest confectioner's, and match
some zephyr worsteds at the first fancy shop. Fatal mistake.
She went — she never returned !" In a moment he resumed
in a choking voice, " After a week's weary waiting, I was
obliged to put to sea again, bearing a broken heart, and the
broken bank of her father. I have never seen her since."

" And you still love her ?" asked the Amazon queen, excitedly.

" Aye, for ever 1"

" Noble youth. Here take the reward of thy fidelity, for
know, Bromley Chitterlings, that I am Eliza Jane. Wearied
with waiting, I embarked on a Peruvian guano ship — but it's
a long story, dear."

" And altogether too thio," said the Boy Avenger, fiercely,
releasing himself from her encircling arms. " Eliza Jane's
age, a year ago, was only thirteen, and you are forty, if a
day."

"True," she returned, sadly, "but I have suffered much,
and time passes rapidly, and I've grown. You would scarcely
believe that this is my own hair."

"I know not," he replied, in gloomy abstraction.

" Forgive my deceit," she returned. u If you are affianced
to another, let me at least be — a mother to you."

The Pirate Prodigy started, and tears came to his eyes.
The scene was affecting in the extreme. Several of the oldest
seamen — men who had gone through scenes of suffering with
tearless eyes and unblanched cheeks — now retired to the
spirit-room to conceal their emotion. A few went into caucus
iu the forecastle, and returned with the request that the
Amazonian queen should hereafter be known as the " Queen
of the Pirates' Isle."

"Mother !" gasped the Pirate Prodigy.

" My son 1" screamed the Amazonian queen.

They embraced. At the same moment a loud flop was
heard on the quarter-deck. It was the forgotten mermaid,
who, emerging from her state-room and ascending the com-

10« THE HOODLUM BAND.

panion-way at that moment, had fainted at the spectacle
The Pirate Prodigy rushed to her side with a bottle oi
smelling-salts.

She recovered slowly. "Permit me," she said, rising with
dignity, " to leave the ship. I am unaccustomed to such
conduct."

u Hear me — she is my mother !"

" She certainly is old enough to be," replied the mermaid ;
"and to speak of that being her own hair 1" she added with a
scornful laugh, as she re-arranged her own luxuriant tresses
with characteristic grace, a comb, and a small hand-mirror.

" If I couldn't afford any other clothes, I might wear a
switch, too 1" hissed the Amazonian queen. "I suppose you
don't dye it on account of the salt water. But perhaps you
prefer green, dear ?"

" A little salt water might improve your own complexion,
love."

" Fishwoman!" screamed the Amazonian queen.

"Bloomerite !" shrieked the mermaid.

In another instant they had seized each other.

" Mutiny ! Overboard with them !" cried the Pirate
Prodigy, rising to the occasion, and casting aside all human
affection in the peril of the moment.

A plank was brought and two women placed upon it.

"After you, dear," said the mermaid, significantly, to the
Amazonian queen ; "you're the oldest."

" Thank you I" said the Amazonian queen, stepping back
" Fish is always served first."

Stung by the insult, with a wild scream of rage, the mer-
maid grappled her in her arms and leaped into the sea.

As the waters closed over them for ever, the Pirate Prodigy
sprang to his feet. " Up with the black flag, and bear away
for New London," he shouted in trumpet-like tones. u Ha 1
ha.' Once more the Rover is free !"

Indeed it was too true. In that fatal moment he had again

THE HOODLUM BAND. 107

loosed himself from the trammels of human feeling, and wag
once more the Boy Avenger.

CHAPTER III.

AGAIN I must ask my young friends to mount my hippo-
griff and hie with me to the almost inaccessible heights of
the Rocky Mountains. There, for years, a band of wild and
untamable savages, known as the " Pigeon Feet," had resisted
the blankets and Bibles of civilization. For years the trails
leading to their camp were marked by the bones of teamsters
=md broken waggons, and the trees were decked with the
drying scalp locks of women and children. The boldest of
military leaders hesitated to attack them in their fortresses,
and prudently left the scalping knives, rifles, powder, and
shot, provided by a paternal government for their welfare,
lying on the ground a few miles from their encampment, with
the request that they were not to be used until the military
had safely retired. Hitherto, save an occasional incursion
into the territory of the "Knock-knees," a rival tribe, they
had limited their depredations to the vicinity.

But lately a baleful change had come over them. Acting
under some evil influence, they now pushed their warfare
into the white settlements, carrying fire and destruction with
them. Again and again had the government offered them a
free pass to Washington and the privilege of being photo-
graphed, but under the same evil guidance they refused-
There wai a singular mystery in their mode of aggression.
Schoolhouses were always burned, the schoolmasters taken
into captivity, and never again heard from. A palace car on
the Union Pacific Railway, containing an excursion party of
teachers en route to San Francisco, was surrounded, its inmates
captured, and — their vacancies in the school catalogue never
again filled. Even a Board of Educational Examiners, pro-
ceeding to Cheyenne, were taken prisoners, and obliged to
answer questions they themselves had proposed, amidst hor-

108 THE HOODLUM BAND.

rible tortures. By degrees these atrocities were traced to the
malign influence of a new chief of the tribe. As yet little
was known of him but through his baleful appellations,
" Young Man who Goes for his Teacher," and " He Lifts the
Hair of the School Marm." He was said to be small and
exceedingly youthful in appearance. Indeed, his earlier
appellative, " He Wipes his Nose on his Sleeve," was said to
have been given to him to indicate his still boy-like habits.

It was night in the encampment and among the lodges
of the " Pigeon Toes." Dusky maidens flitted in and out
among the camp-fires like brown moths, cooking the tooth-
some buffalo hump, frying the fragrant bear's meat, and
stewing the esculent bean for the braves. For a few favoured
ones spitted grasshoppers were reserved as a rare delicacy,
although the proud Spartan soul of their chief scorned all
«,uch luxuries.

He was seated alone in his wigwam, attended only by the
gentle Mushymush, fairest of the " Pigeon Feet" maidens.
Nowhere were the characteristics of her great tribe more
plainly shown than in the little feet that lapped over each
other in walking. A single glance at the chief was sufficient
to show the truth of the wild rumours respecting his youth.
He was scarcely twelve, of proud and lofty bearing, and clad
completely in wrappings of various- coloured scalloped cloths,
which gave him the appearance of a somewhat extra- sized pen-
wiper. An enormous eagle's feather, torn from the wing of
a bald eagle who once attempted to carry him away, com-
pleted his attire. It was also the memento of one of his
most superhuman feats of courage. He would undoubtedly
have scalped the eagle but that nature had anticipated him.

" Why is the Great Chief sad?" asked Mushymush, softly.
" Does his soul still yearn for the blood of the pale-faced
teachers? Did not the scalping of two professors of geology
in the Yale exploring party satisfy his warrior's heart yester-
day? Has he forgotten that Hayden and Clarence King are

THE HOODLUM BAND. 109

still to follow ? Shall his own Mushymush bring him a
botanist to-morrow ? Speak, for the silence of my brother
lies on my heart like the snow on the mountain, and checks
the flow of my speech."

Still the proud Boy Chief sat silent. Suddenly he said :
"Hist!" and rose to his feet. Taking a long rifle from the
ground he adjusted its sight. Exactly seven miles away on
the slope of the mountain the figure of a man was seen
walking. The Boy Chief raised the rifle to his unerring eye
and fired. The man fell

A scout was despatched to scalp and search the body. He
presently returned.

" Who was the pale-face ?" eagerly asked the chief.

" A life insurance agent."

A dark scowl settled on the face of the chief.

" I thought it was a book-peddler."

" Why is my brother's heart sore against the book-peddler?"
asked Mushymush.

"Because," said the Boy Chief, fiercely, "I am again with-
out my regular dime novel, and I thought he might have one in
his pack. Hear me, Mushymush ; the United States mails no
longer bring me my ' Young America,' or my * Boys' and
Girls' Weekly.' I find it irnposisble, even with my fastest
scouts, to keep up with the rear of General Howard, and
replenish my literature from the sutler's waggon. Without a
lime novel or a l Young America,' how am I to keep up this
rnjin business ?"

Mushymush remained in meditation a single moment. Then
*he looked up proudly.

" My brother has spoken. It is well. He shall have his
dime novel. He shall know what kind of a hair-pin his sister
Mushymush is."

And she arose and gambolled lightly as the fawn out of hia
presence.

In two hours she returned. In one hand she held three

110 THE HOODLUM BAND.

small flaxen scalps, in the other " The Boy Marauder," com-
plete in one volume, price ten cents.

"Three pale-faced children," she gasped, " were reading it
in the tail-end of an emigrant waggon. I crept up to them
softly. Their parents are still unaware of the accident," and
she sank helpless at his feet.

" Noble girl !" said the Boy Chief, gazing proudly on her
prostrate form ; " and these are the people that a military
despotism expects to subdue 1"

CHAPTER IV.

Bur the capture of several waggon-loads of commissary
whisky, and the destruction of two tons of stationery in-
tended for the general commanding, which interfered with his
regular correspondence with the War Department, at last
awakened the United States military authorities to active
exertion. A quantity of troops were massed before the
" Pigeon Feet" encampment, and an attack was hourly
imminent.

" Shine your boots, sir?"

It was the voice of a youth in humble attire, standing
before the flap of the commanding general's tent.

The General raised his head from his correspondence.

"Ah," he said, looking down on the humble boy, " I see ;
I shall write that the appliances of civilization move steadily
forward with the army. Yes," he added, " you may shine my
military boots. You understand, however, that to get your
pay you must first" —

"Make a requisition on the commissary-general, have it
certified to by the quartermaster, countersigned by the post-
adjutant, and submitted by you to the War Department "—

" And charged as stationery," added the General, gently.
'* You are, I see, an intelligent and thoughtful boy. I trust
you neither use whisky, tobacco, nor are ever profane ?"

" I promised my sainted mother" —

THE HOODLUM BAND. Ill

" Enough ! Go on with your blacking ; I have to lead the
attack on the * Pigeon Feet ' at eight precisely. It is now
half-past seven," said the General, consulting a large kitchen
clock that stood in the corner of his tent.

The little boot-black looked up ; the General was absorbed
in his correspondence. The boot-black drew a tin putty
blower from his pocket, took unerring aim, and nailed in a
single shot the minute hand to the dial. Going on with his
blacking, yet stopping ever and anon to glance over the
General's plan of campaign, spread on the table before him,
he was at last interrupted by the entrance of an officer.

44 Everything is ready for the attack, General. It is now
eight o'clock."

44 Impossible I It is only half-past seven."

" But my watch and the watches of your staff" —

44 Are regulated by my kitchen clock, that has been in my
family for years. Enough ! It is only half -past seven."

The officer retired ; the boot-black had finished one boot.
Another officer appeared.

41 Instead of attacking the enemy, General, we are attacked
ourselves. Our pickets are already driven in."

44 Military pickets should not differ from other pickets,"
interrupted the boot-black, modestly. " To stand firmly they
should be well driven in."

44 Ha! there is something in that," said the General,
thoughtfully. 44 But who are you, who speak thus ?"

Rising to his full height, the boot-black threw off his outer
rags, and revealed the figure of the Boy Chief of the
44 Pigeon Feet."

"Treason!" shrieked the General; 44 order an advance
along the whole line."

But in vain. The next moment he fell beneath the toma-
hawk of the Boy Chief, and within the next quarter of an
hour the United States Army was dispersed. Thus ended
the battle of Boot-black Creek.

112 THE HOODLUM BAND-

CHAPTEB V.

AND yet the Boy Chief was not entirely happy. Indeed,
at times he seriously thought of accepting the invitation ex-
tended by the Great Chief at Washington, immediately after
the massacre of the soldiers, and once more revisiting the
haunts of civilization. His soul sickened in feverish inac-
tivity ; schoolmasters palled on his taste ; he had introduced
base ball, blind hooky, marbles, and peg-top among his Indian
subjects, but only with indifferent success. The squaws in-
sisted in boring holes through the china alleys and wearing
them as necklaces ; his warriors stuck spikes in their base
ball bats and made war clubs of them. He could not but
feel, too, that the gentle Mushymush, although devoted to
her pale-faced brother, was deficient in culinary education.
Her mince pies were abominable ; her jam far inferior to that
made by his Aunt Sally of Doemville. Only an unexpected
incident kept him equally from the extreme of listless Syba-
ritic indulgence, or of morbid cynicism. Indeed, at the age of
twelve, he already had become disgusted with existence.

He had returned to his wigwam after an exhausting buffalo
hunt in which he had slain two hundred and seventy-five
buffaloes with his own hand, not counting the individual
buffalo on which he had leaped so as to join the herd, and
which he afterward led into the camp a captive and a present
to the lovely Mushymush. He had scalped two express riders
and a correspondent of the " New York Herald ; " had de-
spoiled the Overland Mail Stage of a quantity of vouchers
which enabled him to draw double rations from the govern-
ment, and was reclining on a bear skin, smoking and thinking
of the vanity of human endeavour, when a scout entered,
saying that a pale-face youth had demanded access to his
person.

"Is he a commissioner? If so, say that the red man is
rapidly passing to the happy hunting-grounds of his fathers

THE HOODLUM BAND. 113

and now desires only peace, blankets, and ammunition ; obtain
the latter and then scalp the commissioner."

" But it is only a youth who asks an interview."

"Does he look like an insurance agent? If so, say that 1
have already policies in three Hartford companies. Mean-
while prepare the stake, and see that the squaws are ready
with their implements of torture."

The youth was admitted ; he was evidently only half the
age of the Boy Chief. As he entered the wigwam and stood
revealed to his host they both started. In another moment
they were locked in each other's arms.

" Jenky, old boy!"

" Bromley, old f el !"

B. F. Jenkins, for such was the name of the Boy Chief, was
the first to recover his calmness. Turning to his warriors he
said, proudly : —

" Let my children retire while I speak to the agent of our
Great Father in Washington. Hereafter no latchkeys will
bo provided for the wigwams of the warriors. The practice
of late hours must be discouraged."

" How 1" said the warriors, and instantly retired.

"Whisper," said Jenkins, drawing his friend aside; "I
am known here only as the Boy Chief of the 'Pigeon
Toes.' "

" And I," said Bromley Chitterlings, proudly, " am known
everywhere as the Pirate Prodigy — the Boy Avenger of the
Patagonian Coast."

" But how came you here ?"

" Listen ! My pirate brig, the ' Lively Mermaid,' now lies
at Meiggs's Wharf in San Francisco, disguised as a Mendo-
cioo lumber vessel. My pirate crew accompanied me here in
a palace car from San Francisco."

" It must have been expensive," said the prudent Jenkins.

"It was, but they defrayed it by a collection from the
other passengers — you understand, an enforced collection.

114 THE HOODLUM BAND.

The papers will be full of it to-morrow. Do you take th*
« New York Sun?'"

" No ; I dislike their Indian policy. But why are you here ?"

'* Hear me, Jenk ! "Tis a long and a sad story. The lovely
Eliza J. Sniffen, who fled with me from Doemville, was seized
by her parents and torn from my arms at New Rochelle.
Reduced to poverty by the breaking of the savings bank of
which he was president, — a failure to which I largely con-
tributed, and the profits of which I enjoyed, — I have since
ascertained that Eliza Jane Sniffen was forced to become a
schoolmistress, departed to take charge of a seminary in
Colorado, and since then has never been heard from."

Why did the Boy Chief turn pale, and clutch at the tent-
pole for support ? Why, indeed !

** Eliza J. Sniffen," gasped Jenkins, " aged fourteen, red-
haired, with a slight tendency to strabismus ?"

14 The same."

*' Heaven help me ! She died by my mandate !"

" Traitor !" shrieked Chitterlings, rushing at Jenkins with
a drawn poniard.

But a figure interposed. The slight girlish form of Mushy-
mush with outstretched hands stood between the exasperated
Pirate Prodigy and the Boy Chief.

u Forbear," she said sternly to Chitterlings ; " you know
not what, you do "

The two youths paused

" Hear me," she said rapidly. •' When captured in a con.
fectioner's shop at New llochelle, E. J. Suiffen was taken
back to poverty. She resolved to become a schoolmistress.
Hearing of an opening in the West, she proceeded to Colo-
rado to take exclusive charge of the pensionnat of Mad.
Choflie, late of Paris. On the way thither she was captured
by the emissaries of the Boy Chief" —

" In consummation of a fatal vow I made never to spare
educational instructors," interrupted Jenkins.

