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And  Other  Sketches 
!W 


•  ••- 


Chatto  &   Windus,   Pieced 


University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


or  turn  grey,  if  frequent  use  is  made  oi 


ROWLAND'S  MACASSAR  OIL, 

The  best  and  safest  preserver  and  beautifier  in  use ;  it  con 
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MM£££  CLVB,  and  100  other  Scents,  from  as.  6d. 

SHSJS1  1!  CELEBRATED  TOILET  VINEGAR,  is.,  at.  6d.,  and  «. 

IMMFT  S  5?SS£Y8>  f°r  Prom<>«*8  the  Growth  of  the  Hair,?*.  6d. 
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wAr>-a'1\riTt^iJTXTtJpropertiesof  transparent  Soap,  is.  6d.  per  box  o?a  Cakes. 
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Kmf«^rSc  ln  boxe«.  i»-  &d;  with  puff,  as.  6d. 

MEL'S    AQtfADENTINE,   a  fragrant    Floral   Extract  for   cleansing  and 
«nnirir?5onf^2^ffi&  refreshing  the  Mouth,  and  sweetening  the  Breath,  as.  f.d. 
RIMMEL  8  AROMATIC  OZONIZER,  or  NATUBAL  AIB  PURIFIKB,  a  fragrant  pow- 
der,  producing  in  dwelling  houses  or  places  of  public  resort,  by  simple  slow 
evaporation,  the  refreshing  and  healthy  emanations  of  the  Pine  and  Euca 
lyptus  Forests.    In4oz.  tins,  i».,  by  post  for  15  Stamps. 

EUGENE  RIMMEL,  Perfumer  by  Appointment  to  H.R.H.  the  Princess  of  Wales,  96  Strand- 
128.  Regent  St ;  &  24,  CoraUll,  London.  76,  King's  Road,  Brighton.  17,  Boulevard  des  Italiena,  Paris. 

[25.] 


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BROWN  &  POISON'S  CORN  FLOUR 

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K  EAT  IN  OS  KEAT  I  N   C'S 

POWDER       COUCH 

LOZENGES 


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Cadbury's  Cocoa 
Essence  is  three 
times  the  strength 
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which  thicken  in 
the  cup. 


CAUTION. 

Beware  of   Imita 
tions  which  are  often 


ers  for  the  sake  of 
extra  profit. 


FOR  THE  VASELINE  SOAP    TOILEJ 

MANUFACTURED  FROM  PURE    VASELINE  (PETROLEUM  JELL'. 
SIXPENNY  AND  SHILLING-  TABLETS. 

VASELINE  is  the  most  healing  and  soothing  substance  known  to  science,  and  is  applied  by  me 
men  to  the  most  i-  flamed  and  delicate  surfaces.    It  cannot  in  any  length  of  time  become  rancid 
will  be  readily  understood  that  Soap  made  of  this  material  far  surpasses  any  other  for  its  bench 
action  on  ihe  skin     Vide  Lancet,  Daily  Telegraph,  &c. 

VASELINE  SOAP  is  the  most  delicate  and  elegant  Toilet  Soap  in  the  market.    It  retains  all  t 
virtues  of  the  Vaseline  itself,  of  which  the  following  appears  in  the  Appendix  to  Dr.  SCHL1EMASN  : 
"Ilios."    The  famous  Dr.  ViRCHOW,  of  Berlin,  says:  "Of  the  VASELINE  I  must  make  particula 
acknowledgment  not  only  against  the  effects  of  sunburning  on  the  skin,  but  also  in  various  exc 
tions,  especially  from  riding,  it  proved  to  be  highly  beneficial." 

VASELINE  SOAP  HAS  BEEN  AWARDED  SIX    PRIZE   MEDALS^ 

The  Genuine  Soap  stamped"  CHESEBROUGH."    For  Sale  everywhere. 
For  Pamphlets,  address  CHESEBROUGH  MANUFACTURING  CO.,  41,  Holborn  Viaduct,  E.G. 

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Principal-Mr.  J.  SHIPLEY  SLIPPER,  R.D.S.,  Surgeon  Dentist 

By  the  combination  of  two  of  his  latest  inventions,  Mr.  J.  SHIPLEY  SLIPPER  is  now  enabled  to 
adapt  Artificial  Teeth  to  the  mouth  without  the  extraction  of  loose  teeth  or  stumps.  These  Teeth 
never  change  colour,  are  fitted  to  the  mouth  without  any  unsightly  wires  Ot  fastenings,  and  are  so  life 
like  as  to  defy  the  keenest  and  most  experienced  observer. 

CHARGES.  s.   d. 

Artificial  Teeth  on  the  new  base,  durable  and  natural,  from      *   6 

A  Set  Complete 20    o 

Stopping,  Scaling,  and  Painless  Extraction          26 

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STEPHEN  S' 

Writing  and  Copying  Inks 

AND 

MARKING   INK    FOR   LINEN 


ARE  THE  BEST  IN  THE  WORLD. 


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THE 

LUCK    OF     ROARING    CAMP 

AND    OTHER    SKETCHES. 


( 


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|  Luck  of  Roaring  Camp 


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BY  JAMES  GREENWOOD. 

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BY  VICTOR  HUGO. 

The  Hunchback  of  Notre  Dame. 

BY     MRS.     ALFRED     HUNT. 

Thornicroft's  Model. 

BYJEANINGELOW  |  BY  HENRY  JAMES. 
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Strathmore.  Pascarel. 

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Under  T-wo  Flags.  Signa. 

Idalia.  In  a  Winter  City. 

Cecil  Castlemaine.  Ariadne. 

Tricotrin.  Friendship. 

Picck. 


Folle  Farine. 


Lost  Sir  Massingberd. 

A  Perfect  Treasure. 

Bentinck's  Tutor. 

Murphy's  Master. 

A  County  Family. 

At  Her  Mercy. 

A  Woman's  Vengeance. 

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Family  Scapegrace. 

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Found  Dead. 

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Walter's  Word. 

Halves. 

Fallen  Ft 


BY  JAMES   PAYN. 


Never  Too  Late  to  Mend 

Hard  Cash. 

Peg  Woffington. 

Christie  Johnstone. 

Griffith  Gaunt. 

Put  Y'r self  in  His  Place 


Moths. 
Pipistrello. 


What  he  Cost  Her. 
Gwendoline's  Harvest. 
Humorous  Stories. 
Like  Father,  Like  Son. 
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Married  beneath  Him. 
Mirk  Abbey. 
Not  Wooed,  but  ll^on. 
Two  Hundred  Reward 
Less  Black  than  we're 

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By  Proxy. 
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BY  CHARLES  READE. 


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Foul  Play. 
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Autobiogr.  of  a  Thief. 


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Mystery  Marie  Roget.     I  Her  Mother's  Darling. 
BY  GEORGE  AUGUSTUS  SALA. 
Gaslight  and  Daylight. 
BY  JOHN  SAUNDERS. 
Bound  to  the  Wheel.        I    Guy  Waterman 
One  Against  the  World.     The  Lion  in  the  Path. 
BY  ARTHUR  SKETCHLEY. 

A  Match  in  the  Dark. 
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Tales  for  the  Marines. 

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CHATTO    AND    WINDUS,    PICCADILLY,    W. 


THE 


LUCK   OF   ROARING  CAMP 


AND    OTHER    SKETCHES 


BY 

BRET     HARTE 


A   NEW  EDITION 


ilontjon 
-CHATTO    AND    WINDUS,    PICCADILLY 


CONTENTS. 


I.  SKETCHES—  PAGE 

THE    LUCK    OF   ROARING   CAMP             .            .  .  .1 

THE    OUTCASTS   OF   POKER    FLAT          .            .  ,  .15 

HIGGLES     V:'.  \Y":  'YV  ••"..'  "'"?  «;"      •  •  ,28 

TENNESSEE'S  PARTNER  .     •   .     v;'.  .      .,  .  .41 

THE    IDYL    OF   RED    GULCH        .            .            „  .  52 

HIGH-WATER   MARK          .            .            .  ^        .  .  .         63 

A    LONELY    RIDE   .         "-..'        '  ,  _      .  ,             .  .  .          72 

THE    MAN   OF   NO   ACCOUNT       .            ..    \     »  :       .  .          79 

II.  STORIES— 

MLISS        .     '.            .           V            .  r        .'       "    .  .  .          85 

THE    RIGHT    EYE    OF   THE    COMMANDER       Y\  .  1 15 

NOTES    BY    FLOOD   AND    FIELD               ,  -      .«  .  .       124 

III.  BOHEMIAN  PAPERS— 

THE    MISSION    DOLORES    .        -    ,            .     •        */  .  .       150 

JOHN   CHINAMAN    .            .            .            .            .  .  .       153 

FROM    A   BACK   WINDOW             .            .            .  .  .156 

BOONDER ,  159 


vi  CONTENTS. 

SENSATION  NOVELS  CONDENSED- 
PAGE 

SELINA    SEDILIA.       BY    MISS    M.    E.    B-DD-N    AND   MRS. 

H-N-Y   W-D       .  .  .  '  ..  .  .       165 

FANTINE.      AFTER   THE    FRENCH    OF   VICTOR    HUGO         .       173 
TERENCE   DEUVILLE.      BY  CH-L-S    L-V-R  .  ,  .      '178 

THE     DWELLER     OF    THE     THRESHOLD.       BY    SIR    ED-D 

L-TT-N   B-LW-R  .  -.  *         ...  .  ,       184 

THE   NINETY-NINE  GUARDSMEN.       BY   AL-X-D-R   D-M-S       189 

MUCK-A-MUCK.        A   MODERN    INDIAN    NOVEL.      AFTER 

COOPER     .        ;    *      .      •  *  •  •  •  *       I9^ 

MR.  MIDSHIPMAN  BREEZY.       BY  CAPTAIN  M-RRY-T,  R.N.       204 

GUY     HEAVYSTONE  ;     OR,     "  ENTIRE."        A     MUSCULAR 

NOVEL.       BY   THE    AUTHOR   OF   "  SWORD   AND    GUN"       212 

THE     HAUNTED     MAN.         A     CHRISTMAS     STORY.         BY 

CII-R-S  D-CK-NS        ...       »         .     -,  .        "•      "  ,.    219 
"LA  FEMME."     AFTER  THE  FRENCH  OF  M.  MICHELET     228 

MARY    M'GILLUP.       A    SOUTHERN    NOVEL.       AFTER 
BELLE  BOYD     .         .     •    .      •  .     -   *         *         »     232 

MISS   MIX.       BY    CH-L-TTE    BR-NTE   .  «  t  ,       238 

N.  N.      BEING  A  NOVEL  IN   THE   FRENCH  PARAGRAPHIC 

STYLfc        .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .       248 

NO    TITLE.       BY    W-LK-E   C-LL-NS      .  .  .  .252 

HANDSOME    IS    AS    HANDSOME    DOES.         BY   CH-S   R-DE       260 


CONTENTS.  vii 

SIvLTCHES —  PAGE 

ME.  THOMPSON'S  PRODIGAL    .         .         .         .         .     273 

MELONS 282 

THE    ROMANCE    OF    MADRONO    HOLLOW  .  .  .289 

A  NIGHT   AT   WINGDAM  .  .  ,  .  .      302 


THE 

LUCK   OF  ROARING   CAMP 

AND    OTHER    SKETCHES. 


L-SKETCHES. 


THE  LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMP. 

'HPHERE  was  commotion  in  Roaring  Camp.  It  could 
-1-  not  have  been  a  fight,  for  in  1850  that  was  not  novel 
enough  to  have  called  together  the  entire  settlement.  The 
ditches  and  claims  were  not  only  deserted,  but  "  Tuttle's 
grocery"  had  contributed  its  gamblers,  who,  it  will  be  re 
membered,  calmly  continued  their  game  the  day  that  French 
Pete  and  Kanaka  Joe  shot  each  other  to  death  over  the  bar 
in  the  front  room.  The  whole  camp  was  collected  before  a 
rude  cabin  on  the  outer  edge  of  the  clearing.  Conversation 
was  carried  on  in  a  low  tone,  but  the  name  of  a  woman  was 
frequently  repeated.  It  was  a  name  familiar  enough  in  the 
camp, — "  Cherokee  Sal." 

Perhaps  the  less  said  of  her  the  better.  She  was  a  coarse, 
and,  it  is  to  be  feared,  a  very  sinful  woman.  But  at  that 
time  she  was  the  only  woman  in  Roaring  Camp,  and  was 
just  then  lying  in  sore  extremity,  when  she  most  needed  the 
ministration  of  her  own  sex.  Dissolute,  abandoned,  and 
irreclaimable,  she  was  yet  suffering  a  martyrdom  hard 
enough  to  bear  even  when  veiled  by  sympathizing  woman 
hood,  but  now  terrible  in  her  loneliness.  The  primal  curse 
had  come  to  her  in  that  original  isolation  which  must  have 
made  the  punishment  of  the  first  transgression  so  dreadful. 
It  was,  perhaps,  part  of  the  expiation  of  her  sin,  that,  at  s 

v  2 


THE  LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMP. 

Tuoment  when  she  most  lacked  her  sex's  intuitive  tenderness 
and  care,  she  met  only  the  half-contemptuous  faces  of  her 
masculine  associates.  Yet  a  few  of  the  spectators  were,  I 
think,  touched  by  her  sufferings.  Sandy  Tipton  thought  it 
was  "  rough  on  Sal,"  and,  in  the  contemplation  of  her  con 
dition,  for  a  moment  rose  superior  to  the  fact  that  he  had  an 
ace  and  two  bowers  in  his  sleeve. 

It  will  be  seen,  also,  that  the  situation  was  novel.  Deaths 
were  by  no  means  uncommon  in  Roaring  Camp,  but  a  birth 
was  a  new  thing.  People  had  been  dismissed  the  camp 
effectively,  finally,  and  with  no  possibility  of  return;  but 
this  was  the  first  time  that  anybody  had  been  introduced 
ab  initio.  Hence  the  excitement. 

"You  go  in  there,  Stumpy,"  said  a  prominent  citizet 
known  as  "  Kentuck,"  addressing  one  of  the  loungers.  "  Go 
in  there,  and  see  what  you  kin  do.  You've  had  experience 
in  them  things." 

Perhaps  there  was  a  fitness  in  the  selection.  Stumpy,  in 
other  climes,  had  been  the  putative  head  of  two  families ;  in 
fact,  it  was  owing  to  some  legal  informality  in  these  pro 
ceedings  that  Roaring  Camp — a  city  of  refuge — was  in 
debted  to  his  company.  The  crowd  approved  the  choice, 
and  Stumpy  was  wise  enough  to  bow  to  the  majority.  The 
door  closed  on  the  extempore  surgeon  and  midwife,  and 
Roaring  Camp  sat  down  outside,  smoked  its  pipe,  and 
awaited  the  issue. 

The  assemblage  numbered  about  a  hundred  men.  One  or 
two  of  these  were  actual  fugitives  from  justice,  some  were 
criminal,  and  all  were  reckless.  Physically,  they  exhibited 
no  indication  of  their  past  lives  and  character.  The  greatest 
scamp  had  a  Raphael  face,  with  a  profusion  of  blond  hair ; 
Oakhurst,  a  gambler,  had  the  melancholy  air  and  intellectual 
abstraction  of  a  Hamlet ;  the  coolest  and  most  courageous 
man  was  scarcely  over  five  feet  in  height,  with  a  soft  voice 
and  an  embarrassed,  timid  manner.  The  tf.rm  "rouphs" 


THE  LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMP.  5 

applied  to  tliem  was  a  distinction  rather  than  a  definition. 
Perhaps  in  the  minor  details  of  fingers,  toes,  ears,  &c.,  the 
camp  may  have  been  deficient  j  but  these  slight  omissions 
did  not  detract  from  their  aggregate  force.  The  strongest 
man  had  but  three  fingers  on  his  right  hand  ;  the  best  shot 
had  but  one  eye. 

Such  was  the  physical  aspect  of  the  men  that  were  dis 
persed  around  the  cabin.  The  camp  lay  in  a  triangular 
valley,  between  two  hills  and  a  river.  The  only  outlet  was 
a  steep  trail  over  the  summit  of  a  hill  that  faced  the  cabin, 
now  illuminated  by  the  rising  moon.  The  suffering  woman 
might  have  seen  it  from  the  rude  bunk  whereon  she  lay, — 
seen  it  winding  like  a  silver  thread  until  it  was  lost  in  the 
stars  above. 

A  fire  of  withered  pine-boughs  added  sociability  to  the 
gathering.  By  degrees  the  natural  levity  of  Roaring  Camp 
returned.  Bets  were  freely  offered  and  taken  regarding  the 
result.  Three  to  five  that  "  Sal  would  get  through  with 
it ; "  even  that  the  child  would  survive  ;  side  bets  as  to  the 
sex  and  complexion  of  the  coming  stranger.  In  the  midst 
of  an  excited  discussion  an  exclamation  came  from  those 
nearest  the  door,  and  the  camp  stopped  to  listen.  Above 
the  swaying  and  moaning  of  the  pines,  the  swift  rush  of  the 
river,  and  the  crackling  of  the  fire,  rose  a  sharp,  querulous 
cry — a  cry  unlike  anything  heard  before  in  the  camp.  The 
pines  stopped  moaning,  the  river  ceased  to  rush,  and  the 
lire  to  crackle.  It  seemed  as  if  Nature  had  stopped  to 
listen  too. 

The  camp  rose  to  its  feet  as  one  man  !  It  was  proposed 
to  explode  a  barrel  of  gunpowder,  but,  in  consideration  of 
the  situation  of  the  mother,  better  counsels  prevailed,  and 
only  a  few  revolvers  were  discharged ;  for,  whether  owing 
to  the  rude  surgery  of  the  camp,  or  some  other  reason, 
Cherokee  Sal  was  sinking  fast.  Within  an  hour  she  had 
climbed,  as  it  were,  that  rugged  road  that  led  to  the  stars, 


6  THE  LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMP. 

and  so  passed  out  of  Roaring  Camp,  its  sin  and  shame,  for 
ever.  I  do  not  think  that  the  announcement  disturbed 
them  much,  except  in  speculation  as  to  the  fate  of  the  child.- 
"Can  he  live  now?"  was  asked  of  Stumpy.  The  answer 
was  doubtful.  The  only  other  being  of  Cherokee  Sal's  se£ 
and  maternal  condition  in  the  settlement  was  an  ass.  There 
was  some,  conjecture  as  to  fitness,  but  the  experiment  was 
tried.  It  was  less  problematical  than  the  ancient  treatment 
of  Romulus  and  Remus,  and  apparently  as  successful. 

When  these  details  were  completed,  which  exhausted 
another  hour,  the  door  was  opened,  and  the  anxious  crowd 
of  men  who  had  already  formed  themselves  into  a  queue, 
entered  in  single  file.  Beside  the  low  bunk  or  shelf,  on 
which  the  figure  of  the  mother  was  starkly  outlined  below 
the  blankets,  stood  a  pine  table.  On  this  a  candle-box  was 
placed,  and  within  it,  swathed  in  staring  red  flannel,  lay  the 
last  arrival  at  Roaring  Camp.  Beside  the  candle-box  was 
placed  a  hat.  Its  use  was  soon  indicated.  "  Gentlemen," 
said  Stumpy,  with  a  singular  mixture  of  authority  and  ex 
qfficio  complacency, — "  Gentlemen  will  please  pass  in  at  the 
front  door,  round  the  table,  and  out  at  the  back  door.  Them 
as  wishes  to  contribute  anything  toward  the  orphan  will  find 
a  hat  handy."  The  first  man  entered  with  his  hat  on  ;  he 
uncovered,  however,  as  he  looked  about  him,  and  so,  uncon 
sciously,  set  an  example  to  the  next.  In  such  communities 
good  and  bad  actions  are  catching.  As  the  procession  filed 
in,  comments  were  audible, — criticisms  addressed,  perhaps, 
rather  to  Stumpy,  in  the  character  of  showman, — "  Is  that 
him  ?  "  "  mighty  small  specimen  ;  "  "  hasn't  mor'n  got  the 
colour"  "ain't  bigger  nor  a  derringer."  The  contributions 
were  as  characteristic  :  A  silver  tobacco-box  ;  a  doubloon  ; 
a  navy  revolver,  silver  mounted ;  a  gold  specimen  ;  a  very 
beautifully  embroidered  lady's  handkerchief  from  Oakhurst, 
the  gambler) ;  a  diamond  breastpin ;  a  diamond  ring  (sug 
gested  by  the  pin,  with  the  remark  from  the  giver  that  he 


THE  LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMF.  ? 

"  saw  that  pin  and  went  two  diamonds  better ")  j  a  slung 
shot  j  a  Bible  (contributor  not  detected) ;  a  golden  spur ; 
a  silver  teaspoon  (the  initials,  I  regret  to  say,  were  not  the 
giver's)  ;  a  pair  of  surgeon's  shears ;  a  lancet ;  a  Bank  of 
England  note  for  £5  ;  and  about  $200  in  loose  gold  and 
silver  <coin.  During  these  proceedings  Stumpy  maintained  a 
silence  as  impassive  as  the  dead  on  his  left,  a  gravity  as  in 
scrutable  as  that  of  the  newly  born  on  his  right.  Only  one 
incident  occurred  to  break  the  monotony  of  the  curious  pro 
cession.  As  Kentuck  bent  over  the  candle-box  half  curi 
ously,  the  child  turned,  and,  in  a  spasm  of  pain,  caught  at 
his  groping  finger,  and  held  it  fast  for  a  moment.  Kentuck 
looked  foolish  and  embarrassed.  Something  like  a  blush 
tried  to  assert  itself  in  his  weather-beaten  cheek.  "The 
d — d  little  cuss  !  "  he  said,  as  he  extricated  his  finger,  with, 
perhaps,  more  tenderness  and  care  than  he  might  have  been 
deemed  capable  of  showing.  He  held  that  finger  a  little 
apart  from  its  fellows  as  he  went  out,  and  examined  it 
curiously.  The  examination  provoked  the  same  original  re 
mark  in  regard  to  the  child.  In  fact,  he  seemed  to  enjoy 
repeating  it.  "  He  rastled  with  my  finger,"  he  remarked  to 
Tipton,  holding  up  the  member,  "  the  d — cl  little  cuss  !  " 

It  was  four  o'clock  before  the  camp  sought  repose.  A 
light  burnt  in  the  cabin  where  the  watchers  sat,  for  Stumpy 
did  not  go  to  bed  that  night.  Nor  did  Kentuck.  He  drank 
quite  freely,  and  related  with  great  gusto  his  experience,  in 
variably  ending  with  his  characteristic  condemnation  of  the 
new-comer.  It  seemed  to  relieve  him  of  any  unjust  impli 
cation  of  sentiment,  and  Kentuck  had  the  weaknesses  of 
the  nobler  sex.  When  everybody  else  had  gone  to  bed,  ho 
walked  down  to  the  river,  and  whistled  reflectingly.  Then 
he  walked  up  the  gulch,  past  the  cabin,  still  whistling  with 
demonstrative  unconcern.  At  a  large  red-wood  tree  he 
paused  and  retraced  his  steps,  and  again  passed  the  cabin. 
Half- way  down  to  the  river's  bank  he  again  paused.,  and  then 


8  THE  LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMP. 

returned  and  knocked  at  the  door.  It  was  opened  by 
Stumpy.  "How  goes  it  ?"  said  Kentuck,  looking  past 
Stumpy  toward  the  candle-box.  "All  serene,"  replied 
Stumpy.  "Anything  up?"  "Nothing."  There  was  a 
pause-  an  embarrassing  one — Stumpy  still  holding  the  door. 
Then  Kentuck  had  recourse  to  his  finger,  which  he  held  up 
to  Stumpy.  "  Rastled  with  it, — the  d — d  little  cuss,"  he 
said,  and  retired. 

The  next  day  Cherokee  Sal  had  such  rude  sepulture  as 
Hearing  Camp  afforded.  After  her  body  had  been  com 
mitted  to  the  hill-side,  there  was  a  formal  meeting  of  the 
camp  to  discuss  what  should  be  done  with  her  infant.  A 
resolution  to  adopt  it  was  unanimous  and  enthusiastic.  But 
an  animated  discussion  in  regard  to  the  manner  and  feasibility 
of  providing  for  its  wants  at  once  sprung  up.  It  was  re 
markable  that  the  argument  partook  of  none  of  those  fierce 
personalities  with  which  discussions  were  usually  conducted  at 
Hearing  Camp.  Tipton  proposed  that  they  should  send  the 
child  to  Eed  Dog, — a  distance  of  forty  miles, — where  female 
attention  could  be  procured.  But  the  unlucky  suggestion 
met  with  fierce  and  unanimous  opposition.  It  was  evident 
that  no  plan  which  entailed  parting  from  their  new  acquisi 
tion  would  for  a  moment  be  entertained.  "  Besides,"  said 
Tom  Ryder,  "them  fellows  at  Red  Dog  would  swap  it,  and 
ring  in  somebody  else  on  us."  A  disbelief  in  the  honesty  of 
other  camps  prevailed  at  Roaring  Camp  as  in  other  places. 

The  introduction  of  a  female  nurse  in  the  camp  also  met 
with  objection.  It  was  argued  that  no  decent  woman  could 
be  prevailed  to  accept  Roaring  Camp  as  her  home,  and  the 
speaker  urged  that  "  they  didn't  want  any  more  of  the  other 
kind."  This  unkind  allusion  to  the  defunct  mother,  harsh  as 
it  may  seem,  was  the  first  spasm  of  propriety, — the  first 
symptom  of  the  camp's  regeneration.  Stumpy  advanced 
nothing.  Perhaps  he  felt  a  certain  delicacy  in  interfering 
with  the  selection  of  a  possible  successor  in  office.  But  when 


THE  LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMP.  9 

questioned,  he  averred  stoutly  that  he  and  "  Jinny  " — the 
mammal  before  alluded  to — could  manage  to  rear  the  child. 
There  was  something  original,  independent,  and  heroic  about 
the  .plan  that  pleased  the  camp.  Stumpy  was  retained. 
Certain  articles  were  sent  for  to  Sacramento.  "Mind,"  said 
the  treasurer,  as  he  pressed  a  bag  of  gold-dust  into  the 
expressman's  hand,  "the  best  that  can  be  got,— lace,  you 
know,  and  filigree-work  and  frills — d — n  the  cost !  " 

Strange  to  say,  the  child  thrived.  Perhaps  the  invigorat 
ing  climate  of  the  mountain  camp  was  compensation  for 
material  deficiencies.  Nature  took  the  fondling  to  her 
broader  breast.  In  that  rare  atmosphere  of  the  Sierra  foot 
hills, — that  air  pungent  with  balsamic  odour,  that  ethereal 
cordial  at  once  bracing  and  exhilarating, — he  may  have 
found  food  and  nourishment,  or  a  subtle  chemistry  that 
transmuted  asses'  milk  to  lime  and  phosphorus.  Stumpy 
inclined  to  the  belief  that  it  was  the  latter,  and  good  nurs 
ing.  "  Me  and  that  ass,"  he  would  say,  "  has  been  father  and 
mother  to  him  !  Don't  you,"  he  would  add,  apostrophizing 
the  helpless  bundle  before  him,  "  never  go  back  on  us." 

By  the  time  he  was  a  month  old,  the  necessity  of  giving 
him  a  name  became  apparent.  He  had  generally  been 
known  as  "the  Kid,"  "  Stumpy's  boy,"  "theCayote"  (an 
allusion  to  his  vocal  powers),  and  even  by  Kerituck's  endear 
ing  diminutive  of  "  the  d — d  little  cuss."  But  these  were 
felt  to  be  vague  and  unsatisfactory,  and  were  at  last  dis 
missed  under  another  influence.  Gamblers  and  adventurers 
are  generally  superstitious,  and  Oakhurst  one  day  declared 
that  the  baby  had  brought  "  the  luck"  to  Roaring  Camp. 
It  was  certain  that  of  late  they  had  been  successful. 
"  Luck "  was  the  name  agreed  upon,  with  the  prefix  of 
Tommy  for  greater  convenience.  No  allusion  was  made  to 
the  mother,  and  the  father  was  unknown.  "  It 's  better," 
said  the  philosophical  Oakhurst,  "  to  take  a  fresh  deal  all 
round.  Call  him  Luck,  and  start  him  fair."  A  day  wag 


io  THE  LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMP. 

accordingly  set  apart  for  the  christening.     What  was  meant 
by  this  ceremony  the  reader  may  imagine,  who  has  already 
gathered  some  idea  of  the  reckless  irreverence  of  Roaring 
Camp.     The  master  of  ceremonies   was    one  "  Boston,"    a 
noted  wag,  and  the  occasion  seemed  to  promise  the  greatest 
facetiousness.     This  ingenious  satirist  had  spent  two  days 
in  preparing  a  burlesque  of  the  church  service,  with  pointed 
local  allusions.     The  choir  was  properly  trained,  and  Sanely 
Tipton  was  to  stand  godfather.    But  after  the  procession  had 
marched  to  the  grove  with  music  and  banners,  and  the  child 
had  been  deposited  before  a  mock  altar,  Stumpy  stepped 
before  the  expectant  crowd.     "  It  ain't  my  style  to  spoil  fun, 
boys,"  said  the  little  man,  stoutly,  eyeing  the  faces  around 
him,  "  but  it  strikes  me  that  this  thing  ain't  exactly  on  the 
squar.     It 's  playing  it  pretty  low  down  on  this  yer  baby  to 
ring  in  fun  on  him  that  he  ain't  going  to  understand.     And 
ef  there  's  going  to  be  any  godfathers  round,  I  'd  like  to  see 
who's  got  any  better  rights  than  me."     A  silence  followed 
Stumpy's  speech.     To  the  credit  of  all  humorists  be  it  said, 
that  the  first  man  to  acknowledge  its  justice  was  the  sa 
tirist,  thus  stopped  of  his  fun.    "  But,"  said  Stumpy,  quickly, 
following  up  his  advantage,  "  we  're  here  for  a  christening, 
and  we  '11  have  it.     I  proclaim  you  Thomas  Luck,  according 
to   the  laws  of  the  United    States  and  the  State  of  Cali 
fornia,   so  help  me  God."      It  was  the  first  time  that  the 
name  of  the  Deity  had  been  uttered  otherwise  than  pro 
fanely  in  the  camp.     The  form  of  christening  was  perhaps 
even  more  ludicrous  than  the  satirist  had  conceived  ;  but, 
strangely   enough,    nobody   saw    it,    and   nobody   laughed. 
"  Tommy"  was  christened  as  seriously  as   he  would   have 
been  under  a  Christian  roof,  and  cried  and  was  comforted  in 
as  orthodox  fashion. 

And  so  the  work  of  regeneration  began  in  Roaring  Camp. 
Almost  imperceptibly  a  change  came  over  the  settlement. 
The  cabin  assigned  to  "  Tommy  Luck"— or  "  The  Luck," 


THE  LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMP.  1 1 

as  he  was  more  frequently  called — first  showed  signs  of 
improvement.  It  was  kept  scrupulously  clean  and  white 
washed.  Then  it  was  boarded,  clothed,  and  papered.  The 
rosewood  cradle — packed  eighty  miles  by  mule — had,  in 
Stumpy's  way  of  putting  it,  "  sorter  killed  the  rest  of  the 
furniture."  So  the  rehabilitation  of  the  cabin  became  a 
necessity.  The  men  who  were  in  the  habit  of  lounging  in 
at  Stumpy's  to  see  "  how  the  Luck  got  on"  seemed  to  appre 
ciate  the  change,  and,  in  self-defence,  the  rival  establish 
ment  of  "Tattle's  grocery"  bestirred  itself,  and  imported 
a  carpet  and  mirrors.  The  reflections  of  the  latter  on  the 
appearance  of  Eoaring  Camp  tended  to  produce  stricter 
habits  of  personal  cleanliness.  Again,  Stumpy  imposed  a 
kind  of  quarantine  upon  those  who  aspired  to  the  honour 
and  privilege  of  holding  "  The  Luck."  It  was  a  cruel  mor 
tification  to  Kentuck — who,  in  the  carelessness  of  a  large 
nature  and  the  habits  of  frontier  life,  had  begun  to  regard 
all  garments  as  a  second  cuticle,  which,  like  a  snake's,  only 
sloughed  off  through  decay — to  be  debarred  this  privilege 
from  certain  prudential  reasons.  Yet  such  was  the  subtle 
influence  oi  innovation  that  he  thereafter  appeared  regularly 
every  afternoon  in  a  clean  shirt,  and  face  still  shining  from 
his  ablutions.  Nor  were  moral  and  social  sanitary  laws 
neglected.  "  Tommy,"  who  was  supposed  to  spend  his  whole 
existence  in  a  persistent  attempt  to  repose,  must  not  be 
disturbed  by  noise.  The  shouting  and  yelling  which  had 
gained  the  camp  its  infelicitous  title  were  not  permitted 
within  hearing  distance  of  Stumpy's.  The  men  conversed  in 
whispers,  or  smoked  with  Indian  gravity.  Profanity  was 
tacitly  given  up  in  these  sacred  precincts,  and  throughout 
the  camp  a  popular  form  of  expletive,  known  as  "  D — u  the 
luck  ! "  and  "  Curse  the  luck  ! "  was  abandoned,  as  having  a 
new  personal  bearing.  Vocal  music  was  not  interdicted, 
being  supposed  to  have  a  soothing,  tranquillizing  quality, 
and  one  song,  sung  by  "  Man-o'-war  Jack,"  an  English 


12  THE  LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMP. 

sailor,  from  her  Majesty's  Australian  colonies,  was  quite 
popular  as  a  lullaby.  It  was  a  lugubrious  recital  of  the 
exploits  of  "  the  Arethusa,  Seventy-four,"  in  a  muffled 
minor,  ending  with  a  prolonged  dying  fall  at  the  burden 
of  each  verse,  "  On  b-o-o-o-ard  of  the  Arethusa."  Jt  was  a 
fine  sight  to  see  Jack  holding  The  Luck,  rocking  from  side 
to  side  as  if  with  the  motion  of  a  ship,  and  crooning  forth 
this  naval  ditty.  Either  through  the  peculiar  rocking  of 
Jack  or  the  length  of  his  song — it  contained  ninety  stanzas, 
and  was  continued  with  conscientious  deliberation  to  the 
bitter  end — the  lullaby  generally  had  the  desired  effect. 
At  such  times  the  men  would  lie  at  full  length  under  the 
trees,  in  the  soft  summer  twilight,  smoking  their  pipes  and 
drinking  in  the  melodious  utterances.  An  indistinct  idea 
that  this  was  pastoral  happiness  pervaded  the  camp.  "  This 
'ere  kind  o'  think,"  said  the  Cockney  Simmons,  meditatively 
reclining  on  his  elbow,  "is  'evingly."  It  reminded  him  of 
Greenwich. 

On  the  long  summer  days  The  Luck  was  usually  carried 
to  the  gulch,  from  whence  the  golden  store  of  Roaring  Camp 
was  taken.  There,  on  a  blanket  spread  over  pine-boughs,  he 
would  lie  while  the  men  were  working  in  the  ditches  below. 
Latterly  there  was  a  rude  attempt  to  decorate  this  bower 
with  flowers  and  sweet-smelling  shrubs,  and  generally  some 
one  would  bring  him  a  cluster  of  wild  honeysiickles,  azaleas, 
or  the  painted  blossoms  of  Las  Mariposas.  The  men  had 
suddenly  awakened,  to  the  fact  that  there  were  beauty  and 
significance  in  these  trifles,  which  they  had  so  long  trodden 
carelessly  beneath  their  feet.  A  flake  of  glittering  mica,  a 
fragment  of  variegated  quartz,  a  bright  pebble  from  the  bed 
of  the  creek,  became  beautiful  to  eyes  thus  cleared  and 
strengthened,  and  were  invariably  put  aside  for  "The  Luck.'» 
It  was  wonderful  how  many  treasures  the  woods  and  hill 
sides  yielded  that  "  would  do  for  Tommy."  Surrounded  by 
playthings  such  as  never  child  out  of  fairy-land  had  before, 


THE  LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMP.  13 

it  is  to  be  hoped  that  Tommy  was  content.     He  appeared 
to  be  securely  happy,  albeit  there  was  an  infantine  gravity 
about  him,  a  contemplative  light  in  his  round  gray  eyes, 
that  sometimes  worried  Stumpy.     He  was  always  tractable 
and  quiet,  and  it  is  recorded  that  once,  having  crept  beyond 
his   "corral," — a   hedge   of  tessellated   pine-boughs,    which 
surrounded  his  bed, — he  dropped  over  the  bank  on  his  head 
in  the  soft  earth,  and  remained  with  his  mottled  legs  in  the 
air  in  that  position  for  at  least  five  minutes  with  unflinching 
gravity.     He  was  extricated  without  a  murmur.     I  hesitate 
to  record  the  many  other  instances  of  his  sagacity,  which 
rest,  unfortunately,  upon  the  statements  of  prejudiced  friends. 
Some  of  them  were  not  without  a  tinge  of  superstition.     "  I 
crep'  up  the  bank  just  now,"  said  Kentuck,  one  clay,  in  a 
breathless  state  of  excitement,  "and  dern  my  skin  if  he 
wasn't  a  talking  to  a  jay-bird  as  was  a  sittin'  on  his  lap. 
There  they  was,  just  as  free  and  sociable  as  anything  you 
please,  a  jawin'  at  each  other  just  like  two  cherry-bums." 
Howbeit,   whether  creeping  over  the  pine-boughs  or  lying 
lazily  on  his  back  blinking  at  the  leaves  above  him,  to  him 
the   birds   sang,    the   squirrels   chattered,    and   the   flowers 
bloomed.     Nature  was  his  nurse  and  playfellow.     For  him 
she  would  let  slip  between  the  leaves  golden  shafts  of  sun 
light  that  fell  just  within  his  grasp  ;  she  would  send  wander 
ing  breezes  to  visit  him  with  the  balm  of  bay  and  resinous 
gums ;   to  him   the   tall   red-woods  nodded  familiarly  and 
sleepily,  the   bumble-bees  buzzed,   and  the  rooks  cawed  a 
slumbrous  accompaniment. 

Such  was  the  golden  summer  of  Roaring  Camp.  They 
were  "flush  times," — and  the  luck  was  with  them.  Tho 
claims  had  yielded  enormously.  The  camp  was  jealous  of  its 
privileges,  and  looked  suspiciously  on  strangers.  No  encou 
ragement  was  given  to  immigration,  and,  to  make  their 
seclusion  more  perfect,  the  land  on  either  side  of  the  moun- 
t:iin-wall  that  surrounded  the  camp  they  duly  pre-empted. 


14  THE  LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMP. 

This,  and  a  reputation  for  singular  proficiency  with  the 
revolver,  kept  the  reserve  of  Roaring  Camp  inviolate.  The 
expressman — their  only  connecting  link  with  the  surround 
ing  world — sometimes  told  wonderful  stories  of  the  camp. 
He  would  say,  "  They've  a  street  up  there  in  f  Hearing,'  that 
would  lay  over  any  street  in  Red  Dog.  They've  got  vines 
and  flowers  round  their  houses,  and  they  wash  themselves 
twice  a  day.  But  they're  mighty  rough  on  strangers,  and 
they  worship  an  Ingin  baby." 

With  the  prosperity  of  the  camp  came  a  desire  for  further 
improvement.  It  was  proposed  to  build  a  hotel  in  the  follow 
ing  spring,  and  to  invite  one  or  two  decent  families  to  reside 
there  for  the  sake  of  "  The  Luck," — who  might  perhaps  profit 
by  female  companionship.  The  sacrifice  that  this  concession 
to  the  sex  cost  these  men,  who  were  fiercely  sceptical  in 
regard  to  its  general  virtue  and  usefulness,  can  only  be 
accounted  for  by  their  affection  for  Tommy.  A  few  still 
held  out.  But  the  resolve  could  not  be  carried  into  effect 
for  three  months,  and  the  minority  meekly  yielded  in  the 
hope  that  something  might  turn  up  to  prevent  it.  And  it 
did. 

The  winter  of  1851  will  long  be  remembered  in  the  foot 
hills.  The  snow  lay  deep  on  the  Sierras,  and  every  mountain 
creek  became  a  river,  and  every  river  a  lake.  Each  gorge 
and  gulch  was  transformed  into  a  tumultuous  watercourse, 
that  descended  the  hill-sides,  tearing  down  giant  trees,  and 
scattering  its  drift  and  debris  along  the  plain.  Red  Dog  had 
been  twice  under  water,  and  Roaring  Camp  had  been  fore 
warned.  "Water  put  the  gold  into  them  gulches,"  said 
Stumpy;  "it's  been  here  once  and  will  be  here  again!" 
And  that  night  the  North  Fork  suddenly  leaped  over  its 
banks,  and  swept  up  the  triangular  valley  of  Roaring  Camp. 

In  the  confusion  of  rushing  water,  crushing  trees,  and 
crackling  timber,  and  the  darkness  which  seemed  to  flow 
with  the  water  and  blot  out  the  fair  valley,  but  little  could 


THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT.  15 

be  done  to  collect  the  scattered  camp.  When  the  morning 
broke,  the  cabin  of  Stumpy  nearest  the  river -bank  was  gone. 
Higher  up  the  gulch  they  found  the  body  of  its  unlucky 
owner;  but  the  pride,  the  hope,  the  joy,  the  Luck  of  Hoar- 
ing  Camp  had  disappeared.  They  were  returning  with  sad 
hearts,  when  a  shout  from  the  bank  recalled  them. 

It  was  a  relief-boat  from  down  the  river.  They  had  picked 
up,  they  said,  a  man  and  an  infant,  nearly  exhausted,  about 
two  miles  below.  Did  anybody  know  them,  and  did  they 
belong  here  ? 

It  needed  but  a  glance  to  show  them  Kentuck  lying  there, 
cruelly  crushed  and  bruised,  but  still  holding  the  Luck  of 
Roaring  Camp  in  his  arms.  As  they  bent  over  the  strangely 
assorted  pair,  they  saw  that  the  child  was  cold  and  pulseless. 
"He  is  dead,"  said  one.  Kentuck  opened  his  eyes.  "Dead'?" 
he  repeated,  feebly.  "Yes,  my  man,  and  you  are  dying  too." 
A  smile  lit  the  eyes  of  the  expiring  Kentuck.  "Dying,"  he 
repeated,  "  he's  a  taking  me  with  him, — tell  the  boys  I've 
got  the  Luck  with  me  now;"  and  the  strong  man,  clinging 
to  the  frail  babe  as  a  drowning  man  is  said  to  cling  to  a 
straw,  drifted  away  into  the  shadowy  river  that  flows  for 
ever  to  the  unknown  sea. 


THE   OUTCASTS   OF  POKER  FLAT. 

<  A  S  Mr.  John  Oakhurst,  gambler,  stepped  into  the  main 
street  of  Poker  Flat  on  the  morning  of  the  twenty- 
third  of  November,  1850,  he  was  conscious  of  a  change  in 
its  moral  atmosphere  since  the  preceding  night.  Two  or 
three  men,  conversing  earnestly  together,  ceased  as  he 
approached,  and  exchanged  significant  glances.  There  was  a 
Sabbath  lull  in  the  air,  which,  in  a  settlement  unused  to 
Sabbath  influences,  looked  ominous. 


i6  THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT. 

Mr.  Oakhurst's  calm,  handsome  face  betrayed  small  con 
cern  in  these  indications.  Whether  he  was  conscious  of  any 
predisposing  cause,  was  another  question.  "I  reckon  they're 
after  somebody,"  he  reflected  ;  "likely  it's  me."  He  returned 
to  his  pocket  the  handkerchief  with  which  he  had  been 
whipping  away  the  red  dust  of  Poker  Flat  from  his  neat 
boots,  and  quietly  discharged  his  mind  of  any  further  con 
jecture. 

In  point  of  fact,  Poker  Flat  was  "after  somebody."  It 
had  lately  suffered  the  loss  of  several  thousand  dollars,  two 
valuable  horses,  and  a  prominent  citizen.  It  was  experi 
encing  a  spasm  of  virtuous  reaction,  quite  as  lawless  and 
ungovernable  as  any  of  the  acts  that  had  provoked  it.  A 
secret  committee  had  determined  to  rid  the  town  of  all 
improper  persons.  This  was  done  permanently  in  regard  of 
two  men  who  were  then  hanging  from  the  boughs  of  a  syca 
more  in  the  gulch,  and  temporarily  in  the  banishment  of 
certain  other  objectionable  characters.  I  regret  to  say  that 
some  of  these  were  ladies.  It  is  but  due  to  the  sex,  however, 
to  state  that  their  impropriety  was  professional,  and  it  was 
only  in  such  easily  established  standards  of  evil  that  Poker 
Flat  ventured  to  sit  in  judgment. 

Mr.  Oakhurst  was  right  in  supposing  that  he  was  included 
in  this  category.  A  few  of  the  committee  had  urged  hang 
ing  him  as  a  possible  example,  and  a  sure  method  of  reim 
bursing  themselves  from  his  pockets  of  the  sums  he  had  won 
from  them.  "  It's  agin  justice,"  said  Jim  Wheeler,  "  to  lei 
this  yer  young  man  from  Roaring  Camp — an  entire  stranger 
— carry  away  our  money."  But  a  crude  sentiment  of  equity 
residing  in  the  breasts  of  those  who  had  been  fortunate 
enough  to  win  from  Mr.  Oakhurst  overruled  this  narrower 
local  prejudice. 

Mr.  Oakhurst  received  his  sentence  with  philosophic  calm 
ness,  none  the  less  coolly  that  he  was  aware  of  the  hesitation 
of  his  judges.  He  was  too  much  of  a  gambler  not  to  accept 


THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT.  17 

Fate,  With  him  life  was  at  best  an  uncertain  game,  and  he 
recognised  the  usual  per-centage  in  favour  of  the  dealer. 

A  party  of  armed  men  accompanied  the  deported  wicked 
ness  of  Poker  Flat  to  the  outskirts  of  the  settlement.  Besides 
Mr.  Oakhurst,  who  was  known  to  be  a  coolly  desperate  man, 
and  for  whose  intimidation  the  armed  escort  was  intended, 
the  expatriated  party  consisted  of  a  young  woman  familiarly 
known  as  "  The  Dutchess  •"  another,  who  had  bore  the  title 
of  "Mother  Shipton ;"  and  "Uncle  Billy,"  a  suspected  sluice- 
robber  and  confirmed  drunkard.  The  cavalcade  provoked 
no  comments  from  the  spectators,  nor  was  any  word  uttered 
by  the  escort.  Only  when  the  gulch  which  marked  the 
uttermost  limit  of  Poker  Flat  was  reached,  the  leader  spoke 
briefly  and  to  the  point.  The  exiles  were  forbidden  to  return 
at  the  peril  of  their  lives. 

As  the  escort  disappeared,  their  pent-up  feelings  found 
vent  in  a  few  hysterical  tears  from  the  Duchess,  some  bad 
language  from  Mother  Shipton,  and  a  Parthian  volley  of 
expletives  from  Uncle  Billy.  The  philosophic  Oakhurst 
alone  remained  silent.  He  listened  calmly  to  Mother  Ship- 
ton's  desire  to  cut  somebody's  heart  out,  to  the  repeated 
statements  of  the  Duchess  that  she  would  die  in  the  road, 
and  to  the  alarming  oaths  that  seemed  to  be  bumped  out 
of  Uncle  Billy  as  he  rode  forward.  With  the  easy  good- 
humour  characteristic  of  his  class,  he  insisted  upon  exchanging 
his  own  riding-horse,  "  Five  Spot,"  for  the  sorry  mule  which 
the  Duchess  rode.  But  even  this  act  did  not  draw  the  party 
into  any  closer  sympathy.  The  young  woman  readjusted  her 
somewhat  draggled  plumes  with  a  feeble,  faded  coquetry; 
Mother  Shipton  eyed  the  possessor  of  "Five  Spot"  with 
malevolence ;  arid  Uncle  Billy  included  the  whole  party  in 
one  sweeping  anathema. 

The  road  to  Sandy  Bar — a  camp  that,  not  having  as  yet 
experienced  the  regenerating  influences  of  Poker  Flat,  con 
sequently  seemed  to  offer  some  invitation  to  the  emigrants— 

o 


13  THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT. 

lay  over  a  steep  mountain  range.  It  was  distant  a  day's 
severe  travel.  In  that  advanced  season,  the  party  soon 
passed  out  of  the  moist,  temperate  regions  of  the  foot-hills 
into  the  dry,  cold,  bracing  air  of  the  Sierras.  The  trail  was 
narrow  and  difficult.  At  noon  the  Duchess,  rolling  out  of 
her  saddle  upon  the  ground,  declared  her  intention  of  going 
no  farther,  and  the  party  halted. 

The  spot  was  singularly  wild  and  impressive.  A  wooded 
amphitheatre,  surrounded  on  three  sides  by  precipitous  cliffs 
of  naked  granite,  sloped  gently  towards  the  crest  of  another 
precipice  that  overlooked  the  valley.  It  was,  undoubtedly, 
the  most  suitable  spot  for  a  camp,  had  camping  been 
advisable.  But  Mr.  Oakhurst  knew  that  scarcely  half  the 
journey  to  Sandy  Bar  was  accomplished,  and  the  party  were 
not  equipped  or  provisioned  for  delay.  This  fact  he  pointed 
out  to  his  companions  curtly,  with  a  philosophic  commentary 
on  the  folly  of  "  throwing  up  their  hand  before  the  game 
was  played  out."  But  they  were  furnished  with  liquor, 
which  in  this  emergency  stood  them  in  place  of  food,  fuel, 
rest,  and  prescience.  In  spite  of  his  remonstrances,  it  was 
not  long  before  they  were  more  or  less  under  its  influence. 
Uncle  Billy  passed  rapidly  from  a  bellicose  state  into  one  of 
stupor,  the  Duchess  became  maudlin,  and  Mother  Shipton 
snored.  Mr.  Oakhurst  alone  remained  erect,  leaning  against 
a  rock,  calmly  surveying  them. 

Mr.  Oakhurst  did  not  drink.  It  interfered  with  a  pro 
fession  which  required  coolness,  impassiveness,  and  presence 
of  mind,  and,  in  his  own  language,  he  "couldn't  afford  it." 
As  he  gazed  at  his  recumbent  fellow-exiles,  the  loneliness 
begotten  of  his  pariah-trade,  his  habits  of  life,  his  very  vices, 
for  the  first  time  seriously  oppressed  him.  He  bestirred 
himself  in  dusting  his  black  clothes,  washing  his  hands  and 
face,  and  other  acts  characteristic  of  his  studiously  neat 
habits,  and  for  a  moment  forgot  bis  annoyance.  The  thought 
of  deserting  his  weaker  and  more  pitiable  companions  never 


THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT.  19 

perhaps  occurred  to  him.  Yet  he  could  not  help  feeling  the 
want  of  that  excitement  which,  singularly  enough,  was  ino::t 
conducive  to  that  calm  equanimity  for  which  he  was  notori 
ous.  He  looked  at  the  gloomy  walls  that  rose  a  thousand 
feet  sheer  above  the  circling  pines  around  him  ;  at  the  sky, 
ominously  clouded  \  at  the  valley  below,  already  deepening 
into  shadow.  And,  doing  so,  suddenly  he  heard  his  own 
name  called. 

A  horseman  slowly  ascended  the  trail.  In  the  fresh, 
open  face  of  the  new-comer,  Mr.  Oakhurst  recognized  Tom 
Simson,  otherwise  known  as  "  The  Innocent  "  of  Sandy  Bar. 
He  had  met  him  some  months  before  over  a  "  little  game," 
and  had,  with  perfect  equanimity,  won  the  entire  fortune — 
amounting  to  some  forty  dollars — of  that  guileless  youth. 
After  the  game  was  finished,  Mr.  Oakhurst  drew  the  youth 
ful  speculator  behind  the  door,  and  thus  addressed  him  : 
"  Tommy,  you  're  a  good  little  man,  but  you  can't  gamble 
worth  a  cent.  Don't  try  it  over  again."  He  then  handed 
him  his  money  back,  pushed  him  gently  from  the  room,  and 
so  made  a  devoted  slave  of  Tom  Simson. 

There  was  a  remembrance  of  this  in  his  boyish  and  enthu 
siastic  greeting  of  Mr.  Oakhurst.  He  had  started,  he  said, 
to  go  to  Poker  Flat  to  seek  his  fortune.  "  Alone  ? "  No, 
not  exactly  alone ;  in  fact  (a  giggle),  he  had  run  away  with 
Piney  "Woods.  Didn't  Mr.  Oakhurst  remember  Piney  ? 
She  that  used  to  wait  on  the  table  at  the  Temperance  House  1 
They  had  been  engaged  a  long  time,  but  old  Jake  Woods  had 
objected,  and  so  they  had  run  away,  and  were  going  to  Poker 
Flat  to  be  married ;  and  here  they  were.  And  they  were 
tired  out,  and  how  lucky  it  was  they  had  found  a  place  to 
camp  and  company.  All  this  the  Innocent  delivered  rapidly, 
while  Piney,  a  stout,  comely  damsel  of  fifteen,  emerged  from 
behind  the  pine-tree,  where  she  had  been  blushing  unseen, 
and  rode  to  the  side  of  her  lover. 

Mr.  Oakhurst  seldom  troubled  himself  with  sentiment, 

02 


20  THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT. 

still  less  with  propriety ;  but  he  had  a  vague  idea  that  the 
situation  was  not  fortunate.  He  retained,  however,  his 
presence  of  mind  sufficiently  to  kick  Uncle  Billy,  who  was 
about  to  say  something,  and  Uncle  Billy  was  sober  enough 
to  recognize  in  Mr.  Oakhurst's  kick  a  superior  power  that 
would  not  bear  trifling.  He  then  endeavoured  to  dissuade 
Tom  Simson  from  delaying  further,  but  in  vain.  He  even 
pointed  out  the  fact  that  there  was  no  provision,  nor  means 
of  making  a  camp.  But,  unluckily,  the  Innocent  met  this 
objection  by  assuring  the  party  that  he  was  provided  with 
an  extra  mule  loaded  with  provisions,  and  by  the  discovery 
of  a  rude  attempt  at  a  log-house  near  the  trail.  "  Piney  can 
stay  with  Mrs.  Oakhurst,"  said  the  Innocent,  pointing  to  the 
Duchess,  "  and  I  can  shift  for  myself." 

Nothing  but  Mr.  Oakhurst's  admonishing  foot  saved  Uncle 
Billy  from  bursting  into  a  roar  of  laughter.  As  it  was,  he 
felt  compelled  to  retire  up  the  canon  until  he  could  recover 
his  gravity.  There  he  confided  the  joke  to  the  tall  pine- 
trees,  with  many  slaps  of  his  leg,  contortions  of  his  face,  and 
the  usual  profanity.  But  when  he  returned  to  the  party,  he 
found  them  seated  by  a  fire — for  the  air  had  grown  strangely 
chill,  and  the  sky  overcast — in  apparently  amicable  conver 
sation.  Piney  was  actually  talking  in  an  impulsive,  girlish 
fashion  to  the  Duchess,  who  was  listening  with  an  interest 
and  animation  she  had  not  shown  for  many  days.  The 
Innocent  was  holding  forth,  apparently  with  equal  effect,  to 
Mr.  Oakhurst  and  Mother  Shipton,  who  was  actually  relax 
ing  into  amiability.  "  Is  this  yer  a  d — d  pic-iiic  ? "  said 
Uncle  Billy,  with  inward  scorn,  as  he  surveyed  the  sylvan 
group,  the  glancing  firelight,  and  the  tethered  animals  in  the 
foreground.  Suddenly  an  idea  mingled  with  the  alcoholic 
fumes  that  disturbed  his  brain.  It  was  apparently  of  a 
jocular  jiature,  for  he  felt  impelled  to  slap  his  leg  again  and 
cram  his  fist  into  his  mouth. 

As  the  shadows  crept  slowly  up  £he  mountain,  a  slight 


THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT.  21 

breeze  rocked  the  tops  of  the  pine-trees,  and  moaned  through 
their  long  and  gloomy  aisles.  The  ruined  cabin,  patched  and 
covered  with  pine-boughs,  was  set  apart  for  the  ladies.  As 
the  lovers  parted,  they  unaffectedly  exchanged  a  kiss,  so 
honest  and  sincere  that  it  might  have  been  heard  above  the 
swaying  pines.  The  frail  Duchess  and  the  malevolent 
Mother  Shipton  were  probably  too  stunned  to  remark  upon 
this  last  evidence  of  simplicity,  and  so  turned  without  a  word 
to  the  hut.  The  fire  was  replenished,  the  men  lay  down 
before  the  door,  and  in  a  few  minutes  were  asleep. 

Mr.  Oakhurst  was  a  light  sleeper.  Toward  morning  he 
awoke  benumbed  and  cold.  As  he  stirred  the  dying  fire,  the 
wind,  which  was  now  blowing  strongly,  brought  to  his  cheek 
that  which  caused  the  blood  to  leave  it, — snow  ! 

He  started  to  his  feet  with  the  intention  of  awakening  the 
sleepers,  for  there  was  no  time  to  lose.  But  turning  to  where 
Uncle  Billy  had  been  lying,  he  found  him  gone.  A  suspicion 
leaped  to  his  brain  and  a  curse  to  his  lips.  He  ran  to  the  spot 
where  the  mules  had  been  tethered;  they  were  no  longer  there. 
The  tracks  were  already  rapidly  disappearing  in  the  snow. 

The  momentary  excitement  brought  Mr.  Oakhurst  back  to 
the  fire  with  his  usual  calm.  He  did  not  waken  the  sleepers. 
The  Innocent  slumbered  peacefully,  with  a  smile  on  his 
good-humoured,  freckled  face ;  the  virgin  Piney  slept  beside 
her  frailer  sisters  as  sweetly  as  though  attended  by  celestial 
guardians,  and  Mr.  Oakhurst,  drawing  his  blanket  over  his 
shoulders,  stroked  his  mustaches  and  waited  for  the  dawn. 
It  came  slowly  in  a  whirling  mist  of  snow-flakes,  that  dazzled 
and  confused  the  eye.  "What  could  be  seen  of  the  landscape 
appeared  magically  changed.  He  looked  over  the  valley, 
and  summed  up  the  present  and  future  in  two  words — 
"  snowed  in  ! " 

A  careful  inventory  of  the  provisions,  which,  fortunately 
for  the  party,  had  been  stored  within  the  hut,  and  so  escaped 
the  felonious  fingers  of  Uncle  Billy,  disclosed  the  fact  that 


22  THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT. 

\vitli  care  and  prudence  they  might  last  ten  days  longer. 
"  That  is,"  said  Mr.  Oakhurst,  sotto  voce  to  the  Innocent,  "  if 
you're  willing  to  board  us.  If  you  ain't — and  perhaps  you  'd 
better  not — you  can  wait  till  Uncle  Billy  gets  back  with 
provisions."  For  some  occult  reason  Mr.  Oakhurst  could 
not  bring  himself  to  disclose  Uncle  Billy's  rascality,  and  so 
offered  the  hypothesis  that  he  had  wandered  from  the  camp 
and  hact  accidentally  stampeded  the  animals.  He  dropped  a 
warning  to  the  Duchess  and  Mother  Shipton,  who  of  course 
knew  the  facts  of  their  associate's  defection.  "  They'll  find  out 
the  truth  about  us  all  when  they  find  out  anything,"  he  added, 
significantly,  "and  there's  no  good  frightening  them  now." 

Tom  Simson  not  only  put  all  his  worldly  store  at  the 
disposal  of  Mr.  Oakhurst,  but  seemed  to  enjoy  the  prospect 
of  their  enforced  seclusion.  "We'll  have  a  good  camp  for  a 
week,  and  then  the  sriow'll  melt,  and  we'll  all  go  back 
together."  The  cheerful  gaiety  of  the  young  man,  and  Mr. 
Oakhurst's  calm  infected  the  others.  The  Innocent,  with 
the  aid  of  pine-boughs,  extemporized  a  thatch  for  the  roofless 
cabin,  and  the  Duchess  directed  Piney  in  the  rearrangement 
of  the  interior  with  a  taste  and  tact  that  opened  the  blue 
eyes  of  that  provincial  maiden  to  their  fullest  extent.  "  I 
reckon  now  you're  used  to  fine  things  at  Poker  Flat,"  said 
Piney.  The  Duchess  turned  away  sharply  to  conceal  some 
thing  that  reddened  her  cheeks  through  its  professional  tint, 
and  Mother  Shipton  requested  Piney  not  to  "  chatter."  But 
when  Mr.  Oakhurst  returned  from  a  weary  search  for  the 
trail,  he  heard  the  sound  of  happy  laughter  echoed  from  the 
rocks.  He  stopped  in  some  alarm,  and  his  thoughts  first 
naturally  reverted  to  the  whiskey,  which  he  had  prudently 
cached.  "  And  yet  it  don't  somehow  sound  like  whiskey,51 
said  the  gambler.  It  was  not  until  he  caught  sight  of  the 
blazing  fire  through  the  still  blinding  storm  and  the  group 
around  it,  that  he  settled  to  the  conviction  that  it  was 
"  square  ftm." 


THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT.  23 

Whether  Mr.  Oakhurst  had  cached  his  cards  with  the 
whiskey  as  something  debarred  the  free  access  of  the  com 
munity,  I  cannot  say.  It  was  certain  that,  in  Mother 
Shipton's  words,  he  "  didn't  say  cards  once "  during  that 
evening.  Haply  the  time  was  beguiled  by  an  accordion, 
produced  somewhat  ostentatiously  by  Tom  Simson  from  his 
pack.  Notwithstanding  some  difficulties  attending  the  mani 
pulation  of  this  instrument,  Piney  Woods  managed  to  pluck 
several  reluctant  melodies  from  its  keys,  to  an  accompani 
ment  by  the  Innocent  on  a  pair  of  bone  castinets.  But  the 
crowning  festivity  of  the  evening  was  reached  in  a  rude 
camp-meeting  hymn,  which  the  lovers,  joining  hands,  sang 
with  great  earnestness  and  vociferation.  I  fear  that  a 
certain  defiant  tone  and  Covenanter's  swing  to  its  chorus, 
rather  than  any  devotional  quality,  caused  it  speedily  to 
infect  the  others,  who  at  last  joined  in  the  refrain  : — 

"  I'm  proud  to  live  in  the  service  of  the  Lord, 
And  I'm  bound  to  die  in  His  army." 

The  pines  rocked,  the  storm  eddied  and  whirled  above  the 
miserable  group,  and  the  flames  of  their  altar  leaped  heaven 
ward,  as  if  in  token  of  the  vow. 

At  midnight  the  storm  abated,  the  rolling  clouds  parted, 
and  the  stars  glittered  keenly  above  the  sleeping  camp. 
Mr.  Oakhurst,  whose  professional  habits  had  enabled  him  tC 
live  on  the  smallest  possible  amount  of  sleep,  in  dividing  the 
watch  with  Tom  Sim  son,  somehow  managed  to  take  upon 
himself  the  greater  part  of  that  duty.  He  excused  himself 
to  the  Innocent  by  saying  that  he  had  "  often  been  a  week 
without  sleep."  "Doing  what?"  asked  Tom.  "Poker!" 
replied  Oakhurst,  sententiously ;  "  when  a  man  gets  a  streak 
of  luck — nigger-luck — he  don't  get  tired.  The  luck  gives  in 
first.  LUCK/'  continued  the  gambler,  reflectively,  "is  a 
mighty  queer  thing.  All  you  know  about  it  for  certain  is 
that  it's  bound  to  change  And  it's  finding  out  when  it's 


24  THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER 

going  to  change  that  makes  you.  We've  had  a  streak  of 
bad  luck  since  we  left  Poker  Flat — you  come  along,  and  slap 
you  get  into  it,  too.  If  you  can  hold  your  cards  right  along 
you're  all  right  For,"  added  the  gambler,  with  cheerful 
irrelevance — 

"  '  I'm  proud  to  live  in  the  service  of  the  Lord, 
And  I'm  bound  to  die  in  His  army.'  " 

The  third  day  came,  and  the  sun,  looking  through  the 
white-curtained  valley,  saw  the  outcasts  divide  their  slowly 
decreasing  store  of  provisions  for  the  morning  meal.  It  was 
one  of  the  peculiarities  of  that  mountain  climate  that  its  rays 
diffused  a  kindly  warmth  over  the  wintry  landscape,  as  if  in 
regretful  commiseration  of  the  past.  But  it  revealed  drift 
on  drift  of  snow  piled  high  around  the  hut — a  hopeless,  un- 
chartered,  trackless  sea  of  white  lying  below  the  rocky  shores 
to  which  the  castaways  still  clung.  Through  the  mar 
vellously  clear  air  the  smoke  of  the  pastoral  village  of  Poker 
Flat  rose  miles  away.  Mother  Shipton  saw  it,  and  from  a 
remote  pinnacle  of  her  rocky  fastness,  hurled  in  that  direc 
tion  a  final  malediction.  It  was  her  last  vituperative  attempt, 
and  perhaps  for  that  reason  was  invested  with  a  certain 
degree  of  sublimity.  It  did  her  good,  she  privately  informed 
the  Duchess.  "  Just  you  go  out  there  and  cuss,  and  see." 
She  then  set  herself  to  the  task  of  amusing  "  the  child,"  as 
she  and  the  Duchess  were  pleased  to  call  Piney.  Piney  was 
no  chicken,  but  it  was  a  soothing  and  original  theory  of  the 
pair  thus  to  account  for  the  fact  that  she  didn't  swear  and 
wasn't  improper. 

When  night  crept  up  again  through  the  gorges,  the  reedy 
notes  of  the  accordion  rose  and  fell  in  fitful  spasms  and  long, 
drawn  gasps  by  the  flickering  camp-fire.  But  music  failed 
to  fill  entirely  the  aching  void  left  by  insufficient  food,  and  a 
new  diversion  was  proposed  by  Piney — story-telling.  Neither 
Mr.  Oakhurst  nor  his  female  companions  caring  to  relate 


THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT.  25 

their  personal  experiences,  this  plan  would  have  failed,  too, 
but  for  the  Innocent.  Some  months  before  he  had  chanced 
upon  a  stray  copy  of  Mr.  Pope's  ingenious  translation  of  the 
Iliad.  He  now  proposed  to  narrate  the  principal  incidents 
of  that  poem — having  thoroughly  mastered  the  argument 
and  fairly  forgotten  the  words — in  the  current  vernacular  of 
Sandy  Bar.  And  so  for  the  rest  of  that  night  the  Homeric 
demigods  again  walked  the  earth.  Trojan  bully  and  wily 
Greek  wrestled  in  the  winds,  and  the  great  pines  in  the  canon 
seemed  to  bow  to  the  wrath  of  the  son  of  Peleus.  Mr.  Oak- 
hurst  listened  with  quiet  satisfaction.  Most  especially  was 
he  interested  in  the  fate  of  "  Ash-heels,"  as  the  Innocent 
persisted  in  denominating  the  "  swift-footed  Achilles." 

So  with  small  food  and  much  of  Homer  and  the  accordion, 
a  week  passed  over  the  heads  of  the  outcasts.  The  sun  again 
forsook  them,  and  again  from  leaden  skies  the  snow-flakes 
were  sifted  over  the  land.  Day  by  day  closer  around  them 
drew  the  snowy  circle,  until  at  last  they  looked  from  their 
prison  over  drifted  walls  of  drizzling  white,  that  towered 
twenty  feet  above  their  heads.  It  became  more  and  more 
difficult  to  replenish  their  fires,  even  from  the  fallen  trees 
beside  them,  now  half  hidden  in  the  drifts.  And  yet  no  one 
complained.  The  lovers  turned  from  the  dreary  prospect, 
and  looked  into  each  other's  eyes,  and  were  happy.  Mr. 
Oakhurst  settled  himsef  coolly  to  the  losing  game  before 
him.  The  Duchess,  more  cheerful  than  she  had  been, 
assumed  the  care  of  Piney.  Only  Mother  Shipton — once 
the  strongest  of  the  party — seemed  to  sicken  and  fade.  At 
midnight  011  the  tenth  day  she  called  Oakhurst  to  her  side. 
"I'm  going,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  of  querulous  weakness, 
"  but  don't  say  anything  about  it.  Don't  waken  the  kids. 
Take  the  bundle  from  under  my  head  and  open  it."  Mr. 
Oakhurst  did  so.  It  contained  Mother  Shipton's  rations  for 
the  last  week,  untouched.  "  Give  'em  to  the  child,"  she  said, 
pointing  to  the  sleeping  Piney.  "  You've  starved  yourself," 


26  THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT. 

said  the  gambler.  "  That's  what  they  call  it,"  said  the 
woman,  querulously,  as  she  lay  down  again,  and,  turning 
her  face  to  the  wall,  passed  quietly  away. 

The  accordion  and  the  bones  were  put  aside  that  day,  and 
Homer  was  forgotten.  When  the  body  of  Mother  Shipton 
had  been  committed  to  the  snow,  Mr.  Oakhurst  took  the 
Innocent  aside,  and  showed  him  a  pair  of  snow-shoes,  which 
ho  had  fashioned  from  the  old  pack-saddle.  "  There's  one 
chance  in  a  hundred  to  save  her  yet,"  he  said,  pointing  to 
Piney;  "but  it's  there,"  he  added,  pointing  toward  Poker 
Flat.  "If  you  can  reach  there  in  two  days  she's  safe." 
"And  you?"  asked  Tom  Simson.  "I'll  stay  here,"  was 
the  curt  reply. 

The  lovers  parted  with  a  long  embrace.  "  You  are  not 
going,  too?"  said  the  Duchess,  as  she  saw  Mr.  Oakhurst 
apparently  waiting  to  accompany  him.  "  As  far  as  the 
canon,"  he  replied.  He  turned  suddenly,  and  kissed  the 
Duchess,  leaving  her  pallid  face  aflame,  and  her  trembling 
limbs  rigid  with  amazement. 

Night  came,  but  not  Mr.  Oakhurst.  It  brought  the 
storm  again  and  the  whirling  snow.  Then  the  Duchess, 
feeding  the  fire,  found  that  some  one  had  quietly  piled  beside 
the  hut  enough  fuel  to  last  a  few  days  longer.  The  tears 
rose  to  her  eyes,  but  she  hid  them  from  Piney. 

The  women  slept  but  little.  In  the  morning,  looking 
into  each  other's  faces,  they  read  their  fate.  Neither  spoke  j 
but  Piney,  accepting  the  position  of  the  stronger,  drew  near 
and  placed  her  arm  around  the  Duchess's  waist.  They  kept 
this  attitude  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  That  night  the  storm 
reached  its  greatest  fury,  and,  rending  asunder  the  pro 
tecting  pines,  invaded  the  very  hut. 

Toward  morning  they  found  themselves  unable  to  feed  the 
fire,  which  gradually  died  away.  As  the  embers  slowly 
blackened,  the  Duchess  crept  closer  to  Piney,  and  broke  the 
silence  of  many  hours:  "Piney,  can  you  pray?"  "No, 


THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT.  27 

dear,"  said  Piney,  simply.  The  Duchess,  without  knowing 
exactly  why,  felt  relieved,  and,  putting  her  head  upon  Piney's 
shoulder,  spoke  no  more.  And  so  reclining,  the  younger 
and  purer  pillowing  the  head  of  her  soiled  sister  iipon  her 
virgin  breast,  they  fell  asleep. 

The  wind  lulled  as  if  it  feared  to  waken  them.  Feathery 
drifts  of  snow,  shaken  from  the  long  pine-boughs,  flew  like 
white- winged  birds,  and  settled  about  them  as  they  slept. 
The  moon  through  the  rifted  clouds  looked  down  upon  what 
had  been  the  camp.  But  all  human  stain,  all  trace  of  earthly 
travail,  was  hidden  beneath  the  spotless  mantle  mercifully 
flung  from  above. 

They  slept  all  that  day  and  the  next,  nor  did  they  waken 
when  voices  and  footsteps  broke  the  silence  of  the  camp. 
And  when  pitying  fingers  brushed  the  snow  from  their  wan 
faces,  you  could  scarcely  have  told,  from  the  equal  peace  that 
dwelt  upon  them,  which  was  she  that  had  sinned.  Even 
the  law  of  Poker  Flat  recognized  this,  and  turned  away, 
leaving  them  still  locked  in  each  other's  arms. 

But  at  the  head  of  the  gulch,  on  one  of  the  largest  pine* 
trees,  they  found  the  deuce  of  clubs  pinned  to  the  bark  with 
a  bowie-knife.  It  bore  the  following,  written  in  pencil,  in  a 
firm  hand : — 

t 

BENEATH   THIS  TREE 

LIES   THE  BODY 

OF 

JOHN  OAKHURST, 

WHO   STRUCK  A  STREAK   OF   BAD   LUCK 
ON  THE   23  RD   OF  NOVEMBER.   1850, 

AND 

HANDED   IN   HIS  CHECKS 
ON   THE   7TH   DECEMBER,    1850. 

4 

And  pulseless  and  cold,  with  a  Derringer  by  his  side  and  a 
bullet  in  his  heart,  though  still  calm  as  in  life,  beneath  the 
snow  lay  he  who  was  at  once  the  strongest  and  yet  the 
weakest  of  the  outcasts  of  Poker  Flat. 


28  MIGGLES. 


HIGGLES. 

"\irE  were  eight,  including  the  driver.  We  had  not 
spoken  during  the  passage  of  the  last  six  miles,  since 
the  jolting  of  the  heavy  vehicle  over  the  roughening  road  had 
spoiled  the  Judge's  last  poetical  quotation.  The  tall  man 
beside  the  Judge  was  asleep,  his  arm  passed  through  the 
swaying  strap  and  his  head  resting  upon  it — altogether  a  limp, 
helpless-looking  object,  as  if  he  had  hanged  himself  and  been 
cut  down  too  late.  The  French  lady  on  the  back  seat  was 
asleep,  too,  yet  in  a  half-conscious  propriety  of  attitude, 
shown  even  in  the  disposition  of  the  handkerchief  which  she 
held  to  her  forehead,  and  which  partially  veiled  her  face. 
The  lady  from  Virginia  City,  travelling  with  her  husband, 
had  long  since  lost  all  individuality  in  a  wild  confusion  of 
ribbons,  veils,  furs,  and  shawls.  There  was  no  sound  but  the 
rattling  of  wheels  and  the  dash  of  rain  upon  the  roof.  Sud 
denly  the  stage  stopped,  and  we  became  dimly  aware  of 
voices.  The  driver  was  evidently  in  the  midst  of  an  ex 
citing  colloquy  with  some  one  in  the  road — a  colloquy  of 
which  such  fragments  as  "  bridge  gone,"  "  twenty  feet  of 
water,"  "  can't  pass,"  were  occasionally  distinguishable  above 
the  storm.  Then  came  a  lull,  and  a  mysterious  voice  from 
the  road  shouted  the  parting  adjuration, — 

"  Try  Miggles's." 

We  caught  a  glimpse  of  our  leaders  as  the  vehicle  slowly 
turned,  of  a  horseman  vanishing  through  the  rain,  and  we 
were  evidently  on  our  way  to  Miggles's. 

Who  and  where  was  Higgles  1  The  Judge,  our  autho 
rity,  did  not  remember  the  name,  and  he  knew  the  country 
thoroughly.  The  Washoe  traveller  thought  Higgles  must 
keep  a  hotel.  We  only  knew  that  we  were  stopped  by  high 
water  in  front  and  rear,  and  that  Higgles  was  our  rock  of 
refuge.  A  ten  minutes'  splashing  through  a  tangled  by- 


HIGGLES.  2$ 

road,  scarcely  wide  enough  for  the  stage,  and  we  drew  up 
before  a  barred  and  boarded  gate  in  a  wide  stone  wall  or 
fence  about  eight  feet  high.  Evidently  Higgles's,  and  evi 
dently  Higgles  did  not  keep  a  hotel. 

The  driver  got  down  and  tried  the  gate.  It  was  securely 
locked. 

"  Higgles  !     0  Higgles  !" 

No  answer. 

"  Higg-ells  !  You  Higgles  !"  continued  the  driver,  with 
rising  wrath. 

"  Higglesy  ! "  joined  in  the  expressman,  persuasively. 
"OHiggy!  Mig!" 

But  no  reply  came  from,  the  apparently  insensate  Higgles. 
The  Judge,  who  had  finally  got  the  window  down,  put  his 
head  out  and  propounded  a  series  of  questions,  which  if 
answered  categorically  would  have  undoubtedly  elucidated 
the  whole  mystery,  but  which  the  driver  evaded  by  replying 
that  "  if  we  didn't  want  to  sit  in  the  coach  all  night,  we  had 
better  rise  up  and  sing  out  for  Higgles." 

So  we  rose  up  and  called  on  Higgles  in  chorus ;  then 
separately.  And  when  we  had  finished,  a  Hibernian  fellow- 
passenger  from  the  roof  called  for  "Haygells  !"  whereat  we 
all  laughed.  While  we  were  laughing,  the  driver  cried 
"Shoo!" 