THE HOODLUM BAND. 115

"But in her captivity," continued Mushymush, "she
managed to stain her face with poke-berry juice, and mingling
with the Indian maidens was enabled to pass for one of the
tribe. Once undetected, she boldly ingratiated herself with the
Boy Chief,— how honestly and devotedly he best can tell, —
for I, Mushymush, the little sister of the Boy Chief, am
Eliza Jane Sniffen."

The Pirate Prodigy clasped her in his arms. The Boy
Chief, raising his hand, ejaculated : —

" Bless you, my children !"

"There is but one thing wanting to complete this reunion,'*
said Chitterlings, after a pause, but the hurried entrance of a
scout stopped his utterance.

" A commissioner from the Great Father in Washington."

" Scalp himl" shrieked tbe Boy Chief; "this is no time
for diplomatic trifling."

** We have, but he still insists upon seeing you, and has
sent in his card."

The Boy Chief took it, and read aloud, in agonised
accents : —

44 Charles F. Hall Golightly, late Page in United States
Senate, and Acting Commissioner of United States."

In another moment, Golightly, pale, bleeding, and, as it
were, prematurely bald, but still cold and intellectual, entered
the wigwam. They fell upon his neck and begged his for-
giveness.

44 Don't mention it," he said, quietly ; " these things must
and will happen under our present system of government.
My story is brief. Obtaining political influence through
caucuses, I became at last Page in the Senate. Through the
exertions of political friends I was appointed clerk to the
commissioner whose functions I now represent. Knowing
through political spies in your own camp who you were, 1
acted upon the physical fears of the commissioner, who was
an ex- clergyman, and easily induced him to deputize me to

116 THE "HOODLUM BAND.

consult with you. In doing so, I have lost my scalp, but aa
the hirsute signs of juvenility have worked against my poli-
tical progress I do not regret it. As a partially bald young
man I shall have more power. The terms that I have to
offer you are simply this : you can do everything you want,
go anywhere you choose, if you will only leave this place. I
have a hundred thousand dollar draft on the United States
Treasury in my pocket at your immediate disposal."

" But what's to become of me ?" asked Chitterlings.

"Your case has already been under advisement. The
Secretary of State, who is an intelligent man, is determined
to recognize you as de jure and de facto the only loyal repre-
sentative of the Patagonian government. You may safely
proceed to Washington as its envoy extraordinary. I dine
with the secretary next week."

" And yourself, old fellow ?"

" I only wish that twenty years from now you will recog-
nize by your influence and votes the rights of C. F. H.
Golightly to the presidency."

And here ends our story. Trusting that my dear young
friends may take whatever example or moral their respective
parents and guardians may deem fittest from these pages, I
hope in future years to portray further the career of those
three young heroes I have already introduced in the spring*
time of life to their charitable consideration

THE MAN WHOSE YOKE WAS NOT

EASY.

j]E was a spare man, and, physically, an ill-condi-
tioned man, but at first glance scarcely a seedy
man. The indications of reduced circumstances in
the male of the better class are, I fancy, first
visible in the boots and shirt ; the boots offensively exhibiting
a degree of polish inconsistent with their dilapidated condi-
tion, and the shirt showing an extent of ostentatious surface
that is invariably fatal to the threadbare waistcoat that it
partially covers. He was a pale man, and, I fancied, still
paler from his black clothes.
He handed me a note.

It was from a certain physician ; a man of broad culture
and broader experience ; a man who had devoted the greater
part of his active life to the alleviation of sorrow and suffer-
ing ; a man who had lived up to the noble vows of a noble
profession ; a man who locked in his honourable breast the
secrets of a hundred families, whose face was as kindly, whose
touch was as gentle, in the wards of the great public hospi-
tals as it was beside the laced curtains of the dying Narcissa ;
a man who^through long contact with suffering, had acquired
a universal tenderness and breadth of kindly philosophy ; a
man who, day and night, was at the beck and call of anguish ;
a man who never asked the creed, belief, moral or worldly
standing of the sufferer, or even his ability to pay the few
coins that enabled him (the physician) to exist and practise

118 THE MAN WHOSE YOKE WAS NOT EAST.

his calling ; in brief, a man who so nearly lived up to the
example of the Great Master that it seems strange I
am writing of him as a doctor of medicine and not of
divinity.

The note was in pencil, characteristically brief, and ran
thus : —

" Here is the man I spoke of. He ought to be good mate-
rial for you."

For a moment I sat looking from the note to the man, and
sounding the " dim perilous depths" of my memory for the
meaning of this mysterious communication. The good
" material," however, soon relieved my embarrassment by
putting his hand on his waistcoat, coming toward me, and
saying, " It is just here, you can feel it."

It was not necessary for me to do so. In a flash I remem-
bered that my medical friend had told me of a certain poor
patient, once a soldier, who, among his other trials and un-
certainties, was afflicted with an aneurism caused by the
buckle of his knapsack pressing upon the arch of the aorta.
It was liable to burst at any shock or any moment. The poor
fellow's yoke had indeed been too heavy.

In the presence of such a tremendous possibility I think
for an instant I felt anxious only about myself. What /
should do; how dispose of the body; hov explain the
circumstance of his taking off; how evade tne ubiquitous
reporter and the coroner's inquest ; how a suspicion might
anse that I had in some way, through negligence or for
some dark purpose, unknown to the jury, precipitated the
catastrophe, all flashed before me. Even the note, with its
darkly suggestive offer of " good material" for me, looked
diabolically significant. What might not an intelligent
lawyer make of it ?

I tore it up instantly, and with feverish courtesy begged
him to be seated.

"You don't care to feel it?" he asked, a little anxiously.

THE MAN WHOSE YOKE WAS NOT EAST. 119

" No."

" Nor see it?"

" No."

He sighed, a trifle sadly, as if I had rejected the only
favour he could bestow. I saw at once that he had been
under frequent exhibition to the doctors, and that he was,
perhaps, a trifle vain of this attention. This perception waa
corroborated a moment later by his producing a copy of a
medical magazine, with a remark that on the sixth page 1
would find a full statement of his case.

" Could I serve him in any way ?" I asked.

It appeared that I could. If I could help him to any light
employment, something that did not require any great physical
exertion or mental excitement, he would be thankful. But
he wanted me to understand that he was not, strictly speak-
ing, a poor man ; that some years before the discovery of his
fatal complaint he had taken out a life insurance policy for
five thousand dollars, and that he had raked and scraped
enough together to pay it up, and that he would not leave his
wife and four children destitute. " You see," he added, " if
I could find some sort of light work to do, and kinder sled
along, you know — until" —

He stopped, awkwardly.

I have heard several noted actors thrill their audiences with
a single phrase. I think I never was as honestly moved by
any spoken word as that " until" or the pause that followed it.
He was evidently quite unconscious of its effect, for as I took
a seat beside him on the sofa, and looked more closely in his
waxen face, I could see that he was evidently embarrassed,
and would have explained himself further, if I had not
stopped him.

Possibly it was the dramatic idea, or possibly chance, but a
tew days afterward, meeting a certain kind-hearted theatrical
manager, I asked him if he had any light employment for a
man who was an invalid ? " Can he walk ?" ' • Yes." " Stand

120 THE MAN WHOSE YOKE WAS NOT EASY.

up for fifteen minutes ?" " Yes." " Then I'll take him. He'll
do for the last scene in the ' Destruction of Sennacherib,' —
it's a tremendous thing, you know. We'll have two thousand
people on t!ie stage." I was a trifle alarmed at the title, and
ventured to suggest (without betraying my poor friend's
secret) that he could not actively engage in the "Destruction
of Sennacherib," and that even the spectacle of it might be
too much for him. u Needn't see it at all," said my managerial
friend ; " put him in front, nothing to do but inarch in
and march out, and dodge curtain."

He was engaged. I admit I was at times haunted by grave
doubts as to whether I should not have informed the manager
of his physical condition, and the possibility that he might
some evening, perpetrate a real tragedy on the mimic stage,
but on the first performance of " The Destruction of Senna-
cherib," which I conscientiously attended, I was somewhat
relieved. I had often been amused with the placid way in
which the chorus in the opera invariably received the most
astounding information, and witnessed the most appalling
tragedies by poison or the block, without anything more than
a vocal protest or command, always delivered to the audience
and never to the actors, but I think my poor friend's utter
impassiveness to the wild carnage and the terrible exhibitions
of incendiarism that were going on around him transcended
even that. Dressed in a costume that seemed to be the very
soul of anachronism, he stood a little outside the proscenium,
holding a spear, the other hand pressed apparently upon the
secret within his breast, calmly surveying, with his waxen
face, the gay auditorium^ I could not help thinking that
there was a certain pride visible even in his placid features,
as of one who was conscious that at any moment he might
change this simulated catastrophe into real terror. I could
not help saying this to the Doctor, who was with me. " Yes,"
lie said, with professional exactitude ; " when it happens he'll
throw liis arms up above his head, utter an ejaculation, and

THE MAN WHOSE YOKE WAS NOT EAST. 121

lall forward on his face,— it's a singular thing, the y always fall
forward on their face, — and they'll pick up the man as dead
as Julius Caesar."

After that, I used to go night after night, with a certain
hideous fascination ; but while it will be remembered the
"Destruction of Sennacherib" had a tremendous run, it will
also be remembered that not a single life was really lost
during its representation.

It was only a few weeks after this modest first appearance
on the boards of "The Man with an Aneurism," that hap-
pening to be at a dinner party of practical business men, I
sought to interest them with the details of the above story,
delivered with such skill and pathos as I could command. I
regret to say that, as a pathetic story, it for a moment seemed
to be a dead failure. At last a prominent banker sitting next
to me turned to me with the awful question: "Why don't
yonr friend try to realize on his life insurance?" I begged
his pardon, I didn't quite understand. " Oh, discount, sell
out. Look here — (after a pause). Let him assign his policy
to me5 it's not much of a risk, on your statement. Well, I'll
give him his five thousand dollars, clear."

And he did. Under the advice of this cool-headed — I think
I may add warm-hearted — banker, "The Man with an
Aneurism" invested his money in the name of and for the
benefit of his wife in certain securities that paid him a small
but regular stipend. But he still continued upon the boards
of the theatre.

By reason of some business engagements that called me
away from the city, I did not see my friend the physician for
three months afterward. When I did I asked tidings of The
Man with the Aneurism. The Doctor's kind face grew sad.
" I'm afraid — that is, I don't exactly know whether I've good
news or bad. Did you ever see his wife ?"

I never had.

"Well, she was vounger than he, and rather attrao-tive-

122 THE MAN WHOSE YOKE WAS NOT EAST.

One of those doll-faced women. You remember, he settled
that life insurance policy on her and the children : she might
have waited; she didn't. The other day she eloped with
some fellow, I don't remember his name, with the children
and the five thousand dollars."

" And the shock killed him," I said with poetic promptitude.

*'No — that is — not yet; I saw him yesterday," said the
Doctor, with conscientious professional precision, looking over
his list of calls.

" Well, where is the poor fellow now ?"

*' He's still at the theatre. James, if these powders are
called for, you'll find them here in this envelope. Tell Mrs.
Blank I'll be there at seven — and she can give the baby this
until I come. Say there's no danger. These women are an
awful bother ! Yes, he's at the theatre yet. Which way are
you going ? Down town ? Why can't you step into my car-
riage, and I'll give you a lift, and we'll talk on the way down ?
Well — he's at the theatre yet. And — and — do you remember
the * Destruction of Sennacherib ?' No ? Yes you do. You
remember that woman in pink, who pirouetted in the famous
ballet scene! You don't? Why, yes you do. Well, I
imagine, of course I don't know, it's only a summary diag-
nosis, but I imagine that our friend with the aneurism has
attached himself to her."

" Doctor, you horrify me."

tk There aie more things, Mr. Poet, in heaven and earth
than are yet dreamt of in your philosophy. Listen. My
diagnosis may be wrong, but that woman called the other day
at my office to ask about him, his health, and general con-
dition. I told her the truth — and she fainted. It was about
as dead a faint as I ever saw ; I was nearly an hour in bring-
ing her out of it. Of course it was the heat of the room, her
exertions the preceding week, and I prescribed for her.
Queer, wasn't it ? Now, if I were a writer, and had your
faculty, I'd make something out of that."

THE MAN WHOSE YOKE WAS NOT EAST. 123

" But how is his general health ?"

" Oh, about the same. He can't evade what will come, you
know, at any moment. He was up here the other day. Why,
the pulsation was as plain — why, the entire arch of the aorta
—What ! you get out here ? Good-bye."

Of course no moralist, no man writing for a sensitive and
strictly virtuous public, could further interest himself in this
man. So I dismissed him at once from my mind, and returned
to the literary contemplation of virtue that was clearly and
positively defined, and of Sin, that invariably commenced
with a capital letter. That this man, in his awful condition,
hovering on the verge of eternity, should allow himself to be
attracted by — but it was horrible to contemplate.

Nevertheless, a month afterwards, I was returning from a
festivity with my intimate friend Smith, my distinguished
friend Jobling, my most respectable friend Robinson, and my
wittiest friend Jones. It was a clear, star-lit morning, and
we seemed to hold the broad, beautiful avenue to ourselves ;
and I fear we acted as if it were so. As we hilariously
passed the corner of Eighteenth Street, a coupe rolled by,
and I suddenly heard my name called from its gloomy
depths.

" I beg your pardon," said the Doctor, as his driver drew
up by the sidewalk, " but I've some news for you. I've just
been to see our poor friend • Of course I was too late.

He was gone in a flash."
"What! dead?"

"As Pharaoh! In an instant, just as I said. You see,
the rupture took place in the descending arch of " —
" But, Doctor !"

" It's a queer story. Am I keeping you from your friends?
No ? Well, you see she — that woman I spoke of — had writ-
ten a note to him based on what I had told her. He got it,
and dropped in his dressing-room, dead as a herring."

" How could she have been so cruel, knowing his condition ?

124 THE MAN WHOSE YOKE WAS NOT EAST.

She might, with woman's tact, have rejected him less ab
ruptly."

" Yes ; but you're all wrong. By Jove ! she accepted him
was will-ing to marry him !"

"What?"

«' Yes. Don't you see? It was joy that killed him. Gad,
we never thought of that ! Queer, ain't it ? See here, don't
you think you might make a story out of it ?"

" But, Doctor, it hasn't got any moral."

u Humph 1 That's so. Good morning. Drive on, John/

MY FKEEND, THE TEAMP.

HAD been sauntering over the elover downs of a
certain noted New England seaport. It was a Sab-
bath morning, so singularly reposeful and gracious,
so replete with the significance, of the seventh day
of rest, that even the Sabbath bells ringing a mile away over
the salt marshes had little that was monitory, mandatory, or
even supplicatory in their drowsy voices. Rather they seemed
to call from their cloudy towers, like some renegade muezzin:
" Sleep is better than prayer ; sleep on, O sons of the Puri-
tans ! Slumber still, O deacons and vestrymen ! Let, oh let
those feet that are swift to wickedness curl up beneath thee !
those palms that are itching for the shekels of the ungodly
lie clasped beneath thy pillow ! Sleep is better than prayer.'
And, indeed, though it was high morning, sleep was still in
the air. Wrought upon at last by the combined influences of
sea and sky and atmosphere. I succumbed, and lay down on
one of the boulders of a little stony slope that gave upon the
sea. The great Atlantic lay before me, not yet quite awake,
but slowly heaving the rhythmical expiration of slumber.
There was no sail visible in the misty horizon. There was
nothing to do but to lie and stare at the unwinking ether.

Suddenly I became aware of the strong fumes of tobacco.
Turning my head, I saw a pale blue smoke curling up from
behind an adjacent boulder. Rising, and climbing over the
intermediate granite, I came upon a little hollow, in which,
comfortably extended on the mosses and lichens, lay a power-
fully-built man. He was very ragged ; he was very dirty ;

•125 MY FRIEND, THE TRAMP.

there was a strong suggestion about him of his having too
much hair, too much nail, too much perspiration ; too much
"t those superfluous excrescences and exudations that society
and civilization strive to keep under. But it was noticeable
that he had not much of anything else. It was The Tramp.
With that swift severity with which we always visit rebuke
upon the person who happens to present any one of our vices
offensively before us, in his own person, I was deeply indig-
nant at his laziness. Perhaps I showed it in my manner, for
he rose to a half-sitting attitude, returned my stare apolo-
getically, and made a movement toward knocking the fire
from his pipe against the granite.

** Shure, sur, and if I'd belaved that I was trispassin' on
yer honour's grounds, it's meself that would hev laid down on
the say shore and taken the salt waves for me blankits. But
it's sivinteen miles I've walked this blessed noight, with
nothin' to sustain me, and hevin' a mortal weakness to fight
wid in my bowels, by reason of starvation, and only a bit
o' baccy that the Widdy Maloney giv' me at the cross roads,
to kape me up entoirley. But it was the dark day I left me
home in Milwaukee to walk to Boston ; and if ye'll oblige a
lone man who has left a wife and six children in Milwaukee,
wid the loan of twenty-five ciuts, furninst the time he gits
worruk, God'll be good to ye."

It instantly flashed through my mind that the man before
me had the previous night partaken of the kitchen hospitality
of my little cottage, two miles away. That he presented himself
in the guise of a distressed fisherman, mulcted of his wages by
an inhuman captain ; that he had a wife lying sick of con-
sumption in the next village, and two children, one of whom
was a cripple, wandering in the streets of Boston. I remem-
bered that this tremendous indictment against Fortune
touched the family, and that the distressed fisherman was
provided with clothes, food, and some small change. The
food and small change had disappeared, but the garments for

ifF FRIEND, THE TRAMP. 127

Ihe consumptive wife, where were they ? He had been using
them for a pillow.

I instantly pointed out this fact, and charged him with the
deception. To my surprise, he took it quietly, and even a
little complacently.

14 Bedad, yer roight ; ye see, sur" (confidentially), " ye see,
sur, until I get worruk — and it's worruk I'm lukin' for— I
have to desave now and thin to shute the locality. Ah, God
save us ! but on the say -coast thay'r that har-rud upon thim
that don't belong to the say."

I ventured to suggest that a strong, healthy man like him might

have found work somewhere between Milwaukee and Boston.

"Ah, but ye see I got free passage on a freight train, and

didn't shtop. It was in the Aist that I expected to find worruk."

" Have you any trade ?"

" Trade, is it ? I'm a brickmaker, God knows, and many's
the lift I've had at makin' bricks in Milwaukee. Shure I've
as aisy a hand at it as any man. Maybe yer honour might
know of a kill hereabout ?"

Now to my certain knowledge, there was not a brick kiln
within fifty miles of that spot, and of all unlikely places to
find one would have been this sandy peninsula, given up to
the summer residences of a few wealthy people. Yet I could
not help admiring the assumption of the scamp, who knevr
this fact as well as myself. But I said, " I can give you work
for a day or two ;" and, bidding him gather up his sick wife's
apparel, led the way across the downs to my cottage. At
first I think the offer took him by surprise, and gave him
some consternation, but he presently recovered his spirits,
and almost instantly his speech. " Ah, worruk, is it ? God
be praised! it's meself that's ready and willin'. 'Though
maybe me hand is spoilt wid brick makin'."

I -assured him that the work I would give him would require
no delicate manipulation, and so we fared on over the sleepy
downs. But I could not help noticing that, although an

128 MY FRIEND, THE TRAMP.

invalid, 1 was a much better pedestrian than my companion,
frequently leaving him behind, and that even as a " tramp,"
he was etymologically an impostor. He had a way of linger-
ing beside the fences we had to climb over, as if to continue
more confidentially the history of his misfortunes and
troubles, which he was delivering to me during our homeward
walk, and I noticed that he could seldom resist the invitation
of a mossy boulder or a tussock of salt grass. " Ye see,
sur," he would say, suddenly sitting down, "it's along uv me
misfortunes beginnin' in Milwaukee that" — and it was not
until I was out of hearing that he would languidly gather his
traps again and saunter after me. When I reached my own
garden gate he leaned for a moment over it, with both of his
powerful arms extended downward, and said, " Ah, but it's
a blessin' that Sunday comes to give rest fur the wake and
the weary, and them as walks sivinteen miles to get it." Of
course I took the hint. There was evidently no work to be
had from my friend, the Tramp, that day. Yet his coun-
tenance brightened as he saw the limited extent of my domain,
and observed that the garden, so called, was only a flower-
bed about twenty-five by ten. As he had doubtless before
this been utilized, to the extent of his capacity, in digging,
he ha 1 probably expected that kind of work ; and I daresay I
discomfited him by pointing him to an almost levelled stone
wall, about twenty feet long, with the remark that his work
would be the rebuilding of that stone wall, with stone brought
from the neighbouring slopes. In a few moments he was com-
fortably provided for in the kitchen, where the cook, a woman
of his own nativity, apparently, " chaffed" him with a raillery
that was to me quite unintelligible. Yet I noticed that when,
at sunset, he accompanied Bridget to the spring for water,
ostentatiously flourishing the empty bucket in his hand, when
they returned in the gloaming Bridget was carrying the
water, and my friend, the Tramp, was some paces behind her,
cheerfully "colloguing," and picking blackberries.

MY FRIEND, THE TRAMP. 129

At seven the next morning he started in cheerfully to work.
At nine, a.m., he had placed three large stones on the first
course in position, an hour having been spent in looking for a
pick and hammer, and in the incidental " chaffing" with
Bridget. At ten o'clock I went to overlook his work ; it was
a rash action, as it caused him to respectfully doff his hat,
discontinue his labours, and lean back against the fence in
cheerful and easy conversation. u Are you fond uv black-
berries, Captain ?" I told him that the children were in the
habit of getting them from the meadow beyond, hoping to
estop the suggestion I knew was coming. u Ah, but, Captain,
it's meself that with wanderin' and havin' nothin' to pass me
lips but the berries I'd pick from the hedges, — it's meself
knows where to find thim. Sure it's yer childer, and foiii
boys they are, Captain, that's besaching me to go wid 'em to
the place, known1 st only to meself." It is unnecessary to say
that he triumphed. After the manner of vagabonds of all
degrees, he had enlisted the women and children on his side
— and my friend, the Tramp, had his own way. He departed
at eleven, and returned at four, p.m., with a tin dianer-pail
half filled. On interrogating the boys it appeared that they
had had a "bully time," but on cross-examination it came
out that they had picked the berries. From four to six, three
more stones were laid, and the arduous labours of the day
were over. As I stood looking at the first course of six
stones, my friend, the Tramp, stretched his strong arms out
to their fullest extent and said : " Ay, but it's worruk that's
good for me ; give me worruk, and it's all I'll be askin' fur."

I ventured to suggest that he kad not yet accomplished
much.

"Wait till to-morror. Ah, but ye'll see thin. It's me
hand that's yet onaisy wid brick-makin' and sthrange to the
shtones. An' ye'll wait till to-morror?'*

Unfortunately I did not wait. An engagement took me
away at an early hour, and when I rode up to my cottage at

9

130 MY FRIEND, THE TRAMP.

noon my eyes were greeted with the astonishing spectacle ot
my two boys hard at work laying the courses of the stone wall,
assisted by Bridget and Norah, who were dragging stones
from the hillsides, while comfortably stretched on the top of
the wall lay my friend, the Tramp, quietly overseeing the
operation with lazy and humorous comment. For an instant
I was foolishly indignant, but he soon brought me to my
senses. " Shure, sur, it's only larnin' the boys the habits uv
industhry I was — and may they niver know, be the same
token, what it is to worruk fur the bread betune their lips.
Shure it's but makin' 'em think it play I was. As fur the col-
leens beyint in the kitchen, sure isn't it betther they was
helping your honour here than colloguing with themselves
inside?"

Nevertheless, I thought it expedient to forbid hp.ncoforth
any interruption of servants or children with my friend's
'* worruk." Perhaps it was the result of this embargo that
the next morning early the Tramp wanted to see me.

** And it's sorry I am to say it to ye, sur," he began, " but
it's the handlin' of this stun that's desthroyin' me touch at
the brick-makin', and it's better I should lave ye and find
worruk at me own thrade. For it's worruk I am nadin'. It
isn't meself, Captain, to ate the bread of oidleness here. And
so good-bye to ye, and if it's fifty cints ye can be givin' me
ontil I'll find a kill— it's God that'll repay ye."

He got the money. But he got also conditionally a note
from me to my next neighbour, a wealthy retired physician,
possessed of a large domain, a man eminently practical and
business-like in his management of it. He employed many
labourers on the sterile waste he called his " farm," and it
occurred to me that if there really was any work in my friend,
the Tramp, which my own indolence and preoccupation had
failed to bring out, he was the man to do it.

I met him a week after. It was with some embarrassment
that I inquired after iny friend, the Tramp, " Oh, yes," h$

MY FRIEND, THE TRAMP. 131

eaid, reflectively, "let's see: he came Monday and left me
Thursday. Pie was, I think, a stout, strong man, a well-
meaning, good-humoured fellow, but afflicted with a most
singular variety of diseases. The first day I put him at work
in the stables he developed chills and fever caught in the
swamps of Louisiana" —

" Excuse me," I said hurriedly, " you mean in Milwaukee!"

41 1 know what I'm talking about," returned the Doctor,
te.-tily ; "he told me his whole wretched story — his escape
from the Confederate service, the attack upon him by armed
negroes, his concealment in the bayous and swamps" —

u Go on, Doctor," I said, feebly ; " you were speaking of his
work."

" Yes. Well, his system was full of malaria ; the first day
I had him wrapped up in blankets, and dosed with quinine.
The next day he was taken with all the symptoms of cholera
morbus, and I had to keep him up on brandy and capsicum.
Rheumatism set in on the following day, and incapacitated
him for work, and I concluded I had better give him a note
to the director of the City Hospital than keep him liere. As
a pathological study he was good ; but as I was looking for a
man to help about the stable, I couldn't afford to keep him in
both capacities."

As I never could really tell when the Doctor was in joke or
in earnest, I dropped the subject. And so my friend, the
Tramp, gradually faded from my memory, not however with-
out leaving behind him in the barn where he had slept a
lingering flavour of whisky, onions, and fluffiness. But in two
weeks this had gone, and the " Shebang" (as my friends
irreverently termed my habitation) knew him no more. Yet
it was pleasant to think of him as having at last found a job
at brick-making, or having returned to his family at Milwau-
kee, or making his Louisiana home once more happy with his
presence, or again tempting the fish-producing main — this
time with a noble and equitable capfciia.

i32 MY FRIEND, THE TRAMP.

It was a lovely August morning when 1 rode across the
sandy peninsula to visit a certain noted family, whereof all
the sons were valiant and the daughters beautiful. The front
of the house was deserted, but on the rear veranda I heard the
rustle of gowns, and above it arose what seemed to be the
voice of Ulysses, reciting his wanderings. There was no mis-
taking that voice, it was my friend, the Tramp !

From what I could hastily gather from his speech, he had
walked from St. John, N. B., to rejoin a distressed wife in
New York, who was, however, living with opulent but ob-
jectionable relatives. u An' shure, miss, I wouldn't be askin*
ye the loan of a cint if I could get worruk at me trade of
carpet-wavin' — and maybe ye know of some manufactory
where they wave carpeta beyant here. Ah, miss, and if ye don'fc
give me a cint, it's enough for the loikes of me to know that
me troubles has brought the tears in the most beautiful oiyes
in the wurruld, and God bless ye for it, miss 1"

Now I knew that the Most Beautiful Eyes in the World
belonged to one of the most sympathetic and tenderest hearts
in the world, and I felt that common justice demanded my
interference between it and one of the biggest scamps in
the world. So, without waiting to be announced by the
servant, I opened the door, and joined the group on the
veranda.

If I expected to touch the conscience of my friend, the
Tramp, by a dramatic entrance, I failed utterly ; for no sooner
did he see me, than he instantly gave vent to a howl of de-
light, and, falling on his knees before me, grasped my hand,
and turned oratorically to the ladies.

** Oh, but it's himself — himself that has come as a witness
to my carrakther ! Oh, but it's himself that lifted me four
wakes ago, when I was lyin' with a mortal wakeness on the
say-coast, and tuk me to his house. Oh, but it's himself
that shupported me over the f aides, and whin the chills and
f'aver came on me and I shivered wid the cold, it was himself,

3IT FRIEND, THE TRAMP. 133

God bless him, as sthripped tlie coat off his back, and
giv' it me, sayin', « Take it, Dinnis, it's shtarved with the
cowld say air ye'll be entoirely.' Ah, but look at him — will
ye, miss ! Look at his swate, modist face — a-blushin' like
your own, miss. Ah ! look at him will ye? He'll be denyin'
of it in a minit — may the blessin' uv God folly him. Look at
him, miss ! Ah, but it's a swate pair ye'd make ! (the rascal
knew I was a married man.) Ah, miss, if you could see him
wroightin' day and night with such an illigant hand of his
own — (he had evidently believed from the gossip of my ser-
vants that I was a professor of chirography) — if ye could see
him, mis-?, as I have, ye'd be proud of him."

He stopped out of breath. I was so completely astounded
I could say nothing: the tremendous ind'ctment 1 had framed
to utter as I opened the door vanished completely. And as
the Most Beautiful Eyes in the Wurruld turned gratefully to
mine — well —

I still retained enough principle to ask the ladiea to with-
draw, while I would take upon myself the duty of examining
into the case of my friend, the Tramp, and giving him sucti
relief as was required. (I did not know until afterward,
however, that the rascal had already dt spoiled their scant
purses of three dollars and fifty cents.) When the door was
closed upon them I turned upon him.

44 Y"ou infernal rascal !"

*' Ah, Captain, and would ye be refusin' me a carrakther
and me givin' ye such a one as Oi did ! God save us ! but if
ye'd hav' seen the Ink that thepurty one give ye. Well, before
the chills and faver bruk me spirits entirely, when I was a
young man, and makin' me tin dollars a week brick-makin7,
it's meself that wad hav' given" —

" I consider," 1 broke in, " that a dollar is a fair price for
your story, and as I shall have to take it all back and expose
you before the next twenty-four hours pass, I think you had
better hasten to Milwaukee, New York, or Louisiana."

234 MY FRIEND, THE TRAMP.

I handed him the dollar. "Mind, I don't want io see your
face again."

•4 Ye wun't, Captain."

And I did not.

But it so chanced that later in the season, when the migra-
tory inhabitants had flown to their hot-air registers in Boston
and Providence, I breakfasted with one who had lingered. It
w.is a certain Boston lawyer, — replete with principle, honesty,
self-discipline, statistics, sesthetics, and a perfect conscious-
Bess of possessing all these virtues, and a full recognition of
their market values. I think lie tolerated me as a kind of
foreigner, gently but firoily waiving all argument on any
topic, frequently distrusting my facts, generally my deduc-
tions, and always my ideas. In conversation he always
appeared to descend only halfway down a long moral and
intellectual staircase, and always delivered his conclusions
over the balusters.

I had been speaking of my friend, the Tramp. " There is
but one way of treatiug that class of impostors; it is simply
to recognize the fact that the law calls him a k vagrant,' and
makes his trade a misdemeanour. Any sentiment on the other
side renders you particeps crimirds. I don't know but e*
action would lie against you for encouraging tramps. Now,
I have an efficacious way of dealing with these gentry." He
ro e and took a double-barrelled fowling-piece from the
chimney. ** When a tramp appears on my property, I warn
hi i a off. If he persists, I fire on him — as I would on any
criminal trespasser."

44 Fire on him ?" I echoed in alarm.

*4Yes — but with powder only ! Of coarse he doesn't know-
that. But he doesn't come back."

It struck me for the first time that possibly many other of
my friend's arguments might be only blank cartridges, and
i*»id to frighten off other trespassing intellects.

* Of course, if the tramp still persisted, I would be justi-

JfF FRIEND, THE TRAMP. 135

fied in using shot. Last evening I had a visit from one. He
was coming over the wall. My shot gun was efficacious ; you
ihould have seen him run !"

It was useless to argue with so positive a mind, and I dropped
the subject. After breakfast I strolled over the downs, my
friend promising to join me as soon as he arranged some
household business.