We  listened.  To  our  infinite  amazement  the  chorus  of 
"Higgles"  was  repeated  from  the  other  side  of  the  wall, 
even  to  the  final  and  supplemental  "  Haygells." 

"  Extraordinary  echo,"  said  the  Judge. 

"Extraordinary  d — d  skunk!"  roared  the  driver,  con 
temptuously.  "  Come  out  of  that,  Higgles,  and  show  your 
self  !  Be  a  man,  Higgles  !  Don't  hide  in  the  dark  j  I 
wouldn't  if  I  were  you,  Higgles,"  continued  Yuba  Bill,  now 
dancing  about  in  an  excess  of  fury. 

"  Higgles  ! "  continued  the  voice,  "  O  Higgles  ! n 

"My  good  man  !  Mr.  Hyghail !"  said  the  Judge,  soften- 


30  HIGGLES 

ing  the  asperities  of  the  name  as  mucli  as  possible.  "Con 
sider  the  iuhospitality  of  refusing  shelter  from  the  incle 
mency  of  the  weather  to  helpless  females.  Really,  my  dear 

sir "  But  a  succession  of  "  Higgles,"  ending  in  a 

burst  of  laughter,  drowned  his  voice. 

Yuba  Bill  hesitated  no  longer.  Taking  a  heavy  stone 
from  the  road,  he  battered  down  the  gate,  and  with  the 
expressman  entered  the  enclosure.  We  followed.  Nobody 
was  to  be  seen.  In  the  gathering  darkness  all  that  we 
could  distinguish  was  that  we  were  in  a  garden — from  the 
rosebushes  that  scattered  over  us  a  minute  spray  from 
their  dripping  leaves — and  before  a  long,  rambling  wooden 
building. 

"  Do  you  know  this  Higgles  ?"  asked  the  Judge  of  Yuba 
Bill. 

"  No,  nor  don't  want  to,"  said  Bill,  shortly,  who  felt  the 
Pioneer  Stage  Company  insulted  in  his  person  by  the  contu 
macious  Higgles. 

"  But,  my  dear  sir,"  expostulated  the  Judge,  as  he  thought 
of  the  barred  gate. 

"  Lookee  here,"  said  Yuba  Bill,  with  fine  irony,  "  hadn't 
you  better  go  back  and  sit  in  the  coach  till  yer  intro 
duced  1  I  'm  going  in,"  and  he  pushed  open  the  door  of  the 
building. 

A  long  room  lighted  only  by  the  embers  of  a  fire  that 
was  dying  on  the  large  hearth  at  its  further  extremity  i 
the  walls  curiously  papered,  and  the  flickering  firelight 
bringing  out  its  grotesque  pattern  j  somebody  sitting  in  a 
large  arm-chair  by  the  fireplace.  All  this  we  saw  as  we 
crowded  together  into  the  room  after  the  driver  and  ex 
pressman. 

"  Hello,  be  you  Higgles  T'  said  Yuba  Bill  to  the  solitary 
occupant. 

The  figure  neither  spoke  nor  stirred.  Yuba  Bill  walked 
wrathfully  toward  it,  and  turned  the  eye  of  his  coach-lantern 


HIGGLES.  31 

upon  its  face.  It  was  a  man's  face,  prematurely  old  and 
wrinkled,  with  very  large  eyes,  in  which  there  was  that 
expression  of  perfectly  gratuitous  solemnity  which  I  had 
sometimes  seen  in  an  owl's.  The  large  eyes  wandered  from 
Bill's  face  to  the  lantern,  and  finally  fixed  their  gaze  on 
that  luminous  object,  without  further  recognition. 

Bill  restrained  himself  with  an  effort. 

"  Miggles  !  Be  you  deaf?  You  ain't  dumb  anyhow, 
you  know ; "  and  Yuba  Bill  shook  the  insensate  figure  by 
the  shoulder. 

To  our  great  dismay,  as  Bill  removed  his  hand,  the  vene 
rable  stranger  apparently  collapsed, — sinking  into  half  his 
size  and  an  undistinguishable  heap  of  clothing. 

"  Well,  dern  my  skin,"  said  Bill,  looking  appealingly  at 
us,  and  hopelessly  retiring  from  the  contest. 

The  Judge  now  stepped  forward,  and  we  lifted  the  myste 
rious  invertebrate  back  into  his  original  position.  Bill  was 
dismissed  with  the  lantern  to  reconnoitre  outside,  for  it  was 
evident  that  from  the  helplessness  of  this  solitary  man  there 
must  be  attendants  near  at  hand,  and  we  all  drew  around  the 
fire.  The  Judge,  who  had  regained  his  authority,  and  had 
never  lost  his  conversational  amiability,  standing  before  us 
with  his  back  to  the  hearth, —  charged  us,  as  an  imaginary 
jury,  as  follows  : — 

"  It  is  evident  that  either  our  distinguished  friend  here 
has  reached  that  condition  described  by  Shakespeare  as  '  the 
sere  and  yellow  leaf,'  or  has  suffered  some  premature  abate 
ment  of  his  mental  and  physical  faculties.  Whether  he  is 
really  the  Miggles " 

Here    he   was    interrupted    by    "  Miggles !     O  Miggies 
Migglesy  !  Mig  ! "  and,  in  fact,  the  whole  chorus  of  Miggles 
in  very  much  the  same  key  as  it   had   once  before   been 
delivered  unto  us. 

We  gazed  at  each  other  for  a  moment  in  some  alarm. 
The  Judge,  in  particular,  vacated  his  position  quickly,  aa 


31  MfGGLES. 

the  voice  seemed  to  come  directly  over  his  shoulder.  The 
cause,  however,  was  soon  discovered  in  a  large  magpie  who 
was  perched  upon  a  shelf  over  the  fireplace,  and  who  im 
mediately  relapsed  into  a  sepulchral  silence,  which  contrasted 
singularly  with  his  previous  volubility.  It  was,  undoubtedly, 
his  voice  which  sve  had  heard  in  the  road,  and  our  friend  in 
the  chair  was  not  responsible  for  the  discourtesy.  Yuba 
Bill,  who  re-entered  the  room  after  an  unsuccessful  search, 
was  loath  to  accept  the  explanation,  and  still  eyed  the  help 
less  sitter  with  suspicion.  He  had  found  a  shed  in  which 
he  had  put  up  his  horses,  but  he  came  back  dripping 
and  sceptical.  "  Thar  ain't  nobody  but  him  within  ten 
mile  of  the  shanty,  and  that  'ar  d — d  old  skeesicks  knows 
it." 

But  the  faith  of  the  majority  proved  to  be  securely  based. 
Bill  had  scarcely  ceased  growling  before  we  heard  a  quick 
step  upon  the  porch,  the  trailing  of  a  wet  skirt ;  the  door 
was  flung  open,  and,  with  a  flash  of  white  teeth,  a  sparkle  of 
dark  eyes,  and  an  utter  absence  of  ceremony  or  diffidence, 
a  young  woman  entered,  shut  the  door,  and,  panting,  leaned 
back  against  it. 

"  Oh,  if  you  please,  I'm  Higgles  !" 

And  this  was  Miggles  !  this  bright- eyed,  full-throated 
young  woman,  whose  wet  gown  of  coarse  blue  stuff  could 
not  hide  the  beauty  of  the  feminine  curves  to  which  it  clung; 
from  the  chestnut  crown  of  whose  head,  topped  by  a  man's 
oil-skin  sou'wester,  to  the  little  feet  and  ankles,  hidden 
somewhere  in  the  recesses  of  her  boy's  brogans,  all  was 
grace  ; — this  was  Miggles,  laughing  at  us,  too,  in  the  most 
airy,  frank,  off-hand  manner  imaginable. 

"  You  see,  boys,"  said  she,  quite  out  of  breath,  and  hold 
ing  one  little  hand  against  her  side,  quite  unheeding  tho 
speechless  discomfiture  of  our  party,  or  the  complete  demo 
ralization  of  Yuba  Bill,  whose  features  had  relaxed  into  an 
expression  of  gratuitous  and  imbecile  cheerfulness, — "you 


HIGGLES.  53 

«ee,  boys,  I  was  mcr'n  two  miles  away  when  you  passed 
down  the  road.  I  thought  you  might  pull  up  here,  and  so 
I  ran  the  whole  way,  knowing  nobody  was  home  but  Jim,— * 
and  — and — I  'ni  out  of  breath — and — that  lets  me  out." 

And  here  Higgles  caught  her  dripping  oil-skin  hat  from 
her  head,  with  a  mischievous  swirl  that  scattered  a  shower 
of  rain-drops  over  us  ;  attempted  to  put  back  her  hair ; 
dropped  two  hair-pins  in  the  attempt ;  laughed  and  sat 
down  beside  Yuba  Bill,  with  her  hands  crossed  lightly  on 
her  lap. 

The  Judge  recovered  himself  first,  and  essayed  an  extra 
vagant  compliment. 

"I'll  trouble  you  for  that  thar  har-pin,"  said  Higgles, 
gravely.  Half  a  dozen  hands  were  eagerly  stretched  for 
ward  ;  the  missing  hair-pain  was  restored  to  its  fair  owner ; 
and  Higgles,  crossing  the  room,  looked  keenly  in  the  face  of 
the  invalid.  The  solemn  eyes  looked  back  at  hers  with  an 
expression  we  had  never  seen  before.  Life  and  intelligence 
seemed  to  struggle  back  into  the  rugged  face.  Higgles 
laughed  again, — it  was  a  singularly  eloquent  laugh, — and 
turned  her  black  eyes  and  white  teeth  once  more  towards  us. 

"  This  afflicted  person  is "  hesitated  the  Judge. 

"  Jim,"  said  Higgles. 

"Your  father?" 

"No." 

«  Brother?' 

«  No." 

"Husband?" 

Higgles  darted  a  quick,  half-defiant  glance  at  the  two 
lady  passengers  who  I  had  noticed  did  not  participate  in  the 
general  masculine  admiration  of  Higgles,  and  said,  gravely, 
"No;  it's  Jim/' 

There  was  an  awkward  pause.  The  lady  passengers  moved 
closer  to  each  other ;  the  Washoe  husband  looked  abstract 
edly  at  the  fire ;  and  the  tall  man  apparently  turned  his 

9 


3.4  MIGGLES. 

eyes  inward  for  self-support  at  this  emergency.  But  Migglcs's 
laugh,  which  was  very  infectious,  broke  the  silence.  "  Come," 
she  said,  briskly,  "you  must  be  hungry.  Who'll  bear  a 
hand  to  help  me  to  get  tea  V* 

She  had  no  lack  of  volunteers.  In  a  few  moments  Yuba 
Bill  was  engaged  like  Caliban  in  bearing  logs  for  this  Mi 
randa  ;  the  expressman  was  grinding  coffee  on  the  verandah; 
to  myself  the  arduous  duty  of  slicing  bacon  was  assigned  ; 
and  the  Judge  lent  each  man  his  good-humoured  and  voluble 
counsel.  And  when  Higgles,  assisted  by  the  Judge  and  our 
Hibernian  "  deck  passenger,"  set  the  table  with  all  the  avail 
able  crockery,  we  had  become  quite  joyous,  in  spite  of  the 
rain  that  beat  against  windows,  the  wind  that  whirled  down 
the  chimney,  the  two  ladies  who  whispered  together  in  the 
corner,  or  the  magpie  who  uttered  a  satirical  and  croaking 
commentary  on  their  conversation  from  his  perch  above.  In 
the  now  bright,  blazing  fire,  we  could  see  that  the  walls 
were  papered  with  illustrated  journals,  arranged  with  femi 
nine  taste  and  discrimination.  The  furniture  was  extempo 
rized,  and  adapted  from  candle-boxes  and  packing-cases,  and 
covered  with  gay  calico,  or  the  skin  of  some  animal.  The 
arm-chair  of  the  helpless  Jim  was  an  ingenious  variation  of 
a  flour-barrel.  There  was  neatness,  and  even  a  taste  for  the 
picturesque,  to  be  seen  in  the  few  details  of  the  long  low 
room. 

The  meal  was  a  culinary  success.  But  more,  it  was  a 
social  triumph, — chiefly,  I  think,  owing  to  the  rare  tact  of 
Miggles  in  guiding  the  conversation,  asking  all  the  questions 
herself,  yet  bearing  throughout  a  frankness  that  rejected  the 
idea  of  any  concealment  on  her  own  part,  so  that  we  talked 
of  ourselves,  of  our  prospects,  of  the  journey,  of  the  weather, 
of  each  other, — of  everything  but  our  host  and  hostess.  It 
must  be  confessed  that  Miggles's  conversation  was  never 
elegant,  rarely  grammatical,  and  that  at  times  she  employed 
expletives^  the  use  of  which  had  generally  been  yielded  to 


MIGGLES.  35 

our  sex.  But  they  were  delivered  with  such  a  lighting  up 
of  teeth  and  eyes,  and  were  usually  followed  by  a  laugh— 
a  laugh  peculiar  to  Higgles— so  frank  and  honest  that  it 
seemed  to  clear  the  moral  atmosphere. 

Once,  during  the  meal,  we  heard  a  noise  like  the  rubbing 
of  a  heavy  body  against  the  outer  walls  of  the  house.  This 
was  shortly  followed  by  a  scratching  and  sniffling  at  the 
door.  "  That 's  Joaquin,"  said  Higgles,  in  reply  to  our 
questioning  glances  ;  "  would  you  like  to  see  him  ?"  Before 
we  could  answer  she  had  opened  the  door,  and  disclosed  a 
half-grown  grizzly,  who  instantly  raised  himself  on  his 
haunches,  with  his  forepaws  hanging  down  in  the  popular 
attitude  of  mendicancy,  and  looked  admiringly  at  Higgles. 
with  a  very  singular  resemblance  in  his  manner  to  Yuba 
Bill.  "  That 's  my  watch-dog,"  said  Higgles,  in  explanation, 
"  Oh,  ho  don't  bite,"  she  added,  as  the  two  lady  passengers 
fluttered  into  a  corner.  "  Does  he,  old  Toppy ?"  (the  latter 
remark  being  addressed  directly  to  the  sagacious  Joaquin). 
"  I  tell  you  what,  boys,"  continued  Higgles,  after  she  had 
fed  and  closed  the  door  on  Ursa  Minor,  "  you  were  in  big 
luck  that  Joaquin  wasn't  hanging  round  when  you  dropped 
in  to-night."  "  Where  was  he  ] "  asked  the  Judge.  "  With 
me,"  said  Higgles.  "  Lord  love  you ;  he  trots  round  with 
me  nights  like  as  if  he  was  a  man." 

We  were  silent  for  a  few  moments,  and  listened  to  the 
wind.  Perhaps  we  all  had  the  same  picture  before  us, — of 
Higgles  walking  through  the  rainy  woods,  with  her  savage 
guardian  at  her  side.  The  Judge,  I  remember,  said  some 
thing  about  Una  and  her  lion ;  but  Higgles  received  it  as 
she  did  other  compliments,  with  quiet  gravity.  Whether 
she  was  altogether  unconscious  of  the  admiration  she  ex 
cited — she  could  hardly  have  been  oblivious  of  Yuba  Bill's 
adoration — I  know  not ;  but  her  very  frankness  suggested  a 
perfect  sexual  equality  that  was  cruelly  humiliating  to  th« 
younger  members  of  our  party. 

D  2 


36  MIGGLES. 

The  incident  of  the  bear  did  not  add  anything  in  Miggles'a 
favour  to  the  opinions  of  those  of  her  own  sex  who  were 
present.  In  fact,  the  repast  over,  a  dullness  radiated  from 
the  two  lady  passengers  that  no  pine-boughs  brought  in  by 
Yuba  Bill  and  cast  as  a  sacrifice  upon  the  hearth  could 
wholly  overcome.  Higgles  felt  it ;  and,  suddenly  declaring 
that  it  was  time  to  "  turn  in,"  offered  to  show  the  ladies  to 
their  bed  in  an  adjoining  room.  "  You,  boys,  will  have  to 
camp  out  here  by  the  fire  as  well  as  you  can,"  she  added, 
''for  thar  ain't  but  the  one  room." 

Our  sex — by  which,  my  dear  sir,  I  allude  of  course  to  the 
stronger  portion  of  humanity — has  been  generally  relieved 
from  the  imputation  of  curiosity,  or  a  fondness  for  gossip. 
Yet  I  am  constrained  to  say,  that  hardly  had  the  door  closed 
on  Higgles  than  we  crowded  together,  whispering,  snicker 
ing,  smiling,  and  exchanging  suspicions,  surmises,  and  a 
thousand  speculations  in  regard  to  our  pretty  hostess  and 
her  singular  companion.  I  fear  that  we  even  hustled  that 
imbecile  paralytic,  who  sat  like  a  voiceless  Hemnon  in  our 
midst,  gazing  with  the  serene  indifference  of  the  Past  in  his 
passionless  eyes  upon  our  wordy  counsels.  In  the  midst  of 
an  exciting  discussion  the  door  opened  again  and  Higgles 
re-entered. 

But  not,  apparently,  the  same  Higgles  who  a  few  hours 
before  had  flashed  upon  us.  Her  eyes  were  downcast,  and 
as  she  hesitated  for  a  moment  on  the  threshold,  with  a 
blanket  on  her  arm,  she  seemed  to  have  left  behind  her  the 
frank  fearlessness  which  had  charmed  us  a  moment  before. 
Coming  into  the  room,  she  drew  a  low  stool  beside  the  para 
lytic's  chair,  sat  down,  drew  the  blanket  over  her  shoulders, 
and  saying,  "  If  it's  all  the  same  to  you,  boys,  as  we're  rather 
crowded,  111  stop  here  to-night/'  took  the  invalid's  withered 
hand  in  her  own,  and  turned  her  eyes  upon  the  dying  fire 
An  instinctive  feeling  that  this  was  only  premonitory  to 
more  confidential  relations,  and  perhaps  some  shame  at  our 


HIGGLES.  37 

previous  curiosity  kept  us  silent.  The  rain  still  beat  upon 
the  roof,  wandering  gusts  of  wind  stirred  the  embers  into  mo 
mentary  brightness,  until,  in  a  lull  of  the  elements,  Higgles 
suddenly  lifted  up  her  head,  and  throwing  her  hair  over  her 
shoulder,  turned  her  face  upon  the  group  and  asked, — 

"  Is  there  any  of  you  that  knows  me  %  " 

There  was  no  reply. 

"Think  again  !  I  lived  at  Marysville  in  '53.  Everybody 
knew  me  there,  and  everybody  had  the  right  to  know  me. 
I  kept  the  Polka  Saloon  until  I  came  to  live  with  Jim. 
That's  six  years  ago.  Perhaps  I've  changed  some." 

The  absence  of  recognition  may  have  disconcerted  her. 
She  turned  her  head  to  the  fire  again,  and  it  was  some 
seconds  before  she  again  spoko,  and  then  more  rapidly, — 

"  Well,  you  see,  I  thought  some  of  you  must  have  known 
me.  There's  no  great  harm  done,  anyway.  What  I  was 
going  to  say  was  this  :  Jim  here  " — she  took  his  hand  in 
both  of  hers  as  she  spoke — "  used  to  know  me,  if  you  didn't, 
and  spent  a  heap  of  money  upon  me.  I  reckon  he  spent  all 
he  had.  And  one  day — it's  six  years  ago  this  winter — Jim 
came  into  my  back  room,  sat  down  on  my  sofy,  like  as  you 
see  him  in  that  chair,  and  never  moved  again  without  help. 
He  was  struck  all  of  a  heap,  and  never  seemed  to  know 
what  ailed  him.  The  doctors  came  and  said  as  how  it  was 
caused  all  along  of  his  way  of  life — for  Jim  was  mighty  free 
and  wild  like — and  that  he  would  never  get  better,  and 
couldn't  last  long  anyway.  They  advised  me  to  send  him 
to  Frisco,  to  the  hospital,  for  he  was  no  good  to  any  one 
and  would  be  a  baby  all  his  life.  Perhaps  it  was  some 
thing  in  Jim's  eye,  perhaps  it  was  that  I  never  had  a  baby, 
but  I  said  *  No.'  I  was  rich  then,  for  I  was  popular  with 
everybody — gentlemen  like  yourself,  sir,  came  to  see  nie — 
aad  I  sold  out  my  business  and  bought  this  yer  place,  be 
cause  it  was  sort  of  out  of  the  way  of  travel,  you  see,  and  I 
brought  my  baby  here." 


38  MIGGLES 

With  a  woman's  intuitive  tact  and  poetry,  she  had,  as 
she  spoke,  slowly  shifted  her  position  so  as  to  bring  the 
route  figure  of  the  ruined  man  between  her  and  her  audience, 
hiding  in  the  shadow  behind  it,  as  if  she  offered  it  as  a  tacit 
apology  for  her  actions.  Silent  and  expressionless,  it  yet 
spoke  for  her  ;  helpless,  crushed,  and  smitten  with  the 
Divine  thunderbolt,  it  still  stretched  an  invisible  arm  around 
her. 

Hidden  in  the  darkness,  but  still  holding  his  hand,  she 
went  on, — 

"  It  was  a  long  time  before  I  could  get  the  hang  of  things 
about  yer,  for  I  was  used  to  company  and  excitement.  I 
couldn't  get  any  woman  to  help  me,  and  a  man  I  dursent 
trust ;  but  what  with  the  Indians  hereabout,  who'd  do  odd 
jobs  for  me,  and  having  everything  sent  from  the  North 
Fork,  Jim  and  I  managed  to  worry  through.  The  Doctor 
would  run  up  from  Sacramento  once  in  a  while.  He'd  ask 
to  see  '  Miggles's  baby,'  as  he  called  Jim,  and  when  he'd  go 
away,  he'd  say,  (  Higgles,  you're  a  trump,  God  bless  you  ! ' 
and  it  didn't  seem  so  lonely  after  that.  But  the  last  time 
he  was  here  he  said,  as  he  opened  the  door  to  go,  '  Do  you 
know,  Higgles,  your  baby  will  grow  up  to  be  a  man  yet  and 
an  honour  to  his  mother ;  but  not  here,  Higgles,  not  here  ! ' 
And  I  thought  he  went  away  sad — and — and — "  and  here 
Higgles's  voice  and  head  were  somehow  both  lost  completely 
in  the  shadow. 

"  The  folks  about  here  are  very  kind,"  said  Higgles,  after 
a  pause,  coming  a  little  into  the  light  again.  "  The  men 
from  the  fork  used  to  hang  around  here,  until  they  found 
they  wasn't  wanted,  and  the  women  are  kind — and  don't 
call.  I  was  pretty  lonely  until  I  picked  up  Joaquin  in  the 
woods  yonder  one  day,  when  he  wasn't  so  high,  and  taught 
him  to  beg  for  his  dinner ;  and  then  thar's  Polly — that's  the 
magpie — she  knows  no  end  of  tricks,  and  makos  it  quite 
Bociable  of  evenings  with  her  talk,  and  so  I  don't  feel  like 


HIGGLES.  39 

as  I  was  the  only  living  being  about  the  ranch.  And  Jim 
here,"  said  Higgles,  with  her  old  laugh  again,  and  coming 
out  quite  into  the  firelight,  "  Jim — why,  boys,  you  would 
admire  to  see  how  much,  he  knows  for  a  man  like  him. 
Sometimes  I  bring  him  flowers,  and  he  looks  at  'em  just  as 
natural  as  if  he  knew  'em  •  and  times,  when  we're  sitting 
alone,  I  read  him  those  things  on  the  wall.  Why,  Lord!" 
said  Higgles,  with  her  frank  laugh,  "I've  read  him  that 
whole  side  of  the  house  this  winter.  There  never  was  such 
a  man  for  reading  as  Jim." 

"  Why,"  asked  the  Judge,  "  do  you  not  marry  this  man 
to  whom  you  have  devoted  your  youthful  life  1 " 

tf  Well,  you  see,"  said  Higgles,  "it  would  be  playing  it 
rather  low  down  on  Jim,  to  take  advantage  of  his  being  so 
helpless.  And  then,  too,  if  we  were  man  and  wife,  now, 
we'd  both  know  that  I  was  bound  to  do  what  I  do  now  of 
my  own  accord." 

"  But  you  are  young  yet  and  attractive " 

"It's  getting  late,'  said  Higgles,  gravely,  "and  you'd 
1>etter  all  turn  in.  Good-night,  boys  ;"  and,  throwing  the 
blanket  over  her  head,  Higgles  laid  herself  down  beside 
Jim's  chair,  her  head  pillowed  on  the  low  stool  that. held 
his  feet,  and  spoke  no  more.  The  fire  slowly  faded  from 
the  hearth ;  we  each  sought  our  blankets  in  silence  ;  and 
presently  there  was  no  sound  in  the  long  room  but  the  pat 
tering  of  the  rain  upon  the  roof,  and  the  heavy  breathing  of 
the  sleepers. 

It  was  nearly  morning  when  I  awoke  from  a  troubled 
dream.  The  storm  had  passed,  the  stars  were  shining,  and 
through  the  shutterless  window  the  full  moon,  lifting  itself 
over  the  solemn  pines  without,  looked  into  the  room.  It 
touched  the  lonely  figure  in  the  chair  with  an  infinite  com 
passion,  and  seemed  to  baptize  with  a  shining  flood  the 
lowly  head  of  the  woman  whose  hair,  as  in  the  sweet  old 
story,  bathed  the  feet  of  him  she  loved.  It  even  lent  a 


40  HIGGLES. 

kindly  poetry  to  the  rugged  outline  of  Yuba  Bill,  half  re* 
dining  on  his  elbow  between  them  and  his  passengers,  with 
savagely  patient  eyes  keeping  watch  and  ward.  And  then 
I  fell  asleep  and  only  woke  at  broad  day,  with  Yuba  Bill 
standing  over  me,  and  "  All  aboard  "  ringing  in  my  ears. 

Coffee  was  waiting  for  us  on  the  table,  but  Miggles  was 
gone.  We  wandered  about  the  house  and  lingered  long  after 
the  horses  were  harnessed,  but  she  did  not  return.  It  was 
evident  that  she  wished  to  avoid  a  formal  leave-taking,  and 
had  so  left  us  to  depart  as  we  had  come.  After  we  had 
helped  the  ladies  into  the  coach,  we  returned  to  the  house 
rind  solemnly  shook  hands  with  the  paralytic  Jim,  as  so 
lemnly  settling  him  back  into  position  after  each  hand 
shake.  Then  we  looked  for  the  last  time  around  the  long 
low  room,  at  the  stool  where  Miggles  had  sat,  and  slowly 
took  our  seats  in  the  waiting  coach.  The  whip  cracked, 
and  we  were  off ! 

But  as  we  reached  the  high-road,  Bill's  dexterous  hand 
laid  the  six  horses  back  on  their  haunches,  and  the  stage 
stopped  with  a  jerk.  For  there,  on  a  little  eminence  beside 
the  road,  stood  Miggles,  her  hair  flying,  her  eyes  sparkling, 
her  white  handkerchief  waving,  and  her  white  teeth  flashing 
a  last  "good-by."  We  waved  our  hats  in  return.  And 
then  Yuba  Bill,  as  if  fearful  of  further  fascination,  madly 
lashed  his  horses  forward,  and  we  sank  back  in  our  seats. 
We  exchanged  not  a  word  until  we  reached  the  North  Fork 
and  the  stage  drew  up  at  the  Independence  House.  Then, 
the  Judge  leading,  we  walked  into  the  bar-room  and  took 
our  places  gravely  at  the  bar. 

"  Are  your  glasses  charged,  gentlemen  ?  "  said  the  Judgn, 
solemnly  taking  off  his  white  hat. 

They  were. 

"  Well,  then,  here's  to  Miggles,  GOD  BLESS  HEB 1 n 

Perhaps  He  had.     Who  knows  \ 


JJ£NN£SS£E'S  PARTNER. 


TENNESSEE'S    PARTNER. 

T  DO  not  think  that  we  ever  knew  his  real  name.  Our 
ignorance  of  it  certainly  never  gave  us  any  social 
inconvenience,  for  at  Sandy  Bar  in  1854  most  men  were 
christened  anew.  Sometimes  these  appellatives  were  derived 
from  some  distinctiveness  of  dress,  as  in  the  case  of 
"  Dungaree  Jack ; "  or  from  some  peculiarity  of  habit,  as 
shown  in  "Saleratus  Bill,"  so  called  from  an  undue 
proportion  of  that  chemical  in  his  daily  bread ;  or  from 
some  unlucky  slip,  as  exhibited  in  "The  Iron  Pirate,"  a 
mild,  inoffensive  man,  who  earned  that  baleful  title  by  his 
unfortunate  mispronunciation  of  the  term  "iron  pyrites." 
Perhaps  this  may  have  been  the  beginning  of  a  rude  heraldry  j 
but  I  am  constrained  to  think  that  it  was  because  a  man's 
real  name  in  that  day  rested  solely  upon  his  own  unsupported 
statement.  "  Call  yourself  Clifford,  do  you  %  "  said  Boston, 
addressing  a  timid  new-comer  with  infinite  scorn ;  "  hell  is 
full  of  such  Cliffords ! "  He  then  introduced  the  unfor 
tunate  man,  whose  name  happened  to  be  really  Clifford,  as 
"Jay-bird  Charley," — an  unhallowed  inspiration  of  the 
moment,  that  clung  to  him  ever  after. 

But  to  return  to  Tennessee's  Partner,  whom  we  never 
knew  by  any  other  than  this  relative  title  ;  that  he  had 
ever  existed  as  a  separate  and  distinct  individuality  we  only 
learned  later.  It  seems  that  in  1853  he  left  Poker  Flat  to 
go  to  San  Francisco,  ostensibly  to  procure  a  wife.  He  never 
got  any  farther  than  Stockton.  At  that  place  he  was  at 
tracted  by  a  young  person  who  waited  upon  the  table  at  the 
hotel  where  he  took  his  meals.  One  morning  he  said  some 
thing  to  her  which  caused  her  to  smile  not  unkindly,  to 
somewhat  coquettishly  break  a  plate  of  toast  over  his  up 
turned,  serious,  simple  face,  and  to  retreat  to  the  kitchen. 
He  followed  her,  and  emerged  a  few  moments  later,  covered 


42  TENNESSEE'S  PARTNER. 

with  more  toast  and  victory.  That  day  week  they  were 
married  by  a  Justice  of  the  Peace,  and  returned  to  Poker 
Flat.  I  am  aware  that  something  more  might  be  made  of 
this  episode,  but  I  prefer  to  tell  it  as  it  was  current  at  Sandy 
Bar — in  the  gulches  and  bar  rooms — where  all  sentimert 
was  modified  by  a  strong  sense  of  humour. 

Of  their  married  felicity  but  little  is  known,  perhaps  for 
the  reason  that  Tennessee,  then  living  with  his  partner,  one 
day  took  occasion  to  say  something  to  the  bride  on  his  own 
account,  at  which,  it  is  said,  she  smiled  not  unkindly  and 
chastely  retreated, — this  time  as  far  as  Marysville,  where 
Tennessee  followed  her,  and  where  they  went  to  housekeep 
ing  without  the  aid  of  a  Justice  of  the  Peace.  Tennessee's 
Partner  took  the  loss  of  his  wife  simply  and  seriously,  as  was 
his  fashion.  But  to  everybody's  surprise,  when  Tennessee 
one  day  returned  from  Marysville,  without  his  partner's 
wife, — she  having  smiled  and  retreated  with  somebody  else, 
— Tennessee's  Partner  was  the  first  man  to  shake  his  hand 
and  greet  him  with  affection.  The  boys  who  had  gathered 
in  the  canon  to  see  the  shooting  were  naturally  indignant. 
Their  indignation  might  have  found  vent  in  sarcasm  but  for 
a  certain  look  in  Tennessee's  Partner's  eye  that  indicated  a 
lack  of  humourous  appreciation.  In  fact,  he  was  a  grave 
man,  with  a  steady  application  to  practical  detail  which  was 
unpleasant  in  a  difficulty. 

Meanwhile  a  popular  feeling  against  Tennessee  had  grown 
up  on  the  Bar.  He  was  known  to  be  a  gambler  ;  he  was 
suspected  to  be  a  thief.  In  these  suspicions  Tennessee's 
Partner  was  equally  compromised  ;  his  continued  intimacy 
with  Tennessee  after  the  affair  above  quoted  could  only 
be  accounted  for  on  the  hypothesis  of  a  copartnership  of 
crime.  At  last  Tennessee's  guilt  became  flagrant.  One  day 
he  overtook  a  stranger  on  his  way  to  Red  Dog.  The 
stranger  afterward  related  that  Tennessee  beguiled  the  time 
with  interesting  anecdote  and  reminiscence,  but  illogically 


TENNESSEE'S  PARTNER.  43 

concluded  the  interview  in  the  following  words  :  "  And  now, 
young  man,  I'll  trouble  you  for  your  knife,  your  pistols,  and 
your  money.  You  see  your  weppings  might  get  you  into 
trouble  at  Eed  Dog,  and  your  money's  a  temptation  to  the 
evilly  disposed.  I  think  you  said  your  address  was  San 
Francisco.  I  shall  endeavour  to  call."  It  may  be  stated  here 
that  Tennessee  had  a  fine  flow  of  humour,  which  no  busi 
ness  preoccupation  could  wholly  subdue. 

This  exploit  was  his  last.  Red  Dog  and  Sandy  Bar  made 
common  cause  against  the  highwayman.  Tennessee  was 
hunted  in  very  much  the  same  fashion  as  his  prototype,  the 
grizzly.  As  the  toils  closed  around  him,  he  made  a  despe 
rate  dash,  through  the  Bar,  emptying  his  revolver  at  the 
crowd  before  the  Arcade  Saloon,  and  so  on  up  Grizzly  Canon ; 
but  at  its  farther  extremity  he  was  stopped  by  a  small  man 
on  a  gray  horse.  The  men  looked  at  each  other  a  moment 
in  silence.  Both  were  fearless,  both  self-possessed  and  inde 
pendent  ;  and  both  types  of  a  civilization  that  in  the  seven 
teenth  century  would  have  been  called  heroic,  but,  in  the 
nineteenth,  simply  "  reckless."  "  What  have  you  got  there? 
— I  call,"  said  Tennessee,  quietly.  "  Two  bowers  and  an 
ace,"  said  the  stranger,  as  quietly,  showing  two  revolvers 
and  a  bowie  knife.  "  That  takes  me,"  returned  Tennessee ; 
and  with  this  gambler's  epigram,  he  threw  away  his  useless 
pistol,  and  rode  back  with  his  captor. 

It  was  a  warm  night.  The  cool  breeze  which  usually 
sprang  up  with  the  going  down  of  the  sun  behind  the  clia~ 
parral-crested  mountain  was  that  evening  withheld  from 
Sandy  Bar.  The  little  caiion  was  stifling  with  heated  resinous 
odours,  and  the  decaying  drift-wood  on  the  Bar  sent  forth 
faint,  sickening  exhalations.  The  feverishness  of  day,  and 
its  fierce  passions,  still  filled  the  camp.  Lights  moved  rest 
lessly  along  the  bank  of  the  river,  striking  no  answering  re 
flection  from  its  tawny  current.  Against  the  blackness  of 


44  TENNESSEE'S  PARTNER. 

the  pines  the  windows  of  the  old  loft  above  the  express- 
office  stood  out  staringly  bright ;  and  through  their  curtain- 
less  panes  the  loungers  below  could  see  the  forms  of  those 
who  were  even  then  deciding  the  fate  of  Tennessee.  And 
above  all  this,  etched  on  the  dark  firmament,  rose  the  Sierra, 
remote  and  passionless,  crowned  with  remoter  passionless 
stars. 

The  trial  of  Tennessee  was  conducted  as  fairly  as  was  con 
sistent  with  a  judge  and  jury  who  felt  themselves  to  some 
extent  obliged  to  justify,  in  their  verdict,  the  previous  ir 
regularities  of  arrest  and  indictment.  The  law  of  Sandy 
Bar  was  implacable,  but  not  vengeful.  The  excitement  and 
personal  feeling  of  the  chase  we?e  over  ;  with  Tennessee  safe 
in  their  hands  they  were  ready  to  listen  patiently  to  any 
defence,  which  they  were  already  satisfied  was  insufficient. 
There  being  no  doubt  in  their  own  minds,  they  were  willing 
to  give  the  prisoner  the  benefit  of  any  that  might  exist. 
Secure  in  the  hypothesis  that  he  ought  to  be  hanged,  on 
general  principles,  they  indulged  him  with  more  latitude  of 
defence  than  his  reckless  hardihood  seemed  to  ask.  The 
Judge  appeared  to  be  more  anxious  than  the  prisoner,  who, 
otherwise  unconcerned,  evidently  took  a  grim  pleasure  in  the 
responsibility  he  had  created.  "  I  don't  take  any  hand  in  this 
yer  game,"  had  been  his  invariable,  but  good-humoured  reply 
to  all  questions.  The  Judge — who  was  also  his  captor — for  a 
moment  vaguely  regretted  that  he  had  not  shot  him  "on 
sight,"  that  morning,  but  presently  dismissed  this  human 
weakness  as  unworthy  of  the  judicial  mind.  Nevertheless, 
when  there  was  a  tap  at  the  door,  and  it  was  said  that  Ten 
nessee's  Partner  was  there  on  behalf  of  the  prisoner,  he  was 
admitted  at  once  without  question.  Perhaps  the  younger 
members  of  the  jury,  to  whom  the  proceedings  were  be 
coming  irksomely  thoughtful,  hailed  him  as  a  relief. 

For  he  was  not,  certainly,  an  imposing  figure.  Short  and 
stout,  with  a  square  face,  sunburned  into  a  preternaturcil 


TENNESSEE'S  PARTNER.  45 

redness,  clad  in  a  loose  duck  "jumper,"  and  trousers 
stieaked  and  splashed  with  red  soil,  his  aspect  under  any 
circumstances  would  have  been  quaint,  and  was  now  even 
ridiculous.  As  he  stooped  to  deposit  at  his  feet  a  heavy 
carpet-bag  he  was  carrying,  it  became  obvious,  from 
partially  developed  regions  and  inscriptions,  that  the  ma 
terial  with  which  his  trousers  had  been  patched  had  been 
originally  intended  for  a  less  ambitious  covering.  Yet  he 
advanced  with  great  gravity,  and  after  having  shaken  the 
hand  of  each  person  in  the  room  with  laboured  cordiality, 
he  wiped  his  serious,  perplexed  face  on  a  red  bandanna  hand 
kerchief,  a  shade  lighter  than  his  complexion,  laid  his 
powerful  hand  upon  the  table  to  steady  himself,  and  thus 
addressed  the  Judge  : — 

"  I  was  passin'  by,"  he  began,  by  way  of  apology,  "  and  1 
thought  I'd  just  step  in  and  see  how  things  was  gittin' 
on  with  Tennessee  thar — my  pardner.  It's  a  hot  night.  I 
disremember  any  sich  weather  before  on  the  Bar." 

He  paused  a  moment,  but  nobody  volunteering  any  other 
meteorological  recollection,  he  again  had  recourse  to  his 
pocket-handkerchief,  and  for  some  moments  mopped  his 
face  diligently. 

"  Have  you  anything  to  say  in  behalf  of  the  prisoner  1 " 
said  the  Judge,  finally. 

"Thet's  it,"  said  Tennessee's  Partner,  in  a  tone  of  relief. 
"  I  come  yar  as  Tennessee's  pardner — knowing  him  nigh 
on  four  year,  off  and  on,  wet  and  dry,  in  luck  and  out  o* 
luck.  His  ways  ain't  allers  my  ways,  but  thar  ain't  any 
p'ints  in  that  young  man,  thar  ain't  any  liveliness  as  he's 
been  up  to,  as  I  don't  know.  And  you  sez  to  me,  sez 
you — confidential- like,  and  between  man  and  man — sez  you, 
'Do  you  know  anything  in  his  behalf?'  and  I  sez  to  you, 
sez  I — confidential-like,  as  between  man  and  man — '  What 
should  a  man  know  of  his  pardner  ? ' " 

"  Is  this  all  you  have  to  say  ? "  asked  the  Judge,  impa- 


46  TENNESSEE'S  PARTNER. 

tiently,  feeling,  perhaps,  that  a  dangerous  sympathy  of 
humour  was  beginning  to  humanize  the  Court. 

"  Thet's  so,"  continued  Tennessee's  Partner.  "  It  ain't  for 
me  to  say  anything  agin'  him.  And  now  what's  the  case  ? 
Here's  Tennessee  wants  money,  wants  it  bad,  and  doesn't 
like  to  ask  it  of  his  old  pardner.  "Well,  what  does  Tennessee 
do  ?  He  lays  for  a  stranger,  and  he  fetches  that  stranger. 
And  you  lays  for  him,  and  you  fetches  him;  and  the 
honours  is  easy,  And  I  put  it  to  you,  bein'  a  far- minded 
man,  and  to  you,  gentlemen,  all,  as  far-minded  men,  ef  this 
isn't  so." 

"Prisoner,"  said  the  Judge,  interrupting,  "have  you  any 
questions  to  ask  this  man  1 " 

"  Ko  !  no  !  "  continued  Tennessee's  Partner,  hastily.  "  1 
play  this  yer  hand  alone.  To  come  down  to  the  bed-rock, 
it's  just  this  :  Tennessee,  thar,  has  played  it  pretty  rough 
and  expensive-like  on  a  stranger,  and  on  this  yer  camp. 
And  now,  what's  the  fair  thing  1  Some  would  say  more ; 
some  would  say  less.  Here's  seventeen  hundred  dollars 
in  coarse  gold  and  a  watch, — it's  about  all  my  pile, — and 
call  it  square  !  "  And  before  a  hand  could  be  raised  to  pre 
vent  him,  he  had  emptied  the  contents  of  the  carpet-bag 
upon  the  table. 

For  a  moment  his  life  was  in  jeopardy.  One  or  two  men 
sprang  to  their  feet,  several  hands  groped  for  hidden  wea 
pons,  and  a  suggestion  to  "  throw  him  from  the  window  " 
was  only  overridden  by  a  gesture  from  the  Judge.  Ten 
nessee  laughed.  And  apparently  oblivious  of  the  excite 
ment,  Tennessee's  Partner  improved  the  opportunity  to  mop 
his  face  again  with  his  handkerchief. 

When  order  was  restored,  and  the  man  was  made  tc 
understand,  by  the  use  of  forcible  figures  and  rhetoric,  that 
Tennessee's  offence  could  not  be  condoned  by  money,  his  face 
took  a  more  serious  and  sanguinary  hue,  and  those  who  were 
nearest  to  him  noticed  that  his  rough  hand  trembled  slightly 


TENNESSEE'S  PARTNER.  47 

on  the  table.  He  hesitated  a  moment  as  he  slowly  returned 
the  gold  to  the  carpet-bag,  as  if  he  had  not  yet  entirely 
caught  the  elevated  sense  of  justice  which  swayed  the  tribu 
nal,  and  was  perplexed  with  the  belief  that  he  had  not 
offered  enough.  Then  he  turned  to  the  Judge,  and  saying, 
"This  yer  is  a  lone  hand,  played  alone,  and  without  iny 
pardner,"  he  bowed  to  the  jury  and  was  about  to  withdraw, 
when  the  Judge  called  him  back.  "  If  you  have  anything  to 
say  to  Tennessee,  you  had  better  say  it  now."  For  the 
first  time  that  evening  the  eyes  of  the  prisoner  and  his 
strange  advocate  met.  Tennessee  smiled,  showed  his  white 
teeth,  and  saying,  "  Euchred,  old  man  !  "  held  out  his  hand. 
Tennessee's  Partner  took  it  in  his  own,  and  saying,  "  I  just 
dropped  in  as  I  was  passin'  to  see  how  things  was  gettin' 
on,"  let  the  hand  passively  fall,  and  adding  that  "  it  was  a 
warm  night,"  again  mopped  his  face  with  his  handkerchief, 
and  without  another  word  withdrew. 

The  two  men  never  again  met  each  other  alive.  For  the 
unparalleled  insult  of  a  bribe  offered  to  Judge  Lynch — who, 
whether  bigoted,  weak,  or  narrow,  was  at  least  incorruptible 
— firmly  fixed  in  the  mind  of  that  mythical  personage 
any  wavering  determination  of  Tennessee's  fate  j  and  at  the 
break  of  day  he  was  marched,  closely  guarded,  to  meet  it  at 
the  top  of  Marley's  Hill. 

How  he  met  it,  how  cool  he  was,  how  he  refused  to  say 
anything,  how  perfect  were  the  arrangements  of  the  com 
mittee,  were  all  duly  reported,  with  the  addition  of  a  warn 
ing  moral  and  example  to  all  future  evil-doers,  in  the  Red 
Dog  Clarion,  by  its  editor,  who  was  present,  and  to  whoso 
vigorous  English  I  cheerfully  refer  the  reader.  But  the 
beauty  of  that  midsummer  morning,  the  blessed  amity  of 
earth  and  air  and  sky,  the  awakened  life  of  the  free  woods 
and  hills,  the  joyous  renewal  and  promise  of  Nature,  and 
above  all,  the  infinite  Serenity  that  thrilled  through  each, 
was  not  reportedj  as  not  being  a  part  of  the  social  lesson* 


43  TENNESSEE'S  PARTNER. 

And  yet,  when  tlie  weak  and  foolish  deed  was  done,  arid  a 
life,  with  its  possibilities  and  responsibilities,  had  passed 
out  of  the  misshapen  thing  that  dangled  between  earth 
and  sky,  the  birds  sang,  the  flowers  bloomed,  the  sun  shone, 
as  cheerily  as  before  ;  and  possibly  the  Red  Dog  Clarion  was 
right. 

Tennessee's  Partner  was  not  in  the  group  that  surrounded 
the  ominous  tree.  But  as  they  turned  to  disperse,  attention 
was  drawn  to  the  singular  appearance  of  a  motionless 
donkey-cart  halted  at  the  side  of  the  road.  As  they  ap 
proached,  they  at  once  recognised  the  venerable  "  Jenny" 
and  the  two-wheeled  cart  as  the  property  of  Tennessee's 
Partner, — used  by  him  in  carrying  dirt  from  his  claim  ;  and 
a  few  paces  distant  the  owner  of  the  equipage  himself,  sit 
ing  under  a  buckeye-tree,  wiping  the  perspiration  from  his 
glowing  face.  In  answer  to  an  inquiry,  he  said  he  had 
come  for  the  body  of  the  "  diseased  "  "  if  it  was  all  the  same 
to  the  committee."  He  didn't  wish  to  "  hurry  anything  ;" 
he  could  "  wait."  He  was  not  working  that  day  j  and 
when  the  gentlemen  were  done  with  the  "  diseased,"  he 
would  take  him.  "  Ef  thar  is  any  present,"  he  added,  in  his 
simple,  serious  way,  "  a?  would  care  to  jine  in  the  fun'l, 
they  kin  come."  Perhaps  it  was  from  a  sense  of  humour, 
which  I  have  already  intimated  was  a  feature  of  Sandy  Bar, 
— perhaps  it  was  from  something  even  better  than  that ;  but 
two-thirds  of  the  loungers  accepted  the  invitation  at  once. 

It  was  noon  when  the  body  of  Tennessee  was  delivered 
into  the  hands  of  his  partner.  As  the  cart  drew  up  to  tho 
fatal  tree,  we  noticed  that  it  contained  a  rough  oblong  box, 
apparently  made  from  a  section  of  sluicing, — and  half  filled 
with  bark  and  the  tassels  of  pine.  The  cart  was  further 
decorated  with  slips  of  willow,  and  made  fragrant  with  buck 
eye-blossoms.  When  the  body  was  deposited  in  the  box, 
Tennessee's  Partner  drew  over  it  a  piece  of  tarred  canvas, 
and  gravely  mounting  the  narrow  seat  in  front,  with  his 


TENNESSEE'S  PARTNER.  4 9 

feet  upon  the  shafts,  urged  the  little  donkey  forward.  The 
equipage  moved  slowly  on,  at  that  decorous  pace  which  was 
habitual  with  "Jenny,"  even  under  less  solemn  circum 
stances.  The  men  —  half-curiously,  half-jestingly,  but  all 
good-humouredly — strolled  along  beside  the  cart;  some  in 
advance,  some  a  little  in  the  rear  of  the  homely  catafalque. 
But,  whether  from  the  narrowing  of  the  road  or  some 
present  sense  of  decorum,  as  the  cart  passed  on  the  company 
fell  to  the  rear  in  couples,  keeping  step,  and  otherwise 
assuming  the  external  show  of  a  formal  procession.  Jack 
Folinsbee,  who  had  at  the  outset  played  a  funeral  march  in 
dumb  show  upon  an  imaginary  trombone,  desisted,  from  a 
lack  of  sympathy  and  appreciation, — not  having,  perhaps, 
your  true  humourist's  capacity  to  be  content  with  the  en  • 
joyment  of  his  own  fun. 

The  way  led  through  Grizzly  Canon  —  by  this  time 
clothed  in  funereal  drapery  and  shadows.  The  red- woods, 
burying  their  moccasoned  feet  in  the  red  soil,  stood  in 
Indian  file  along  the  track,  trailing  an  uncouth  benediction 
from  their  bending  boughs  upon  the  passing  bier.  A  hare, 
surprised  into  helpless  activity,  sat  upright  and  pulsating  in 
the  ferns  by  the  roadside  as  the  cortege  went  by.  Squirrels 
hastened  to  gain  a  secure  outlook  from  higher  boughs  ;  and 
the  blue-jays,  spreading  their  wings,  fluttered  before  them 
like  outriders,  until  the  outskirts  of  Sandy  Bar  were  reached, 
and  the  solitary  cabin  of  Tennessee's  Partner. 

Viewed  under  more  favourable  circumstances,  it  would 
not  have  been  a  cheerful  place.  The  unpicturesque  site,  the 
rude  and  unlovely  outlines,  the  unsavoury  details,  which 
distinguish  the  nest-building  of  the  California  miner,  were 
all  here,  with  the  dreariness  of  decay  superadded.  A  few 
paces  from  the  cabin  there  was  a  rough  enclosure,  which,  in 
the  brief  days  of  Tennessee's  Partner's  matrimonial  felicity, 
had  been  used  as  a  garden,  but  was  now  overgrown  with 
forn.  As  we  approached  it,  *ve  were  surprised  to  find  that 

£ 


$r>  TENNESSEE'S  PARTNER. 

what  we  had  taken  for  a  recent  attempt  at  cultivation  was 
the  broken  soil  about  an  open  grave. 

The  cart  was  halted  before  the  enclosure ;  and  rejecting 
the  offers  of  assistance  with  the  same  air  of  simple  self- 
reliance  he  had  displayed  throughout,  Tennessee's  Partner 
lifted  the  rough  coffin  on  his  back,  and  deposited  it,  un 
aided,  within  the  shallow  grave.  He  then  nailed  down  the 
board  which  served  as  a  lid  ;  and  mounting  the  little  mound 
of  earth  beside  it,  took  off  his  hat,  and  slowly  mopped  his  face 
with  his  handkerchief.  This  the  crowd  felt  was  a  preliminary 
to  speech ;  and  they  disposed  themselves  variously  on  stumps 
and  boulders,  and  sat  expectant. 

"  When  a  man,"  began  Tennessee's  Partner,  slowly,  "  has 
been  running  free  all  day,  what's  the  natural  thing  for  him 
to  do  1  Why,  to  come  home.  And  if  he  ain't  in  a  con 
dition  to  go  home,  what  can  his  best  friend  do  ?  Why, 
bring  him  home  !  And  here's  Tennessee  has  been  running 
free,  and  we  brings  him  home  from  his  wandering."  He 
paused,  and  picked  up  a  fragment  of  quartz,  rubbed  it 
thoughtfully  on  his  sleeve,  and  went  on  :  "  It  ain't  the  first 
time  that  I've  packed  him  on  my  back,  as  you  see'd  me 
now.  It  ain't  the  first  time  that  I  brought  him  to  this  yer 
cabin  when  he  couldn't  help  himself ;  it  ain't  the  first  time 
that  I  and  '  Jinny '  have  waited  for  him  on  yon  hill,  and 
picked  him  up  and  so  fetched  him  home,  when  he  couldn't 
Fpeak,  and  didn't  know  me.  And  now  that  it's  the  last  time, 

whv "  he  paused,  and  rubbed  the  quartz  gently  on  his 

sleeve — "  you  see  it's  a  sort  of  rough  on  his  partner.  And 
now,  gentlemen,"  he  added,  abruptly,  picking  up  his  long- 
handled  shovel,  "  the  fun'l  's  over  ;  and  my  thanks,  and 
Tennessee's  thanks  to  you  for  your  trouble." 

Resisting  any  proffers  of  assistance,  he  began  to  fill  in  the 
grave,  turning  his  back  upon  the  crowd,  that  after  a  few 
moments'  hesitation  gradually  withdrew.  As  they  crossed 
the  little  ridge  that  hid  Sandy  Bar  from  view,  some,  looking 


TENNESSEE'S  PARTNER.  51 

back,  though fc  they  could  see  Tennessee's  Partner,  his  work 
clone,  sitting  upon  the  grave,  his  shovel  between  his  knees, 
and  his  face  buried  in  his  red  bandanna  handkerchief.  But 
it  was  argued  by  others  that  you  couldn't  tell  his  face  frou. 
his  handkerchief  at  that  distance  j  and  this  point  remained 
undecided. 

In  the  reaction  that  followed  the  feverish  excitement  of 
that  day,  Tennessee's  Partner  was  not  forgotten.  A  secret 
investigation  had  cleared  him  of  any  complicity  in  Tennessee's 
guilt,  and  left  only  a  suspicion  of  his  general  sanity.  Sandy 
Bar  made  a  point  of  calling  on  him,  and  proffering  various 
uncouth,  but  well-meant  kindnesses.  But  from  that  day  this 
rude  health  and  great  strength  seemed  visibly  to  decline  ; 
and  when  the  rainy  season  fairly  set  in,  and  the  tiny  grass- 
blades  were  beginning  to  peep  from  the  rocky  mound  above 
Tennessee's  grave,  he  took  to  his  bed. 

One  night,  when  the  pines  beside  the  cabin  were  sway 
ing  in  the  storm,  and  trailing  their  slender  fingers  over  the 
roof,  and  the  roar  and  rush  of  the  swollen  river  were  heaid 
below,  Tennessee's  Partner  lifted  his  head  from  the  pillow, 
saying,  "  It  is  time  to  go  for  Tennessee ;  I  must  put 
Jinny'  in  the  cart;"  and  would  have  risen  from  his  bed 
but  for  the  restraint  of  his  attendant.  Struggling,  he  still 
pursued  his  singular  fancy  :  "  There,  now,  steady,  '  Jinny,' 
— steady,  old  girl.  How  dark  it  is  !  Look  out  for  the  ruts, 
— and  look  out  for  him,  too,  old  gal.  Sometimes,  you 
know,  when  he's  blind  drunk,  he  drops  down  right  in  the 
trail.  Keep  on  straight  up  to  the  pine  on  the  top  of  the 
hill.  Thar — I  told  you  so  ! — thar  he  is, — coming  this  way, 
too, — all  by  himself,  sober,  and  his  face  a-shining.  Ten 
nessee  !  Pardner ! " 
so  they  met. 


THE  IDYL  OF  RED  GULCH. 


THE    IDYL    OF    RED    GULCH. 

ANDY  was  very  drunk.  He  was  lying  under  an  azalea- 
bush,  in  pretty  much  the  same  attitude  in  which  he 
had  fallen  some  hours  before.  How  long  he  had  been  lying 
there  he  could  not  tell,  and  didn't  care  ;  how  long  he  should 
lie  there  was  a  matter  equally  indefinite  and  unconsidered. 
A  tranquil  philosophy,  born  of  his  physical  condition,  suf 
fused  and  saturated  his  moral  being. 

The  spectacle  of  a  drunken  man,  and  of  this  drunken  man 
in  particular,  was  not,  I  grieve  to  say,  of  sufficient  novelty 
in  Red  Gulch  to  attract  attention.  Earlier  in  the  day 
some  local  satirist  had  erected  a  temporary  tombstone  at 
Sandy's  head,  bearing  the  inscription,  —  "  Effects  of 
McCorkle's  whiskey, — kills  at  forty  rods,"  with  a  hand 
pointing  to  McCorkle's  saloon.  But  this,  I  imagine,  was, 
like  most  local  satire,  personal ;  and  was  a  reflection  upon 
the  unfairness  of  the  process  rather  than  a  commentary  upon 
the  impropriety  of  the  result.  With  this  facetious  exception, 
Sandy  had  been  undisturbed.  A  wandering  mule,  released 
from  his  pack,  had  cropped  the  scant  herbage  beside  him, 
and  sniffed  curiously  at  the  prostrate  man ;  a  vagabond  dog, 
with  that  deep  sympathy  which  the  species  have  for  drunken 
men,  had  licked  his  dusty  boots,  and  curled  himself  up  at  his 
feet,  and  lay  there,  blinking  one  eye  in  the  sunlight,  with  a 
simulation  of  dissipation  that  was  ingenious  and  dog-like  in 
its  implied  flattery  of  the  unconscious  man  beside  him. 

Meanwhile  the  shadows  of  the  pine-trees  had  slowly 
swung  around  until  they  crossed  the  road,  and  their  trunks 
barred  the  open  meadow  with  gigantic  parallels  of  black  and 
yellow.  Little  puffs  of  red  dust,  lifted  by  the  plunging 
hoof  g  of  passing  teams,  dispersed  in  a  grimy  shower  upon  the 
recumbent  man.  The  sun  sank  lower  and  lower  ;  and  still 
Sandy  stirred  not.  And  then  the  repose  of  this  philosopher 


THE  IDYL  OF  RED  GULCfr.  53 

was  disturbed,  as  other  philosophers  have  been,  by  the  in 
trusion  of  an  unphilosophical  sex. 

"  Miss  Mary,"  as  she  was  known  to  the  little  flock  that 
she  had  just  dismissed  from  the  log  school-house  beyond  tho 
pines,  was  taking  her  afternoon  walk.  Observing  an  un 
usually  fine  cluster  of  blossoms  on  the  azalea-bush  opposite, 
she  crossed  the  road  to  pluck  it, — picking  her  way  through 
the  red  dust,  not  without  certain  fierce  little  shivers  of 
disgust,  and  some  feline  circumlocution.  And  then  she 
came  suddenly  upon  Sandy  ! 

Of  course  she  uttered  the  little  staccato  cry  of  her  sex. 
But  when  she  had  paid  that  tribute  to  her  physical  weak 
ness  she  became  overbold,  and  halted  for  a  moment, — at 
least  six  feet  from  this  prostrate  monster, — with  her  white 
skirts  gathered  in  her  hand,  ready  for  flight.  But  neither 
sound  nor  motion  came  from  the  bush.  With  one  little 
foot  she  then  overturned  the  satirical  head-board,  and  mut- 
terred,  "  Beasts  ! "  —  an  epithet  which  probably,  at  that 
moment,  conveniently  classified  in  her  mind  the  entire  male 
population  of  Red  Gulch.  For  Miss  Mary,  being  possessed 
of  certain  rigid  notions  of  her  own,  had  not,  perhaps,  properly 
appreciated  the  demonstrative  gallantry  for  which  the 
Calif ornian  has  been  so  justly  celebrated  by  his  brother 
Californians,  and  had,  as  a  new-comer,  perhaps,  fairly  earned 
the  reputation  of  being  "  stuck  up." 

As  she  stood  there  she  noticed,  also,  that  the  slant  sun 
beams  were  heating  Sandy's  head  to  what  she  judged  to  be 
an  unhealthy  temperature,  and  that  his  hat  was  lying  use 
lessly  at  his  side.  To  pick  it  up  and  to  place  it  over  his  face 
was  a  work  requiring  some  courage,  particularly  as  his  eyes 
were  open.  Yet  she  did  it  and  made  good  her  retreat.  But 
she  was  somewhat  concerned,  on  looking  back,  to  see  that 
the  hat  was  removed,  arid  that  Sandy  was  sitting  up  and 
saying  something. 

The  truth  was,  that  in  the  calm  depths  of  Sandy's  mind 


54  THE  IDYL  OF  RED  GULCH. 

he  was  satisfied  that  the  rays  of  the  sun  were  beneficial  and 
healthful ;  that  from  childhood  he  had  objected  to  lying  down 
in  a  hat ;  that  no  people  but  condemned  fools,  past  redemp 
tion,  ever  wore  hats ;  and  that  his  right  to  dispense  with 
them  when  he  pleased  was  inalienable.  This  was  the  state 
ment  of  his  inner  consciousness.  Unfortunately,  its  outward 
expression  was  vague,  being  limited  to  a  repetition  of  the 
following  formula, — "  Su'shine  all  ri' !  Wasser  ma'ar,  eh  ? 
Wass  up,  su'shine  1" 

Miss  Mary  stopped,  and,  taking  fresh  courage  from  her 
vantage  of  distance,  asked  him  if  there  was  anything  that  he 
wanted. 

"  Wass  up  ?  Wasser  ma'ar  T'  continued  Sandy,  in  a  very 
high  key. 

"  Get  up,  you  horrid  man ! "  said  Miss  Mary,  now 
thoroughly  incensed  ;  "  get  up,  and  go  home." 

Sandy  staggered  to  his  feet.  He  was  six  feet  high,  and 
Miss  Mary  trembled.  He  started  forward  a  few  paces  and 
then  stopped. 

"Wass  I  go  home  for?"  he  suddenly  asked,  with  great 
gravity. 

"  Go  and  take  a  bath,"  replied  Miss  Mary,  eying  his 
grimy  person  with  great  disfavour. 

To  her  infinite  dismay,  Sandy  suddenly  pulled  off  his  coat 
and  vest,  threw  them  on  the  ground,  kicked  off  his  boots, 
and,  plunging  wildly  forward,  darted  headlong  over  the  hill, 
in  the  direction  of  the  river. 

"  Goodness  Heavens  ! — the  man  will  be  drowned  !"  said 
Miss  Mary  ;  and  then,  with  feminine  inconsistency,  she  ran 
back  to  the  school-house,  and  locked  herself  in. 

That  night,  while  seated  at  supper  with  her  hostess,  the 
blacksmith's  wife,  it  camo  to  Miss  Mary  to  ask,  demurely,  if 
her  husband  ever  got  drunk.  "Abner,"  responded  Mrs. 
Stidger,  reflectively,  "let's  see  :  Abner  hasn't  been  tight 
since  last  'lection."  Miss  Mary  would  have  liked  to  ask  if 


THE  IDYL  OF  RED  GULCH.  55 

ne  preferred  lying  in  the  sun  on  these  occasions,  and  if  a  cold 
bath  would  have  hurt  him ;  but  this  would  have  involved  an 
explanation,  which  she  did  not  then  care  to  give.  So  she 
contented  herself  with  opening  her  gray  eyes  widely  at  the 
red-cheeked  Mrs.  Stidger, — a  fine  specimen  of  South- western 
efflorescence, — and  then  dismissed  the  subject  altogether. 
The  next  day  she  wrote  to  her  dearest  friend,  in  Boston  :  "  I 
think  I  find  the  intoxicated  portion  of  this  community  the 
least  objectionable.  I  refer,  my  dear,  to  the  men,  of  course. 
I  do  not  know  anything  *hat  could  make  the  women 
tolerable." 

In  less  than  a  week  Miss  Mar}'  had  forgotten  this  episode, 
except  that  her  afternoon  walks  took  thereafter,  almost  un 
consciously,  another  direction.  She  noticed,  however,  that 
every  morning  a  fresh  cluster  of  azalea-blossoms  appeared 
among  the  flowers  on  her  desk.  This  was  not  strange,  as  her 
little  flock  were  aware  of  her  fondness  for  flowers,  and 
invariably  kept  her  desk  bright  with  anemones,  syringas, 
and  lupines;  but,  on  questioning  them,  they,  one  and  all, 
professed  ignorance  of  the  azaleas.  A  few  days  later,  Master 
Johnny  Stidger,  whose  desk  was  nearest  to  the  window,  was 
suddenly  taken  with  spasms  of  apparently  gratuitous  Ian  ^hter, 
that  threatened  the  discipline  of  the  school.  All  that  Miss 
Mary  could  get  from  him  was  that  some  one  had  )een 
"looking  in  the  winder."  Irate  and  indignant,  she  sallied 
from  her  hive  to  do  battle  with  the  intruder.  As  she  turned 
the  corner  of  the  school  house  she  came  plump  upon  the 
quondam  drunkard,  now  perfectly  sober,  and  inexpressibly 
sheepish  and  guilty-looking. 

These  facts  Miss  Mary  was  not  slow  to  take  a  feminine 
advantage  of,  in  her  present  humour.  But  it  was  somewhat 
confusing  to  observe,  also,  that  the  beast,  despite  some  faint 
signs  of  past  dissipation,  was  amiable-looking, — in  fact,  a 
kind  of  blond  Samson,  whose  corn-coloured,  silken  beard 
apparently  had  never  yet  known  the  touch  of  barber's  razor 


56  THE  IDYL  OF  RED  GULCH. 

or  Delilah's  shears.  So  that  the  cutting  speech  which 
quivered  on  her  ready  tongue  died  upon  her  lips,  and  she 
contented  herself  with  receiving  his  stammering  apology 
with  supercilious  eyelids,  and  the  gathered  skirts  of  uncon- 
tamination.  When  she  re-entered  the  school- room,  her  eyes 
fell  upon  the  azaleas  with  a  new  sense  of  revelation.  And 
then  she  laughed,  and  the  little  people  all  laughed,  and  they 
were  all  unconsciously  very  happy. 

It  was  on  a  hot  day — and  not  long  after  this — that  two 
short-legged  boys  came  to  grief  on  the  threshold  of  the 
school  with  a  pail  of  water,  which  they  had  laboriously 
brought  from  the  spring,  and  that  Miss  Mary  compassionately 
seized  the  pail  and  started  for  the  spring  herself.  At  the  foot 
of  the  hill  a  shadow  crossed  her  path,  and  a  blue-shirted  arm 
dexterously,  but  gently,  relieved  her  of  her  burden.  Miss 
Mary  was  both  embarrassed  and  angry.  "  If  you  carried 
more  of  that  for  yourself,"  she  said,  spitefully,  to  the  blue 
arm,  without  deigning  to  raise  her  lashes  to  its  owner,  "  you'd 
do  better."  In  the  submissive  silence  that  followed  she 
regretted  tho  speech,  and  thanked  him  so  sweetly  at  the  door 
that  he  stumbled,  which  caused  the  children  to  laugh  again, — 
a  laugh  in  which  Miss  Mary  joined,  until  the  colour  came 
faintly  into  her  pale  cheek.  The  next  day  a  barrel  was 
mysteriously  placed  beside  the  door,  and  as  mysteriously 
filled  with  fresh  spring-water  every  morning. 

Nor  was  this  superior  young  person  without  other  quiet 
attentions.  "Profane  Bill,"  driver  of  the  Slumgullion  Stage, 
widely  known  in  the  newspapers  for  his  "  gallantry "  in 
invariably  offering  the  box-seat  to  the  fair  sex,  had  excepted 
Miss  Mary  from  this  attention,  on  the  ground  that  he  had  a 
habit  of  "  cussin'  on  up  grades,"  and  gave  her  half  the  coach 
to  herself.  Jack  Hamlin,  a  gambler,  having  once  silently 
ridden  with  her  in  the  same  coach,  afterwards  threw  a 
decanter  at  the  head  of  a  confederate  for  mentioning  her 
name  in  a  bar-room.  The  over- dressed  mother  of  a  pupil 


THE  IDYL  OF  RED  GULCH.  57 

whose  paternity  was  doubtful,  had  often  lingered  near  this 
astute  Vestal's  temple,  never  daring  to  enter  its  sacred  pre- 
ciucts,  but  content  to  worship  the  priestess  from  afar. 

"With  such  unconscious  intervals  the  monotonous  pro 
cession  of  blue  skies,  glittering  sunshine,  brief  twilights,  and 
starlit  nights  passed  over  Red  Gulch.  Miss  Mary  grew  fond 
of  walking  in  the  sedate  and  proper  woods.  Perhaps  she 
believed,  with  Mrs.  Stidger,  that  the  balsamic  odours  of  the 
firs  "  did  her  chest?  good,"  for  certainly  her  slight  cough  was 
less  freqiient  and  her  step  was  firmer;  perhaps  she  had 
learned  the  unending  lesson  which  the  patient  pines  are 
never  weary  of  Repeating  to  heedful  or  listless  ears.  And  so, 
one  day,  she  planned  a  pic-nic  on  Buck-eye  Hill,  and  took  the 
children  with  her.  Away  from  the  dusty  road,  the  straggling 
shanties,  the  yellow  ditches,  the  clamour  of  restless  engines, 
the  cheap  finery  of  shop-windows,  the  deeper  glitter  of  paint 
and  coloured  glass,  and  the  thin  veneering  which  barbarism 
takes  upon  itself  in  such  localities — what  infinite  relief  was 
theirs  !  The  last  heap  of  ragged  rock  and  clay  passed,  the 
last  unsightly  chasm  crossed, — how  the  waiting  woods 
opened  their  long  files  to  receive  them  !  How  the  children — 
perhaps  because  they  had  not  yet  grown  quite  away  from  the 
breast  of  the  bounteous  Mother — threw  themselves  face 
downward  on  her  brown  bosom  with  uncouth  caresses, 
filling  the  air  with  their  laughter  ;  and  how  Miss  Mary 
herself — felinely  fastidious  and  intrenched  as  she  was  in  the 
purity  of  spotless  skirts,  collar,  and  cuffs — forgot  all,  and  ran 
like  a  crested  quail  at  the  head  of  her  brood,  until,  romping, 
laughing,  and  panting,  with  a  loosened  braid  of  brown  hair, 
a  hat  hanging  by  a  knotted  ribbon  from  her  throat,  she  came 
suddenly  and  violently,  in  the  heart  of  the  forest,  upon — the 
luckless  Sandy  ! 

The  explanations,  apologies,  and  not  overwise  conversation 
that  ensued,  need  not  be  indicated  here.  It  would  seem, 
however,  that  Miss  Mary  had  already  established  some 


58  THE  IDYL  OF  RED  GULCH. 

acquaintance  with  this  ex-drunkard.  Enough  that  he 
soon  accepted  as  one  of  the  party  ;  that  the  children,  with 
that  quick  intelligence  which  Providence  gives  the  helpless, 
recognized  a  friend,  and  played  with  his  blond  beard,  and 
long  silken  mustache,  and  took  other  liberties, — as  the  help 
less  are  apt  to  do.  And  when  he  had  built  a  fire  against  a 
tree,  and  had  shown  them  other  mysteries  of  wood-craft, 
their  admiration  knew  no  bounds.  At  the  close  of  two  such 
foolish,  idle,  happy  hours  he  found  himsejf  lying  at  the  feet 
of  the  schoolmistress,  gazing  dreamily  in  her  face,  as  she  sat 
upon  the  sloping  hill- side,  weaving  wreaths  of  laurel  and 
syringa,  in  very  much  the  same  attitude  as  he  had  lain  when 
first  they  met.  Nor  was  tk«  similitude  greatly  forced.  The 
weakness  of  an  easy,  sensuous  nature,  that  had  found  a 
dreamy  exaltation  in  liquor,  it  is  to  be  feared  was  now  find 
ing  an  equal  intoxication  in  love. 

I  think  that  Sandy  was  dimly  conscious  of  this  himself. 
I  know  that  he  longed  to  be  doing  something, — slaying  a 
grizzly,  scalping  a  savage,  or  sacrificing  himself  in  some  way 
for  the  sake  of  this  sallow-faced,  gray-eyed  schoolmistress. 
As  I  should  like  to  present  him  in  a  heroic  attitude,  I  stay 
my  hand  with  great  difficulty  at  this  moment,  being  only 
withheld  from  introducing  such  an  episode  by  a  strong  con 
viction  that  it  does  not  usually  occur  at  such  times.  And  I 
trust  that  my  fairest  reader,  who  remembers  that,  in  a  real 
crisis,  it  is  always  some  uninteresting  stranger  or  unromantic 
policeman,  and  not  Adolphns,  who  rescues,  will  forgive  the 
omission. 

So  they  sot  there,  undisturbed — the  woodpeckers  chattering 
overhead,  and  the  voices  of  the  children  coming  pleasantly 
from  the  hollow  below.  What  they  said  matters  little.  What 
they  thought — which  might  have  been  interesting — did  not 
transpire.  The  woodpeckers  only  learned  how  Miss  Mar^ 
was  an  orphan  j  how  she  left  her  uncle's  house,  to  come  to 
California,  for  the  sake  of  health  and  independence ;  how 


THE  IDYL  OF  RED  GULCH.  59 

Sandy  was  an  orphan,  too  ;  how  he  came  to  California  for  ex 
citement  j  how  he  had  lived  a  wild  life,  and  how  he  was  trying 
to  reform ;  and  other  details,  which,  from  a  woodpecker's 
view-point,  undoubtedly  must  have  seemed  stupid,  and  a 
waste  of  time.  But  even  in  such  trifles  was  the  afternoon 
spent ;  and  when  the  children  were  again  gathered,  and 
Sandy,  with  a  delicacy  which  the  schoolmistress  well  under 
stood,  took  leave  of  them  quietly  at  the  outskirts  of  the 
settlement,  it  had  seemed  the  shortest  day  of  her  weary  life. 

As  the  long,  dry  summer  withered  to  its  roots,  the  school 
term  of  Red  Gulch — to  use  a  local  euphuism — "  dried  up  " 
also.  In  another  day  Miss  Mary  would  be  free  j  and  for  a 
season,  at  least,  Red  Gulch  would  know  her  no  more.  She 
was  seated  alone  in  the  school-house,  her  cheek  resting  on  her 
hand,  her  eyes  half  closed  in  one  of  those  day-dreams  in 
which  Miss  Mary — I  fear,  to  the  danger  of  school  discipline 
— was  lately  in  the  habit  of  indulging.  Her  lap  was  full  of 
mosses,  ferns,  and  other  woodland  memories.  She  was  so 
pre-occupied  with  these  and  her  own  thoughts  that  a  gentle 
tapping  at  the  door  passed  unheard,  or  translated  itself  into 
the  remembrance  of  far-off  woodpeckers.  When  at  last  it 
asserted  itself  more  distinctly,  she  started  up  with  a  flushed 
cheek  and  opened  the  door.  On  the  threshold  stood  a 
woman,  the  self-assertion  and  audacity  of  whose  dress  were 
in  singular  contrast  to  her  timid,  irresolute  bearing. 

Miss  Mary  recognised  at  a  glance  the  dubious  mother  of 
her  anonymous  pupil.  Perhaps  she  was  disappointed,  perhaps 
she  was  only  fastidious ;  but  as  she  coldly  invited  her  to 
enter,  she  half-unconsciously  settled  her  white  cuffs  and 
collar,  and  gathered  closer  her  own  chaste  skirts.  It  ^ns, 
perhaps,  for  this  reason  that  the  embarrassed  stranger,  after 
a  moment's  hesitation,  left  her  gorgeous  parasol  open  and 
sticking  in  the  dust  beside  the  door,  and  then  sat  down  at 
the  farther  end  of  a  long  bench.  Her  voice  was  husky  as  she 
began, — • 


60  THE  IDYL  OF  RED  GULCH. 

"I  lieerd  tell  that  you  were  goiu'  down  to  the  Bay  to 
morrow,  and  I  couldn't  let  you  go  until  I  came  to  thank  you 
for  your  kindness  to  my  Tommy." 

Tommy,  Miss  Mary  said,  was  a  good  boy,  and  deserved 
more  than  the  poor  attention  she  could  give  him. 

"  Thank  you,  miss ;  thank  ye ! "  cried  the  stranger, 
brightening  even  through  the  colour  which  Red  Gulch  knew 
facetiously  as  her  "  war  paint,"  and  striving,  in  her  embar 
rassment,  to  drag  the  long  bench  nearer  the  schoolmistress. 
"  I  thank  you,  miss,  for  that !  and  if  I  am  his  mother,  there 
ain't  a  sweeter,  dearer,  better  boy  lives  than  him.  And  if  I 
ain't  much  as  says  it,  thar  ain't  a  sweeter  dearer,  angeler 
teacher  lives  than  he's  got." 

Miss  Mary,  sitting  primly  behind  her  desk,  with  a  ruler 
over  her  shoulder,  opened  her  gray  eyes  widely  at  this,  but 
said  nothing. 

"  It  ain't  for  you  to  be  complimented  by  the  like  of  me,  1 
know,"  she  went  on,  hurriedly.  "It  ain't  for  me  to  be 
comin'  here,  in  broad  day,  to  do  it,  either ;  but  I  come  to 
ask  a  favour, — not  for  me,  miss, — not  for  me,  but  for  the 
darling  boy." 

Encouraged  by  a  look  in  the  young  schoolmistress's  eye, 
and  putting  her  lilac-gloved  hands  together,  the  fingers  down 
ward,  between  her  knees,  she  went  on,  in  a  low  voice, — 

"  You  see,  miss,  there's  no  one  the  boy  has  any  claim  on 
but  me,  and  I  ain't  the  proper  person  to  bring  him  up.  I 
thought  some,  last  year,  of  sending  him  away  to  'Frisco  to 
school,  but  when  they  talked  of  bringing  a  schoolma'am  here, 
I  waited  till  I  saw  you,  and  then  I  knew  it  was  all  right,  and 
I  could  keep  my  boy  a  little  longer.  And  O,  miss,  he  loves 
you  so  much  ;  and  if  you  could  hear  him  talk  about  you,  in 
his  pretty  way,  and  if  he  could  ask  you  what  I  ask  you  now, 
you  couldn't  refuse  him. 

"It  is  natural,"  she  went  on  rapidly,  in  a  voice  that 
trembled  strangely  between  pride  and  humility, — "it's  natural 


THE  IDYL  OF  RED  GULCH.  61 

that  lie  should  take  to  you,  miss,  for  his  father,  when  I  first 
knew  him,  was  a  gentleman, — and  the  boy  must  forget  me, 
sooner  or  later, — and  so  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  cry  about  that. 
For  I  come  to  ask  you  to  take  my  Tommy, — God  bless  him 
for  the  bestest,  sweetest  boy  that  lives  ! — to — to — take  him 
with  you." 

She  had  risen  and  caught  the  young  girl's  hand  in  her  own, 
and  had  fallen  on  her  knees  beside  her. 

"  I've  money  plenty,  and  it's  all  yours  and  his.  Put  him 
in  some  good  school,  where  you.  can  go  and  see  him,  and  help 
him  to — to — to  forget  his  mother.  Do  with  him  what  you 
like.  The  worst  you  can  do  will  be  kindness  to  what  he  will 
learn  with  me.  Only  take  him  out  of  this  wicked  life,  this 
cruel  place,  this  home  of  shame  and  sorrow.  You  will ;  I 
know  you  will, — won't  you  1  You  will, — you  must  not,  you 
cannot  say  no  !  You  will  make  him  as  pure,  as  gentle  as 
yourself ;  and  when  he  has  grown  up,  you  will  tell  him  his 
father's  name, — the  name  that  hasn't  passed  my  lips  for 
years, — the  name  of  Alexander  Morton,  whom  they  call  here 
Sandy  !  Miss  Mary  ! — do  not  take  your  hand  away  !  Miss 
Mary,  speak  to  me  !  You  will  take  my  boy  ?  Do  not  put 
your  face  from  me.  I  know  it  ought  not  to  look  on  such  as 
me.  Miss  Mary ! — my  God,  be  merciful !— she  is  leaving  me ! " 

Miss  Mary  had  risen,  and,  in  the  gathering  twilight,  had 
felt  her  way  to  the  open  window.  She  stood  there,  leaning 
against  the  casement,  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  last  rosy  tints 
that  were  fading  from  the  western  sky.  There  was  still  some 
of  its  light  on  her  pure  young  forehead,  on  her  white  collar, 
on  her  clasped  white  hands,  but  all  fading  slowly  away.  The 
suppliant  had  dragged  herself,  still  on  her  knees,  beside  her. 

"I  know  it  takes  time  to  consider.  I  will  wait  here  all 
night ;  but  I  cannot  go  until  you  speak.  Do  not  deny  me 
now.  You  will ! — I  see  it  in  your  sweet  face, — such  a  face 
as  I  have  seen  in  my  dreams.  I  see  it  in  your  eyes,  Miss 
Mary  ! — you  will  take  my  boy  S" 


62  THE  IDYL  OF  RED  GULCH. 

The  last  red  beam  crept  higher,  suffused  Miss  Mary's  eyes 
with  something  of  its  glory,  flickered,  and  faded,  and  went 
out.  The  sun  had  set  on  Bed  Gulch.  In  the  twilight  and 
silence  Miss  Mary's  voice  sounded  pleasantly. 

"  I  will  take  the  boy.     Send  him  to  me  to-night." 

The  happy  mother  raised  the  hem  of  Miss  Mary's  skirts  to 
her  lips.  She  would  have  buried  her  hot  face  in  its  virgin 
folds,  but  she  dared  not.  She  rose  to  her  feet. 

"Does — this  man — know  of  your  intention?"  asked  Miss 
Mary,  suddenly. 

"  No ;  nor  cares.  He  has  never  even  seen  the  child  to 
know  it." 

"  Go  to  him  at  once, — to  night, — now.  Tell  him  what 
you  have  done.  Tell  him  I  have  taken  his  child,  and  tell 
him — he  must  never  see — see — the  child  again.  Wherever 
it  may  be,  he  must  not  come ;  wherever  I  may  take  it,  he 
must  not  follow  !  There,  go  now,  please — I'm  weary,  and — 
have  much  yet  to  do  ! " 

They  walked  together  to  the  door.  On  the  threshold  the 
woman  turned. 

"Good  night." 

She  would  have  fallen  at  Miss  Mary's  feet.  But  at  the 
same  moment  the  young  girl  reached  out  her  arms,  caught 
the  sinful  woman  to  her  own  pure  breast  for  one  brief 
moment,  and  then  closed  and  locked  the  door. 

It  was  with  a  sudden  sense  of  great  responsibility  that 
Profane  Bill  took  the  reins  of  the  Slumgullion  Stage  the  next 
morning,  for  the  schoolmistress  was  one  of  his  passengers. 
As  he  entered  the  high-road,  in  obedience  to  a  pleasant  voice 
from  the  "inside,"  he  suddenly  reined  up  his  horses  and 
respectfully  waited,  as  "Tommy"  hopped  out  at  the  com 
mand  of  Miss  Mary. 

"  Not  that  bush,  Tommy— the  next." 

Tommy  whipped  out  his  new  pocket-knife,  and,  cutting  a 


HIGH-  WA  TER  MARK.  63 

branch  from  a  tall  azalea-bush,  returned  with  it  to  Miss 
Mary. 

"All  right  now ]" 

"All  right." 

And  the  stage-door  closed  on  the  Idyl  of  Red  Gulch. 


HIGH    WATER    MARK. 

A  \J  HEIST  the  tide  was  out  on  the  Dedlow  Marsh,  ita 
extended  dreariness  was  patent.  Its  spongy,  low- 
lying  surface,  sluggish,  inky  pools,  and  tortuous  sloughs, 
twisting  their  slimy  way,  eel-like,  toward  the  open  hay,  were 
all  hard  facts.  So  were  the  few  green  tussocks,  with  their 
scant  blades,  their  amphibious  flavour,  and  unpleasant  damp 
ness.  And  if  you  choose  to  indulge  your  fancy, — although 
the  flat  monotony  of  Dedlow  Marsh  was  not  inspiring, — the 
wavy  line  of  scattered  drift  gave  an  unpleasant  consciousness 
of  the  spent  waters,  and  made  the  dead  certainty  of  the 
returning  tide  a  gloomy  reflection,  which  no  present  sunshine 
could  dissipate.  The  greener  meadow-land  seemed  oppressed 
with  this  idea,  and  made  no  positive  attempt  at  vegetation 
until  the  work  of  reclamation  should  be  complete.  In  the 
bitter  fruit  of  the  low  cranberry-bushes  one  might  fancy  ho 
detected  a  naturally  sweet  disposition  curdled  and  soured  by 
an  injudicious  course  of  too  much  regular  cold  water. 

The  vocal  expression  of  the  Dedlow  Marsh  was  also  melan 
choly  and  depressing.  The  sepulchral  boom  of  the  bittern, 
the  shriek  of  the  curlew,  the  scream  of  passing  brent,  the 
wrangling  of  quarrelsome  teal,  the  sharp,  querulous  protest  of 
the  startled  crane,  and  syllabled  complaint  of  the  "killdeer" 
plover  were  beyond  the  power  of  written  expression.  Nor 
was  the  aspect  of  these  mournful  fowls  at  all  cheerful  and 
inspiring.  Certainly  not  the  blue  heron  standing  midleg 
deep  in  the  water,  obviously  catching  cold  in  a  reckless  dis- 


6.f.  HIGH-WATER  MARK. 

regard  of  wet  feet  and  consequences;  nor  the  mournful  curies, 
the  dejected  plover,  or  the  low-spirited  snipe,  who  saw  tit  to 
join  him  in  his  suicidal  contemplation ;  nor  the  impassive 
king-fisher — an  ornithological  Marius — reviewing  the  deso 
late  expanse ;  nor  the  black  raven  that  went  to  and  fro  over 
the  face  of  the  marsh  continually,  but  evidently  couldn't 
make  up  his  mind  whether  the  waters  had  subsided,  and  felt 
low-spirited  in  the  reflection  that,  after  all  this  trouble,  he 
wouldn't  be  able  to  give  a  definite  answer.  On  the  contrary, 
it  was  evident  at  a  glance  that  the  dreary  expanse  of  Dedlow 
Marsh  told  unpleasantly  on  the  birds,  and  that  the  season  of 
migration  was  looked  forward  to  with  a  feeling  of  relief  and 
satisfaction  by  the  full-grown,  and  of  extravagant  anticipa 
tion  by  the  callow,  brood.  But  if  Dedlow  Marsh  was  cheer 
less  at  the  slack  of  the  low  tide,  you  should  have  seen  it 
when  the  tide  was  strong  and  full.  When  the  damp  air 
blew  chilly  over  the  cold,  glittering  expanse,  and  came  to 
the  faces  of  those  who  looked  seaward  like  another  tide ; 
when  a  steel-like  glint  marked  the  low  hollows  and  the 
sinuous  line  of  slough ;  when  the  great  shell- incrusted  trunks 
of  fallen  trees  arose  again,  and  went  forth  on  their  dreary, 
purposeless  wanderings,  drifting  hither  and  thither,  but 
getting  no  farther  toward  any  goal  at  the  falling  tide  or  the 
day's  decline  than  the  cursed  Hebrew  in  the  legend ;  when 
the  glossy  ducks  swung  silently,  making  neither  ripple  nor 
furrow  on  the  simmering  surface;  when  the  fog  came  in  with 
the  tide  and  shut  out  the  blue  above,  even  as  the  green 
below  had  been  obliterated ;  when  boatmen,  lost  in  that  fog, 
paddling  about  in  a  hopeless  way,  started  at  what  seemed 
the  brushing  of  mermen's  fingers  011  the  boat's  keel,  or 
bhrank  from  the  tufts  of  grass  spreading  around  like  the 
floating  hair  of  a  corpse,  and  knew  by  these  signs  that  they 
were  lost  upon  Dedlow  Marsh,  and  must  make  a  night  of  it, 
and  a  gloomy  one  at  that, — then  you  might  know  something 
of  Dedlow  Marsh  at  high  water. 


HIGH-WATERMARK.  6$ 

Let  me  recall  a  stoiy  connected  with  this  latter  view, 
which  never  failed  to  recur  to  my  mind  in  my  long  gunning 
excursions  upon  Dedlow  Marsh.  Although  the  event  was 
briefly  recorded  in  the  county  paper,  I  had  the  story,  in  all 
its  eloquent  detail,  from  the  lips  of  the  principal  actor.  I 
cannot  hope  to  catch  the  varying  emphasis  and  peculiar 
colouring  of  feminine  delineation,  for  my  narrator  was  a 
woman ;  but  I'll  try  to  give  at  least  its  substance. 

She  lived  midway  of  the  great  slough  of  Dedlow  Marsh 
and  a  good-sized  river,  which  debouched  four  miles  beyond 
into  an  estuary  formed  by  the  Pacific  Ocean,  on  the  long 
sandy  peninsula  which  constituted  the  south-western  boundary 
of  a  noble  bay.  The  house  in  which  she  lived  was  a  small 
frame  cabin,  raised  from  the  marsh  a  few  feet  by  stout  piles, 
and  was  three  miles  distant  from  the  settlements  upon  the 
river.  Her  husband  was  a  logger, — a  profitable  business  in 
a  county  where  the  principal  occupation  was  the  manufacture 
of  lumber. 

It  was  the  season  of  early  spring,  when  her  husband  left 
on  the  ebb  of  a  high  tide,  with  a  raft  of  logs  for  the  usual 
transportation  to  the  lower  end  of  the  bay.  As  she  stood  by 
the  door  of  the  little  cabin  when  the  voyagers  departed,  she 
noticed  a  cold  look  in  the  south-eastern  sky,  and  she  remem 
bered  hearing  her  husband  say  to  his  companions  that  they 
must  endeavour  to  complete  their  voyage  before  the  coming 
of  the  south-westerly  gale  which  he  saw  brewing.  And  that 
night  it  began  to  storm  and  blow  harder  than  she  had  ever 
before  experienced,  and  some  great  trees  fell  in  the  forest  by 
the  river,  and  the  house  rocked  like  her  baby's  cradle. 

But  however  the  storm  might  roar  about  the  little  cabin, 
she  knew  that  one  she  trusted  had  driven  bolt  and  bar  with 
his  own  strong  hand,  and  that  had  he  feared  for  her  he 
would  not  have  left  her.  This,  and  her  domestic  duties,  and 
the  care  of  her  little  sickly  baby,  helped  to  keep  her  mind 
from  dwelling  on  the  weather,  except,  of  course,  to  hope  that 

F 


6C.  HIGH-WATER  MARK 

he  was  safely  harboured  with  the  logs  at  Utopia  in  fche 
dreary  distance.  But  she  noticed  that  day,  when  she  west 
out  to  feed  the  chickens  and  look  after  the  cow,  that  the  tide 
was  up  to  the  little  fence  of  their  garden  patch,  and  the  roar 
of  the  surf  on  the  south  beach,  though  miles  away,  she  could 
hear  distinctly.  And  she  began  to  think  that  she  would 
like  to  have  some  one  to  talk  with  about  matters,  and  she 
believed  that  if  it  had  not  been  so  far  and  so  stormy,  and 
the  trail  so  impassable,  she  would  have  taken  the  baby,  and 
have  gone  over  to  Ryckman's,  her  nearest  neighbour.  But 
then,  you  see,  he  might  have  returned  in  the  storm,  all  wet 
with  no  one  to  see  to  him  ;  and  it  was  a  long  exposure  for 
baby,  who  was  croupy  and  ailing. 

But  that  night,  she  never  could  tell  why,  she  didn't  feel 
like  sleeping  or  even  lying  down.  The  storm  had  somewhat 
abated,  but  she  still  "sat  and  sat,"  and  even  tried  to  read.  I 
don't  know  whether  it  was  a  Bible  or  some  profane  magazine 
that  this  poor  woman  read,  but  most  probably  the  latter,  for 
the  words  all  ran  together  and  made  such  sad  nonsense  that 
she  was  forced  at  last  to  put  the  book  down  and  turn  to  that 
dearer  volume  which  lay  before  her  in  the  cradle,  with  its 
white  initial  leaf  as  yet  unsoiled,  and  try  to  look  forward  to 
its  mysterious  future.  And,  rocking  the  cradle,  she  thought  of 
everything  and  everybody,  but  still  was  wide  awake  as  ever. 

It  was  nearly  twelve  o'clock  when  she  at  last  lay  down  in 
her  clothes.  How  long  she  slept  she  could  not  remember, 
but  she  awoke  with  a  dreadful  choking  in  her  throat,  and 
found  herself  standing,  trembling  all  over,  in  the  middle  of 
the  room,  with  her  baby  clasped  to  her  breast,  and  she  was 
"  saying  something."  The  baby  cried  and  sobbed,  and  she 
walked  up  and  down  trying  to  hush  it,  when  she  heard  a 
scratching  at  the  door.  She  opened  it  fearfully,  and  waa 
glad  to  see  it  was  only  old  Pete,  their  dog,  who  crawled, 
dripping  with  water,  into  the  room.  She  would  like  to  have 
looked  out,  not  in  the  faint  hope  of  her  husband's  coming, 


HIGH-WATER  MARK.  67 

but  to  see  how  things  looked ;  but  the  wind  shook  the  door 
so  savagely  that  she  could  hardly  hold  ifc.  Then  she  sat 
down  a  little  while,  and  then  walked  up  and  down  a 
little  while,  and  then  she  lay  down  again  a  little  while. 
Lying  close  by  the  wall  of  the  little  cabin,  she  thought  she 
heard  once  or  twice  something  scrape  slowly  against  the 
clapboards,  like  the  scraping  of  branches.  Then  there  was 
a  little  gurgling  sound,  "like  the  baby  made  when  it  was 
swallowing  ; "  then  something  went  "  click-click "  and 
"  cluck-cluck,"  so  that  she  sat.  up  in  bed.  When  she  did  so 
she  was  attracted  Tby  something  else  that  seemed  creeping 
from  the  back  door  towards  the  centre  of  the  room.  It 
wasn't  much  wider  than  her  little  finger,  but  soon  it  swelled 
to  the  width  of  her  hand,  and  began  spreading  all  over  the 
floor.  It  was  water. 

She  ran  to  the  front  door  and  threw  it  wide  open,  and  saw 
nothing  but  water.  She  ran  to  the  back  door  and  threw  it 
open,  and  saw  nothing  but  water.  She  ran  to  the  side 
window,  and,  throwing  that  open,  she  saw  nothing  but  water. 
Then  she  remembered  hearing  her  husband  once  say  that 
there  was  no  danger  in  the  tide,  for  that  fell  regularly,  and 
people  could  calculate  on  it,  and  that  he  would  rather  live 
near  the  bay  than  the  river,  whose  banks  might  overflow  at 
any  time.  But  was  it  the  tide  ]  So  she  ran  again  to  the 
back  door,  and  threw  out  a  stick  of  wood.  It  drifted  away 
towards  the  bay.  She  scooped  up  some  of  the  water  and 
put  it  eagerly  to  her  lips.  It  was  fresh  and  sweet.  It  was 
the  river,  and  not  the  tide  ! 

It  was  then — 0,  God  be  praised  for  his  goodness  !  she 
did  neither  faint  nor  fall  ;  it  was  then — blessed  be  the 
Saviour,  for  it  was  his  merciful  hand  that  touched  and 
strengthened  her  in  this  awful  moment — that  fear  dropped 
from  her  like  a  garment,  and  her  trembling  ceased.  It  was 
then  and  thereafter  that  she  never  lost  her  self-command, 
through  all  the  trials  of  thatgloomy  night-, 

•s  9 


6S  HIGH-WATER  MARK. 

She  drew  the  bedstead  towards  the  middle  of  the  room, 
and  placed  a  table  upon  it,  and  on  that  she  put  the  cradle. 
The  water  on  the  floor  was  already  over  her  ankles,  and  the 
house  once  or  twice  moved  so  perceptibly,  and  seemed  to  be 
racked  so,  that  the  closet  doors  all  flew  open.  Then  she 
heard  the  same  rasping  and  thumping  against  the  wall,  and, 
looking  out,  saw  that  a  large  uprooted  tree,  which  had  lain 
near  the  road  at  the  upper  end  of  the  pasture,  had  floated 
down  to  the  house.  Luckily  its  long  roots  dragged  in  the 
soil  and  kept  it  from  moving  as  rapidly  as  the  current,  for 
had  it  struck  the  house  in  its  full  career,  even  the  strong 
nails  and  bolts  in  the  piles  could  not  have  withstood  the 
shock.  The  hound  had  leaped  upon  its  knotty  surface,  and 
crouched  near  the  roots  shivering  and  whining.  A  ray  of 
hope  flashed  across  her  mind.  She  drew  a  heavy  blanket 
from  the  bed,  and,  wrapping  it  about  the  babe,  waded  in  the 
deepening  waters  to  the  door.  As  the  tree  swung  again, 
broadside  on,  making  the  little  cabin  creak  and  tremble,  she 
leaped  on  to  its  trunk.  By  God's  mercy  she  succeeded  in 
obtaining  a  footing  on  its  slippery  surface,  and,  twining  an 
arm  about  its  roots,  she  held  in  the  other  a  moaning  child. 
Then  something  cracked  near  the  front  porch,  and  the  whole 
front  of  the  house  she  had  just  quitted  fell  forward,  just  as 
cattle  fall  on  their  knees  before  they  lie  down, — and  at  the 
same  moment  the  great  redwood  tree  swung  round  and 
drifted  away  with  its  living  cargo  into  the  black  night. 

For  all  the  excitement  and  danger,  for  all  her  soothing  of 
her  crying  babe,  for  all  the  whistling  of  the  wind,  for  all  the 
uncertainty  of  her  situation,  she  still  turned  to  look  at  the 
deserted  and  water-swept  cabin.  She  remembered  even 
then,  and  she  wonders  how  foolish  she  was  to  think  of  it  at 
that  time,  that  she  wished  she  had  put  on  another  dress  and 
the  baby's  best  clothes  ;  and  she  kept  praying  that  the  house 
would  be  spared  so  that  he,  when  he  returned,  would  have 
something  to  come  to,  and  it  wouldn't  be  quite  so  desolate, 


HIGH-WATER  MARK.  69 

and — how  could  he  ever  know  what  had  become  of  her  and 
baby  1  And  at  the  thought  she  grew  sick  and  faint.  But 
she  had  something  else  to  do  besides  worrying,  for  whenever 
the  long  roots  of  her  ark  struck  an  obstacle,  the  whole  trunk 
made  half  a  revolution,  and  twice  dipped  her  in  the  black 
water.  The  hound,  who  kept  distracting  her  by  running  up 
and  down  the  tree  and  howling,  at  last  fell  off  at  one  of  these 
collisions.  He  swam  for  some  time  beside  her,  and  she  tried 
to  get  the  poor  beast  upon  the  tree,  but  he  "acted  silly"  and 
wild,  and  at  last  she  lost  sight  of  him  for  ever.  Then  she 
and  her  baby  were  left  alone.  The  light  which  had  burned 
for  a  few  minutes  in  the  deserted  cabin  was  quenched 
suddenly.  She  could  not  then  tell  whither  she  was  drifting. 
The  outline  of  the  white  dunes  on  the  peninsula  showed 
dimly  ahead,  and  she  judged  the  tree  was  moving  in  a  line 
with  the  river.  It  must  be  about  slack  water,  and  she  had 
probably  reached  the  eddy  formed  by  the  confluence  of  the 
tide  and  the  overflowing  waters  of  the  river.  Unless  the 
tide  fell  soon,  there  was  present  danger  of  her  drifting  to  its 
channel,  and  being  carried  out  to  sea  or  crushed  in  the  float 
ing  drift.  That  peril  averted,  if  she  were  carried  out  on  the 
ebb  toward  the  bay,  she  might  hope  to  strike  one  of  the 
wooded  promontories  of  the  peninsula,  and  rest  till  daylight. 
Sometimes  she  thought  she  heard  voices  and  shouts  from  the 
river,  and  the  bellowing  of  cattle  and  bleating  of  sheep. 
Then  again  it  was  only  the  ringing  in  her  ears  and  throbbing 
of  her  heart.  She  found  at  about  this  time  that  she  was  so 
chilled  and  stiffened  in  her  cramped  position  that  she  could 
scarcely  move,  and  the  baby  cried  so  when  she  put  it  to  her 
breast  that  she  noticed  the  milk  refused  to  flow ;  and  she 
was  so  frightened  at  that,  that  she  put  her  head  under  her 
shawl  and  for  the  first  time  cried  bitterly. 

When  she  raised  her  head  again,  the  boom  of  the  surf  was 
behind  her,  and  she  knew  that  her  ark  had  again  swung 
round.  She  dipped  up  the  water  to  cool  her  parched  throat, 


70  HIGH-WATER  MARK. 

and  found  that  it  was  salt  as  her  tears.  There  was  a  relief, 
though,  for  by  this  sign  she  knew  she  was  drifting  with  the 
tide.  It  was  then  the  wind  went  down,  and  the  great  and 
awful  silence  oppressed  her.  jThcre  was  scarcely  a  ripple 
against  the  furrowed  sides  of  the  great  trunk  on  which  she 
rested,  and  around  her  all  was  black  gloom  and  quiet.  She 
spoke  to  the  baby  just  to  hear  herself  speak,  and  to  kno^v 
that  she  had  not-lost  her  voice.  She  thought  then — it  was 
queer,  but  she  could  not  help  thinking  it — how  awful  mus« 
have  been  the  night  when  the  great  ship  swung  over  the 
Asiatic  peak,  and  the  sounds  of  creation  were  blotted  out 
from  the  world.  She  thought,  too,  of  mariners  clinging  to 
spars,  and  of  poor  women  who  were  lashed  to  rafts,  and 
beaten  to  death  by  the  cruel  sea.  She  tried  to  thank  God 
that  she  was  thus  spared,  and  lifted  her  eyes  from  the  baby 
who  had  fallen  into  a  fretful  sleep.  Suddenly,  away  to  the 
southward,  a  great  ligjit  lifted  itself  out  of  the  gloom,  and 
flashed  and  flickered,  and  flickered  and  flashed  again.  Her 
heart  fluttered  quickly  against  the  baby's  cold  cheek.  It  was 
the  lighthouse  at  the  entrance  of  the  bay.  As  she  was  yet 
wondering,  the  tree  suddenly  rolled  a  little,  dragged  a  little, 
and  then  seemed  to  lie  quiet  and  still.  She  put  out  her  hand 
and  the  current  gurgled  against  it.  The  tree  was  aground, 
and,  by  the  position  of  the  light  and  the  noise  of  the  surf, 
aground  upon  the  Dedlow  Marsh. 

Had  it  not  been  for  her  baby,  who  was  ailing  and  croupy 
had  it  not  been  for  the  sudden  drying  up  of  that  sensitive 
fountain,  she  would  have  felt  safe  and  relieved.  Perhaps  it 
was  this  which  tended  to  make  all  her  impressions  mournful 
and  gloomy.  As  the  tide  rapidly  fell,  a  great  flock  of  black 
brent  fluttered  by  her,  screaming  and  crying.  Then  the 
plover  flew  up  and  piped  mournfully,  as  they  wheeled  around 
the  trunk,  and  at  last  fearlessly  lit  upon  it  like  a  gray  cloud. 
Then  the  heron  flew  over  and  around  her,  shrieking  and 
protesting,  and  at  last  dropped  its  gaunt  legs  only  a  few 


HIGH-WATER  MARk.  71 

yards  from  her.  But,  strangest  of  all,  a  pretty  white  bird, 
larger  than  a  dove,  like  a  pelican,  but  not  a  pelican,  circled 
around  and  around  her.  At  last  it  lit  upon  a  rootlet  of  the 
tree,  quite  over  her  shoulder.  She  put  out  her  hand  and 
stroked  its  beautiful  white  neck,  and  it  never  appeared  to  move. 
It  stayed  there  so  long  that  she  thought  she  would  lift  up  the 
baby  to  see  it,  and  try  to  attract  her  attention.  But  when 
she  did  so,  the  child  was  so  chilled  and  cold,  and  had  such  a 
blue  look  under  the  little  lashes,  which  it  didn't  raise  at  all 
that  she  screamed  aloud,  and  the  bird  flew  away,  and  she 
fainted. 

Well,  that  was  the  worst  of  it,  and  perhaps  it  was  not  so 
much,  after  all,  to  any  but  herself.  For  when  she  recovered 
her  senses  it  was  bright  sunlight,  and  dead  low  water.  There 
was  a  confused  noise  of  guttural  voices  about  her,  and  an 
old  squaw,  singing  an  Indian  "  hushaby,"  and  rocking 
herself  from  side  to  side  before  a  fire  built  on  the  marsh, 
before  which  she,  the  recovered  wife  and  mother,  lay  weak 
and  weary.  Her  first  thought  was  for  her  baby,  and  she 
was  about  to  speak,  when  a  young  squaw,  who  must  have 
been  a  mother  herself,  fathomed  her  thought,  and  brought 
her  the  "  mo  witch,"  pale  but  living,  in  such  a  queer  little 
willow  cradle  all  bound  up,  just  like  the  squaw's  own  young 
one,  that  she  laughed  and  cried  together,  and  the  young 
squaw  and  the  old  squaw  showed  their  big  white  teeth  and 
glinted  their  black  eyes  and  said,  "  Plenty  get  well,  skeena 
mowitch,"  "  wagee  man  come  plenty  soon,"  and  she  could 
have  kissed  their  brown  faces  in  her  joy.  And  then  she 
found  that  they  had  been  gathering  berries  on  the  marsh  in 
their  queer,  comical  baskets,  and  saw  the  skirt  of  her  gown 
fluttering  011  the  tree  from  afar,  and  the  old  squaw  couldn't 
resist  the  temptation  of  procuring  a  new  garment,  and  came 
down  and  discovered  the  "  wagee  "  woman  and  child.  And 
of  course  she  gave  the  garment  to  the  old  squaw,  as  you 
rnay  imagine,  and  when,  he  came  at  last  and  rushed  uj>  to 


72  A  LONELY  RIDE. 

her,  looking  about  ten  years  older  in  his  anxiety,  she  felt  so 
faint  again  that  they  had  to  carry  her  to  the  canoe.  For, 
you  see,  he  knew  nothing  about  the  flood  until  he  met  the 
Indians  at  Utopia,  and  knew  by  the  signs  that  the  poor 
woman  was  his  wife.  And  at  the  next  high-tide  he  towed 
the  tree  away  back  home,  although  it  wasn't  worth  the 
trouble,  and  built  another  house,  using  the  old  tree  for  the 
foundation  and  props,  and  called  it  after  her,  "  Mary's  Ark  ! " 
But  you  may  guess  the  next  house  was  built  above  High- 
water  mark.  And  that's  all. 

Not  much,  perhaps,  considering  the  malevolent  capacity 
of  the  Dedlow  Marsh.  But  you  must  tramp  over  it  at  low 
water,  or  paddle  over  it  at  high  tide,  or  get  lost  upon  it 
once  or  twice  in  the  fog,  as  I  have,  to  understand  properly 
Mary's  adventure,  or  to  appreciate  duly  the  blessings  of 
living  beyond  High- Water  Mark. 


A  LONELY  RIDE. 

A  S  I  stepped  into  the  Slumgullion  stage  I  saw  that  it  was 
a  dark  night,  a  lonely  road,  and  that  I  was  the  only 
passenger.  Let  me  assure  the  reader  that  I  have  no  ulterior 
design  in  making  this  assertion.  A  long  course  of  light  reading 
has  forewarned  me  what  every  experienced  intelligence  must 
confidently  look  for  from  such  a  statement.  The  story-teller 
who  wilfully  tempts  Fate  by  such  obvious  beginnings  ;  who 
is  to  the  expectant  reader  in  danger  of  being  robbed  or  half- 
murdered,  or  frightened  by  an  escaped  lunatic,  or  introduced 
to  his  lady-love  for  the  first  time,  deserves  to  be  detected.  I 
am  relieved  to  say  that  none  of  these  things  occurred  to  me. 
The  road  from  Wingdam  to  Slumgullion  knew  no  other 
banditti  than  the  regularly  licensed  hotel-keepers  ;  lunatics 
had  not  yet  reached  such  depth  of  imbecility  as  to  ride  of 


A  LONELY  RIDE.  73 

their  own  free-will  in  Californian  stages ;  and  my  Laura, 
amiable  and  long-suffering  as  she  always  is,  could  not,  I  fear, 
have  borne  up  against  these  depressing  circumstances  long 
enough  to  have  made  the  slightest  impression  on  me. 

I  stood  with  my  shawl  and  carpet-bag  in  hand,  gazing 
doubtingly  on  the  vehicle.  Even  in  the  darkness  the  red 
dust  of  Wingdam  was  visible  on  its  roof  and  sides,  and  the 
red  slime  of  Slumgullion  clung  tenaciously  to  its  wheels.  I 
opened  the  door  ;  the  stage  creaked  uneasily,  and  in  the 
gloomy  abyss  the  swaying  straps  beckoned  me,  like  ghostly 
hands,  to  come  in  now,  and  have  my  sufferings  out  at 
once. 

I  must  not  omit  to  mention  the  occurrence  of  a  circum 
stance  which  struck  me  as  appalling  and  mysterious.  A 
lounger  on  the  steps  of  the  hotel,  whom  I  had  reasoij  to 
suppose  was  not  in  any  way  connected  with  the  stage 
company,  gravely  descended,  and,  walking  toward  the 
conveyance,  tried  the  handle  of  the  door,  opened  it, 
expectorated  in  the  carriage,  and  returned  to  the  hotel  with 
a  serious  demeanour.  Hardly  had  he  resumed  his  position, 
when  another  individual,  equally  disinterested,  impassively 
walked  down  the  steps,  proceeded  to  the  back  of  the  stage, 
lifted  it,  expectorated  carefully  on  the  axle,  and  returned 
slowly  and  pensively  to  the  hotel.  A  third  spectator  wearily 
disengaged  himself  from  one  of  the  Ionic  columns  of  the 
portico  and  walked  to  the  box,  remained  for  a  moment  in 
serious  and  expectorative  contemplation  of  the  boot,  and 
then  returned  to  his  column.  There  was  something  so  weird 
in  this  baptism  that  I  grew  quite  nervous. 

Perhaps  I  was  out  of  spirits.  A  number  of  infinitesimal 
annoyances,  winding  up  with  the  resolute  persistency  of  the 
clerk  at  the  stage -office  to  enter  my  name  misspelt  on  the 
way-bill,  had  not  predisposed  me  to  cheerfulness.  The 
inmates  of  the  Eureka  House,  from  a  social  view-point,  were 
not  attractive.  There  was  the  prevailing  opinion — so 


74  A  LONELY  RIDE. 

common  to  many  honest  people — that  a  serious  style  of 
deportment  and  conduct  toward  a  stranger  indicates  high 
gentility  and  elevated  station.  Obeying  this  principle,  all 
hilaaifcy  ceased  on  my  entrance  to  supper,  and  general  remark 
merged  into  the  safer  and  uncompromising  chronicle  of 
several  bad  cases  of  diptheria,  then  epidemic  at  Wingdain. 
When  I  left  the  dining-room,  with  an  odd  feeling  that  I  had 
been  supping  exclusively  on  mustard  and  tea-leaves,  I 
stopped  a  moment  at  the  parlour  door.  A  piano,  harmoni 
ously  related  to  the  dinner-bell,  tinkled  responsive  to  a 
diffident  and  uncertain  touch.  On  the  white  wall  the 
shadow  of  an  old  and  sharp  profile  was  bending  over  several 
symmetrical  and  shadowy  curls.  "  I  sez  to  Mariar,  Mariar, 
sez  I,  '  Praise  to  the  face  is  open  disgrace.' "  I  heard  no 
more.  Dreading  some  susceptibility  to  sincere  expression 
on  the  subject  of  female  loveliness,  I  walked  away,  checking 
the  compliment  that  otherwise  might  have  risen  unbidden 
to  my  lips,  and  have  brought  shame  and  sorrow  to  the 
household. 

It  was  with  the  memory  of  these  experiences  resting 
heavily  upon  me,  that  I  stood  hesitatingly  before  the  stage 
door.  The  driver,  about  to  mount,  was  for  a  moment 
illuminated  by  the  open  door  of  the  hotel.  He  had  the 
wearied  look  which  was  the  distinguishing  expression  of 
Wingdam.  Satisfied  that  I  was  properly  way-billed  and 
receipted  for,  he  took  no  further  notice  of  me.  I  looked 
longingly  at  the  box-seat,  but  he  did  not  respond  to  the 
appeal.  I  flung  my  carpet-bag  into  the  chasm,  dived 
recklessly  after  it,  and — before  I  was  fairly  seated — with  a 
great  sigh,  a  creaking  of  unwilling  springs,  complaining 
bolts,  and  harshly  expostulating  axle,  we  moved  away. 
Rather  the  hotel  door  slipped  behind,  the  sound  of  the  piano 
sank  to  rest,  and  the  night  and  its  shadows  moved  solemnly 
upon  us. 

To  say  it  was   dark   expressed  but  faintly  the  pitchy 


A  LONELY  RIDE.  75 

obscurity  that  encompassed  the  vehicle.  The  roadside  trees 
were  scarcely  distinguishable  as  deeper  masses  of  shade w  \  I 
knew  them  only  by  the  peculiar  sodden  odour  that  from 
time  to  time  sluggishly  flowed  in  at  the  open  window  as  we 
rolled  by.  We  proceeded  slowly  j  so  leisurely  that,  leaning 
from  the  carriage,  I  more  than  once  detected  the  fragrant 
sigh  of  some  astonished  cow,  whose  ruminating  repose  upon 
the  highway  we  had  ruthlessly  disturbed.  But  in  the 
darkness  our  progress,  more  the  guidance  of  some  mysterious 
instinct  than  any  apparent  volition  of  our  own,  gave  an 
indefinable  charm  of  security  to  our  journey,  that  a  moment's 
hesitation  or  indecision  on  the  part  of  the  driver  would  have 
destroyed. 

I  had  indulged  a  hope  that  in  the  empty  vehicle  I  might 
obtain  that  rest  so  often  denied  me  in  its  crowded  condition. 
It  was  a  weak  delusion.  When  I  stretched  out  my  limbs  it 
was  only  to  find  that  the  ordinary  conveniences  for  making 
several  people  distinctly  uncomfortable  were  distributed 
throughout  my  individual  frame.  At  last,  resting  my  arms 
on  the  straps,  by  dint  of  much  gymnastic  effort  I  became 
sufficiently  composed  to  be  aware  of  a  more  refined  species 
of  torture.  The  springs  of  the  stage,  rising  and  falling 
regularly,  produced  a  rhythmical  beat,  which  began  to 
painfully  absorb  my  attention.  Slowly  this  thumping 
merged  into  a  senseless  echo  of  the  mysterious  female  of  the 
hotel  parlour,  and  shaped  itself  into  this  awful  and 
benumbing  axiom, — "  Praise-  to  -the  -face-  is-open-disgraca 
Praise-to-the-face-is-open-  disgrace."  Inequalities  of  the  roaa1 
only  quickened  its  utterance  or  drawled  it  to  an  exasperating 
length. 

It  was  of  no  use  to  seriously  consider  the  statement.  It" 
was  of  no  use  to  except  to  it  indignantly.  It  was  of  no  use 
to  recall  the  many  instances  where  praise  to  the  face  had 
redounded  to  the  everlasting  honour  of  praiser  and  bepraised  \ 
of  no  use  to  dwell  sentimentally  on  modest  genius  antj 


76  A  LONELY  RIDE. 

courage  lifted  up  and  strengthened  by  open  commendation ; 
of  no  use  to  except  to  the  mysterious  female, — to  picture 
her  as  rearing  a  thin-blooded  generation  on  selfish  and 
mechanically-repeated  axioms, — all  this  failed  to  counteract 
the  monotonous  repetition  of  this  sentence.  There  was 
nothing  to  do  but  to  give  in,  and  I  was  about  to  accept  it 
weakly,  as  we  too  often  treat  other  illusions  of  darkness  and 
necessity,  for  the  time  being,  when  I  became  aware  of  some 
other  annoyance  that  had  been  forcing  itself  upon  me  for  the 
last  few  moments.  How  quiet  the  driver  was ! 

Was  there  any  driver?     Had  I  any  reason  to  suppose 
that  he  was  not  lying,  gagged  and  bound  on  the  roadside, 
and  the  highwayman,  with  blackened  face,  who  did  the  thing 
so  quietly,  driving  me — whither  ?     The  thing  is  perfectly 
feasible.     And  what  is  this  fancy  now  being  jolted  out  of 
me  %     A  story  1     It's  of  no  use  to  keep  it  back,  particularly 
in  this  abysmal  vehicle,  and  here  it  comes  :  I  am  a  Marquis 
— a  French  Marquis  ;  French,  because  the  peerage  is  not  so 
well  known,  and  the  country  is  better  adapted  to  romantic 
incident — a  Marquis,  because  the  democratic  reader  delights 
in  the  nobility.    My  name  is  something  ligny.    I  am  coming 
from  Paris  to  my  country  seat  at  St.  Germain.     It  is  a  dark 
night,  and  I  fall  asleep  and  tell  my  honest  coachman  Andre" 
not  to  disturb  me,  and  dream  of  an  angel.     The  carriage  at 
last  stops  at  the  chateau.     It  is  so  dark  that,  when  I  alight, 
I  do  not  recognize  the  face  of  the  footman  who  holds  the 
•carriage-door.      But   what   of    that  ? — peste !    I  am  heavy 
fcdth  sleep.     The  same  obscurity  also  hides  the  old  familiar 
indecencies  of  the  statues  on  the  terrace ;  but  there  is  a 
door,  and  it  opens  and  shuts  behind  me  smartly.     Then  I 
ind  myself  in  a  trap,  in  the  presence  of  the  brigand  who  has 
quietly   gagged   poor   Andre   and   conducted   the    carriage 
thither.     There  is  nothing  for  me  to  do,  as  a  gallant  French 
Marquis,  but  to  say,  "  Parbleu  I  "  draw  my  rapier,  and  die 
\alorously  !     I  am  found,  a  week  or  two  after,  outside  a 


A  LONELY  RIDE.  77 

deserted  cabaret  near  the  barrier,  with  a  hole  through  my 
ruffled  linen,  and  my  pockets  stripped.  No ;  011  second 
thoughts,  I  am  rescued, — rescued  by  the  angel  I  have  been 
dreaming  of,  who  is  the  assumed  daughter  of  the  brigand, 
but  the  real  daughter  of  an  intimate  friend. 

Looking  from  the  window  again,  in  the  vain  hope  of  dis 
tinguishing  the  driver,  I  found  my  eyes  were  growing  accus 
tomed  to  the  darkness.  I  could  see  the  distant  horizon, 
denned  by  India-inky  woods,  relieving  a  lighter  sky.  A 
few  stars,  widely  spaced  in  this  picture,  glimmered  sadly.  I 
noticed  again  the  infinite  depth  of  patient  sorrow  in  their 
serene  faces ;  and  I  hope  that  the  Vandal  who  first  applied 
the  flippant  "twinkle"  to  them  may  not  be  driven  melan 
choly  mad  by  their  reproachful  eyes.  I  noticed  again  the 
mystic  charm  of  space,  that  imparts  a  sense  of  individual 
solitude  to  each  integer  of  the  densest  constellation,  involving 
the  smallest  star  with  immeasurable  loneliness.  Something 
of  this  calm  and  solitude  crept  over  me,  and  I  dozed  in  my 
gloomy  cavern.  "When  I  awoke  the  full  moon  was  rising. 
Seen  from  my  window,  it  had  an  indescribably  unreal  and 
theatrical  effect.  It  was  the  full  moon  of  Norma — that 
remarkable  celestial  phenomenon  which  rises  so  palpably  to 
a  hushed  audience  and  a  sublime  andante  chorus,  until  the 
Casta  Diva  is  sung — the  "inconstant  moon"  that  then 
and  thereafter  remains  fixed  in  the  heavens  as  though  it 
were  a  part  of  the  solar  system  inaugurated  by  Joshua. 
Again  the  white-robed  Druids  filed  past  me,  again  I  saw 
that  improbable  mistletoe  cut  from  that  impossible  oak,  and 
again  cold  chills  ran  down  my  back  with  the  first  strain  of 
the  recitative.  The  thumping  springs  essayed  to  beat  time, 
and  the  private  box-like  obscurity  of  the  vehicle  lent  a  cheap 
enchantment  to  the  view.  But  it  was  a  vast  improvement 
upon  my  past  experience,  and  I  hugged  the  fond  delusion. 

My  fears  for  the  driver  were  dissipated  with  the  rising 
moon.     A  familiar  sound  had  assured  me  of  his  presence  in 


78  A  LONELY  RIDE. 

the  full  possession  of  at  least  one  of  his  most  important  func 
tions.  Frequent  and  full  expectoration  convinced  me  that 
his  lips  were  as  yet  not  sealed  by  the  gag  of  highwaymen, 
and  soothed  my  anxious  ear.  With  this  load  lifted  from  my 
mind,  and  assisted  by  the  mild- presence  of  Diana,  who  left, 
as  when  she  visited  Endymion,  much  of  her  splendour  out 
side  my  cavern, — I  looked  around  the  empty  vehicle.  On 
the  forward  seat  lay  a  woman's  hair-pin.  I  picked  it  up 
with  an  interest  that,  however,  soon  abated.  There  was  no 
scent  of  the  roses  to  cling  to  it  still,  not  even  of  hair-oil- 
No  bend  or  twist  in  its  rigid  angles  betrayed  any  trait  of 
its  wearer's  character.  I  tried  to  think  that  it  might  have 
been  "Mariar's."  I  tried  to  imagine  that,  confining  the 
symmetrical  curls  of  that  girl,  it  might  have  heard  the  soft 
compliments  whispered  in  her  ears,  which  provoked  the 
wrath  of  the  aged  female.  But  in  vain.  It  was  reticent 
and  unswerving  in  its  upright  fidelity,  and  at  last  slipped 
listlessly  through  my  fingers. 

I  had  dozed  repeatedly, — waked  on  the  threshold  of  obli 
vion  by  contact  with  some  of  the  angles  of  the  coach,  and 
feeling  that  I  was  unconsciously  assuming,  in  imitation  of  a 
humble  insect  of  my  childish  recollection,  that  spherical  shape 
which  could  best  resist  those  impressions,  when  I  perceived 
that  the  moon,  riding  high  in  the  heavens,  had  begun  to 
separate  the  formless  masses  of  the  shadowy  landscape. 
Trees  isolated,  in  clumps  and  assemblages,  changed  places 
before  my  window.  The  sharp  outlines  of  the  distant  hills 
came  back,  as  in  daylight,  but  little  softened  in  the  dry, 
cold,  dewless  air  of  a  California  summer  night.  I  was  won 
dering  how  late  it  was,  and  thinking  that  if  the  horses  of  the 
night  travelled  as  slowly  as  the  team  before  us,  Faustus 
might  have  been  spared  his  agonizing  prayer,  when  a  sudden 
spasm  of  activity  attacked  my  driver.  A  succession  of 
whip-snappings,  like  a  pack  of  Chinese  crackers,  broke  from 
the  box  before  me.  The  stage  leaped  forward,  and  when  I 


THE  MAN  OF  NO  ACCOUNT.  79 

could  pick  myself  from  under  the  seat,  a  long  wliite  build 
ing  had  in  some  mysterious  way  rolled  before  my  window. 
It  must  be  Slumgullion  !  As  I  descended  from  the  stage  I 
addressed  the  driver  : — 

"  I  thought  you  changed  horses  on  the  road  ?" 

"  So  we  did.     Two  hours  ago." 

"  That's  odd.     I  didn't  notice  it." 

"  Must  have  been  asleep,  sir.  Hope  you  had  a  pleasant 
nap.  Bully  place  for  a  nice  quiet  snooze — empty  stage,  sir  !" 


THE  MAN   OF  NO   ACCOUNT. 

T  T  IS  name  was  Fagg — David  Fagg.  He  came  to  California 
•^  •*•  in  '52  with  us,  in  the  "  Skyscraper."  I  don't  think  he  did 
it  in  an  adventurous  way.  He  probably  had  no  other  place 
to  go  to.  "When  a  knot  of  us  young  fellows  would  recite 
what  splendid  opportunities  we  resigned  to  go,  and  how  sorry 
our  friends  were  to  have  us  leave,  and  show  daguerreotypes 
and  locks  of  hair,  and  talk  of  Mary  and  Susan,  the  man  of  no 
account  used  to  sit  by  and  listen  with  a  pained,  mortified 
expression  on  his  plain  face,  and  say  nothing.  I  think  he 
had  nothing  to  say.  He  had  no  associates,  except  when  we 
patronized  him  ;  and,  in  point  of  fact,  he  was  a  good  deal  of 
sport  to  us.  He  was  always  sea-sick  whenever  we  had  a 
capful  of  wind.  He  never  got  his  sea-legs  on  either.  And 
I  never  shall  forget  how  we  all  laughed  when  Rattler  tock 

him  the  piece  of  pork  on  a  string,  and But  you  know 

that  time-honoured  joke.  And  then  we  had  such  a  splendid 
lark  with  him.  Miss  Fanny  Twinkler  couldn't  bear  the 
sight  of  him,  and  we  used  to  make  Fagg  think  that  she  had 
taken  a  fancy  to  him,  and  send  him  little  delicacies  and 
cooks  from  the  cabin.  You  ought  to  have  witnessed  the 
scene  that  took  place  when  he  came  up,  stammering  and 


Bo  THE  MAN  OF  NO  ACCOUNT. 

very  sick,  to  thank  her !  Didn't  she  flash  up  grandly  and 
beautifully  and  scornfully?  So  like  "  Medora,"  Rattler 
said, — Rattler  knew  Byron  by  heart, — and  wasn't  old  Fagg 
awfully  cut  up  ?  But  he  got  over  it,  and  when  Rattler  fel 
sick  at  Valparaiso,  old  Fagg  used  to  nurse  him.  You  see  he 
was  a  good  sort  of  fellow,  but  he  lacked  manliness  and 
spirit. 

He  had  absolutely  no  idea  of  poetry.  I  've  seen  him  sit 
stolidly  by,  mending  his  old  clothes,  when  Rattler  delivered 
that  stirring  apostrophe  of  Byron's  to  the  ocean.  He  asked 
Rattler  once,  quite  seriously,  if  he  thought  Byron  was  ever 
sea-sick.  I  don't  remember  Rattler's  reply,  but  I  know  we 
all  laughed  very  much,  and  I  have  no  doubt  it  was  some 
thing  good,  for  Rattler  was  smart. 

When  the  "  Skyscraper  "  arrived  at  San  Francisco,  we  had 
a  grand  "feed."  We  agreed  to  meet  every  year  and  per 
petuate  the  occasion.  Of  course  we  didn't  invite  Fagg. 
Fagg  was  a  steerage  passenger,  and  it  was  necessary,  you  see, 
now  we  were  ashore,  to  exercise  a  little  discretion.  But  Old 
Fagg,  as  we  called  him, — he  was  only  about  twenty-five 
years  old,  by  the  way, — was  the  source  of  immense  amuse 
ment  to  us  that  day.  It  appeared  that  he  had  conceived 
the  idea  that  he  could  walk  to  Sacramento,  and  actually 
started  off  afoot.  We  had  a  good  time,  and  shook  hands 
with  one  another  all  around,  and  so  parted.  Ah  me  !  only 
eight  years  ago,  and  yet  some  of  those  hands  then  clasped  in 
amity  have  been  clenched  at  each  other,  or  have  dipped  fur 
tively  in  one  another's  pockets.  I  know  that  we  didn't  dine 
together  the  next  year,  because  young  Barker  swore  he 
wouldn't  put  his  feet  under  the  same  mahogany  with  such  a 
very  contemptible  scoundrel  as  that  Mixer ;  and  Nibbles, 
who  borrowed  money  at  Valparaiso  of  young  Stubbs,  who 
was  then  a  waiter  in  a  restaurant,  didn't  like  to  meet  such 
people. 

Whe>i  I  bought  a  number  of  shares  in  the  Coyote  Tunnel 


THE  MAN  OF  NO  ACCOUNT  81 

at  Mugginsville,  in  '54,  I  thought  I'd  take  a  run  up  there 
and  see  it.  I  stopped  at  the  Empire  Hotel,  and  after  dinner 
I  got  a  horse  and  rode  round  the  town  and  out  to  the  claim. 
One  of  those  individuals  whom  newspaper  correspondents 
call  "  our  intelligent  informant,"  and  to  whom  in  all  small 
communities  the  right  of  answering  questions  is  tacitly 
yielded,  was  quietly  pointed  out  to  me.  Habit  had  enabled 
him  to  work  and  talk  at  the  same  time,  and  he  never  pre- 
termitted  either.  He  gave  me  a  history  of  the  claim,  and 
added  :  "  You  see,  stranger  "  (he  addressed  the  bank  before 
him),  "  gold  is  sure  to  come  out  'er  that  theer  claim  (he  put 
in  a  comma  with  his  pick),  but  the  old  pro-pri-e-tor  (he 
wriggled  out  the  word  and  the  point  of  his  pick)  warn't  of 
much  account  (a  long  stroke  of  the  pick  for  a  period).  He 
was  green,  and  let  the  boys  about  here  jump  him," — and  the 
rest  of  his  sentence  was  confided  to  his  hat,  which  he  had 
removed  to  wipe  his  manly  brow  with  his  red  bandanna. 

I  asked  him  who  was  the  original  proprietor. 

"  His  name  war  Fagg." 

I  went  to  see  him.  He  looked  a  little  older  and  plainer. 
He  had  worked  hard,  he  said,  and  was  getting  on  "  so,  so." 
I  took  quite  a  liking  to  him,  and  patronized  him  to  some 
extent.  Whether  I  did  so  because  I  was  beginning  to  have 
a  distrust  for  such  fellows  as  Rattler  and  Mixer  is  not  neces 
sary  for  me  to  state. 

You  remember  how  the  Coyote  Tunnel  went  in,  and  how 
awfully  we  shareholders  were  done  !  Well,  the  next  thing 
I  heard  was  that  Rattler,  who  was  one  of  the  heaviest  share 
holders,  was  up  at  Mugginsville  keeping  bar  for  the  pro 
prietor  of  the  Mugginsville  Hotel,  and  that  old  Fagg  had 
struck  it  rich,  and  didn't  know  what  to  do  with  his  money. 
All  this  was  told  me  by  Mixer,  who  had  been  there,  settling 
up  matters,  and  likewise  that  Fagg  was  sweet  upon  tho 
daughter  of  the  proprietor  of  the  aforesaid  hotel.  And  so 
by  hearsay  and  letter  I  eventually  gathered  that  old  Robins, 


82  THE  MAN  OF  NO  ACCOUNT. 

the  hotel  man,  was  trying  to  get  np  a  match  between  Nellie 
Robins  and  Fagg.  Nellie  was  a  pretty,  plunip,  and  foolish 
little  thing,  and  would  do  jnst  as  her  father  wished.  I 
thought  it  would  be  a  good  thing  for  Fagg  if  he  should  marry 
and  settle  down;  that  as  a  married  man  he  might  be  of 
some  account.  So  I  ran  up  to  Mugginsville  one  day  to  look 
after  things. 

It  did  me  an  immense  deal  of  good  to  make  Rattler  mix 
my  drinks  for  me, — Rattler  ?  the  gay,  brilliant,  and  uncon 
querable  Rattler,  who  had  tried  to  snub  me  two  years  ago. 
I  talked  to  him  about  old  Fagg  and  Nellie,  particularly  as  I 
thought  the  subject  was  distasteful.  He  never  liked  Fagg, 
and  he  was  sure,  he  said,  that  Nellie  didn't.  Did  Nellie 
like  anybody  else  1  He  turned  around  to  the  mirror  behind 
the  bar  and  brushed  up  his  hair;  I  understood  the  con 
ceited  wretch.  I  thought  I'd  put  Fagg  on  his  guard  and 
get  him  to  hurry  up  matters.  I  had  a  long  talk  with  him. 
You  could  see  by  the  way  the  poor  fellow  acted  that  he  was 
badly  stuck.  He  sighed,  and  promised  to  pluck  up  courage 
to  hurry  matters  to  a  crisis.  Nellie  was  a  good  girl,  and  I 
think  had  a  sort  of  quiet  respect  for  old  Fagg's  unobtrusive- 
ness.  But  her  fancy  was  already  taken  captive  by  Rattler's 
superficial  qualities,  which  were  obvious  and  pleasing.  I 
don't  think  Nellie  was  any  worse  than  you  or  I.  We  are 
more  apt  to  take  acquaintances  at  their  apparent  value  than 
their  intrinsic  worth.  It's  less  trouble,  and,  except  when  we 
want  to  trust  them,  quite  as  convenient.  The  difficulty  with 
women  is  that  their  feelings  are  apt  to  get  interested  sooner 
than  ours,  and  then,  you  know,  reasoning  is  out  of  the  ques 
tion.  This  is  what  old  Fagg  would  have  known  had  he  been 
of  any  account.  But  he  wasn't.  So  much  the  worse  for 
him. 

It  was  a  few  months  afterward,  and  I  was  sitting  in  my 
office,  when  in  walked  old  Fagg.  I  was  surprised  to  see 
him  down,  but  we  talked  over  the  current  topics  in  that 


THE  MAN  OF  NO  ACCOUNT.  83 

mechanical  manner  of  people  who  know  that  they  havo 
something  else  to  say,  but  are  obliged  to  get  at  it  in  that 
formal  way.  After  an  interval  Fagg  in  his  natural  manner 
said, — 

"  I'm  going  home  !" 

"Going  home?" 

"Yes, — that  is,  I  think  I'll  take  a  trip  to  the  Atlantic 
States.  I  came  to  see  you,  as  you  know  I  have  some  little 
property,  and  I  have  executed  a  power  of  attorney  for  you 
to  manage  my  affairs.  I  have  some  papers  I  'd  like  to  leave 
with  you.  Will  you  take  charge  of  them  1 " 

"  Yes,"  I  said.     «  But  what  of  Nellie  ?  " 

His  face  fell.  He  tried  to  smile,  and  the  combination 
resulted  in  one  of  the  most  startling  and  grotesque  effects  I 
ever  beheld.  At  length  he  said, — 

"  I  shall  not  marry  Nellie, — that  is," — he  'seemed  to 
apologize  internally  for  the  positive  form  of  expression, — "  I 
think  that  I  had  better  not." 

"  David  Fagg,"  I  said  with  sudden  severity,  "you  're  of  no 
account ! " 

To  my  astonishment  his  face  brightened.  "  Yes,"  said  he, 
that's  it  ! — I  'm  of  no  account !  But  I  always  knew  it. 
You  see  I  thought  Rattler  loved  that  girl  as  well  as  I  did, 
and  I  knew  she  liked  him  better  than  she  did  me,  and  would 
be  happier  I  dare  say  with  him.  But  then  I  knew  that  old 
Robins  would  have  preferred  me  to  him,  as  I  was  better  off, — 
and  the  girl  would  do  as  he  said, — and,  you  see,  I  thought  I 
was  kinder  in  the  way, — and  so  I  left.  But,"  he  continued, 
as  I  was  about  to  interrupt  him,  "  for  fear  the  old  man  might 
object  to  Hat  tier,  I've  lent  him  enough  to  set  him  up  in 
business  for  himself  in  Dogtown.  A  pushing,  active,  bril 
liant  fellow,  you  know,  like  Rattler,  can  get  along,  and  will 
soon  be  in  his  old  position  again, — and  you  needn't  be  hard 
on  him.  you  know,  if  he  doesn't.  Good  by." 

I  was  too  much   disgusted  with   his  treatment  of  that 

G2 


?4  THE  MAN  OF  NO  ACCOUNT. 

Rattler  to  be  at  all  amiable,  but  as  his  business  was  pro 
fitable,  I  promised  to  attend  to  it,  and  he  left.  A  few  weeks 
passed.  The  return  steamer  arrived,  and  a  terrible  incident 
occupied  the  papers  for  days  afterward.  People  in  all  parts 
of  the  State  conned  eagerly  the  details  of  an  awful  ship 
wreck,  and  those  who  had  friends  aboard  went  away  by 
themselves,  and  read  the  long  list  of  the  lost  under  their 
breath.  I  read  of  the  gifted,  the  gallant,  the  noble,  and 
loved  ones  who  had  perished,  and  among  them  I  think  I 
was  the  first  to  read  the  name  of  David  Fagg.  For  the 
u  man  ot*  no  account"  had  "  gone  home  ln 


II.-STORIES. 

MLISS. 

CHAPTER  I. 

JUST  where  the  Sierra  Nevada  begins  to  subside  in  gentler 
undulations,  and  the  rivers  grow  less  rapid  and  yellow, 
on  the  side  of  a  great  red  mountain,  stands  "Smith's  Pocket." 
Seen  from  the  red  road  at  sunset,  in  the  red  light  and  the  red 
dust,  its  white  houses  look  like  the  outcroppings  of  quartz  on 
the  mountain-side.  The  red  stage  topped  with  red-shirted 
passengers  is  lost  to  view  half  a  dozen  times  in  the  tortuous 
descent,  turning  up  unexpectedly  in  out-of-the-way  places, 
and  vanishing  altogether  within  a  hundred  yards  of  the 
town.  It  is  probably  owing  to  this  sudden  twist  in  the  road 
that  the  advent  of  a  stranger  at  Smith's  Pocket  is  usually 
attended  with  a  peculiar  circumstance.  Dismounting  from 
the  vehicle  at  the  stage  office,  the  too  confident  traveller 
is  apt  to  walk  straight  out  of  town  under  the  impression 
that  it  lies  in  quite  another  direction.  It  is  related  that  one 
of  the  tunnel-men,  two  miles  from  town,  met  one  of  these 
self-reliant  passengers  with  a  carpet-bag,  umbrella,  Harper's 
Magazine,  and  other  evidences  of  "  Civilization  and  Re 
finement,"  plodding  along  over  the  road  he  had  just  rid 
den,  vainly  endea-vouring  to  find  the  settlement  of  Smith's 
Pocket. 

An  observant  traveller  might  have  found  some  compensa 
tion  for  his   disappointment  in   the  weird   aspect   of  that 


86  MLISS. 

vicinity.  There  were  huge  fissures  on  the  hillside,  and  dis 
placements  of  the  red  soil,  resembling  more  the  chaos  of  some 
primary  elemental  upheaval  than  the  work  of  man ;  while, 
half-way  down,  a  long  flume  straddled  its  narrow  body  and 
disproportionate  legs  over  the  chasin,  like  an  enormous  fossil 
of  some  forgotten  antediluvian.  At  every  step  smaller 
ditches  crossed  the  road,  hiding  in  l-Lei  >•  sallow  depths  un 
lovely  streams  that  crept  away  to  a  clandestine  union  with 
the  great  yellow  torrent  below,  and  here  and  there  were  the 
ruins  of  some  cabin  with  the  chimney  alone  left  intact  and 
the  hearthstone  open  to  the  skies. 

The  settlement  of  Smith's  Pocket  owed  its  origin  to  the 
finding  of  a  "  pocket "  on  its  site  by  a  veritable  Smith. 
Five  thousand  dollars  were  taken  out  of  it  in  one  half-hour 
by  Smith.  Three  thousand  dollars  were  expended  by  Smith 
and  others  in  erecting  a  flume  and  in  tunnelling.  And  then 
Smith's  Pocket  was  found  to  be  only  a  pocket,  and  subject 
like  other  pockets  to  depletion.  Although  Smith  pierced  the 
bowels  of  the  great  red  mountain,  that  five  thousand  dollars 
was  the  first  and  last  return  of  his  labour.  The  mountain 
grew  reticent  of  its  golden  secrets,  and  the  flume  steadily 
ebbed  away  the  remainder  of  Smith's  fortune.  Then  Smith 
went  into  quartz-mining  j  then  into  quartz-milling  ;  then 
into  hydraulics  and  ditching,  and  then  by  easy  degrees  into 
saloon-keeping.  Presently  it  was  whispered  that  Smith  was 
drinking  a  great  deal ;  then  it  was  known  that  Smith  was  a 
habitual  drunkard,  and  then  people  began  to  think,  as  they 
are  apt  to,  that  he  had  never  "been  anything  else.  But  the 
settlement  of  Smith's  Pocket,  like  that  of  most  discoveries, 
was  happily  not  dependent  on  the  fortune  of  its  pioneer,  and 
other  parties  projected  tunnels  and  found  pockets.  So 
Smith's  Pocket  became  a  settlement  with  its  two  fancy 
stores,  its  two  hotels,  its  one  express-  office,  and  its  two  first 
families.  Occasionally  its  one  long  straggling  street  was 
overawed  by  the  assumption  of  the  latest  San  Francisco 


MLISS.  87 

fashions,  imported  per  express,  exclusively  to  the  first  families; 
making  outraged  Nature,  in  the  ragged  outline  of  her  fur- 
rowed  surface,  look  still  more  homely,  and  putting  personal 
insult  on  that  greater  portion  of  the  population  to  whom  the 
Sabbath,  with  a  change  of  linen,  brought  merely  the  neces 
sity  of  cleanliness,  without  the  luxury  of  adornment.  Then 
there  was  a  Methodist  Church,  and  hard  by  a  Monte  Bank, 
and  a  little  beyond,  on  the  mountain-side,  a  graveyard  ;  and 
then  a  little  school-house. 

"  The  Master,"  as  he  was  known  to  his  little  flock,  sat 
alone  one  night  in  the  school-house,  with  some  open  copy-books 
before  him,  carefully  making  those  bold  and  full  characters 
which  are  supposed  to  combine  the  extremes  of  chirographi- 
cal  and  moral  excellence,  and  had  got  as  far  as  "  Riches  are 
deceitful,"  and  was  elaborating  the  noun  with  an  insincerity 
of  flourish  that  was  quite  in  the  spirit  of  his  text,  when  he 
heard  a  gentle  tapping.  The  woodpeckers  had  been  busy 
about  the  roof  during  the  day,  and  the  noise  did  not  disturb 
his  work.  Bui-  the  opening  of  the  door,  and  the  tapping 
continuing  from  the  inside,  caused  him  to  look  up.  He  was 
slightly  startled  by  the  figure  of  a  young  girl,  dirty  and 
shabbily  clad.  Still,  her  great  black  eyes,  her  coarse,  un 
combed,  lustreless  black  hair  falling  over  her  sun-burned  face, 
her  red  arms  and  feet  streaked  with  the  red  soil,  were  all 
familiar  to  him.  It  was  Melissa  Smith, — Smith's  mother 
less  child. 

"  What  can  she  want  here  ?  "  thought  the  master.  Every 
body  knew  "  Mliss,"  as  she  was  called,  throughout  the 
length  and  height  of  Red  Mountain.  Everybody  knew  her 
as  an  incorrigible  girl.  Her  fierce,  ungovernable  disposition, 
her  mad  freaks  and  lawless  character,  were,  in  their  way,  as 
proverbial  as  the  story  of  her  father's  weaknesses,  and  as 
philosophically  accepted  by  the  townsfolk.  She  wrangled 
with  and  fought  the  school-boys  with  keener  invective  and 
quite  as  powerful  arm.  She  followed  the  trails  with  a  wood- 


88 

man's  craft,  and  the  master  had  met  her  before,  miles  away, 
shoeless,  stock iiigless,  and  bareheaded  on  the  mountain  road. 
The  miners'  camps  along  the  stream  supplied  her  with  sub 
sistence  during  these  voluntary  pilgrimages,  in  freely  offered 
alms.  Not  but  that  a  larger  protection  had  been  previously 
extended  to  Mliss.  The  Kev.  Joshua  McSnagley,  "  stated  " 
preacher,  had  placed  her  in  the  hotel  as  servant,  by  way  of 
preliminary  refinement,  and  had  introduced  her  to  his 
scholars  at  Sunday-school.  But  she  threw  plates  occasionally 
at  the  landlord,  and  quickly  retorted  to  the  cheap  witticisms 
of  the  guests,  and  created  in  the  Sabbath-school  a  sensation 
that  was  so  inimical  to  the  orthodox  dulness  and  placidity  of 
that  institution,  that,  with  a  decent  regard  for  the  starched 
frocks  and  unblemished  morals  of  the  two  pink-and-white- 
faced  children  of  the  first  families,  the  reverend  gentleman 
had  her  ignominiously  expelled.  Such  were  the  antecedents, 
and  such  the  character  of  Mliss,  as  she  stood  before  the 
master.  It  was  shown  in  the  ragged  dress,  the  unkempt 
hair,  and  bleeding  feet,  and  asked  his  pity.  It  flashed  from 
her  black,  fearless  eyes,  and  commanded  his  respect. 

"I  come  here  to-night,"  she  said  rapidly  and  boldly, 
keeping  her  hard  glance  on  his,  "  because  I  knew  you  was 
alone.  I  wouldn't  come  here  when  them  gals  was  here.  I 
hate  'em  and  they  hates  me.  That's  why.  You  keep  school, 
don't  you  1  I  want  to  be  teached  !  " 

If  to  the  shabbiriess  of  her  apparel  and  uncomeliness  of 
her  tangled  hair  and  dirty  face  she  had  added  the  humility  of 
tears,  the  master  would  have  extended  to  her  the  usual 
moiety  of  pity,  and  nothing  more.  But  with  the  natural, 
though  illogical  instincts  of  his  species,  her  boldness 
awakened  in  him  something  of  that  respect  which  all  original 
natures  pay  unconsciously  to  one  another  in  any  grade. 
And  he  gazed  at  her  the  more  fixedly  as  she  went  on  still 
rapidly,  her  hand  on  that  door-latch  and  her  eyes  on  his  : — 

"  My  name's  Mliss, — Mliss  Smith  !     You  can  bet  your 


MUSS.  £9 

life  on  that.  My  father's  Old  Smith,— Old  Bummer  Smith, 
— that's  what's  the  matter  with  him.  Mliss  Smith, — and 
I'm  coming  to  school." 

"Well?"  said  the  master. 

Accustomed  to  be  thwarted  and  opposed,  often  wantonly 
and  cruelly,  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  excite  the  violent 
impulses  of  her  nature,  the  master's  phlegm  evidently  took 
her  by  surprise.  She  stopped  ;  she  began  to  twist  a  lock  of 
her  hair  between  her  fingers ;  and  the  rigid  line  of  upper 
lip,  drawn  over  the  wicked  little  teeth,  relaxed  and  quivered 
slightly.  Then  her  eyes  dropped,  and  something  like  a 
blush  struggled  up  to  her  cheek,  and  tried  to  assert  itself 
through  the  splashes  of  redder  soil,  and  the  sunburn  of 
years.  Suddenly  she  threw  herself  forward,  calling  on  God 
to  strike  her  dead,  and  fell  quite  weak  and  helpless,  with 
her  face  on  the  master's  desk,  crying  and  sobbing  as  if  her 
heart  would  break. 

The  master  lifted  her  gently  and  waited  for  the  paroxysm 
to  pass.  When  with  face  still  averted,  she  was  repeating 
between  her  sobs  the  mea  culpa  of  childish  penitence, — that 
"  she'd  be  good,  she  didn't  mean  to,"  &c.,  it  came  to  him  to 
ask  her  why  she  had  left  Sabbath-school. 

Why  had  she  left  the  Sabbath-school?— why  ?  O  yes. 
What  did  he  (McSnagley)  want  to  tell  her  she  was  wicked 
for  1  What  did  he  tell  her  that  God  hated  her  for  'I  If  God 
hated  her,  what  did  she  want  to  go  Sabbath-school  for  1  She 
didn't  want  to  be  "  beholden  "  to  anybody  who  hated  her. 

Had  she  told  McSnagley  this  ? 

Yes  she  had. 

The  master  laughed.  It  was  a  hearty  laugh,  and  echoed 
so  oddly  in  the  little  school-house,  and  seemed  so  inconsistent 
and  discordant  with  the  sighing  of  the  pines  without,  that  he 
shortly  corrected  himself  with  a  sigh.  The  sigh  was  quite 
as  sincere  in  its  way,  however,  and  after  a  moment  of  serious 
silence  he  asked  her  about  her  father. 


90  MLISS. 

Her  father]  What  father?  Whose  father?  What  had 
he  ever  done  for  her?  Why  did  the  girls  hate  her?  Come 
now!  what  made  the  .folks  say,  "Old  Bummer  Smith's 
Mliss ! "  when  she  passed  ?  Yes ;  O  yes.  She  wished  he  was 
dead; — she  was  dead, — everybody  was  dead;  and  her  sobs 
broke  forth  anew. 

The  master,  then  leaning  over  her,  told  her  as  well  as  he 
could  what  you  or  I  might  have  said  after  hearing  such 
unnatural  theories  from  childish  lips  ;  only  bearing  in  mind 
perhaps  better  than  you  or  I  the  unnatural  facts  of  her 
ragged  dress,  her  bleeding  feet,  and  the  omnipresent  shadow 
of  her  drunken  father.  Then,  raising  her  to  her  feet,  he 
wrapped  his  shawl  around  her,  and,  bidding  her  come  early 
in  the  morning,  he  walked  with  her  down  the  road.  There 
he  bade  her  "good  night."  The  moon  shone  brightly  on  the 
narrow  path  before  them.  He  stood  and  watched  the  bciit 
little  figure  as  it  staggered  down  the  road,  and  waited  until 
it  had  passed  the  little  graveyard  and  reached  the  curve  of 
the  hill,  where  it  turned  and  stood  for  a  moment,  a  mere 
atom  of  suffering  outlined  against  the  far-off  patient  stars. 
Then  he  went  back  to  his  work.  But  the  lines  of  the  copy 
book  thereafter  faded  into  long  parallels  of  never-ending 
road,  over  which  childish  figures  seemed  to  pass  sobbing  and 
crying  into  the  night.  Then,  the  little  school-house  seeming 
lonelier  than  before,  he  shut  the  door  and  went  home. 

The  next  morning  Mliss  came  to  school.  Her  face  had 
been  washed,  and  her  coarse  black  hair  bore  evidence  of 
recent  struggles  with  the  comb,  in  which  both  had  evidently 
suffered.  The  old  defiant  look  shone  occasionally  in  her 
eyes,  but  her  manner  was  tamer  and  more  subdued.  Then 
began  a  series  of  little  trials  and  self-sacrifices,  in  which 
master  and  pupil  bore  an  equal  part,  and  which  increased 
the  confidence  and  sympathy  between  them.  Although 
obedient  under  the  master's  eye,  at  times  during  the  recess, 
if  thwarted  or  stung  by  a  fancied  slight,  Mliss  wouM  rage  in 


MLISS.  9t 

ungovernable  fury,  and  many  a  palpitating  young  savage, 
finding  himself  matched  with  his  own  weapons  of  torment, 
would  seek  the  master  with  torn  jacket  and  scratched  face, 
and  complaints  of  the  dreadful  Mliss.  There  was  a  serious 
division  among  the  townspeople  on  the  subject;  some  threat 
ening  to  withdraw  their  children  from  such  evil  companion 
ship,  and  others  as  warmly  upholding  the  course  of  the 
master  in  his  work  of  reclamation.  Meanwhile,  with  a 
steady  persistence  that  seemed  quite  astonishing  to  him  on 
looking  back  afterward,  the  master  drew  Mliss  gradually 
out  of  the  shadow  of  her  past  life,  as  though  it  were  but  her 
natural  progress  down  the  narrow  path  on  which  he  had  set 
her  feet  the  moonlit  night  of  their  first  meeting.  Remem 
bering  the  experience  of  the^evangelical  McSnagley,  he  care- 
folly  avoided  that  Rock  of  Ages  on  which  that  unskilful 
pilot  had  shipwrecked  her  young  faith.  But  if,  in  the  course 
of  her  reading,  she  chanced  to  stumble  upon  those  few  words 
which  have  lifted  such  as  she  above  the  level  of  the  older, 
the  wiser,  and  the  more  prudent, — if  she  learned  something 
of  a  faith  that  is  symbolized  by  suffering,  and  the  old  light 
softened  in  her  eyes,  it  did  not  take  the  shape  of  a  lesson. 
A  few  of  the  plainer  people  had  made  up  a  little  sum  by 
which  the  ragged  Mliss  was  enabled  to  assume  the  garments 
of  respect  and  civilisation;  and  often  a  rough  shake  of  the 
hand,  and  words  of  homely  commendation  from  a  red-shirted 
and  burly  figure,  sent  a  glow  to  the  cheek  of  the  young 
master,  and  set  him  to  thinking  if  it  was  altogether  de 
served. 

Three  months  had  passed  from  the  time  of  their  first  meet 
ing,  and  the  master  was  sitting  late  one  evening  over  the 
moral  and  sententious  copies,  when  there  came  a  tap  at  the 
door,  and  again  Mliss  stood  before  him.  She  was  neatly 
clad  and  clean-faced,  and  there  was  nothing,  perhaps,  but 
the  long  black  hair  and  bright  black  eyes  to  remind  him  of 
bis  former  apparition.  "Are  you  busy?"  she  asked;  "can 


92  MLTSS. 

you  come  witli  meT'  And  on  his  signifying  his  readiness, 
in  her  old  wilful  way  she  said,  "Come,  then,  quick." 