It was a lovely, peaceful morning, not unlike the day when
I first met my friend, the Tramp. The hush of a great bene-
diction lay on land and sea. A few white sails twinkled afar,
but sleepily; one or two large ships were creeping in lazily,
like my friend, the Tramp. A voice behind me startled me.

My host had rejoined me. His face, however, looked a
little troubled.

" I just now learned something of importance," he began.
" It appears that with all my precautions that Tramp haa
visited my kitchen, and the servants have entertained him.
Yesterday morning, it appears, while I was absent, he hail
the audacity to borrow my gun to go duck-shooting. At the
end of two or three hours he returned with two ducks and —
the gun."

" That was, at least, honest."

*' Yes — but! That fool of a girl says that, as he handed
back the gun, he told her it was all right, and that he had
loaded it up again to save the master trouble."

I think I showed my concern in my face, for he added,
hastily: " It was only duck-shot ; a few wouldn't hurt him !"

Nevertheless, we both walked on in silence for a moment.

"I thought the gun kicked a little," he said at last,
musingly; u but the idea of — Hallo! what this?"

He stopped before the hollow where I had first seen my
Tramp. It was deserted, but on the mosses there were spots of
blood and fragments of an old gown, blood-stained, as if used
for bandages. I looked at it closely; it was the gown
intended for \he consumptive wife of my friend, the Tramp.

186 11 T FRIEND, THE TRAMP.

But my host was already nervously tracking the blood-
stains that on rock, moss, and boulder were steadily leading
toward the sea. When I overtook him at last on the shore,
he was standing before a flat rock, on which lay a bundle I
recognized, tied up in a handkerchief, and a crooked grape-
vine stick.

"He may have come here to wash his wounds — salt is a
styptic," said my host, who had recovered his correct precision
of statement.

I said nothing, but looked toward the sea. Whatever
secret lay hid in its breast, it kept it fast. Whatever its
calm eyes had seen that summer night, it gave no reflection
now. It lay there passive, imperturbable, and roticenfc. But
my friend, the Tramp, was gone I

THE MAN FKOM SOIANO.

]E came toward ine out of an opera lobby, between
the acts,— a figure as remarkable as anything in
the performance. His clothes, no two articles of
which were of the same colour, had the appearance
of having been purchased and put on only an hour or two
before, — a fact more directly established by the clothes-
dealer's ticket which still adhered to his coat-collar, giving
the number, size, and general dimensions of that garment
somewhat obtrusively to an uninterested public. His trousers
had a straight line down each leg, as if he had been born flat
but had since developed ; and there was another crease down
his back, like those figures children cut out of folded paper.
I may add that there was no consciousness of this in his face,
which was good-natured, and, but for a certain squareness in
the angle of his lower jaw, utterly uninteresting and com-
monplace.

" You disremember me," he said, briefly, as he extended
his hand, " but I'm from Solano, in Californy. I met you
there in the spring of '57. I was tendin' sheep, and you was
burnin' charcoal."

There was not the slightest trace of any intentional rude-
ness in the reminder. It was simply a statement of fact, and
as such to be accepted.

"What I hailed ye for was only this," he said, after I had
shaken hands with him. " I saw you a minnit ago standin'
over in yon box — chirpin' with a lady — a young lady, peart
and pretty. Might you be telling me her name ?"

I gave him the name of a certain noted belle of a neigh-

133 THE MAN FROM SOLANO.

bouring city, who had lately stirred the hearts of the metro-
polis, and who was especially admired by the brilliant and
fascinating young Dashboard, who stood beside me.

The Man from Solano mused for a moment, and then said,
" Thet's so ! thet's the name 1 It's the same gal !"

*4 You have met her, then ?" I asked in surprise.

"Ye-es," he responded, slowly: "I met her about fower
months ago. She'd bin makin' a tour of Californy with
some friends, and I first saw her aboard the cars this side of
Reno. She lost her baggage-checks, and I found them on
the floor and gave 'em back to her, and she thanked me. I
reckon now it would be about the square thing to go over
thar and sorter recognize her." He stopped a moment, and
looked at us inquiringly.

44 My dear sir," struck in the brilliant and fascinaticg
Dashboard, " if your hesitation proceeds from any doubt as
to the propriety of your attire, I beg you to dismiss it from
your mind at once. The tyranny of custom, it is true, com-
pels your friend and myself to dress peculiarly, but I assure
you nothing could be finer than the way that the olive green
of your coat melts in the delicate yellow of your cravat, or
the pearl grey of your trousers blends with the bright blue
of your waistcoat, and lends additional brilliancy to that
massive oroide watch-chain which you wear."

To my surprise, the Man from Solano did not strike him.
He looked at the ironical Dashboard with grave earnestness,
and then said quietly : —

"Then I reckon you wouldn't mind showin' me in thar ?"

Dashboard was, I admit, a little staggered at this. But he
recovered himself, and bowing ironically, led the way to the
box. J followed him and the Man from Solano.

Now, the belle in question happened to be a gentlewoman--
descended from gentlewomen — and after Dashboard's ironical
introduction, in which the Man from Solano was not spared,
she comprehended the situation instantly. To Dashboard's

THE MAN FROM SOLANO. 139

surprise she drew a chair to her side, made the Man from
Solano sit down, quietly turned her back on Dashboard, and
in full view of the brilliant audience and *'ie focus of a hun-
dred lorgnettes, entered into conversation with him.

Here, for the sake of romance, I should like to say he
became animated, and exhibited some trait of excellence, —
some rare wit or solid sense. But the fact is he was dull and
stupid to the last degree. He persisted in keeping the coa-
versation upon the subject of the lost baggage-checks, a) id
every bright attempt of the lady to divert him failed signally.
At last, to everybody's relief, he rose, and leaning over her
chair, said : —

u I calklate to stop over here some time, miss, and you and
me bein' sorter strangers here, maybe when there's any show
like this goin' on you'll let me" —

Miss X. said somewhat hastily that the multiplicity of her
engagements and the brief limit of her stay in New York she
feared would, etc., etc. The two other ladies had their
handkerchiefs over their mouths, and were staring intently
on the stage, when the Man from Solano continued : —

" Then, maybe, miss, whenever there is a show goin' on
that you'll attend, you'll just drop me word to Earle's Hotel,
to this yer address," and he pulled from his pocket a dozen
well-worn letters, and taking the buff envelope from one,
handed it to her with something like a bow.

" Certainly," broke in the facetious Dashboard ; "Miss X.
goes to the Charity Ball to-morrow night. The tickets are
but a trifle to an opulent Californian, and a man of your
evident means, and the object a worthy one. You will, no
doubt, easily secure an invitation."

Miss X. raised her handsome eyes for a moment to Dash-
board. " By all means," she said, turning to the Man from
Solano ; " and as Mr. Dashboard is one of the managers and
you are a stranger, he will, of course, send you a complimen-
tary ticket. I have known Mr. Dashboard long enough to

140 THE MAN FROM SOLANO.

know that he is invariably courteous to strangers and a gen-
tleman." She settled herself in her chair again and fixed her
eyes upon the stage.

The Man from Solano thanked the Man of New York, and
then, after shaking hands with everybody in the box, turned
to go. When he had reached the door he looked back to
Miss X., and said, —

** It was one of the queerest things in the world, miss, that
my findin' them checks" —

But the curtain had just then risen on the garden scene in
" Faust," and Miss X. was absorbed. The Man from Solaiio
carefully shut the box door and retired. I followed him.

He was silent until he reached the lobby, and then he said,
as if renewing a previous conversation, "She is a mighty
peart gal — that's so. She's just my kind, and will make a
stavin' good wife."

I thought I saw danger ahead for the Man from Solano, so
I hastened to tell him that she was beset by attentions, that
she could have her pick and choice of the best of society, and
finally, that she was, most probably, engaged to Dashboard.

'* That's so," he said quietly, without the slightest trace of
feeling. " It would be mighty queer if she wasn't. But I
reckon I'll steer down to the ho-tel. I don't care much for
this yellin'." (He- was alluding to a cadenza of that famous
cantatrice, Signora Batti Batti.) " What's the time V"

He pulled out his watch. It was such a glaring chain, so
obviously bogus, that my eyes were fascinated by it. ' You're
looking at that watch," he said ; " it's purty to look at, but
she don't go worth a cent. And yet her price was 125
dollars, gold. I gobbled her up in Chatham Street day
before yesterday, where they were selling 'em very cheap at
auction."

"You have been outrageously swindled," I said, indig-
nantly. " Watch and chain are not worth twenty dollars."

t: Are they worth fifteen ?" he asked, gravely.

THE MAN FROM SOLANO. 141

" Possibly."

44 Then I reckon it's a fair trade. Ye see, I told 'em I was
a Californian from Solano, and hadn't anything about me of
greenbacks. I had three slugs with me. Ye remember them
slugs?" (I did; the "slug" was a "token" issued in the
early days— a hexagonal piece of gold a little over twice the
size of a twenty-dollar gold piece — worth and accepted for
fifty dollars.)

" Well, I handed them that, and they handed me the watch.
You see them slugs I had made myself outer brass filings and
iron pyrites, and used to slap 'em down on the boys for a bluff
in a game of draw poker. You see, not being reg'lar gov'-
ment money, it wasn't counterfeiting. I reckon they cost me
counting time and anxiety, about fifteen dollars. So, if this
yer watch is worth that, it's about a square game, ain't it ?"

I began to understand the Man from Solano, and said it
was. He returned his watch to his pocket, toyed playfully
with the chain, and remarked, " Kinder makes a man look
fash'nable and wealthy, don't it ?"

I agreed with him. " But what do you intend to do here ?"
I asked.

"Well, IVe got a cash capital of nigh on seven hundred
dollars. I guess until I get into reg'lar business I'll skirmish
round Wall Street, and sorter lay low." I was about to give
him a few words of warning, but I remembered his watch? and
desisted. We shook hands and parted.

A few days after I met him en Broadway. He was
attired in another new suit, but I think I saw a slight im-
provement in his general appearance. Only five distinct
colours were visible in his attire. But this, I had reason to
believe afterwards, was accidental.

I asked him if he had been to the ball. lie said he had.
44 That gal, and a mighty peart gal she was too, was there,
but she sorter fought shy of me, I got this new suit to go
in, but those waiters sorter run me into a private box, and I

142 THE MAN FROM SOLANO.

didn't get muck chance to continner our talk about them
checks. But that young fellow, Dashboard, was mighty per-
lite. He brought lots of fellers and young women round to
the box to see me, and he made up a party that night to take
me round Wall Street and in them Stock Boards. And the
next day he called for me and took me, and I invested
about five hundred dollars in them stocks — maybe more.
You see, we sorter swopped sto.-!:*. You know I had ten
shares in the Peacock Copper Mine, that you was once secre-
tary of."

" But those shares are not worth a cent. The whole thing
exploded ten years ago."

" That's so, maybe ; you say so. But then I didn't know
anything more about Commumpaw Central, or the Naphtha
Gaslight Company, and so I thought it was a square game.
Only I realized on the stocks I bought, and I kem up outer
Wall Street about four hundred dollars better. You see it
was a sorter risk, after all, for them Peacock stocks might
come up !"

I looked into his face: it was immeasurably serene and
commonplace. I began to be a little afraid of the man, or,
rather, of my want of judgment of the man ; and after a few
words we shook hands and parted.

It was some months before I again saw the Man from
Solano. When I did, I found that he had actually become a
member of the Stock Board, and had a little office on Broad
Street, where he transacted a fair business. My remembrance
going back to the first night I met him, I inquired if he had
renewed his acquaintance with Miss X. "I heerd that she
was in Newport this summer, and I run down there fur a
week."

" And you talked with her about the baggage-checks?"

44 No," he said seriously; "she gave me a commission to
buy Borne stocks for her. You see, I guess them fash'nable
fellows sorter got to runnin' her about me, and so she put
our acquaintance on a square business footing. I tell you,

THE MAN FHOM SOLANO. 143

she's a right peart gal, Did ye hear of the accident that
happened to her ?"
I had not.

" Well, you see, she was out yachting, and I managed
through one of those fellers to get an invite, too. The whole
thing was got up by a man that they say is going to
marry her. Well, one afternoon the boom swings round in a
little squall and knocks het overboard. There was an awful
excitement, — you've heard about it, maybe ?"

" No !" But I saw it all with a romancer's instinct in a
flash of poetry! This poor fellow, debarred through un-
couthness from expressing his affection for her, had at last
found his fitting opportunity. He had —

"Thar was an awful row," he went on. " I ran out on the
taffrail, and there a dozen yards away was that purty creature,
that peart gal, and — I" —

" You jumped for her," I said hastily.
"Nol" he said, gravely. "I let the other man do th
jumping, I sorter looked on."
I stared at him in astonishment.

" No," he went on, seriously. " He was the man who
jumped — that was just then his ' put' — his line of business.
You see, if I had waltzed over the side of that ship, and
cavoorted in, and flummuxed round and finally flopped to the
bottom, that other man would have jumped nateral-like and
saved her ; and ez he was going to marry her any way, 1
don't exactly see where Td hev been represented in the
transaction. But don't you see, ef, after he'd jumped and
hadn't got her, he'd gone down himself, I'd hev had the next
best chance, and the advantage of heving him outer the way.
You see, you don't understand me — I don't think you did in
Californy."

" Then he did save her ?"

** Of course. Don't you see she was all right. If he'd
missed her, I'd have chipped in. Thar warn't no sense in my
doing his duty onless he failed."

141 THE MAN FROM SOLANO.

Somehow the story got out. The Man from Solano as a
butt became more popular than ever, and of course received
invitations to burlesque receptions, and naturally met a great
many people whom otherwise he would not have seen. It
was observed also that his seven hundred dollars were steadily
growing, and that he seemed to be getting on in his busi-
ness. Certain California stocks which I had seen quietly
interred in the old days in the tombs of their fathers were
magically revived ; and I remember, as one who has seen a
ghost, to have been shocked as I looked over the quotations
one morning to have seen the ghostly face of the " Dead
Beat Beach Mining Co.," rouged and plastered, looking out
from the columns of the morning paper. At last a few people
began to respect, or suspect, the Man from Solano. At last,
suspicion culminated with this incident : —

He had long expressed a wish to belong to a certain
" fash'n'ble" club, and with a view of burlesque he was
invited to visit the club, where a series of ridiculous enter-
tainments were given him, winding up with a card party. Aa
I passed the steps of the club-house early next morning, I
overheard two or three members talking excitedly, —

" He cleaned everybody out." " Why, he must have raked
in nigh on 40,000 dollars."

"Who?" I asked.

"The Man from Solano."

As I turned away, one of the gentlemen, a victim, noted
for his sporting propensities, followed me, and laying his hand
on my shoulder, asked : —

"Tell me fairly now. What business did your friend
follow in California ?"

" He was a shepherd."

" A what?"

"A shepherd. Tended his flocks on the honey-scented
hills of Solano."

" Well, all I can say ig, d— n your California pastorals."

THE OFFICE SEEKER.

asked me if I had ever seen the "Renma

Sentinel."
I replied that I had not, and would have added

that I did not even know where Remus was, when
he continued by saying it was strange the hotel proprietor did
not keep the *' Sentinel" on his files, and that he, himself,
Bhould write to the editor about it. He would not have
spoken about it, but he, himself, had been an humble member
of the profession to which I belonged, and had often written
for its columns. Some friends of his — partial, no doubt-
had said that his style somewhat resembled Junius's ; but of
course, you know — well, what he could say was that in the
last campaign his articles were widely sought for. He did not
know but he had a copy of one. Here his hand dived into the
breast-pocket of his coat, with a certain deftness that indi-
cated long habit, and after depositing on his lap a bundle of
well-worn documents, every one of which was glaringly sug-
gestive of certificates and signatures, he concluded he had
left it in his trunk.

I breathed more freely. We were sitting in the rotunda of
a famous Washington hotel, and only a few moments before
had the speaker, an utter stranger to me, moved his chair
beside mine and opened a conversation. I noticed that he
had that timid, lonely, helpless air which invests the bucolic
traveller who, for the first time, finds himself among strangers,
and his identity lost, in a world so much larger, BO much
colder, so much more indifferent to him than he ever imagined.

10

143 THE OFFICE SEEKER.

Indeed, I think that what we often attribute to the impeiti-
nent familiarity of countrymen and rustic travellers on railways
or in cities is largely due to their awful loneliness and nos-
talgia. I remember to have once met in a smoking-car on a
Kansas railway one of these lonely ones, who, after plying me
with a thousand useless questions, finally elicited the fact that
I knew slightly a man who had once dwelt in his native town
in Illinois. During the rest of our journey the conversation
turned chiefly upon this fellow-townsman, whom it afterwards
appeared that my Illinois friend knew no better than I did.
But he had established a link between himself and his far-off
home through me, and was happy.

While this was passing through my mind I took a fair look
at him. He was a spare young fellow, not more than thirty,
with sandy hair and eyebrows, and eyelashes so white as to be
almost imperceptible. He was dressed in black, somewhat to
the " rearward o' the fashion," and I had an odd idea that it
had been his wedding suit, and it afterwards appeared I was
right. His manner had the precision and much of the dog-
matism of the country schoolmaster, accustomed to wrestle
with the feeblest intellects. From his history, which he
presently gave me, it appeared I was right here also.

He was born and bred in a Western State, and, as school-
master of Remus and Clerk of Supervisors, had married one
of his scholars, the daughter of a clergyman, and a man of
some little property. He had attracted some attention by his
powers of declamation, and was one of the principal members
of the Remus Debating Society. The various questions then
agitating Remus, — " Is the doctrine of immortality consistent
with an agricultural life?" and, " Are round dances morally
wrong ?" — afforded him an opportunity of bringing himself
prominently before the country people. Perhaps I might
have seen an extract copied from the "Remus Sentinel" in
the " Christian Recorder" of May 7, 1875 ? No ? He would
gut it for me. He had taken an active part in the last cam-

THE OFFICE SEEKER. 147

paign. Ho did not like to say it, but it had been universally
acknowledged that he had elected Gashwiler.

Who?

Gen. Pratt C. Gashwiler, member of Congress from our
deestrict.

Oh!

A powerful man, sir— a very powerful man ; a man whoso
influence will presently be felt here, sir — here ! Well, he had
come on with Gashwiler, and — well, he did not know why —
Gashwiler did not know why he should not, you know (a
feeble, half-apologetic laugh here), receive that reward, you
know, for these services which, etc., etc.

I asked him if he had any particular or definite office in
view.

Well, no. He had left that to Gashwiler. Gashwiler had
eaid — he remembered his very words : " Leave ifc all to me ;
I'll look through the different departments, and see what can
be done for a man of your talents."

And—

He's looking. I'm expecting him back here every minute.
He's gone over to the Department of Tape, to see what can
be done there. Ah ! here he comes.

A large man approached us. Pie was very heavy, very
unwieldy, very unctuous and oppressive. He affected the
*' honest farmer," but so badly that the poorest husbandman
would have resented ifc. There was a suggestion of a cheap
lawyer about him that would have justified any self- respecting
judge in throwing him over the bar at once. There was n
military suspicion about him that would have entitled him to
a court-martial on the spot. There was an introduction, from
which I learned that my office-seeking friend's name was
Expectant Dobbs. And then Gashwiler addressed me :—

*k Our young friend here is waiting, waiting. Waiting, I
may say, on the affairs of State. Youth," continued the
Hon. Mr. Gashwiler, addressing an imaginary constituency,

148 THE OFFICE SEEKER.

"is nothing but a season of waiting — of preparation — ha,
ha!"

As he laid his hand in a fatherly manner — a fatherly man-
ner that was as much of a sham as anything else about him —
I don't know whether I was more incensed at him or hia
victim, who received it with evident pride and satisfaction.
Nevertheless he ventured to falter out :—

*4 Has anything been done yet?"

•* Well, no ; I can't say that anything — that is, that any-
thing has been completed; but I may say we are in excellent
position for an advance — ha, ha ! But we must wait, my
young friend, wait. What is it the Latin philosopher says ?
• Let us by all means hasten slowly' — ha, ha !" and he turned
to me as if saying confidentially, ** Observe the impatience of
these boys !" '* I met, a moment ago, my old friend and boy-
hood's companion, Jim McGlasher, chief of the Bureau for
the Dissemination of Useless Information, and," lowering his
voice to a mysterious but audible whisper, " I shall see him
again to-morrow."

The '* All aboard !" of the railway omnibus at this moment
tore me from the presence of this gifted legislator and hia
protege; but as we drove away I saw through the open
window the powerful mind of Gashwiler operating, so to
speak, upon the susceptibilities of Mr. Dobbs.

I did not meet him again for a week. The morning of my
return I saw the two conversing together in the hall, but with
the palpable distinction between this and their former inter-
views, that the gifted Gashwiler seemed to be anxious to get
away from his friend. I heard him say something about
** committees" and "to-morrow," and when Dobbs turned
his freckled face toward me I saw that he had got at last some
expression into it — disappointment.

I asked him pleasantly how he was getting on.

He had not lost his pride yet. He was doing well, although
such was the value set upon his friend Gashwiler's abilities

THE OFFICE SEEKER. 140

by his brother members that he was almost always occupied
with committee business. I noticed that his clothes were not
in as good case as before, and he told me that he had left the
hotel, and taken lodgings in a by-street, where it was less
expensive. Temporarily, of course.

A few days after this I had business in one of the great
departments. From the various signs over the doors of its
various offices and bureaus it always oddly reminded me of
Stewart's or Arnold and Constable's. You could get pen-
sions, patents, and plants. You could get land and the seeds
to put in it, and the Indians to prowl round it, and what not.
There was a perpetual clanging of office desk bells, and a
running hither and thither of messengers strongly suggestive
of " Cash 47."

As my business was with the manager of this Great
National Fancy Shop, I managed to push by the sad-eyed,
eager-faced crowd of men and women in the anteroom, and
entered the secretary's room, conscious of having left behind
me a great deal of envy and uncharitableness of spirit. As £
opened the door I heard a monotonous flow of Western
speech which I thought I recognized. There was no mis-
taking it. It was the voice of the Gashwiler.

44 The appointment of this man, Mr. Secretary, would be
most acceptable to the people in my deestrict. His family
are wealthy and influential, and it's just as well in the fall
elections to have the supervisors and county judge pledged to
support the administration. Our delegates to the State Ceu-
tral Committee are to a man" — but here, perceiving from the
wandering eye of Mr. Secretary that there was another man
in the room, he whispered the rest with a familiarity that
must have required all the politician in the official's breast
to keep from resenting.

•* You have some papers, I suppose ?" asked the secretary,
wearily.

Gashwiler was provided with a pocketful, and produced

150 THE OFFICE SEEKER.

them. The secretary threw them on the table among the
other papers, where they seemed instantly to lose their iden-.
tity, and looked as if they were ready to recommend anybody
but the person they belonged to Indeed, in one corner the
entire Massachusetts delegation, with the Supreme Bench at
their head, appeared to be earnestly advocating the manuring
of Iowa waste lands ; and to the inexperienced eye, a noted
female reformer had apparently appended her signature to a
request for a pension for wounds received in battle.

" By the way," said the secretary, «« I think I have a letter
here from somebody in your district asking an appointment,
and referring to you? Do you withdraw it?"

"If anybody has been presuming to speculate upon my
patronage," said the Hon. Mr. Gashwiler, with rising rage.

44 I've got the letter somewhere here," said the secretary,
looking dazedly at his table. He made a feeble movement
among the pipers, and then sank back hopelessly in his
chair, and gazed out of the window as if he thought and rather
hoped it might have flown away. 4' It was from a Mr. Globbs,
or Gobbs, or Dobbs, of Remus," he said finally, after a super-
human effort of memory.

4' Oh, that's nothing — a foolish fellow who has been boring
me for the last month."

44 Then I am to understand that this application is with-
drawn ?"

44 As far as my patronage is concerned, certainly. In fact,
euch an appointment would not express the sentiments —
indeed, I may say, would be calculated to raise active oppo-
sition in the deestrict."

The secretary uttered a sigh of relief, and the gifted Gash-
wiler passed out. I tried to get a good look at the honour-
able scamp's eye, but he evidently did not recognize me.

It was a question in my mind whether I ought not to
expose the treachery of Dobbs's friend, but the next time I
met Dobbs he was in such good spirits that I forbore. It

THE OFFICE SEEKER, 1^1

appeared that his wife had written to him that she had dis-
covered a second cousin in the person of the Assistant Super-
intendent of the Envelope Flap Moistening Bureau of the
Department of Tape, and had asked his assistance ; and
Dobbs had seen him, and he had promised it. " You see,"
raid Dobbs, 'k in the performance of his duties he is very often
very near the person of the secretary, frequently in the next
r >om, and he is a powerful man, sir — a powerful man to know,
sir — a very powerful man."

How long this continued I do not remember. Long
enough, however, for Dobbs to become quite seedy, for the
giving up of wrist cuffs, for the neglect of shoes and beard,
and for great hollows to form round his eyes, and a slight
flush on his cheek-bones. I remember meeting him in all the
departments, writing letters or waiting patiently in ante-
rooms from morning till night. He had lost all his old dog-
matism, but not his pride. " I might as well be here as any-
where, while I'm waiting," he said, -"and then I'm getting
some knowledge of the details of. official life."

In the face of this mystery I was surprised at finding a
note from him one day, inviting me to dine with him at a
certain famous restaurant. I had scarce got over my amaze-
ment, when the writer himsalf overtook me at my hotel.
For a moment I scarcely recognized him. A new suit of
fashionably-cut clothes had changed him, without, however,
entirely concealing his rustic angularity of figure and outline.
He even affected a fashionable dilettante air, but so mildly
and so innocently that it was not offensive.

"You see," he began, explanatory-wise, "I've just found
out the way to do it. None of these big fellows, these cabinet
officers, know me except as an applicant. Now, the way to
do this thing is to meet 'em fust sociably ; wine 'em and
dine 'em. Why, sir," — he dropped into the schoolmaster
again here, — " I had two cabinet ministers, two judges, and
a general at my table last night."

152 THE OFFICE SEEKER

«' On your invitation ?"

" Dear, no ! all I did was to pay for it. Tom Soufilet gave
the dinner and invited the people. Everybody knows Tom.
You see, a friend of mine put me up to it, and said that
Soufflet had fixed up no end of appointments and jobs in that
way. You see, when these gentlemen get sociable over their
wine, he says carelessly, 4 By the way, there's So-and-so — a
good fellow — wants something ; give it to him.' And the
iirst thing you know, or they know, he gets a promise from
them. They get a dinner — and a good one — and he gets an
appointment."

" But where did you get the money?"

44 Oh,"— he hesitated, — "I wrote home, and Fanny's father
raised fifteen hundred dollars some way, and sent it to me. I
put it down to political expenses." He laughed a weak,
foolish laugh here, and added, " As the old man don't drink
nor smoke, he'd lift his eyebrows to know how the money
goes. But I'll make it all right when the office comes — and
she's coming, sure pop."

His slang fitted as poorly on him as his clothes, and his
familiarity was worse than his former awkward shyness. But
I could not help asking him what had been the result of this
expenditure.

** Nothing just yet. But the Secretary of Tape and the
man at the head of the Inferior Department, both spoke to
me, and one of them said he thought he'd heard my name
before. He might," he added, with a forced laugh, " for I've
written him fifteen letters."

Three months passed. A heavy snow-storm stayed my
chariot wheels on a Western railroad, ten miles from a
nervous lecture committee and a waiting audience ; there was
nothing to do but to make the attempt to reach them in a
sleigh. But the way was long and the drifts deep, and when
at last four miles out we reached a little village, the driver
declared his cattle could hold out no longer, and we must stop

THE OFFICE SEEKER. 153

there. Bribes and tnreats were equally of no avail. I bad to
accept the fact."

" What place is this?"

"Kemus."

" Remus, Kemus," where had I heard that name before ?
But while I was reflecting he drove up before the door of tbo
tavern. It was a dismal, sleep-forbidding place, and only
nine o'clock, and here was the long winter's night before me.
Failing to get the landlord to give me a team to go further, I
resigned myself to my fate and a cigar, behind the red-hot
Ftove. In a few moments one of the loungers approached
me, calling me by name, and in a rough but hearty fashion
condoled with me for my mishap, advised me to stay at
Kemus all night, and added : " The quarters ain't the best in
the world yer at this hotel. But thar's an old man yer — the
preacher that was — that for twenty years hez taken in sucli
fellows as you and lodged 'em free gratis for nothing, and hez
been proud to do it. The old man used to be rich ; he ain't
so now ; sold his big house on the cross roads, and lives in a
little cottage with his darter right over yan. But yo
couldn't do him a better turn than to go over thar and staj1 ,
and if he thought I'd let ye go out o' Kemus without axing
ye, he'd give me h — 11. Stop, I'll go with ye."

I might at least call on the old man, and I accompanied
my guide through the still falling snow until we reached a
little cottage. The door opened to my guide's knock, and
with the brief and discomposing introduction, "Yer, ole man,
I've brought you one o' them snow-bound lecturers," he left
me on the threshold, as my host, a kindly-faced whitehaired
man of seventy, came forward to greet me.

His frankness and simple courtesy overcame the embarrass-
ment left by my guide's introduction, and I followed him
passively as he entered the neat, but plainly-furnished sitting-
room. At the same moment a pretty, but faded young woman
arose from the sofa and was introduced to me as his daughter.

154 THE OFFICE SEEKER.

** Fanny and I live here quite alone, and if you knew how
good it was to see somebody from the great outside world
now and then, you would not apologize for what you call your
intrusion."

During this speech I was vaguely trying to recall where
and when and under what circumstances I had ever before
seen the village, the house, the old man or his daughter.
Was it in a dream, or in one of those dim reveries of some
previous existence to which the spirit of mankind is subject?
I looked at them again. In the careworn lines around the
once pretty girlish mouth of the young woman, in the fur-
rowed seams over the forehead of the old man, in the ticking
of the old-fashioned clock on the shelf, in the faint whisper
of the falling snow outside, I read the legend, " Patience,
patience : Wait and Hope."

The old man filled a pipe, and offering me one, continued,
" Although I seldom drink myself, it was my custom to
always keep some nourishing liquor in my house for passing
guests, but to-night I find myself without any." I hastened
to offer him my flask, which, after a moment's coyness, he
accepted, and presently under its benign influence at least
ten years dropped from his shoulders, and he sat up in his
chair erect and loquacious.

41 And how are affairs at the National Capital, sir?" he
began.

Now, if there was any subject of which I was profoundly
ignorant, it was this. But the old man was evidently bent
on having a good political talk. So I said vaguely, yet with
a certain sense of security, that I guessed there wasn't much
being done.

" 1 see," said the old man, " in the matters of resumption ;
of the sovereign rights of States and federal interference, you
would imply that a certain conservative tentative policy is
to be promulgated until after the electoral committee have
given their verdict." I looked for help towards the lady,

TI1E OFFICE SEEKEn. 155

and observed feebly that lie had very clearly expressed my
views.

The old man, observing my look, said: "Although my
daughter's husband holds a federal position in Washington,
the pressure of his business is so great that he has little
time to give us mere gossip — I beg your pardon, did you
speak ?"

I had unconsciously uttered an exclamation. This, then*
was Remus — the home of Expectant Dobbs — and these his
wife and father; and the Washington banquet-table, ah me!
had sparkled with the yearning heart's blood of this poor
wife, and bad been upheld by this tottering Caryatid of a
father.

" Do you know what position he has ?"

The old man did not know positively, but thought it was
some general supervising position. He had been assured by
Mr. Gashwiler that it was a first-class clerkship ; yes, a first
class.

I did not tell him that in this, as in many other official
regulations in Washington, they reckoned backward, but
Baid : —

"I suppose that your M. C., Mr. — Mr. Gashwiler" —

44 Don't mention his name," said the little woman, rising to
her feet hastily ; ** he never brought Expectant anything but
disappointment and sorrow. I hate, I despise the man."

" Dear Fanny," expostulated the old man, gently, " this
is unchristian and unjust. Mr. Gashwiler is a powerful, a
very powerful man ! His work is a great one ; his time is
preoccupied with weightier matters."