They  passed  out  of  the  door  together,  and  into  the  dark 
road.  As  they  entered  the  town  the  master  asked  her 
whither  she  was  going.  She  replied,  "  To  see  my  father." 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  heard  her  call  him  by  that 
filial  title,  or  indeed  anything  more  than  "Old  Smith,"  or  the 
"  Old  Man."  It  was  the  first  time  in  three  months  that  she 
had  spoken  of  him  at  all,  and  the  master  knew  she  had  kept 
resolutely  aloof  from  him  since  her  great  change.  Satisfied 
from  her  manner  that  it  was  fruitless  to  question  her  pur 
pose,  he  passively  followed.  In  out-of-the-way  places,  low 
groggeries,  restaurants,  and  saloons ;  in  gambling-hells  and 
dance-houses,  the  master,  preceded  by  Mliss,  came  and  went. 
In  the  reeking  smoke  and  blasphemous  outcries  of  low  dens, 
the  child,  holding  the  master's  hand,  stood  and  anxiously 
gazed,  seemingly  unconscious  of  all  in  the  one  absorbing 
nature  of  her  pursuit.  Some  of  the  revellers,  recognising 
Mliss,  called  to  the  child  to  sing  and  dance  for  them,  and 
would  have  forced  liquor  upon  her  but  for  the  interference 
of  the  master.  Others,  recognising  him  mutely,  made  way 
for  them  to  pass.  So  an  hour  slipped  by.  Then  the  child 
whispered  in  his  ear  that  there  was  a  cabin  on  the  other 
side  of  the  creek,  crossed  by  the  long  flume,  where  she 
thought  he  still  might  be.  Thither  they  crossed, — a  toilsome 
half-hour's  walk,  but  in  vain.  They  were  returning  by  the 
ditch  at  the  abutment  of  the  flume,  gazing  at  the  lights  of 
the  town  on  the  opposite  bank,  when  suddenly,  sharply,  a 
quick  report  rang  out  on  the  clear  night  air.  The  echoes 
caught  it,  and  carried  it  round  and  round  Bed  Mountain,  and 
set  the  dogs  to  barking  all  along  the  streams.  Lights  seemed 
to  dance  and  move  quickly  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town  fol 
a  few  moments,  the  stream  rippled  quite  audibly  beside 
them,  a  few  stones  loosened  themselves  from  the  hillside,  and 
•Clashed  into  the  stream,  a  heavy  wind  seemed  to  surge  tho 


MUSS.  93 

branches  of  the  funereal  pines,  and  then  the  silence  seemed 
to  fall  thicker,  heavier,  and  deadlier.  The  master  turned 
towards  Mliss  with  ail  unconscious  gesture  of  protection,  but 
the  child  had  gone.  Oppressed  by  a  strange  fear,  he  ran 
quickly  down  the  trail  to  the  river's  bed,  and,  jumping  from 
boulder  to  boulder,  reached  the  base  of  Eed  Mountain  and 
the  outskirts  of  the  village.  Midway  of  the  crossing  he 
ooked  up  and  held  his  breath  in  awe.  For  high  above  him, 
011  the  narrow  flume,  he  saw  the  fluttering  little  figure  of  his 
late  companion  crossing  swiftly  in  the  darkness. 

He  climbed  the  bank,  and,  guided  by  a  few  lights  moving 
about  a  central  point  on  the  mountain,  soon  found  himself 
breathless  among  a  crowd  of  awe-stricken  and  sorrowful 
men.  Out  from  among  them  the  child  appeared,  and,  taking 
the  master's  hand,  led  him  silently  before  what  seemed  a 
ragged  hole  in  the  mountain.  Her  face  was  quite  white,  but 
her  excited  manner  gone,  and  her  look  that  of  one  to  whom 
some  long-expected  event  had  at  last  happened, — an  expres 
sion  that,  to  the  master  in  his  bewilderment,  seemed  almost 
like  relief.  The  walls  of  the  cavern  were  partly  propped  by 
decaying  timbers.  The  child  pointed  to  what  appeared  to  be 
some  ragged  cast-off  clothes  left  in  the  hole  by  the  late  occu 
pant.  The  master  approached  nearer  with  his  flaming  dip, 
and  bent  over  them.  It  was  Smith,  already  cold,  with  a 
pistol  in  his  hand,  and  a  bullet  in  his  heart,  lying  beside  his 
empty  pocket. 

CHAPTER  II. 

r~PHE  opinion  which  McSnagley  expressed  in  reference  to  a 
"  change  of  heart"  supposed  to  be  experienced  by  Mliss 
was  more  forcibly  described  in  the  gulches  and  tunnels.  It  was 
thought  there  that  Mliss  had  "struck  a  good  lead."  So  when 
there  was  a  new  grave  added  to  the  little  enclosure,  and  at 
the  expense  of  the  master  a  little  board  and  inscription  put 


94  MLISS. 

above  it,  the  Bed  Mountain  Banner  came  out  quite  hand 
somely,  and  did  the  fair  thing  to  the  memory  of  one  of  "  our 
oldest  Pioneers,"  alluding  gracefully  to  that  "  bane  of  noble 
intellects,"  and  otherwise  genteelly  shelving  our  dear  brother 
with  the  past.  "  He  leaves  an  only  child  to  mourn  his  loss," 
says  the  Banner,  "  who  is  now  an  exemplary  scholar,  thanks 
to  the  efforts  of  the  Eev.  Mr.  McSnagley."  The  Rev 
McSnagley,  in  fact,  made  a  strong  point  of  Mliss's  conver 
sion,  and,  indirectly  attributing  to  the  unfortunate  child  the 
suicide  of  her  father,  made  affecting  allusions  in  Sunday- 
school  to  the  beneficial  effects  of  the  "  silent  tomb,"  and  in 
this  cheerful  contemplation  drove  most  of  the  children  into 
speechless  horror,  and  caused  the  pink-and-white  scions  of  the 
first  families  to  howl  dismally  and  refuse  to  be  comforted. 

The  long  dry  summer  came.  As  each  fierce  day  burned 
itself  out  in  little  whiffs  of  pearl-gray  smoke  on  the  mountain 
summits,  and  the  upspringing  breeze  scattered  its  red  embers 
over  the  landscape,  the  green  wave  which  in  early  spring 
upheaved  above  Smith's  grave  grew  sere,  and  dry,  and  hard. 
In  those  days  the  master,  strolling  in  the  little  churchyard 
of  a  Sabbath  afternoon,  was  sometimes  surprised  to  find  a 
few  wild  flowers  plucked  from  the  damp  pine  forest  scattered 
there,  and  oftener  rude  wreaths  hung  upon  the  little  pine 
cross.  Most  of  these  wreaths  were  formed  of  a  sweet-scented 
grass,  which  the  children  loved  to  keep  in  their  desks,  inter 
twined  with  the  plumes  of  the  buckeye,  the  syringa,  and  the 
wood  anemone ;  and  here  and  there  the  master  noticed  the 
dark  blue  cowl  of  the  monk's-hood,  or  deadly  aconite.  There 
was  something  in  the  odd  association  of  this  noxious  plant 
with  these  memorials  which  occasioned  a  painful  sensation  to 
the  master  deeper  than  his  esthetic  sense.  One  day,  during 
a  long  walk,  in  crossing  a  wooded  ridge,  he  came  upon  Mliss 
in  the  heart  of  the  forest,  perched  upon  a  prostrate  pine,  on 
a  fantastic  throne  formed  by  the  hanging  plumes  of  lifeless 
branches,  her  lap  full  of  grasses  and  pine-burrs,  and  crooning 


MUSS.  95 

to  herself  one  of  the  negro  melodies  of  her  younger  life. 
Recognizing  him  at  a  distance,  she  made  room  for  him  on 
her  elevated  throne,  and  with  a  grave  assumption  of  hospi 
tality  and  patronage  that  would  have  been  ridiculous  had  it 
not  been  so  terribly  earnest,  she  fed  him  with  pine  nuts  and 
crab-apples.  The  master  took  that  opportunity  to  point  out 
to  her  the  noxious  and  deadly  qualities  of  the  monk's-hood, 
whose  dark  blossoms  he  saw  in  her  lap,  and  extorted  from 
her  a  promise  not  to  meddle  with  it  as  long  as  she  remained 
his  pupil.  This  done, — as  the  master  had  tested  her  integrity 
before, — he  rested  satisfied,  and  the  strange  feeling  which 
had  overcome  him  on  seeing  them  died  away. 

Of  the  homes  that  were  offered  Mliss  when  her  conversion 
became  known,  the  master  preferred  that  of  Mrs.  Morpher, 
a  womanly  and  kind-hearted  specimen  of  south-western 
efflorescence,  known  in  her  maidenhood  as  the  "  Per-rairie 
Rose."  Being  one  of  those  who  contend  resolutely  against 
their  own  natures,  Mrs.  Morpher,  by  a  long  series  of  self- 
sacrifices  and  struggles,  had  at  last  subjugated  her  naturally 
careless  disposition  to  principles  of  "  order,"  which  she  con 
sidered,  in  common  with  Mr.  Pope,  as  "  Heaven's  first  law." 
But  she  could  not  entirely  govern  the  orbits  of  her  satellites, 
however  regular  her  own  movements,  and  even  her  own 
"Jeemes"  sometimes  collided  with  her.  Again  her  old 
nature  asserted  itself  in  her  children.  Lycurgus  dipped  into 
the  cupboard  "between  meals,"  and  Aristides  came  home 
from  school  without  shoes,  leaving  those  important  articles 
on  the  threshold,  for  the  delight  of  a  bare-footed  walk  down 
the  ditches.  Octavia  and  Cassandra  were  "keerless"  of  their 
clothes.  So  with  but  one  exception,  however  much  the 
"  Prairie  Rose"  might  have  trimmed  and  pruned  and  trained 
her  own  matured  luxuriance,  the  little  shoots  came  up  de 
fiantly  wild  and  straggling.  That  one  exception  was  Clytem- 
nestra  Morpher,  aged  fifteen.  She  was  the  realization  of  her 
mother's  immaculate  conception, — neat,  orderly,  and  dulL 


06  MUSS. 

It  was  an  amiable  weakness  of  Mrs.  Mc-rpher  to  imagine 
that  "  Clytie "  was  a  consolation  and  model  for  Mliss. 
Following  this  fallacy,  Mrs.  Morpher  threw  Clytie  at  the 
head  of  Mliss  when  she  was  "  bad,"  and  set  her  up  before 
the  child  for  adoration  in  her  penitential  moments.  It  was 
not,  therefore,  surprising  to  the  master  to  hear  that  Clytie 
was  coming  to  school,  obviously  as  a  favour  to  the  master 
and  as  an  example  for  Mliss  and  others.  For  "  Clytie  "  was 
quite  a  young  lady.  Inheriting  her  mother's  physical 
peculiarities,  and  in  obedience  to  the  climatic  laws  of  the 
Red  Mountain  region,  she  was  an  early  bloomer.  The 
youth  of  "  Smith's  Pocket,"  to  whom  this  kind  of  flower 
was  rare,  sighed  for  her  in  April  and  languished  in  May. 
Enamoured  swains  haunted  the  school-house  at  the  hour  of 
dismissal.  A  few  were  jealous  of  the  master. 

Perhaps  it  was  this  latter  circumstance  that  opened  the 
master's  eyes  to  another.     He  could  not  help  noticing  that 
Clytie  was  romantic ;  that  in  school  she  required  a  great 
deal  of  attention  ;  that  her  pens  were  uniformly  bad  and 
wanted  fixing ;  that  she  usually  accompanied  the  request 
with  a  certain  expectation  in  her  eye  that  was  somewhat 
disproportionate  to  tHe  quality  of  service  she  verbally  re 
quired  ;  that  she  sometimes  allowed  the  curves  of  a  round, 
plump  white  arm  to  rest  on  his  when  he  was  writing  her 
copies ;  that  she  always  blushed  and  flung  back  her  blond 
curls  when  she  did  so.     I  don't  remember  whether  I  have 
stated  that  the  master  was  a  young  man, — it's  of  little  con 
sequence,  however  ;  he  had  been  severely  educated  in  the 
school  in  which  Clytie  was  taking  her  first  lesson,  and,  on 
the  whole,  withstood  the  flexible  curves  and  factitious  glance 
like  the  fine  young  Spartan  that  he  was.     Perhaps  an  in 
sufficient  quality  of  food  may  have  tended  to  this  asceticism. 
He  generally  avoided  Clytie  ;  but  one  evening  when   she 
returned  to  the  school-house  after  something  she  had  for 
gotten,  and  did  not  find  it  until  the  master  walked  homo 


MLISS.  97 

•with  her.  I  hear  that  he  endeavoured  to  make  himself 
particularly  agreeable, — partly  from  the  fact,  I  imagine,  that 
his  conduct  was  adding  gall  and  bitterness  to  the  already 
overcharged  hearts  of  Clytemnestra's  admirers. 

The  morning  after  this  affecting  episode  Mliss  did  not 
come  to  school.  Noon  came,  but  not  Mliss.  Question 
ing  Clytie  on  the  subject,  it  appeared  that  they  had  left  for 
school  together,  but  the  wilful  Mliss  had  taken  another  road. 
The  afternoon  brought  her  not.  In  the  evening  he  called  on 
Mrs.  Morpher,  whose  motherly  heart  was  really  alarmed. 
Mr.  Morpher  had  spent  all  day  in  search  of  her,  without 
discovering  a  trace  that  might  lead  to  her  discovery. 
Aristides  was  summoned  as  a  probable  accomplice,  but 
that  equitable  infant  succeeded  in  impressing  the  household 
with  his  innocence.  Mrs.  Morpher  entertained  a  vivid  im 
pression  that  the  child  would  yet  be  found  drowned  in  a 
ditch,  or,  what  was  almost  as  terrible,  muddied  and  soiled 
beyond  the  redemption  of  soap  and  water.  Sick  at  heart, 
the  master  returned  to  the  school-house.  As  he  lit  his  lamp 
and  seated  himself  at  his  desk,  he  found  a  note  lying  before 
him  addressed  to  himself,  in  Mliss's  handwriting.  It  seemed 
to  be  written  on  a  leaf  torn  from  some  old  memorandum- 
book,  and  to  prevent  sacrilegious  trifling,  had  been  sealed 
with  six  broken  wafers.  Opening  it  almost  tenderly,  the 
master  read  as  follows  : — 

RESPECTED  SIR, — When  you  read  this,  I  am  run  away. 
Never  to  come  back.  Never,  NEVER,  NEYER.  You  can 
give  my  beeds  to  Mary  Jennings,  and  my  Amerika's  Pride 
[a  highly-coloured  lithograph  from  a  tobacco-box]  to  Sally 
Flanders.  But  don't  you  give  anything  to  Clytie  Morpher. 
Don't  you  dare  to.  Do  you  know  what  my  opinion  is  of 
her,  it  is  this,  she  is  perfekly  disgustin.  That  is  all  and  no 
more  at  present  from 

Yours  respectfully, 

MELISSA  S 


98  MLISS. 

The  master  sat  pondering  on  this  strange  epistle  till  the 
moon  lifted  its  bright  face  above  the  distant  hills,  and 
illuminated  the  trail  that  led  to  the  school-house,  beaten 
quite  hard  with  the  coming  and  going  of  little  feet.  Then, 
more  satisfied  in  mind,  he  tore  the  missive  into  fragments 
and  scattered  them  along  the  road. 

At  sunrise  the  next  morning  he  was  picking  his  way- 
through  the  palm-like  fern  and  thick  underbrush  of  the 
pine-forest,  starting  the  hare  from  its  form,  and  awakening  a 
querulous  protest  from  a  few  dissipated  crows,  who  had 
evidently  been  making  a  night  of  it,  and  so  came  to  the 
wooded  ridge  where  he  had  once  found  Mliss.  There  he 
found  the  prostrate  pine  and  tasselled  branches,  but  the 
throne  was  vacant.  As  he  drew  nearer,  what  might  have 
been  some  frightened  animal  started  through  the  crackling 
limbs.  It  ran  up  the  tossed  arms  of  the  fallen  monarch, 
and  sheltered  itself  in  some  friendly  foliage.  The  master, 
reaching  the  old  seat,  found  the  nest  still  warm ;  looking 
up  in  the  intertwining  branches,  he  met  the  black  eyes  of 
the  errant  Mliss.  They  gazed  at  each  other  without 
speaking.  She  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence. 

"  What  do  you  want  ] "  she  asked  curtly. 

The  master  had  decided  on  a  course  of  action.  "  I  want 
some  crab-apples,"  he  said,  humbly. 

"  Shan't  have  'em ;  go  away.  Why  don't  you  get  'cm  of 
Cly temnerestera  1 "  (It  seemed  to  be  a  relief  to  Mliss  to 
express  her  contempt  in  additional  syllables  to  that  classical 
young  woman's  already  long-drawn  title.)  "  O  you  wicked 
thing!" 

"I  am  hungry,  Lizzy.  I  have  eaten  noting  since 
dinner  yesterday.  I  am  famished ! "  and  the  young  man, 
in  a  state  of  remarkable  exhaustion,  leaned  against  the 
<ree. 

Melissa's  heart  was  touched.  In  the  bitter  days  of  hei 
gipsy  life  she  had  known  the  sensation  he  so  artfully 


JlfL/SS.  99 

simulated.  Overcome  by  his  heart-broken  tone,  but  not 
entirely  divested  of  suspicion,  she  said, — 

"Dig  under  the  tree  near  .the  roots,  and  you'll  find  lots ; 
but  mind  you  don't  tell,"  for  Mliss  had  her  hoards  as  well 
as  the  rats  and  squirrels. 

But  the  master,  of  course,  was  unable  to  find  them  ;  the 
effects  of  hunger  probably  blinding  his  senses.  Mliss  grew 
uneasy.  At  length  she  peered  at  him  through  the  leaves  in 
an  elfish  way,  and  questioned, — 

"  If  I  come  down  and  give  you  some,  you'll  promise  you 
won't  touch  me  ? " 

The  master  promised. 

"  Hope  you'll  die  if  you  do  ! " 

The  master  accepted  instant  dissolution  as  a  forfeit. 
Mliss  slid  down  the  tree.  For  a  few  moments  nothing 
transpired  but  the  munching  of  the  pine-nuts.  "  Do  you 
feel  better?"  she  asked,  with  some  solicitude.  The  master 
confessed  to  a  recuperated  feeling,  and  then,  gravely  thank 
ing  her,  proceeded  to  retrace  his  steps.  As  he  expected,  he 
had  not  gone  far  before  she  called  him.  He  turned.  She 
was  standing  there  quite  white,  with  tears  in  her  widely- 
opened  orbs.  The  master  felt  that  the  right  moment  had 
come.  Going  up  to  her,  he  took  both  her  hands,  and,  look 
ing  in  her  tearful  eyes,  said,  gravely,  "  Lissy,  do^  you 
remember  the  first  evening  you  came  to  see  me  ?" 

Lissy  remembered. 

"  You  asked  me  if  you  might  come  to  school,  for  you 
wanted  to  learn  something  and  be  better,  and  I  said " 

"  Come,"  responded  the  child,  promptly. 

"  What  would  you  say  if  the  master  now  came  to  you 
and  said  that  he  was  lonely  without  his  little  scholar,  and 
that  he  wanted  her  to  come  and  teach  him  to  be  better  ?" 

The  child  hung  her  head  for  a  few  moments  in  silence. 
The  master  waited  patiently.  Tempted  by  the  quiet,  a 
hare  ran  close  to  the  couple,  and  raising  her  bright  eyes  and 

H  2 


loo  MLISS. 

velvet  forepaws,  sat  and  gazed  at  them.  A  squirrel  ran 
half-way  down  the  furrowed  bark  of  the  fallen  tree,  and 
There  stopped. 

"We  are  waiting,  Lissy,"  said  the  master,  in  a  whisper, 
and  the  child  smiled.  Stirred  by  a  passing  breeze,  the  tree- 
tops  rocked,  and  a  long  pencil  of  light  stole  through  their 
interlaced  boughs  full  on  the  doubting  face  and  irresolute 
little  figure.  Suddenly  she  took  the  master's  hand  in  her 
quick  way.  What  she  said  was  scarcely  audible,  but  the 
master,  putting  the  black  hair  back  from  her  forehead,  kissed 
her ;  and  so,  hand  in  hand,  they  passed  out  of  the  damp 
aisles  and  forest  odours  into  the  open  sunlit  road. 


CHAPTER  III. 

O  OMEWHAT  less  spiteful  in  her  intercourse  with  other 
scholars,  Mliss  still  retained  an  offensive  attitude  in 
regard  to  Clytemnestra.  Perhaps  the  jealous  element  was 
not  entirely  lulled  in  her  passionate  little  breast.  Perhaps  it 
was  only  that  the  round  curves  and  plump  outline  offered 
more  extended  pinching  surface.  But  while  such  ebullitions 
were  under  the  master's  control,  her  enmity  occasionally 
took  a  new  and  irrepressible  form. 

The  master  in  his  first  estimate  of  the  child's  character 
could  not  conceive  that  she  had  ever  possessed  a  doll.  But 
the  master,  like  many  other  professed  readers  of  character, 
was  safer  in  &  posteriori  than  ci  priori  reasoning.  Mliss  had 
a  doll,  but  then  it  was  emphatically  Mliss's  doll, — a  smaller 
copy  of  herself.  Its  unhappy  existence  had  been  a  secret 
discovered  accidentally  by  Mrs.  Morpher.  It  had  been  the 
old-time  companion  of  Mliss's  wanderings,  and  bore  evident 
marks  of  suffering.  Its  original  complexion  was  long  since 
washed  away  by  the  weather  and  anointed  by  the  slime  of 
ditches.  It  looked  very  much  as  Mliss  had  in  days  past. 


MLISS.  101 

Its  one  gown  of  faded  stuff  was  dirty  and  ragged  as  hers  had 
been.  Mliss  had  never  been  known  to  apply  to  it  any 
childish  term  of  endearment  She  never  exhibited  it  in  the 
presence  of  other  children.  It  was  put  severely  to  bed  in  a 
hollow  tree  near  the  school-house,  and  only  allowed  exercise 
during  Mliss's  rambles.  Fulfilling  a  stern  duty  to  her  doll, 
as  she  would  to  herself,  it  knew  no  luxuries. 

Now  Mrs.  Morpher,  obeying  a  commendable  impulse, 
bought  another  doll  and  gave  it  to  Mliss.  The  child  received 
it  gravely  and  curiously.  The  master,  on  looking  at  it  one 
day,  fancied  he  saw  a  slight  resemblance  in  its  round  red 
cheeks  and  mild  blue  eyes  to  Clytemnestra.  It  became 
evident  before  long  that  Mliss  had  also  noticed  the  same 
resemblance.  Accordingly  she  hammered  its  waxen  head 
on  the  rocks  when  she  Avas  alone,  and  sometimes  dragged  it 
with  a  string  round  its  neck  to  and  from  school.  At  other 
times,  setting  it  up  on  her  desk,  she  made  a  pin-cushion  of 
its  patient  and  inoffensive  body.  Whether  this  was  done  in 
revenge  of  what  she  considered  a  second  figurative  obtrusion 
of  Clytie's  excellences  upon  her,  or  whether  she  had  an 
intuitive  appreciation  of  the  rites  of  certain  other  heathens, 
and,  indulging  in  that  "Fetish,"  ceremony,  imagined  that 
the  original  of  her  wax  model  would  pine  away  and  finally 
die,  is  a  metaphysical  question  I  shall  not  now  consider. 

In  spite  of  these  moral  vagaries,  the  master  could  not  help 
noticing  in  her  different  tasks  the  working  of  a  quick,  restless, 
and  vigorous  perception.  She  knew  neither  the  hesitancy 
nor  the  doubts  of  childhood.  Her  answers  in  class  were 
always  slightly  dashed  with  audacity.  Of  course  she  was 
not  infallible.  But  her  courage  and  daring  in  passing 
beyond  her  own  depth  and  that  of  the  floundering  little 
swimmers  around  her,  in  their  minds  outw^ighed  all  errors 
of  judgment.  Children  are  not  better  than  grown  people  in 
this  respect,  I  fancy;  and  whenever  the  little  red  hand 
flashed  above  her  desk,  there  was  a  wondering  silence,  and 


102  MLISS. 

even,  the  master  was  sometimes  oppressed  with  a  doubt  of  nls 
own  experience  and  judgment. 

Nevertheless,  certain  attributes  which  at  first  amused  and 
entertained  his  fancy  began  to  afflict  him  with  grave  doubts. 
He  could  not  but  see  that  Mliss  was  revengeful,  irreverent, 
and  wilful.  That  there  was  but  one  better  quality  which 
pertained  to  her  semi-savage  disposition, — the  faculty  of 
physical  fortitude  and  self-sacrifice,  and  another,  though  not 
always  an  attribute  of  the  noble  savage, — Truth.  Mliss  was 
both  fearless  and  sincere ;  perhaps  in  such  a  character  the 
adjectives  were  synonymous. 

The  master  had  been  doing  some  hard  thinking  on  this 
subject,  and  had  arrived  at  that  conclusion  quite  common  to 
all  who  think  sincerely,  that  he  was  generally  the  slave  of 
his  own  prejudices,  when  he  determined  to  call  on  the 
Rev.  McSnagley  for  advice.  This  decision  was  somewhat 
humiliating  to  his  pride,  as  he  and  McSnagley  were  not 
friends.  But  he  thought  of  Mliss,  and  the  evening  of  their 
first  meeting  ;  and  perhaps  with  a  pardonable  superstition 
that  it  was  not  chance  alone  that  had  guided  her  wilful 
feet  to  the  school-house,  and  perhaps  with  a  complacent 
consciousness  of  the  rare  magnanimity  of  the  act,  he  choked 
back  his  dislike  and  went  to  McSnagley. 

The  reverend  gentleman  was  glad  to  see  him.  Moreover, 
he  observed  that  the  master  was  looking  "peartish,"  and 
hoped  he  had  got  over  the  "  neuralgy "  and  "  rheumatiz." 
He  himself  had  been  troubled  with  a  dumb  "ager"  since 
last  conference.  But  he  had  learned  to  "rastle  and  pray." 

Pausing  a  moment  to  enable  the  master  to  write  his 
certain  method  of  curing  the  dumb  "  ager  "  upon  the  book 
and  volume  of  his  brain,  Mr.  McSnagley  proceeded  to  inquire 
after  Sister  Morpher.  "  She  is  an  adornment  to  Christianity, 
and  has  a  likely  growin'  young  family,"  added  Mr. 
McSnagley ;  "and  there's  that  mannerly  young  gal, — so 
well  behaved, — Miss  Clyde."  In  fact,  Clytie's  perfections 


AfLISS.  103 

seemed  to  affect  him  to  such  an  extent  that  he  dwelt 
for  several  minutes  upon  them.  The  master  was  doubly 
embarrassed.  In  the  first  place,  there  was  an  enforced 
contrast  with  poor  Mliss  in  all  this  praise  of  Olytie. 
Secondly,  there  was  something  unpleasantly  confidential  in 
his  tone  of  speaking  of  Mrs.  Morpher's  earliest  born.  So 
that  the  master,  after  a  few  futile  efforts  to  say  something 
natural,  found  it  convenient  to  recall  another  engagement, 
and  left  without  asking  the  information  required,  but  in  his 
after  reflections  somewhat  unjustly  giving  the  Rev.  Mr. 
McSnagley  the  full  benefit  of  having  refused  it. 

Perhaps  this  rebuff  placed  the  master  and  pupil  once 
more  in  the  close  communion  of  old.  The  child  seemed  to 
notice  the  change  in  the  master's  manner,  which  had  of  late 
been  constrained,  and  in  one  of  their  long  post-prandial 
walks  she  stopped  suddenly,  and,  mounting  a  stump,  looked 
full  in  his  face  with  big,  searching  eyes.  "  You  ain't  mad  ? " 
said  she,  with  an  interrogative  shake  of  the  black  braids. 
"No."  "Nor  bothered?"  "No."  "Nor  hungry!" 
(Hunger  was  to  Mliss  a  sickness  that  might  attack  a  person 
at  any  moment.)  "  No."  "  Nor  thinking  of  her  ? "  "  Of 
whom,  Lissy?"  "  That  white  girl."  (This  was  the  latest 
epithet  invented  by  Mliss,  who  was  a  very  dark  brunette,  to 
express  Clyteninestra.)  "No."  "  Upon  your  word  V  (A 
substitute  for  "  Hope  you'll  die  ! "  proposed  by  the  master.) 
"  Yes."  "  And  sacred  honour  ?  "  "  Yes."  Then  Mliss  gave 
him  a  fierce  little  kiss,  and,  hopping  down,  fluttered  off.  For 
two  or  three  days  after  that  she  condescended  to  appear 
more  like  other  children,  and  be,  as  she  expressed  it, 
"good." 

Two  years  had  passed  since  the  master's  advent  at  Smith's 
Pocket,  and  as  his  salary  was  not  large,  and  the  prospects  of 
Smith's  Pocket  eventually  becoming  the  capital  of  the  State 
not  entirely  definite,  he  contemplated  a  change.  He  had 
informed  the  school  trustees  privately  of  his  intentions, 


io4  MLISS. 

educated  young  men  of  unblemished  moral  character  being 
scarce  at  that  time,  he  consented  to  continue  his  school  .term 
through  the  winter  to  early  spring.  None  else  knew  of  his 
intention  except  his  one  friend,  a  Dr.  Duchesne,  a  young 
Creole  physician  known  to  the  people  of  Wingdam  as 
"  Duchesny."  He  never  mentioned  it  to  Mrs.  Morpher,  Clytie, 
or  any  of  his  scholars.  His  reticence  was  partly  the  result 
of  a  constitutional  indisposition  to  fuss,  partly  a  desire  to 
be  spared  the  questions  and  surmises  of  vulgar  curiosity,  and 
partly  that  he  never  really  believed  he  was  going  to  do 
anything  before  it  was  done. 

He  did  not  like  to  think  of  Mliss.  It  was  a  selfish 
instinct,  perhaps,  which  made  him  try  to  fancy  his  feeling 
for  the  child  was  foolish,  romantic,  and  unpractical.  He 
even  tried  to  imagine  that  she  would  do  better  under  the 
control  of  an  older  and  sterner  teacher.  Then  she  was 
nearly  eleven,  and  in  a  few  years,  by  the  rules  of  Red 
Mountain,  would  be  a  woman.  He  had  done  his  duty. 
After  Smith's  death  he  addressed  letters  to  Smith's  relatives, 
and  received  one  answer  from  a  sister  of  Melissa's  mother. 
Thanking  the  master,  she  stated  her  intention  of  leaving  the 
Atlantic  States  for  California  with  her  husband  in  a  few 
months.  This  was  a  slight  superstructure  for  the  airy  castle 
which  the  master  pictured  for  Mliss's  house,  but  it  was  easy 
to  fancy  that  some  loving  sympathetic  woman,  with  the 
claims  of  kindred,  might  better  guide  her  wayward  nature. 
Yet,  when  the  master  had  read  the  letter,  Mliss  listened  to 
it  carelessly,  received  it  submissively,  and  afterwards  cut 
figures  out  of  it  with  her  scissors,  supposed  to  represent 
Clytemnestra,  labelled  "  the  white  girl,"  to  prevent  mistakes, 
and  impaled  them  upon  the  outer  walls  of  the  school-house. 

When  the  summer  was  about  spent,  and  the  last  harvest 
had  been  gathered  in  the  valleys,  the  master  bethought  him 
of  gathering  in  a  few  ripened  shoots  of  the  young  idea,  and 
of  having  his  Harvest-Home,  or  Examination.  So  the  savana 


MUSS.  105 

and  professionals  of  Smith's  Pocket  were  gathered  to  witness 
that  time-honoured  custom  of  placing  timid  children  in  a 
constrained  position,  and  bullying  them  as  in  a  witness-box. 
As  usual  in  such  cases,  the  most  audacious  and  self-possessed 
were  the  lucky  recipients  of  the  honours.  The  reader  will 
imagine  that  in  the  present  instance  Mliss  and  Clytie  were 
pre-eminent,  and  divided  public  attention  j  Mliss  with  her 
clearness  of  material  perception  and  self-reliance,  Clytie 
with  her  placid  self-esteem  and  saint-like  correctness  of 
deportment.  The  other  little  ones  were  timid  and  blundering. 
Mliss's  readiness  and  brilliancy,  of  course,  captivated  the 
greatest  number  and  provoked  the  greatest  applause.  Mliss's 
antecedents  had  unconsciously  awakened  the  strongest 
sympathies  of  a  class  whose  athletic  forms  were  ranged 
against  the  walls,  or  whose  handsome  bearded  faces  looked 
in  at  the  windows.  But  Mliss's  popularity  was  overthrown 
by  an  unexpected  circumstance. 

McSnagley  had  invited  himself,  and  had  been  going 
through  the  pleasing  entertainment  of  frightening  the  more 
timid  pupils  by  the  vaguest  and  most  ambiguous  questions 
delivered  in  an  impressive  funereal  tone;  and  Mliss  had 
soared  into  Astronomy,  and  was  tracking  the  course  of  our 
spotted  ball  through  space,  and  keeping  time  with  the 
music  of  the  spheres,  and  denning  the  tethered  orbits  of  the 
planets,  when  McSnagley  impressively  arose.  "  Meelissy  ! 
ye  were  speaking  of  the  revolutions  of  this  yere  yearth 
and  the  move-mewte  of  the  sun,  and  I  think  ye  said  it  had 
been  a-doing  of  it  since  the  creashun,  eh  ? "  Mliss  nodded 
a  scornful  affirmative.  "  Well,  war  that  the  truth  ? "  said 
McSnagley,  folding  his  arms.  "  Yes,"  said  Mliss,  shutting  up 
her  little  red  lips  tightly.  The  handsome  outlines  at  the 
windows  peered  further  in  the  school-room,  and  a  saintly 
Raphael-face,  with  blond  beard  and  soft  blue  eyes,  belonging 
to  the  biggest  scamp  in  the  diggings,  turned  toward  the 
child  and  whispered,  "  Stick  to  it  Mliss  ! "  The  reverend 


loo  MLISS. 

gentleman  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  and  cast  a  compassionate 
glance  at  the  master,  then  at  the  children,  and  then  rested 
his  look  on  Clytie.  That  young  woman  softly  elevated  her 
round,  white  arm.  Its  seductive  curves  were  enhanced  by 
a  gorgeous  and  massive  specimen  bracelet,  the  gift  of  one  of 
her  humblest  worshippers,  worn  in  honour  of  the  occasion. 
There  was  a  momentary  silence.  Clytie's  round  cheeks  were 
very  pink  and  soft.  Clytie's  big  eyes  were  very  bright  and 
blue.  Olytie's  low-necked  white  book-muslin  rested  softly 
on  Clytie's  white,  plump  shoulders.  Clytie  looked  at 
the  master,  and  the  master  nodded.  Then  Clytie  spoke 
softly : — 

"  Joshua  commanded  the  sun  to  stand  still,  and  it  obeyed 
him  !  "  There  was  a  low  hum  of  applause  in.  the  school 
room,  a  triumphant  expression  on  McSnagley's  face,  a  grave 
shadow  on  the  master's,  and  a  comical  look  of  disappoint 
ment  reflected  from  the  windows.  Mliss  skimmed  rapidly 
over  her  Astronomy,  and  then  shut  the  book  with  a  loud 
snap.  A  groan  burst  from  McSnagley,  an  expression  ot 
astonishment  from  the  school-room,  a  yell  from  the  windows, 
as  Mliss  brought  her  red  fist  down  on  the  desk,  with  the 
emphatic  declaration, 

«  It's  a  d— n  lie.     I  don't  believe  it ! " 


CHAPTER  IV. 

• 

r"PHE  long  wet  season  had  drawn  near  its  close.  Signs  of 
~*-  spring  were  visible  in  the  swelling  buds  and  rushing 
torrents.  The  pine-forests  exhaled  the  fresher  spicery.  The 
azaleas  were  already  budding,  the  Ceanothus  getting  ready  its 
lilac  livery  for  spring.  On  the  green  upland  which  climbed 
Red  Mountain  at  its  southern  aspect  the  long  spike  of  the 
monk's-hood  shot  up  from  its  broad-leaved  stool,  and  onca 
more  shook  its  dark-blue  bells.  Again  the  billow  abovo 


MUSS.  107 

Smith's  grave  was  soft  and  green,  its  crest  just  tossed  with 
the  foam  of  daisies  and  buttercups.  The  little  graveyard 
had  gathered  a  few  new  dwellers  in  the  past  year,  and  the 
mounds  were  placed  two  by  two  by  the  little  paling  uiitiJ 
they  reached  Smith's  grave,  and  there  there  was  but  one. 
General  superstition  had  shunned  it,  and  the  plot  beside 
Smith  was  vacant. 

There  had  been  several  placards  posted  about  the  town, 
intimating  that,  at  a  certain  period,  a  celebrated  dramatic 
company  would  perform,  for  a  few  days,  a  series  of  "  side 
splitting  "  and  "  screaming  farces  ; "  that,  alternating  plea 
santly  with  this,  there  would  be  some  melodrama  and  a 
grand  divertisement,  which  would  include  singing,  dancing, 
&c.  These  announcements  occasioned  a  great  fluttering 
among  the  little  folk,  and  were  the  theme  of  much  excite 
ment  and  great  speculation  among  the  master's  scholars. 
The  master  had  promised  Mliss,  to  whom  this  sort  of  thing 
was  sacred  and  rare,  that  she  should  go,  and  on  that  momen 
tous  evening  the  master  and  Mliss  "  assisted." 

The  performance  was  the  prevalent  style  of  heavy  medio 
crity  ;  the  melodrama  was  not  bad  enough  to  laugh  at  nor 
good  enough  to  excite.  But  the  master,  turning  wearily  to 
the  child,  was  astonished,  and  felt  something  like  self-accu 
sation  in  noticing  the  peculiar  effect  upon  her  excitable 
nature.  The  red  blood  flushed  in  her  cheeks  at  each  stroke 
of  her  panting  little  heart.  Her  small  passionate  lips  were 
slightly  parted  to  give  vent  to  her  hurried  breath.  Her  widely 
opened  lids  threw  up  and  arched  her  black  eyebrows.  She 
did  not  laugh  at  the  dismal  comicalities  of  the  funny  man, 
for  Mliss  seldom  laughed.  Nor  was  she  discreetly  affected 
to  the  delicate  extremes  of  the  corner  of  a  white  hanclker 
chief,  as  was  the  tender-hearted  "  Clytie,"  who  was  talking 
with  her  "feller"  and  ogling  the  master  at  the  same  mo 
ment.  But  when  the  performance  was  over,  and  the  green 
curtain  fell  on  the  little  stage,  Mliss  drew  a  long  deep 


io$  MLISS. 

breath,  and  turned  to  the  master's  grave  face  with  a  half- 
apologetic  smile  and  wearied  gesture.  Then  she  said, 
"Now  take  me  home ! "  and  dropped  the  lids  of  her 
black  eyes,  as  if  to  dwell  once  more  in  fancy  on  the  mimic 
stage. 

On  their  way  to  Mrs.  Morpher's,  the  master  thought 
proper  to  ridicule  the  whole  performance.  Now  he  shouldn't 
wonder  if  Mliss  thought  that  the  young  lady  who  acted 
so  beautifully  was  really  in  earnest,  and  in  love  with  the 
gentleman  who  wore  such  fine  clothes.  Well,  if  she 
were  in  love  with  him,  it  was  a  very  unfortunate  thing  ! 
"  Why  1 "  said  Mliss,  with  an  upward  sweep  of  the  drooping 
lid.  "  Oh !  well,  he  couldn't  support  his  wife  at  his  present 
salary,  and  pay  so  much  a  week  for  his  fine  clothes,  and  then 
they  wouldn't  receive  as  much  wages  if  they  were  married 
as  if  they  were  merely  lovers — that  is,"  added  the  master, 
"  if  they  are  not  already  married  to  somebody  else  ;  but  I 
think  the  husband  of  the  pretty  young  countess  takes  the 
tickets  at  the  door,  or  pulls  up  the  curtain,  or  snuffs  the 
candles,  or  does  something  equally  refined  and  elegant.  As 
to  the  young  man  with  nice  clothes,  which  are  really  nice 
now,  and  must  cost  at  least  two  and  a  half  or  three  dollars, 
not  to  speak  of  that  mantle  of  red  drugget  which  I  happen 
to  know  the  price  of,  for  I  bought  some  of  it  for  my  room 
once ;  as  to  this  young  man,  Lissy,  he  is  a  pretty  good 
fellow,  and  if  he  does  drink  occasionally,  I  don't  think  people 
ought  to  take  advantage  of  it  and  give  him  black  eyes  and 
throw  him  in  the  mud.  Do  you  1  I  am  sure  he  might  owe 
me  two  dollars  and  a  half  a  long  time,  before  I  would  throw- 
it  tip  in  his  face,  as  the  fellow  did  the  other  night  at  Wing- 
dam." 

Mliss  had  taken  his  hand  in  both  of  hers  and  was  trying 
to  look  in  his  eyes,  which  the  young  man  kept  as  resolutely 
averted.  Mliss  had  a  faint  idea  of  irony,  indulging  herself 
sometimes  in  a  species  of  sardonic  humour,  which  was 


MLISS.  109 

equally  visible  in  her  actions  and  her  speech.  But  the 
young  man  continued  in  this  strain  until  they  had  reached 
Mrs.  Morpher's,  and  he  had  deposited  Mliss  in  her  maternal 
charge.  Waiving  the  invitation  of  Mrs.  Morpher  to  refresh- 
men  b  and  rest,  and  shading  his  eyes  with  his  hand  to  keep 
out  the  blue-eyed  Clytemnestra's  siren  glances,  he  excused 
himself,  and  went  home. 

For  two  or  three  days  after  the  advent  of  the  dramatic 
company,  Mliss  was  late  at  school,  and  the  master's  usual 
Friday  afternoon  ramble  was  for  once  omitted,  owing  to  the 
absence  of  his  trustworthy  guide.  As  he  was  putting  away 
his  books  and  preparing  to  leave  the  school-house,  a  small 
voice  piped  at  his  side,  "  Please,  sir  1 "  The  master  turned, 
and  there  stood  Aristides  Morpher. 

""Well,  my  little  man,"  said  the  master,  impatiently, 
"  what  is  it  1  quick  !  " 

"  Please,  sir,  me  and  '  Kerg '  thinks  that  Mliss  is  going  to 
run  away  agin." 

"What's  that,  sir?"  said  the  master,  with  that  unjust 
testiness  with  which  we  always  receive  disagreeable  news. 

"  Why,  sir,  she  don't  stay  home  any  more,  and  '  Kerg ' 
and  me  see  her  talking  with  one  of  those  actor  fellers,  and 
she's  with  him  now  j  and  please,  sir,  yesterday  she  told 
*  Kerg '  and  me  she  could  make  a  speech  as  well  as  Miss 
Cellerstina  Montmoressy,  and  she  spouted  right  off  by  heart," 
and  the  little  fellow  paused  in  a  collapsed  condition. 

u  What  actor  1  "  asked  the  master. 

"  Him  as  wears  the  shiny  hat.  And  hair.  And  gold 
pin.  And  gold  chain,"  said  the  just  Aristides,  putting 
periods  for  commas  to  eke  out  his  breath. 

The  master  put  on  his  gloves  and  hat,  feeling  an  unplea 
sant  tightness  in  his  chest  and  thorax,  and  walked  out  in 
the  road.  Aristides  trotted  along  by  his  side,  endeavouring 
to  keep  pace  with  his  short  legs  to  the  master's  strides, 
when  the  master  stopped  suddenly,  and  Aristides  bumped 


i  io  MLISS. 

up  against  him.  "Where  were  they  talking  I1*  asked  the 
master,  as  if  continuing  the  conversation. 

"At  the  Arcade,"  said  Aristides. 

When  they  reached  the  main  street  the  master  paused. 
"  Run  down  home,"  said  he  to  the  boy.  "  If  Mliss  is  there, 
come  to  the  Arcade  and  tell  me.  If  she  isn't  there,  stay 
home  j  run  !  "  And  off  trotted  the  short-legged  Aris 
tides. 

The  Arcade  was  just  across  the  way — a  long  rambling 
building,  containing  a  bar-room,  billiard-room,  and  restau 
rant.  As  the  young  man  crossed  the  plaza  he  noticed  that 
two  or  three  of  the  passers-by  turned  and  looked  after  him. 
He  looked  at  his  clothes,  took  out  his  handkerchief  and 
wiped  his  face,  before  he  entered  the  bar-room.  It  contained 
the  usual  number  of  loungers,  who  stared  at  him  as  he  en 
tered.  One  of  them  looked  at  him  so  fixedly  and  with  such 
a  strange  expression,  that  the  master  stopped  and  looked 
again,  and  then  saw  it  was  only  his  own  reflection  in  a  large 
mirror.  This  made  the  master  think  that  perhaps  he  was 
a  little  excited,  and  so  he  took  up  a  copy  of  the  Red  Moun 
tain  Banner  from  one  of  the  tables,  and  tried  to  recover  his 
composure  by  reading  the  column  of  advertisements. 

He  then  walked  through  the  bar-room,  through  the  res 
taurant,  and  into  the  billiard -room.  The  child  was  not 
there.  In  the  latter  apartment  a  person  was  standing  by 
one  of  the  tables  with  a  broad-brimmed  glazed  hat  on  his 
head.  The  master  recognized  him  as  the  agent  of  the  dra 
matic  company ;  he  had  taken  a  dislike  to  him  at  their  first 
meeting,  from  the  peculiar  fashion  of  wearing  his  beard  and 
hair.  Satisfied  that  the  object  of  his  search  was  not  there, 
he  turned  to  the  man  with  a  glazed  hat.  He  had  noticed 
the  master,  but  tried  that  common  trick  of  unconsciousness, 
in  which  vulgar  natures  always  fail.  Balancing  a  billiard 
cue  in  his  hand,  he  pretended  to  play  with  a  ball  in  the 
centre  of  the  table.  The  master  stood  opposite  to  him  until 


MLISS.  ill 

he  raised  his  eyes ;  when  their  glances  met,  the  master 
walked  up  to  him. 

He  had  intended  to  avoid  a  scene  or  quarrel,  but  when 
he  began  to  speak,  something  kept  rising  in  his  throat  and 
retarded  his  utterance,  and  his  own  voice  frightened  him, 
it  sounded  so  distant,  low,  and  resonant.  *'I  understand," 
he  began,  "  that  Melissa  Smith,  an  orphan,  and  one  of  my 
scholars,  has  talked  with  you  about  adopting  your  profession. 
Is  that  so ?" 

The  man  with  the  glazed  hat  leaned  over  the  table,  and 
made  an  imaginary  shot,  that  sent  the  ball  spinning  round 
the  cushions.  Then  walking  round  the  table  he  recovered 
the  ball,  and  placed  it  upon  the  spot.  This  duty  discharged, 
getting  ready  for  another  shot,  he  said, — 

"  S'pose  she  has  1 " 

The  master  choked  up  again,  but,  squeezing  the  cushion 
of  the  table  in  his  gloved  hand,  he  went  on  : — 

"  If  you  are  a  gentleman,  I  have  only  to  tell  you  that  I 
am  her  guardian,  and  responsible  for  her  career.  You  know 
as  well  as  I  do  the  kind  of  life  you  offer  her.  As  you  may 
learn  of  any  one  here,  I  have  already  brought  her  out  of  an 
existence  worse  than  death, — out  of  the  streets  and  the  con 
tamination  of  vice.  I  am  trying  to  do  so  again.  Let  us  talk 
like  men.  She  has  neither  father,  mother,  sister,  or  brother. 
Are  you  seeking  to  give  her  an  equivalent  for  these  ? " 

The  man  with  the  glazed  hat  examined  the  point  of  his 
cue,  and  then  looked  around  for  somebody  to  enjoy  the  joke 
with  him. 

"  I  know  that  she  is  a  strange,  wilful  girl,"  continued  the 
master,  "but  she  is  better  than  she  was.  I  believe  that  I 
have  some  influence  over  her  still.  I  beg  and  hope,  there 
fore,  that  you  will  take  no  further  steps  in  this  matter, 
but  as  a  man,  as  a  gentleman,  leave  her  to  me.  I  am 

Billing "  But  here  something  rose  again  in  the  master' a 

throat,  and  the  sentence  remained  unfinished* 


112  MUSS. 

The  man  with  the  glazed  hat,  mistaking  the  master's 
silence,  raised  his  head  with  a  coarse,  brutal  laugh,  and  said 
in  a  loud  voice, — 

"  Want  her  yourself,  do  you  1  That  cock  won't  fight  here, 
young  man  ! " 

The  insult  was  more  in  the  tone  than  the  words,  more  in 
the  glance  than  tone,  and  more  in  the  man's  instinctive 
nature  than  all  these.  The  best  appreciable  rhetoric  to  this 
kind  of  animal  is  a  blow.  The  master  *felt  this,  and  with 
his  pent-up,  nervous  energy  finding  expression  in  the  one 
act,  he  struck  the  brute  fall  in  his  grinning  face.  The  blow 
sent  the  glazed  hat  one  way  and  the  cue  another,  and  tore 
the  glove  and  skin  from  the  master's  hand  from  knuckle  to 
joint.  It  opened  up  the  corners  of  the  fellow's  mouth,  and 
spoilt  the  peculiar  shape  of  his  beard  for  some  time  to  come. 

There  was  a  shout,  an  imprecation,  a  scuffle,  and  the 
trampling  of  many  feet.  Then  the  crowd  parted  right  and 
left,  and  two  sharp  quick  reports  followed  each  other  in 
rapid  succession.  Then  they  closed  again  about  his  opponent, 
and  the  master  was  standing  alone.  He  remembered  picking 
bits  of  burning  wadding  from  his  coat-sleeve  with  his  left 
hand.  Some  one  was  holding  his  other  hand.  Looking  at  it, 
he  saw  it  was  still  bleeding  from  the  blow,  but  his  fingers 
were  clenched  around  the  handle  of  a  glittering  knife.  He 
could  not  remember  when  or  how  he  got  it. 

The  man  who  was  holding  his  hand  was  Mr.  Morpher. 
He  hurried  the  master  to  the  door,  but  the  master  held  back, 
and  tried  to  tell  him  as  well  as  he  could  with  his  parched 
throat  about  "  Mliss."  "  It's  all  right,  my  boy,"  said  Mr. 
Morpher.  "She's  home ! "  And  they  passed  out  into  the  street 
together.  As  they  walked  along  Mr.  Morpher  said  that 
Mliss  had  come  running  into  the  house  a  few  moments  before, 
and  had  dragged  him  out,  saying  that  somebody  was  trying 
to  kill  the  master  at  the  Arcade.  Wishing  to  be  alone,  the 
master  promised  Mr.  Morpher  that  he  would  not  seek  the 


MLISS.  113 

Agent  again  that  night,  and  parted  from  him,  taking  the 
road  toward  the  school-house.  He  was  surprised  in  nearing 
it  to  find  the  door  open, — still  more  surprised  to  find  Mliss 
sitting  there. 

The  master's  nature,  as  I  have  hinted  before,  had,  like 
most  sensitive  organizations,  a  selfish  basis.  The  brutal 
taunt  thrown  out  by  his  late  adversary  still  rankled  in  his 
heart.  It  was  possible,  he  thought,  that  such  a  construc 
tion  might  be  put  upon  his  affection  for  the  child,  which  at 
best  was  foolish  and  Quixotic.  Besides,  had  she  not  volun 
tarily  abnegated  his  authority  and  affection?  And  what 
had  everybody  else  said  about  her  1  Why  should  he  alone 
combat  the  opinion  of  all,  and  be  at  last  obliged  tacitly  to 
confess  the  truth  of  all  they  had  predicted  ?  And  he  had 
been  a  participant  in  a  low  bar-room  fight  with  a  common 
boor,  and  risked  his  life,  to  prove  what  ?  What  had  he 
proved  ?  Nothing  !  What  would  the  people  say  1  What 
would  his  friends  say  ?  What  would  McSnagley  say  ? 

In  his  self-accusation  the  Ja?t  person  he  should  have 
wished  to  meet  was  Mliss.  He  entered  the  door,  and,  going 
up  to  his  desk  told  the  child,  in  a  few  cold  words,  that  he 
was  busy,  and  wished  to  be  alone.  As  she  rose  he  took  her 
vacant  seat,  and,  sitting  down,  buried  his  head  in  his  hands. 
When  he  looked  up  again  she  was  still  standing  there.  She 
was  looking  at  his  face  with  an  anxious  expression. 

"  Did  you  kill  him  ?  "  she  asked. 

"No  !  "  said  the  master. 

"  That's  what  I  gave  you  the  knife  for !  "  said  the  child, 
quickly. 

"Gave me  the  knife?"  repeated  the  master,  in  bewilderment. 

"  Yes,  gave  you  the  knife.  I  was  there  under  the  bar. 
Saw  you  hit  him.  Saw  you  both  fall.  He  dropped  his  old 
knife.  I  gave  it  to  you.  Why  didn't  you  stick  him  I  "  said 
Mliss,  rapidly,  with  an  expressive  twinkle  of  the  black  eyes 
and  a  gesture  of  the  little  red  hand. 

I 


114  MLTSS. 

The  master  could  only  look  his  astonishment. 

"Yes,"  said  Mliss.  "If  you'd  asked  me,  I'd  told  you  I  was 
off  with  the  play-actors.  Why  was  I  off  with  the  play 
actors  ?  Because  you  wouldn't  tell  me  you  was  going  away. 
I  knew  it.  I  heard  you  tell  the  Doctor  so.  I  wasn't 
a-going  to  stay  here  alone  with  those  Morpher's.  I'd  rather 
die  first." 

With  a  dramatic  gesture  which  was  perfectly  consistent 
with  her  character,  she  drew  from  her  bosom  a  few  limp 
green  leaves,  and,  holding  them  out  at  arm's  length,  said  in 
her  quick  vivid  way,  and  in  the  queer  pronunciation  of  her 
old  life,  which  she  fell  into  when  unduly  excited, — 

"  That's  the  poison  plant  you  said  would  kill  me.  I'll  go 
with  the  play-actors,  or  I'll  eat  this  and  die  here.  I  don't 
care  which.  I  won't  stay  here,  where  they  hate  and  des 
pise  me !  Neither  would  you  let  me,  if  you  didn't  hate  and 
despise  me  too  !  " 

The  passionate  lit  tie  breast  heaved,  and  two  big  tears 
peeped  over  the  edge  of  Mliss's  eyelids,  but  she  whisked 
them  away  with  the  corner  of  her  apron  as  if  they  had  been 
wasps. 

"  If  you  lock  me  up  in  jail,"  said  Mliss  fiercely,  "to  keep 
me  from  the  play-actors,  I'll  poison  myself.  Father  killed 
himself, — why  shouldn't  I  ?  You  said  a  mouthful  of  that 
root  would  kill  nie,  and  I  always  carry  it  here,"  and  she 
struck  her  breast  with  her  clenched  fist. 

The  master  thought  of  the  vacant  plot  beside  Smith's 
gr£9e,  and  of  the  passionate  little  figure  before  him.  Seizing 
her  hands  in  his  and  looking  full  into  her  truthful  eyes, 
he  said, — 

"  Lissy,  will  you  go  with  me  ?  " 

The  child  put  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and  said,  joyfully, 
«•  fces." 

* 'But  now — to-night  1 * 

"To-night." 


THE  RIGHT  EYE  OF  THE  COMMANDER.    115 

And,  hand  in  hand,  they  passed  into  ^he  road, — the 
narrow  road  that  had  once  brought  her  weary  feet  to  the 
master's  door,  and  which  it  seemed  she  should  not  tread 
again  alone.  The  stars  glittered  brightly  above  them.  For 
good  or  ill  the  lesson  had  been  learned,  and  behind  them  the 
school  of  Red  Mountain  closed  upon  them  for  ever. 


THE  RIGHT  EYE  OF  THE  COMMANDER. 

npHE  year  of  grace  1797  passed  away  on  the  coast  of 
California  in  a  south-westerly  gale.  The  little  bay 
of  San  Carlos,  albeit  sheltered  by  the  headlands  of  the 
blessed  Trinity,  was  rough  and  turbulent ;  its  foam  clung 
quivering  to  the  seaward  wall  of  the  Mission  garden  ;  the 
air  was  filled  with  flying  sand  and  spume,  and  as  the  Senor 
Comandante,  Hermenegildo  Salvatierra,  looked  from  the 
deep  embrasured  window  of  the  Presidio  guard  room,  he 
felt  the  salt  breath  of  the  distant  sea  buffet  a  colour  into 
his  smoke-dried  cheeks. 

The  Commander,  I  have  said,  was  gazing  thoughtfully 
from  the  window  of  the  guard-room.  He  may  have  been 
reviewing  the  events  of  the  year  now  about  to  pass  away. 
But,  like  the  garrison  at  the  Presidio,  there  was  little  to  re 
view  j  the  year,  like  its  predecessors,  had  been  uneventful, — 
the  days  had  slipped  by  in  a  delicious  monotony  of  simple 
duties,  unbroken  by  incident  or  interruption.  The  regularly 
recurring  feasts  and  saints'  days,  the  half-yearly  courier  from 
San  Diego,  the  rare  transport-ship  and  rarer  foreign  vessel, 
were  the  mere  details  of  his  patriarchal  life.  If  there  was 
no  achievement,  there  was  certainly  no  failure.  Abundant 
harvests  and  patient  industry  amply  supplied  the  wants  of 
Presidio  and  Mission.  Isolated  from  the  family  of  nations, 
the  wars  which  shook  the  world  concerned  them  not  so  much 

I  2 


Ii6    THE  RIGHT  EYE  OF  THE  COMMANDER 

as  tlie  latest  earthquake ;  the  struggle  that  emancipated 
their  sister  colonies  on  the  other  side  of  the  continent  to 
them  had  no  suggestiveness.  In  short,  it  was  that  glorious 
Indian  summer  of  California  history,  around  which  so  much 
poetical  haze  still  lingers, — that  bland,  indolent  autumn  of 
Spanish  rule,  so  soon  to  be  followed  by  the  wintry  storms  of 
Mexican  independence  and  the  reviving  spring  of  American 
conquest. 

The  Commander  turned  from  the  window  and  walked 
toward  the  fire  that  burned  brightly  on  the  deep  oven-like 
hearth.  A  pile  of  copy-books,  the  work  of  the  Presidio 
school,  lay  on  the  table.  As  he  turned  over  the  leaves  with 
a  paternal  interest,  and  surveyed  the  fair  round  Scripture- 
text, — the  first  pious  pot-hooks  of  the  pupils  of  San  Carlos, 
— an  audible  commentary  fell  from  his  lips  :  "  '  Abimelech 
took  her  from  Abraham ' — ah,  little  one,  excellent ! — '  Jacob 
sent  to  see  his  brother ' — body  of  Christ !  that  up-stroke  of 
thine,  Paquita,  is  marvellous  ;  the  Governor  shall  see  it ! " 
A  film  of  honest  pride  dimmed  the  Commander's  left  eye, — 
the  right,  alas !  twenty  years  before  had  been  sealed  by  an 
Indian  arrow.  He  rubbed  it  softly  with  the  sleeve  of  his 
leather  jacket,  and  continued  :  "  *  The  Ishmaelites  having 
arrived '" 

He  stopped,  for  there  was  a  step  in  the  court-yard,  a  foot 
upon  the  threshold,  and  a  stranger  entered.  With  the 
instinct  of  an  old  soldier,  the  Commander,  after  one  glance 
at  the  intruder,  turned  quickly  toward  the  wall,  where  his 
trusty  Toledo  hung,  or  should  have  been  hanging.  But  it 
was  not  there,  and  as  he  recalled  the  last  time  he  had  seen 
that  weapon  it  was  being  ridden  up  and  down  the  gallery  by 
Pepito,  the  infant  son  of  Bautista,  the  tortilio-maker,  he 
blushed  and  then  contented  himself  with  frowning  upon  the 
intruder. 

But  the  stranger's  air,  though  irreverent,  was  decidedly 
peaceful.  He  was  unarmed,  and  wore  the  ordinary  cape  of 


THE  RIGHT  EYE  ?F  THE  COMMANDER.    117 

tarpaulin  and  sea-boots  of  a  mariner.  Except  a  villanous 
smell  of  codfish,  there  was  little  about  him  that  was  pe 
culiar. 

His  name,  as  he  informed  the  Commander,  in  Spanish 
that  was  more  fluent  than  elegant  or  precise, — his  name  was 
Pcleg  Scudder.  He  was  master  of  the  schooner  General 
Court,  of  the  port  of  Salem,  in  Massachusetts,  on  a  trading 
voyage  to  the  South  Seas,  but  now  driven  by  stress  of 
weather  into  the  bay  of  San  Carlos.  He  begged  permission 
to  ride  out  the  gale  under  the  headlands  of  the  blessed 
Trinity,  and  no  more.  Water  he  did  not  need,  having  taken 
in  a  supply  at  Bodega.  He  knew  the  strict  surveillance  of 
the  Spanish  port  regulations  in  regard  to  foreign  vessels,  and 
would  do  nothing  against  the  severe  discipline  and  good 
order  of  the  settlement.  There  was  a  slight  tinge  of  sar 
casm  in  his  tone  as  he  glanced  toward  the  desolate  parade- 
ground  of  the  Presidio  and  the  open  unguarded  gate.  The 
fact  was  that  the  sentry,  Felipe  Gomez,  had  discreetly  retired 
to  shelter  at  the  beginning  of  the  storm,  and  was  then  sound 
asleep  in  the  corridor. 

The  Commander  hesitated.  The  port  regulations  were 
severe,  but  he  was  accustomed  to  exercise  individual  au 
thority,  and  beyond  an  old  order  issued  ten  years  before, 
regarding  the  American  ship  Columbia,  there  was  no  prece 
dent  to  guide  him.  The  storm  was  severe,  and  a  sentiment 
of  humanity  urged  him  to  grant  the  stranger's  request.  It 
is  but  just  to  the  Commander  to  say,  that  his  inabilily  to  en 
force  a  refusal  did  not  weigh  with  his  decision.  He  would 
have  denied  with  equal  disregard  of  consequences  that  right 
to  a  seventy-four  gun  ship  which  he  now  yielded  so  grace 
fully  to  this  Yankee  trading  schooner.  He  stipulated  only, 
that  there  should  be  no  communication  between  the  ship  and 
shore.  "  For  yourself,  Seiior  Captain,"  he  continued,  "accept 
my  hospitality.  The  fort  is  yours  as  long  as  you  shall 
grace  it  with  your  distinguished  presence  ;  "  and  with  old- 


:i8     THE  RIGHT  EYE  OF  THE  COMMANDER. 

fashioned  courtesy,  lie  made  the  semblance  of  withdrawing 
from  the  guard-room. 

Master  Peleg  Scudder  smiled  as  he  thought  of  the  half- 
dismantled  fort,  the  two  mouldy  brass  cannon,  cast  in  Manila 
a  century  previous,  and  the  shiftless  garrison.  A  wild 
thought  of  accepting  the  Commander's  offer  literally,  con 
ceived  in  the  reckless  spirit  of  a  man  who  never  let  slip  an 
offer  for  trade,  for  a  moment  filled  his  brain,  but  a  timely 
reflection  of  the  commercial  unimportance  of  the  transaction 
checked  him.  He  only  took  a  capacious  quid  of  tobacco,  as 
the  Commander  gravely  drew  a  settle  before  the  fire,  and  in 
honour  of  his  guest  untied  the  black  silk  handkerchief  that 
bound  his  grizzled  brows. 

What  passed  between  Salvatierra  and  his  guest  that  night 
it  becomes  me  not,  as  a  grave  chronicler  of  the  salient  points 
of  history,  to  relate.  I  have  said  that  Master  Peleg  Scudder 
was  a  flueut  talker,  and  under  the  influence  of  divers  strong 
waters,  furnished  by  his  host,  he  became  still  more  loqua 
cious.  And  think  of  a  man  with  a  twenty  years'  budget  of 
gossip !  The  Commander  learned,  for  the  first  time,  how 
Great  Britain  lost  her  colonies  ;  of  the  French  Revolution; 
of  the  great  Napoleon,  whose  achievements,  perhaps,  Peleg 
coloured  more  highly  than  the  Commander's  superiors  would 
have  liked.  And  when  Peleg  turned  questioner,  the  Com 
mander  was  at  his  mercy.  He  gradually  made  himself 
master  of  the  gossip  of  the  Mission  and  Presidio,  the 
"small-beer"  chronicles  of  the  pastoral  age,  the  conversion 
of  the  heathen,  the  Presidio  schools,  and  even  asked  the 
Commander  how  he  had  lost  his  eye  !  It  is  said  that  at 
this  point  of  the  conversation  Master  Peleg  produced  from 
about  his  person  divers  small  trinkets,  kick-shaws  and  new 
fangled  trifles,  and  even  forced  some  of  them  upon  his 
host.  It  is  further  alleged  that  under  the  malign  influence 
of  Peleg  and  several  glasses  of  aguardiente,  the  Com 
mander  lost  somewhat  of  his  decorum,  and  behaved  in  a 


THE  RIGHT  EYE  OF  THE  COMMANDER.    119 

manner  unseemly  for  one  in  his  position,  reciting  high-flown 
Spanish  poetry,  and  even  piping  in  a  thin,  high  voice,  divers 
madrigals  and  heathen  canzonets  of  an  amorous  complexion ; 
chiefly  in  regard  to  a  "  little  one  "  who  was  his,  the  Com 
mander's,  "  soul !  "  These  allegations,  perhaps  unworthy 
the  notice  of  a  serious  chronicler,  should  be  received  with 
great  caution,  and  are  introduced  here  as  simple  hearsay. 
That  the  Commander,  however,  took  a  handkerchief,  and 
attempted  to  show  his  guest  the  mysteries  of  the  sembi 
cuacua,  capering  in  an  agile  but  indecorous  manner  about 
the  apartment,  has  been  denied.  Enough  for  the  puposes  of 
this  narrative,  that  at  midnight  Peleg  assisted  his  host  to 
bed  with  many  protestations  of  undying  friendship,  and 
then,  as  the  gale  had  abated,  took  his  leave  of  the  Presidio 
and  hurried  aboard  the  General  Court.  When  the  day  broke 
the  ship  was  gone. 

I  know  not  if  Peleg  kept  his  word  with  his  host.  It  is 
said  that  the  holy  fathers  at  the  Mission  that  night  heard 
a  loud  chanting  in  the  plaza,  as  of  the  heathens  singing 
psalms  through  their  noses  j  that  for  many  days  after  an 
odour  of  salt  codfish  prevailed  in  the  settlement;  that  a 
dozen  hard  nutmegs,  which  were  unfit  for  spice  or  seed, 
were  found  in  the  possession  of  the  wife  of  the  baker,  and 
that  several  bushels  of  shoe-pegs,  which  bore  a  pleasing 
resemblance  to  oats,  but  were  quite  inadequate  to  the  pur 
poses  of  provender,  were  discovered  in  the  stable  of  the 
blacksmith.  But  when  the  reader  reflects  upon  the  sacred- 
ness  of  a  Yankee  trader's  word,  the  stringent  discipline  of 
the  Spanish  port  regulations,  and  the  proverbial  indispo 
sition  of  my  countrymen  to  impose  upon  the  confidence  of 
a  simple  people,  he  will  at  once  rejeci  this  part  of  the 
ttory. 

A  roll  of  drums,  ushering  in  the  year  1798,  awoke  the 
Commander.  The  sun  was  shining  brightly,  and  the  storm 


120     THE  RIGHT  EYE  OF  THE  COMMANDER. 

had  ceased.  He  sat  up  in  bed,  and  through  the  force  of 
habit  rubbed  his  left  eye.  As  the  remembrance  of  tho 
previous  night  came  back  to  him,  he  jumped  from  his  couch 
and  ran  to  the  window.  There  was  no  ship  in  the  bay.  A 
sudden  thought  seemed  to  strike  him,  and  he  rubbed  both  of 
his  eyes.  Not  content  with  this,  he  consulted  the  metallic 
mirror  which  hung  beside  his  crucifix.  There  was  no 
mistake ;  the  Commander  had  a  visible  second  eye, — a 
right  one, — as  good,  save  for  the  purposes  of  vision,  as  the 
left. 

Whatever  might  have  been  the  true  secret  of  this  trans 
formation,  but  one  opinion  prevailed  at  San  Carlos.  It  was 
one  of  those  rare  miracles  vouchsafed  a  pious  Catholic  com 
munity  as  an  evidence  to  the  heathen,  through  the  inter 
cession  of  the  blessed  San  Carlos  himself.  That  their 
beloved  Commander,  the  temporal  defender  of  the  Faith, 
should  be  the  recipient  of  this  miraculous  manifestation  was 
most  fit  and  seemly.  The  Commander  himself  was  reticent ; 
he  could  not  tell  a  falsehold, — he  dared  not  tell  the  truth. 
After  all,  if  the  good  folk  of  San  Carlos  believed  that  the 
powers  of  his  right  eye  were  actually  restored,  was  it  wise 
and  discreet  for  him  to  undeceive  them?  For  the  first 
time  in  his  life  the  Commander  thought  of  policy, — for  the 
first  time  he  quoted  that  text  which  has  been  the  lure  of  so 
many  well-meaning  but  easy  Christians,  of  being  "  all  things 
to  all  men."  Infelix  Hermenegildo  Salvatierra  ! 

For  by  degrees  an  ominous  whisper  crept  through  the 
little  settlement.  The  Right  Eye  of  the  Commander,  al 
though  miraculous,  seemed  to  exercise  a  baleful  effect  upon 
the  beholder.  No  one  could  look  at  it  without  winking.  It 
was  cold,  hard,  relentless,  and  unflinching.  More  than  that, 
it  seemed  to  be  endowed  with  a  dreadful  prescience, — a 
faculty  of  seeing  through  and  into  the  inarticulate  thoughts 
of  those  it  looked  upon.  The  soldiers  of  the  garrison  obeyed 
the  eye  rather  than  the  voice  of  their  commander;  and 


THE  RIGHT  EYE  OF  THE  COMMANDER.    121 

answered  his  glance  rather  than  his  lips  in  questioning.  The 
servants  could  not  evade  the  ever  watchful  but  cold  atten 
tion  that  seemed  to  pursue  them.  The  children  of  the 
Presidio  School  smirched  their  copy-books  under  the  awful 
supervision,  and  poor  Paquita,  the  prize  pupil,  failed  utterly 
in  that  marvellous  up-stroke  when  her  patron  stood  beside 
her.  Gradually  distrust,  suspicion,  self -accusation,  and 
timidity  took  the  place  of  trust,  confidence,  and  security 
throughout  San  Carlos.  Wherever  the  Eight  Eye  of  the 
Commander  fell,  a  shadow  fell  with  it. 

Nor  was  Salvatierra  entirely  free  from  the  baleful  in 
fluence  of  his  miraculous  acquisition.  Unconscious  of  its 
effect  upon  others,  he  only  saw  in  their  actions  evidence  of 
certain  things  that  the  crafty  Peleg  had  hinted  on  that 
eventful  New  Year's  eve.  His  most  trusty  retainers 
stammered,  blushed,  and  faltered  before  him.  Self-accusa 
tions,  confessions  of  minor  faults  and  delinquencies,  or 
extravagant  excuses  and  apologies  met  his  mildest  inquiries. 
The  very  children  that  he  loved — his  pet  pupil,  Paquita — 
seemed  to  be  conscious  of  some  hidden  sin.  The  result  of 
this  constant  irritation  showed  itself  more  plainly.  For  the 
first  half-year  the  Commander's  voice  and  eye  were  at 
variance.  He  was  still  kind,  tender,  and  thoughtful  in 
speech.  Gradually,  however,  his  voice  took  upon  itself  the 
hardness  of  his  glance  and  its  sceptical  impassive  quality, 
and  as  the  year  again  neared  its  close,  it  was  plain  that  the 
Commander  had  fitted  himself  to  the  eye,  and  not  the  eye 
to  the  Commander. 

It  may  be  surmised  that  these  changes  did  not  escape  the 
watchful  solicitude  of  the  Fathers.  Indeed,  the  few  who 
were  first  to  ascribe  the  right  eye  of  Salvatierra  to  mira 
culous  origin,  and  the  special  grace  of  the  blessed  San  Carlos, 
now  talked  openly  of  witchcraft  and  the  agency  of  Luzbel, 
the  evil  one.  It  would  have  fared  ill  with  Hermeiiegildo 
Salvatierra  had  he  been  aught  but  Commander  or  amenable 


122     THE  RIGHT  EYE  OF  THE  COMMANDER. 

to  local  authority.  But  the  reverend  father,  Friar  Manuel 
de  Cortes,  had  no  power  over  the  political  executive,  and  all 
attempts  at  spiritual  advice  failed  signally.  He  retired 
baffled  and  confused  from  his  first  interview  with  the 
Commander,  who  seemed  now  to  take  a  grim  satisfaction  in 
the  fateful  power  of  his  glance.  The  holy  father  contra 
dicted  himself,  exposed  the  fallacies  of  his  own  arguments, 
and  even,  it  is  asserted,  committed  himself  to  several  un 
doubted  heresies.  When  the  Commander  stood  up  at  mass, 
if  the  officiating  priest  caught  that  sceptical  and  searching 
eye,  the  service  was  inevitably  ruined.  Even  the  power  of 
the  Holy  Church  seemed  to  be  lost,  and  the  last  hold  iipon 
the  affections  of  the  people  and  the  good  order  of  the  settle 
ment  departed  from  San  Carlos. 

As  the  long  dry  summer  passed,  the  low  hills  that  sur 
rounded  the  white  walls  of  the  Presidio  grew  more  and  more 
to  resemble  in  hue  the  leathern  jacket  of  the  Commander, 
and  Nature  herself  seemed  to  have  borrowed  his  dry,  hard 
glare.  The  earth  was  cracked  and  seamed  with  drought ;  a 
blight  had  fallen  upon  the  orchards  and  vineyards,  and  the 
rain,  long  delayed  and  ardently  prayed  for,  came  not.  The 
sky  was  as  tearless  as  the  right  eye  of  the  Commander. 
Murmurs  of  discontent,  insubordination,  and  plotting  among 
the  Indians  reached  his  ears  ;  he  only  set  his  teeth  the  more 
firmly,  tightened  the  knot  of  his  black  silk  handkerchief, 
and  looked  up  his  Toledo. 

The  last  day  of  the  year  1798  found  the  Commander 
sitting,  at  the  hour  of  evening  prayers,  alone  in  the  guard 
room.  He  no  longer  attended  the  services  of  the  Holy 
Church,  but  crept  away  at  such  times  to  some  solitary  spot, 
where  he  spent  the  interval  in  silent  meditation.  The  fire 
light  played  upon  the  low  beams  and  rafters,  but  left  the 
i-owed  figure  of  Salvatierra  in  darkness.  Sitting  thus,  ho 
felt  a  small  hand  touch  his  arm,  and,  looking  down,  saw  the 
figure  of  Paojiita,  his  little  Indian  pupil,  at  his  knee.  "  Ah, 


THE  RIGHT  EYE  OF  THE  COMMANDER.    123 

littlest  of  all,"  said  the  Commander,  with  something  of  his 
old  tenderness,  lingering  over  the  endearing  diminutives  of 
his  native  speech, — "  sweet  one,  whatdoest  thou  here  ?  Art 
thou  not  afraid  of  him  whom  every  one  shuns  and  fears  ? " 

"  No,"  said  the  little  Indian,  readily,  "  not  in  the  dark.  I 
hear  your  voice, — the  old  voice  ;  I  feel  your  touch, — the  old 
touch ;  but  I  see  not  your  eye,  Senor  Commandaiite.  That 
only  I  fear,— and  that,  0  Senor,  O  my  father,"  said  the 
child,  lifting  her  little  arms  towards  his,  "  that  I  know  is  not 
thine  OWTI  ! " 

The  Commander  shuddered  and  turned  away.  Then,  re 
covering  himself,  he  kissed  Paquita  gravely  on  the  forehead 
and  bade  her  retire.  A  few  hours  later,  when  silence  had 
fallen  upon  the  Presidio,  he  sought  his  own  couch  and  slept 
peacefully. 

At  about  the  middle  watch  of  the  night  a  dusky  figure 
crept  through  the  low  embrasure  of  the  Commander's  apart 
ment.  Other  figures  were  flitting  through  the  parade-ground, 
which  the  Commander  might  have  seen  had  he  not  slept 
so  quietly.  The  intruder  stepped  noiselessly  to  the  couch 
and  listened  to  the  sleeper's  deep-drawn  inspiration.  Some 
thing  glittered  in  the  firelight  as  the  savage  lifted  his  arm  ; 
another  moment  and  the  sore  perplexities  of  Hermenegildo 
Salvatierra  would  have  been  over,  when  suddenly  the  savage 
started,  and  fell  back  in  a  paroxysm  of  terror.  The  Com 
mander  slept  peacefully,  but  his  right  eye,  widely  opened, 
fixed  and  unaltered,  glared  coldly  on  the  would-be  assassin. 
The  man  fell  to  the  earth  in  a  fit,  and  the  noise  awoke  the 
sleeper. 

To  rise  to  his  feet,  grasp  his  sword,  and  deal  blows  thick 
and  fast  upon  the  mutinous  savages  who  now  thronged  the 
room,  was  the  work  of  a  moment.  Help  opportunely 
arrived,  and  the  undisciplined  Indians  were  speedily  driven 
beyond  the  walls,  but  in  the  scuffle  the  Commander  received 
t.  blow  upon  his  right  eye,  and,  lifting  his  hand  to  that  mys- 


[24  NOTES  BY  FLOO&  AND  FIELD. 

terious  organ,  it  was  gone.  Never  again  was  it  found,  and 
never  again,  for  bale  or  bliss,  did  it  adorn  the  right  orbit  of 
the  Commander. 

With  it  passed  away  the  spell  that  had  fallen  upon  San 
Carlos.  The  rain  returned  to  invigorate  the  languid  soil, 
harmony  was  restored  between  priest  and  soldier,  the  green 
grass  presently  waved  over  the  sere  hillsides,  the  children 
flocked  again  to  the  side  of  their  martial  preceptor,  a  Te 
Deum  was  sung  in  the  Mission  Church,  and  pastoral  con 
tent  once  more  smiled  upon  the  gentle  valleys  of  San  Carlos. 
And  far  southward  crept  the  General  Court  with  its  master, 
Peleg  Scudder,  trafficking  in  beads  and  peltries  with  the 
Indians,  and  offering  glass  eyes,  wooden  legs,  and  other 
Boston  notions  to  the  chiefs. 