41 His time was not so preoccupied but he could make use
of poor Expectant," said this wounded dove, a little spite-
fully.

Nevertheless it was some satisfaction to know that Dobbs
had at last got a place, no matter how unimportant, or who
had given it to him ; and when I went to bed .that night in

156 THE OFFICE SEEKER.

the room that had been evidently prepared for their conjugal
chamber, I felt that Dobbs's worst trials were over. 'J be
walls were hung with souvenirs of their ante-nuptial days.
There was a portrait of Dobbs, setat 25 ; there was a faded
bouquet in a glass case, presented by Dobbs to Fanny on
examination-day ; there was a framed resolution of thanks
to Dobbs from the Remus Debating Society; there was a
certificate of Dobbs's election as President of the Remus
Philomathean Society ; there was his commission as Captain
in the Remus Independent Contingent of Home Guards ;
there was a Freemason's chart, in which Dobbs was addressed
in epithets more fulsome and extravagant than any living
monarch. And yet all these cheap glories of a narrow life
and narrower brain were upheld and made sacred by the love
of the devoted priestess who worshipped at this homely shrine
and kept the light burning through gloom and doubt and
despair. The storm tore round the house, and shook its white
fists in the windows. A dried wreath of laurel that Fanny
had placed on Dobbs's head after his celebrated centennial
address at the school-house, July 4, 1876. swayed in the
gusts, and sent a few of its dead leaves down on the floor,
and I lay in Dobbs's bed and wondered what a first-class
clerkship was.

I found out early the next summer. I was strolling through
the long corridors of a certain great department, when I came
upon a man accurately yoked across the shoulders, and sup-
porting two huge pails of ice on either side, from which he
was replenishing the pitchers in the various offices. As I
passed I turned to look at him again. It was Dobbs !

He did not set down his burden ; it was against the rules,
he said. But he gossiped cheerily, said he was beginning at
the foot of the ladder, but expected soon to climb up. That
it was Civil Service Reform, and of course he would be pro-
moted soon.

** Had Gashwiler procured the appointment ?"

THE OFFICE SEEKER. 157

No. He believed it was? me. 7 had tokl his story to As-
sistant-secretary Blank, who had in turn related it to Bureau-
director Dash — both good fellows — but this was all they could
do. Yes, it was a foothold. But he must go now.

Nevertheless, I followed him up and down,' and, cheered up
with a rose-coloured picture of his wife and family, and my
visit there, and promising to come and see him the next time
I came to Washington, I left him with his self-imposed
yoke.

With a new administration, Civil Service Reform came in,
crude and ill-digested, as all sudden and sweeping reforms
must be ; cruel to the individual, as all crude reforms will
ever be ; and among the list of helpless men and women, in-
capacitated for other work by long service in the dull routine
of federal office who were decapitated, the weak, foolisli,
emaciated head of Expectant Dobbs went to the block. It
afterward appeared that the gifted Gashwiler was responsible
for the appointment of twenty clerks, and that the letter of
poor Dobbs, in which he dared to refer to the now powerless
Gashwiler, had sealed his fate. The country made an
example of Gashwiler and — Dobbs.

From that moment he disappeared. I looked for him in
vain in anterooms, lobbies, and hotel corridors, and finally
came to the conclusion that he had gone home.

How beautiful was that July Sabbath, when the morning
train from Baltimore rolled into the Washington depot. How
tenderly and chastely the morning sunlight Jay on the east
front of the Capitol until the whole building was hushed in
a grand and awful repose. How difficult it was to think of a
Gashwiler creeping in and out of those enfiiing columns, or
crawling beneath that portico, without wondering that yon
majestic figure came not down with flat of sword to smite the
fat rotundity of the intruder. How difficult to think that!
parricidal hands have ever been lifted against the Great
Mother, typified here in. the graceful white chastity of her

158 THE OFFICE SEEKER.

garments, in the noble tranquillity of her face, in the gather
ing up her white-robed children within her shadow.

This led me to think of Dobbs, when, suddenly, a face
flashed by my carriage window. I called to the driver to
stop, and, looking again, saw that it was a woman standing
bewildered and irresolute on the street corner. As she turned
her anxious face toward me I saw that it was Mrs. Dobbs.

What was she doing here, and where was Expectant ?

She began an incoherent apology, and then burst into ex-
planatory tears. When I had got her in the carriage she said,
between her sobs, that Expectant had not returned ; that she
had received a letter from a friend here saying he was sick, —
oh very, very sick, — and father could not come with her, so
she came alone. She was so frightened, so lonely, so mise-
rable.

Had she his address ?

Yes, just here ! It was on the outskirts of Washington,
near Georgetown. Then I would take her there, if I could,
for she knew nobody.

On our way I tried to cheer her up by pointing out some
of the children of the Great Mother before alluded to, but
she only shut her eyes as we rolled down the long avenues,
and murmured, "Oh, these cruel, cruel, distances 1"

At last we reached the locality, a negro quarter, yet clean
and neat in appearance. I saw the poor girl shudder slightly
as we stopped at the door of a low, two-story frame house,
from which the unwonted spectacle of a carriage brought a
crowd of half -naked children and a comely, cleanly, kindtaced
mulatto woman.

Yes, this was the house. He was upstairs, rather poorly,
but asleep, she thought.

We went upstairs. In the first chamber, clean, though
poorly furnished, lay Dobbs. On a pine table near his bed
were letters and memorials to the various departments, and
on the bed-quilt, unfinished, but just a3 the weary fingers had

THE OFFICE SEEKER. 159

relaxed their grasp upon it, lay a letter to the Tape Depart-
ment.

As wo entered the room he lifted himself on his elbow.
" Fanny !" he said, quickly, and a shade of disappointment
crossed his face. '* I thought it was a message from the
secretary," he added, apologetically.

The poor woman had suffered too much already to shrink
from this last crushing blow. But she walked quietly to his
side without a word or cry, knelt, placed her loving arms
around him, and I left them so together.

When I called again in the evening he was better ; so much
better that, against the doctor's orders, he had talked to her
quite cheerfully and hopefully for an hour, until suddenly
raising her bowed head in his two hands, he said, "Do you
know, dear, that in looking for help and influence there was
one, dear, I had forgotten; one who is very potent with
kings and councillors, and I think, love, I shall ask Him to
interest Himself in my behalf. It is not too late yet, darling,
and I shall seek Him to-morrow."

And before the morrow came he hid sought and foun<i
Uiin, and I doubt not got a good place.

A SLEEPING-CAR EXPERIENCE.

|T was in a Pullman sleeping-car on a Western road
After that first plunge into unconsciousness which
the weary traveller takes on getting into his berthi
I awakened to the dreadful revelation that I had
been asleep only two hours. The greater part of a long winter
night was before me to face with staring eyes.

Finding it impossible to sleep, I lay there wondering a
number of things : why, for instance, the Pullman sleeping-
car blankets were unlike other blankets ; why they were like
squares cut out of cold buckwheat cakes, and why they clung
to you when you turned over, and lay heavy on you without
warmth ; why the curtains before you could not have been
made opaque, without being so thick and suffocating ; why it
would not be as well to sit up al night half asleep in an
ordinary passenger-car as to lie awake all night in a Pullman.
But the snoring of my fellow -passengers answered this ques-
tion in the negative.

With the recollection of last night's dinner weighing on me
as heavily and coldly as the blankets, I began wondering
•why, over the whole extent of the continent, there was no
local dish ; why the bill of fare at restaurant and hotel was
invariably only a weak reflex of the metropolitan hostelries ;
why the entries were always the same, only more or less badly
cooked ; why the travelling American always was supposed to
demand turkey and cold cranberry sauce ; why the pretty
waiter-girl apparently shuffled your plates behind your back,
and then dealt them over your shoulder in a semicircle as if
they were a hand at cards, and not always a good obC? Why

A SLEEPING-CAR EXPERIENCE. HJI

having done this, she instantly retired to the nearest wall,
and gazed at you scornfully, as one -who would say, " Fair
Bir, though lowly, I am proud ; if thou dost imagine that I
would permit undue familiarity of speech, beware!" And
then I began to think of and dread the coming breakfast ; to
wonder why the ham was always cut half an inch thick, and
why the fried egg always resembled a glass eye that -visibly
winked at you with diabolical dyspeptic suggestions ; to wonder
if the buckwheat cakes,, the eating of which requires a certain
degree of artistic preparation and deliberation, would be
brought in as usual one minute before the train started. And
then I had a vivid recollection of a fellow-passenger who, at
a certain breakfast station in Illinois, frantically enwrapped
his portion of this national pa*try in his red bandana hand-
kerchief, took it into the smoking-car, and quietly devoured
it en route.

Lying broad awake, I could not help making some obser-
vations which I think are not noticed by tbS day traveller.
First, that the speed of a train is not equal or continuous.
That at certain times the engine apparently starts up, and
eays to the baggage train behind it, " Come, come, this won't
do ! Why, it's nearly half -past two ; how in h — 11 shall we
get through ? Don't you talk to me. Pooh, pooh !" delivered
in that rhythmical fashion which all meditation assumes on a
railway train. Exempli gratia: One night, having raised my
window-curtain to look over a moonlit snowy landscape, as I
pulled it down the lines of a popular comic song flashed across
me. Fatal error 1 The train instantly took it up, and during
the rest of the night I was haunted by this awful refrain :
" Pull down the bei-lind, pull down the bel-lind ,- somebody's
klink klink, O don't be shoo-shoo !" Naturally this differs
on the different railways. On the New York Central, where
the road-bed is quite perfect and the steel rails continuous, I
have heard this irreverent train give the words of a certain
popular revival hymn after this fashion : " Hold the fort, for

11

162 A SLEEPING-CAR EXPERIENCE.

I am Sankey ; Moody slingers still. Wave the swish swash
back from klinky, klinky klanky kill.' On the New York
and New Haven, where there are many switches, and the
engine whistles at every cross road, I have often heard.
" Tommy make room for your whoopy ! that's a little clang ;
bumpity, bumpity, boopy, clikitty, clikitty, clang." Poetry, I
fear, fared little better. One starlit night, coming from
Quebec, as we slipped by a virgin forest, the opening lines of
44 Evangeline" flashed upon me. But all I could make of them
was this : " This is the forest primeval-eval ; the groves of
the pines and the hemlocks-locks-locks-locks-loooock !" The
train was only "slowing" or "braking" up at a station.
Hence the jar in the metre.

I had noticed a peculiar JEolian harp-like cry tfiat ran
through the whole train as we settled to rest at last after a
long run — an almost sigh of infinite relief, a musical sigh that
began in C and ran gradually up to F natural, which I think
most observant travellers have noticed day and night. No
railway official has ever given me a satisfactory explanation
of it. As the car, in a rapid run, is always slightly projected
forward of its trucks, a practical friend once suggested to me
that it was the gradual settling back of the car body to a state
of inertia, which, of course, every poetical traveller would
reject. Four o'clock — the sound of boot-blacking by the
porter faintly apparent from the toilet-room. Why not talk
to him ? But, fortunately, I remembered that any attempt at
extended conversation with conductor or porter was always
resented by them as implied disloyalty to the compaoy they
represented I recalled that once I had endeavoured to im-
press upon a conductor the absolute folly of a midnight
inspection of tickets, and had been treated by him as an
escaped lunatic. No, there was no relief from this suffocating
and insupportable loneliness to be gained then. I raised the
window-blind and looked out We were passing a farm-
lio'ise. A light, evidently the lantern of a farm-hand, waa

A SLEEPING-CAR EXPERIENCE. 163

swung beside a barn. Yes, the faintest tinge of rose in the
far horizon. Morning, surely, at last.

We had stopped at a station. Two men had got Into tha
car, and had taken seats in the one vacant section, yawning
occasionally and conversing in a languid, perfunctory sort of
•way. They sat opposite each other, occasionally looking out
of the window, but always giving the strong impression that
they were tired of each other's company. As I looked out of
my curtains at them, the One Man said, with a feebly con-
cealed yawn : —

uYes, well, I reckon he was at one time as poplar an
ondertaker ez I knew."

The Other Man (inventing a question rather than giving an
answer, out of some languid, social impulse) : " But was he— »
this yer ondertaker — a Christian — hed he jined the church ?'

The One Man (reflectively) : " Well, I don't know ez you
might call him a purfessin' Christian ; but he hed — yes, he
hod conviction. I think Dr. Wylie hed him under conviction.
Et least that was the way I got it from him."

A long, dreary pause. The Other Man (feeling it was
incumbent upon him to say something) : " But why was he
poplar ez an ondertaker?"

The One Man (lazily) : " Well he was kinder poplar with
widders and widderers — sorter soothen 'em a kinder, keerless
way ; slung 'em suthin' here and there, sometimes outer the
Book, sometimes outer hisself, ez a man of experience as hed
hed sorror. He'd, thay say (very cautiously), lost three wives
hisself, and five children by this yer new disease — dipthery —
out in Wisconsin. I don't know the facts, but that's what's
got round."

The Other Man : "But how did he lose his poplarity ?"

The One Man : " Well, that's the question. You see he
interduced some things into ondertaking that waz new. He
hed, for instance, a way, as he called it, of manniperlating
the features of the deceased."

164 A SLEEPING-CAR EXPERIENCE.,

The Other Man (quietly) : u How rnanniperlating ?"

The One Man (struck with a bright and aggressive thought) ;
"Look yer, did ye ever notiss how, generally epeakin',
onhandsome a corpse is ?"

The Other Man had noticed this fact.

The One Man (returning to his fact) : " Why, there was
Mary Peebles, ez was daughter of my wife's bosom friend — a
mighty pooty girl and a professing Christian — died of scarlet
fever. Well, that gal — I was one of the mourners, being iny
wife's friend — well, that gal, though Ihedn't, perhaps, oughter
say — lying in that casket, fetched all the way from some A 1
establishment in Chicago, filled with flowers and furbeiows —
didn't really seem to be of much account. Well, although my
wife's friend, and me a mourner — well, now, I was — dis-
appointed and discouraged."

The Other Man (in palpably affected sympathy) : " Sho !
now!"

" Yes, sir ! Well, you see, this yer oudertaker, this Wilkins
hed a way of correctin' all that. And just by manniperlation
He worked over the face of the deceased ontil he perduced
what the survivin' relatives called a look of resignation, — you
know, a sort of smile, like. When he wanted to put in a ay
extrys, he perduced what he called — hevin' reglar charges for
this kind of work — a Christian's hope."

The Other Man : " I want to know."

"Yes. Well, I admit, at times it was a little startlin\
And I've allers said (a little confidentially) that I had my
doubts of its being Scriptooral or sacred, we being, ez you
know, worms of the y earth ; and I relieved my mind to our
pastor, but he didn't feel like interferin', ez long ez it was
confined to church membership. But the other day, when. Cy
Dunham died — you disremember Cy Dunham ?"

A long interval of silence. The Other Man was looking
out of the window, and had apparently forgotten his com-
panion completely. But as I stretched my head out of thf

A SLEEPING-CAR EXPERIENCE. 165

curtain I saw four other heads as eagerly reached out from
other berths to hear the conclusion of the story. One head,
a female one, instantly disappeared on my looking around,
but a certain tremulousness of her window-curtain showed an
unabated interest. The only two utterly disinterested men
were the One Man and the Other Man.

The Other Man (detaching himself languidly from the
window) : ** Cy Dunham ?"

" Yes ; Cy never hed bed either convictions or purfe?sions.
CJster get drunk and go round with permiscous women. Sorter
like the prodigal son, only a little more so, ez fur ez 1 kin
judge from the facks ez stated to me. Well, Cy one day
petered out down at Little Rock, and was sent up yer foe
interment. The fammerly, being proud-like, of course didn't
spare no money on that funeral, and it waz — now between
you and me — about ez shapely and first-class and prime-mess
affair ez I ever saw. Wilkins hed put in his extrys. He hed
put onto that prodigal's face the A 1 touch, — hed him fixed
up with a ' Christian's hope.' Well, it waz about the turning-
point, for thar waz some of the members and the pastor hisself
thought that the line oughter to be drawn somewhere, auJ,
thar waz some talk at Deacon Tibbet's about a rcg'lar con-
ference meetin' regardin' it. But it wazn't thet which made
him onpoplar."