NOTES   BY  FLOOD  AND   FIELD. 
PART   I.— IN   THE   FIELD. 

T  T  was  near  the  close  of  an  October  day  that  I  began  to  be 
disagreeably  conscious  of  the  Sacramento  Valley.  I 
had  been  riding  since  sunrise,  and  my  course,  through  the 
depressing  monotony  of  the  long  level  landscape,  affected 
me  more  like  a  dull  dyspeptic  dream  than  a  business  journey, 
performed  under  that  sincerest  of  natural  phenomena, — a 
California  sky.  The  recurring  stretches  of  brown  and  baked 
fields,  the  gaping  fissures  in  the  dusty  trail,  the  hard  outline 
of  the  distant  hills,  and  the  herds  of  slowly  moving  cattle, 
seemed  like  features  of  some  glittering  stereoscopic  picture 
that  never  changed.  Active  exercise  might  have  removed 
this  feeling,  but  my  horse  by  some  subtle  instinct  had  long 
since  given  up  all  ambitious  effort,  and  had  lapsed  into  a 
dogged  trot. 


NOTES  BY  FLOOD  AND  FIELD.  125 

It  was  autumn,  but  not  the  season  suggested  to  the  At 
lantic  reader  under  that  title.  The  sharply  denned  bounda 
ries  of  the  wet  and  dry  seasons  were  prefigured  in  the  clear 
outlines  of  the  distant  hills.  In  the  dry  atmosphere  the 
decay  of  vegetation  was  too  rapid  for  the  slow  hectic  which 
overtakes  an  Eastern  landscape,  or  else  Nature  was  too 
practical  for  such  thin  disguises.  She  merely  turned  the 
Hippocratic  face  to  the  spectator,  with  the  old  diagnosis  of 
Death  in  her  sharp,  contracted  features. 

In  the  contemplation  of  such  a  prospect  there  was  little 
to  excite  any  but  a  morbid  fancy.  There  were  no  clouds  in 
the  flinty  blue  heavens,  and  the  setting  of  the  sun  was 
accompanied  with  as  little  ostentation  as  was  consistent  with 
the  dryly  practical  atmosphere.  Darkness  soon  followed, 
with  a  rising  wind,  which  increased  as  the  shadows  deepened 
on  the  plain.  The  fringe  of  alder  by  the  watercourse  began 
to  loom  up  as  I  urged  my  horse  forward.  A  half-hour's 
active  spurring  brought  me  to  a  corral,  and  a  little  beyond  a 
house,  so  low  and  broad  it  seemed  at  first  sight  to  be  half 
buried  in  the  earth. 

My  second  impression  was  that  it  had  grown  out  of  the 
soil,  like  some  monstrous  vegetable,  its  dreary  proportions 
were  so  in  keeping  with  the  vast  prospect.  There  were  no 
recesses  along  its  roughly  boarded  walls  for  vagrant  and  un 
profitable  shadows  to  lurk  in  the  daily  sunshine.  No  pro 
jection  for  the  wind  by  night  to  grow  musical  over,  to  wail, 
whistle,  or  whisper  to ;  only  a  long  wooden  shelf  containing 
a  chilly  looking  tin  basin,  and  a  bar  of  soap.  Its  uncur 
tained  windows  were  red  with  the  sinking  sun,  as  though 
bloodshot  and  inflamed  from  a  too  long  unlidded  existence. 
The  tracks  of  cattle  led  to  its  front  door,  firmly  closed 
against  the  rattling  wind. 

To  avoid  being  confounded  with  this  familiar  element,  I 
walked  to  the  rear  of  the  house,  which  was  connected  with 
a  smaller  building  by  a  slight  platform.  A  grizzled,  hard- 


126  NOTES  BY  FLOOD  AND  FIELD. 

faced  old  man  was  standing  there,  and  met  my  salutation 
with  a  look  of  inquiry,  and  without  speaking,  led  the  way  to 
the  principal  room.  As  I  entered,  four  young  men,  who 
were  reclining  by  the  fire,  slightly  altered  their  attitudes  of 
perfect  repose,  but  beyond  that  bet  rayed  neither  curiosity  nor 
interest.  A  hound  started  from  a  dark  corner  with  a  growl, 
but  was  immediately  kicked  by  the  old  man  into  obscurity, 
and  silenced  again.  I  can't  tell  why,  but  I  instantly  re 
ceived  the  impression  that  for  a  long  time  the  group  by  the 
fire  had  not  uttered  a  word  or  moved  a  muscle.  Taking  a 
seat,  I  briefly  stated  my  business. 

Was  a  United  States  surveyor.  Had  come  on  account  of 
the  Espiritu  Santo  Rancho.  Wanted  to  correct  the  exterior 
boundaries  of  township  lines,  so  as  to  connect  with  the  near 
exteriors  of  private  grants.  There  had  been  some  inter 
vention  to  the  old  survey  by  a  Mr.  Tryan  who  had  pre 
empted  adjacent — "  settled  land  warrants,"  interrupted  the 
old  man.  "  Ah,  yes  !  Land  Warrants, — and  then  this  was 
Mr.  Tryan?" 

I  had  spoken  mechanically,  for  I  was  preoccupied  in  con 
necting  other  public  lines  with  private  surveys,  as  I  looked 
in  his  face.  It  was  certainly  a  hard  face,  and  reminded  me 
of  the  singular  effect  of  that  mining  operation  known  as 
"  ground  sluicing  j  "  the  harder  lines  of  underlying  character 
were  exposed,  and  what  were  once  plastic  curves  and  soft 
outlines  were  obliterated  by  some  powerful  agency. 

There  was  a  dryness  in  his  voice  not  unlike  the  prevailing 
atmosphere  of  the  valley,  as  he  launched  into  an  ex  parte 
statement  of  the  contest,  with  a  fluency,  which,  like  the  wind 
without,  showed  frequent  and  unrestrained  expression.  He 
told  me — what  I  had  already  learned — that  the  boundary 
line  of  the  old  Spanish  grant  was  a  creek,  described  in  the 
loose  phraseology  of  the  deseno  as  beginning  in  the  valda  or 
skirt  of  the  hill,  its  precise  location  long  the  subject  of  liti 
gation.  I  listened  and  answered  with  little  interest,  for  mv 


NOTES  BY  FLOOD  AND  FIELD.  127 

mind  was  still  distracted  by  the  wind  which  swept  violently 
by  the  house,  as  well  as  by  his  odd  face,  which  was  again 
reflected  in  the  resemblance  that  the  silent  group  by  the  fira 
bore  toward  him.  He  was  still  talking,  and  the  wind  was 
yet  blowing,  when  my  confused  attention  was  aroused  by  a 
remark  addressed  to  the  recumbent  figures. 

"  Now,  then,  which  on  ye'll  see  the  stranger  up  the  creek 
to  Altascar's,  to-morrow  !  " 

There  was  a  general  movement  of  opposition  in  the  group, 
but  no  decided  answer. 

"  Kin  you  go,  Kerg  ?  " 

"  Who's  to  look  up  stock  in  Strarberry  per-ar-ie  ?  " 

This  seemed  to  imply  a  negative,  and  the  old  man  turned 
to  another  hopeful,  who  was  pulling  the  fur  from  a  mangy 
bear-skin  on  which  he  was  lying,  with  an  expression  as 
though  it  were  somebody's  hair. 

"  Well,  Tom,  wot's  to  hinder  you  from  goin'  ? " 

"  Mam's  goin'  to  Brown's  store  at  sun-up,  and  I  s'pose 
I've  got  to  pack  her  and  the  baby  agin." 

I  think  the  expression  of  scorn  this  unfortunate  youth 
exhibited  for  the  filial  duty  into  which  he  had  been  evi 
dently  beguiled,  was  one  of  the  finest  things  I  had  ever  seen. 

"Wise?" 

Wise  deigned  no  verbal  reply,  but  figuratively  thrust 
a  worn  and  patched  boot  into  the  discourse.  The  old  man 
flushed  quickly. 

"  I  told  you  to  get  Brown  to  give  you  a  pair  the  last  time 
you  war  down  the  river." 

"  Said  he  wouldn't  without'en  order.  Said  it  was  like 
pulling  gum-teeth  to  get  the  money  from  you  even  then.' 

There  was  a  grim  smile  at  this  local  hit  at  the  old  man's 
parsimony,  and  Wise,  who  was  clearly  the  privileged  wit  of 
the  family,  sank  back  in  honourable  retirement. 

"Well,  Joe,  ef  your  boots  are  new,  and  you  aren't 
pestered  with  wimmin  and  children,  p'r'aps  you'll  go,"  said 


128  NOTES  BY  FLOOD  AND  FIELD. 

Tryan,  with  a  nervous  twitching,  intended  for  a  smile,  about 
a  mouth  not  remarkably  mirthful. 

Joe  lifted  a  pair  of  bushy  eyebrows,  and  said  shortly, — 

«  Got  no  saddle." 

"  Wot's  gone  of  your  saddle  ?  " 

"  Kerg,  there," — indicating  his  brother  with  a  look  such 
as  Cain  might  have  worn  at  the  sacrifice. 

"  You  lie,"  returned  Kerg,  cheerfully. 

Tryan  sprang  to  his  feet,  seizing  the  chair,  flourishing  it 
around  his  head  and  gazing  furiously  in  the  hard  young 
faces  which  fearlessly  met  his  own.  But  it  was  only  for  a 
moment ;  his  arm  soon  dropped  by  his  side,  and  a  look  of 
hopeless  fatality  crossed  his  face.  He  allowed  me  to  take 
the  chair  from  his  hand,  and  I  was  trying  to  pacify  him  by 
the  assurance  that  I  required  no  guide,  when  the  irre 
pressible  Wise  again  lifted  his  voice  : — 

"  There's  George  coinin'  ?  why  don't  ye  ask  him  ?  He'll 
go  and  introduce  you  to  Don  Fernandy's  darter,  too,  ef  you 
ain't  partickler." 

The  laugh  which  followed  this  joke,  which  evidently  had 
some  domestic  allusion  (the  general  tendency  of  rural 
pleasantry),  was  followed  by  a  light  step  on  the  platform, 
and  the  young  man  entered.  Seing  a  stranger  present,  he 
stopped  and  coloured  ;  made  a  shy  salute  and  coloured  again, 
and  then,  drawing  a  box  from  the  corner,  sat  down,  his 
hands  clasped  lightly  together  and  his  very  handsome  bright 
blue  eyes  turned  frankly  on  mine. 

Perhaps  I  was  in  a  condition  to  receive  the  romantic  im 
pression  he  made  upon  me,  and  I  took  it  upon  myself  to  ask 
his  company  as  guide,  and  he  cheerfully  assented.  But  some 
•domestic  duty  called  him  presently  away. 

The  fire  gleamed  brightly  on  the  hearth,  and  no  longer 
resisting  the  prevailing  influence,  I  silently  watched  the 
spirting  flame,  listening  to  the  wind  which  continually  shook 
the  tenement.  Besides  the  one  chair  which  had  acquired  a 


NOTES  BY  FLOOD  AND  FIELD.  129 

new  importance  in  my  eyes,  I  presently  discovered  a  crazy 
table  in  one  corner,  with  an  ink-bottle  and  pen ;  the  latter 
in  that  greasy  state  of  decomposition  peculiar  to  country 
taverns  and  farm-houses.  A  goodly  array  of  rifles  and 
double  barrelled  guns  stocked  the  corner ;  half  a  dozen 
saddles  and  blankets  lay  near,  with  a  mild  flavour  of  the 
horse  about  them.  Some  deer  and  bear  skins  completed  the 
inventory.  As  I  sat  there,  with  the  silent  group  around 
me,  the  shadowy  gloom  within  and  the  dominant  wind  with 
out,  I  found  it  dinicult  to  believe  I  had  ever  known  a  different 
existence.  My  profession  had  often  led  me  to  wilder  scenes, 
but  rarely  among  those  whose  unrestrained  habits  and  easy 
unconsciousness  made  me  feel  so  lonely  and  uncomfortable. 
I  shrank  closer  to  myself,  not  without  grave  doubts — which 
I  think  occur  naturally  to  people  in  like  situations — that 
this  was  the  general  rule  of  humanity,  and  I  was  a  solitary 
and  somewhat  gratuitous  exception. 

It  was  a  relief  when  a  laconic  announcement  of  supper  by 
a  weak-eyed  girl  caused  a  general  movement  in  the  family. 
We  walked  across  the  dark  platform,  which  led  to  another 
low-ceiled  room.  Its  entire  length  was  occupied  by  a  table, 
at  the  farther  end  of  which  a  weak-eyed  woman  was  already 
taking  her  repast,  as  she,  at  the  same  time,  gave  nourishment 
to  a  weak-eyed  baby.  As  the  formalities  of  introduction 
had  been  dispensed  with,  and  as  she  took  no  notice  of  me, 
I  was  enabled  to  slip  into  a  seat  without  discomposing  or 
interrupting  her.  Tryan  extemporized  a  grace,  and  the 
attention  of  the  family  became  absorbed  in  bacon,  potatoes, 
and  dried  apples. 

The  meal  was  a  sincere  one.  Gentle  gurglings  at  the 
upper  end  of  the  table  o^en  betrayed  the  presence  of  the 
"  well-spring  of  pleasure."  The  conversation  generally  re 
ferred  to  the  labours  of  the  day,  and  comparing  notes  as  to 
the  whereabouts  of  missing  stock.  Yet  the  supper  was  such 
a  vast  improvement  upon  the  previous  intellectual  feast, 


ijo  NOTES  BY  FLOOD  AND  FIELD. 

when  a  chance  allusion  of  mine  to  the  business  of  my  vi&it 
brought  out  the  elder  Tryan,  the  interest  grew  quite  exciting. 
I  remember  he  inveighed  bitterly  against  the  system  of  ranch- 
holding  by  the  "  greasers,"  as  he  was  pleased  to  term  the 
native  Californians.  As  the  same  ideas  have  been  sometimes 
advanced  under  more  pretentious  circumstances,  they  may 
be  worthy  of  record. 

"  Look  at  'em  holdin'  the  finest  grazin'  land  that  ever  lay 
outer  doors  ?  Whar's  the  papers  for  it  1  "Was  it  grants  ? 
Mighty  fine  grants, — most  of  'em  made  arter  the  'Merrikans 
got  possession.  More  fools  the  'Merrikans  for  lettin'  'em 
hold  'em.  Wot  paid  for  'em  ?  'Merrikan  blood  and  money. 

"  Didn't  they  oughter  have  suthin  out  of  their  native 
country  ?  Wot  for  ?  Did  they  ever  improve  1  Got  a  lot 
of  yaller-skinned  diggers,  not  so  sensible  as  niggers  to  look 
arter  stock,  and  they  a-sittin'  home  and  smokin'.  With 
their  gold  and  silver  candlesticks,  and  missions,  and  cruci- 
fixens,  priests  and  gra.ven  idols,  and  sich  ?  Them  sort  things 
wurent  allowed  in  Mizzoori." 

At  the  mention  of  improvements,  I  involuntarily  lifted 
my  eyes,  and  met  the  half-laughing,  half-embarrassed  look  of 
George.  The  act  did  not  escape  detection,  aud  I  had  at 
once  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  that  the  rest  of  the  family 
had  formed  an  offensive  alliance  against  us. 

"It  was  agin  JSTater,  and  agin  God,"  added  Tryan.  "God 
never  intended  gold  in  the  rocks  to  be  made  into  heathen 
candlesticks  and  crucifixens.  That's  why  he  sent  'Merrikans 
here.  JSTater  never  intended  such  a  climate  for  lazy  lopers. 
She  never  gin  six  months'  sunshine  to  be  slept  and  smoked 
away." 

How  long  he  continued,  and  with  what  further  illustration, 
I  could  not  say,  for  I  took  an  early  opportunity  to  escape  to 
the  sitting-room.  I  was  soon  followed  by  George,  who  called 
me  to  an  open  door  leading  to  a  smaller  room,  and  pointed 
to  a  V 


ATQTES  BY  FLOOD  AND  FIELD.  131 

"You'd  better  sleep  there  to-night,"  lie  said;  "you'll  be 
more  comfortable,  and  I'll  call  you  early. 

I  thanked  him,  and  would  have  asked  him  several  questions 
which  were  then  troubling  me,  but  he  shily  slipped  to  the 
door  and  vanished. 

A  shadow  seemed  to  fall  on  the  room  when  he  had  gone. 
The  "  boys  "  returned,  one  by  one,  and  shuffled  to  their  old 
places.  A  larger  log  was  thrown  on  the  fire,  and  the  huge 
chimney  glowed  like  a  furnace,  but  it  did  not  seem  to  melt 
or  subdue  a  single  line  of  the  hard  faces  that  it  lit.  In  half 
an  hour  later,  the  furs  which  had  served  as  chairs  by  day 
undertook  the  nightly  office  of  mattresses,  and  each  received 
its  owner's  full-length  figure.  Mr.  Tryan  had  not  returned, 
and  I  missed  George.  I  sat  there  until,  wakeful  and 
nervous,  I  saw  the  fire  fall  and  shadows  mount  the  wall. 
There  was  no  sound  but  the  rushing  of  the  wind  and  tho 
snoring  of  the  sleepers.  At  last,  feeling  the  place  Insup 
portable,  I  seized  my  hat  and,  opening  the  door,  ran  out 
briskly  into  the  night. 

The  acceleration  of  my  torpid  pulse  in  the  keen  fight 
with  the  wind,  whose  violence  was  almost  equal  to  that  of  a 
tornado,  and  the  familiar  faces  of  the  bright  stars  above  me, 
I  felt  as  a  blessed  relief.  I  ran  not  knowing  whither,  and 
when  I  halted,  the  square  outline  of  the  house  was  lost  in 
the  alder-bushes.  An  uninterrupted  plain  stretched  before 
me,  like  a  vast  sea  beaten  flat  by  the  force  of  the  gale.  As 
I  kept  on  I  noticed  a  slight  elevation  toward  the  horizon, 
and  presently  my  progress  was  impeded  by  the  ascent  of  an 
Indian  mound.  It  struck  me  forcibly  as  resembling  an 
island  in  the  sea.  Its  height  gave  me  a  better  view  of  the 
expanding  plain.  But  even  here  I  found  no  rest.  The 
ridiculous  interpretation  Tryaii  had  given  the  climate  was 
somehow  sung  in  my  ears,  and  echoed  in  my  throbbing 
pulse,  as,  guided  by  the  star,  I  sought  the  house  again. 
But  I  felt  fresher  and  more  natural  as  I  stepped  upon  the 

K  2 


133  NOTES  23Y  FLOOD  AND  FIELD. 

platform.  The  door  of  the  lower  building  was  open,  and  the 
old  man  was  sitting  beside  the  table,  thumbing  the  leaves  of 
a  Bible  with  a  look  in  his  face  as  though  he  were  hunting  up 
prophecies  against  the  "Greaser."  I  turned  to  enter,  but  my 
attention  was  attracted  by  a  blanketed  figure  lying  beside 
the  house,  on  the  platform.  The  broad  chest  heaving  with 
healthy  slumber,  and  the  open,  honest  face  were  familiar. 
It  was  George,  who  had  given  np  his  bed  to  the  stranger 
among  his  people.  I  was  about  to  wake  him,  but  he  lay  so 
peaceful  and  quiet,  I  felt  awed  and  hushed.  And  I  went  to 
bed  with  a  pleasant  impression  of  his  handsome  face  and 
tranquil  figure  soothing  me  to  sleep. 

I  was  awakened  the  next  morning  from  a  sense  of  lulled 
repose  and  grateful  silence  by  the  cheery  voice  of  George, 
who  stood  beside  my  bed,  ostentatiously  twirling  a  "riata," 
as  if  to  recall  the  duties  of  the  day  to  my  sleep-bewildered 
eyes.  I  looked  around  me.  The  wind  had  been  magically 
laid,  and  the  sun  shone  warmly  through  the  windows.  A 
dash  of  cold  water,  with  an  extra  chill  on  from  the  tin  basin, 
helped  to  brighten  me.  It  was  still  early,  but  the  family 
had  already  breakfasted  and  dispersed,  and  a  waggon  winding 
far  in  the  distance  showed  that  the  unfortunate  Tom  had 
already  "packed"  his  relatives  away.  I  felt  more  cheer 
ful, — there  are  few  troubles  Youth  cannot  distance  with  a 
start  of  a  good  night's  rest.  After  a  substantial  breakfast, 
prepared  by  George,  in  a  few  moments  we  were  mounted 
and  dashing  down  the  plain. 

We  followed  the  line  of  alder  that  defined  the  creek,  now 
dry  and  baked  with  summer's  heat,  but  which  in  winter, 
George  told  me,  overflowed  its  banks.  I  still  retain  a  vivid 
impression  of  that  morning's  ride,  the  far-off  mountains,  like 
silhouettes ',  against  the  steel-blue  sky,  the  crisp  dry  air,  and 
the  expanding  track  before  me,  animated  often  by  the  well- 
knit  figure  of  George  Try  an,  musical  with  jingling  spurs, 


NOTES  BY  FLOOD  AND  FIELD.  133 

and  picturesque  with  flying  "  riata."  He  rode  a  powerful 
native  roan,  wild-eyed,  untiring  in  stride  and  unbroken  in 
nature.  Alas !  the  curves  of  beauty  were  concealed  by  the 
cumbrous  macliillas  of  the  Spanish  saddle,  which  levels  all 
equine  distinctions.  The  single  rein  lay  loosely  011  the  cruel 
bit  that  can  gripe,  and,  if  need  be,  crush  the  jaw  it  controls. 

Again  the  illimitable  freedom  of  the  valley  rises  before 
me,  as  we  again  bear  down  into  sunlit  space.  Can  this  be 
"  Chu-Chu,"  staid  and  respectable  filly  of  American  pedi 
gree, — "Chu-Chu,"  forgetful  of  plank-roads  and  cobble 
stones,  wild  with  excitement,  twinkling  her  small  white  feet 
beneath  me  ?  George  laughs  out  of  a  cloud  of  dust,  "  Give 
her  her  head  ;  don't  you  see  she  likes  it  ?  "  and  "  Chu-Chu  " 
seems  to  like  it,  and,  whether  bitten  by  native  tarantula  into 
native  barbarism  or  emulous  of  the  roan,  "blood"  asserts 
itself,  and  in  a  moment  the  peaceful  servitude  of  years  is 
beaten  out  in  the  music  of  her  clattering  hoofs.  The  creek 
widens  to  a  deep  gully.  We  dive  into  it  and  up  on  the 
opposite  side,  carrying  a  moving  cloud  of  impalpable  powder 
with  us.  Cattle  are  scattered  over  the  plain,  grazing  quietly, 
or  banded  together  in  vast  restless  herds.  George  makes  a 
wide,  indefinite  sweep  with  the  "  riata,"  as  if  to  include 
them  all  in  his  vaquero's  loop,  and  says,  "  Ours." 

"  About  how  many,  George  ?  " 

«  Don't  know." 

"  How  many  1 " 

"Well,  p'r'aps  three  thousand  head,"  says  George,  re 
flecting.  "We  don't  know  ;  takes  five  men  to  look  'em  up 
and  keep  run." 

"  What  are  they  worth  ?  " 

"About  thirty  dollars  a  head." 

I  make  a  rapid  calculation,  and  look  my  astonishment  at 
the  laughing  George.  Perhaps  a  recollection  of  the  domestic 
economy  of  the  Try  an  household  is  expressed  in  that  look, 
for  George  averts  his  eye  and  says,  apologetically, — 


I3\  NOTES  BY  FLOOD  AND  FIELD. 

"  I've  tried  to  get  the  old  man  to  sell  and  build,  but  you 
know  he  says  it  ain't  no  use  to  settle  down,  just  yet.  We 
must  keep  moviri'.  In  fact,  he  built  the  shanty  for  that 
purpose,  lest  titles  should  fall  through,  and  we'd  have  to  get 
up  and  move  stakes  farther  down," 

Suddenly  his  quick  eye  detects  some  unusual  sight  in  a 
herd  we  are  passing,  and  with  an  exclamation  he  puts  his 
roan  into  the  centre  of  the  mass.  I  follow,  or  rather 
"  Chu-Chu  "  darts  after  the  roan,  and  in  a  "few  moments  we 
are  in  the  midst  of  apparently  inextricable  horns  and  hoofs. 
"  Toro  !  "  shouts  George,  with  vaquero  enthusiasm,  and  the 
band  opens  the  way  for  the  swinging  "  riata."  I  can  feel 
their  steaming  breaths,  and  their  spume  is  cast  on  "Chu- 
Chu's  "  quivering  flank. 

Wild,  devilish-looking  beasts  are  they ;  not  such  shapes 
as  Jove  might  have  chosen  to  woo  a  goddess,  nor  such  as 
peacefully  range  the  downs  of  Devon,  but  lean  and  hungry 
Cassius-like  bo  vines,  economically  got  up  to  meet  the  exi 
gencies  of  a  six  months'  rainless  climate,  and  accustomed 
to  wrestle  with  the  distracting  wind  and  the  blinding 
dust. 

"  That's  not  our  brand,"  says  George,  "  they're  strange 
stock,"  and  he  points  to  what  my  scientific  eye  recognizes 
as  the  astrological  sign  of  Venus  deeply  seared  in  the  brown 
flanks  of  the  bull  he  is  chasing.  But  the  herd  are  closing 
round  us  with  low  mutterings,  and  George  has  again  recourse 
to  the  authoritative  "  Toro,"  and  with  swinging  "  riata " 
divides  the  "  bossy  bucklers  "  on  either  side.  When  we  are 
free,  and  breathing  somewhat  more  easily,  I  venture  to  ask 
George  if  they  ever  attack  any  one. 

"Never  horsemen, — sometimes  footmen.  Not  through 
rage,  you  know,  but  curiosity.  They  think  a  man  and  his 
horse  are  one,  and  if  they  meet  a  chap  afoot,  they  run  him 
down  and  trample  him  under  hoof,  in  the  pursuit  of  know 
ledge.  But,"  adds  George,  "  here's  the  lower  bench  of  the 


NOTES  BY  FLOOD  AND  FIELD.  135 

foot-hills,  and  here's  Altascar's  corral,  and  that  white  build 
ing  you  see  yonder  is  the  casa." 

A  whitewashed  wall  enclosed  a  court  containing  another 
adobe  building,  baked  with  the  solar  beams  of  many  sum 
mers.  Leaving  our  horses  in  the  charge  of  a  few  peons  in 
the  courtyard,  who  were  basking  lazily  in  the  sun,  we  entered 
a  low  doorway,  where  a  deep  shadow  and  an  agreeable  cool 
ness  fell  upon  us,  as  sudden  and  grateful  as  a  plunge  in  cold 
water,  from  its  contrast  with  the  external  glare  and  heat. 
In  the  centre  of  a  low-ceiled  apartment  sat  an  old  man  with 
a  black  silk  handkerchief  tied  about  his  head,  the  few  grey 
hairs  that  escaped  from  its  folds  relieving  his  gamboge- 
coloured  face.  The  odour  of  cigarritos  was  as  incense  added 
to  the  cathedral  gloom  of  the  building. 

As  Seiior  Altascar  rose  with  well-bred  gravity  to  receive 
us,  George  advanced  with  such  a  heightened  colour,  and 
such  a  blending  of  tenderness  and  respect  in  his  manner, 
that  I  was  touched  to  the  heart  by  so  much  devotion  in  the 
careless  youth.  In  fact,  my  eyes  were  still  dazzled  by  the 
effect  of  the  outer  sunshine,  and  at  first  I  did  not  see  the 
white  teeth  and  black  eyes  of  Pepita,  who  slipped  into  the 
corridor  as  we  entered. 

It  was  no  pleasant  matter  to  disclose  particulars  of  busi 
ness  which  would  deprive  the  old  Senor  of  the  greater  part 
of  that  land  we  had  just  ridden  over,  and  I  did  it  with  great 
embarrassment.  But  he  listened  calmly, — not  a  muscle 
of  his  dark  face  stirring, — and  the  smoke,  curling  placidly 
from  his  lips,  showed  his  regular  respiration.  When  I  had 
finished,  he  offered  quietly  to  accompany  us  to  the  line  of 
demarcation.  George  had  meanwhile  disappeared,  but  a  sus 
picious  conversation,  in  broken  Spanish  and  English,  in  the 
corridor,  betrayed  his  vicinity.  When  he  returned  again,  a 
little  absent-minded,  the  old  man,  by  far  the  coolest  and 
most  self-possessed  of  the  party,  extinguished  his  black  silk 
cap  beneath  that  stiff,  uncomely  sombrero  which  all  native 


136  NOTES  BY  FLOOD  AND  FIELD. 

Californians  affect.  A  serapa  thrown  over  his  shoulders, 
hinted  that  he  was  waiting.  Horses  are  always  ready  saddled 
in  Spanish  ranches,  and  in  half  an  hour  from  the  time  of  our 
arrival  we  were  again  "  loping  "  in  the  staring  sunlight. 

But  not  as  cheerfully  as  before.  George  and  myself  were 
weighed  down  by  restraint,  and  Altascar  was  gravely  quiet. 
To  break  the  silence,  and  by  way  of  a  consolatory  essay, 
I  hinted  to  him  that  there  might  be  further  intervention  or 
appeal,  but  the  proffered  oil  and  wine  were  returned  with  a 
careless  shrug  of  the  shoulders  and  a  sententious  "Que 
bueno  ? — Your  courts  are  always  just." 

The  Indian  mound  of  the  previous  night's  discovery  was 
a  bearing  monument  of  the  new  line,  and  there  we  halted. 
We  were  surprised  to  find  the  old  man,  Tryan,  waiting  us. 
For  the  first  time  during  our  interview,  the  old  Spaniard 
seemed  moved,  and  the  blood  rose  in  his  yellow  cheek.  I 
was  anxious  to  close  the  scene,  and  pointed  out  the  corner 
boundaries  as  clearly  as  my  recollection  served. 

"  The  deputies  will  be  here  to-morrow  to  run  the  lines 
from  this  initial  point,  and  there  will  be  no  further  trouble, 
I  believe,  gentlemen." 

Senor  Altascar  had  dismounted,  and  was  gathering  a  few 
tufts  of  dried  grass  in  his  hands.  George  and  I  exchanged 
glances.  He  presently  arose  from  his  stooping  posture,  and 
advauciDg  to  within  a  few  paces  of  Joseph  Tryan,  said,  in  a 
voice  broken  with  passion, — 

"  And  I,  Fernando  Jesus  Maria  Altascar,  put  you  in  pos 
session  of  my  land  in  the  fashion  of  my  country." 

He  threw  a  sod  to  each  of  the  cardinal  points. 

"  I  don't  know  your  courts,  your  judges,  or  your  corregi- 
dores.  Take  the  llano  ! — and  take  this  with  it.  May  the 
drought  seize  your  cattle  till  their  tongues  hang  down  as 
long  as  those  of  your  lying  lawyers  !  May  it  be  the  curse 
and  torment  of  your  old  age,  as  you  and  yours  have  made  it 
of  mine!" 


NOTES  BY  FLOOD  AND  FIELD.  137 

"We  stepped  between  the  principal  actors  in  this  scene, 
which  only  the  passion  of  Altascar  made  tragical,  but 
Tryan,  with  a  humility  but  ill  concealing  his  triumph,  inter 
rupted, — 

"  Let  him  curse  on.  He  11  find  'em  coming  home  to  him 
sooner  than  the  cattle  he  has  lost  through  his  sloth  and 
pride.  The  Lord  is  on  the  side  of  the  just,  as  well  as  agin 
all  slanderers  and  revilers." 

Altascar  but  half  guessed  the  meaning  of  the  Missourian, 
yet  sufficiently  to  drive  from  his  mind  all  but  the  extrava 
gant  power  of  his  native  invective. 

"  Stealer  of  the  Sacrament :  Open  not ! — open  not,  I  say, 
your  lying,  Judas  lips  to  me  !  Ah  !  half-breed,  with  the  soul 
of  a  cayote  ! — Car-r-r-ramba  !" 

With  his  passion  reverberating  among  the  consonants  like 
distant  thunder,  he  laid  his  hand  upon  the  mane  of  his  horse 
as  though  it  had  been  the  grey  locks  of  his  adversary,  swung 
himself  into  the  saddle,  and  galloped  away. 

George  turned  to  me, — 

"  Will  you  go  back  with  us  to-night  ?" 

I  thought  of  the  cheerless  walls,  the  silent  figures  by  the 
fire,  and  the  roaring  wind,  and  hesitated. 

"  Well,  then,  good-bye." 

"  Good-bye,  George." 

Another  wring  of  the  hands,  and  we  parted.  I  had  not 
ridden  far  when  I  turned  and  looked  back.  The  wind  had 
risen  early  that  afternoon,  and  was  already  sweeping  across 
the  plain.  A  cloud  of  dust  travelled  before  it,  and  a  pictu 
resque  figure  occasionally  emerging  therefrom  was  my  last 
indistinct  impression  of  George  Tryan. 


133  NOTES  BY  PLOOD  AND  FIELD, 


PART   II.— IN    THE   FLOOD. 

T^HREE  months  after  the  survey  of  the  Espirita  Santo 
Bancho,  I  was  again  in  the  valley  of  the  Sacramento. 
But  a  general  and  terrible  visitation  had  erased  the  memory 
of  that  event  as  completely  as  I  supposed  it  had  obliterated 
the  boundary  monuments  I  had  planted.  The  great  flood  of 
1861 — 62' was  at  its  height,  when,  obeying  some  indefinite 
yearning,  I  took  my  carpet-bag  and  embarked  for  the  inun 
dated  valley. 

There  was  nothing  to  be  seen  from  the  bright  cabin  win 
dows  of  the  Golden  City  but  night  deepening  over  the  water. 
The  only  sound  was  the  pattering  rain,  and  that  had  grown 
monotonous  for  the  past  two  weeks,  and  did  not  disturb  the 
national  gravity  of  my  countrymen  as  they  silently  sat 
around  the  cabin  stove.  Some  on  errands  of  relief  to  friends 
and  relatives  wore  anxious  faces,  arid  conversed  soberly  on 
the  one  absorbing  topic.  Others,  like  myself,  attracted  by 
curiosity,  listened  eagerly  to  newer  details.  But  with  that 
human  disposition  to  seize  upon  any  circumstance  that 
might  give  chance  event  the  exaggerated  importance  of  in 
stinct,  I  was  half  conscious  of  something  more  than  curiosity 
as  an  impelling  motive. 

The  dripping  of  rain,  the  low  gurgle  of  water,  and  a  leaden 
sky  greeted  us  the  next  morning  as  we  lay  beside  the  half- 
submerged  levee  of  Sacramento.  Here,  however,  the  novelty 
of  boats  to  convey  us  to  the  hotels  was  an  appeal  that  was 
irresistible.  I  resigned  myself  to  a  dripping  rubber-cased 
mariner  called  "  Joe,"  and,  wrapping  myself  in  a  shining 
cloak  of  the  like  material,  about  as  suggestive  of  warmth  as 
court-plaster  might  have  been,  took  my  seat  in  the  stern- 
sheets  of  his  boat.  It  was  no  slight  inward  struggle  to  part 
from  the  steamer,  that  to  most  of  the  passengers  was  the 


NOTES  BY  FLOOD  AND  FIELD.  139 

only  visible  connecting  link  between  us  and  the  dry  and 
iabitable  earth,  but  we  pulled  away  and  entered  the  city, 
stemming  a  rapid  current  as  we  shot  the  levee. 

We  glided  up  the  long  level  of  K  Street, — once  a  cheer 
ful,  busy  thoroughfare,  now  distressing  in  its  silent  desolation. 
The  turbid  water  which  seemed  to  meet  the  horizon  edge 
before  us  flowed  at  right  angles  in  sluggish  rivers  through 
the  streets.  Nature  had  revenged  herself  on  the  local  taste 
by  disarraying  the  regular  rectangles,  by  huddling  houses  on 
street  corners,  where  they  presented  abrupt  gables  to  the 
current,  or  by  capsizing  them  in  compact  ruin.  Crafts  of  all 
kinds  were  gliding  in  and  out  of  low-arched  doorways.  The 
water  was  over  the  top  of  the  fences  surrounding  well  kept 
gardens,  in  the  first  stories  of  hotels  and  private  dwellings, 
trailing  its  slime  on  velvet  carpets  as  well  as  roughly  boarded 
floors.  And  a  silence  quite  as  suggestive  as  the  visible  deso 
lation  was  in  the  voiceless  streets  that  no  longer  echoed  to 
carriage-wheel  or  footfall.  The  low  ripple  of  water,  the 
occasional  splash  of  oars,  or  the  warning  cry  of  boatmen 
were  the  few  signs  of  life  and  habitation. 

With  such  scenes  before  my  eyes  and  such  sounds  in  my 
ears,  as  I  lie  lazily  in  the  boat,  is  mingled  the  song  of  my 
gondolier  who  sings  to  the  music  of  his  oars.  It  is  not 
quite  as  romantic  as  his  brother  of  the  Lido  might  improvise, 
but  my  Yankee  "  Giuseppe"  has  the  advantage  of  earnest 
ness  and  energy,  and  gives  a  graphic  description  of  the  ter 
rors  of  the  past  week  and  of  noble  deeds  of  self-sacrifice  and 
devotion,  occasionally  pointing  out  a  balcony  from  which 
some  California  Bianca  or  Laura  had  been  snatched,  half 
clothed  and  famished.  Giuseppe  is  otherwise  peculiar,  and 
refuses  the  proffered  fare,  for — am  I  not  a  citizen  of  San 
Francisco,  which  was  first  to  respond  to  the  suffering  cry  of 
Sacramento?  and  is  not  he,  Giuseppe,  a  member  of  the 
Howard  Society  ?  No  !  Giuseppe  is  poor,  but  cannot  take 
my  money.  Still,  if  I  must  spend  it,  there  is  the  HowartJ 


140  NOTES  BY  FLOOD  AND  FIELD. 

Society,  and  the  women  and  children  without  food  and 
clothes  at  the  Agricultural  Hall. 

I  thank  the  generous  gondolier,  and  we  go  to  the  Hall, — • 
a  dismal,  bleak  place,  ghastly  with  the  memories  of  last 
year's  opulence  and  plenty,  and  here  Giuseppe's  fare  is 
swelled  by  the  stranger's  mite.  But  here  Giuseppe  tells  me 
of  the  "  Relief  Boat"  which  leaves  for  the  flooded  district  in 
the  interior,  and  here,  profiting  by  the  lesson  he  has  taught 
me,  I  make  the  resolve  to  turn  my  curiosity  to  the  account 
of  others,  and  am  accepted  of  those  who  go  forth  to  succour 
and  help  the  afflicted.  Giuseppe  takes  charge  of  my  carpet 
bag,  and  does  not  part  from  me  until  I  star***  on  the  slippery 
deck  of  "Relief  Boat  No.  3." 

An  hour  later  I  am  in  the  pilot-house,  looking  down  upon 
what  was  once  the  channel  of  a  peaceful  river.  But  its 
banks  are  only  denned  by  tossing  tufts  of  willow  washed  by 
the  long  swell  that  breaks  over  a  vast  inland  sea.  Stretches 
of  "tule"  land  fertilized  by  its  once  regular  channel  and 
dotted  by  flourishing  ranches  are  now  cleanly  erased.  The 
cultivated  profile  of  the  old  landscape  had  faded.  Dotted 
lines  in  symmetrical  perspective  mark  orchards  that  are 
buried  and  chilled  in  the  turbid  flood.  The  roofs  of  a  few 
farm  houses  are  visible,  and  here  and  there  the  smoke  curl 
ing  from  chimneys  of  half-submerged  tenements  show  an 
undaunted  life  within.  Cattle  and  sheep  are  gathered  on 
Indian  mounds  waiting  the  fate  of  their  companions  whose 
carcasses  drift  by  us,  or  swing  in  eddies  with  the  wrecks  of 
barns  and  out-houses.  Waggons  are  stranded  everywhere 
where  the  tide  could  carry  them.  As  I  wipe  the  moistened 
glass,  I  see  nothing  but  water,  pattering  on  the  deck  from 
the  lowering  clouds,  dashing  against  the  window,  dripping 
from  the  willows,  hissing  by  the  wheels,  everywhere  wash 
ing,  coiling,  sapping,  hurrying  in  rapids,  or  swelling  at  last 
into  deeper  and  vaster  lakes,  awful  in  their  suggestive  quiet 
and  concealment. 


NOTES  BY  FLOOD  AND  FIELD.  141 

As  day  fades  into  night  the  monotony  of  this  strange 
prospect  grows  oppressive.  I  seek  the  engine-room,  and  in 
the  company  of  some  of  the  few  half-drowned  sufferers  we 
have  already  picked  up  from  temporary  rafts,  I  forget  tho 
general  aspect  of  desolation  in  their  individual  misery. 
Later  we  meet  the  San  Francisco  packet,  and  transfer  a 
number  of  our  passengers.  From  them  we  learn  how  in 
ward  bound  vessels  report  to  having  struck  the  well-defined 
channel  of  the  Sacramento,  fifty  miles  beyond  the  bar. 
There  is  a  voluntary  contribution  taken  among  the  generous 
travellers  for  the  use  of  our  afflicted,  and  we  part  company 
with  a  hearty  "God-speed"  on  either  side.  But  our  signal- 
lights  are  not  far  distant  before  a  familiar  sound  comes  back 
to  us, — an  indomitable  Yankee  cheer, — which  scatters  the 
gloom. 

Our  course  is  altered,  and  we  are  steaming  over  the  obli 
terated  banks  far  in  the  interior.  Once  or  twice  black 
objects  loom  up  near  us, — the  wrecks  of  houses  floating 
by.  There  is  a  slight  rift  in  the  sky  towards  the  north,  and 
a  few  bearing  stars  to  guide  us  over  the  waste.  As  we  pene 
trate  into  shallower  water,  it  is  deemed  advisable  to  divide 
our  party  into  smaller  boats,  and  diverge  over  the  sub 
merged  prairie.  I  borrow  a  pea-coat  of  one  of  the  crew,  and 
in  that  practical  disguise  am  doubtfully  permitted  to  pass 
into  one  of  the  boats.  We  give  way  northerly.  It  is  quite 
dark  yet,  although  the  rift  of  cloud  has  widened. 

It  must  have  been  about  three  o'clock,  and  we  were  lying 
upon  our  oars  in  an  eddy  formed  by  a  clump  of  cottonwood, 
and  the  light  of  the  steamer  is  a  solitary,  bright  star  in  the 
distance,  when  the  silence  is  broken  by  the  "  bow  oar," — 

"  Light  ahead." 

All  eyes  are  turned  in  that  direction.  In  a  few  seconds  a 
twinkling  light  appears,  shines  steadily,  and  again  disap 
pears,  as  if  by  the  shifting  position  of  some  black  object 
apparently  drifting  close  upon  us. 


142  NOTES  BY  FLOOD  AND  FIELD. 

"  Stern,  all ;  a  steamer  !" 

"Hold  hard  there  !  Steamer  be  d — d!"  is  the  reply  of 
the  coxswain.  "  It's  a  house,  and  a  big  one  too." 

It  is  a  big  one,  looming  in  the  starlight  like  a  huge  frag 
ment  of  the  darkness.  The  light  comes  from  a  single  candle, 
which  shines  through  a  window  as  the  great  shape  swings  bj. 
Some  recollection  is  drifting  back  to  me  with  it,  as  I  listen 
with  beating  heart. 

"There's  some  one  in  it,  by  Heavens  !  Give  way,  boys, 
— lay  her  alongside.  Handsomely,  now  !  The  door's  fas 
tened  ;  try  the  window  ;  no  !  here's  another  !" 

In  another  moment  we  are  trampling  in  the  water,  which 
washes  the  floor  to  the  depth  of  several  inches.  It  is  a  large 
room,  at  the  farther  end  of  which  an  old  man  is  sitting 
wrapped  in  a  blanket,  holding  a  candle  in  one  hand,  and 
apparently  absorbed  in  the  book  he  holds  with  the  other.  I 
spring  toward  him  with  an  exclamation, — 

"  Joseph  Tryan  ! " 

He  does  not  move.  We  gather  closer  to  him,  and  I  lay  my 
hand  gently  on  his  shoulder,  and  say, — 

"  Look  up,  old  man,  look  up  !  Your  wife  and  children, 
where  are  they  1  The  boys, — George  !  Are  they  here  ?  are 
they  safe  ?" 

He  raises  his  head  slowly,  and  turns  his  eyes  to  mine,  and 
we  involuntarily  recoil  before  his  look.  It  is  a  calm  and 
quiet  glance,  free  from  fear,  anger,  or  pain ;  but  it  somehow 
sends  the  blood  curdling  through  our  veins.  He  bowed  his 
head  over  his  book  again,  taking  no  further  notice  of  us.  The 
men  look  at  me  compassionately,  and  hold  their  peace.  I 
make  one  more  effort : — 

"  Joseph  Tryan,  don't  you  know  me  ?  the  surveyor  who 
surveyed  your  ranch, — the  Espiritu  Santo  1  Look  up,  old 
man!" 

He  shuddered,  and  wrapped  himsel  f  closer  in  his  blanket. 
Presently  he  repeated  to  himself,  "  The  surveyor  who  sur- 


NOTES  BY  FLOOD  AND  FIELD.  143 

veyed  your  ranch, — Espiritu  Santo,"  over  and  over  again,  as 
though  it  were  a  lesson  he  was  trying  to  fix  in  his  memory. 

I  was  turning  sadly  to  the  boatmen,  when  he  suddenly 
caught  me  fearfully  by  the  hand  and  said,-— 

"Hush!" 

We  were  silent. 

"  Listen  ! "  He  puts  his  arm  around  my  neck  and  whispers 
in  my  ear,  "  I'm  a  moving  off '/" 

"Moving  off]" 

"  Hush  !  Don't  speak  so  loud.  Moving  off.  Ah  !  wot's 
that  ?  Don't  you  hear  1 — there  !  listen  !" 

We  listen  and  hear  the  water  gurgle  and  click  beneath  the 
floor. 

"  It's  them  wot  he  sent ! — Old  Altasoar  sent.  They've 
been  here  all  night.  I  heard  'em  first  in  the  creek,  when 
they  came  to  tell  the  old  man  to  move  farther  off.  They 
came  nearer  and  nearer.  They  whispered  under  the  door,  and 
I  saw  their  eyes  on  the  step, — their  cruel,  hard  eyes.  Ah  ! 
why  don't  they  quit  1" 

I  tell  the  men  to  search  the  room  and  see  if  they  can  find 
any  further  traces  of  the  family,  while  Tryan  resumes  his  old 
attitude.  It  is  so  much  like  the  figure  I  remember  on  the 
breezy  night  that  a  superstitious  feeling  is  fast  overcoming 
me.  When  they  have  returned,  I  tell  them  briefly  what  I 
know  of  him,  and  the  old  man  murmurs  again, — 

"  Why  don't  they  quit,  then  ?  They  have  the  stock, — all 
gone — gone,  gone  for  the  hides  and  hoofs,"  and  he  groans 
bitterly. 

"  There  are  other  boats  below  us.  The  shanty  cannot  have 
drifted  far,  and  perhaps  the  family  are  safe  by  this  time," 
says  the  coxswain,  hopefully. 

We  lift  the  old  man  up,  for  he  is  quite  helpless,  and  carry 
Aim  to  the  boat.  He  is  still  grasping  the  Bible  in  his  right 
hand,  though  its  strengthening  grace  is  blank  to  his  vacant 
eye.,  and  he  cowers  in  the  stern  as  we  pull  slowly  to  the 


144  NOTES  BY  FLOOD  AND  FIELD. 

steamer,  while  a  pale  gleam  in  the  sky  shows  the  coming 
day. 

I  was  weary  with  excitement,  and  when  we  reached  the 
steamer,  and  I  had  seen  Joseph  Tryan  comfortably  bestowed, 
T  wrapped  myself  in  a  blanket  near  the  boiler  and  presently 
fell  asleep.  But  even  then  the  figure  of  the  old  man  often 
started  before  me,  and  a  sense  of  uneasiness  about  George 
made  a  strong  undercurrent  to  drifting  dreams.  I  was 
awakened  at  about'  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning  by  the 
engineer,  who  told  me  one  of  the  old  man's  sons  had  been 
picked  up  and  was  now  on  board. 

"  Is  it  George  Tryan?"  I  ask  quickly. 

t(  Don't  know ;  but  he's  a  sweet  one,  whoever  he  is,"  adds 
the  engineer,  with  a  smile  at  some  luscious  remembrance. 
«  You'll  find  him  for'ard." 

I  hurry  to  the  bow  of  the  boat,  and  find,  not  George,  but 
the  irrepressible  Wise,  sitting  on  a  coil  of  rope,  a  little 
dirtier  and  rather  more  dilapidated  than  I  can  remember 
having  seen  him. 

He  is  examining,  with  apparent  admiration,  some  rough, 
dry  clothes  that  have  been  put  out  for  his  disposal.  I  cannot 
help  thinking  that  circumstances  have  somewhat  exalted  his 
usual  cheerfulness.  He  puts  me  at  my  ease  by  at  once 
addressing  me : — 

"  These  are  high  old  times,  ain't  they  ?  I  say,  what  do  you 
reckon's  become  o'  them  thar  bound'ry  moniments  you 
stuck?  Ah!" 

The  pause  which  succeeds  this  outburst  is  the  effect  of  a 
spasm  of  admiration  at  a  pair  of  high  boots,  which,  by  great 
exertion,  he  has  at  last  pulled  on  his  feet. 

"So  you've  picked  up  the  ole  man  in  the  shanty,  clean 
crazy  ?  He  must  have  been  soft  to  have  stuck  there  instead 
o'  leavin'  with  the  old  woman.  Didn't  know  me  from  Adarn ; 
took  me  for  George  !" 

At  this  affecting  instance  of  paternal  forgetfulness,  Wise 


NOTES  BY  FLOOD  AND  FIELD.  ri5 

was  evidently  divided  between  amusement  and  chagrin.  I 
took  advantage  of  the  contending  emotions  to  ask  about 
George. 

"  Don't  know  whar  he  is  !  If  he'd  tended  stock  instead  of 
running  about  the  prairie,  packin'  off  wimmin  and  children, 
he  might  have  saved  suthin.  He  lost  every  hoof  and  hide, 
I'll  bet  a  cookey.  Say  you,"  to  a  passing  boatman,  "  when 
are  you  goin'  to  give  us  some  grub  1  I'm  hungry  'nough  to 
skin  and  eat  a  hoss.  Beckon  I'll  turn  butcher  whenthings 
is  dried  up,  and  save  hides,  horns,  and  taller." 

I  could  not  but  admire  this  indomitable  energy,  which 
under  softer  climatic  influences  might  have  borne  such  goodly 
fruit. 

"Have  you  any  idea  what  you'll  do,  Wise  ?"  I  ask. 

"  Thar  ain't  much  to  do  now,"  says  the  practical  young 
man.  "  I'll  have  to  lay  over  a  spell,  I  reckon,  till  things 
comes  straight.  The  land  ain't  worth  much  now,  and  won't 
be,  I  clessay,  for  some  time.  Wonder  whar  the  ole  man'll 
drive  stakes  next." 

"  I  meant  as  to  your  father  and  George,  Wise." 

"  0,  the  ole  man  and  I'll  go  on  to  '  Miles's,'  whar  Toni 
packed  the  old  woman  and  babies  last  week.  George'll  turn 
up  somewhar  atween  this  and  Altascar's,  ef  he  ain't  thar  now." 

I  ask  how  the  Altascars  have  suffered. 

"  Well,  I  reckon  he  ain't  lost  much  in  stock.  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  George  helped  him  drive  'em  up  the  foot-hills. 
And  his  l  casa"s  built  too  high.  O,  thar  ain't  any  water 
thar,  you  bet.  Ah,"  says  Wise,  with  reflective  admiration, 
"  those  greasers  ain't  the  darned  fools  people  think  'em.  I'll 
bet  thar  ain't  one  swamped  out  in  all  'er  Californy."  But 
the  appearance  of  "  grub  "  cut  this  rhapsody  short. 

"  I  shall  keep  on  a  little  farther,"  I  say,  "  and  try  to  find 
George." 

Wise  stared  a  moment  at  this  eccentricity  until  a  new  light 
ilawned  upon  him. 


Itf  NOTES  BY  FLOOD  AND  FIELD. 

"  I  don't  think  you'll  save  much.  "What's  the  percentage,— 
workin'  on  shares,  eh  ! " 

I  answer  that  I  am  only  curious,  which  I  feel  lessens  his 
opinion  of  me,  and  with  a  sadder  feeling  than  his  assurance  of 
George's  safety  might  warrant,  I  walked  away. 

From  others  whom  we  picked  up  from  time  to  time  we 
heard  of  George's  self-sacrificing  devotion,  with  the  praises  of 
the  many  he  had  helped  and  rescued.  But  I  did  not  feel 
disposed  to  return  until  I  had  seen  him,  and  soon  prepared 
myself  to  take  a  boat  to  the  lower  "  valda  "  of  the  foot-hills, 
and  visit  Altascar.  I  soon  perfected  my  arrangements,  bade 
farewell  to  Wise,  and  took  a  last  look  at  the  old  man,  who 
was  sitting  by  the  furnace-fires  quite  passive  and  composed. 
Then  our  boat-head  swung  round,  pulled  by  sturdy  and 
willing  hands. 

It  was  again  raining,  and  a  disagreeable  wind  had  risen. 
Our  course  lay  nearly  west,  and  we  soon  knew  by  the  strong 
current  that  we  were  in  the  creek  of  the  Espiritu  Santo. 
From  time  to  time  the  wrecks  of  barns  were  seen,  and  we 
passed  many  half-submerged  willows  hung  with  farming 
implements. 

We  emerge  at  last  into  a  broad  silent  sea.  It  is  the 
"llano  de  Espiritu  Santo."  As  the  wind  whistles  by  me, 
piling  the  shallower  fresh  water  into  mimic  waves,  I  go 
back,  in  fancy,  to  the  long  ride  of  October  over  that 
boundless  plain,  and  recall  the  sharp  outlines  of  the 
distant  hills  which  are  now  lost  in  the  lowering  clouds. 
The  men  are  rowing  silently,  and  I  find  my  mind,  released 
from  its  tension,  growing  benumbed  and  depressed  as  then. 
The  water,  too,  is  getting  more  shallow  as  we  leave  the 
banks  of  the  creek,  and  with  my  hand  dipped  listlessly 
over  the  thwarts,  I  detect  the  tops  of  chimisal,  which 
shows  the  tide  to  have  somewhat  fallen.  There  is  a  black 
mound,  bearing  to  the  north  of  the  line  of  alder,  making  an 
adverse  current,  which,  as  we  sweep  to  the  right  to  avoid,  I 


NOTES  BY  FLOOD  AND  FIELD.  147 

recognize.  We  pull  close  alongside  and  I  call  to  the  men  to 
stop. 

There  was  a  stake  driven  near  its  summit  with  the  initials, 
"  L.  E.  S.  I."  Tied  half-way  down  was  a  curiously  worked 
"riata."  It  was  George's.  It  had  been  cut  with  some 
sharp  instrument,  and  the  loose  gravelly  soil  of  the  mound 
was  deeply  dented  with  horse's  hoofs.  The  stake  was 
covered  with  horse-hairs.  It  was  a  record,  but  no 
clew. 

The  wind  had  grown  more  violent,  as  we  still  fought  our 
way  forward,  resting  and  rowing  by  turns,  and  oftener 
"  poling "  the  shallower  surface,  but  the  old  "  valda,"  or 
bench,  is  still  distant.  My  recollection  of  the  old  survey 
enables  me  to  guess  the  relative  position  of  the  meanderings 
of  the  creek,  and  an  occasional  simple  professional  experiment 
to  determine  the  distance  gives  my  crew  the  fullest  faith  in 
my  ability.  Night  overtakes  us  in  our  impeded  progress. 
Our  condition  looks  more  dangerous  than  it  really  is,  but  I 
urge  the  men,  many  of  whom  are  still  new  in  this  mode  of 
navigation,  to  greater  exertion  by  assurance  of  perfect  safety 
and  speedy  relief  ahead.  We  go  on  in  this  way  until  about 
eight  o'clock,  and  ground  by  the  willows.  We  have  a  muddy 
walk  for  a  few  hundred  yards  before  we  strike  a  dry  trail, 
and  simultaneously  the  white  walls  of  Altascar's  appear  like 
a  snow-bank  before  us.  Lights  are  moving  in  the  courtyard ; 
but  otherwise  the  old  tomb-like  repose  characterizes  the 
building. 

One  of  the  peons  recognized  me  as  I  entered  the  court,  and 
Altascar  met  me  on  the  corridor. 

I  was  too  weak  to  do  more  than  beg  his  hospitality  for  the 
men  who  had  dragged  wearily  with  me.  He  looked  at  my 
hand,  which  still  unconsciously  held  the  broken  "  riata."  I 
began,  wearily,  to  tell  him  about  George  and  my  fears,  but 
with  a  gentler  courtesy  than  was  even  his  wont,  he  gravely 
laid  his  hand  on  my  shoulder. 

2.C 


148  NOTES  BY  FLOOD  AND  FIELD. 

"  Poco  a  poco  Seiior, — not  now.  You  are  tired,  you  have 
hunger,  you  have  cold.  Necessary  it  is  you  should  have 
peace." 

He  took  us  into  a  small  room  and  poured  out  some  French 
cognac,  which  he  gave  to  the  men  that  had  accompanied  me. 
They  drank  and  threw  themselves  before  the  fire  in  the 
larger  room.  The  repose  of  the  building  was  intensified  that 
night,  and  I  even  fancied  that  the  footsteps  on  the  corridor 
were  lighter  and  softer.  The  old  Spaniard's  habitual  gravity 
was  deeper ;  we  might  have  been  shut  out  from  the  world  as 
well  as  the  whistling  storm,  behind  those  ancient  walls  with 
their  time-worn  inheritor. 

Before  I  could  repeat  my  inquiry  he  retired.  In  a  few 
minutes  two  smoking  dishes  of  "  chupa "  with  coffee  were 
placed  before  us,  and  my  men  ate  ravenously.  I  drank  the 
coffee,  but  my  excitement  and  weariness  kept  down  tho 
instincts  of  hunger. 

I  was  sitting  sadly  by  the  fire  when  he  re-entered. 

"You  have  eat r 

I  said,  "  Yes,"  to  please  him. 

"  Bueno,  eat  when  you  can, — food  and  appetite  are  not 


He  said  this  with  that  Sancho-like  simplicity  with  which 
most  of  his  countrymen  utter  a  proverb,  as  though  it  were 
an  experience  rather  than  a  legend,  and,  taking  the  "  riata  " 
from  the  floor,  held  it  almost  tenderly  before  him. 

"  It  was  made  by  me,  Senor." 

"  I  kept  it  as  a  clew  to  him,  Don  Altascar,"  I  said.  "  If 
I  could  find  him " 

"  He  is  here." 

"  Here  !  and  " — but  I  could  not  say  "  well  1 "  I  under 
stood  the  gravity  of  the  old  man's  face,  the  hushed  footfalls, 
the  tomb-like  repose  of  the  building  in  an  electric  flash  of 
consciousness ;  I  held  the  clew  to  the  broken  riata  at  last. 
Altascar  took  my  hand,  and  we  crossed  the  corridor  to  a 


NOTES  BY  FLOOD  AND  FIELD.  149 

sombre   apartment.     A  few  tall  candles  were  burning  in 
sconces  before  the  window. 

In  an  alcove  there  was  a  deep  bed  with  its  counterpane, 
pillows,  and  sheets  heavily  edged  with  lace,  in  all  that 
splendid  luxury  which  the  humblest  of  these  strange  people 
lavish  upon  this  single  item  of  their  household.  I  stepped 
beside  it  arid  saw  George  lying,  as  I  had  seen  him  once  before, 
peacefully  at  rest.  But  a  greater  sacrifice  than  that  he  had 
known  was  here,  and  his  generous  heart  was  stilled  for  ever. 
"  He  was  honest  and  brave,"  said  the  old  man,  and  turned 
away. 

There  was  another  figure  in  the  room ;  a  heavy  shawl 
drawn  over  her  graceful  outline,  and  her  long  black  hair 
hiding  the  hands  that  buried  her  downcast  face.  I  did  not 
seem  to  notice  her,  and,  retiring  presently,  left  the  loving  and 
loved  together. 

When  we  were  again  beside  the  crackling  fire,  in  the  shift 
ing  shadows  of  the  great  chamber,  Altascar  told  me  how  he 
had  that  morning  met  the  horse  of  George  Tryan  swimming 
on  the  prairie ;  how  that,  farther  on,  he  found  him  lying, 
quite  cold  and  dead,  with  no  marks  or  bruises  on  his  person  ; 
that  he  had  probably  become  exhausted  in  fording  the  creek, 
and  that  he  had  as  probably  reached  the  mound  only  to  die 
for  the  want  of  that  help  he  had  so  freely  given  to  others ; 
that,  as  a  last  act,  he  had  freed  his  horse.  These  incidents 
were  corroborated  by  many  who  collected  in  the  great 
chamber  that  evening, — women  and  children, — most  of  them 
succoured  through  the  devoted  energies  of  him  who  lay  cold 
and  lifeless  above. 

He  was  buried  in  the  Indian  mound, — the  single  spot  of 
strange  perennial  greenness,  which  the  poor  aborigines  had 
raised  above  the  dusty  plain.  A  little  slab  of  sandstone, 
with  the  initials  "  G.  T.,"  is  his  monument,  and  one  of  the 
bearings  of  the  initial  corner  of  the  new  survey  of  the 
"Espiritu  Santo  Rancho." 


III.-BOHEMIAN    PAPERS. 


THE  MISSION  DOLORES. 

'"FHE  Mission  Dolores  is  destined  to  be  "  The  Last  Sigh  " 
of  the  native  Californian.  When  the  last  "  Greaser  " 
shall  indolently  give  way  to  the  bustling  Yankee,  I  can 
imagine  he  will,  like  the  Moorish  King,  ascend  one  of  the 
Mission  hills  to  take  his  last  lingering  look  at  the  hilled  city. 
For  a  long  time  he  will  cling  tenaciously  to  Pacific  Street. 
He  will  delve  in  the  rocky  fastnesses  of  Telegraph  Hill  until 
progress  shall  remove  it.  He  will  haunt  Vallejo  Street,  and 
those  back  slums  which  so  vividly  typify  the  degradation  of 
a  people ;  but  he  will  eventually  make  way  for  improve 
ment.  The  Mission  will  be  last  to  drop  from  his  nerveless 
fingers. 

As  I  stand  here  this  pleasant  afternoon,  looking  up  at  the 
old  chapel, — its  ragged  senility  contrasting  with  the  smart 
spring  sunshine,  its  two  gouty  pillars  with  the  plaster  drop 
ping  away  like  tattered  bandages,  its  rayless  windows,  its 
crumbling  entrances,  the  leper  spots  on  its  whitewashed  wall 
eating  through  the  dark  abode, — I  give  the  poor  old  mendi 
cant  but  a  few  years  longer  to  sit  by  the  highway  and  ask 
alms  in  the  names  of  the  blessed  saints.  Already  the  vici 
nity  is  haunted  with  the  shadow  of  its  dissolution.  The 
shriek  of  the  locomotive  discords  with  the  Angelus  bell.  An 
Episcopal  church,  of  a  green  Gothic  type,  with  massive  but 
tresses  of  Oregon  pine,  even  now  mocks  its  hoary  age  with 


THE  MISSION  DOLORES.  151 

imitation,  and  supplants  it  with  a  sham.  Vain,  alas  !  were 
those  rural  accessories,  the  nurseries  and  market-gardens, 
that  once  gathered  about  its  walls  and  resisted  civic  encroach 
ment.  They,  too,  are  passing  away.  Even  those  queer  little 
adobe  buildings  with  tiled  roofs  like  longitudinal  slips  of  cin 
namon,  and  walled  enclosures  sacredly  guarding  a  few  bullock 
horns  and  strips  of  hide.  I  look  in  vain  for  the  half- 
reclaimed  Mexican,  whose  respectability  stopped  at  his  waist, 
and  whose  red  sash  under  his  vest  was  the  utter  undoing  of 
his  black  broadcloth.  I  miss,  too,  those  black-haired  women, 
with  swaying  unstable  busts,  whose  dresses  were  always  un 
seasonable  in  texture  and  pattern ;  whose  wearing  of  a  shawl 
was  a  terrible  awakening  from  the  poetic  dream  of  the 
Spanish  mantilla.  Traces  of  another  nationality  are  visible. 
The  railroad  "navvy"  has  builded  his  shanty  near  the 
chapel,  and  smokes  his  pipe  in  the  Posada.  Gutturals  have 
taken  the  place  of  liuguals  and  sibilants ;  I  miss  the  half- 
chanted,  half-drawled  cadences  that  used  to  mingle  with  the 
cheery  "  All  aboard  "  of  the  stage-driver,  in  those  good  old 
days  when  the  stages  ran  hourly  to  the  Mission,  and  a  trip 
thither  was  an  excursion.  At  the  very  gates  of  the  temple, 
in  the  place  of  those  "  who  sell  doves  for  sacrifice,"  a  vendor 
of  mechanical  spiders  has  halted  with  his  unhallowed  wares. 
Even  the  old  Padre — last  type  of  the  Missionary,  and  des- 
cendent  of  the  good  Junipero — I  cannot  find  to-day  ;  in  his 
stead  a  light-haired  Celt  is  reading  a  lesson  from  a  Vulgate 
that  is  wonderfully  replete  with  double  r's.  Gentle  priest, 
in  thy  R-isons,  let  the  stranger  and  heretic  be  remembered. 

I  open  a  little  gate  and  enter  the  Mission  Churchyard. 
There  is  no  change  here,  though  perhaps  the  graves  lie  closer 
together.  A  willow-tree,  growing  beside  the  deep,  brown 
wall,  has  burst  into  tufted  plumes  in  the  fulness  of  spring. 
The  tall  grass-blades  over  each  mound  show  a  strange 
quickening  of  the  soil  below.  It  is  pleasanter  here  than  on 
the  bleak  mountain  seaward,  where  distracting  winds  con- 


152  THE  MISSION  DOLORES. 

tinually  bring  the  strife  and  turmoil  of  the  ocean.  The 
Mission  hills  lovingly  embrace  the  little  cemetery  whose  deco 
rative  taste  is  less  ostentatious.  The  foreign  flavour  is 
strong ;  here  are  never -failing  garlands  of  immortelles,  with 
their  sepulchral  spicery  ;  here  are  little  cheap  medallions  of 
pewter,  with  the  adornment  of  three  black  tears,  that  would 
look  like  the  three  of  clubs,  but  that  the  simple  humility  of 
the  inscription  counterbalances  all  sense  of  the  ridiculous. 
Here  are  children's  graves  with  guardian  angels  of  great  spe 
cific  gravity  ;  but  here,  too,  are  the  little  one's  toys  in  a  glass 
case  beside  them.  Here  is  the  average  quantity  of  execrable 
original  verses ;  but  one  stanza — over  a  sailor's  grave — is 
striking,  for  it  expresses  a  hope  of  salvation  through  the 
"  Lord  High  Admiral  Christ  \ "  Over  the  foreign  graves 
there  is  a  notable  lack  of  scriptural  quotation,  and  an  increase, 
if  I  may  say  it,  of  humanity  and  tenderness.  I  cannot  help 
thinking  that  too  many  of  my  countrymen  are  influenced  by 
a  morbid  desire  to  make  a  practical  point  of  this  occasion,  and 
are  too  apt  hastily  to  crowd  a  whole  life  of  omission  into  the 
culminating  act.  But  when  I  see  the  gray  immortelles 
crowning  a  tombstone,  I  know  I  shall  find  the  mysteries  of 
the  resurrection  shown  rather  in  symbols,  and  only  the  love 
taught  in  His  new  commandment  left  for  the  graphic  touch. 
But  "  they  manage  these  things  better  in  France." 

During  my  purposeless  ramble  the  sun  has  been  steadily 
climbing  the  brown  wall  of  the  church,  and  the  air  seems  to 
grow  cold  and  raw.  The  bright  green  dies  out  of  the  grass, 
and  the  rich,  bronze  comes  down  from  the  wall.  The  willow- 
tree  seems  half  inclined  to  doff  its  plumes,  and  wears  the 
dejected  air  of  a  broken  faith  and  violated  trust.  The 
spice  of  the  immortelles  mixes  with  the  incense  that  steals 
through  the  open  window.  Within,  the  barbaric  gilt  and 
crimson  look  cold  and  cheap  in  this  searching  air ;  by  this 
light  the  church  certainly  is  old  and  ugly.  I  cannot  help 


JOHN  CHINAMAN.  153 

wondering  whether  the  old  Fathers,  if  they  ever  revisit  the 
scene  of  their  former  labours,  in  their  larger  comprehensions, 
view  with  regret  the  impending  change,  or  mourn  over  the 
clay  when  the  Mission  Dolores  shall  appropriately  come  to 
grief. 


JOHN   CHINAMAN. 

*  I  "HE  expression  of  the  Chinese  face  in  the  aggregate  is 
neither  cheerful  nor  happy.  In.  an  acquaintance  of  half 
a  dozen  years,  I  can  only  recall  one  or  two  exceptions  to  this 
rule.  There  is  an  abiding  consciousness  of  degradation, — a 
secret  pain  or  self-humiliation  visible  in  the  lines  of  the 
mouth  and  eye.  Whether  it  is  only  a  modification  of 
Turkish  gravity,  or  whether  it  is  the  dread  Valley  of  the 
Shadow  of  the  Drug  through  which  they  are  continually 
straying,  I  cannot  say.  They  seldom  smile,  and  their 
laughter  is  of  such  an  extraordinary  and  sardonic  nature — 
so  purely  a  mechanical  spasm,  quite  independent  of  any 
mirthful  attribute — that  to  this  day  T  am  doubtful  whether 
I  ever  saw  a  Chinaman  laugh.  A  theatrical  representation 
by  natives,  one  might  think,  would  have  set  my  mind  at  ease 
on  this  point ;  but  it  did  not.  Indeed,  a  new  difficulty  pre 
sented  itself, — the  impossibility  of  determining  whether  the 
performance  was  a  tragedy  or  farce.  I  thought  I  detected 
the  low  comedian  in  an  active  youth  who  turned  two  somer 
saults,  and  knocked  everybody  down  on  entering  the  stage. 
But,  unfortunately,  even  this  classic  resemblance  to  the  legi 
timate  farce  of  our  civilization  was  deceptive.  Another 
brocaded  actor,  who  represented  the  hero  of  the  play,  turned 
three  somersaults,  and  not  only  upset  my  theory  and  his 
fellow-actors  at  the  same  time,  but  apparently  run  a-muck 
behind  the  scenes  for  some  time  afterward.  I  looked  around 
at  the  glinting  white  teeth,  to  observe  the  effect  of  these  two 


154  JOHN  CHINAMAN. 

palpable  hits.  They  were  received  with  equal  acclamation, 
and  apparently  equal  facial  spasms.  One  or  two  beheadings, 
which  enlivened  the  play,  produced  the  same  sardonic  effect, 
and  left  upon  my  mind  a  painful  anxiety  to  know  what  was 
the  serious  business  of  life  in  China.  It  was  noticeable,  how 
ever,  that  my  unrestrained  laughter  had  a  discordant  effect, 
and  that  triangular  eyes  sometimes  turned  ominously  toward 
the  "Fanqui  devil;"  but  as  I  retired  discreetly  before  the 
play  was  finished,  there  were  no  serious  results.  I  have  only 
given  the  above  as  an  instance  of  the  impossibility  of  decid 
ing  upon  the  outward  and  superficial  expression  of  Chinese 
mirth.  Of  its  inner  and  deeper  existence  I  have  some  private 
doubts.  An  audience  that  will  view  with  a  serious  aspect 
the  hero,  after  a  frightful  and  agonizing  death,  get  up  and 
quietly  walk  off  the  stage,  cannot  be  said  to  have  remarkable 
perceptions  of  the  ludicrous. 

I  have  often  been  struck  with  the  delicate  pliability  of  the 
Chinese  expression  and  taste,  that  might  suggest  a  broader 
and  deeper  criticism  than  is  becoming  these  pages.  A  China 
man  will  adopt  the  American  costume,  and  wear  it  with  a 
taste  of  colour  and  detail  that  will  surpass  those  "native,  and 
to  the  manner  born."  To  look  at  a  Chinese  slipper,  one 
might  imagine  it  impossible  to  shape  the  original  foot  to  any 
thing  less  cumbrous  and  roomy,  yet  a  neater-fitting  boot  than 
that  belonging  to  the  Americanized  Chinaman  is  rarely  seen 
on  this  side  of  the  Continent.  When  the  loose  sack  or  pale 
tot  takes  the  place  of  his  brocade  blouse,  it  is  worn  with  a 
refinement  and  grace  that  might  bring  a  jealous  pang  to  the 
exquisite  of  our  more  refined  civilization.  Pantaloons  fall 
easily  and  naturally  over  legs  that  have  known  unlimited 
freedom  and  bagginess,  and  even  garrote  collars  meet  cor 
rectly  around  sun-tanned  throats.  The  new  expression 
seldom  overflows  in  gaudy  cravats.  I  will  back  my  Ameri 
canized  Chinaman  against  any  neophyte  of  European  birth 
in  the  choice  of  that  article.  While  in  our  own  State,  the 


JOHN  CHINAMAN.  1 5  5 

Greaser  resists  one  by  one  the  garments  of  the  Northern 
invader,  and  even  wears  the  livery  of  his  conqueror  with  a 
wild  and  buttonless  freedom,  the  Chinaman,  abused  and  de 
graded  as  he  is,  changes  by  correctly  graded  transition  to 
the  garments  of  Christian  civilization.  There  is  but  one 
article  of  European  wear  that  he  avoids.  These  Bohemian 
eyes  have  never  yet  been  pained  by  the  spectacle  of  a  tall  hat 
on  the  head  of  an  intelligent  Chinaman. 

My  acquaintance  with  John  has  been  made  up  of  weekly 
interviews,  involving  the  adjustment  of  the  washing  accounts, 
so  that  I  have  not  been  able  to  study  his  character  from  a 
social  view-point,  or  observe  him  in  the  privacy  of  the 
domestic  circle.  I  have  gathered  enough  to  justify  me  in 
believing  him  to  be  generally  honest,  faithful,  simple,  and 
painstaking.  Of  his  simplicity  let  me  record  an  instance, 
where  a  sad  and  civil  young  Chinaman  brought  me  certain 
shirts  with  most  of  the  buttons  missing  and  others  hanging 
on  delusively  by  a  single  thread.  In  a  moment  of  unguarded 
irony,  I  informed  him  that  unity  would  at  least  have  been 
preserved  if  the  buttons  were  removed  altogether.  He 
smiled  sadly  and  went  away.  I  thought  I  had  hurt  his 
feelings,  until  the  next  week,  when  he  brought  me  my  shirts 
with  a  look  of  intelligence,  and  the  buttons  carefully  and 
totally  erased.  A.t  another  time,  to  guard  against  his  general 
disposition  to  carry  off  anything  as  soiled  clothes  that  ho 
thought  could  hold  water,  I  requested  him  to  always  wait 
until  he  saw  me.  Coming  home  late  one  evening,  I  found 
the  household  in  great  consternation  over  an  immovable 
Celestial  who  had  remained  seated  on  the  front  door-step 
during  the  day,  sad  and  submissive,  firm,  but  also  patient, 
and  only  betraying  any  animation  or  token  of  his  mission 
rhen  he  saw  me  coming.  This  same  Chinaman  evinced 
Eome]  evidences  of  regard  for  a  little  girl  in  the  family,  who 
&i  her  turn  reposed  such  faith  in  his  intellectual  qualities  as 
to  present  him  with  a  preternaturally  uninteresting  Sunday- 


156  FROM  A  BACK  WINDOW. 

school  book,  her  own  property.  This  book  John  made  a 
point  of  carrying  ostentatiously  with  him  in  his  weekly 
visits.  It  appeared  usually  on  the  top  of  the  clean  clothes, 
and  was  sometimes  painfully  clasped  outside  of  the  big 
bundle  of  solid  linen.  Whether  John  believed  he  uncon 
sciously  imbibed  some  spiritual  life  through  its  pasteboard 
cover,  as  the  Prince  in  the  Arabian  Nights  imbibed  the 
medicine  through  the  handle  of  the  mallet,  or  whether  he 
wished  to  exhibit  a  due  sense  of  gratitude,  or  whether  he 
hadn't  any  pockets,  I  have  never  been  able  to  ascertain.  In 
his  turn  he  would  sometimes  cut  marvellous  imitation  roses 
from  carrots  for  his  little  friend.  I  am  inclined  to  think 
that  the  few  roses  strewn  in  John's  path  were  such  scentless 
imitations.  The  thorns  only  were  real.  From  the  persecu 
tions  of  the  young  and  old  of  a  certain  class,  his  life  was  a 
torment.  I  don't  know  what  was  the  exact  philosophy  that 
Confucius  taught,  but  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  poor  John  in  his 
persecution  is  still  able  to  detect  the  conscious  hate  and  fear 
with  which  inferiority  always  regards  the  possibility  of 
even-handed  justice,  and  which  is  the  key-note  to  the  vulgar 
clamour  about  servile  and  degraded  races. 