Another silence ; no expression nor reflection from the face
of the Other Man of the least desire to know what ultimately
settled the unpopularity of the undertaker. But from the
curtains of the various berths several eager and one or two
even wrathful, faces, anxious for the result.

The Other Man (lazily recurring to the fading topic) :
"Well, what made him onpoplar?"

The One Man (quietly): ''Extrys, I thiu£— that is, I
suppose, not knowin' " (cautiously) " all the facts. When
Mrs. Widdecombe lost her husband, 'bout two months ago,
though she'd been through the valley of the shadder of death

166 A SLEEPING-CAR EXPERIENCE.

twice — thi»i bein' her third marriage, hevin' been John Barker1
widder"—

The Other Man (with an intense expression of interest) ;
44 No, you're f oolin' me !"

The One Man (solemnly) : *' Ef I was to appear before mj
Maker to-morrow, yes ! she was the widder of Barker."

The Other Man : 4k Well, I swow."

The One Man : " Well, this Widder Widdecombe, she put
up a big funeral for the deceased. She hed Wilkins, and
thet ondertaker just laid hisself out. Just spread hisself.
Onfort'natly, — perhaps fort'natly in the ways of Providence, —
one of Widdecombe's old friends, a doctor up thar in Chicago,
comes down to the funeral. He goes up with the friends to
look at the deceased, smilin' a peaceful sort o' heavinly smile,
and everybody sayin' he-"* gone to meet his reward, and this
yer friend turns round, short and sudden on the widder settin'
in her pew, and kinder enjoyin', as wimcn will, all the com-
pliments paid the corpse, and he says, says he : —

** * What did you say your husband died of, marm ?'

" * Consumption,' she says, wiping her eyea, poor critter.
* Consumption — gallopiu' consumption.'

" ' Consumption be d — d,' sez he, bein' a profane kiud of
Chicago doctor, and not bein' ever under conviction. * Thet
man died of strychnine. Look at thet face. Look at thet con-
tortion of them fashal muscles. Thet's strychnine. Thet's risers
Sardonikus1 (thet's what he said ; he was always sorter profane).

44 4 Why, doctor,' says the widder, * thet — thet is his last
emile. It's a Christian's resignation.'

44 4 Thet ba blowed ; don't tell me,' sez he. 4 Hell is full
of thet kind of resignation. It's pizon. And I'll' — Why,
dern my skin, yes we are ; yes, it's Joliet. Wall, now, who'd
hev thought we'd been nigh onto an hour ?"

Two or three anxious passengers from their berths : " Say $
look yer, stranger ! Old man ! What became of" —

But the One Man and the Other Man had vanished!.

PITE O'CLOCK IN THE MOROTN€k

NOTES BY AN EAKLY RISER.

HAVE always been an early riser. The popular
legend that " Early to bed and early to rise," inva-
riably and rhythmically resulted in healthiness,
opulence, and wisdom, I beg here to solemnly pro-
test against. As an " unhealthy" man. as an " unwealthy"
man, and doubtless by virtue of this protest an t; unwise"
man, I am, I think, a glaring example of the uutruth of thf
proposition.

For instance, it is ray misfortune, as an early riser, to live
upon a certain fashionable avenue, where the practice of earl)
rising is confined exclusively to domestics. Consequently,
when I issue forth on this broad, beautiful thoroughfare at
six a.m., I cannot help thinking that I am, to a certaii
extent, desecrating its traditional customs.

I have more than once detected the milkman winking at tbt
maid with a diabolical suggestion that I was returning from a
carouse, and Roundsman 9999 has once or twice followed me
a block or two with the evident impression that I was a
burglar returning from a successful evening out. Neverthe-
less, these various indiscretions have brought me into contact
with a kind of character and phenomena whose existence 1
might otherwise have doubted.

First, let me speak of a large class of working-people whose
presence is, I think, unknown to many of those gentlemen
who are in the habit of legislating or writing about them. A
majority of these early risers in the neighbourhood of which

168 FIVE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNIXG.

f may call my "beat" carry with them unmistakable evi-
dences of the American type. I have seen so little of that
foreign element that is popularly supposed to be the real
working class of the great metropolis, that I have often been
inclined to doubt statistics. The ground that my morning
rambles cover extends from Twenty- third Street to Washing-
ton Park, and lately from Sixth Avenue to Broadway. The
early rising artisans that I meet here, crossing three avenues,—
the milkmen, the truck-drivers, the workman, even the occa-
sional tramp, — wherever they may come from or go to, or
what their real habitat may be, — are invariably Americans. I
give it as an honest record, whatever its significance of insignifi-
cance may be, that during the last year, between the hours of
six and eight a.m., in and about the locality I have mentioned,
I have met with but two unmistakable foreigners, an Irish-
man and a German. Perhaps it may be necessary to ad-1 to
this statement that the people I have met at those early hours
I have never seen at any other time in the same locality.

As to their quality, the artisans were always cleanly dressed,
intelligent, and respectful. I remember, however, one morn-
ing, when the ice storm of the preceding night had made
the sidewalks glistening, smiling and impassable, to have
journeyed down the middle of Twelfth Street with a mechanic
so sooty as to absolutely leave a legible track in the snowy path-
way. He was the fireman attending the engine in a noted manu-
factory, and in our brief conversation he told me many facia
regarding his profession which I fear interested me more than
the after-dinner speeches of some distinguished gentlemen I
\-.'A<\ heard the preceding night. J remember that he spoke, of
his eugineas " she," and related certain circumstances regard-
ing her inconsistency, her aberrations, her pettishnesses, that
seemed to justify the feminine gender. I have a grateful
recollection of him as being one who introduced me to a
restaurant where chicory, thinly disguised as coffee, was
served with bread at five cents a cup, and that he honourably

FIVE O'CLOCK IN THE HORNING. 169

insisted on being the host, and paid his ten cents for our
mutual entertainment with the grace of a Barmecide. I
remember, in a more genial season, — I think early summer, —
to have found upon the benches of Washington Park a gen-
tleman who informed me that his profession was that of a
" pigeon -catcher ;" that he contracted with certain parties in
this city to furnish these birds for what he called their "pigeon-
shoots;" and that in fulfilling this contract he often was obliged
to go as far west as Minnesota. The details he gave— his
methods of entrapping the birds, his study of their habits,
his evident belief that the city pigeon, however well provided
for by parties who fondly believed the bird to be their own,
was really ferae, nature, and consequently " game" for the
pigeon-catcher — were all so interesting that I listened to him
with undisguised delight^ When he had finished, however, he
said, u And now, sir, being a poor man, with a large family,
and work bein' rather slack this year, if ye could oblige'me with
the loan of a dollar and your address, until remittances what
I'm expecting come in from Chicago, you'll be doin' me a
great service," etc., etc. He got. the dollar, of course (his
information was worth twice the money), but I imagine he
lost my address). Yet it is only fair ( to say that some days
after, relating his experience to a prominent sporting man, he
corroborated all its details, and satisfied me that my pigeon-
catching friend, although unfortunate, was not an impostor.

And this leads me to speak of the birds. Of all early risers,
my most importunate, aggressive, and obtrusive companions
are the English sparrows. Between six and seven a.m. they
seem to possess the avenue, and resent my intrusion. I
remember, one chilly morning, when I came upon a flurry of
them, chattering, quarrelling, skimming, and alighting just
before me. I stopped at last, fearful of stepping on the
nearest. To my great surprise, instead of flying away, he
contested the ground inch by inch before my advancing foot,
with his wings outspread and open bill outstretched, very

170 FIVE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING.

much like that ridiculous burlesque of the American eagle
which the common canary-bird assumes when teased. " Did
you ever see 'em wash in the fountain in the square '?" said
Roundsman 9999, early one summer morning. I had not.
44 1 guess they're there yet Come and see 'em," he said, and
complacently accompanied me two blocks. I don't know
which was the finer sight, — the thirty or forty winged sprites,
dashing in and out of the basin, each the very impersonation
of a light-hearted, mischievous Puck, or this grave policeman,
with badge and club and shield, looking on with delight.
Perhaps my visible amusement, or the spectacle of a brother
policeman just then going past with a couple of " drunk and
disorderlies," recalled his official responsibilities and duties.
"They say them foreign sparrows drive all the other birds
away," he added, severely ; and then walked off with a certain
reserved manner, as if it were not impossible for him to bo
called upon some morning to take the entire feathered assembly
into custody, and if so called upon he should do it.

Next, I think, in procession among the early risers, and
surely next in fresh and innocent exterior, were the work-
women or shop-girls. I have seen this fine avenue on gala
afternoons bright with the beauty and elegance of an opulent
city, but I have seen no more beautiful faces than I have seen
among these humbler sisters. As the mere habits of dress in
America, except to a very acute critic, give no suggestion of
^he rank of the wearer, I can imagine an inexperienced
foreigner utterly mystified and confounded by these girls,
who perhaps work a sewing-machine or walk the long floors
of a fashionable dry-goods shop. I remember one face and
figure, faultless and complete, — modestly, yet most becomingly
dressed, — indeed, a figure that Compte-Calix might have
taken for one of his exquisite studies, which, between seven
and eight a.m., passed through Eleventh Street, between Sixth
Avenue and Broadway. So exceptionally fine was her carriage,
fco chaste and virginal her presence, and so refined and even

FIVE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING. 171

spiritual her features, that, as a literary man, I would have
been justified in taking her for the heroine of a society novel.
Indeed, I had already woven a little romance about her, when
one morning she overtook me, accompanied by another girl —
pretty, but of a different type — with whom she was earnestly
conversing. As the two passed me, there fell from her fault-
Jess lips the following astounding sentence • " And I told
him, if he didn't like it he might lump it, and he travelled off
on his left ear, you bet !" Heaven knows what indiscretion
this speech saved me from ; but the reader will understand
what a sting the pain of rejection might have added to it by
the above formula.

The " morning- cocktail" men come next in my experience
of early rising. I used to take my early cup of coffee in the
cafe of a certain fashionable restaurant that had a bar
attached. I could not help noticing that, unlike the usual
social libations of my countrymen, the act of taking a morn-
ing cocktail was a solitary one. In the course of my experience
I cannot recall the fact of two men taking an ante-breakfast
cocktail together. On the contrary, I have observed the male
animal rush savagely at the bar, demand his drink of the
bar-keeper, swallow it, and hasten from the scene of his early
debauchery, or else take it in a languid, perfunctory manner,
which, I think, must have been insulting to the bar-keeper.
I have observed two men; whom I had seen drinking amicably
together the preceding night, standing gloomily at the opposite
corners of the bar, evidently trying not to see each other and
making the matter a confidential one with the bar-keeper. I
have seen even a thin disguise of simplicity assumed. I
remember an elderly gentleman, of most respectable exterior,
who used to enter the cafe as if he had strayed there acci-
dentally. After looking around carefully, and yet unosten
tatiously, he would walk to the bar, and, with an air of
affected carelessness, state that " not feeling well this morning,
he guessed he would take— well, he would leave it to the bar-

1"2 'FIVE O'CLOCK IN TTfE MORXIXCl.

keeper." The bar-keeper invariably gave him a stiff brandy
cocktail. When the old gentleman had done this half a dozen
times, I think I lost faith in him. I tried afterwards to glean
from the bar-keeper some facts regarding those experiences,
but I am proud to say that he was honourably reticent.
Indeed, I think it may be said truthfully that there is no
record of a bar-keeper who has been " interviewed/' Clergy-
men and doctors have, but it is well for the weakness of
humanity that the line should be drawn somewhere.

And this reminds me that one distressing phase of early
rising is the incongruous and unpleasant contact of the pre-
ceding night. The social yesterday is not fairly over before
nine a.m. to-day, and there is always a humorous, sometimes
a pathetic lapping over the edges. I remember one morning
at six o'clock to have been overtaken by a carriage that drew
up beside me. I recognized the coachman, who touched his
hat apologetically, as if he wished me to understand that he
was not at all responsible for the condition of his master, and
I went to the door of the carriage. I was astonished to find
two young friends of mine, in correct evening dress, reclining
on each other's shoulders and sleeping the sleep of the justly
inebriated. I stated this fact to the coachman. !Not a muscle
of his well-trained face answered to my smile. But he said :
" You see, sir, we've been out all night, and more than four
blocks below they saw you, and wanted me to hail you, but
you know you stopped to speak to a gentleman, and so I sorter
lingered, and I drove round th« block once or twice, and I
guess I've got 'em quiet agaiu." I looked in the carriage door
once more on these sons of Belial. They were sleeping quite
unconsciously. A bovttonniere in the lapel of the younger
one's coat had shed its leaves, which were scattered over him
"vith a ridiculous suggestion of the " Babes in the Wood,'*
and I closed the carriage door softly. " I suppose I'd better
take 'em home, sir ?" queried the coachman, gravely. *• Well,
yes, John, perhaps you had."

FIVE O'CLOCK IN TEE MORNINQ. 173

There is another picture in my early rising experience that
I wish was as simply and honestly ludicrous. It was at a time
when the moral sentiment of the metropolis, expressed through
ordinance and special legislation, had declared itself against a
certain form of " variety" entertainment, and had, as usual,
proceeded against the performers, and not the people who
encouraged them. I remember, one frosty morning, to have
encountered in "Washington Park my honest friend Sergeant X.
and Roundsman 9999 conveying a party of these derelicts to
the station. One of the women, evidently, had not had time
to change her apparel, and had thinly disguised the flowing
robe and loose cestus of Venus under a ragged " waterproof ;"
while the other, who had doubtless posed for Mercury, hid
her shapely tights in a plaid shawl, and changed her winged
sandals for a pair of "arctics." Their rouged faces were
streaked and stained with tears. The man who was with
them, the male of their species, had but hastily washed him-
self of his Ethiopian presentment, and was still black behind
the ears ; while an exaggerated shirt collar and frilled shirt
made his occasional indignant profanity irresistibly ludicrous •
So they fared on over the glittering snow, against the rosy
sunlight of the square, the gray front of the University build-
ing, with a few twittering sparrows in the foreground, beside
the two policemen, quiet and impassive as fate. I could not
help thinking of the distinguished A., the most fashionable B.,
the wealthy and respectable C., the sentimental D., and the
man of the world E., who were present at the performance,
whose distinguished patronage had called it into life, and who
were then resting quietly in their beds, while these haggard
servants of their pleasaunca were haled over the enow to
punishment and ignominy.

Let me finish by recalling one brighter picture of that
samo season. It was early ; so early that the cross of Grace
Ctmrch had, when I looked up, just caught the morning
suu, and for a moment flamed like a crusader's symbol. And

174 FIVE O'CLOCK HI THE MORNING.

then the grace and glory of that exquisite spire became
Blowly visible. Fret by fret the sunlight stole slowly down,
quivering and dropping from each, until at last the whole
church beamed in rosy radiance. Up and down the long
avenue the street lay in shadow ; by some strange trick of
the atmosphere the sun seemed to have sought out only that
graceful structure for its blessing. And then there was a
dull rumble. It was the first omnibus, — the first throb in the
great artery of the reviving city. I looked up. The church
•was again in shadow.

WITH THE ENTRIES.

jfNCE, when I was a pirate!" —

The speaker was an elderly gentleman in cor-
rect evening dress, the room a tasteful one, the
company of infinite respectability, the locality at
once fashionable and exclusive, the occasion an unexception-
able dinner. To this should be added that the speaker was
also the host.

With these conditions self-evident, all that good breeding
could do was to receive the statement with a vague smile that
might pass for good-humoured incredulity or courteous accep-
tation of a simple fact. Indeed, I think we all rather tried to
convey the impression that our host, when he was a pirate, —
if he ever really was one, — was all that a self-respecting
pirate should be, and never violated the canons of good
society. This idea was, to some extent, crystallized by the
youngest Miss Jones in the exclamation, " Oh, how nice !"

" It was, of course, many years ago, when I was quite a lad."

We all murmured " Certainly," as if piracy were a natural
expression of the exuberance of youth.

"I ought, perhaps, explain the circumstances that led
me into this way of life."

Here Legrande, a courteous attache of the Patagoniao
legation, interposed in French and an excess of politeness,
"that it was not of a necessity," a statement to which his
English neighbour hurriedly responded, " Oui, oui."