FROM  A  BACK  WINDOW, 

T  REMEMBER  that  long  ago,  as  a  sanguine  and  trustful 
•*•  child,  I  became  possessed  of  a  highly  coloured  litho 
graph,  representing  a  fair  Circassian  sitting  by  a  window. 
The  price  I  paid  for  this  work  of  art  may  have  been  extra 
vagant,  even  in  youth's  fluctuating  slate-pencil  currency ; 
but  the  secret  joy  I  felt  in  its  possession  knew  no  pecuniary 
equivalent.  It  was  not  alone  that  Nature  in  Circassia 
lavished  alike  upon  the  cheek  of  beauty  and  the  vegetable 
kingdom  that  most  expensive  of  colours — Lake ;  nor  was  it 


FROM  A  BACK  WINDOW.  157 

that  the  rose  which  bloomed  beside  the  fair  Circassian's 
window  had  no  visible  stem,  and  was  directly  grafted  upon  a 
marble  balcony ;  but  it  was  because  it  embodied  an  idea. 
That  idea  was  a  hinting  of  my  Fate.  I  felt  that  somewhere 
a  young  and  fair  Circassian  was  sitting  by  a  window  looking 
out  for  me.  The  idea  of  resisting  such  an  array  of  charms 
and  colour  never  occurred  to  me,  and  to  my  honour  be  it 
recorded,  that  during  the  feverish  period  of  adolescence  I 
never  thought  of  averting  my  destiny.  But  as  vacation  and 
holiday  came  and  went,  and  as  my  picture  at  first  grew 
blurred,  and  then  faded  quite  away  between  the  Eastern  and 
Western  continents  in  my  atlas,  so  its  charm  seemed  myste 
riously  to  pass  away.  When  I  became  convinced  that  few 
females,  of  Circassian  or  other  origin,  sat  pensively  resting 
their  chins  on  their  henna-tinged  nails,  at  their  parlour 
windows,  I  turned  my  attention  to  back  windows.  Although 
the  fair  Circassian  has  not  yet  burst  upon  me  with  open 
shutters,  some  peculiarities  not  unworthy  of  note  have  fallen 
under  my  observation.  This  knowledge  has  not  been  gained 
without  sacrifice.  I  have  made  myself  familiar  with  back 
windows  and  their  prospects,  in  the  weak  disguise  of  seeking 
lodgings,  heedless  of  the  suspicious  glances  of  landladies  and 
their  evident  reluctance  to  show  them.  I  have  caught  cold 
by  long  exposure  to  draughts.  I  have  become  estranged 
from  friends  by  unconsciously  walking  to  their  back  windows 
during  a  visit,  when  the  weekly  linen  hung  upon  the  line,  or 
where  Miss  Fanny  (ostensibly  indisposed)  actually  assisted  in 
the  laundry,  and  Master  Bobby,  in  scant  attire,  disported 
himself  on  the  area  railings.  But  I  have  thought  of 
Galileo,  and  the  invariable  experience  of  all  seekers  and 
discoverers  of  truth  has  sustained  me. 

Show  me  the  back  windows  of  a  man's  dwelling,  and  I 
will  tell  you  his  character.  The  rear  of  a  house  only  is 
sincere.  The  attitude  of  deception  kept  up  at  the  front 
windows  leaves  the  back  area  defenceless.  The  world  enters 


ISS  FROM  A  BACK  WINDOW. 

at  the  front  door,  but  nature  comes  out  at  the  back  passage. 
That  glossy,  well-brushed  individual,  who  lets  himself  in 
with  a  latch-key  at  the  front  door  at  night,  is  a  very  different 
being  from  the  slipshod  wretch  who  growls  of  mornings  for 
hot  water  at  the  door  of  the  kitchen.  The  same  with 
Madame,  whose  contour  of  figure  grows  angular,  whose  face 
grows  pallid,  whose  hair  comes  down,  and  who  looks  some 
ten  years  older  through  the  sincere  medium  of  a  back 
window.  No  wonder  that  intimate  friends  fail  to  recognize 
each  other  in  this  dos  d,  dos  position.  You  may  imagine 
yourself  familiar  with  the  silver  door-plate  and  bow- windows 
of  the  mansion  where  dwells  your  Saccharissa ;  you  may 
even  fancy  you  recognize  her  graceful  figure  between  the 
lace  curtains  of  the  upper  chamber  which  you  fondly  imagine 
to  be  hers;  but  you  shall  dwell  for  months  in  the  rear  of 
her  dwelling  and  within  whispering  distance  of  her  bower, 
and  never  know  it.  You  shall  see  her  with  a  handkerchief 
tied  round  her  head  in  confidential  discussion  with  the 
butcher,  and  know  her  not.  You  shall  hear  her  voice  in 
shrill  expostulation  with  her  younger  brother,  and  it  shall 
awaken  no  familiar  response. 

I  am  writing  at  a  back  window.  As  I  prefer  the  warmth  of 
my  coal- fire  to  the  foggy  freshness  of  the  afternoon  breeze  that 
rattles  the  leafless  shrubs  in  the  garden  below  me,  I  have 
my  window-sash  closed ;  consequently,  I  miss  much  of  the 
shrilly  altercation  that  has  been  going  on  in  the  kitchen  of 
No.  7  jiist  opposite.  I  have  heard  fragments  of  an  enter 
taining  style  of  dialogue  usually  known  as  "chaffing," 
which  has  just  taken  place  between  Biddy  in  No.  9,  and  the 
butcher  who  brings  the  dinner.  I  have  been  pitying  the 
chilled  aspect  of  a  poor  canary,  put  out  to  taste  the  fresh  air, 
from  the  window  of  No  5.  I  have  been  watching — and 
envying,  I  fear — the  real  enjoyment  of  two  children  raking 
over  an  old  dust-heap  in  the  alley,  containing  the  waste  and 
debris  of  all  the  back  yards  in  the  neighbourhood.  What  a 


BOONDER.  159 

wealth  of  soda-water  bottles  and  old  iron  they  have  acquired  ! 
But  I  am  waiting  for  an  even  more  familiar  prospect  from 
tny  back  window.  I  know  that  later  in  the  afternoon,  when 
the  evening  paper  comes,  a  thickset,  grey-haired  man  will 
appear  in  his  shirt-sleeves  at  the  back  door  of  No.  9,  and, 
seating  himself  on  the  door-step,  begin  to  read.  He  lives  in 
a  pretentious  house,  and  I  hear  he  is  a  rich  man.  But  there 
is  such  humility  in  his  attitude,  and  such  evidence  of 
gratitude  at  being  allowed  to  sit  outside  of  his  own  house 
and  read  his  paper  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  that  I  can  picture  his 
domestic  history  pretty  clearly.  Perhaps  he  is  following 
some  old  habit  of  humbler  days.  Perhaps  he  has  entered 
into  an  agreement  with  his  wife  not  to  indulge  his  disgraceful 
habit  in-doors.  He  does  not  look  like  a  man  who  could  be 
coaxed  into  a  dressing-gown.  In  front  of  his  own  palatial 
residence,  I  know  him  to  be  a  quiet  and  respectable  middle- 
aged  business-man,  but  it  is  from  my  back  window  that  my 
heart  warms  toward  him  in  his  shirt-sleeved  simplicity.  So 
I  sit  and  watch  him  in  the  twilight  as  he  reads  gravely,  and 
wonder  sometimes,  when  he  looks  up,  squares  his  chest,  and 
folds  his  paper  thoughtfully  over  his  knee,  whether  he  doesn't 
fancy  he  hears  the  letting  down  of  bars,  or  the  tinkling  of 
bells,  as  the  cows  come  home,  and  stand  lowing  for  him  at 
the  gate. 


BOONDER. 

T  NEVER  knew  how  the  subject  of  this  memoir  came  to 
attach  himself  so  closely  to  the  affections  of  my  family. 
He  was  not  a  prepossessing  dog.  He  was  not  a  dog  of  even 
average  birth  and  breeding.  His  pedigree  was  involved  in 
the  deepest  obscurity.  He  may  have  had  brothers  and  sisters, 
but  in  the  whole  range  of  my  canine  acquaintance  (a  pretty 
extensive  one),  I  never  detected  any  of  Boonder's  peculiarities 


1 63  BOONDER. 

in  any  other  of  his  species.  His  body  was  long,  and  his 
fore-legs  and  hind-legs  were  very  wide  apart,  as  though 
Nature  originally  intended  to  put  an  extra  pair  between 
them,  but  had  unwisely  allowed  herself  to  be  persuaded  out 
of  it.  This  peculiarity  was  annoying  on  cold  nights,  as  it 
always  prolonged  the  interval  of  keeping  the  door  open  for 
Boonder's  ingress  long  enough  to  allow  two  or  three  dogs  of 
a  reasonable  length  to  enter.  Boonder's  feet  were  decided  j 
his  toes  turned  out  considerably,  and  in  repose  his  favourite 
attitude  was  the  first  position  of  dancing.  Add  to  a  pair 
of  bright  eyes  ears  that  seemed  to  belong  to  some  other 
dog,  and  a  symmetrically-pointed  nose  that  fitted  all  aper 
tures  like  a  pass-key,  and  you  have  Boonder  as  we  knew 
him. 

I  am  inclined  to  think  that  his  popularity  was  mainly 
owing  to  his  quiet  impudence.  His  advent  in  the  family 
was  that  of  an  old  member,  who  had  been  absent  for  a  short 
time,  but  had  returned  to  familiar  haunts  and  associations. 
In  a  Pythagorean  point  of  view  this  might  have  been  the 
case,  but  I  cannot  recall  any  deceased  member  of  the  family 
who  was  in  life  partial  to  bone-burying  (though  it  might  be 
post  mortem  a  consistent  amusement),  and  this  was  Boonder's 
great  weakness.  He  was  at  first  discovered  coiled  up  on  a 
rug  in  an  upper  chamber,  and  was  the  least  disconcerted  of 
the  entire  household.  From  that  moment  Boonder  became 
one  of  its  recognised  members,  and  privileges,  often  denied 
the  most  intelligent  and  valuable  of  his  species,  were  quietly 
taken  by  him  and  submitted  to  by  us.  Thus,  if  he  were 
found  coiled  up  in  a  clothes-basket,  or  any  article  of  clothing 
assumed  locomotion  on  its  own  account,  we  only  said,  "  O, 
it's  Boonder,"  with  a  feeling  of  relief  that  it  was  nothing 
worse. 

I  have  spoken  of  his  fondness  for  bone-burying.  It  could 
not  be  called  an  economical  faculty,  for  he  invariably  forgot 
the  locality  of  his  treasure,  and  covered  the  garden  with 


BOONDER.  161 

purposeless  holes ;  but  although  the  violets  and  daisies  were 
not  improved  by  Boonder's  gardening,  no  one  ever  thought 
of  punishing  him.  He  became  a  synonyme  for  Fate ;  a 
Boonder  to  be  grumbled  at,  to  be  accepted  philosophically, — 
but  never  to  be  averted.  But  although  he  was  not  an 
intelligent  dog,  nor  an  ornamental  dog,  he  possessed  some 
gentlemanly  instincts.  When  he  performed  his  only  feat, — 
begging  upon  his  hind  legs  (and  looking  remarkably  like  a 
penguin), — ignorant  strangers  would  offer  him  crackers  or 
cake,  which  he  didn't  like,  as  a  reward  of  merit.  Boonder 
always  made  a  great  show  of  accepting  the  proffered  dainties, 
and  even  made  hypocritical  contortions  as  if  swallowing,  but 
always  deposited  the  morsel  when  he  was  unobserved  in  the 
first  convenient  receptacle, — usually  the  visitor's  overshoes. 

In  matters  that  did  not  involve  courtesy,  Boonder  was  sin 
cere  in  his  likes  and  dislikes.  He  was  instinctively  opposed 
to  the  railroad.  When  the  track  was  laid  through  our 
street,  Boonder  maintained  a  defiant  attitude  toward  every 
rail  as  it  went  down,  and  resisted  the  cars  shortly  after  to 
the  fullest  extent  of  his  lungs.  I  have  a  vivid  recollection 
of  seeing  him,  on  the  day  of  the  trial  trip,  come  down  the 
street  in  front  of  the  car,  barking  himself  out  of  all  shape, 
and  thrown  back  several  feet  by  the  recoil  of  each  bark. 
But  Boonder  was  not  the  only  one  who  has  resisted  inno 
vations,  or  has  lived  to  see  the  innovation  prosper  and 
even  crush But  I  am  anticipating.  Boonder  had  pre 
viously  resisted  the  gas,  but  although  he  spent  one  whole 
day  in  angry  altercation  with  the  workmen, — leaving  his 
bones  unburied  and  bleaching  in  the  sun  somehow — the  gas 
went  in.  The  Spring  Valley  water  was  likewise  unsuccess 
fully  opposed,  and  the  grading  of  an  adjoining  lot  was  for  a 
long  time  a  personal  matter  between  Boonder  and  the  con 
tractor. 

These  peculiarities  seemed  to  evince  some  decided  cha 
racter  and  embody  some  idea.     A  prolonged  debate  in  the 

M 


i62  BOONDER. 

family  upon  this  topic  resulted  in  an  addition  to  his  name,— 
we  called  him  "Boonder  the  Conservative,"  with  a  faint 
acknowledgment  of  his  fateful  power.  But,  although  Boon 
der  had  his  own  way,  his  path  was  not  entirely  of  roses. 
Thorns  sometimes  pricked  his  sensibilities.  When  certain 
minor  chords  were  struck  on  the  piano,  Boonder  was  always 
painfully  affected  and  howled  a  remonstrance.  If  he  were 
removed  for  company's  sake  to  the  back  yard,  at  the  recur 
rence  of  the  provocation,  he  would  go  his  whole  length 
(which  was  something)  to  improvise  a  howl  that  should 
reach  the  performer.  But  we  got  accustomed  to  Boonder, 
and  as  we  were  fond  of  music  the  playing  went  on. 

One  morning  Boonder  left  the  house  in  good  spirits  with 
his  regular  bone  in  his  mouth,  and  apparently  the  usual 
intention  of  burying  it.  The  next  day  he  was  picked  up 
lifeless  on  the  track, — run  over,  apparently,  by  the  first  car 
that  went  out  of  the  dep6t. 


SENSATION    NOVELS 

CONDENSED. 


SELINA   SEDILIA. 

BY  MISS   M.   E.   B-DD-N  AND  MRS.   H-N-Y  W-D. 

CHAPTER   I. 

'"PHE  sun  was  setting  over  Sloperton  Grange,  and  red 
dened  the  windows  of  the  lonely  chamber  in  the 
western  tower,  supposed  to  be  haunted  by  Sir  Edward 
Sedilia,  the  founder  of  the  Grange.  In  the  dreamy  distance 
arose  the  gilded  mausoleum  of  Lady  Felicia  Sedilia,  who 
haunted  that  portion  of  Sedilia  Manor  known  as  "  Stiff-uns 
Acre."  A  little  to  the  left  of  the  Grange  might  have  been 
seen  a  mouldering  ruin,  known  as  "  Guy's  Keep,"  haunted 
by  the  spirit  of  Sir  Guy  Sedilia,  who  was  found,  one  morning, 
crushed  by  one  of  the  fallen  battlements.  Yet,  as  the  setting 
sun  gilded  these  objects,  a  beautiful  and  almost  holy  calm 
seemed  diffused  about  the  Grange. 

The  Lady  Selina  sat  by  an  oriel  window  overlooking  the 
park.  The  sun  sank  gently  in  the  bosom  of  the  German 
Ocean,  and  yet  the  lady  did  not  lift  her  beautiful  head  from 
the  finely-curved  arm  and  diminutive  hand  which  supported 
it.  When  darkness  finally  shrouded  the  landscape,  she 
started,  for  the  sound  of  horse-hoofs  clattered  over  the  stones 
of  the  avenue.  She  had  scarcely  risen  before  an  aristocratic 
young  man  fell  on  his  knees  before  her. 

"My  Selina!" 

"  Edgardo !     You  here  ]  " 

"  Yes,  dearest." 

"  And — you — you — have — seen  nothing  ? "  said  the  lady 


166  SELINA  SEDILIA. 

in  an  agitated  voice  and  nervous  manner,  turning  her  face 
aside  to  conceal  her  emotion. 

"  Nothing — that  is.  nothing  of  any  account,"  said  Edgardo. 
if  I  passed  the  ghost  of  your  aunt  in  the  park,  noticed  the 
spectre  of  your  uncle  in  the  ruined  keep,  and  observed  the 
familiar  features  of  the  spirit  of  your  great  grandfather  at 
his  post.  But  nothing  beyond  these  trifles,  my  Selina. 
Nothing  more,  love,  absolutely  nothing." 

The  young  man  turned  his  dark  liquid  orbs  fondly  upon 
the  ingenuous  face  of  his  betrothed. 

"  My  own  Edgardo  ! — and  you  still  love  me  ?  You  still 
would  marry  me  in  spite  of  this  dark  mystery  which  sur 
rounds  me  ?  In  spite  of  the  fatal  history  of  my  race  1  In. 
spite  of  the  ominous  predictions  of  my  aged  nurse  ?  " 

"  I  would,  Selina ; "  and  the  young  man  passed  his  arm 
around  her  yielding  waist.  The  two  lovers  gazed  at  each 
other's  faces  in  unspeakable  bliss.  Suddenly  Selina  started. 

"  Leave  me,  Edgardo  !  leave  me !  A  mysterious  some 
thing — a  fatal  misgiving — a  dark  ambiguity — an  equivocal 
mistrust  oppresses  me.  I  would  be  alone  ! " 

The  young  man  arose,  and  cast  a  loving  glance  on  the 
lady.  "  Then  we  will  be  married  on  the  seventeenth." 

"The  seventeenth,"  repeated  Selina,  with  a  mysterious 
shudder. 

They  embraced  and  parted.  As  the  clatter  of  hoofs  in 
the  courtyard  died  away,  the  Lady  Selina  sank  into  the  chair 
she  had  just  quitted. 

"  The  seventeenth,"  she  repeated  slowly,  with  the  same  fatal 
shudder.  "Ah  ! — what  if  he  should  know  that  I  have  another 
husband  living?  Dare  I  reveal  to  him  that  I  have  two 
legitimate  and  three  natural  children  ?  Dare  I  repeat  to 
him  the  history  of  my  youth  ?  Dare  I  confess  that  at  the  age 
of  seven  I  poisoned  my  sister,  by  putting  verdigris  in  her 
cream  tarts — that  I  threw  my  cousin  from  a  swing  at  the 
age  of  twelve?  That  the  lady's-maid  who  incurred  the 


SELINA  SEDILIA.  167 

displeasure  of  my  girlhood  now  lies  at  the  bottom  of  the 
horsepond  1  No  !  no  !  he  is  too  pure — too  good — too  inno 
cent,  to  hear  such  improper  conversation  !  "  and  her  whole 
body  writhed  as  she  rocked  to  and  fro  in  a  paroxysm  of 
grief. 

But  she  was  soon  calm.  Rising  to  her  feet,  she  opened  a 
secret  panel  in  the  wall,  and  revealed  a  slow-match  ready 
for  lighting. 

"  This  match,"  said  the  Lady  Selina,  "  is  connected  with  a 
mine  beneath  the  western  tower,  where  my  three  children 
are  confined ;  another  branch  of  it  lies  under  the  parish 
church,  where  the  record  of  my  first  marriage  is  kept.  I 
have  only  to  light  this  match  and  the  whole  of  my  past  life 
is  swept  away  !  She  approached  the  match  with  a  lighted 
candle. 

But  a  hand  was  laid  upon  her  arm,  and  with  a  shriek  the 
Lady  Selina  fell  on  her  knees  before  the  spectre  of  Sir  Guy. 


CHAPTER  II. 

"FoBBEAR,  Selina,"  said  the  phantom  in  a  hollow  voice. 

"Why  should  I  forbear?"  responded  Selina  haughtily,  as 
she  recovered  her  courage.  "  You  know  the  secret  of  our 
race  ? " 

"  I  do.  Understand  me — I  do  not  object  to  the  eccen 
tricities  of  your  youth.  I  know  the  fearful  fate  which,  pur 
suing  you,  led  you  to  poison  your  sister  and  drown  your 
lady's-maid.  I  know  the  awful  doom  which  I  have  brought 
upon  this  house  !  But  if  you  make  away  with  these  chil 
dren " 

"  Well  ?  "  said  the  Lady  Selina  hastily. 

"  They  will  haunt  jon  !  " 

"  Well,  I  fear  them  not,"  said  Selina,  drawing  her  superb 
figure  to  its  full  height. 

"  But  what  place  are  they  to  haunt  ?     The  ruin  is  sacred 


1 63  SELINA  S ED  ILIA. 

to  your  uncle's  spirit.  Your  aunt  monopolises  ths  park,  and, 
I  must  be  allowed  to  state,  not  unfrequently  trespasses  upon 
the  grounds  of  others.  The  horsepond  is  frequented  by  the 
spirit  of  your  maid,  and  your  murdered  sister  walks  these 
corridors.  To  be  plain,  there  is  no  room  at  Sloperton 
Grange  for  another  ghost.  I  cannot  have  them  in  my  room 
— for  you  know  I  don't  like  children.  Think  of  this,  rash 
girl,  and  forbear  !  Would  you,  Selina,"  said  the  phantom 
mournfully,  "  would  you  force  your  great  grandfather's  spirit 
to  take  lodgings  elsewhere  t  " 

Lady  Selina's  hand  trembled  j  the  lighted  candle  fell  from 
her  nerveless  fingers. 

"  No,"  she  cried  passionately,  "  never  ! "  and  fell  fainting 
to  the  floor. 


CHAPTER  III. 

EDGARDO  galloped  rapidly  towards  Sloperton.  When  the 
outline  of  the  Grange  had  faded  away  in  the  darkness,  he 
reined  his  magnificent  steed  beside  the  ruins  of  Guy's  Keep. 

"  It  wants  but  a  few  minutes  of  the  hour,"  he  said,  consult 
ing  his  watch  by  the  light  of  the  moon.  "  He  dared  not 
break  his  word.  He  will  come."  He  paused,  and  peered 
anxiously  into  the  darkness.  "  But  come  what  may,  she  is 
mine,"  he  continued,  as  his  thoughts  reverted  fondly  to  the 
fair  lady  he  had  quitted.  "  Yet  if  she  knew  all.  If  she 
knew  that  I  were  a  disgraced  and  ruined  man — a  felon  and 
an  outcast.  If  she  knew  that  at  the  age  of  fourteen  I 
murdered  my  Latin  tutor  and  forged  my  uncle's  will.  If 
she  knew  that  I  had  three  wives  already,  and  that  the  fourth 
victim  of  misplaced  confidence  and  my  unfortunate  pecu 
liarity  is  expected  to  be  at  Sloperton  by  to-night's  train  with 
her  baby.  But  no  ;  she  must  not  know  it.  Constance  must 
not  arrive.  Burke  the  Slogger  must  attend  to  that. 

"Ha!  here  he  is!     Well?" 


SELINA  SEDILIA.  169 

These  words  were  addressed  to  a  ruffian  in  a  slouched  hat, 
who  suddenly  appeared  from  Guy's  Keep. 

"  I  be's  here,  nieaster,"  said  the  villain,  with  a  disgrace 
fully  low  accent  and  complete  disregard  of  grammatical  rules. 

"It  is  well.  Listen  :  I'm  in  possession  of  facts  that  will 
send  you  to  the  gallows.  I  know  of  the  murder  of  Bill 
Smith  era,  the  robbery  of  the  toll-gate  keeper,  and  the  making 
away  of  the  youngest  daughter  of  Sir  [Reginald  de  Walton. 
A  word  from  me,  and  the  officers  of  justice  are  on  your 
track." 

Burke  the  Slogger  trembled. 

"  Hark  ye  !  serve  my  purpose,  and  I  may  yet  save  you. 
(The  5.30  train  from  Clapham  will  be  due  at  Sloperton  at 
9.25.  It  must  not  arrive  !" 

The  villain's  eyes  sparkled  as  he  nodded  at  Edgardo. 

"  Enough — you  understand  ;  leave  me  1 " 


CHAPTER  IV. 

ABOUT  half  a  mile  from  Sloperton  Station  the  South  Clapham 
and  Medway  line  crossed  a  bridge  over  Sloperton-on-Trent. 
As  the  shades  of  evening  were  closing,  a  man  in  a  slouched 
hat  might  have  been  seen  carrying  a  saw  and  axe  under  his 
arm,  hanging  about  the  bridge.  From  time  to  time  he  dis 
appeared  in  the  shadow  of  its  abutments,  but  the  sound  of 
a  saw  and  axe  still  betrayed  his  vicinity.  At  exactly  nine 
o'clock  he  reappeared,  and  crossing  to  the  Sloperton  side, 
rested  his  shoulder  against  the  abutment  and  gave  a  shove. 
The  bridge  swayed  a  moment,  and  then  fell  with  a  splash 
into  the  water,  leaving  a  space  of  one  hundred  feet  between 
the  two  banks.  This  done,  Burke  the  Slogger — for  it  was  he 
— with  a  fiendish  chuckle  seated  himself  on  the  divided  rail 
way  track  and  awaited  the  coming  of  the  train. 

A  shriek  from  the  woods  announced  its  approach.     For 
an  instant  Burke  the  Slogger  saw  the  glaring  of  a  red  lamp. 


i;o  SELINA  SEDILIA. 

The  ground  trembled.  The  train  was  going  with  fearful 
rapidity.  Another  second  and  it  had  reached  the  bank. 
Burke  the  Slogger  uttered  a  fiendish  laugh.  But  the  next 
moment  the  train  leaped  across  the  chasm,  striking  the  rails 
exactly  even,  and,  dashing  out  the  life  of  Burke  the  Slogger, 
sped  away  to  Sloperton. 

The  first  object  that  greeted  Edgardo  as  he  rode  up  to  the 
station  on  the  arrival  of  the  train,  was  the  body  of  Burke 
the  Slogger  hanging  on  the  cow-catcher;  the  second  was  the 
the  face  of  his  deserted  wife  looking  from  the  windows  of  a 
second-class  carriage. 

CHAPTER  V. 

A  NAMELESS  terror  seemed  to  have  taken  possession  of  Cla 
rissa,  Lady  Selina's  maid,  as  she  rushed  into  the  presence  of 
her  mistress. 

"  Oh,  my  lady,  such  news  !" 

"  Explain  yourself,"  said  her  mistress,  rising. 

"An  accident  has  happened  on  the  railway,  and  a  man 
has  been  killed." 

"  What — not  Edgardo  ! "  almost  screamed  Selina. 

"  No,  Burke  the  Slogger,  your  ladyship  ! " 

"My  first  husband!"  said  Lady  Selina,  sinking  on  her 
knees.  "Just  Heaven,  I  thank  thee  !" 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  morning  of  the  seventeenth  dawned  brightly  over  Slo 
perton.  "  A  fine  day  for  the  wedding,"  said  the  sexton  to 
Swipes,  the  butler  of  Sloperton  Grange.  The  aged  retainer 
shook  his  head  sadly.  "Alas!  there's  no  trusting  in  signs  !" 
he  continued.  "  Seventy-five  years  ago,  on  a  day  like  this, 
my  young  mistress "  but  he  was  cut  short  by  the  appear 
ance  of  a  stranger. 


SELINA  SEDILIA.  171 

"  I  would  see  Sir  Edgardo,"  said  the  new-comer  im 
patiently. 

"  The  bridegroom,  who,  with  the  rest  of  the  wedding  trails 
was  about  stepping  into  the  carriage  to  proceed  to  the  parish 
church,  drew  the  stranger  aside. 

"  It's  done  !"  said  the  stranger,  in  a  hoarse  whisper. 

"  Ah  !  and  you  buried  her  1 " 

"With  the  others!" 

"Enough.  No  more  at  present.  Meet  me  after  the 
ceremony,  and  you  shall  have  your  reward." 

The  stranger  shuffled  away,  and  Edgardo  returned  to  his 
bride.  "  A  trifling  matter  of  business  I  had  forgotten,  my 
dear  Selina ;  let  us  proceed,"  and  the  young  man  pressed  the 
timid  hand  of  his  blushing  bride  as  he  handed  her  into  the 
carriage.  The  cavalcade  rode  out  of  the  courtyard.  At  the 
same  moment,  the  deep  bell  on  Guy's  Keep  tolled  ominously. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

SCARCELY  had  the  wedding  train  left  the  Grange  than  Alice 
Sedilia,  youngest  daughter  of  Lady  Selina,  made  her  escape 
from  the  western  tower,  owing  to  a  lack  of  watchfulness  on 
the  part  of  Clarissa.  The  innocent  child,  freed  from  re 
straint,  rambled  through  the  lonely  corridors,  and  finally, 
opening  a  door,  found  herself  in  her  mother's  boudoir  For 
some  time  she  amused  herself  by  examining  the  various  orna 
ments  and  elegant  trifles  with  which  it  was  filled.  Then,  in 
pursuance  of  a  childish  freak,  she  dressed  herself  in  her 
mother's  laces  and  ribbons.  In  this  occupation  she  chanced 
to  touch  a  peg  which  proved  to  be  a  spring  that  opened  a 
secret  panel  in  the  wall.  Alice  uttered  a  cry  of  delight  as 
she  noticed  what,  to  her  childish  fancy,  appeared  to  be  the 
slow-match  of  a  firework.  Taking  a  lucifer  match  in  her 
hand  she  approached  the  fuse.  She  hesitated  a  moment, 
What  would  her  mother  and  her  nurse  say  ? 


SELINA  SEDILIA. 

Suddenly  the  ringing  of  the  chimes  of  Sloperton  parish 
church  met  her  ear.  Alice  knew  that  the  sound  signified 
tha.t  the  marriage  party  had  entered  the  church,  and  that  she 
was  secured  from  interruption.  With  a  childish  smile  upon 
her  lips,  Alice  Sedilia  touched  off  the  slow-match. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

AT  exactly  two  o'clock  on  the  seventeenth,  Eupert  Sedelia, 
who  had  just  returned  from  India,  was  thoughtfully  descend 
ing  the  hill  towards  Sloperton  Manor.  "  If  I  can  prove  that 
my  aunt,  Lady  Selina,  was  married  before  my  father  died, 
I  can  establish  my  claim  to  Sloperton  Grange,"  he  uttered, 
half  aloud.  He  paused,  for  a  sudden  trembling  of  the  earth 
beneath  his  feet,  and  a  terrific  explosion,  as  of  a  park  of 
artillery,  arrested  his  progress.  At  the  same  moment  he 
beheld  a  dense  cloud  of  smoke  envelop  the  churchyard  of 
Sloperton,  and  the  western  tower  of  the  Grange  seemed  to  be 
lifted  bodily  from  its  foundation.  The  air  seemed  filled  with 
falling  fragments,  and  two  dark  objects  struck  the  earth  close 
at  his  feet.  Rupert  picked  them  up.  One  seemed  to  be  a 
heavy  volume  bound  in  brass. 

A  cry  burst  from  his  lips. 

"  The  Parish  Records."  He  opened  the  volume  hastily. 
It  contained  the  marriage  of  Lady  Selina  to  "  Burke  the 
Slogger." 

The  second  object  proved  to  be  a  piece  of  parchment.  He 
tore  it  open  with  trembling  fingers.  It  was  the  missing  will 
of  Sir  James  Sedilia  I 

CHAPTER  IX. 

WHEN  the  bells  again  rang  on  the  new  parish  church  of 
Sloperton  it  was  for  the  marriage  of  Sir  Rupert  Sedilia  and 
his  cousin,  the  only  remaining  members  of  the  family. 


FANTINE.  173 

Five  more  ghosts  were  added  to  the  supernatural  popula 
tion  of  Sloperton  Grange.  Perhaps  this  was  the  reason  why 
Sir  Rupert  sold  the  property  shortly  afterward,  and  that  for 
many  years  a  dark  shadow  seemed  to  hang  over  the  ruins  of 
Sloperton  Grange. 


FANTINE. 

AFTER  THE  FRENCH  OF  VICTOR  HUGO. 

— :-o-: — 
PROLOGUE. 

As  long  as  there  shall  exist  three  paradoxes — a  moral  Frenchman,  a 
religious  Atheist,  and  a  believing  sceptic— so  long,  in  fact,  as  book 
sellers  shall  wait — say  twenty-five  years — for  a  new  gospel;  so  long  as 
paper  shall  remain  cheap  and  ink  three  sous  a  bottle,  I  have  no  hesita 
tion  in  saying  that  such  books  as  these  are  not  utterly  profitless. 

VICTOR  HUGO. 


'"PO  be  good  is  to  be  queer.  What  is  a  good  man? 
Bishop  Myriel. 

My  friend,  you  will  possibly  object  to  this.  You  will  say 
you  know  what  a  good  man  is.  Perhaps  you  will  say  your 
clergyman  is  a  good  man,  for  instance. 

Bah  !  you  are  mistaken  j  you  are  an  Englishman,  and  an 
Englishman  is  a  beast. 

Englishmen  think  they  are  moral  when  they  are  only 
serious.  These  Englishmen  also  wear  ill-shaped  hats,  and 
dress  horribly ! 

Bah  !  they  are  canaille. 

Still,  Bishop  Myriel  was  a  good  man — quite  as  good  as 
you.  Better  than  you,  in  fact. 

One  day  M.  Myriel  was  in  Paris.  This  angel  used  to 
walk  about  the  streets  like  any  other  man.  He  was  not 


174  FANTINE. 

proud,  though  fine-looking.  Well,  three  gamins  de  Pans 
called  him  bad  names.  Says  one  : 

"  -A  h,  mon  Dieu  I  there  goes  a  priest ;  look  out  for  your 
eggs  and  chickens  ! " 

What  did  this  good  man  do  1     He  called  to  them  kindly : 

"  My  children,"  said  he,  "  this  is  clearly  not  your  fault.  I 
recognise  in  this  insult  and  irreverence  only  the  fault  of 
your  immediate  progenitors.  Let  us  pray  for  your  immediate 
progenitors." 

They  knelt  down  and  prayed  for  their  immediate  pro 
genitors. 

The  effect  was  touching. 

The  bishop  looked  calmly  around  : 

"  On  reflection,"  said  he,  gravely,  "  I  was  mistaken ;  this 
is  clearly  the  fault  of  Society.  Let  us  pray  for  Society." 

They  knelt  down  and  prayed  for  Society. 

The  effect  was  sublimer  yet.  What  do  you  think  of  that  ? 
You,  I  mean. 

Everybody  remembers  the  story  of  the  Bishop  and  Mother 
Nez  Retrousse.  Old  Mother  Nez  RetroussS  sold  asparagus. 
She  was  poor  ;  there's  a  great  deal  of  meaning  in  that  word, 
my  friend.  Some  people  say  "  poor  but  honest ; "  I  say, 
Bah! 

Bishop  Myriel  bought  six  bunches  of  asparagus.  This 
good  man  had  one  charming  failing ;  he  was  fond  of 
asparagus.  He  gave  her  a  franc  and  received  three  sous 
change. 

The  sous  were  bad — counterfeit.  What  did  this  good 
Bishop  do  ]  He  said :  "  I  should  not  have  taken  change 
from  a  poor  woman." 

Then  afterwards  to  his  housekeeper  :  "  Never  take  change 
from  a  poor  woman." 

"  Then  he  added  to  himself:  "  For  the  sous  will  probably 
be  bad." 


FANTINE.  175 

• 

ir. 

WHEN  a  man  commits  a  crime  Society  claps  him  in  prison. 
A  prison  is  one  of  the  worst  hotels  imaginable.  The  people 
there  are  low  and  vulgar.  The  butter  is  bad,  the  coffee  is 
green.  Ah,  it  is  horrible  ! 

In  prison,  as  in  a  bad  hotel,  a  man  soon  loses,  not  only  his 
morals,  but  what  is  much  worse  to  a  Frenchman,  his  sense  of 
refinement  and  delicacy. 

Jean  Valjean  came  from  prison  with  confused  notions  of 
society.  He  forgot  the  modern  peculiarities  of  hospitality. 
So  he  walked  off  with  the  Bishop's  candlesticks. 

Let  us  consider :  candlesticks  were  stolen  \  that  was 
evident.  Society  put  Jean  Valjean  in  prison ;  that  was 
evident,  too.  In  prison,  Society  took  away  his  refinement ; 
that  is  evident,  likewise. 

Who  is  Society  1 

You  and  I  are  Society. 

My  friend,  you  and  I  stole  those  candlesticks  I 

in. 

THE  Bishop  thought  so,  too.  He  meditated  profoundly 
for  six  days.  On  the  morning  of  the  seventh  he  went  to  the 
Prefecture  of  Police. 

He  said:  "Monsieur,  have  me  arrested.  I  have  stolen 
candlesticks." 

The  official  was  governed  by  the  law  of  Society,  and 
refused. 

What  did  this  Bishop  do  ? 

He  had  a  charming  ball  and  chain  made,  affixed  to  his 
leg,  and  wore  it  the  rest  of  his  life. 

This  is  a  fact ! 

iv. 

LOVE  is  a  mystery. 

A  little  friend  of  mine  clown  in  the  country,  at  Auvergne, 


176  FANTINE. 

said  to  me  one  day  :  ''Victor,  Love  is  the  world — it  contains 
everything." 

She  was  only  sixteen,  this  sharp-witted  little  girl,  and  a 
beautiful  blonde.  She  thought  everything  of  me. 

Fantine  was  one  of  those  women  who  do  wrong  in  the 
most  virtuous  and  touching  manner.  This  is  a  peculiarity 
of  French  grisettes. 

You  are  an  Englishman,  and  you  don't  understand. 
Learn,  my  friend,  learn.  Come  to  Paris  and  improve  your 
morals 

Fantine  was  the  soul  of  modesty.  She  always  wore  high- 
neck  dresses.  High-neck  dresses  are  a  sign  of  modesty. 

Fantine  loved  Thomolyes.  Why  1  My  God !  What  are 
you  to  do  1  It  was  the  fault  of  her  parents,  and  she  hadn't 
any.  How  shall  you  teach  her?  You  must  teach  the 
parent  if  you  wish  to  educate  the  child.  How  would  you 
become  virtuous  1 

Teach  your  grandmother  ! 

v. 

WHEN  Thomolyes  ran  away  from  Fantine — which  was 
done  in  a  charming,  gentlemanly  manner — Fantine  became 
convinced  that  a  rigid  sense  of  propriety  might  look  upon 
her  conduct  as  immoral.  She  was  a  creature  of  sensitiveness 
— and  her  eyes  were  opened. 

She  was  virtuous  still,  and  resolved  to  break  off  the  liaison 
at  once. 

So  she  put  up  her  wardrobe  and  baby  in  a  bundle.  Child 
as  she  was,  she  loved  them  both.  Then  left  Paris. 


VI. 

FANTINE'S  native  place  had  changed. 
M.  Madeline — an  angel,   and  inventor  of   jet-work,  had 
been  teaching  the  villagers  how  to  make  spurious  jet  i 


FANTINE.  177 

This  is  a  progressive  age.  Those  Americans — children  of 
the  West — they  make  nutmegs  out  of  wood. 

I,  myself,  have  seen  hams  made  of  pine,  in  the  wigwams 
of  those  children  of  the  forest. 

But  civilisation  has  acquired  deception  too.  Society  is 
made  up  of  deception.  Even  the  best  French  society. 

Still  there  was  one  sincere  episode. 

Eh? 

The  French  Revolution  ! 

VII. 

M.  MADELINE  was,  if  anything,  better  than  Myriel. 

M.  Myriel  was  a  saint.     M.  Madeline  a  good  man. 

M.  Myriel  was  dead.     M.  Madeline  was  living. 

That  made  all  the  difference. 

M.  Madeline  made  virtue  profitable.  I  have  seen  it 
written : 

"Be  virtuous  and  you  will  be  happy." 

"Where  did  I  see  this  written]  In  the  modern  Bible] 
No.  In  the  Koran  ?  No.  In  Rousseau  ?  No.  Diderot  ? 
No.  Where  then? 

In  a  copy  book. 

VIII. 

M.  MADELINE  was  M.  le  Mairo. 

This  is  how  it  came  about. 

For  a  long  time  he  refused  the  honour.  One  day  an  old 
woman,  standing  on  the  steps,  said  : 

"  Bah,  a  good  mayor  is  a  good  thing. 

"  You  are  a  good  thing. 

"  Be  a  good  mayor." 

This  woman  was  a  rhetorician.  She  understood  inductive 
ratiocination. 

IX. 

WHEN  this  good  M.  Madeline,  whom  the  reader  will 
derceive  must  have  been  a  former  convict,  and  a  very  bad 

N 


178  TERENCE  DEUVILLE. 

man — gave  himself  up  to  justice  as  the  real  Jean  Valjean ; 
about  this  same  time,  Fantine  was  turned  away  from  the 
manufactory,  and  met  with  a  number  of  losses  from  society. 
Society  attacked  her,  and  this  is  what  she  lost  : 

First  her  lover. 

Then  her  child. 

Then  her  place. 

Then  her  hair. 

Then  her  teeth. 

Then  her  liberty. 

Then  her  life. 

What  do  you  think  of  society  after  that  1  I  tell  you  the 
present  social  system  is  a  humbug. 


THIS  is  necessarily  the  end  of  Fantine. 

There  are  other  things  that  will  be  stated  in  other  volumes 
to  follow.  Don't  be  alarmed  ;  there  are  plenty  of  miserable 
people  left. 

Au  revoir    my  friend. 


TERENCE  DEUVILLE. 

BY    CH-L-S    L-V-R. 
CHAPTER  I. 

MY  HOME. 

'J'HE  little  village  of  Pilwiddle  is  one  of  the  smallest 
and  obscurest  hamlets  on  the  western  coast  of  Ireland. 
On,  a  lofty  crag,  overlooking  the  hoarse  Atlantic,  stands 
"  Deuville's  Shot  Tower" — a  corruption  by  the  peasantry  of 
D  'Eauvillds  Chdteau,  so  called  from  my  great-grandfather, 
Phelim  St.  Kemy  D'Euville,  who  assumed  the  name  and 


TERENCE  DEUVILLE.  179 

title  of  a  French  heiress  with  whom  he  ran  away.  To  this 
{act  my  familiar  knowledge  and  excellent  pronunciation  of 
the  French  language  may  be  attributed,  as  well  as  many  of 
the  events  which  covered  my  after  life. 

The  Deuvilles  were  always  passionately  fond  of  field 
sports.  At  the  age  of  four,  I  was  already  the  boldest  rider 
and  the  best  shot  in  the  country.  When  only  eight,  I  won 
the  St.  Remy  Cup  at  the  Pilwiddle  races — riding  my 
favourite  bloodinare  Hellfire.  As  I  approached  the  stand 
amidst  the  plaudits  of  the  assembled  multitude,  and  cries 
of  "  Thrue  for  ye,  Masther  Terence,"  and  "  Oh,  but  it's  a 
Diuville  ! "  there  was  a  slight  stir  among  the  gentry,  who 
surrounded  the  Lord  Lieutenant,  and  other  titled  personages 
whom  the  race  had  attracted  thither.  "  How  young  he  is 
— a  mere  child ;  and  yet  how  noble  looking,"  said  a  sweet, 
low  voice,  which  thrilled  my  soul. 

I  looked  up  and  met  the  full  liquid  orbs  of  the  Hon. 
Blanche  Fitzroy  Sackville,  youngest  daughter  of  the  Lord 
Lieutenant.  She  blushed  deeply.  I  turned  pale  and  almost 
fainted.  But  the  cold,  sneering  tones  of  a  masculine  voico 
sent  the  blood  back  again  into  my  youthful  cheek. 

"  Very  likely  the  ragged  scion  of  one  of  these  banditti 
Irish  gentry,  who  has  taken  naturally  to  'the  road.'  He 
should  be  at  school — though  I  warrant  me  his  knowledge 
of  Terence  will  not  extend  beyond  his  own  name,"  said 
Lord  Henry  Somerset,  aide-de-camp  to  the  Lord  Lieu 
tenant. 

A  moment  and  I  was  perfectly  calm,  though  cold  as  ice. 
Dismounting,  and  stepping  to  the  side  of  the  speaker,  I  said 
in  a  low,  firm  voice  : 

"  Had  your  Lordship  read  Terence  more  carefully,  you 
would  have  learned  that  banditti  are  sometimes  proficient  in 
other  arts  beside  horsemanship,"  and  I  touched  his  holster 
significantly  with  my  hand.  I  had  not  read  Terence  my 
self,  but  with  the  skilful  audacity  of  my  race  I  calculated 


i8o  TERENCE  DEUVILLE. 

that  a  vague  allusion,  coupled  with  a  threat,  would  em 
barrass  him.  It  did. 

"Ah — what  mean  you?"  he  said,  white  with  rage. 

"Enough,  we  are  observed,"  I  replied;  "Father  Tom 
will  wait  on  you  this  evening ;  and  to-morrow  morning, 
my  lord,  in  the  glen  below  Pilwiddle  we  will  meet 
again." 

"Father  Tom — glen!"  ejaculated  the  Englishman,  with 
genuine  surprise.  "  What  ?  do  priests  carry  challenges  and 
act  as  seconds  in  your  infernal  country  ?' 

"Yes!"  I  answered  scornfully,  "why  should  they  not  1 
Their  services  are  more  often  necessary  than  those  of  a 
surgeon,"  I  added  significantly,  turning  away. 

The  party  slowly  rode  off,  with  the  exception  of  the  Hon. 
Blanche  Sackville,  who  lingered  for  a  moment  behind.  In 
an  instant  I  was  at  her  side.  Bending  her  blushing  face 
over  the  neck  of  her  white  filly,  she  said  hurriedly  : 

"  "Words  have  passed  between  Lord  Somerset  and  your 
self.  You  are  about  to  fight.  Don't  deny  it — but  hear  me. 
You  will  meet  him — I  know  your  skill  of  weapons.  He 
will  be  at  your  mercy.  I  entreat  you  to  spare  his  life  ! " 

I  hesitated.  "Never!"  I  cried  passionately;  "he  has 
insulted  a  Deuville  ! " 

"  Terence,"  she  whispered,  "  Terence — -for  my  sake?" 

The  blood  rushed  to  my  cheeks  at  the  loving  epithets, 
and  her  eyes  sought  the  ground  in  bashful  confusion. 

"  You  love  him  then  !"  I  cried,  bitterly. 

"  No,  no/'  she  said,  agitatedly,  "  no,  you  do  me  wrong. 
I  —  I  —  cannot  explain  myself.  My  father!  —  the  Lady 
Dowager  Sackville  —  the  estate  of  Sackville — the  borough 
—  my  uncle,  Fitzroy  Somerset.  Ah  1  what  am  I  saying  1 
Forgive  me.  Oh,  Terence,"  she  said,  as  her  beautiful  head 
sank  on  my  shoulder,  "  you  know  not  what  I  suffer  ! " 

I  seized  her  hand  and  covered  it  with  passionate  kisses. 
But  the  high-bred  English  girl,  recovering  something  of  her 


TERENCE  DEUVILLE.  181 

former  hauteur,  said  hastily,  "  Leave  me,  leave  me,  but 
promise  ! " 

"  I  promise/'  I  replied,  enthusiastically  :  "  I  will  spare  his 
life  !" 

"  Thanks,  Terence — thanks  !"  and  disengaging  her  hand 
from  my  lips  she  rode  rapidly  away. 

The  next  morning,  the  Hon.  Capt.  Henry  Somerset  and 
myself  exchanged  nineteen  shots  in  the  glen,  and  at  each 
fire  I  shot  away  a  button  from  his  uniform.  As  my  last 
bullet  shot  off  the  last  button  from  his  sleeve,  I  remarked 
quietly,  "  You  seem  now,  my  lord,  to  be  almost  as  ragged  as 
the  gentry  you  sneered  at,"  and  rode  haughtily  away. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  FIGHTING  FIFTY-SIXTH. 

WHEN  I  was  nineteen  years  old  my  father  sold  the  Chdteau 
d  'Euville  and  purchased  my  commission  in  the  "  Fifty-sixth" 
with  the  proceeds.  "  I  say,  Deuville,"  said  young  McSpad- 
den,  a  boy-faced  ensign,  who  had  just  joined,  "you'll  repre 
sent  the  estate  in  the  Army,  if  you  won't  in  the  House." 
Poor  fellow,  he  paid  for  his  meaningless  joke  with  his  life, 
for  I  shot  him  through  the  heart  the  next  morning.  "  You're 
a  good  fellow,  Deuville,"  said  the  poor  boy,  faintly,  as  I 
knelt  beside  him:  "good-bye!"  For  the  first  time  since 
my  grandfather's  death  I  wept.  I  could  not  help  thinking 
that  I  would  have  been  a  better  man  if  Blanche — but  why 
proceed  1  Was  she  not  now  in  Florence — the  belle  of  the 
English  Embassy  1 

But  Napoleon  had  returned  from  Elba.  Europe  was  in 
a  blaze  of  excitement.  The  Allies  were  preparing  to  resist 
the  Man  of  Destiny.  We  were  ordered  from  Gibraltar 
home,  and  were  soon  again  en  route  for  Brussels.  I  did  not 
regret  that  I  was  to  be  p.\iced  in  active  service.  I  was  am 
bitious,  and  longed  for  an  opportunity  to  distinguish  myself. 


1 82  TERENCE  DEUVILLE. 

My  garrison  life  in  Gibraltar  had  been  monotonous  and  dull. 
I  had  killed  five  men  in  duel,  and  had  an  affair  with  the 
colonel  of  my  regiment,  who  handsomely  apologised  before 
the  matter  assumed  a  serious  aspect.  I  had  been  twice  in 
love.  Yet  these  were  but  boyish  freaks  and  follies.  I 
wished  to  be  a  man. 

The  time  soon  came — the  morning  of  Waterloo.  But 
why  describe  that  momentous  battle,  on  which  the  fate  of 
the  entire  world  was  hanging  ?  Twice  were  the  Fifty-sixth 
surrounded  by  French  cuirassiers,  and  twice  did  we  mow 
them  down  by  our  fire.  I  had  seven  horses  shot  under  me, 
and  was  mounting  the  eighth,  when  an  orderly  rode  up 
hastily,  touched  his  cap,  and  handing  me  a  despatch,  gal 
loped  rapidly  away. 

I  opened  it  hurriedly  and  read : 

"  LET  PlCTON  ADVANCE  IMMEDIATELY  ON  THE  RIGHT." 

I  saw  it  all  at  a  glance.  I  had  been  mistaken  for  a  general 
officer.  But  what  was  to  be  done  ?  Picton's  division  was 
two  miles  away,  only  accessible  through  a  heavy  cross  fire 
of  artillery  and  musketry.  But  my  mind  was  made  up. 

In  an  instant  I  was  engaged  with  an  entire  squadron  of 
cavalry,  who  endeavoured  to  surround  me.  Cutting  my  way 
through  them,  I  advanced  boldly  upon  a  battery  and  sabred 
the  gunners  before  they  could  bring  their  pieces  to  bear. 
Looking  around,  I  saw  that  I  had  in  fact  penetrated  the 
French  centre.  Before  I  was  well  aware  of  the  locality,  I 
was  hailed  by  a  sharp  voice  in  French : 

"  Come  here,  sir  ! " 

I  obeyed,  and  advanced  to  the  side  of  a  little  man  in  a 
cocked  hat. 

«  Has  Grouchy  come  ? " 

"  Not  yet,  sire,"  I  replied — for  it  was  the  Emperor. 

"  Ha  ! "  he  said  suddenly,  bending  his  piercing  eyes  on 
my  uniform ;  "  a  prisoner  ? " 

"Kb,  sire,"  I  replied  proudly. 


TERENCE  DEUVILLE.  183 

"A  spy?" 

1  placed  my  hand  upon  my  sword,  hut  a  gesture  from  the 
Emperor  made  me  forbear." 

"  You  arc  a  brave  man,"  he  said. 

I  took  my  snuff-box  from  my  pocket,  and  taking  a  pinch, 
replied  by  handing  it,  with  a  bow,  to  the  Emperor. 

His  quick  eye  caught  the  cipher  on  the  lid. 

"  What !  a  Deuville  !  "  Ha  !  this  accounts  for  the  purity 
of  your  accent.  Any  relation  to  Roderick  d'Euvillc  ? " 

"  My  father,  sire  1 " 

"He  was  my  schoolfellow  at  the  Ecole  Poly  technique. 
Embrace  me  !  "  and  the  Emperor  fell  upon  my  neck  in  the 
presence  of  his  entire  staff.  Then  recovering  himself,  lie 
gently  placed  in  my  hand  his  own  magnificent  snuff-box,  in 
exchange  for  mine,  and  hanging  upon  my  breast  the  cross  of 
the  Legion  of  Honour  which  he  took  from  his  own,  he  bade 
one  of  his  marshals  conduct  me  back  to  my  regiment. 

I  was  so  intoxicated  with  the  honour  of  which  I  had  been 
the  recipient,  that  on  reaching  our  lines  I  uttered  a  shout  of 
joy  and  put  spurs  to  my  horse.  The  intelligent  animal 
seemed  to  sympathise  with  my  feelings,  and  fairly  flew  over 
the  ground.  On  a  rising  eminence  a  few  yards  before  me 
stood  a  grey-haired  officer,  surrounded  by  his  staff.  I  don't 
know  what  possessed  me,  but  putting  spurs  to  my  horse,  I 
rode  at  him  boldly,  and  with  one  bound,  cleared  him,  horse 
and  all.  A  shout  of  indignation  arose  from  the  assembled 
staff.  I  wheeled  suddenly,  with  the  intention  of  apologising, 
but  my  mare  misunderstood  me,  and  again  dashing  forward, 
once  more  vaulted  over  the  head  of  the  officer,  this  time 
unfortunately  uncovering  him  by  a  vicious  kick  of  her  hoof. 
"  Seize  him  ! "  roared  the  entire  army.  I  was  seized.  As 
the  soldiers  led  me  away,  I  asked  the  name  of  the  grey- 
haired  officer.  "  That — why  that's  the  DUKE  OP  WELLING 
TON!" 

I  fainted, 


1 84       THE  DWELLER  OF  THE  THRESHOLD. 

For  six  months  I  had  brain  fever.  During  my  illness 
the  grapeshot  were  extracted  from  my  body  which  I  had 
unconsciously  received  during  the  battle.  When  I  opened 
my  eyes  I  met  the  sweet  glance  of  a  Sister  of  Mercy. 

"  Blanche  ! "  I  stammered  feebly. 

"  The  same,"  she  replied. 

"You  here?" 

"  Yes,  dear ;  but  hush  !  It's  a  long  story.  You,  see, 
dear  Terence,  your  grandfather  married  my  great-aim t'& 
sister,  and  your  father  again  married  my  grandmother's  niece, 
who  dying  without  a  will,  was,  according  to  the  French 
law " 

"  But  I  do  not  comprehend,"  I  said. 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Blanche,  with  her  old  sweet  smile; 
"  you've  had  brain  fever ;  so  go  to  sleep." 

I  understood,  however,  that  Blanche  loved  me ;  and  I  am 
now  dear,  dear  reader,  Sir  Terence  Sackville,  K.C.B.,  and 
Lady  Blanche  is  Lady  Sackville. 


THE   DWELLER   OF  THE  THRESHOLD. 

BY   SIR   ED-D   L-TT-N    B-LW-R. 

BOOK   I. 
THE   PROMPTINGS   OF  THE   IDEAL. 

T  T  was  noon.  Sir  Edward  had  stepped  from  his  brougham 
and  was  proceeding  on  foot  down  the  Strand.  He  was 
dressed  with  his  usual  faultless  taste,  but  in  alighting  from 
his  vehicle  his  foot  had  slipped,  and  a  small  round  disc  of 
conglomerated  soil,  which  instantly  appeared  on  his  high 
arched  instep,  marred  the  harmonious  glitter  of  his  boots. 
Sir  Edward  was  fastidious.  Casting  his  eyes  around,  at  a 
little  distance  he  perceived  the  stand  of  a  youthful  boot 
black.  Thither  he  sauntered,  and  carelessly  placing  his  foot 


THE  DWELLER  OF  THE  THRESHOLD.      185 

on  the  low  stool,  he  waited  the  application  of  the  polisher's 
arfc.  "'Tis  true,"  said  Sir  Edward  to  himself,  yet  half 
aloud,  "  the  contact  of  the  Foul  and  the  Disgusting  mars  the 
general  effect  of  the  Shiny  and  the  Beautiful — and  yet,  why 
am  I  here  ?  I  repeat  it,  calmly  and  deliberately — why  am 
I  here  ?  Ha  !  Boy  ! " 

The  Boy  looked  up — his  dark  Italian  eyes  glanced  intel 
ligently  at  the  Philosopher,  and,  as  with  one  hand  he  tossed 
back  his  glossy  curls  from  his  marble  brow,  and  with  the 
other  he  spread  the  equally  glossy  Day  and  Martin  over  the 
Baronet's  boot,  he  answered  in  deep  rich  tones  :  "  The  Ideal 
is  subjective  to  the  Real.  The  exercise  of  apperception 
gives  a  distinctiveness  to  idiocracy,  which  is,  however,  sub 
ject  to  the  limits  of  ME.  You  are  an  admirer  of  the 
Beautiful,  sir.  You  wish  your  boots  blacked.  The  Beau- 
ful  is  attainable  by  means  of  the  Coin." 

"Ah,"  said  Sir  Edward  thoughtfully,  gazing  upon  the 
almost  supernal  beauty  of  the  Child  before  him;  "you  speak 
well.  You  have  read  Kant" 

The  Boy  blushed  deeply.  He  drew  a  copy  of  Kant  from 
his  bosom,  but  in  his  confusion  several  other  volumes  dropped 
from  his  bosom  on  the  ground.  The  Baronet  picked  them  up. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  the  Philosopher,  "  what's  this  1  Cicero's  De 
Senectute,  and  at  your  age,  too  ?  Martial's  Epigrams,  Caesar's 
Commentaries.  What !  a  classical  scholar  1  " 

"  E  pluribus  TJnum.  Nux  vomica.  Nil  desperandum. 
Nihil  fit !  "  said  the  Boy,  enthusiastically.  The  Philosopher 
gazed  at  the  Child.  A  strange  presence  seemed  to  trans 
fuse  and  possess  him.  Over  the  brow  of  the  Boy  glittered 
the  pale  nimbus  of  the  Student. 

"  Ah,  and  Schiller's  Robbers,  too  1 "  queried  the  Philoso 
pher. 

"  Das  ist  ausgespielt,"  said  the  Boy  modestly. 

"  Then  you  have  read  my  translation  of  Schiller's  Ballads?" 
continued  the  Baronet,  with  some  show  of  interest. 


j 86      THE  DWELLER  OF  THE  THRESHOLD. 

"  I  have,  and  infinitely  prefer  them  to  the  original,"  said 
the  Boy  with  intellectual  warmth.  "  You  hare  shown  how 
in  Actual  life  we  strive  for  a  Goal  we  cannot  reach  ;  how  in 
the  Ideal  the  Goal  is  attainable,  and  there  effort  is  victory. 
You  have  given  us  the  Antithesis  which  is  a  key  to  the 
Remainder,  and  constantly  balances  before  us  the  conditions 
of  the  Actual  and  the  privileges  of  the  Ideal." 

"  My  very  words,"  said  the  Baronet ;  "  wonderful,  won 
derful  !"  and  he  gazed  fondly  at  the  Italian  boy,  who  again 
resumed  his  menial  employment.  Alas  !  the  wings  of  the 
Ideal  were  folded.  The  Student  had  been  absorbed  in  the 
Boy. 

But  Sir  Edward's  boots  were  blacked,  and  he  turned  to 
depart.  Placing  his  hand  upon  the  clustering  tendrils  that 
surrounded  the  classic  nob  of  the  infant  Italian,  he  said 
softly,  like  a  strain  of  distant  music  : 

"  Boy,  you  have  done  well.  Love  the  Good.  Protect  the 
Innocent.  Provide  for  The  Indigent.  Respect  the  Philo 
sopher."  ..."  Stay  !  Can  you  tell  me  what  is  The  True* 
The  Beautiful,  The  Innocent,  The  Virtuous  ?" 

"  They  are  things  that  commence  with  a  capital  letter," 
said  the  Boy,  promptly. 

"  Enough  !  Respect  everything  that  commences  with  a 
capital  letter  $  Respect  ME  !"  and  dropping  a  halfpenny  in 
the  hand  of  the  Boy,  he  departed. 

The  Boy  gazed  fixedly  at  the  coin.  A  frightful  and 
instantaneous  change  overspread  his  features.  His  noble 
brow  was  corrugated  with  baser  lines  of  calculation.  His 
black  eye,  serpent-like,  glittered  with  suppressed  passion. 
Dropping  upon  his  hands  and  feet,  he  crawled  to  the  curb 
stone  and  hissed  after  the  retreating  form  of  the  Baronet,  the 
single  word ; 

"Bilk!" 


THE  DWELLER  OF  THE  THRESHOLD.      187 
BOOK  II. 

IN   THE  WORLD. 

"ELEVEN  years  ago,  said  Sir  Edward  to  himself,  as  his 
brougham  slowly  rolled  him  toward  the  Committee  Room ; 
"just  eleven  years  ago  my  natural  son  disappeared  mys 
teriously.  I  have  no  doubt  in  the  world  but  that  this  little 
bootblack  is  he.  His  mother  died  in  Italy.  He  resembles 
his  mother  very  much.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  provide  for  him. 
Shall  I  disclose  myself  1  No  !  no  !  Better  he  should  taste 
the  sweets  of  labour.  Penury  ennobles  the  mind  and  kindles 
the  Love  of  the  Beautiful.  I  will  act  to  him,  not  like  a 
Father,  not  like  a  Guardian,  not  like  a  Friend — but  like  a 
Philosopher  !" 

With  these  words,  Sir  Edward  entered  the  Committee 
Room.  His  Secretary  approached  him.  "Sir  Edward,  there 
are  fears  of  a  division  in  the  House,  and  the  Prime  Minister 
has  sent  for  you." 

"  I  will  be  there,"  said  Sir  Edward,  as  he  placed  his  hand 
on  his  chest  and  uttered  a  hollow  cough  ! 

No  one  who  heard  the  Baronet  that  night,  in  his  sarcastic 
and  withering  speech  on  the  Drainage  and  Sewerage  Bill, 
would  have  recognised  the  lover  of  the  Ideal  and  the  Philo 
sopher  of  the  Beautiful.  No  one  who  listened  to  his  eloquence 
would  have  dreamed  of  the  Spartan  resolution  this  iron  man 
had  taken  in  regard  to  the  Lost  Boy — his  own  beloved 
Lionel!  None ! 

"A  fine  speech  from  Sir  Edward  to-night,"  said  Lord 
Billingsgate,  as,  arm-in-arm  with  the  Premier,  he  entered  his 
carriage. 

"  Yes  !  but  how  dreadfully  he  coughs  !" 
"  Exactly.     Dr.  Bolus  says  his  lungs  are  entirely  gone ;  he 
breathes  solely  by  an  effort  of  will,  and  altogether  independent 
of  pulmonary  assistance." 

"  How  strange  !" — and  the  carriage  rolled  away. 


1 88       THE  DWELLER  OF  THE  THRESHOLD. 
BOOK  III. 

THE  DWELLER  OF   THE   THRESHOLD 

"  ADON  AT,  appear  !  appear  I" 

And  as  the  Seer  spoke,  the  awful  Presence  glided  out  of 
Nothingness,  and  sat,  sphinxlike,  at  the  feet  of  the  Alchemist. 

"  I  am  come  !"  said  the  Thing. 

"You  should  say  <I  have  come' — it's  better  grammar," 
said  the  Boy-Neophyte,  thoughtfully  accenting  the  substituted 
expression. 

"  Hush,  rash  Boy,"  said  the  Seer  sternly.  "  Would  you 
oppose  your  feeble  knowledge  to  the  infinite  intelligence  of 
the  Unmistakable  ?  A  word,  and  you  are  lost  for  ever." 

The  Boy  breathed  a  silent  prayer,  and  handing  a  sealed 
package  to  the  Seer,  begged  him  to  hand  it  to  his  father  in 
case  of  his  premature  decease. 

"You  have  sent  for  me,"  hissed  the  Presence.  "  Behold 
me,  Apokatharticon — the  Unpronounceable.  In  me  all 
things  exist  which  are  not  already  co-existent.  I  am  the 
Unattainable,  the  Intangible,  the  Cause,  and  the  Effect.  In 
me  observe  the  Brahma  of  Mr.  Emerson ;  not  only  Brahma 
himself,  but  also  the  sacred  musical  composition  rehearsed  by 
the  faithful  Hindoo.  I  am  the  real  Gyges.  None  others  are 
genuine." 

And  the  veiled  Son  of  the  Starbearn  laid  himself  loosely 
about  the  room,  and  permeated  Space  generally. 

"  Unfathomable  Mystery,"  said  the  Eosicrucian  ki  a  low, 
sweet  voice.  "  Brave  Child  with  the  Vitreous  Optic  !  Thou 
who  pervadest  all  things  and  rubbest  against  us  without 
abrasion  of  the  cuticle.  I  command  thee,  speak  !" 

And  the  misty,  intangible,  indefinite  Presence  spoke. 


THE  NINETY-NINE  GUARDSMEN.  189 

BOOK   IV. 

MYSELF. 

AFTER  the  events  related  in  the  last  chapter,  the  reader  will 
perceive  that  nothing  was  easier  than  to  reconcile  Sir  Edward 
to  his  son  Lionel,  nor  to  resuscitate  the  beautiful  Italian  girl, 
who,  it  appears,  was  not  dead,  and  to  cause  Sir  Edward  to 
marry  his  first  and  boyish  love  whom  he  had  deserted.  They 
were  married  in  St.  George's,  Hanover  Square.  As  the  bridal 
party  stood  before  the  altar,  Sir  Edward,  with  a  sweet,  sad 
imile,  said,  in  quite  his  old  manner  : 

"  The  Sublime  and  Beautiful  are  the  Real ;  the  only  Ideal 
is  the  Ridiculous  and  Homely.  Let  us  always  remember 
this.  Let  us  through  life  endeavour  to  personify  the  virtues, 
and  always  begin  'em  with  a  capital  letter.  Let  us,  whenever 
we  can  find  an  opportunity,  deliver  our  sentiments  in  the 
form  of  roundhand  copies.  Respect  the  Aged.  Eschew 
Vulgarity.  Admire  Ourselves.  Regard  the  Novelist," 


THE  NINETY-NINE   GUARDSMEN. 

BY    AL-X-D-R    D-M-S. 

CHAPTER   I. 

SHOWING  THE  QUALITY  OF  THE  CUSTOMERS  OF  THE  INNKEEPER 
OF   PROVINS. 

HP  "WENT  Y  years  after,  the  gigantic  innkeeper  of  Proving 
stood  looking  at  a  cloud  of  dust  on  the  highway. 

This  cloud  of  dust  betokened  the  approach  of  a  traveller. 
Travellers  had  been  rare  that  season  on  the  highway  between 
Paris  and  Proving. 

The  heart  of  the  innkeeper  rejoiced.  Turning  to  Dame 
Perigord,  his  wife,  he  said,  stroking  his  white  apron  : 

"St.  Denis !  make  haste  and  spread  the  cloth.     Add  a 


190  THE  NINETY-NINE  GUARDSMEN. 

bottle  of  Charlevoix  to  the  table.  This  traveller,  who  ridea 
so  fast,  by  his  pace  must  be  a  Monseigneur." 

Truly  the  traveller,  clad  in  the  uniform  of  a  musketeer, 
as  he  drew  up  to  the  door  of  the  hostelry,  did  not  seem  to 
have  spared  his  horse.  Throwing  his  reins  to  the  landlord, 
he  leaped  lightly  to  the  ground.  He  was  a  young  man  of 
four  and  twenty,  and  spoke  with  a  slight  Gascon  accent. 

"  I  am  hungry.    Morbleu  !  I  wish  to  dine  !  " 

The  gigantic  innkeeper  bowed  and  led  the  way  to  a  neat 
apartment,  where  a  table  stood  covered  with  tempting  viands. 
The  musketeer  at  once  set  to  work.  Fowls,  fish,  and  pates 
disappeared  before  him.  Perigord  sighed  as  he  witnessed 
the  devastation.  Only  once  the  stranger  paused. 

"Wine!" 

Perigord  brought  wine.  The  stranger  drank  a  dozen 
bottles.  Finally  he  rose  to  depart.  Turning  to  the  ex 
pectant  landlord,  he  said  : 

"  Charge  it." 

"  To  whom,  your  highness  ?  "  said  Perigord,  anxiously. 

«  To  his  Eminence  ! " 

"  Mazarin  !  "  ejaculated  the  innkeeper. 

"  The  same.  Bring  me  my  horse,"  and  the  musketeer, 
remounting  his  favourite  animal,  rode  away. 

The  innkeeper  slowly  turned  back  into  the  inn.  Scarcely 
had  he  reached  the  courtyard,  before  the  clatter  of  hoofs 
again  called  him  to  the  doorway.  A  musketeer  of  a  light 
and  graceful  figure  rode  up. 

"  Parlleu,  my  dear  Perigord,  I  am  famishing.  What  have 
you  got  for  dinner  1 " 

"Venison,  capons,  larks  and  pigeons,  your  excellency," 
replied  the  obsequious  landlord,  bowing  to  the  ground. 

"  Enough ! "  The  young  musketeer  dismounted  and 
entered  the  inn.  Seating  himself  at  the  table  replenished 
by  the  careful  Perigord,  he  speedily  swept  it  as  clean  as  the 
first  comer. 


THE  NINETY-NINE  GUARDSMEN.  191 

"  Some  wine,  my  brave  Perigord,"  said  the  graceful  young 
musketeer,  as  soon  as  he  could  find  utterance. 

Perigord  brought  three  dozen  of  Charlevoix.  The  young 
man  emptied  them  almost  at  a  draught. 

"  By-by,"  Perigord,"  he  said  lightly,  waving  his  hand,  as, 
preceding  the  astonished  landlord,  he  slowly  withdrew. 

"  But,  your  highness — the  bill,"  said  the  astounded  Peri 
gord. 

"  Ah,  the  bill.     Charge  it !  " 

"  To  whom  1 " 

"  The  Queen  !  " 

•<  What,  Madam?" 

"  The  same.  Adieu,  my  good  Perigord,"  and  the  graceful 
stranger  rode  away.  An  interval  of  quiet  succeeded,  in 
which  the  inkeeper  gazed  woefully  at  his  wife.  Suddenly  he 
was  startled  by  a  clatter  of  hoofs,  and  an  aristocratic  figure 
stood  in  the  doorway. 

"Ah,"  said  the  courtier  good-naturedly.  "What,  do 
my  eyes  deceive  me  ?  No,  it  is  the  festive  and  luxurious 
Perigord.  Perigord,  listen.  I  famish.  I  languish  I  would 
dine." 

The  innkeeper  again  covered  the  table  with  viands. 
Again  it  was  swept  clean  as  the  fields  of  Egypt  before  the 
miraculous  swarm  of  locusts.  The  stranger  looked  up. 

"  Bring  me  another  fowl,  my  Perigord." 

•*  Imposible,  your  excellency,  the  larder  is  stripped  clean." 

"  Another  flitch  of  bacon,  then." 

"  Impossible,  your  highness — there  is  no  more." 

"Well,  then,  wine!" 

The  landlord  brought  one  hundred  and  forty-four  bottles. 
The  courtier  drank  them  all. 

"  One  may  drink  if  one  cannot  eat,"  said  the  aristocratic 
stranger,  good-humouredly. 

The  innkeeper  shuddered. 

The  guest  rose  to  depart.  The  innkeeper  came  slowly  for- 


192  THE  NINETY-NINE  GUARDSMEN. 

ward  with  his  bill,  to  which  he  had  covertly  added  the  losses 
which  he  had  suffered  from  the  previous  strangers. 

"Ah  !  the  bill— charge  it." 

"  Charge  it !  to  whom  1 " 

"  To  the  King,"  said  the  guest. 

«  What !  his  Majesty  ?  " 

"  Certainly.     Farewell,  Perigord." 

The  innkeeper  groaned.  Then  he  went  out  and  took  dowu 
his  sign.  Then  remarked  to  his  wife  : 

"  I  am  a  plain  man,  and  don't  understand  politics.  It 
seems,  however,  that  the  country  is  in  a  troubled  state.  Be 
tween  his  Eminence  the  Cardinal,  his  Majesty  the  King,  and 
her  Majesty  the  Queen,  I  am  a  ruined  man." 

"  Stay,"  said  Dame  Perigord,  "  I  have  an  idea." 

"  And  that  is " 

"  Become  yourself  a  musketeer." 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   COMBAT. 

ON  leaving  Provins  the  first  musketeer  proceeded  to 
Nangis,  where  he  was  reinforced  bf  thirty- three  followers. 
The  second  musketeer,  arriving  at  Nangis  at  the  same 
moment,  placed  himself  at  the  head  of  thirty-three  more. 
The  third  guest  of  the  Landlord  of  Provins  arrived  at 
JSTangis  in  time  to  assemble  together  thirty-three  other 
mustketeers. 

The  first  stranger  led  the  troops  of  his  Eminence. 

The  second  led  the  troops  of  the  Queen. 

The  third  led  the  troops  of  the  King. 

The  fight  commenced.  It  raged  terribly  for  seven  hours. 
The  first  musketeer  killed  thirty  of  the  Queen's  troops.  The 
second  musketeer  killed  thirty  of  the  King's  troops.  The 
third  musketeer  killed  thirty  of  his  Eminence's  troops. 


THE  NINETY-NINE  GUARDSMEN.  193 

By  this  time  it  will  be  perceived  the  number  of  muske 
teers  had  been  narrowed  down  to  four  on  each  side. 

Naturally  the  three  principal  warriors  approached  each 
other. 

They  simultaneously  uttered  a  cry  : 

"Aramis!" 

"  Athos ! " 

"  D'Artagnan  ! " 

They  fell  into  each  other's  arms. 

"  And  it  seems  that  we  are  fighting  against  each  other, 
my  children,"  said  the  Count  de  la  Fere,  mournfully. 

"  How  singular  ! "  exclaimed  Aramis  and  D'Artagnan. 

"  Let  us  stop  this  fratricidal  warfare,"  said  Athos. 

"  We  will !  "  they  exclaimed  together. 

"  But  how  to  disband  our  followers  ? "  queried  D'Artagnan. 

Aramis  winked.  They  understood  each  other.  "  Let  us 
cut  'em  down  ! " 

They  cut  'em  down.  Aramis  killed  three.  D'Artagnan 
three.  Athos  three. 

The  friends  again  embraced.  "  How  like  old  times ! " 
said  Aramis.  "  How  touching  ! "  exclaimed  the  serious  and 
philosophic  Count  de  la  Fere. 

The  galloping  of  hoofs  caused  them  to  withdraw  from 
each  other's  embraces.  A  gigantic  figure  rapidly  ap 
proached. 

"  The  innkeeper  of  Provins  !  "  they  cried,  drawing  their 
swords. 

"  Perigord,  down  with  him  !  "  shouted  D'Artagnau. 

"  Stay,"  said  Athos. 

The  gigantic  figure  was  beside  them.     He  uttered  a  cry. 

"  Athos,  Aramis,  D'Artagnan  !  " 

"  Porthos  !  "  exclaimed  the  astonished  trio. 

"  The  same."     They  all  fell  in  each  other's  arms. 

The  Count  de  la  Fere  slowly  raised  his  hand  to  Heaven. 
"  Bless  you  !  Bless  us,  my  children  !  However  different 


194  THE  NINETY-NINE  GUARDSMEN. 

our  opinions  may  be  in  regard  to  politics,  we  have  but  ono 
opinion  in  regard  to  our  own  merits.  Where  can  you  fisd  a 
better  man  than  Aramis  ?  " 

"  Than  Porthos  ?  "  said  Aramis. 

"  Than  D'Artagnan  ?  "  said  Porthos. 

"  Than  Athos  ? "  said  D'Artagnan. 

CHAPTER  III. 

SHOWING  HOW  THE  KING  OF  FRANCE  WENT  UP  A  LADDER. 

THE  King  descended  into  the  garden.  Proceeding  cautiously 
along  the  terraced  walk,  he  came  to  the  wall  immediately 
below  the  windows  of  Madame.  To  the  left  were  two  win 
dows,  concealed  by  vines.  They  opened  into  the  apartments 
of  La  Valliere. 