" There ess a boke," he continued, in a well-bred, rapid

176 WITH THE ENTREES.

whisper, " from Captain Canot, — a Frenchman, — most
eenteresting — he was — oh, a fine man of education— and
what you call a ' slavair,' " but here he was quietly nudged
into respectful silence.

" I ran away from home," continued our host. He paused,
and then added, appealingly, to the two distinguished
foreigners present : " I do not know if I can make you under-
stand that this is a peculiarly American predilection. The
exodus of the younger males of an American family against
the parents' wishes does not, with us, necessarily carry any
obloquy with it. To the average American the prospect of
fortune and a better condition lies outside of his home ; with
you the home means the estate, the succession of honours or
titles, the surety that the conditions of life shall all be kept
intact. With us the children who do not expect, and gene-
rally succeed in improving the fortunes of the house, are
marked exceptions. Do I make myself clear ?"

The French-Patagonian attache thought it was " charming
and progressif." The Baron von Pretzel thought he had
noticed a movement of that kind in Germany, which was
expressed in a single word of seventeen syllables. Viscount
Piccadilly said to his neighbour: "That, you know now, tbs
younger sons, don't you see, go to Australia, you know in
some beastly trade — stock-raising or sheep — you know ; but,
by Jove ! them fellahs" —

" My father always treated me well," continued oar host.
" I shared equally with my brothers the privileges and limi-
tations of our New England home. Nevertheless I ran away
and went to sea" —

4< To see — what ?" asked Legrande.

44 Aller sur ?ner," said his neighbour, hastily.

" Go on with your piracy !" said Miss Jones.

The distinguished foreigners looked at each other and then
at Miss Jones. Each made a mental note of the average
cold-blooded ferocity of the young American female.

WITH THE. ENTREES. 177

" I shipped on board of a Liverpool * liner,' " continued
our host.

*' What ess a 4 liner?' " interrupted Legrande, sotto voce, to
his next neighbour, who pretended not to hear him.

'•* I need not say that these were the days when we had not
lost our carrying trade, when American bottoms" —

" Que est ce, * bot toom,' " said Legrande, imploringly, to
uis other friend.

" When American bottoms still carried the bulk of freight,
and the supremacy of our flag" —

Here Legrande recognized a patriotic sentiment and re-
sponded to it with wild republican enthusiasm, nodding his
jiead violently. Piccadilly noticed it, too, and, seeing an
opening for some general discussion on free trade, began half
audibly to his neighbour : " Most extraordinary thing, you
know, your American statesmen" —

" I deserted the ship at Liverpool" —

But here two perfunctory listeners suddenly turned toward
Ihe other end of the table, where another guest, our Nevada
Bonanza lion, was evidently in the full flood of pioneer
Anecdote and narration. Calmly disregarding the defection,
he went on : —

" I deserted the ship at Liverpool in consequence of my ill-
treatment by the second mate, — a man selected for his posi-
tion by reason of his superior physical strength and recog-
nized brutality. I have been since told that he graduated
from the state prison. On the second day out I saw him
strike a man senseless with a belaying pin for some trifling
breach of discipline. I saw him repeatedly beat and kick
sick men" —

" Did you ever read Dana's 4 Two Years before the Mast ?' "
asked Lightbody, our heavy literary man, turning to his
neighbour, in a distinctly audible whisper. "Ah! there's a
book ! Got all this sort of thing in it. Dev'lishly wel
written, too."

12

-78 WITH THE ENTREES.

The Patagonian (alive for information) : " Who ess this
olana, eh ?"

His left hand neighbour (shortly) : " Oh, that man !"

His right hand neighbour (curtly) : " The fellah who wrote
the Encyclopaedia andj edits 4 The Sun ?' that was put up in
Boston for the English mission and didn't get it."

The Patagonian (making a mental diplomatic note of the
fact that the severe discipline of the editor of " The Sun,"
one of America's profoundest scholars, while acting from
patriotic motives, as the second mate of an American " bot-
tom," had unfitted him for diplomatic service abroad) : "^4/i,
cieir

11 1 wandered on the quays for a day or two, until I was
picked up by a Portuguese sailor, who, interesting himself in
my story, offered to procure me a passage to Fayal and
Lisbon, where, he assured me, I could find more comfortable
and profitable means of returning to my own land. Let me
say here that this man, although I knew him afterwards as
one of the most unscrupulous and heartless of pirates, — in
fact, the typical buccaneer of the books, — was to ine always
kind, considerate, and, at times, even tender. He was a
capital seaman. I give this evidence in favour of a much
ridiculed race, who have been able seamen for centuries."

"Did you ever read that Portuguese Guide-book?" asked
Lif'htbody of his neighbour ; ** it's the most exquisitely ri-
diculous thing" —

" Will the great American pirate kindly go on, or resume
his original functions," said Miss Jones, over the table, with
a significant look in the direction of Lightbody. But her
anxiety was instantly misinterpreted by the polite and fair-
play loving Englishman : "I say, now, don't you know that
the fact is these Portuguese feUahs are always ahead of us in
the discovery business ? Why, you know" —

** I shipped with him on a brig, ostensibly bound to St. liitts
and a market. We had scarcely left port before I discovered

WITH THE ENTREES. 179

the true character of the vessel. I will not terrify you with
useless details. Enough that all that tradition and romance
has given you of the pirate's life was ours. Happily, through
the kindness of my Portuguese friend, I was kept from being
an active participant in scenes of which I was an unwilling
witness. But I must always bear my testimony to one fact.
Our discipline, our esprit du corps, if I may so term it, was
perfect. No benevolent society, no moral organization, was
ever so personally self-sacrificing, so honestly loyal to one
virtuous purpose, as we were to our one vice. The individual
was always merged in the purpose. When our captain blew
out the brains ot our quartermaster, one day" —

" That reminds me — did you read of that Georgia murder?"
began Lightbody ; " it was in all the papers I think. Oh, I
beg pardon" —

" For simply interrupting him in a conversation with our
second officer," continued our host, quietly. " The act,
although harsh and perhaps unnecessarily final, was, I think,
indorsed by the crew. James, pass the champagne to Mr.
Lightbody."

He paused a moment for the usual casual interruption, but
even the active Legrande was silent.

Alas ! from the other end of the table came the voice of the
Bonanza man : —

"The rope was around her neck. Well, gentlemen, that
Mexican woman standing there, with that crowd around her,
eager for her blood, dern my skin ! if she didn't call out to the
sheriff to hold on a minit. And what fer? Ye can't guess!
Why, one of them long braids she wore was under the noose,
and kinder in the way. I remember her raising her hand to
her neck and givin' a spiteful sort of jerk to the braid that
fetched it outside the slip-knot, and then saying to the sheriff :
' There, d — n ye, go on.' There was a sort o' thoughtfulness
in the act, a kind o' keerless, easy way, that jist fetched the
boys— even them thet hed the rope in their hands, and they" —

ISO WITTT THE FXTi:

(suddenly recognising the silence): "Oh, bo.-: pardon, old
mail ; didn't know L\l chipped into your yarn — heave ahead;
ilon't mind me."

•• What 1 am trying to toll you is this: One night, in tho
Caribbean Sea, wo ran into one of the Leeward Islands, that
had boon in olden time a rende.-.vons for our ship. We were
piloted to our anchorage outside by my Portuguese friend,
\vho knew the locality thoroughly, and on whose dexterity
and skill we [ -a» ed the greatest relianoo. If anything more-
had been necessary to fix tin-* circumstance in my mind, it
would have been the t'aet that two or three days before ho
hail assured mo that I should presently have tho means of
honourable discharge from the pirate's orow, and a return to
my native, laud. A lanneh was sent from tho ship to oom-
numioate with our friends on the island, who supplied us with
stores, provisions, and general information.. Tho launch was
manned by eight men, and otiicered by the first mate, — agrimt
Puritanical, practical New Knglander, if 1 may use such a
term to describe a pirate, of great courage, experience, and
physical strength. My Portuguese friend, acting as pilot,
prevailed upon them to allow mo to accompany the patty a-;
coxswain. L was naturally anxious, you can readily com-
prehend, to see" —

"Certainly." "Of course," 4* Why shouldn't you?" wont
round the table.

"Two trustworthy men were sent ashore with instructions.
Wo, meanwhile, lay off the low, palm-fringed beach, our
crew lying on their oars, or gh ing way just enough to keep
the boat's head to tho breakers. I he mate and myself sat in
the stern shoots, 1. oking shoreward for the signal. Tho night
.tens ly black. I'orhaps for this reason never before
had L seen the phosphorescence of a tropical sea so strongly
marked. Fivm tho great open beyond, luminous creste and
plumes of pale tiro lifted themselves, ghost-like, at our bows,
sank, swept by us with long, shimmering, undulating trails,

ir/v// '/'///; / i' i

lii-ol.r on Hio |ie:ie|i in -dvery OrOICOntl, Or r.li.'ilt'-ir,! HM-II-

lii ij-lil.iM- i on t.ln- l.|;irU n.ebi ol KM- |>i nlory. 'I In- \vliolo

VRit H<!U Hlioim und l.wilil: led h ! ••< .1 n< .! lin fii nmm> -n I . ;ij.;»iillHt
\vlii<-li Mm li"ine;i <>(" our men, Hilling vvil.li Mmu l.i.-ri toward

n < in I.I i in" I «l.ir I. I y. Tin- ,"i mi, i'.el, |C;i! ni <• '. <>l our lii I.
inril.e, fitting I"' idn mi-, W9W I'.iinl.ly il Iniinn.il r.|. 'I'lici •«•

> ;-.miti'l l>nt, tin- wlii . |.IT o|' |.;c in-- \\.iv. : .. •• n n :.!, on r
l.i 1 1 . I.M ;il. , JIIH! MM- low, nnif nun in" <•< m v« i 1 1 n >n n! Mm men
I li;i«l my fftOfl bOWttfd thl I ln"lf'l ovi-r (In- "11111

I'H-riii I ixldcnly ln-:inl Mn> \v h i :|H-I c. I ii;um-ol' our

fn-Ht, in. ill-. A .; icMi nly, l»y Mm |.!M. \<\\- >i >• •• • n I. li;-lil, MM).

i'.iii-in.ir.«i.-.i it, i ,:;.w MM-, inn;', trailing balv
ihouldori of ft wotnftn floAtiog bdiidi ' Logrftndt) .v"i

|.-...il.,v«-ly iliinl.in.", QOthlOg I l-i;- .liM.«nly , you HP-
Mm BttfgUndy >"»n n.:i-il lo liln- il, !"

1 1<- p.-innril, hill, no oin- IpOBOi

"I Let me MO I wln-n- \v;u I? <)li,y<".! \\'i'll, I !'.;iw III^
worn.'in, ;ui<l wln-n I Mirii'-'l M» r;ill MM- ;i.l.l.i-iil.jnii ol Mi
in.-i.if l.o MII;I r.-K-l., I l.in-vv mi l;uil ly, l»y IOIT10 >'
in Ini'-l., l,li:i.l, In- li;i'l lii'i-n ;iii(l |IC;H«| In i , Too. So, IVoin lli;il,
in nine nl, lo (In- i-.'»iiclii:'.ic.n ol our lil,l,|c di ;un:i., wn Wi-rn , ilcnlf

inii, rnfoH-.-.i ipeotftt

41 She nw;ini /'(.leelully :-:ileiil.|y ! I renicinlier n--
tlin.ir'l. Ili.-il. (,dd, h.ill w.-ird plio: <|,lnn « . ••; n I, Irdil, wlndi
I.K.I..- ov< , I,, -i- ulioiil'l 1.1 IIH »liri roH'-. Jind fell wiMi i-;n-.h fjnn I.
H f,|-o I; e o| l,e i si j.l end idly roiindi <l ;n in :, Mi;i.t . l,e w 1:1 n. m;il m •-,
perfectly l-.imed woni.in. ! reineinlx-r, ;ilo, lli.il, vvlii-n r.ln-
re.'K.lied Mm l.o.'it, n.nd, nn j.poi-l in^ InTi'.ell' wiMi one t'.ni;i II liiihd
on Mid ;Minvv.il'n . e;d|ed Mm ni.ilc in i\. vv In -(.er l.y |,i:i

I )i;id u l.-.yi.Ji id. ;i Mi;.i ii,< f]

e.r te,n;de ..flii ,i(|n-e.ie;i -.-bi»— cr— n;dni:il wilVI I'm l.oiiii.".
yon ;un I m.i

Two or l.lnee. lien.' \ K ,|en M y ,'l.iid ne; ';i I I ve!y. '| Im

yonn^e:iL, ;ind, I re;.|-el, lo ;-.;iy, Mn- <;A/, /, Mi:-. ,l
'tier ; yni|iHl,liel ically^ t( (i(» on j.le;i:ie, • <Jo 1"

182 WJTH THE ENTRIES.

44 The — woman toW him in a few rapid words that he had
been betrayed ; that ihe two men sent ashore were now in the
hands of the authorities ; that a force was being organized to
capture the vessel; that instant flight was necessary, and
that the betrayer and traitor was — my friend, the Portuguese
Fernandez!

44 The mate riiised the dripping, little brown hand to his
lips, and whispered some undistinguishable words in her ear.
I remember seeing her return a look of ineffable love and
happiness upon his grim, set face, and then she was gone,
She dove as a duck dives, and 1 saw her shapely head, after
a moment's suspense, reappear a cable's length away toward
the shore.

44 1 ventured to raise my eyes to the mate's face ; it was cold
and impassive. I turned my face toward the crew; they
were conversing in whispers with each other, with their faces
toward IAS, yet apparently utterly oblivious of the scene that
had just taken place in the stern. There was a moment of
silence, and then the mate's voice came out quite impassively
but distinctly : —

44 4 Fernandez!'

444 Aye, aye, sir !*

" * Come aft and — bring your oar with you.'

41 4 He did so, stumbling over the men, who, engaged in
their whispered yarns, didn't seem to notice him.

" ' See if you can find soundings here.'

44 Fernandez leaned over the stem and dropped his oar to
its shaft in the phosphorescent water. But he touched no
bottom ; the current brought the oar at right angles presently
to the surface.

44 * Send it down, man,' said the mate, imperatively ; ' down,
down. Reach over there. What are you afraid of? So, steady
there ; I'll hold you.'

Fernandez leaned over the stern and sent the oar and half
of his bared brown arm into the water. In an instant the

WITH THE ENTREES. 183

mate caught him -with one tremendous potential grip at hia
elbows, and forced him and his oar head downward in the
waters. The act was so sudden, yet so carefully premeditated,
that no outcry escaped the doomed man. Even the launch
scarcely dipped her stern to the act. In that awful moment I
heard a light laugh from one of the men in response to a
wanton yarn from his comrade. James, bring the Vichy to
Mr. Lightbody. You'll iind that a dash of cognac will
improve it wonderfully.

44 Well — to go on — a few bubbles arose to the surface.
Fernandez seemed unreasonably passive, until I saw that
when the mate had gripped his elbows with his hands he had
also firmly locked the traitor's knees within his own. In a
few moments — it seemed to me, then, a century — the mate's
grasp relaxed ; the body of Fernandez, a mere limp, leaden
mass, slipped noiselessly and heavily into the sea. There was
no splash. The ocean took it calmly and quietly to its depth?.
The mate turned to the men, without deigning to cast a
gl mce on me.

44 4 Oars !'

" The men raised their oars apeak.

444 Let fall!'

" There was a splash in the water, encircling the boat in
concentric lines of molten diver.

" 4Give way!'

44 Well, of course, that's all ! We got away in time. I
knew I bored you awfully ! Eh ? Oh, you want to know
what became of the woman — really, I don't know! And
myself — oh, I got away at Havana ! Eh ? Certainly ; James,
you'll find some smelling salts in my bureau. Gentlemen, I
fear we have kept the ladies too long."

But they had already risen, and were slowly filing out
of the room. Only one lingered — the youngest Miss
Jones.

44 That was a capital story," she said, pausing beside our

184 WITH THE ENTREES.

boat, with a special significance in her usual audacity. Do,,
you know you absolutely sent cold chills down my spine a
moment ago. Keally, now, you ought to write for the
magazines !"

Our host looked up at the pretty, audacious face. Then no
said, ftotto vocey—

"Idol"

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