The  King  sighed. 

"  It  is  about  nineteen  feet  to  that  window,"  said  the  King. 
"  If  I  had  a  ladder  about  nineteen  feet  long,  it  would  reach 
to  that  window.  This  is  logic." 

Suddenly  the  King  stumbled  over  something.  "  St. 
Denis  !"  he  exclaimed,  looking  down.  It  was  a  ladder,  just 
nineteen  feet  long. 

The  King  placed  it  against  the  wall.  In  so  doing,  he 
fixed  the  lower  end  upon  the  abdomen  of  a  man  who  lay  con 
cealed  by  the  wall.  The  man  did  not  utter  a  cry  or  wince. 
The  King  suspected  nothing.  He  ascended  the  ladder. 

The  ladder  was  too  short.  Louis  the  Grand  was  not  a  tall 
man.  He  was  still  two  feet  below  the  window. 

"  Dear  me  ! "  said  the  King. 

Suddenly  the  ladder  was  lifted  two  feet  from  below.  This 
enabled  the  King  to  leap  in  the  window.  At  the  further 
end  of  the  apartment  stood  a  young  girl,  with  red  hair  and  a 
lame  leg.  She  was  trembling  with  emotion. 

"Louise!" 

"The  King  I* 


THE  NINETY-NINE  GUARDSMEN.  19$ 

"  Ah,  my  God,  mademoiselle.5' 

"Ah,  my  God,  sire." 

But  a  low  knock  at  the  door  interrupted  the  lovers.     The 
King  uttered  a  cry  of  rage  ;  Louise  one  of  despair. 

The  door  opened  and  D'Artagnan  entered. 

"  Good  evening,  sire,"  said  the  musketeer. 

The  King  touched  a  bell.     Porthos  appeared  in  the  door 
way. 

"  Good  evening,  sire." 

"  Arrest  M.  D'Artagnan." 

Porthos  looked  at  D'Artagnan,  and  did  not  move. 

The  King  almost  turned  purple  with  rage.     He   again 
touched  the  bell.     Athos  entered* 

"  Count,  arrest  Porthos  and  D'Artagnan." 

The  Count  de  la  Fere  glanced  at  Porthos  and  D'Artagnan, 
and  smiled  sweetly. 

"  Sacre  I     Where  is  Ararnis  1 "  said  the  King,  violently; 

"  Here,  sire,"  and  Aramis  entered. 

"  Arrest  Athos,  Porthos,  and  D'Artagnan.'* 

Aramis  bowed,  and  folded  his  arms. 

"  Arrest  yourself !  " 

Aramis  did  not  move. 

The  King  shuddered  and  turned  pale.  "  Am  I  not  King 
of  France  ? " 

"  Assuredly,  sire,  but  We  are  also  severally  Porthos,  Ara 
mis,  D'Artagnan,  and  Athos." 

"Ah!"  said  the  King. 
*<  Yes,  sire." 

"  What  does  this  mean  ? " 

"  It  means,  your  majesty,"  said  Aramis,  stepping  forward, 
"  that  your  conduct  as  a  married  man  is  highly  improper.  I 
am  an  Abbe,  and  I  object  to  these  improprieties.  My  friends 
here,  D'Artagnan,  Athos,  and  Porthos,  pure-minded  young 
men,  are  also  terribly  shocked.  Observe,  sire,  how  they 
blush  1" 

o  2 


I9<5  MUCK-A-MUCK. 

Athos,  Porthos,  and  D'Artagnan  blushed. 

"  Ah,"  said  the  King,  thoughtfully.  "  You  teach  me  a 
lesson.  You  are  devoted  and  noble  young  gentlemen,  but 
your  only  weakness  is  your  excessive  modesty.  From  this 
moment  I  make  you  all  Marshals  and  Dukes,  with  the  excep 
tion  of  Aramis." 

"  And  me,  sire  f  said  Aramis. 

"  You  shall  be  an  Archbishop !" 

The  four  friends  looked  up  and  then  rushed  into  each 
other's  arms.  The  King  embraced  Louise  de  la  Valliere,  by 
way  of  keeping  them  company.  A  pause  ensued.  At  last 
Athos  spoke  : 

"  Swear,  my  children,  that  next  to  yourselves,  you  will 
respect — the  King  of  France  ;  and  remember  that  '  Forty 
years  after '  we  will  meet  again." 


MUCK-A-MUCK. 


AFTER  COOPER. 
CHAPTER  I. 

T  T  was  towards  the  close  of  a  bright  October  day.  The 
last  rays  of  the  setting  sun  were  reflected  from  one  of  those 
sylvan  lakes  peculiar  to  the  Sierras  of  California.  On  the 
right  the  curling  smoke  of  an  Indian  village  rose  between  the 
columns  of  the  lofty  pines,  while  to  the  left  the  log  cottage 
of  Judge  Tompkins,  embowered  in  buckeyes,  completed  the 
enchanting  picture. 

Although  the  exterior  of  the  cottage  was  humble  and  un 
pretentious,  and  in  keeping  with  the  wildness  of  the  ;and- 
scupe,  its  interior  gave  evidence  of  the  cultivation  and  refine- 


MUCK-A-MUCK.  197 

ment  of  its  inmates.  An  aquarium,  containing  gold-fishes, 
stood  on  a  marble  centre  table  at  one  end  of  the  apartment, 
while  a  magnificent  grand  piano  occupied  the  other.  The 
floor  was  covered  with  a  yielding  tapestry  carpet,  and  the 
walls  were  adorned  with  paintings  from  the  pencils  of  Yan 
Dyke,  Rubens,  Tintoretto,  Michael  Angelo,  and  the  produc 
tions  of  the  more  modern  Turner,  Kensett,  Church  and  Bier- 
stadt.  Although  Judge  Tompkins  had  chosen  the  frontiers 
of  civilisation  as  his  home,  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  en 
tirely  forego  the  habits  and  tastes  of  his  former  life.  He  was 
seated  in  a  luxurious  arm-chair,  writing  at  a  mahogany  ecri- 
toire,  while  his  daughter,  a  lovely  young  girl  of  seventeen 
summers,  plied  her  crochet  needle  on  an  ottoman  beside  him. 
A  bright  fire  of  pine  logs  flickered  and  flamed  on  the  ample 
hearth. 

Genevra  Octavia  Tompkins  was  Judge  Tompkins' s  only 
child.  Her  mother  had  long  since  died  on  the  Plains.  Reared 
in  affluence,  no  pains  had  been  spared  with  the  daughter's  edu 
cation.  She  was  a  graduate  of  one  of  the  principal  seminaries, 
and  spoke  French  with  a  perfect  Benicia  accent.  Peerlessly 
beautiful,  she  was  dressed  in  a  white  moire  antique  robe 
trimmed  with  tulle.  That  simple  rosebud,  with  which  most 
heroines  exclusively  decorate  their  hair,  was  all  she  wore  in 
her  raven  locks. 

The  Judge  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence 

"  Genevra,  the  logs  which  compose  yonder  fire  seem  to  have 
been  incautiously  chosen.  The  sibilation  produced  by  the 
sap,  which  exudes  copiously  therefrom,  is  not  conducive  to 
composition." 

"  True,  father,  but  I  thought  it  would  be  preferable  to  the 
constant  crepitation  which  is  apt  to  attend  the  combustion 
of  more  seasoned  ligneous  fragments." 

The  Judge  looked  admiringly  at  the  intellectual  features 
of  the  graceful  girl,  and  half  forgot  the  slight  annoyances  of 
the  green  wood  in  the  musical  accents  of  his  daughter.  He 


198  MUCK-A-MUCK. 

was  smoothing  her  hair  tenderly,  when  the  shadow  of  a  tall 
figure,  which  suddenly  darkened  the  doorway,  caused  him  to 
look  up. 

CHAPTER  II. 

IT  needed  but  a  glance  at  the  new  comer  to  detect  at  once 
the  form  and  features  of  the  haughty  aborigine — the  untaught 
and  untrammelled  son  of  the  forest.  Over  one  shoulder  a 
blanket,  negligently  but  gracefully  thrown,  disclosed  a  bare 
and  powerful  breast,  decorated  with  a  quantity  of  three  cent 
postage  stamps  which  he  had  despoiled  from  an  Overland 
Mail  stage  a  few  weeks  previous.  A  cast-off  beaver  of  Judge 
Tompkins's,  adorned  by  a  simple  feather,  covered  his  erect 
head,  from  beneath  which  his  straight  locks  descended.  His 
right  hand  hung  lightly  by  his  side,  while  his  left  was  engaged 
in  holding  on  a  pair  of  pantaloons,  which  the  lawless  grace 
and  freedom  of  his  lower  limbs  evidently  could  not  brook. 

"  Why,"  said  the  Indian,  in  a  low  sweet  tone,  "  why  does 
the  Pale  Face  still  follow  the  track  of  the  Eed  Man  ?  Why 
does  he  pursue  him,  even  as  0-kee-chow,  the  wild  cat,  chases 
Ka-ka,  the  skunk  ?  Why  are  the  feet  of  Sorrel-top,  the 
white  chief,  among  the  acorns  of  Muck-a-Muck,  the  mountain 
forest  ?  Why,"  he  repeated,  quietly  but  firmly,  abstracting 
a  silver  spoon  from  the  table,  "  why  do  you  seek  to  drive 
him  from  the  wigwams  of  his  fathers  1  His  brothers  are 
already  gone  to  the  happy  hunting  grounds.  Will  the  Pale 
Face  seek  him  there  ?"  And,  averting  his  face  from  the 
Judge,  he  hastily  slipped  a  silver  cake-basket  beneath  his 
blanket,  to  conceal  his  emotion. 

"  Muck-a-Muck  has  spoken,"  said  Genevra  softly.  <:  Let 
him  now  listen.  Are  the  acorns  of  the  mountain  sweeter 
than  the  esculent  and  nutritious  bean  of  the  Pale  Face 
miner  1  Does  my  brother  prize  the  edible  qualities  of  the 
&nail  above  that  of  the  crisp  and  oleaginous  bacon  ?  Delicious 
are  the  grasshoppers  that  sport  on  the  hillside — are  they 


MUCK-A-MUCK.  199 

better  than  the  dried  apples  of  the  Pale  Faces  ?  Pleasant  is 
the  gurgle  of  the  torrent,  Kisli-Kish,  but  is  it  better  than  the 
cluck-cluck  of  Bourbon  brandy  from  the  old  stone  bottle  1" 

"Ugh!"  said  the  Indian,  "Ugh!  good.  The  White 
Rabbit  is  wise.  Her  words  fall  as  the  snow  on  Tootoonolo, 
and  the  rocky  heart  of  Muck-a-Muck  is  hidden.  What  says 
my  brother  the  Gray  Gopher  of  Dutch  Flat  ?" 

"  She  has  spoken,,  Muck-a-Muck,"  said  the  Judge,  gazing 
fondly  on  his  daughter.  "  It  is  well.  Our  treaty  is  con 
cluded.  No,  thank  you — you  need  not  dance  the  dance  of 
Snow  Shoes,  or  the  Moccasin  Dance,  the  Dance  of  Green 
Corn,  or  the  Treaty  Dance.  I  would  be  alone.  A  strange 
sadness  overpowers  me." 

"  I  go,"  said  the  Indian.  "  Tell  your  great  chief  in  Wash 
ington,  the  Sachem  Andy,  that  the  Eed  Man  is  retiring 
before  the  footsteps  of  the  adventurous  Pioneer.  Inform 
him,  if  you  please,  that  westward  the  star  of  empire  takes  its 
way,  that  the  chiefs  of  the  Pi-Ute  nation  are  for  Reconstruc 
tion  to  a  man,  and  that  Klamath  will  poll  a  heavy  Republican 
vote  in  the  fall." 

And  folding  his  blanket  more  tightly  around  him,  Muck-a- 
Muck  withdrew. 

CHAPTER  III. 

GENEVRA  TOMPKINS  stood  at  the  door  of  the  log  cabin,  look 
ing  after  the  retreating  Overland  Mail  stage  which  conveyed 
her  father  to  Virginia  City.  "  He  may  never  return  again," 
sighed  the  young  girl  as  she  glanced  at  the  frightfully  rolling 
vehicle  and  wildly  careering  horses — "  at  least,  with  unbroken 
bones.  Should  he  meet  with  an  accident !  I  mind  me  now 
a  fearful  legend,  familiar  to  my  childhood.  Can  it  be  that 
the  drivers  on  this  line  are  privately  instructed  to  despatch 
all  passengers  maimed  by  accident,  to  prevent  tedious  litiga 
tion  ?  No,  no.  But  why  this  weight  upon  my  heart  1" 
She  seated  herself  at  the  piano  and  lightly  passed  her  hand 


200  MUCK-A-MUCK-. 

over  the  keys.  Then,  in  a  clear  mezzo-soprano  voice,  she 
sang  the  first  verse  of  one  of  the  popular  Irish  ballads  : 

"  0  Arrak,  ma  dheelisk,  the  distant  dudheen   *• 
Lies  soft  in  the  moonlight,  ma  bouchal  vourneen  : 
The  springing  gossoons  on  the  heather  are  still, 
And  the  caubeens  and  cotteens  are  heard  on  the  hills." 

Bub  as  the  ravishing  notes  of  her  sweet  voice  died  upon  the 
air,  her  hand  sank  listlessly  to  her  side.  Music  could  not 
chase  away  the  mysterious  shadow  from  her  heart.  Again 
she  rose.  Putting  on  a  white  crape  bonnet,  and  carefully 
drawing  a  pair  of  lemon-coloured  gloves  over  her  taper 
fingers,  she  seized  her  parasol  and  plunged  into  the  depths  of 
the  pine  forest. 

CHAPTER  IV. 

GENEVRA  had  not  proceeded  many  miles  before  a  weariness 
seized  upon  her  fragile  limbs,  and  she  would  fain  seat  herself 
upon  the  trunk  of  a  prostrate  pine,  which  she  previously 
dusted  with  her  handkerchief.  The  sun  was  just  sinking 
below  the  horizon,  and  the  scene  was  one  of  gorgeous  and 
sylvan  beauty.  "  How  beautiful  is  Nature,"  murmured  the 
innocent  girl,  as,  reclining  gracefully  against  the  root  of  the 
tree,  she  gathered  up  her  skirts  and  tied  her  handkerchief 
around  her  throat.  But  a  low  growl  interrupted  her  medi 
tation.  Starting  to  her  feet,  her  eyes  met  a  sight  which 
froze  her  blood  with  terror. 

The  only  outlet  to  the  forest  was  the  narrow  path,  barely 
wide  enough  for  a  single  person,  hemmed  in  by  trees  and 
rocks,  which  she  had  just  traversed.  Down  this  path,  in 
Indian  file,  came  a  monstrous  grizzly,  closely  followed  by  a 
California  lion,  a  wild  cat,  and  a  buffalo,  the  rear  being 
brought  up  by  a  wild  Spanish  bull.  The  mouths  of  the  three 
first  animals  were  distended  with  frightful  significance ;  the 
horns  of  the  last  were  lowered  as  ominously.  As  Genevra 
was  preparing  to  faint,  she  heard  a  low  voice  behind  her. 


MUCK-A-MUCK.  201 

**  Eternally  dog- gone*  my  skin  ef  this  ain't  the  puttiest 
chance  yet." 

At  the  same  moment,  a  long,  shining  barrel  dropped 
lightly  from  behind  her,  and  rested  over  her  shoulder. 
Genevra  shuddered. 

"  Durn  ye — don't  move  ! w 

Genevra  became  motionless. 

The  crack  of  a  rifle  rang  through  the  woods.  Three 
frightful  yells  were  heard,  and  two  sullen  roars.  Five 
animals  bounded  into  the  air  and  five  lifeless  bodies  lay  upon 
the  plain.  The  well-aimed  bullet  had  done  its  work.  Enter 
ing  the  open  throat  of  the  grizzly,  it  had  traversed  his  body, 
only  to  enter  the  throat  of  the  California  lion,  and  in  like 
manner  the  catamount,  until  it  passed  through  into  the 
respective  foreheads  of  the  bull  and  the  buffalo,  and  finally 
fell  flattened  from  the  rocky  hillside. 

"  Genevra  turned  quickly.  "  My  preserver  ! "  she  shrieked, 
and  fell  into  the  arms  of  Natty  Bumpo — the  celebrated  Pike 
Hanger  of  Donner  Lake. 

CHAPTER  V. 

THE  moon  rose  cheerfully  above  Donner  Lake.  On  its  placid 
bosom  a  dug-out  canoe  glided  rapidly,  containing  Natty 
Bumpo  and  Genevra  Tompkins. 

Both  were  silent.  The  same  thought  possessed  each,  and 
perhaps  there  was  sweet  companionship  even  in  the  unbroken 
quiet.  Genevra  bit  the  handle  of  her  parasol  and  blushed. 
Natty  Bumpo  took  a  fresh  chew  of  tobacco.  At  length 
Genevra  said,  as  if  in  half-spoken  reverie  : 

"  The  soft  shining  of  the  moon  and  the  peaceful  ripple  of 
the  waves  seem  to  say  to  us  various  things  of  an  instructive 
and  moral  tendency." 

*  A  euphemism  common  with  the  men  of  the  West,  and  equal  to 
the  English  "  Od  rat  it,"  or  "  G«l  darn." 


202  MUCK-A-MUCK. 

"  You  may  bet  yer  pile*  on  that,  Miss,"  said  her  com 
panion  gravely.  "  It's  all  the  preachin'  and  psalm- singin 
I've  heern  since  I  was  a  boy." 

"Noble  being  !"  said  Miss  Tompkins  to  herself,  glancing 
at  the  stately  Pike  as  he  bent  over  his  paddle  to  conceal  his 
emotion.  "  Reared  in  this  wild  seclusion,  yet  he  has  become 
penetrated  with  visible  consciousness  of  a  Great  First  Cause." 
Then,  collecting  herself,  she  said  aloud  :  "  Methinks  'twere 
pleasant  to  glide  ever  thus  down  the  stream  of  life,  hand  in 
hand  with  the  one  being  whom  the  soul  claims  as  its  affinity. 
But  what  am  I  saying  ?" — and  the  delicate-minded  girl  hid 
her  face  in  her  hands. 

A  long  silence  ensued,  which  was  at  length  broken  by  her 
companion. 

"  Ef  you  mean  you're  on  the  marry,"  he  said  thoughtfully, 
"  I  ain't  in  no  wise  partikler  ! " 

"My  husband,"  faltered  the  blushing  girl;  and  she  fell 
into  his  arms. 

In  ten  minutes  more  the  loving  couple  had  landed  at 
Judge  Tompkins's. 

CHAPTER  VI. 

A  YEAR  has  passed  away.  Natty  Bumpo  was  returning  from 
Gold  Hill,  where  he  had  been  to  purchase  provisions.  On 
his  way  to  Donner  Lake,  rumours  of  an  Indian  uprising  met 
his  ears.  "  Dern  their  pesky  skins,  ef  they  dare  to  touch  my 
Jenny,"  he  muttered  between  his  clenched  teeth. 

It  was  dark  when  he  reached  the  borders  of  the  lake. 
Around  a  glittering  fire  he  dimly  discerned  dusky  figures 
dancing.  They  were  in  war  paint.  Conspicuous  among 
them  was  the  renowned  Muck-a-Muck.  But  why  did  the 
fingers  of  Natty  Bumpo  tighten  convulsively  around  his 
rifle? 

*  I.e.,  pile  of  money. 


MUCK-A-MUCK.  203 

The  chief  held  in  his  hand  long  tufts  of  raven  hair.  The 
heart  of  the  pioneer  sickened  as  he  recognised  the  clustering 
curls  of  Genevra.  In  a  moment  his  rifle  was  at  his  shoulder, 
and  witli  a  sharp  "  ping,"  Muck-a-Muck  leaped  into  the  air 
a  corpse.  To  dash  out  the  brains  of  the  remaining  savages, 
tear  the  tresses  from  the  stiffening  hand  of  Muck-a-Muck, 
and  dash  rapidly  forward  to  the  cottage  of  Judge  Tompkins, 
was  the  work  of  a  moment. 

He  burst  open  the  door.  Why  did  he  stand  transfixed  with 
open  mouth  and  distended  eyeballs  1  Was  the  sight  too  hor 
rible  to  be  borne  ?  On  the  contrary,  before  him,  in  her  peerless 
beauty,  stood  Genevra  Tompkins,  leaning  on  her  father's  arm. 

"  Ye'r  not  scalped,  then  !''  gasped  her  lover. 

"  No.  I  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  I  am  not ;  but 
why  this  abruptness  ] "  responded  Genevra. 

Bumpo  could  not  speak,  but  frantically  produced  the  silken 
fcresses.  Genevra  turned  her  face  aside. 

"  Why,  that's  her  chignon,"  said  the  Judge. 

Bumpo  sank  fainting  on  the  floor. 

The  famous  Pike  chieftain  never  recovered  from  the  deceit, 
and  refused  to  marry  Genevra,  who  died,  twenty  years  after 
wards,  of  a  broken  heart.  Judge  Tompkins  lost  his  fortune 
in  Wild  Cat.  The  stage  passes  twice  a  week  the  deserted 
cottage  at  Donner  Lake-  Thus  was  the  death  of  Muck-a- 
Muck  avenged. 


204  MR.  MIDSHIPMAN  BREEZY. 

MR.  MIDSHIPMAN  BREEZY. 
A   NAVAL   OFFICER. 

BY   CAPTAIN   M-RRY-T,    R.N. 
CHAPTER  I. 

TV  /T  Y  father  was  a  north-country  surgeon.  He  had  retired, 
••'"•*•  a  widower,  from  Her  Maj esty's  navy  many  years  before, 
and  had  a  small  practice  in  his  native  village.  When  I  was 
seven  years  old  he  employed  me  to  carry  medicines  to  his 
patients.  Being  of  a  lively  disposition,  I  sometimes  amused 
myself,  during  my  daily  rounds,  by  mixing  the  contents  of  the 
different  phials.  Although  I  had  no  reason  to  doubt  that  the 
general  result  of  this  practice  was  beneficial,  yet,  as  the  death 
of  a  consumptive  curate  followed  the  addition  of  a  strong 
mercurial  lotion  to  his  expectorant,  my  father  concluded  to 
withdraw  me  from  the  profession  and  send  me  to  school. 

Grubbins,  the  schoolmaster,  was  a  tyrant,  and  it  was  not 
long  before  my  impetuous  and  self-willed  nature  rebelled 
against  his  authority.  I  soon  began  to  form  plans  of  revenge. 
In  this  T  was  assisted  by  Tom  Snaffle — a  school-fellow.  One 
day  Tom  suggested  : 

"Suppose  we  blow  him  up.  I've  got  two  pounds  of 
powder !" 

"  No,  that's  too  noisy,"  I  replied. 
Tom  was  silent  for  a  minute,  and  again  spoke  : 
"  You  remember  how  you  flattened  out  the  curate,  Pills  ! 
Couldn't  you  give  Grubbins  something — something  to  make 
him  leathery  sick — eh  ?" 

A  flash  of  inspiration  crossed  my  mind.  I  went  to  the 
shop  of  the  village  apothecary.  He  knew  me  ;  I  had  often 
purchased  vitrol,  which  I  poured  into  Grubbins's  inkstand  to 
corrode  his  pens  and  burn  up  his  coat-tail,  on  which  he  was 
in  the  habit  of  wiping  them.  T  boldly  asked  for  an  ounce  of 


MR.  MIDSHIPMAN  BREEZY.  205 

chloroform.  The  young  apothecary  winked  and  handed  me 
the  bottle. 

It  was  Grubbins's  custom  to  throw  his  handkerchief  over 
his  head,  recline  in  his  chair,  and  take  a  short  nap  during 
recess.  Watching  my  opportunity,  as  he  dozed,  I  managed 
to  slip  his  handkerchief  from  his  face  and  substitute  my  own, 
moistened  with  chloroform.  In  a  few  minutes  he  was  insen 
sible.  Tom  and  I  then  quickly  shaved  his  head,  beard,  and 
eyebrows,  blackened  his  face  with  a  mixture  of  vitriol  and 
burnt  cork,  and  fled.  There  was  a  row  and  scandal  the 
next  day.  My  father  always  excused  me  by  asserting  that 
Grubbins  had  got  drunk — but  somehow  found  it  convenient 
to  procure  me  an  appointment  in  Her  Majesty's  navy  at  an 
early  day. 

CHAPTER  II. 

AN  official  letter,  with  the  Admiralty  seal,  informed  me  that 
I  was  expected  to  join  H.M.  ship  Belcher,  Captain  Boltrope, 
at  Portsmouth,  without  delay.  In  a  few  days  I  presented 
myself  to  a  tall,  stern-visaged  man,  who  was  slowly  pacing 
the  leeward  side  of  the  quarter-deck.  As  I  touched  my  hat 
he  eyed  me  sternly  : 

"  So  ho  !  Another  young  suckling.  The  service  is  going 
to  the  devil.  Nothing  but  babes  in  the  cockpit  and  grannies  in 
the  board.  Boatswain's  mate,  pass  the  word  for  Mr.  Cheek  ! " 

Mr.  Cheek,  the  steward,  appeared  and  touched  his  hat. 
"  Introduce  Mr.  Breezy  to  the  young  gentlemen.  Stop  ! 
Where's  Mr.  Swizzle  T' 

"  At  the  masthead,  sir." 

"Where's  Mr.  Lankey ?" 

"  At  the  masthead,  sir." 

"Mr.  Briggs?" 

"Masthead,  too,  sir." 

"And  the  rest  of  the  young  gentlemen?"  roared  the 
enraged  officer. 


206  MR.  MIDSHIPMAN'  BREEZY. 

"  All  masthead,  sir." 

"  Ah  !•"  said  Captain  Boltrope,  as  he  smiled  grimly, 
"  under  the  circumstances,  Mr.  Breezy,  you  had  better  go  to 
the  masthead  too." 


CHAPTER  III. 

AT  the  masthead  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  two  youngsters 
of  about  my  own  age,  one  of  whom  informed  me  that  he  had 
been  there  332  days  out  of  the  year. 

"  In  rough  weather,  when  the  old  cock  is  out  of  sorts,  you 
know,  we  never  come  down,"  added  a  young  gentleman  of 
nine  years,  with  a  dirk  nearly  as  long  as  himself,  who  had 
been  introduced  to  me  as  Mr.  Briggs.  "  By  the  way,  Pills," 
he  continued,  "  how  did  you  come  to  omit  giving  the  captain 
a  naval  salute  ?" 

"  Why,  I  touched  my  hat,"  I  said,  innocently. 
"  Yes,  but  that  isn't  enough,  you  know.     That  will  do 
very  well  at  other  times.     He  expects  the  naval  salute  wheu 
you  first  come  on  board — greeny  ! " 

I  began  to  feel  alarmed,  and  begged  him  to  explain. 
.    «  Why,  you  see,  after  touching  your  hat,  you  should  have 
touched  him  lightly  with  your  forefinger  in  his  waistcoat,  so, 
and  asked,  '  How's  his  nibs  V — you  see  T' 
"  How's  his  nibs  ?"  I  repeated. 

"  Exactly.     He  would  have  drawn  back  a  little,  and  then 
you  should  have  repeated  the  salute,  remarking,  '  How's  his 
royal  nibs  ? '  asking  cautiously  after  his  wife  and  family,  and 
requesting  to  be  introduced  to  the  gunner's  daughter." 
"The  gunner's  daughter?" 

"  The  same ;  you  know  she  takes  care  of  us  young  gentle 
men  ;  now  don't  forget,  Pillsy  !" 

When  we  were  called  down  to  the  deck  I  thought  it  a 
good  chance  to  profit  by  this  instruction.  I  approached 
Captain  Boltrope  and  repeated  the  salute  without  conscien- 


MR.  MIDSHIPMAN  BREEZY.  207 

tiously  omitting  a  single  detail.  He  remained  for  a  moment 
livid  and  speechless.  At  length  he  gasped  out : 

"  Boatswain's  mate  ! " 

"  If  you  please,  sir,"  I  asked,  tremulously,  "  I  should  like 
to  be  introduced  to  the  gunner's  daughter  ! " 

"  0,  very  good,  sir  ! "  screamed  Captain  Boltrope,  rubbing 
his  hands  and  absolutely  capering  about  the  deck  with  rage. 
-'  0  d — n  you  !  Of  course  you  shall !  O  ho  !  the  gunner's 
daughter  !  O,  h — 11 !  this  is  too  much  !  Boatswain's  mate  S" 
Before  I  well  knew  where  I  was,  I  was  seized,  borne  to  an 
eight-pounder,  tied  upon  it  and  flogged  ! 

CHAPTER  IV. 

As  we  sat  together  in  the  cockpit,  picking  the  weevils  out  of 
our  biscuit,  Briggs  consoled  me  for  my  late  mishap,  adding 
that  the  "  naval  salute,"  as  a  custom,  seemed  just  then  to  be 
honoured  more  in  the  breach  than  the  observance.  I  joined 
in  the  hilarity  occasioned  by  the  witticism,  and  in  a  few 
moments  we  were  all  friends.  Presently  Swizzle  turned  to 
me : 

"  We  have  been  just  planning  how  to  confiscate  a  keg  of 
claret,  which  Kips,  the  purser,  keeps  under  his  bunk.  The 
old  nipcheese  lies  there  drunk  half  the  day,  and  there's  no 
getting  at  it." 

"  Let's  get  beneath  the  state-room,  and  bore  through  the 
deck,  and  so  tap  it,"  said  Lankey. 

The  proposition  was  received  with  a  shout  of  applause.  A 
long  half-inch,  auger  and  bit  was  procured  from  Chips,  the 
carpenter's  mate,  and  Swizzle,  after  a  careful  examination  of 
the  timbers  beneath  the  wardroom,  commenced  operations. 
The  auger  at  last  disappeared,  when  suddenly  there  was  a 
Blight  disturbance  on  the  deck  above.  Swizzle  withdrew 
the  auger  hurriedly ;  from  its  point  a  few  bright  red  drops 
trickled. 


2o8  MR.  MIDSHIPMAN  BREEZY. 

"  Huzza  !  send  her  up  again  ! "  cried  Lankey. 

The  auger  was  again  applied.  This  time  a  shriek  was 
heard  from  the  purser's  cabin.  Instantly  the  light  was 
doused,  and  the  party  retreated  hurriedly  to  the  cockpit. 
A  sound  of  snoring  was  heard  as  the  sentry  stuck  his  head 
into  the  door.  "  All  right,  sir,"  he  replied  in  answer  to  the 
voice  of  the  officer  of  the  deck. 

The  next  morning  we  heard  that  Nips  was  in  the  surgeon's 
hands,  with  a  bad  wound  in  the  fleshy  part  of  his  leg,  and 
that  the  auger  had  not  struck  claret. 

CHAPTER  V, 

"Now,  Pills,  you'll  have  a  chance  to  smell  powder,"  said 
Briggs  as  he  entered  the  cockpit  and  buckled  around  his 
waist  an  enormous  cutlass.  "  We  have  just  sighted  a  French 
ship." 

We  went  on  deck.  Captain  Boltrope  grinned  as  we 
touched  our  hats.  He  hated  the  purser.  "Come,  young 
gentlemen,  if  you're  boring  for  French  claret,  yonder 's  a 
good  quality.  Mind  your  con,  sir,"  he  added,  turning  to  the 
quartermaster,  who  was  grinning. 

The  ship  was  already  cleared  for  action.  The  men,  in 
their  eagerness,  had  started  the  coffee  from  the  tubs  and 
filled  them  with  shot.  Presently  the  Frenchman  yawed,  and 
a  shot  from  a  long  thirty-two  came  skipping  over  the  water. 
It  killed  the  quartermaster  and  took  off  both  of  Lankey's 
legs.  "Tell  the  purser  our  account  is  squared,"  said  the 
dying  boy,  with  a  feeble  smile. 

'The  fight  raged  fiercely  for  two  hours.  I  remember  kill 
ing  the  French  Admiral,  as  we  boarded,  but  on  looking 
around  for  Briggs,  after  the  smoke  had  cleared  away,  I  was 
intensely  amused  at  witnessing  the  following  novel  sight : 

Briggs  had  pinned  the  French  captain  against  the  mast 
with  his  cutlass,  and  was  now  engaged,  with  all  the  hilarity 


MR.  MIDSHIPMAN  BREEZY.  209 

of  youth,  in  pulling  the  captain's  coat-tails  between  his  legs, 
in  imitation  of  a  dancing-jack.  As  the  Frenchman  lifted  his 
legs  and  arms,  at  each  jerk  of  Briggs's,  I  could  not  help 
participating  in  the  general  mirth. 

"You  young  devil,  what  are  you  doing?"  said  a  stifled 
voice  behind  me.  I  looked  up  and  beheld  Captain  Boltrope, 
endeavouring  to  calm  his  stern  features,  but  the  twitching 
around  his  mouth  betrayed  his  intense  enjoyment  of  the 
scene.  "Go  to  the  masthead— up  with  you,  sir!"  he  re 
peated  sternly  to  Briggs. 

(i  Very  good,  sir,"  said  the  boy,  coolly  preparing  to  mount 
the  shrouds.  "  Good-bye,  Johnny  Crapaud.  Humph  ! "  he 
added,  in  a  tone  intended  for  my  ear,  "  a  pretty  way  to  treat 
a  hero — the  service  is  going  to  the  devil  I" 

I  thought  so  too 


CHAPTER  VI. 

WE  were  ordered  to  the  West  Indies.  Although  Captain 
Boltrope's  manner  toward  me  was  still  severe  and  even 
harsh,  I  understood  that  my  name  had  been  favourably 
mentioned  in  the  despatches. 

Reader,  were  you  ever  at  Jamaica  ?  If  so,  you  remember 
the  iiegresses,  the  oranges,  Port  Royal  Tom — the  yellow 
fever.  After  being  two  weeks  at  the  station,  I  was  taken 
sick  of  the  fever.  In  a  month  I  was  delirious.  During  my 
paroxysms,  I  had  a  wild  distempered  dream  of  a  stern  face 
bending  anxiously  over  my  pillow,  a  rough  hand  smoothing 
my  hair,  and  a  kind  voice  saying  : 

"  B  'ess  his  'ittle  heart !  Did  he  have  the  naughty  fever  !" 
This  face  seemed  again  changed  to  the  well-known  sterD 
features  of  Captain  Boltrope. 

When,  I  was  convalescent,  a  packet  edged  in  black  was 
put  in  my  hand.  It  contained  the  news  of  my  father's 
death,  and  a  sealed  letter  which  he  had  requested  to  be 


2io  MR  MIDSHIPMAN  BREEZY. 

given  to  me  on  his  decease.     I  opened  it  tremblingly.     It 
read  thus  : 

"My  DEAR  BOY, — I  regret  to  inform  you  that  in  all 
probability  you  are  not  my  son.  Your  mother,  I  am 
grieved  to  say.  was  a  highly  improper  person.  Who  your 
father  may  be  I  really  cannot  say,  but  perhaps  the  Honour 
able  Henry  Boltrope,  Captain  II,  N.,  may  be  able  to  inform 
you.  Circumstances  over  which  I  have  no  control  have 
deferred  this  important  disclosure. 

"  YOUR  STRICKEN  PARENT." 

And  so  Captain  Boltrope  was  my  father.  Heavens ! 
Was  it  a  dream  ?  I  recalled  his  stern  manner,  his  obser 
vant  eye,  his  ill-concealed  uneasiness  when  in  my  presence. 
I  longed  to  embrace  him.  Staggering  to  my  feet,  I  rushed 
in  my  scanty  apparel  to  the  deck,  where  Captain  Boltrope 
was  just  then  engaged  in  receiving  the  Governor's  wife  and 
daughter.  The  ladies  shrieked ;  the  youngest,  a  beautiful 
girl,  blushed  deeply.  Heeding  them  not,  I  sank  at  his  feet, 
and  embracing  them,  cried  : 

«  My  father!" 

"  Chuck  him  overboard  !  "  roared  Cnptain  Boltrope. 

"Stay,"  pleaded  the  soft  voice  of  Clara  Maitland,  the 
Governor's  daughter. 

"  Shave  his  head  !  he's  a  wretched  lunatic  !  "  continued 
Captain  Boltrope,  while  his  voice  trembled  with  excite 
ment. 

"No,  let  me  nurse  and  take  care  of  him,"  said  the  lovely 
girl,  blushing  as  she  spoke.  "  Mamma,  can't  we  take  him 
home?" 

The  daughter's  pleading  was  not  without  effect.  In  the 
meantime  I  had  fainted.  When  I  recovered  my  senses  I 
found  myself  in  Governor  Maitland's  mansion. 


MR.  MIDSHIPMAN  BREEZ  Y.  211 

CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  reader  will  guess  what  followed.  I  fell  deeply  in  love 
with  Clara  Maitland,  to  whom  I  confided  the  secret  of  my 
birth.  The  generous  girl  asserted  that  she  had  detected  the 
superiority  of  my  manner  at  once.  We  plighted  our  troth, 
and  resolved  to  wait  upon  events. 

Briggs  called  to  see  me  a  few  clays  afterward.  He  said 
that  the  purser  had  insulted  the  whole  cockpit,  and  all  the 
midshipmen  had  called  him  out.  But  he  added  thought 
fully  :  "I  don't  see  how  we  can  arrange  the  duel.  You  see 
there  are  six  of  us  to  fight  him." 

"  Very  easily,"  I  replied.  "Let  your  fellows  all  stand  in 
a  row,  and  take  his  fire  j  that,  you  see,  gives  him  six  chances 
to  one,  and  he  must  be  a  bad  shot  if  he  can't  hit  one  of  you; 
while,  on  the  other  hand,  you  see,  he  gets  a  volley  from  you 
six,  and  one  of  you'll  be  certain  to  fetch  him." 

"  Exactly  ;  "  and  away  Briggs  went,  but  soon  returned  to 
say  that  the  purser  had  declined — "  like  a  d — d  coward,"  he 
added. 

But  the  news  of  the  sudden  and  serious  illness  of  Captain 
Boltrope  put  off  the  duel.  I  hastened  to  his  bedside,  but 
too  late — an  hour  previous  he  had  given  up  the  ghost. 

I  resolved  to  return  to  England.  I  made  known  the 
secret  of  my  birth,  and  exhibited  my  adopted  father's  letter 
to  Lady  Maitland,  who  at  once  suggested  my  marriage  with 
her  daughter,  before  I  returned  to  claim  the  property.  We 
were  married,  and  took  our  departure  next  day. 

I  made  no  delay  in  posting  at  once,  in  company  with  my 
wife  and  my  friend  Briggs,  to  my  native  village.  Judge  of 
my  horror  and  surprise  when  my  late  adopted  father  came 
out  of  his  shop  to  welcome  me. 

"  Then  you  are  not  dead  ! "  I  gasped. 

"No,  my  dear  boy." 

«  And  this  letter  P 

g  i 


21  ?  GUY  HEA  VYSTONE. 

My  father — as  I  must  still  call  him — glanced  on  the  paper, 
and  pronounced  it  a  forgery.  Briggs  roared  with  laughter. 
I  turned  to  him  and  demanded  an  explanation. 

"  Why,  don't  you  see,  greeny,  it's  all  a  joke — a  midship 
man's  joke  !  " 

"But "I  asked. 

u  Don't  be  a  fool.     You've  got  a  good  wife — be  satisfied." 

I  turned  to  Clara,  and  was  satisfied.  Although  Mrs. 
Maitland  never  forgave  me,  the  jolly  old  Governor  laughed 
heartily  over  the  joke,  and  so  well  used  his  influence  that  I 
soon  became,  dear  reader,  Admiral  Breezy,  K.C.B. 


GUY  HEAVYSTONE; 
OR,  "ENTIRE." 
31  j^luscular  $o&cl. 

BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  "  SWORD  AND  GUN." 

CHAPTER  I. 
"  Nerei  repandirostrum  incurvicervicum  pecus.v 

A  DINGY,  s washy,  splashy  afternoon  in  October ;  a 
school-yard  filled  with  a  mob  of  riotous  boys.  A  lot 
of  us  standing  outside. 

Suddenly  came  a  dull,  crashing  sound  from  the  school 
room.  At  the  ominous  interruption  I  shuddered  involun 
tarily,  and  called  to  Smithsye  : 

"What's  up,  Smithums?" 

"  Guy's  cleaning  out  the  fourth  form,"  he  replied. 

At  the  same  moment  George  de  Coverly  passed  me, 
holding  his  nose,  from  whence  the  bright  Norman  blood 
streamed  redly.  To  him  the  plebeian  Smithsye  laughingly  : 

"Gully!  how's  h's  nibs  ?" 


GUY  HE  A  VY STONE.  2 1 3 

I  pushed  the  door  of  the  school-room  open.  There  are 
some  spectacles  which  a  man  never  forgets.  The  burning  of 
Troy  probably  seemed  a  large-sized  conflagration  to  the  pious 
/Eneas,  and  made  an  impression  on  him  which  he  earned 
away  with  the  feeble  Anchises. 

In  the  centre  of  the  room,  lightly  brandishing  the  piston- 
rod  of  a  steam-engine,  stood  Guy  Heavystone  alone.  I  say 
alone,  for  the  pile  of  small  boys  on  the  floor  in  the  corner 
could  hardly  be  called  company. 

I  will  try  and  sketch  him  for  the  reader.  Guy  Heavy- 
stone  was  then  only  fifteen.  His  brosd,  deep  chest,  his 
sinewy  and  quivering  flank,  his  straight  pastern  showed  liim 
to  be  a  thorough-bred.  Perhaps  he  was  a  trifle  heavy  in  the 
fetlock,  but  he  held  his  head  haughtily  erect.  His  eyes  were 
glittering  but  pitiless.  There  was  a  sternness  about  the 
lower  part  of  his  face — the  old  Heavystone  look — a  stern 
ness  heightened,  perhaps,  by  the  snalfle-bit  which,  in  one  of 
his  strange  freaks,  he  wore  in  his  mouth  to  curb  his  occa 
sional  ferocity.  His  dress  was  well  adapted  to  his  square -set 
and  Herculean  frame.  A  striped  knit  undershirt,  close-fitting 
striped  tights,  and  a  few  spangles  set  off  his  figure  ;  a  neat 
Glengarry  cap  adorned  his  head.  On  it  was  displayed  the 
Heavystone  crest,  a  cock  regardant  on  a  dunghill  or,  and  the 
motto,  "  Devil  a  better  !  " 

I  thought  of  Horatius  on  the  bridge,  of  Hector  before  the 
walls.  I  always  make  it  a  point  to  think  of  something 
classical  at  such  times. 

He  saw  me,  and  his  sternness  partly  relaxed.  Something 
like  a  smile  struggled  through  his  grim  lineaments.  It  was 
like  looking  on  the  Jungfrau  after  having  seen  Mont  Blanc 
— a  trifle,  only  a  trifle  less  sublime  and  awful.  Resting  his 
hand  lightly  on  the  shoulder  of  the  head-master,  who 
shuddered  and  collapsed  under  his  touch,  he  strode  toward 
me. 

His  walk  was  peculiar.     You  could  not  call  it  a 


214  GUY  HE  A  VYSTONE. 

It   was   like   the   "crest-tossing   Belleroplion " — a   kind   of 
prancing  gait.     Guy  Heavystone  pranced  toward  nie. 


CHAPTER  II. 

"  Lord  Lovel  he  stood  at  the  garden  gate, 
A-combing  his  milk-white  steed.1' 

IT  was  the  winter  of  186-  when  I  next  met  Guy  Heavystone. 
He  had  left  the  University  and  had  entered  the  76th 
"  Heavies."  "  I  have  exchanged  the  gown  for  the  sword, 
you  see,"  he  said,  grasping  my  hand,  and  fracturing  the  bones 
of  my  little  finger, as  he  shook  it. 

I  gazed  at  him  with  unmixed  admiration.  He  was 
squarer,  sterner,  and  in  every  way  smarter  and  more 
remarkable  than  ever.  I  began  to  feel  toward  this  man  as 
Phalaster  felt  towards  Phyrgino,  as  somebody  must  have  felt 
toward  Archididascalus,  as  Boswell  felt  towards  Johnson. 

"Come  into  my  den,"  he  said,  and  lifting  me  gently  by 
the  seat  of  my  pantaloons,  he  carried  me  up-stairs  and 
deposited  me;  before  I  could  apologise,  on  the  sofa.  I  looked 
around  the  room.  It  was  a  bachelor's  apartment,  character 
istically  furnished  in  the  taste  of  the  proprietor.  A  few 
claymores  and  battle-axes  were  ranged  against  the  wall,  and 
a  culverin,  captured  by  Sir  Ralph  Heavystone,  occupied  the 
corner,  the  other  end  of  the  room  being  taken  up  by  a  light 
battery.  Foils,  boxing-gloves,  saddles,  and  fishing  poles  lay 
around  carelessly.  A  small  pile  of  billets-doux  lay  upon  a  silver 
salver.  The  man  was  not  an  anchorite,  nor  yet  a  Sir  Galahad. 

I  never  could  tell  what  Guy  thought  of  women.  "  Poor 
little  beasts,"  he  would  often  say  when  the  conversation 
turned  on  any  of  his  fresh  conquests.  Then,  passing  his 
hand  over  his  marble  brow,  the  old  look  of  stern  fixedness' 
of  purpose  and  unflinching  severity  would  straighten  the 
\ines  of  his  mouth,  and  he  would  mutter,  half  to  himself, 


G  UY  HE  A  VYSTONE.  2  i  5 

"Come  with  me  to  Heavystone  Grange.  The  Exmoor 
Hounds  throw  off  to-morrow.  I'll  give  you  a  mount,"  he 
said,  as  he  amused  himself  by  rolling  up  a  silver  candlestick 
between  his  fingers.  "  You  shall  have  Cleopatra.  But  stay," 
he  added,  thoughtfully ;  "  now  I  remember,  I  ordered 
Cleopatra  to  be  shot  this  morning." 

"  And  why  ] "  I  queried. 

"  She  threw  her  rider  yesterday  and  fell  on  him " 

"And  killed  him]" 

"  No.  That's  the  reason  why  I  have  ordered  her  to  be 
shot.  I  keep  no  animals  that  are  not  dangerous — I 
should  add  deadly  !  "  He  hissed  the  last  sentence  between 
his  teeth,  and  a  gloomy  frown  descended  over  his  calm 
brow. 

I  affected  to  turn  over  the  tradesmen's  bills  that  lay  on 
the  table  ;  for,  like  all  of  the  Heavystone  race,  Guy  seldom 
paid  cash,  and  said  : 

"  You  remind  me  of  the  time  when  Leonidas " 

"0,  bother  Leonidas  and  your  classical  allusions. 
Come!" 

We  descended  to  dinner. 

CHAPTER  III. 

*  He  carries  weight,  he  rides  a  race, 
'Tis  for  a  thousand  pound." 

"  THERE  is  Flora  Billingsgate,  the  greatest  coquette  and 
hardest  rider  in  the  country,"  said  my  companion,  Ralph 
Mortmain,  as  we  stood  upon  Dingleby  Common  before  the 
meet. 

I  looked  up  and  beheld  Guy  Heavystone  bending 
haughtily  over  the  saddle,  as  he  addressed  a  beautiful 
brunette.  She  was  indeed  a  splendidly-groomed  and  high- 
spirited  woman.  We  were  near  enough  to  overhear  the 
following  conversation,  which  any  high-toned  reader  will 


2i6  GUY 

recognise  as  the  common  and  natural  expression  of  the 
higher  classes. 

"  When  Diana  takes  the  field  the  chase  is  not  wholly 
confined  to  objects  ferce  naturce,"  said  Guy,  darting  a 
significant  glance  at  his  companion.  Flora  did  not  shrink 
either  from  the  glance  or  the  meaning  implied  in  the 
sarcasm. 

"If  I  were  looking  for  an  Eiidymion,  now,"  she  said 
archly,  as  she  playfully  cantered  over  a  few  hounds  and 
leaped  a  five-barred  gate. 

Guy  whispered  a  few  words,  inaudible  to  the  rest  of  the 
party,  and  curvetting  slightly,  cleverly  cleared  two  of  the 
huntsmen  in  a  flying  leap,  galloped  up  the  front  steps  of  the 
mansion,  and  dashing  at  full  speed  through  the  hall,  leaped 
through  the  drawing-room  window  and  rejoined  me,  languidly, 
on  the  lawn. 

"  Be  careful  of  Flora  Billingsgate,"  he  said  to  me,  in  low 
stern  tones,  while  his  pitiless  eye  shot  a  baleful  fire. 
"  Gardez  vous  !  " 

"  Gnothi  seauton"  I  replied  calmly,  not  wishing  to  appear 
to  be  behind  him  in  perception  or  verbal  felicity. 

Guy  started  off  in  high  spirits.  He  was  well  carried.  He 
and  the  first  whip,  a  ten-stone  man,  were  head  and  head  at 
the  last  fence,  while  the  hounds  were  rolling  over  their  fox, 
a  hundred  yards  farther  in  the  open. 

But  an  unexpected  circumstance  occurred.  Coming  back, 
his  chestnut  mare  refused  a  ten- foot  wall.  She  reared  and 
fell  backward.  Again  he  led  her  up  to  it  lightly  ;  again  she 
refused,  falling  heavily  from  the  coping.  Guy  started  to  his 
feet.  The  old  pitiless  fire  shone  in  his  eyes ;  the  old  stern 
look  settled  around  his  mouth.  Seizing  the  mare  by  the  tail 
and  mane  he  threw  her  over  the  wall.  She  landed  twenty 
feet  on  the  other  side,  erect  and  trembling.  Lightly  leaping 
the  same  obstacle  himself,  he  remounted  her.  She  did  not 
refuse  the  wall  the  next  time. 


HE  A  VYSTONE.  2  1  7 


CHAPTER  IV. 
"  He  holds  him  by  his  glittering  eye." 

GUY  was  in  the  north  of  Ireland,  cock-shooting.  So  Ealph 
Mortmain  told  me,  and  also  that  the  match  between  Mary 
Brandagee  and  Guy  had  been  broken  off  by  Flora  Billings 
gate.  "  I  don't  like  those  Billingsgates,"  said  Ralph, 
"  they're  a  bad  stock.  Her  father,  Smithfield  de  Billings 
gate,  had  an  unpleasant  way  of  turning  up  the  knave  from 
the  bottom  of  the  pack.  But  nous  verrons  ;  let  us  go  and 
see  Guy." 

The  next  morning  we  started  for  Fin-ma-CouTa  Crossing. 
When  I  reached  the  shooting-box,  where  Guy  was  enter 
taining  a  select  company  of  friends,  Flora  Billingsgate 
greeted  me  with  a  saucy  smile. 

Guy  was  even  squarer  and  sterner  than  ever.  His  gusts 
of  passion  were  more  frequent,  and  it  was  with  difficulty  that 
he  could  keep  an  abV-bodied  servant  in  his  family.  His 
present  retainers  were  more  or  less  maimed  from  exposure  to 
the  fury  of  their  master.  There  was  a  strange  cynicism,  a 
cutting  sarcasm  in  his  address  piercing  through  his  polished 
manner.  I  thought  of  Timon,  etc.,  etc. 

One  evening  we  were  sitting  over  our  Chambertin,  after  a 
hard  day's  work,  and  Guy  was  listlessly  turning  over  some 
letters,  when  suddenly  he  uttered  a  cry.  Did  you  ever  hear 
the  trumpeting  of  a  wounded  elephant]  It  was  like  that. 

I  looked  at  him  with  consternation.  He  was  glancing  at 
a  letter  which  he  held  at  arm'w  xength,  and  snorting,  as  it 
were,  at  it  as  he  gazed.  The  lower  part  of  his  face  was 
stern,  but  not  as  rigid  as  usual.  He  was  slowly  grinding 
between  his  teeth  the  fragments  of  the  glass  he  had  just 
been  drinking  from.  Suddenly  he  seized  one  of  his  servants, 
and,  forcing  the  wretch  upon  his  knees,  exclaimed  with  the 
roar  of  a  tiger  ; 


2i&  GUY  HEA  VYSTONE. 

"  Dog  !  why  was  this  kept  from  me  f ' 

"  Why,  please,  sir,  Miss  Flora  said  as  how  it  was  a  recon 
ciliation,  from  Miss  Brandagee,  and  it  was  to  be  kept  from 
you  where  you  would  not  be  likely  to  see  it — and — and " 

"  Speak,  dog  !  and  you " 

"  I  put  it  among  your  bills,  sir  !" 

With  a  groan  like  distant  thunder,  Guy  fell  swooning  to 
the  floor. 

He  soon  recovered,  for  the  next  moment  a  servant  came 
rushing  into  the  room  with  the  information  that  a  number  of 
the  ingenuous  peasantry  of  the  neighbourhood  were  about  to 
indulge  that  evening  in  the  national  pastime  of  burning  a 
farmhouse  and  shooting  a  landlord.  Guy  smiled  a  fearful 
smile,  without,  however,  altering  his  stern  and  pitiless 
expression. 

"  Let  them  come,"  he  said  calmly  ;  "  I  feel  like  entertain 
ing  company." 

We  barricaded  the  doors  and  windows,  and  then  chose  our 
arms  from  the  armoury.  Guy's  choice  was  a  singular  one  : 
it  was  a  landing  net  with  a  long  handle,  and  a  sharp  cavalry 
sabre. 

We  were  not  destined  to  remain  long  in  ignorance  of  its 
use.  A  howl  was  heard  from  without,  and  a  party  of  fifty 
or  sixty  armed  men  precipitated  themselves  against  the 
door. 

Suddenly  the  window  opened.  With  the  rapidity  of  light 
ning,  Guy  Heavystone  cast  the  net  over  the  head  of  the  ring 
leader,  ejaculated  "  II abet  /"  and  with  a  back  stroke  of  his 
cavalry  sabre  severed  the  member  from  its  trunk,  and  draw 
ing  the  net  back  again,  cast  the  gory  head  upon  the  floor, 
saying  quietly  : 

"One." 

Again  the  net  was  cast,  the  steel  flashed,  the  net  was 
withdrawn,  and  the  ominous  "  Two ! "  accompanied  the 
head  as  it  rolled  on  the  floor. 


THE  HAUNTED  MAN.  219 

"  Do  you  remember  what  Pliny  says  of  tlie  gladiator  V 
said  Guy,  calmly  wiping  liis  sabre.  "  How  graphic  is  that 
passage  commencing :  '  Inter  nos,  etc.*  "  The  sport  con 
tinued  until  the  heads  of  twenty  desperadoes  had  been 
gathered  in.  The  rest  seemed  inclined  to  disperse.  Guy 
incautiously  showed  himself  at  the  door  j  a  ringing  shot  was 
heard,  and  he  staggered  back  pierced  through  the  heart. 
Grasping  the  door-post  in  the  last  unconscious  throes  of  his 
mighty  frame,  the  whcle  side  of  the  house  yielded  to  that 
earthquake  tremor,  and  we  had  barely  time  to  escape  before 
the  whole  building  fell  in  ruins.  I  thought  of  Samson,  the 
Giant  Judge,  etc.,  etc.  ;  but  all  was  over. 

Guy  Heavy  stone  had  died  as  he  had  lived — hard. 


THE  HAUNTED  MAN. 
a  CC&rfetmas  Storn. 

BY   CH-R-S   D-C-K-N-S. 
PART  I. 

'THE  FIRST  PHANTOM. 

tell  me  that  it  wasn't  a  knocker.  I  had  seen  it 
often  enough,  and  I  ought  to  know.  So  ought  the 
three  o'clock  beer,  in  dirty  highlows,  swinging  himself  over 
the  railing,  or  executing  a  demoniacal  jig  upon  the  doorstep; 
BO  ought  the  butcher,  although  butchers  as  a  general  thing 
are  scornful  of  such  trifles  ;  so  ought  the  postman,  to  whom 
knockers  of  the  most  extravagant  description  were  merely 
human  weaknesses,  that  were  to  be  pitied  and  used.  And 
so  ought,  for  the  matter  of  that,  etc.,  etc.,  etc. 

But  then  it  was  such  a  knocker.  A  wild,  extravagant,  and 
utterly  incomprehensible  knocker.  A  knocker  so  mysterious 
and  suspicious  that  Policeman  X  37,  first  coming  upon  it,  felt 


22*  THE  HA  UNTED  MAN. 

inclined  to  take  it  instantly  in  custody,  but  compromised 
with  his  professional  instincts  by  sharply  and  sternly  noting 
it  with  an  eye  that  admitted  of  no  nonsense,  but  confidently 
expected  to  detect  its  secret  yet.  An  ugly  knocker;  a 
knocker  with  a  hard,  human  face,  that  was  a  type  of  the 
harder  human  face  within.  A  human  face  that  held  between 
its  teeth  a  brazen  rod.  So  hereafter  in  the  mysterious  future 
should  be  held,  etc.,  etc. 

But  if  the  knocker  had  a  fierce  human  aspect  in  the  glare 
of  day,  you  should  have  seen  it  at  night,  when  it  peered  out 
of  the  gathering  shadows  and  suggested  an  ambushed  figure  ; 
when  the  light  of  the  street  lamps  fell  upon  it,  and  wrought  a 
play  of  sinister  expression  in  its  hard  outlines  \  when  it 
seemed  to  wink  meaningly  at  a  shrouded  figure  who,  as  the 
night  fell  darkly,  crept  up  the  steps  and  passed  into  the 
mysterious  house  ;  when  the  swinging  door  disclosed  a  black 
passage  into  which  the  figure  seemed  to  lose  itself  and  become 
a  part  of  the  mysterious  gloom ;  when  the  night  grew 
boisterous  and  the  fierce  wind  made  furious  charges  at  the 
knocker,  as  if  to  wrench  it  off  and  carry  it  away  in  triumph. 
Such  a  night  as  this. 

It  was  a  wild  and  pitiless  wind.  A  wind  that  had  com 
menced  life  as  a  gentle  country  zephyr,  but  wandering 
through  manufacturing  towns  had  become  demoralised,  and 
reaching  the  city  had  plunged  into  extravagant  dissipation 
and  wild  excesses.  A  roystering  wind  that  indulged  in 
Bacchanalian  shouts  on  the  street  corners,  that  knocked  off 
the  hats  from  the  heads  of  helpless  passengers,  and  then 
fulfilled  its  duties  by  speeding  away,  like  all  young  prodigals 
— to  sea. 

He  sat  alone  in  a  gloomy  library  listening  to  the  wind  that 
roared  in  the  chimney.  Around  him  novels  and  story-books 
were  strewn  thickly ;  in  his  lap  he  held  one  with  its  pages 
freshly  cut,  and  turned  the  leaves  wearily  until  his  eyes 
rested  upon  a  portrait  in  its  frontispiece.  And  as  the  wind 


THE  HAUNTED  MAN.  221 

howled  the  more  fiercely,  and  the  darkness  without  fell 
blacker,  a  strange  and  fateful  likeness  to  that  portrait 
appeared  above  his  chair  and  leaned  upon  his  shoulder.  The 
Haunted  Man  gazed  at  the  portrait  and  sighed.  The  figure 
gazed  at  the  portrait  and  sighed  too. 

"  Here  again]"  said  the  Haunted  Man. 

"  Here  again,"  it  repeated  in  a  low  voice. 

"Another  novel1?" 

"  Another  novel." 

"  The  old  story  1" 

"  The  old  story.'* 

"  I  see  a  child,"  said  the  Haunted  Man,  gazing  from  the 
pages  of  the  book  into  the  fire — "  a  most  unnatural  child,  a 
model  infant.  It  is  prematurely  old  and  philosophic  It  dies 
in  poverty  to  slow  music.  It  dies  surroundeed  by  luxury  to 
slow  music.  It  dies  with  an  accompaniment  of  golden  water 
and  rattling  carts  to  slow  musie.  Previous  to  its  decease  it 
makes  a  will;  it  repeats  the  Lord's  Prayer,  it  kisses  th<j> 
'  boofer  lady.'  That  child " 

"  Is  mine,"  said  the  phantom. 

"  I  see  a  good  woman,  undersized.  I  see  several  charming 
women,  but  they  are  all  undersized.  They  are  more  or  less 
imbecile  and  idiotic,  but  always  fascinating  and  undersized. 
They  wear  coquettish  caps  and  aprons.  I  observe  that 
feminine  virtue  is  invariably  below  the  medium  height,  and 
that  it  is  always  babyish  and  infantine.  These  women " 

"  Are  mine." 

"  I  see  a  haughty,  proud,  and  wicked  lady.  She  is  tall  and 
queenly.  I  remark  that  all  proud  and  wicked  women  are 
tall  and  queenly.  That  woman " 

"  Is  mine,"  said  the  phantom,  wringing  his  hands. 

"  I  see  several  things  continually  impending.  I  observe 
that  whenever  an  accident,  a  murder,  or  death  is  about 
to  happen,  there  is  something  in  the  furniture,  in  the 
locality,  in  the  atmosphere  that  foreshadows  and  suggests  it 


222  THE  HAUNTED  MAN. 

years  in  advance.     I  cannot  say  that  in  real  life  I  have 
noticed  it — the  perception  of  this  surprising  fact  belongs " 

"To  me!"  said  the  phantom.  The  Haunted  Man  con 
tinued,  in  a  despairing  tone  : 

"I  see  the  influence  of  this  in  the  magazines  and  daily 
papers  :  I  see  weak  imitators  rise  up  and  enfeeble  the  world 
with  senseless  formula.  I  am  getting  tired  of  it.  It  won't 
do,  Charles  !  it  won't  do  ! "  and  the  Haunted  Man  buried 
his  head  in  his  hands  and  groaned.  The  figure  looked  down 
upon  him  sternly  :  the  portrait  in  the  frontispiece  frowned 
as  he  gazed. 

"Wretched  man,"  said  the  phantom,  "and  how  have 
these  things  affected  you  ?  " 

"Once  I  laughed  and  cried,  but  then  I  was  younger. 
Now,  I  would  forget  them  if  I  could." 

"Have  then  your  wish.  And  take  this  with  you,  man 
whom  I  renounce.  From  this  day  henceforth  you  shall  live 
with  those  whom  I  displace.  Without  forgetting  me,  'twill 
be  your  lot  to  walk  through  life  as  if  we  had  not  met.  But 
first  you  shall  survey  these  scenes  that  henceforth  must  be 
yours.  At  one  to-night,  prepare  to  meet  the  phantom  I 
have  raised.  Farewell !  " 

The  sound  of  its  voice  seemed  to  fade  away  with  the 
dying  wind,  and  the  Haunted  Man  was  alone.  But  the 
firelight  flickered  gaily,  and  the  light  danced  on  the  walls, 
making  grotesque  figures  of  the  furniture. 

"  Ha,  ha ! "  said  the  Haunted  Man,  rubbing  his  hands 
gleefully ;  "  now  for  a  whiskey  punch  and  a  cigar." 

BOOK  II. 

THE  SECOND   PHANTOM. 

ONE  !  The  stroke  of  the  far-off  bell  had  hardly  died  before 
the  front  door  closed  with  a  reverberating  clang.  Steps 
were  heard  along  the  passage ;  the  library  door  swung  open 


THE  HAUNTED  MAN.  223 

of  itself,  and  the  Knocker — yes,  the  Knocker — slowly  strode 
into  the  room.  The  Haunted  Man  rubbed  his  eyes — no ! 
there  could  be  no  mistake  about  it — it  was  the  Knocker's 
face,  mounted  on  a  misty,  almost  imperceptible  body.  The 
brazen  rod  was  transferred  from  its  mouth  to  its  right  hand, 
where  it  was  held  like  a  ghostly  truncheon. 

"  It's  a  cold  evening,"  paid  the  Haunted  Man. 

"  It  is,"  said  the  Goblin,  in  a  hard,  metallic  voice. 

"It  must  be  pretty  cold  out  there,"  said  the  Haunted 
Man,  with  vague  politeness.  "Do  you  ever — will  you — 
take  some  hot  water  and  brandy  1 " 

"  No,"  said  the  Goblin. 

"  Perhaps  you'd  like  it  cold,  by  way  of  change?"  continued 
the  Haunted  Man,  correcting  himself,  as  he  remembered 
the  peculiar  temperature  with  which  the  Goblin  was  pro 
bably  familiar. 

"Time  flies,"  said  the  Goblin  coldly.  "We  have  no 
leisure  for  idle  talk.  Come ! "  He  moved  his  ghostly 
truncheon  toward  the  window,  and  laid  his  hand  upon  the 
other's  arm.  At  his  touch  the  body  of  the  Haunted  Man 
seemed  to  become  as  thin  and  incorporeal  as  that  of  the 
Goblin  himself,  and  together  they  glided  out  of  the  window 
into  the  black  and  blowy  night. 

In  the  rapidity  of  their  flight  the  senses  of  the  Haunted 
Man  seemed  to  leave  him.  At  length  they  stopped  suddenly. 

"  What  do  you  see  ?  "  asked  the  Goblin. 

"  I  see  a  battlemented  medieval  castle.  Gallant  men  in 
mail  ride  over  the  drawbridge,  and  kiss  their  gauntlet ed 
fingers  to  fair  ladies,  who  wave  their  lily  hands  in  return. 
I  see  fight  and  fray  and  tournament.  I  hear  roaring  heralds 
bawling  the  charms  of  delicate  women,  and  shamelessly  pro 
claiming  their  lovers.  Stay.  I  see  a  Jewess  about  to  leap 
from  a  battlement.  I  see  knightly  deeds,  violence,  rapine, 
and  a  good  deal  of  blood.  I've  seen  pretty  much  the  same 
at  Astley  V 


224  THE  HAUNTED  MAN. 

"  Look  again." 

"  I  see  purple  moors,  glens,  masculine  women,  bare-legged 
men,  priggish  bookworms,  more  violence,  physical  excellence, 
and  blood.  Always  blood — and  the  superiority  of  physical 
attainments." 

"And  how  do  you  feel  now  ! "  said  the  Goblin. 

The  Haunted  Man  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"None  the  better  for  being  carried  back  and  asked  to 
sympathise  with  a  barbarous  age." 

The  Goblin  smiled  and  clutched  his  arm ;  they  again  sped 
rapidly  through  the  black  night,  and  again  halted. 

"  What  do  you  see  ? "  said  the  Goblin. 

"  I  see  a  barrack  room,  with  a  mess  table,  and  a  group  of 
intoxicated  Celtic  officers  telling  funny  stories,  and  giving 
challenges  to  duel.  I  see  a  young  Irish  gentleman  capable 
of  performing  prodigies  of  valour,  I  learn  incidentally  that 
the  acme  of  all  heroism  is  the  cornetcy  of  a  dragoon  regi 
ment.  I  hear  a  good  deal  of  French  !  No,  thank  you," 
said  the  Haunted  Man  hurriedly,  as  he  stayed  the  waving 
hand  of  the  Goblin,  "  I  would  rather  not  go  to  the  Peninsula, 
and  don't  care  to  have  a  private  interview  with  Napoleon." 

Again  the  Goblin  flew  away  with  the  unfortunate  man, 
and  from  a  strange  roaring  below  them,  he  judged  they  were 
above  the  ocean.  A  ship  hove  in  sight,  and  the  Goblin 
stayed  its  flight.  "  Look,"  he  said,  squeezing  his  com 
panion's  arm. 

The  Haunted  Man  yawned.  "  .Don't  you  think,  Charles, 
you're  rather  running  this  thing  into  the  ground]  Of 
course,  it's  very  moral  and  instructive,  and  all  that.  But 
ain't  there  a  little  too  much  pantomime  about  it  ?  Come 
cow  ! " 

"Look  !  "  repeated  the  Goblin,  pinching  his  arm  malevo 
lently.  The  Haunted  Man  groaned. 

"Oh,  of  course,  I  see  Her  Majesty's  ship  Arethusa.  Of 
course  I  am  familiar  with  her  stern  First  Lieutenant,  her 


THE  HAUNTED  MAN.  2.^ 

eccentric  Captain,  her  one  fascinating  and  several  mis 
chievous  midshipmen.  Of  course,  I  know  it's  a  splendid 
thing  to  see  all  this,  and  not  to  be  sea-sick.  Oh,  there  the 
young  gentlemen  are  going  to  play  a  trick  on  the  purser. 
For  God's  sake,  let  us  go,"  and  the  unhappy  man  absolutely 
dragged  the  Goblin  away  with  him. 

When  they  next  halted,  it  was  at  the  edge  of  a  broad  and 
boundless  prairie,  in  the  middle  of  an  oak  opening. 

"  I  see,"  said  the  Haunted  Man,  without  waiting  for  his 
cue,  but  mechanically,  and  as  if  he  were  repeating  a  lesson 
which  the  Goblin  had  taught  him  —  "I  see  the  Noble 
Savage.  He  is  very  fine  to  look  at !  But  I  observe  under 
his  war  paint,  feathers  and  picturesque  blanket — dirt,  disease, 
and  an  unsymmetrical  contour.  I  observe  beneath  his  in 
flated  rhetoric  deceit  and  hypocrisy.  Beneath  his  physical 
hardihood,  cruelty,  malice  and  revenge.  The  Noble  Savage 
is  a  humbug.  I  remarked  the  same  to  Mr.  Catlin." 

"  Come,"  said  the  phantom. 

The  Haunted  Man  sighed,  and  took  out  his  watch, 
"  Couldn't  we  do  the  rest  of  this  another  time  ! " 

"  My  hour  is  almost  spent,  irreverent  being,  but  there  is 
yet  a  chance  for  your  reformation.  Come  !  " 

Again  they  sped  through  the  night,  and  again  they  halted. 
The  sound  of  delicious  but  melancholy  music  fell  upon  their 
ears. 

"I  see,"  said  the  Haunted  Man,  with  something  of  inte 
rest  in  his  manner,  "  I  see  an  old  moss-covered  manse  beside 
a  sluggish,  flowing  river.  I  see  weird  shapes  :  witches, 
Puritans,  clergymen,  little  children,  judges,  mesmerised 
maidens,  moving  to  the  sound  of  melody  that  thrills  me 
with  its  sweetness  and  purity. 

"  But,  although  carried  along  its  calm  and  evenly-flowing 
current,  the  shapes  are  strange  and  frightful :  an  eating 
lichen  gnaws  at  the  heart  of  each ;  not  only  the  clergymen, 
but  witch,  maiden,  judge,  and  Puritan,  all  wear  Scarlet 

Q 


225  THE  HAUNTED  MAN. 

Letters  of  some  kind  burned  upon  their  hearts.  I  am  fasci 
nated  and  thrilled,  but  I  feel  a  morbid  sensitiveness  creeping 
over  me.  I — I  beg  your  pardon."  The  Goblin  was  yawn 
ing  frightfully.  "  Well,  perhaps  we  had  better  go." 

"  One  more,  and  the  last,"  said  the  Goblin.  They  were 
moving  home.  Streaks  of  red  were  beginning  to  appear  in 
the  eastern  sky.  Along  the  banks  of  the  blackly  flowing 
river,  by  moorland  and  stagnant  fens,  by  low  houses,  clus 
tering  close  to  the  water's  edge,  like  strange  mollusks, 
crawled  upon  the  beach  to  dry ;  by  misty  black  barges,  the 
more  misty  and  indistinct  seen  through  its  mysterious  veil, 
the  river  fog  was  slowly  rising.  So  rolled  away  and  rose 
from  the  heart  of  the  Haunted  Man,  etc.,  etc. 

They  stopped  before  a  qiiaint  mansion  of  red  brick.  The 
Goblin  waved  his  hand  without  speaking. 

"I  see,"  said  the  Haunted  Man,  "a  gay  drawing-room. 
I  see  my  old  friends  of  the  club,  of  the  college,  of  society, 
even  as  they  lived  and  moved.  1  see  the  gallant  and  un 
selfish  men  whom  I  have  loved,  and  the  snobs  whom  I  have 
hated.  I  see  strangely  mingling  with  them,  and  now  and 
then  blending  with  their  forms,  our  old  friends  Dick  Steele, 
Addison,  and  Congreve.  I  observe,  though,  that  these  gen 
tlemen  have  a  habit  of  getting  too  much  in  the  way.  The 
royal  standard  of  Queen  Anne,  not  in  itself  a  beautiful 
ornament,  is  rather  too  prominent  in  the  picture.  The  long 
galleries  of  black  oak,  the  formal  furniture,  the  old  portraits, 
are  picturesque,  but  depressing.  The  house  is  damp.  I 
enjoy  myself  better  here  on  the  lawn,  where  they  are  getting 
up  a  Vanity  Fair.  See,  the  bell  rings,  the  curtain  is  rising, 
the  puppets  are  brought  out  for  a  new  play.  Let  me 
eee." 

The  Haunted  Man  was  pressing  forward  in  his  eagerness, 
but  the  hand  of  the  Goblin  stayed  him,  and  pointing  to  his 
feet,  he  saw  between  him  and  the  rising  curtain,  a  new-made 
grave.  And  bending  above  the  grave  in  passionate  griefj 


THE  hA  VNTED  MAN.  <MJ 

the  Haunted   Man   belield   the   phantom,   of  the   previous 
night. 

******#** 

The  Haunted  Man  started,  and — woke.  The  bright  sun 
shine  streamed  into  the  room.  The  air  was  sparkling  with 
frost.  He  ran  joyously  to  the  window  and  opened  it.  A 
small  boy  saluted  him  with  "  Merry  Christmas."  The 
Haunted  Man  instantly  gave  him  a  Bank  of  England  note. 
"How  much  like  Tiny  Tim,  Tom  and  Bobby  that  boy 
looked — bless  my  soul,  what  a  genius  this  Dickens  has  ! " 

A  knock  at  the  door,  and  Boots  entered. 

"Consider  your  salary  doubled  instantly.  Have  you 
read  David  Gopperjidd  ?  " 

"  Yezzur." 

"  Your  salary  is  quadrupled.  What  do  you  think  of  the 
Old  Curiosity  Shop  ?  " 

The  man  instantly  burst  into  a  torrent  of  tears,  and  tLaSl 
into  a  roar  of  laughter. 

"Enough  !  Here  are  five  thousand  pounds.  Open  a 
porter-house,  and  call  it,  '  Our  Mutual  Friend.'  Huzza  !  I 
feel  so  happy  ! "  And  the  Haunted  Man  danced  about  the 
room. 

And  so,  bathed  in  the  light  of  that  blessed  sun,  and  yet 
glowing  with  the  warmth  of  a  good  action,  the  Haunted 
Man,  haunted  no  longer,  save  by  those  shapes  which  make 
the  dreams  of  children  beautiful,  re-seated  himself  in  his 
chair,  and  finished  Our  Mutual  Friend. 


228  LA  FEMMfi. 

«'LA  FEMME." 

AFTER  THE  FRENCH  OF  M.  MICHELET* 


WOMEN  AS  AN   INSTITUTION. 

"  T  F  it  were  not  for  women,  few  of  us  would  at  present  be 
in  existence."  This  is  the  remark  of  a  cautious  and 
discreet  writer.  He  was  also  sagacious  and  intelligent. 

Woman  !  Look  upon  her  and  admire  her.  Gaze  upon 
her  and  love  her.  If  she  wishes  to  embrace  you,  permit  her. 
Remember  she  is  weak  and  you  are  strong. 

But  don't  treat  her  unkindly.  Don't  make  love  to  another 
woman  before  her  face,  even  if  she  be  your  wife.  Don't  do 
it.  Always  be  polite,  even  should  she  fancy  somebody  better 
than  you. 

If  your  mother,  my  dear  Amadis,  had  not  fancied  your 
father  better  than  somebody,  you  might  have  been  that 
somebody's  son.  Consider  this.  Always  be  a  philosopher, 
even  about  women. 

Few  men  understand  women.  Frenchmen  perhaps  better 
than  any  one  else.  I  am  a  Frenchman. 


II. 

THE  INFANT. 

SHE  is  a  child  —  a  little  thing  —  an  infant. 

She  has  a  mother  and  father.  Let  us  suppose,  for  ex 
ample,  they  are  married.  Let  us  be  moral  if  we  cannot  be 
happy  and  free  —  they  are  married  —  perhaps  —  they  love  one 
another  —  who  knows  ? 

But  she  is  not  lovely  at  first.  It  is  cruel,  perhaps  —  but 
She  is  red  —  and  positively  ugly.  She  feels  this  keenly,  and 


LA  FEMME. 


229 


cries.  She  weeps.  Ah,  my  God!  how  she  weeps!  Her 
cries  and  lamentations  now  are  really  distressing. 

Tears  stream  from  her  in  floods.  She  feels  deeply  and 
copiously  like  M.  Alphonse  de  Lamartine  in  his  Confessions. 

If  you  are  her  mother,  Madame,  you  will  fancy  worms ; 
you  will  examine  her  linen  for  pins  and  what  not.  Ah, 
hypocrite  !  you,  even  you,  misunderstand  her. 

Yet  she  has  charming  natural  impulses.  See  how  she 
tosses  her  dimpled  arms.  She  looks  longingly  at  her  mother. 
She  has  a  language  of  her  own.  She  says  "  goo  goo,"  and 
"gaga." 

She  demands  something — this  infant ! 

She  is  faint,  poor  thing.  She  famishes.  She  wishes  to  be 
restored.  .Restore  her,  Mother  ! 

It  is  the  first  duty  of  a  mother  to  restore  her  child/ 


III. 

THE  DOLL, 

SHE  is  hardly  able  to  walk  —  she  already  totters  under 
the  weight  of  a  doll. 

It  is  a  charming  and  elegant  affair.  It  has  pink  cheeks 
and  purple-black  hair.  She  prefers  brunettes,  for  she  has 
already,  with  the  quick  knowledge  of  a  French  infant,  per 
ceived  she  is  a  blonde  and  that  her  doll  cannot  rival  her. 
Mon  Dieu,  how  touching  !  Happy  child  1  She  spends  hours 
in  preparing  its  toilette.  She  begins  to  show  her  taste  in 
the  exquisite  details  of  its  dress.  She  loves  it  madly,  de 
votedly.  She  will  prefer  it  to  bonbons.  She  already  antici 
pates  the  wealth  of  love  she  will  hereafter  pour  out  on  her 
lover,  her  mother,  her  father,  and  finally  perhaps  her 
husband. 

This  is  the  time  the  anxious  parent  will  guide  these 
first  outpourings.  *ttie  will  read  her  extracts  from  Miche- 


230  LA  FEMME. 

let's  IS  Amour,  Rousseau's  Heloise,  and  the  Revue  des  deux 
Mondes. 

IV. 

THE  MUD  PIE. 

SHE  was  in  tears  to-day. 

She  had  stolen  away  from  her  lonne,  and  was  with  some 
rustic  infants.  They  had  noses  in  the  air,  and  large,  coarse 
hands  and  feet. 

They  had  seated  themselves  around  a  pool  in  the  road, 
and  were  fashioning  fantastic  shapes  in  the  clayey  soil  with 
their  hands.  Her  throat  swelled  and  her  eyes  sparkled  with 
delight  as,  for  the  first  time,  her  soft  palms  touched  the 
plastic  mud.  She  made  a  graceful  and  lovely  pie.  She 
stuffed  it  with  stones  for  almonds  and  plums.  She  forgot 
everything.  It  was  being  baked  in  the  solar  rays,  when 
inadame  caine  and  took  her  away. 

She  weeps.     It  is  night,  and  she  is  weeping  still. 


V. 

HER  FIRST  LOVE, 

SHE  no  longer  doubts  her  beauty.     She  is  loved. 

She  saw  him  secretly.  He  is  vivacious  and  sprightly.  He 
is  famous.  He  has  already  had  an  affair  with  Einfin,  the 
filU  de  chambre,  and  poor  Einfin  is  desolate.  He  is  noble. 
She  knows  he  is  the  son  of  Madame  la  Baromie  Couturiere. 
She  adores  him. 

She  affects  not  to  notice  him.  Poor  little  thing ! 
Hippolyte  is  distracted  —  annihilated  —  inconsolable  and 
charming. 

She  admires  his  boots,  his  cravat,  his  little  gloves  —  his 
exquisite  pantaloons — his  coat,  and  cane. 

She  offers  to  run  away  with  him.     He  is  transported, 


LA  FEMME.  231 

but  magnanimous.  He  is  wearied,  perhaps.  She  sees  him 
frhe  next  day  offering  flowers  to  the  daughter  of  Madame  la 
Oomtesse  Blanchisseuse. 

She  ig  again  in  tears. 

She  reads  Paul  et  Virginie.  She  is  secretly  transported. 
When  she  reads  how  the  exemplary  young  woman  laid 
down  her  life  rather  than  appear  en  deshabille  to  her  lover, 
she  weeps  again.  Tasteful  and  virtuous  Bemardine  de  St. 
Pierre  !  —  the  daughters  of  France  admire  you  ! 

-All  this  time  her  doll  is  headless  in  the  cabinet.  The 
mud  pie  is  broken  on  the  road. 

VI. 

THE  WIFE. 

SHE  is  tired  of  loving,  and  she  marries. 

Her  mother  thinks  it,  on  the  whole,  the  best  thing.  As 
the  day  approaches,  she  is  found  frequently  in  tears.  Her 
mother  will  not  permit  the  affianced  one  to  see  her,  and  he 
makes  several  attempts  to  commit  suicide. 

But  something  happens.  Perhaps  it  is  winter,  and  the 
water  is  cold.  Perhaps  there  are  not  enough  people  present 
to  witness  his  heroism. 

In  this  way  her  future  husband  is  spared  to  her.  She 
will  offer  philosophy.  She  will  tell  her  she  was  married 
herself. 

But  what  is  this  new  and  ravishing  light  that  breaks 
upon  her  ?  The  toilette  and  wedding  clothes  !  She  is  in  a 
new  sphere. 

She  makes  out  her  list  in  her  own  charming  writing. 
Here  it  is.  Let  every  mother  heed  it.* 


The  delicate  reader  will  appreciate  the  omission  of  certain  articles 
for  which  English  synonyms  are  forbidden, 


232  MARY  McGILLUP. 

She  is  married.      On  the  day  after,  she  meets  her  old 
lover,  Hippolyte.     He  is  again  transported 


VII. 

HER   OLD  AGE. 

A  FRENCH  woman  never  grows  old. 


MARY  McGILLUP. 
"a  Southern  $obd. 

AFTER  BELLE  BOYD. 
CHAPTER  I. 

TJ*  VERY  reader  of  Belle  Boyd's  narrative  will  remember 
•7-*  an  allusion  to  a  "  lovely,  fragile-looking  girl  of  nine 
teen,"  who  rivalled  Belle  Boyd  in  devotion  to  the  Southern 
cause,  and  who,  like  her,  earned  the  enviable  distinction  of 
being  a  "  rebel  spy." 

I  am  that  "  fragile "  young  creature.  Although  on 
friendly  terms  with  the  late  Miss  Boyd,  now  Mrs.  Harding, 
candour  compels  me  to  state  that  nothing  but  our  common 
politics  prevents  me  from  exposing  the  ungenerous  spirit  she 
has  displayed  in  this  allusion.  To  be  dismissed  in  a  single 
paragraph  after  years  of — but  I  anticipate.  To  put  up  with 
this  feeble  and  forced  acknowledgment  of  serv'ces  rendered 
would  be  a  confession  of  a  craven  spirit,  which,  thank  God, 
though  "fragile"  and  only  "nineteen,"  I  do  not  possess. 
I  may  not  have  the  "  blood  of  a  Howard"  in  my  veins,  as 
some  people,  whom  I  shall  not  disgrace  myself  by  naming, 
claim  to  have,  but  I  have  yet  to  learn  that  the  race  of 
M'Gillup  ever  yet  brooked  slight  or  insult.  I  shall  not  say 


MARY  McGILL UP.  233 

that  attention  in  certain  quarters  seems  to  have  turned  some 
people's  heads ;  nor  that  it  would  have  been  more  delicate 
if  certain  folks  had  kept  quiet  on  the  subject  of  their  court 
ship,  and  the  rejection  of  certain  offers,  when  it  is  known 
that  their  forward  conduct  was  all  that  procured  them  a 
husband  !  Thank  Heaven,  the  South  has  some  daughters 
who  are  above  such  base  considerations.  While  nothing 
shall  tempt  me  to  reveal  the  promises  to  share  equally  the 
fame  of  certain  enterprises  which  were  made  by  one  who 
shall  now  be  nameless,  I  have  deemed  it  only  just  to  myself 
to  put  my  own  adventures  upon  record.  If  they  are  not 
equal  to  those  of  another  individual,  it  is  because,  though 
"fragile,"  my  education  has  taught  me  to  have  some  con 
sideration  for  the  truth.  I  am  done. 


CHAPTER  II. 

I  WAS  born  in  Missouri.  My  dislike  for  the  Northern  scum 
was  inherent.  This  was  shown,  at  an  early  age,  in  the 
extreme  distaste  I  exhibited  for  Webster's  spelling-book — 
the  work  of  a  well-known  Eastern  Abolitionist.  I  cannot 
be  too  grateful  for  the  consideration  shown  by  my  chival 
rous  father— a  gentleman  of  the  old  school — who  resisted  to 
the  last  an  attempt  to  introduce  Mitchell's  Astronomy  and 
Geography  into  the  public  school  of  our  district.  When  I 
state  that  this  same  Mitchell  became  afterward  a  hireling 
helot  in  the  Yankee  Army,  every  intelligent  reader  will 
appreciate  the  prophetic  discrimination  of  this  true  son  of 
the  South. 

I  was  eight  years  old  when  I  struck  the  first  blow  for 
Southern  freedom  against  the  Northern  Tyrant.  It  is 
hardly  necessary  to  state  that  in  this  instance  the  oppressor 
was  a  pale,  over-worked  New  England  "  school-marm."  The 
principle  for  which  I  was  contending,  I  felt,  however,  to  be 
the  same.  Resenting  an  affront  put  upon  me,  I  one  day 


234  MAR  Y  McGILL  UP. 

heaved  a  rock'55"  at  the  head  of  the  Vandal  schoolmistress. 
I  was  seized  and  overpowered.  My  pen  falters  as  I  reach 
the  climax.  English  readers  will  not  give  credit  to  this 
sickening  story — the  civilised  world  will  avert  its  head — but 
I,  Mary  McGillup,  was  publicly  SPANKED  ! 


CHAPTER  III. 

BUT  the  chaotic  vortex  of  civil  war  approached,  and  fell 
destruction,  often  procrastinated,  brooded  in  the  storm. f 
As  the  English  people  may  like  to  know  what  was  really 
the  origin  of  the  rebellion,  I  have  no  hesitation  in  giving 
them  the  true  and  only  cause.  Slavery  had  nothing  to  do 
with  it,  although  the  violation  of  the  Declaration  of  Inde 
pendence,  in  the  disregard  by  the  North  of  the  Fugitive 
Slave  Law,J  might  have  provoked  a  less  fiery  people  than 
the  Southrons.  At  the  inception  of  the  struggle  a  large 
amount  of  Southern  indebtedness  was  held  by  the  people  of 
the  North.  To  force  payment  from  the  generous  but  insol 
vent  debtor  —  to  obtain  liquidation  from  the  Southern 
planter  —  was  really  the  soulless  and  mercenary  object  of 
the  craven  Northerners.  Let  the  common  people  of  Eng 
land  look  to  this.  Let  the  improvident  literary  hack ;  the 
starved  impecunious  Grub  Street  debtor ;  the  newspaper  fre 
quenter  of  sponging-houses,  remember  this  in  their  criticisms 
of  the  vile  and  slavish  Yankee. 

*  NOTE,  BY  B.  B.  B. — In  the  South-west,  any  stone  larger  than  a  pea 
is  termed  "a  rock." 

t  I  make  no  pretension  to  fine  writing,  but  perhaps  Mrs.  Harding 
can  lay  over  that.  Oh,  of  course  !  M.  McG. 

J  The  Declaration  of  Independence  grants  to  each  subject  "  the 
pursuit  of  life,  liberty,  and  happiness."  A  fugitive  slave  may  be  said  to 
personify  "  life,  liberty,  and  happiness."  Hence  his  pursuit  is  really 
;egaL  This  is  logic.  B.  B.  B. 


MAR  Y  McGILL  UP.  235 


CHAPTER  IV, 

THE  roasting  of  an  Abolitionist,  by  a  greatly  infuriated 
community,  was  my  first  taste  of  the  horrors  of  civil  war. 
Heavens  !  Why  will  the  North  persist  in  this  fratricidal 
warfare  1  The  expulsion  of  several  Union  refugees,  which 
soon  followed,  now  fairly  plunged  my  beloved  State  in  the 
seething  vortex. 

I  was  sitting  at  the  piano  one  afternoon,  singing  that 
stirring  refrain,  so  justly  celebrated,  but  which  a  craven 
spirit,  unworthy  of  England,  has  excluded  from  some  of  her 
principal  restaurants,  and  was  dwelling  with  some  enthusiasm 
on  the  following  line  : 

*'  Huzza  !  she  spurns  the  Northern  scum  ! " 

when  a  fragment  of  that  scum,  clothed  in  that  detestable 
blue  uniform  which  is  the  symbol  of  oppression,  entered  the 
apartment.  "  I  have  the  honour  of  addressing  the  celebrated 
rebel  spy,  Miss  McGillup,"  said  the  "Vandal  officer. 

In  a  moment  I  was  perfectly  calm.  With  the  exception 
of  slightly  expectorating  twice  in  the  face  of  the  minion,  I 
did  not  betray  my  agitation.  Haughtily,  yet  firmly,  I 
replied  : 

« I  am." 

"  You  looked  as  if  you  might  be,"  the  brute  replied,  as  he 
turned  on  his  heel  to  leave  the  apartment. 

In  an  instant  I  threw  myself  before  him.  "  Y"ou  shall 
not  leave  here  thus,"  I  shrieked,  grappling  him  with  an 
energy  which  no  one,  seeing  my  frail  figure,  would  have 
believed.  "  I  know  the  reputation  of  your  hireling  crew. 
I  read  your  dreadful  purpose  in  your  eye.  Tell  me  not  that 
your  designs  are  not  sinister.  You  came  here  to  insult  me 
—to  kiss  me,  perhaps.  You  shan't — you  naughty  mail. 
Go  away  I" 


236  MAR  Y  McGILL  UP. 

The  blush  of  conscious  degradation  rose  to  the  cheek  of 
the  Lincoln  hireling  as  he  turned  his  face  away  from  mine. 

In  an  instant  I  drew  my  pistol  from  my  belt,  which,  in 
anticipation  of  some  such  outrage,  I  always  carried,  and  shot 
him. 

CHAPTER  V. 

"  Thy  forte  was  less  to  act  than  speak, 

Maryland  ! 
Thy  politics  were  changed  each  week, 

Maryland ! 

With  Northern  Vandals  thou  wast  meek, 
With  sympathisers  thou  wouldst  skriek, 
I  know  thee — 0  'twas  like  thy  cheek  ! 

Maryland  !  my  Maryland  !  " 

AFTER  committing  the  act  described  in  the  preceding 
chapter,  which  every  English  reader  will  pardon,  I  went 
up-stairs,  put  on  a  clean  pair  of  stockings,  and  placing  a  rose 
in  my  lustrous  black  hair,  proceeded  at  once  to  the  camp  of 
Generals  Price  and  Mosby  to  put  them  in  possession  of  in 
formation  which  would  lead  to  the  destruction  of  a  portion 
of  the  Federal  army.  During  a  great  part  of  my  flight  I 
was  exposed  to  a  running  fire  from  the  Federal  pickets  of 
such  coarse  expressions  as, 

"  Go  it,  Sally  Eeb." 

"  Dust  it,  my  Confederate  beauty." 

But  I  succeeded  in  reaching  the  glorious  Southern  camp 
uninjured. 

Tn  a  weak  afterwards  I  was  arrested,  by  a  lettre  de  cachet 
of  Mr.  Stanton,  and  placed  in  the  Bastile.  British  readers 
of  my  story  will  express  surprise  at  these  terms,  but  I 
assure  them  that  not  only  these  articles  but  tumbrils, 
guillotines,  and  conciergeries  were  in  active  use  among  the 
Federals.  If  substantiation  be  required,  I  refer  to  the 
Charleston  Mercury ,  the  only  reliable  organ,  next  to  the 


MAR  Y  McGILL  UP.  237 

Kew  York  Daily  News,  published  in  the  country.  At  the 
Bastile  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  the  accomplished  and 
elegant  author  of  Guy  Livingstone*  to  whom  I  presented  a 
curiously-carved  thigh-bone  of  a  Union  officer,  and  from 
whom  I  received  the  following  beautiful  acknowledgment: — 

"Demoiselle:  Should  I  ever  win  hame  to  my  ain  conntrie, 
I  make  mine  avow  to  enshrine  in  my  reliquaire  this  elegant 
bijouterie  and  offering  of  La>  Belle  Eebelle.  Nay,  methinks 
this  fraction  of  man's  anatomy  were  some  compensation  for 
the  rib  lost  by  the  '  grand  old  gardener,'  Adam." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

RELEASED  at  last  from  durance  vile  and  placed  on  board  of 
an  Erie  canal-boat,  on  my  way  to  Canada,  I  for  a  moment 
breathed  the  sweets  of  liberty.  Perhaps  the  interval  gave 
me  opportunity  to  indulge  in  certain  reveries  which  I  had 
hitherto  sternly  dismissed.  Henry  Breckin ridge  Folair,  a 
consistent  copperhead,  captain  of  the  canal-boat,  again  and 
again  pressed  that  suit  I  had  so  often  rejected. 

It  was  a  lovely  moonlight  night.  We  sat  on  the  deck  of 
the  gliding  craft.  The  moonbeam  and  the  lash  of  the  driver 
fell  softly  on  the  flanks  of  the  off-horse,  and  only  the  surging 
of  the  tow-rope  broke  the  silence.  Folair's  arm  clasped  my 
waist.  I  suffered  it  to  remain.  Placing  in  my  lap  a  small 
but  not  ungrateful  roll  of  checkerberry  lozenges,  he  took  the 
occasion  to  repeat  softly  in  my  ear  the  words  of  a  motto  he 
had  just  unwrapped — with  its  graceful  covering  of  the  tissue- 
paper — from  a  sugar  almond.  The  heart  of  the  wicked  little 
rebel,  Mary  McGillup,  was  won  ! 

*  The  recent  conduct  of  Mr.  Livingstone  renders  him  unworthy  of 
my  notice.  His  disgusting  praise  of  Belle  Boyd,  and  complete  ignoring 
of  my  claims,  show  the  artfulness  of  some  females  and  puppyism  of 
some  men.  M.  McG. 


238  MISS  MIX. 

The  story  of  Mary  McGillup  is  done.  I  might  have  added 
the  journal  of  my  husband,  Henry  Breckinridge  Folair,  but 
as  it  refers  chiefly  to  his  freights,  and  a  schedule  of  his 
passengers,  I  have  been  obliged,  reluctantly,  to  suppress  it. 

It  is  due  to  my  friends  to  say  that  I  have  been  requested 
not  to  write  this  book.  Expressions  have  reached  my  ears, 
the  reverse  of  complimentary,  I  have  been  told  that  its 
publication  will  probably  ensure  my  banishment  for  life.  Be 
it  so.  If  the  cause  for  which  I  laboured  have  been  sub 
served,  I  am  content. 

LONDON,  May,  1865.  •    ; 


MISS  MIX. 

BY  CH-L-TTE  BR-NTE, 
CHAPTER  I. 

TV /T  Y  earliest  impressions  are  of  a  huge,  mis-shapen  rock, 
•*•  against  which  the  hoarse  waves  beat  unceasingly.  On 

this  rock  three  pelicans  are  standing  in  a  defiant  attitude.  A 
dark  sky  lowers  in  -the  background,  while  two  sea-gulls  and 
a  gigantic  cormorant  eye  with  extreme  disfavour  the  floating 
corpse  of  a  drowned  woman  in.  the  foreground.  A  few 
bracelets,  coral  necklaces,  and  other  articles  of  jewelry, 
scattered  around  loosely,  complete  this  remarkable  picture. 

It  is  one  which,  in  some  vague,  unconscious  way,  symbo 
lises,  to  my  fancy,  the  character  of  a  man.  I  have  never 
been  able  to  explain  exactly  why.  I  think  I  must  have 
seen  the  picture  in  some  illustrated  volume,  when  a  baby,  or 
my  mother  may  have  dreamed  it  before  I  was  born. 

As  a  child  I  was  not  handsome.  When  I  consulted  the 
triangular  bit  of  looking-glass  which  I  always  carried  with 
me,  it  showed  a  pale,  sandy  and  freckled  face,  shaded  by 


MISS  MIX.  239 

locks  like  the  colour  of  sea-weed  when  the  sun  strikes  it  in 
deep  water.  My  eyes  were  said  to  be  indistinctive  ;  they 
were  a  faint  ashen  grey  j  but  above  them  rose — my  only 
beauty — a  high,  massive,  domelike  forehead,  with  polished 
temples,  like  door-knobs  of  the  purest  porcelain. 

Our  family  was  a  family  of  governesses.  My  mother  had 
been  one,  and  my  sisters  had  the  same  occupation.  Conse 
quently,  when  at  the  age  of  thirteen,  my  eldest  sister  handed 
me  the  advertisement  of  Mr.  Tlawj  ester,  clipped  from  that 
day's  Times,  I  accepted  it  as  my  destiny.  Nevertheless,  a 
mysterious  presentiment  of  an  indefinite  future  haunted  me 
in  my  dreams  that  night,  as  I  lay  upon  my  little  snow-white 
bed.  The  next  morning,  with  two  band-boxes  tied  up  in 
silk  handkerchiefs,  and  a  hair  trunk,  I  turned  my  back  upon 
Minerva  Cottage  for  ever. 


CHAPTER  IL 

BLUNDEBBORE  HALL,  the  seat  of  James  Eawjester,  Esq.,  was 
encompassed  by  dark  pines  and  funereal  hemlocks  on  all  sides. 
The  wind  sang  weirdly  in  the  turrets  and  moaned  through 
the  long-drawn  avenues  of  the  park.  As  I  approached  the 
house  I  saw  several  mysterious  figures  flit  before  the 
windows,  and  a  yell  of  demoniac  laughter  answered  my 
summons  at  the  bell.  While  I  strove  to  repress  my  gloomy 
forebodings,  the  housekeeper,  a  timid,  scared-looking  old 
woman,  showed  me  into  the  library. 

I  entered,  overcome  with  conflicting  emotions.  I  was 
dressed  in  a  narrow  gown  of  dark  serge,  trimmed  with  black 
bugles.  A  thick  green  shawl  was  pinned  across  my  breast. 
My  hands  were  encased  with  black  half-mittens  worked 
with  steel  beads  ;  on  my  feet  were  large  pattens,  originally 
the  property  of  my  deceased  grandmother.  I  carried  a  blue 
cotton  umbrella.  As  I  passed  before  a  mirror,  I  could  not 


240  MISS  Mix. 

iielp  glancing  at  it,  nor  could  I  disguise  from  myself  the  fact 
that  I  was  not  handsome. 

Drawing  a  chair  into  a  recess,  I  sat  down  with  folded 
hands,  calmly  awaiting  the  arrival  of  my  master.  Once  or 
twice  a  fearful  yell  rang  through  the  house,  or  the  rattling  of 
chains,  and  curses  uttered  in  a  deep,  manly  voice,  broke  upon 
the  oppressive  stillness.  I  began  to  feel  my  soul  rising  with 
the  emergency  of  the  moment. 

"  You  look  alarmed,  miss.  You  don't  hear  anything,  my 
dear,  do  you  1"  asked  the  housekeeper  nervously. 

"  Nothing  whatever,"  I  remarked  calmly,  as  a  terrific 
scream,  followed  by  the  dragging  of  chairs  and  tables  in  the 
room  above,  drowned  for  a  moment  my  reply.  "  It  is  the 
silence,  on  the  contrary,  which  has  made  me  foolishly 
nervous." 

The  housekeeper  looked  at  me  approvingly,  and  instantly 
made  some  tea  for  me. 

I  drank  seven  cups ;  as  I  was  beginning  the  eighth,  I 
heard  a  crash,  and  the  next  moment  a  man  leaped  into  the 
room  through  the  broken  window. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  crash  startled  me  from  my  self-control.  The  house 
keeper  bent  toward  me  and  whispered  : 

"  Don't  be  excited.  It's  Mr.  Rawj  ester — he  prefers  to 
come  in  sometimes  in  this  way.  It's  his  playfulness,  ha  ! 
ha!  ha!" 

"  I  perceive,"  I  said  calmly.  "  It's  the  unfettered  impulse 
of  a  lofty  soul  breaking  the  tyrannising  bonds  of  custom," 
and  I  turned  toward  him. 

He  had  never  once  looked  at  me.  He  stood  with  his  back 
to  the  fire,  which  set  off  the  Herculean  breadth  of  his 
shoulders.  His  face  was  dark  and  expressive  ;  his  under- 


MISS  MIX.  2 1 i 

jaw  squarely  formed,  and  remarkably  heavy.  I  was  struck 
with  his  remarkable  likeness  to  a  Gorilla. 

As  he  absently  tied  the  poker  into  hard  knots  with  his 
nervous  fingers,  I  watched  him  with  some  interest.  Sud 
denly  he  turned  toward  me  : 

"  Do  you  think  I'm  handsome,  young  woman  T' 

" Not  classically  beautiful,"  I  returned  calmly  ;  "but  you 
have,  if  I  may  so  express  myself,  an  abstract  manliness — a 
sincere  and  wholesome  barbarity  which,  involving  as  it  does 
the  naturalness" — but  I  stopped,  for  he  yawned  at  that 
moment — an  action  which  singularly  developed  the  immense 
breadth  of  his  lower  jaw — and  I  saw  he  had  forgotten  me. 
Presently  he  turned  to  the  housekeeper  : 

"  Leave  us." 

The  old  woman  withdrew  with  a  courtesy. 

Mr.  Rawj ester  deliberately  turned  his  back  upon  me  and 
remained  silent  for  twenty  minutes.  I  drew  my  shawl  the 
more  closely  around  my  shoulders  and  closed  my  eyes. 

"  You  are  the  governess  1"  at  length  he  said. 

"  I  am,  sir/' 

"  A  creature  who  teaches  geography,  arithmetic,  and  the 
use  of  the  globes — ha ! — a  wretched  remnant  of  femininity — 
a  skimp  pattern  of  girlhood  with  a  premature  flavour  of  tea- 
leaves  and  morality.  Ugh  ! " 

I  bowed  my  head  silently. 

"  Listen  to  me,  girl ! "  he  said  sternly  ;  "  this  child  you 
have  come  to  teach — my  ward — is  not  legitimate.  She  is 
the  offspring  of  my  mistress  —a  common  harlot.  Ah  !  Miss 
Mix,  what  do  you  think  of  me  now  f 

"  I  admire,"  I  replied,  calmly,  "  your  sincerity.  A  maw 
kish  regard  for  delicacy  might  have  kept  this  disclosure  to 
yourself.  I  only  recognise  in  your  frankness  that  perfect 
community  of  thought  and  sentiment  which  should  exist 
between  original  natures." 

I  looked  up  ;  he  had  already  forgotten  my  presence,  and 


2,p  MISS  MIX. 

was  engaged  in  pulling  off  his  boots  and  coat.  This  done, 
lie  sank  down  in  an  arm-chair  before  the  fire,  and  ran  the 
poker  wearily  through  his  hair.  1  could  not  help  pitying  him. 

The  wind  howled  fearfully  without,  and  the  rain  beat 
furiously  against  the  windows.  I  crept  toward  him  and 
seated  myself  on  a  low  stool  beside  his  chair. 

Presently  he  turned,  without  seeing  me,  and  placed  hia 
foot  absently  in  my  lap.  I  affected  not  to  notice  it.  But 
he  started  and  looked  down. 

"  You  here  yet,  Carrothead  1  Ah,  I  forgot.  Do  you 
speak  French  ?" 

"  Oui,  Monsieur" 

11  Taisez-vous  /"  he  said  sharply,  with  singular  purity  of 
accent.  I  complied.  The  wind  moaned  fearfully  in  the 
chimney,  and  the  light  burned  dim.  I  shuddered  in  spite  of 
inysel£  "  Ah,  you  tremble,  girl  i " 

"  It  is  a  fearful  night." 

"  Fearful !  Call  you  this  fearful— ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  Look  ! 
you  wretched  little  atom,  look  ! "  and  he  dashed  forward, 
and,  leaping  out  of  the  window,  stood  like  a  statute  in  the 
pelting  storm,  with  folded  arms.  He  did  not  stay  long,  but 
in  a  few  minutes  he  returned  by  way  of  the  hall  chimney. 
I  saw  from  the  way  that  he  wiped  his  feet  on  my  dress  that 
lie  had  again  forgotten  my  presence. 

"  You  are  a  governess.  What  can  you  teach  V '  he  asked, 
suddenly  and  fiercely  thrusting  his  face  in  mine. 

"  Manners  ! "  I  replied  calmly, 

"Ha  !  teach  met" 

"You  mistake  yourself,"  I  said  adjusting  my  mittens. 
"Your  manners  require  not  the  artificial  restraint  of  society. 
You  are  radically  polite  ;  this  impetuosity  and  ferociousness 
is  simply  the  sincerity  which  is  the  basis  of  a  proper  deport 
ment.  Your  instincts  are  moral ;  your  better  nature,  I  see, 
is  religious.  As  St.  Paul  justly  remarks — see  chap.  6,  8,  SI, 
and  10 " 


MfSS  MIX.  243 

He  seized  a  heavy  candlestick,  and  threw  it  at  me.     I 

dodged  it  submissively,  but  firmly. 

"  Excuse  me,"  lie  remarked,  as  his  undcr-jaw  slowly 
relaxed.  "  Excuse  me,  Miss  Mix — but  I  can't  stand  St. 
Paul  Enough — you  are  engaged." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

I  FOLLOWED  the  housekeeper  as  she  led  the  way  timidly  to 
my  room.  As  we  passed  into  a  dark  hall  in  the  wing,  I 
noticed  that  it  was  closed  by  an  iron  gate  with  a  grating. 
Three  of  the  doors  on  the  corridor  were  likewise  grated.  A 
strange  noise,  as  of  shuffling  feet,  and  the  howling  of  in 
furiated  animals,  rang  through  the  hall.  Bidding  the  house 
keeper  good  night,  and  taking  the  candle,  I  entered  my 
bedchamber. 

I  took  off  my  dress,  and  putting  on  a  yellow  flannel  night 
gown,  which  I  could  not  help  feeling  did  not  agree  with  my 
complexion,  I  composed  myself  to  rest  by  reading  Blairs 
Rhetoric  and  Paley's  Moral  Philosophy.  I  had  just  put  out 
the  light,  when  I  heard  voices  in  the  corridor.  I  listened 
attentively.  I  recognised  Mr.  Rawj ester's  stern  tones. 

"  Have  you  fed  No.  1  V  he  asked. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  a  gruff  voice,  apparently  belonging  to  e 
domestic. 

"  How's  No.  2  1" 

"  She's  a  little  off  her  feed  just  now,  but  will  pick  up  in  a 
day  or  two  ! " 

«  And  No.  3  r 

"  Perfectly  furious,  sir.     Her  tantrums  are  ungovernable." 

"Hush!" 

The  voices  died  away,  and  I  sank  into  a  fitful  slumber. 

I  dreamed  that  I  was  wandering  through  a  tropical  forest. 
Suddenly  I  saw  the  figure  of  a  gorilla  approaching  me.  As 
it  neared  me,  I  recognised  the  features  of  Mr.  Rawj  ester. 


244  MISS  MIX. 

He  held  his  hand  to  his  side  as  if  in  pain.  I  saw  that  he 
had  been  wounded.  He  recognised  me  and  called  me  by 
name,  but  at  the  same  moment  the  vision  changed  to  an 
Ashantee  village,  where,  around  the  fire,  a  group  of  negroes 
were  dancing  and  participating  in  some  wild  Obi  festival.  I 
awoke  with  the  strain  still  surging  in  my  ears. 

"  Hokee-pokee  wokee  fum  !" 

Good  Heavens  !  could  I  be  dreaming  ?  I  heard  the  voice 
distinctly  on  the  floor  below,  and  smelt  something  burning. 
I  arose,  with  an  indistinct  presentiment  of  evil,  and  hastily 
puting  some  cotton  in  my  ears  and  tying  a  towel  about  my 
head,  I  wrapped  myself  in  a  shawl  and  rushed  down 
stairs.  The  door  of  Mr.  Rawj ester's  room  was  open.  I 
entered. 

Mr.  Rawj  ester  lay  apparently  in  a  deep  slumber,  from 
which  even  the  clouds  of  smoke  that  came  from  the  burning 
curtains  of  his  bed  could  not  rouse  him.  Around  the  room 
a  large  and  powerful  negress,  scantily  attired,  with  her  head 
adorned  with  feathers,  was  dancing  wildly,  accompanying 
herself  with  bone  castanets.  It  looked  like  some  terrible 
feticJi. 

I  did  not  lose  my  calmness.  After  firmly  emptying  the 
pitcher,  basin,  and  slop-jar  on  the  burning  bed,  I  proceeded 
cautiously  to  the  garden,  and,  returning  with  the  garden- 
engine,  I  directed  a  small  stream  at  Mr.  Rawj  ester. 

At  my  entrance  the  gigantic  negress  fled.  Mr.  Kawj ester 
yawned  and  woke.  I  explained  to  him,  as  he  rose  dripping 
from  the  bed,  the  reason  of  my  presence.  He  did  not  seem 
to  be  excited,  alarmed,  or  discomposed.  He  gazed  at  rne 
curiously. 

"  So  you  risked  your  life  to  save  mine,  eh  1  you  canary- 
coloured  teacher  of  infants  V1 

I  blushed  modestly,  and  drew  my  shawl  tightly  over  my 
yellow  flannel  nightgown. 

f<  You  love  me,  Mary  Jane — don't  deny  it  !     This  tremb- 


MISS  MIX.  245 

ling  shows  it ! "  He  drew  me  closely  towards  him,  and  said, 
with  his  deep  voice  tenderly  modulated  : 

"  How's  her  pooty  tootens — did  she  get  her  'ittle  tootens 
wet — b'ess  her  V9 

I  understood  his  allusion  to  my  feet.  I  glanced  down  and 
saw  that  in  my  hurry  I  had  put  on  a  pair  of  his  old  India- 
rubbers.  My  feet  were  not  small  or  pretty,  and  the  addition 
did  not  add  to  their  beauty. 

"  Let  me  go,  sir,"  I  remarked  quietly.  "  This  is  all  im 
proper  j  it  sets  a  bad  example  for  your  child  ;"  and  I  firmly 
but  gently  extricated  myself  from  his  grasp.  I  approached 
the  door.  He  seemed  for  a  moment  buried  in  deep  thought. 

"  You  say  this  was  a  negress  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Humph  ;  No.  1,  I  suppose  !" 

"  Who  is  Number  One,  sir  V 

"My  first"  he  remarked,  with  a  significant  and  sarcastic 
smile.  Then,  relapsing  into  his  old  manner,  he  threw  his 
boots  at  my  head,  and  bade  me  begone.  I  withdrew  calmly. 


CHAPTER  V. 

MY  pupil  was  a  bright  little  girl,  who  spoke  French  with  a 
perfect  accent.  Her  mother  had  been  a  French  ballet^ 
dancer,  which  probably  accounted  for  it.  Although  she  was 
only  six  years  old,  it  was  easy  to  perceive  that  she  had  been 
several  times  in  love.  She  once  said  to  me  : 

"  Miss  Mix,  did  you  ever  have  the  gr ancle  passion  1  Did 
you  ever  feel  a  fluttering  here  f  and  she  placed  her  hand 
upon  her  small  chest,  and  sighed  quaintly,  "a  kind  of  dis 
taste  for  bonbons  and  caromels,  when  the  world  seemed  as 
tasteless  and  hollow  as  a  broken  cordial  drop." 

"  Then  you  have  felt  it,  Nina  V  I  said  quietly. 

**  O  dear,  yes.     There  was  Buttons — that  was  our  page, 


246  MISS  MIX. 

you  know — I  loved  him  dearly,  but  papa  sent  him  away. 
Then  there  was  Dick,  the  groom,  but  he  laughed  at  me,  and 
I  suffered  misery  !"  and  she  struck  a  tragic  French  attitude. 
"  There  is  to  be  company  here  to-morrow,"  she  added, 
rattling  on  with  childish  naivete,  "  and  papa's  sweetheart — 
Blanche  Marabout — is  to  be  here.  You  know  they  say  she 
is  to  be  my  mamma," 

What  thrill  was  this  shot  through  me?  But  I  rose 
calmly,  and  administering  a  slight  correction  to  the  child, 
left  the  apart  ment. 

Blunderbore  House,  for  the  next  week,  was  the  scene  of 
gaiety  and  merriment.  That  portion  of  the  mansion  closed 
with  a  grating  was  walled  up,  and  the  midnight  shrieks  no 
longer  troubled  me. 

But  I  felt  more  keenly  the  degradation  of  my  situation. 
I  was  obliged  to  help  Lady  Blanche  at  her  toilette  and  help 
her  to  look  beautiful.  For  what  1  To  captivate  him  1  Oh 
— no,  no — but  why  this  sudden  thrill  and  faintness  1  Did 
he  really  love  her  1  I  had  seen  him  pinch  and  swear  at  her. 
But  I  reflected  that  he  had  thrown  a  candlestick  at  my  head, 
and  ixiy  foolish  heart  was  reassured. 

It  was  a  night  of  festivity,  when  a  sudden  message  obliged 
Mr.  Rawj  ester  to  leave  his  guests  for  a  few  hours.  "  Make 
yourselves  merry,  idiots,"  he  added,  under  his  breath,  as  he 
passed  me.  The  door  closed  and  he  was  gone. 

A  half  hour  passed.  In  the  midst  of  the  dancing  a  shriek 
was  heard,  and  out  of  the  swaying  crowd  of  fainting  women 
and  excited  men,  a  wild  figure  strode  into  the  room.  One 
glance  showed  it  to  be  a  highwayman,  heavily  armed,  hold 
ing  a  pistol  in  each  hand. 

"  Let  no  one  pass  out  of  this  room  !"  he  said,  in  a  voice  of 
thunder.  "  The  house  is  surrounded  and  you  cannot  escape. 
The  first  one  who  crosses  yonder  threshold  will  be  shot  liko 
a  dog.  Gentlemen,  I'll  trouble  you  to  approach  in  single 
file,  and  hand  me  your  purses  and  watches." 


MfSS  MIX.  247 

Finding  resistance  useless,  the  order  was  ungraciously 
obeyed. 

"Now,  ladies,  please  to  pass  up  your  jewelry  and 
trinkets." 

This  order  was  still  more  ungraciously  complied  with.  As 
Blanche  handed  to  the  bandit  captain  her  bracelet,  she  en 
deavoured  to  conceal  a  diamond  necklace,  the  gift  of  Mr. 
Rawj ester,  in  her  bosom.  But,  with  a  demoniac  grin,  the 
powerful  brute  tore  it  from  its  concealment,  and  adminis 
tering  a  hearty  box  on  the  ear  of  the  young  girl,  flung  her 
aside. 

It  was  now  my  turn.  Witk  a  beating  heart,  I  made 
my  way  to  the  robber  chieftain,  and  sank  at  his  feet. 
"Oh,  sir,  I  am  nothing  but  a  poor  governess,  pray  let 
me  go." 

"  Oh,  ho !  A  governess  ?  Give  me  your  last  month's 
wages,  then.  Give  me  what  you  have  stolen  from  your 
master  !"  and  he  laughed  fiendishly. 

I  gazed  at  him  quietly,  and  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  I  have 
stolen  nothing  from  you,  Mr.  Rawj ester  !" 

"Ah,  discovered?  Hush!  listen,  girl!"  he  hissed,  in  a 
fiercer  whisper,  "utter  a  syllable  to  frustrate  my  plans  and 
you  die — aid  me,  and "  but  he  was  gone. 

In  a  few  moments  the  party,  with  the  exception  of 
myself,  were  gagged  and  locked  in  the  cellar.  The  next 
moment  torches  were  applied  to  the  rich  hangings,  and  the 
house  was  in  flames.  I  felt  a  strong  hand  seize  me,  and 
bear  me  out  in  the  open  air  and  place  me  upon  the  hillside, 
where  I  could  overlook  the  burning  mansion.  It  was  Mr. 
Rawj  ester. 

"  Burn !"  he  said,  as  he  shook  his  fist  at  the  flames.  Then 
sinking  on  his  knees  before  me,  he  said  hurriedly  : 

"  Mary  Jane,  I  love  you ;  the  obstacles  to  our  union  are 
or  will  be  soon  removed.  In  yonder  mansion  were  confined 
my  three  crazy  wives.  One  of  them,  as  you  know,  attempted 


248  Ar  N. 

to  kill  me !     Ha !  this  is  vengeance  !     But  will  you  be 
mine  1 " 

I  fell,  without  a  word,  upon  his  neck. 


NN. 

33etng  a  $obd  in  tf)C  JFrcncf)  ^paragraphic  Stglt. 


_  T\/T  ADEMOISELLE,   I    swear    to   you  that   I   love 
**•*•     you. 

—  You  who  read  these  pages.     You  who  turn  your  burn 
ing   eyes   upon   these   words  —  words   that   I    trace  —  Ah, 
Heaven  !  the  thought  maddens  me. 

—  I  will  be  calm.    I  will  imitate  the  reserve  of  the  festive 
Englishman,  who  wears  a  spotted  handkerchief  which  he 
calls  a  Belchio,  who  eats  biftek,  and  caresses  a  bull-dog.     I 
will  subdue  myself  like  him. 

—  Ha  !     Poto-beer  !     All  right  —  Goddam  ! 

—  Or,  I  will  conduct  myself  as  the  free-born  American  — 
the  gay  Brother  Jonathan  !     I  will  whittle  me  a  stick.     I 
will  whistle  to  myself  "Yankee  Doodle,"   and  forget  my 
passion  in  excessive  expectoration. 

—  Hoho  !  —  wake  snakes  and  walk  chalks. 

The  world  is  divided  into  two  great  divisions  :  Paris  and 
the  provinces.  There  is  but  one  Paris.  There  are  several  pro 
vinces,  among  which  may  be  numbered  England,  America, 
Russia,  and  Italy. 

N  N.  was  a  Parisian. 

But  N  N.  did  not  live  in  Paris.  Drop  a  Parisian  in  the 
provinces,  and  you  drop  a  part  of  Paris  with  him.  Drop 
him  in  Senegambia,  and  in  three  days  he  will  give  you  an 
omelette  soufflee  or  a  pate  de  foie  gras,  served  by  the  neatest 
of  Senegambian  files,  whom  he  will  call  Mademoiselle.  In 
three  weeks  he  will  give  you  an  opera. 


N  N.  249 

N  N.  was  not  dropped  in  Senegambia,  but  in  San  Fran 
cisco — quite  as  awkward. 

They  find  gold  in  San  Francisco,  but  they  don't  under 
stand  gilding. 

N  1ST.  existed  three  years  in  this  place.  He  became  bald 
on  the  top  of  his  head,  as  all  Parisians  do.  Look  down 
from  your  box  at  the  OpeYa  Comique,  Mademoiselle,  and 
count  the  bald  crowns  of  the  fast  young  men  in  the  pit. 
Ah — you  tremble  !  They  show  where  the  arrows  of  love 
have  struck  and  glanced  off. 

N  N.  was  also  near-sighted,  as  all  Parisians  finally  be 
come.  This  is  a  gallant  provision  of  Nature  to  spare  them 
the  mortification  of  observing  that  their  lady  friends  grow  old. 
After  a  certain  age  every  woman  is  handsome  to  a  Parisian. 

One  day,  N  N.  was  walking  down  Washington- street. 
Suddenly  he  stopped. 

He  was  standing  before  the  door  of  a  milliner's  shop. 
Beside  the  counter,  at  the  further  extremity  of  the  shop, 
stood  a  young  and  elegantly-formed  woman.  Her  face  was 
turned  from  N  X.  He  entered.  "With  a  plausible  excuse, 
and  seeming  indifference,  he  gracefully  opened  conversation 
with  the  milliner  as  only  a  Parisian  can.  But  he  had  to 
deal  with  a  Parisian.  His  attempts  to  view  the  features  of 
the  fair  stranger  by  the  counter  were  deftly  combated  by 
the  shop-woman.  He  was  obliged  to  retire. 

N  1ST.  went  home  and  lost  his  appetite.  He  was  hannted 
by  the  elegant  basque  and  graceful  shoulders  of  the  fair 
unknown,  during  the  whole  night. 

The  next  day  he  sauntered  by  the  milliner.  Ah !  Heavens ! 
A  thrill  ran  through  his  frame,  and  his  fingers  tingled  with 
a  delicious  electricity.  The  fair  inconnu  was  there !  He 
raised  his  hat  gracefully.  He  was  not  certain,  but  he  thought 
that  a  slight  motion  of  her  faultless  bonnet  betrayed  recogni 
tion.  He  would  have  wildly  darted  into  the  shop,  but  just 
then  the  figure  of  the  milliner  appeared  in  the  doorway. 


250  N  N. 

— Did  Monsieur  wish  anything  1 

Misfortune  !  Desperation  !  N  N.  purchased  a  bottle  of 
prussic  acid,  a  sack  of  charcoal,  and  a  quire  of  pink  note- 
paper,  and  returned  home.  He  wrote  a  letter  of  farewell  to  the 
closely-fitting  basque,  and  opened  the  bottle  of  prussic  acid. 

Some  one  knocked  at  his  door.  It  was  a  Chinaman,  with 
iis  weekly  linen. 

These  Chinese  are  docile,  but  not  intelligent.  They  are 
ingenious,  but  not  creative.  They  are  cunning  in  expe 
dients,  but  deficient  in  tact.  In  love  they  are  simply 
barbarous.  They  purchase  their  wives  openly,  and  not 
constructively  by  attorney.  By  offering  small  sums  for 
their  sweethearts,  they  degrade  the  value  of  the  sex. 

Nevertheless,  N  N".  felt  he  was  saved.  He  explained  all 
to  the  faithful  Mongolian,  and  exhibited  the  letter  he  had 
written.  He  implored  him  to  deliver  it. 

The  Mongolian  assented.  The  race  are  not  cleanly  or 
sweet-savoured,  but  N  N.  fell  upon  his  neck.  He  embraced 
him  with  one  hand,  and  closed  his  nostrils  with  the  other. 
Through  him  he  felt  he  clasped  the  close-fitting  basque. 

The  next  day  was  one  of  agony  and  suspense.  Evening 
came,  but  no  Mercy.  N  N.  lit  the  charcoal.  But,  to  com 
pose  his  nerves,  he  closed  his  door  and  first  walked  mildly 
up  and  down  Montgomery  Street.  When  he  returned,  he 
found  the  faithful  Mongolian  on  the  steps. 

—All  lity  ! 

These  Chinese  are  not  accurate  in  their  pronunciation. 
They  avoid  the  r,  like  the  English  nobleman. 

N  N.  gasped  for  breath.  He  leaned  heavily  against  the 
Chinaman. 

— Then  you  have  seen  her,  Ching  Long  ? 

— Yes.     All  lity.     She  cum.     Top  side  of  house. 

The  docile  barbarian  pointed  up  the  stairs,  and  chuckled. 

— She  here — impossible  !     Ah,  Heaven  !  do  I  dream  ? 

Yes.     All  lity — top  side  of  house.     Good-bye,  John. 


NN.  251 

This  is  the  familiar  parting  epithet  of  the  Mongolian.  It 
is  equivalent  to  our  au  revoir. 

N  N.  gazed  with  a  stupefied  air  on  the  departing  servant. 

He  placed  his  hand  on  his  throbbing  heart.  She  here — 
alone  beneath  bis  roof.  Oh,  Heavens — what  happiness  ! 

But  how  ?  Torn  from  her  home.  Ruthlessly  dragged, 
perhaps,  from  her  evening  devotions,  by  the  hands  of  a  re 
lentless  barbarian.  Could  she  forgive  him  ? 

He  dashed  frantically  up  the  stairs.  He  opened  the  door. 
She  was  standing  beside  his  couch  with  averted  face. 

A  strange  giddiness  overtook  him.  He  sank  upon  his 
knees  at  the  threshold. 

— Pardon,  pardon.     My  angel,  can  you  forgive  me  ? 

A  terrible  nausea  now  seemed  added  to  the  fearful  giddi 
ness.  His  utterance  grew  thick  and  sluggish. 

— Speak,  speak,  enchantress.  Forgiveness  is  all  I  ask. 
My  Love,  my  Life  ! 

She  did  not  answer.  He  staggered  to  his  feet.  As  he  rose, 
his  eyes  fell  on  the  pan  of  burning  charcoal.  A  terrible 
suspicion  flashed  across  his  mind.  This  giddiness  —  this 
nausea.  The  ignorance  of  the  barbarian.  This  silence.  O 
merciful  heavens  ;  she  was  dying  ! 

He  crawled  toward  her.  He  touched  her.  She  fell  for 
ward  with  a  lifeless  sound  upon  the  floor.  He  uttered  a 
piercing  shriek,  and  threw  himself  beside  her. 

***** 

A  file  of  gendarmes,  accompanied  by  the  Chef  Burke, 
found  him  the  next  morning  lying  lifeless  u  pon  the  floor. 
They  laughed  brutally — these  cruel  minions  of  the  law — and 
disengaged  his  arm  from  the  waist  of  the  wooden  dummy 
which  they  had  come  to  reclaim  from  the  mantua-maker. 

Emptying  a  few  bucketfuls  of  water  over  his  form,  they 
finally  succeeded  in  robbing  him,  not  only  of  his  mistress, 
but  of  that  Death  he  had  coveted  without  her. 

Ah  !  we  live  in  a  strange  world,  Messieurs. 


252  NO  TfTLF 

NO  TITLE. 

BY  W-I.K-E  C-LL-NS. 


PROLOGUE. 

nPHE  following  advertisement  appeared  in   the    Times  of 
*      the  17th  of  June,  1845: 

V\7"  ANTED.  —  A  few  young  men  for  a  light  genteel  employment. 
VV    Address  J.W.,P.  0. 

In  the  same  paper,  of  same  date,  in  another  column  : 

/"p  0  LET.  —  That  commodious  and  elegant  family  mansion,  No.  27, 
•*•    Limehouse  Road,  Pultneyville,  will  be  rented  low  to  a  respectable 
tenant  if  applied  for  immediately,  the  family  being  about  to  remove  to 
the  continent. 

Under  the  local  intelligence,  in  another  column  : 

MISSING.  —  An  unknown  elderly  gentleman  a  week  ago  left  his 
lodgings  in  the  Kent  Boad,  since  which  nothing  has  been  heard 
of  him.  He  left  no  trace  of  his  identity  except  a  portmanteau  con 
taining  a  couple  of  shirts  marked  "  209,  WARD." 

To  find  the  connection  between  the  mysterious  disappear 
ance  of  the  elderly  gentleman  and  the  anonymous  communi 
cation,  the  relevancy  of  both  these  incidents  to  the  letting 
of  a  commodious  family  mansion,  and  the  dead  secret  in 
volved  in  the  three  occurrences,  is  the  task  of  the  writer  of 
this  history. 

A  slim  young  man  with  spectacles,  a  large  hat,  drab 
gaiters,  and  a  note-book,  sat  late  that  night  with  a  copy  of 
the  Times  before  him,  and  a  pencil  which  he  rattled  ner 
vously  between  his  teeth,  in  the  coffee-room  of  the  "  Blue 
Dragon." 


NO  TITLE.  253 

CHAPTER  I. 

MARY  JONES'S   NARRATIVE. 

I  AM  upper  housemaid  to  the  family  that  live  at  No.  27, 
Limehouse  Road,  Pultneyville.  I  have  been  requested  by 
Mr.  Wilkey  Ceilings,  which  I  takes  the  liberty  of  here  stating 
is  a  gentleman  born  and  bred,  and  has  some  consideration  for 
the  feelings  of  servants,  and  is  not  above  rewarding  them  for 
their  trouble,  which  is  more  than  you  can  say  for  some  who 
ask  questions  and  gets  short  answers  enough,  gracious  knows, 
to  tell  what  I  know  about  them.  I  have  been  requested  to 
tell  my  story  in  my  own  langwidge,  though,  being  no  schol- 
lard,  mind  cannot  conceive.  I  think  my  master  is  a  brute. 
Do  not  know  that  he  has  ever  attempted  to  poison  my  missus 
— which  is  too  good  for  him,  and  how  she  ever  came  to 
marry  him,  heart  only  can  tell — but  believe  him  to  be  capable 
of  any  such  hatrosity.  Have  heard  him  swear  dreadful 
because  of  not  having  his  shaving  water  at  9  o'clock  pre 
cisely.  Do  not  know  whether  he  ever  forged  a  will  or  tried 
to  get  my  missus'  property,  although,  not  having  confidence 
in  the  man,  should  not  be  suprised  if  he  had  done  so. 
Believe  that  there  was  always  something  mysterious  in  his 
conduct.  Remember  distinctly  how  the  family  left  home 
to  go  abroad.  Was  putting  up  my  back  hair,  last  Saturday 
morning,  when  I  heard  a  ring.  Says  cook,  "  That's  missus' 
bell,  and  mind  you  hurry,  or  the  master  'ill  know  why."  Says  I, 
"  Humbly  thanking  you,  mem,  but  taking  advice  of  them  as 
is  competent  to  give  it,  I'll  take  my  time."  Found  missus 
dressing  herself,  and  master  growling  as  usual.  Says  missus, 
quite  calm  and  easy  like,  "  Mary,  we  begin  to  pack  to-day." 
"  What  for,  mem  ?  "  says  I,  taken  aback.  "  What's  that 
hussy  asking  1 "  says  master  from  the  bedclothes,  quite 
eavage like.  "  For  the  Continent — Italy,"  says  missus ;  "can 
you  go,  Mary  ?  "  Her  voice  was  quite  gentle  and  saintlike, 


2  $4  NO  TITLE. 

but  I  knew  the  struggle  it  cost,  and  says  I,  "  With  you, 
mem,  to  India's  torrid  clime,  if  required,  but  with  African 
Gorillas,"  says  I,  looking  toward  the  bed,  "  never."  "  Leave 
the  room,"  says  master,  starting  up  and  catching  of  his  boot 
jack.  "  Why,  Charles,"  says  missus,  "  how  you  talk  ! "  affect 
ing  surprise.  "Do  go,  Mary,"  says  she,  slipping  a  half- 
crown  into  my  hand.  I  left  the  room  scorning  to  take 
notice  of  the  odious  wretch's  conduct. 

Cannot  say  whether  my  master  and  missus  were  ever 
legally  married.  What  with  the  dreadful  state  of  morals 
now-a-days,  and  them  stories  in  the  circulating  libraries, 
innocent  girls  don't  know  into  what  society  they  might  be 
obliged  to  take  situations.  Never  saw  missus'  marriage  cer 
tificate,  though  I  have  quite  accidental-like  looked  in  her 
desk  when  open,  and  would  have  seen  it.  Do  not  know 
of  any  lovers  missus  might  have  had.  Believe  she  had  a 
liking  for  John  Thomas,  footman,  for  she  was  always  spite- 
ful-like — poor  lady — when  we  were  together — though  there 
was  nothing  between  us,  as  cook  well  knows,  and  dare  not 
deny,  and  missus  needn't  have  been  jealous.  Have  never 
seen  arsenic  or  Prussian  acid  in  any  of  the  private  drawers, 
but  have  seen  paregoric  and  camphor.  One  of  my  master's 
friends  was  a  Count  Moscow,  a  Eussian  papist — which  I 
detested. 

CHAPTER  II. 

THE  SLIM  YOUNG  MAN'S  STORY. 

I  AM  by  profession  a  reporter,  and  writer  for  the  press.  I 
live  at  Pultneyville.  I  have  always  had  a  passion  for  the 
marvellous,  and  have  been  distinguished  for  my  facility  in 
tracing  out  mysteries,  and  solving  enigmatical  occurrences. 
On  the  night  of  the  17th  June,  1845,  I  left  my  office  and 
walked  homeward.  The  night  was  bright  and  starlight.  1 
was  revolving  in  my  mind  the  words  of  a  singular  item  I  had 


NO  TITLE.  255 

just  read  in  the  Times.  I  had  reached  the  darkest  portion 
of  the  road,  and  found  myself  mechanically  repeating  "An 
elderly  gentleman  a  week  ago  left  his  lodgings  in  the  Kent 
Road,"  when  suddenly  I  heard  a  step  behind  me. 

I  turned  quickly,  with  an  expression  of  horror  in  my  face, 
and  by  the  light  of  the  newly-risen  moon  beheld  an  elderly 
gentleman,  with  green  cotton  umbrella,  approaching  me.  His 
hair,  which  was  snow-white,  was  parted  over  a  broad,  open 
forehead.  The  expression  of  his  face,  which  was  slightly 
flushed,  was  that  of  amiability  verging  almost  upon  imbeci 
lity.  There  was  a  strange,  inquiring  look  about  the  widely- 
opened  mild  blue  eye — a  look  that  might  have  been  intensi 
fied  to  insanity,  or  modified  to  idiocy.  As  he  passed  me,  he 
paused,  and  partly  turned  his  face,  with  a  gesture  of  inquiry. 
I  see  him  still,  his  white  locks  blowing  in  the  evening  breeze, 
his  hat  a  little  on  the  back  of  his  head,  and  his  figure  painted 
in  relief  against  the  dark  blue  sky. 

Suddenly  he  turned  his  mild  eye  full  upon  me.  A  weak 
smile  played  about  his  thin  lips.  In  a  voice  which  had 
something  of  the  tremulousness  of  age  and  the  self-satisfied 
chuckle  of  imbecility  in  it,  he  asked,  pointing  to  the  rising 
moon,  "Why?— Hush!" 

He  had  dodged  behind  me,  and  appeared  to  be  looking 
anxiously  down  the  road.  I  could  feel  his  aged  frame  shak 
ing  with  terror  as  he  laid  his  thin  hands  upon  my  shoulders 
and  faced  me  in  the  direction  of  the  supposed  danger. 

"Hush  !  did  you  not  hear  them  coming  1" 

I  listened ;  there  was  no  sound  but  the  soughing  of  the 
roadside  trees  in  the  evening  wind.  I  endeavoured  to  re 
assure  him,  with  such  success  that  in  a  few  moments  the  old 
weak  smile  appeared  on  his  benevolent  face. 

"Why? "  But  the  look  of  interrogation  was  suc 
ceeded  by  a  hopeless  blankness. 

*'  Why  !"  I  repeated  with  assuring  accents. 

«  Why,"  he  said,  a  gleam  of  intelligence  nickering  over 


256  NO  TITLE. 

nis  face,  "  is  yonder  moon,  as  she  sails  in  the  blue  empyrean, 
casting  a  flood  of  light  o'er  hill  and  dale,  like — Why,"  he 
repeated  with  a  feeble  smile,  "  is  yonder  moon,  as  she  sails 
in  the  blue  empyrean — "  He  hesitated — stammered — and 
gazed  at  me  hopelessly,  with  the  tears  dripping  from  his 
moist  and  widely-opened  eyes. 

I  took  his  hand  kindly  in  my  own.  "  Casting  a  shadow 
o'er  hill  and  dale,"  I  repeated  quietly,  leading  him  up  the 
subject,  "like —  Come,  now." 

"  Ah ! "  he  said,  pressing  my  hand  tremulously,  "  yon 
know  it  ?" 

"I  do.  Why  is  it  like — the — eh — the  commodious  man 
sion  in  the  Limehouse  Road  ? " 

A  blank  stare  only  followed.  He  shook  his  head  sadly. 
"  Like  the  young  men  wanted  for  a  light,  genteel  employ 
ment?" 

He  wagged  his  feeble  old  head  cunningly. 

"Or,  Mr.  Ward,"  I  said  with  bold  confidence,  "like  the 
mysterious  disappearance  from  the  Kent  Road." 

The  moment  was  full  of  suspense.  He  did  not  seem  to 
hear  me.  Suddenly  he  turned. 

"Ha!" 

I  darted  forward.     But  he  had  vanished  in  the  darkness. 


CHAPTER  III. 

I  NO.    27,   LIMEHOUSE  ROAD. 

IT  was  a  hot  midsummer  evening.  Limehouse  Road  was 
deserted  save  by  dust  and  a  few  rattling  butchers'  carts,  and 
the  bell  of  the  muffin  and  crumpet  man.  A  commodious 
mansion  which  stood  on  the  right  of  the  road  as  you  enter 
Pultneyville,  surrounded  by  stately  poplars  and  a  high  fence 
surmounted  by  a  chevaux  defrise  of  broken  glass,  looked  to 
the  passing  and  footsore  pedestrian  like  the  genius  of  seclu- 


NO  TITLE.  257 

sion  and  solitude.  A  bill  announcing  in  the  usual  terms 
that  the  house  was  to  let,  hung  from  the  bell  at  the  servants' 
entrance. 

As  the  shades  of  evening  closed,  and  the  long  shadows  of 
the  poplars  stretched  across  the  road,  a  man  carrying  a  small 
kettle  stopped  and  gazed,  first  at  the  bill  and  then  at  the 
house.  When  he  had  reached  the  corner  of  the  fence,  he 
again  stopped  and  looked  cautiously  up  and  down  the  road. 
Apparently  satisfied  with  the  result  of  his  scrutiny,  he  deli 
berately  sat  himself  down  in  the  dark  shadow  of  the  fence, 
and  at  once  busied  himself  in  some  employment,  so  well  con 
cealed  as  to  be  invisible  to  the  gaze  of  passers-by.  At  the 
end  of  an  hour  he  retired  cautiously. 

But  not  altogether  unseen.  A  slim  young  man,  with 
spectacles  and  note-book,  stepped  from  behind  a  tree  as  the 
retreating  figure  of  the  intruder  was  lost  in  the  twilight,  and 
transferred  from  the  fence  to  his  note-book  the  freshly  sten~ 
cilled  inscription—"  S— T— 1860— X." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

COUNT   MOSCOW'S   NARRATIVE. 

I  AM  a  foreigner.  Observe  !  To  be  a  foreigner  in  England 
is  to  be  mysterious,  suspicious,  intriguing.  M.  Collins  has 
requested  the  history  of  my  complicity  with  certain  occur 
rences.  It  is  nothing — bah — absolutely  nothing. 

I  write  with  ease  and  fluency.  Why  should  I  not  write  1 
Tra  la  la  !  I  am  what  you  English  call  corpulent.  Ha, 
ha  !  I  am  a  pupil  of  Macchiavelli.  I  find  it  much  better 
to  disbelieve  everything,  and  to  approach  my  subject  and 
wishes  circuitously,  than  in  a  direct  manner.  You  have 
observed  that  playful  animal,  the  cat.  Call  it,  and  it  (Joes 
not  come  to  you  directly,  but  rubs  itself  against  all  the  fUr- 
nature  in  the  room,  and  reaches  you  finally— and  scratches, 


258  NO  TITLE. 

£Ji,  ha,  scratches  !  I  am  of  the  feline  species.  Poop!-?,  ca1! 
me  a  villain — bah  ! 

I  know  the  family  living  at  No.  27,  Liinehouse  Hoad. 
I  respect  the  gentleman — a  fine,  burly  specimen  of  your 
Englishman — and  madame,  charming,  ravishing,  delightful. 
When  it  became  known  to  me  that  they  designed  to  let  their 
delightful  residence,  and  visit  foreign  shores,  I  at  once  called 
upon  them.  I  kissed  the  hand  of  madame.  I  embraced  the 
great  Englishman.  Madame  blushed  slightly.  The  great 
Englishman  shook  my  hand  like  a  mastiff. 

I  began  in  that  dexterous,  insinuating  manner  of  which  1 
am  truly  proud.  I  thought  madame  was  ill.  Ah — no.  A 
change,  then,  was  all  that  was  required.  I  sat  down  at  the 
piano  and  sang.  In  a  few  minutes  madame  retired.  I  was 
alone  with  my  friend. 

Seizing  his  hand,  I  began  with  every  demonstration  of 
courteous  sympathy.  I  do  not  repeat  my  words,  for  my 
intention  was  conveyed  more  in  accent,  emphasis,  and 
manner,  than  speech.  I  hinted  to  him  that  he  had  another 
wife  living.  I  suggested  that  this  was  balanced — ha  ! — by 
his  wife's  lover.  That,  possibly,  he  wished  to  fly — hence  the 
letting  of  his  delightful  mansion.  That  he  regularly  and 
systematically  beat  his  wife  in  the  English  manner,  and  that 
she  repeatedly  deceived  him.  I  talked  of  hope,  of  consola 
tion,  of  remedy.  I  carelessly  produced  a  bottle  of  strychnine 
and  a  small  vial  of  stramonium  from  my  pocket,  and  enlarged 
on  the  efficiency  of  drugs.  His  face,  which  had  gradually 
become  convulsed,  suddenly  became  fixed  with  a  frightful 
expression.  He  started  to  his  feet,  and  roared  :  "  You  d — d 
Frenchman ! " 

I  instantly  changed  my  tactics,  and  endeavoured  to  em 
brace  him.  He  kicked  me  twice,  violently.  I  begged 
permission  to  kiss  madame's  hand.  He  replied  by  throwing 
me  down-stairs. 

I  am  iu  bed  with  my  head   bound  up,  and  beef-steaks 


NO  TITLE.  2$9 

upon  my  eyes,  but  still  confident  and  buoyant.  I  have  not 
lost  faith  in  M'accniavelli.  Tra  la  la  1  as  they  sing  in  the 
opera.  I  kiss  everybody's  hands. 


CHAPTER  V. 

DR.   DIGGS'   STATEMENT. 

M  Y  name  is  David  Diggs.  I  am  a  surgeon  living  at  No.  9, 
Tottenham  Court.  On  the  15th  of  June,  1854,  I  was  called 
to  see  an  elderly  gentleman  lodging  in  the  Kent  Road. 
Found  him  highly  excited,  with  strong  febrile  symptoms, 
pulse  120,  increasing.  Repeated  incoherently  what  I  judged 
to  be  the  popular  form  of  a  conundrum.  On  closer  exami 
nation  found  acute  hydrocephalus  and  both  lobes  of  the  brain 
rapidly  filling  with  water.  In  consultation  with  an  eminent 
phrenologist,  it  was  further  discovered  that  all  the  organs 
were  more  or  less  obliterated  except  that  of  Comparison. 
Hence  the  patient  was  enabled  to  only  distinguish  the  most 
common  points  of  resemblance  between  objects,  without 
drawing  upon  other  faculties,  such  as  Ideality  or  Language, 
for  assistance.  Later  in  the  day  found  him  sinking — being 
evidently  unable  to  carry  the  most  ordinary  conundrum  to  a 
successful  issue.  Exhibited  Tinct.  Val.,  Ext.  Opii,  and 
Camphor,  and  prescribed  quiet  and  emollients.  On  the  17th 
the  patient  was  missing. 


'  CHAPTER  LAST. 

STATEMENT  OF  THE   PUBLISHER. 

ON  the  18th  of  June,  Mr.  Wilkie  Collins  left  a  roll  of  manu 
script  with  us  for  publication,  without  title  or  direction, 
since  which  time  he  has  not  been  heard  from.  In  spite  of 
the  care  of  the  proof-readers,  and  valuable  literary  assistance^ 

B  2 


26o       HANDSOME  IS  AS  HANDSOME  DOES. 

it  is  feared  that  the  continuity  of  the  story  has  been,  de 
stroyed  by  some  accidental  misplacing  of  chapters  during  its 
progress.  How  and  what  chapters  are  so  misplaced,  tho 
publisher  leaves  to  an  indulgent  public  to  discover. 


HANDSOME  IS  AS  HANDSOME  DOES. 

BY  CH-S  R-DE. 
CHAPTER  I. 

HpHE  Dodds  were  dead.  For  twenty  years  they  had  slept 
^  under  the  green  graves  of  Kittery  churchyard.  The 
townfolk  still  spoke  of  them  kindly.  The  keeper  of  the 
alehouse,  where  David  had  smoked  his  pipe,  regretted  him 
regularly,  and  Mistress  Kitty,  Mrs.  D odd's  maid,  whose  trim 
figure  always  looked  well  in  her  mistress's  gowns,  was  incon 
solable.  The  Hardins  were  in  America.  Kaby  was  aristo 
cratically  gouty ;  Mrs.  Eaby,  religious.  Briefly,  then,  we 
have  disposed  of — 

1.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dodd  (dead). 

2.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hardin  (translated). 

3.  Raby,  baron  et  femme.     (Yet  I  don't  know  about  the 
former ;  he  came  of  a  long-lived  family,  and  the  gout  is  an 
uncertain  disease.) 

"We    have    active    at    the   present   writing    (place    aux 
dames} — 

1 .  Lady  Caroline  Coventry,  niece  of  Sir  Frederick. 

2.  Faraday  Huxley  Little,  son  of  Henry  and  Grace  LittLau 
deceased. 

Sequitur  to  the  above,  A  HERO  AND  HEEOINE. 


HANDSOME  IS  AS  HANDSOME  DOES.       261 


CHAPTER  II. 

ON  the  death  of  his  parents,  Faraday  Little  was  taken  td 
JElaby  Hall.  In  accepting  his  guardianship,  Mr.  Raby 
struggled  stoutly  against  two  prejudices :  Faraday  was 
plain-looking  and  sceptical. 

"  Handsome  is  as  handsome  does,  sweetheart,"  pleaded 
Jael,  interceding  for  the  orphan  with  arms  that  were  still 
beautiful.  "  Dear  knows,  it  is  not  his  fault  if  he  does  not 
look  like — his  father,"  she  added  with  a  great  gulp.  Jael 
was  a  woman,  and  vindicated  her  womanhood  by  never 
entirely  forgiving  a  former  rival. 

"It's  not  that  alone,  madam,"  screamed  Raby,  "but, 
d — m  it,  the  little  rascal's  a  scientist, — an  atheist,  a  radical, 
a  scoffer  !  Disbelieves  in  the  Bible,  ma'am ;  is  full  of  this 
Darwinian  stuff  about  natural  selection  and  descent.  Descent, 
forsooth  !  In  my  day,  madam,  gentlemen  were  content  to 
trace  their  ancestors  back  to  gentlemen,  and  not  to — 
monkeys  ! " 

"  Dear  heart,  the  boy  is  clever,"  urged  Jael. 

"Clever!"  roared  Baby;  "what  does  a  gentleman  want 
with  cleverness  ? " 


CHAPTER  III. 

YOUNG  Little  was  clever.  At  seven  he  had  constructed  a 
telescope;  at  nine,  a  flying-machine.  At  ten  he  saved  a 
valuable  life. 

Norwood  Park  was  the  adjacent  estate, — a  lordly  domain 
clotted  with  red  deer  and  black  trunks,  but  scrupulously 
kept  with  gravelled  roads  as  hard  and  blue  as  steel.  Thero 
Little  was  strolling  one  summer  morning,  meditating  on  a 
new  top  with  concealed  springs.  At  a  little  distance  before 
him  he  saw  the  flutter  of  lace  and  ribbons.  A  young  lady, 


262       HANDSOME  IS  AS  HANDSOME  DOES. 

a  veiy  young  lady, — say  of  seven  summers, — tricked  out  in 
the  crying  abominations  of  the  present  fashion,  stood  beside 
a  low  bush.  Her  nursery-maid  was  not  present,  possibly 
owing  to  the  fact  that  John  the  footman  was  also  absent. 

Suddenly  Little  came  towards  her.  "  Excuse  me,  but  do 
you  know  what  those  berries  are  % "  He  was  pointing  to  the 
low  bush  filled  with  dark  clusters  of  shining — suspiciously 
shining — fruit. 

ie  Certainly ;  they  are  blueberries." 

"  Pardon  me ;  you  are  mistaken.  They  belong  to  quite 
another  family." 

Miss  Impudence  drew  herself  up  to  her  full  height  (exactly 
three  feet  nine  and  a  half  inches),  and,  curling  an  eighth  of 
an  inch  of  scarlet  lip,  said  scornfully,  "  Your  family, 
perhaps." 

Faraday  Little  smiled  in  the  superiority  of  boyhood  over 
girlhood. 

"  I  allude  to  the  classification.  That  plant  is  the  bella 
donna,  or  deadly  nightshade.  Its  alkaloid  is  a  narcotic 
poison." 

Sauciness  turned  pale.  "  I — have— just — eaten — some  ! " 
And  began  to  whimper.  "  O  dear,  what  shall  I  do  1  "  Then 
did  it,  i.  e.  wrung  her  small  fingers  and  cried. 

"Pardon  me  one  moment."  Little  passed  his  arm  around 
her  neck,  and  with  his  thumb  opened  widely  the  patrician- 
veined  lids  of  her  sweet  blue  eyes.  "  Thank  Heaven,  there 
is  yet  no  dilation  of  the  pupil ;  it  is  not  too  late  !  "  He  cast 
a  rapid  glance  around.  The  nozzle  and  about  three  feet  of 
garden  hose  lay  near  him. 

"  Open  your  mouth,  quick  ! " 

It  was  a  pretty,  kissable  mouth.  But  young  Little  meant 
business.  He  put  the  nozzle  down  her  pink  throat  as  far  as 
it  would  go. 

"  Now,  don't  move." 

He  wrapped  his  handkerchief  around  a  hoop-stick.     Then 


HANDSOME  IS  AS  HANDSOME  DOES.       263 

he  inserted  both  in  the  other  end  of  the  stiff  hose.  It  fitted 
Bimgly.  He  shoved  it  in  and  then  drew  it  back. 

Nature  abhors  a  vacuum.  The  young  patrician  was  as 
amenable  to  this  law  as  the  child  of  the  lowest  peasant. 

She  succumbed.  It  was  all  over  in  a  minute.  Then  she 
burst  into  a  small  fury. 

"  You  nasty,  bad — ugly  boy." 

Young  Little  winced,  but  smiled. 

"  Stimulants,"  he  whispered  to  the  frightened  nursery, 
maid  who  approached  ;  "good  evening."  He  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  breach,  between  young  Little  and  Mr.  Raby  was  slowly 
widening.  Little  found  objectionable  features  in  the  Hall. 

"  This  black  oak  ceiling  and  wainscoating  is  not  as  healthful 
as  plaster ;  besides  it  absorbs  the  light.  The  bedroom  ceiling 
is  too  low ;  the  Elizabethan  architects  knew  nothing  of 
ventilation.  The  colour  of  that  oak  panelling  which  you 
admire  is  due  to  an  excess  of  carbon  and  the  exuvia  from 
the  pores  of  your  skin — " 

"'  Leave  the  house,"  bellowed  Raby,  "  before  the  roof  falls 
on  your  sacrilegious  head  !  " 

As  Little  left  the  house,  Lady  Caroline  and  a  handsome 
boy  of  about  Little's  age  entered.  Lady  Caroline  recoiled, 
and  then  —  blushed.  Little  glared ;  he  instinctively  felt  the 
presence  of  a  rival. 

CHAPTER  V. 

LITTLE  worked  hard.  He  studied  night  and  day.  In  five 
years  he  became  a  lecturer,  then  a  professor. 

He  soared  as  high  as  the  clouds,  he  dipped  as  low  as  the 
cellars  of  the  London  poor.  He  analyzed  the  London  fog, 
and  found  it  two  parts  smoke,  one  disease,  one  unmentionable 


264       HANDSOME  IS  AS  HANDSOME  DOES. 

abominations.  He  published  a  pamphlet,  which  was  violently 
attacked.  Then  he  knew  he  had  done  something. 

But  he  had  not  forgotten  Caroline.  He  was  walking  one 
day  in  the  Zoological  Gardens  and  he  came  upon  a  pretty 
picture, — flesh  and  blood  too. 

Lady  Caroline  feeding  buns  to  the  bears  !  An  exquisite 
thrill  passed  through  his  veins.  She  turned  her  sweet  face 
and  their  eyes  met.  They  recollected  their  first  meeting 
seven  years  before,  but  it  was  his  turn  to  be  shy  and  timid. 
Wonderful  power  of  age  and  sex  !  She  met  him  with  perfect 
self-possession. 

"  Well  meant,  but  indigestible  I  fear  " — (lie  alluded  to  the 
buns). 

"A  clever  person  like  yourself  can  easily  correct  that" — 
(she,  the  slyboots,  was  thinking  of  something  else). 

In  a  few  moments  they  were  chatting  gayly.  Little  eagerly 
descanted  upon  the  different  animals ;  she  listened  with 
delicious  interest.  An  hour  glided  delightfully  away. 

After  this  sunshine,  clouds. 

To  them  suddenly  entered  Mr.  Raby  and  a  handsome 
young  man.  The  gentlemen  bowed  stiffly  and  looked  vicious, — 
as  they  felt.  The  lady  of  this  quartette  smiled  amiably,  as 
she  did  not  feel. 

"  Looking  at  your  ancestors,  I  suppose,"  said  Mr.  Raby, 
pointing  to  the  monkeys ;  "we  will  not  disturb  you.  Come." 
And  he  led  Caroline  away. 

Little  was  heart-sick.  He  dared  not  follow  them.  But  an 
hour  later  he  saw  something  which  filled  his  heart  with  bliss 
unspeakable. 

Lady  Caroline,  with  a  divine  smile  on  her  face,  feeding  the 
monkeys ! 

CHAPTER  VI. 

ENCOURAGED  by  love,  Little  worked  hard  upon  his  new 
flying-machine.  His  labours  were  lightened  by  talking  of  the 


HANDSOME  IS  AS  HANDSOME  DOES.       265 

beloved  one  with  her  French  maid  Therese,  whom  be  had 
discreetly  bribed.  Mademoiselle  Therese  was  venal,  like 
all  her  class,  but  in  this  instance  I  fear  she  was  not  bribed 
by  British  gold.  Strange  as  it  may  seem  to  the  British 
mind,  it  was  British  genius,  British  eloquence,  British 
thought,  that  brought  her  to  the  feet  of  this  young  savan. 

"  I  believe,"  said  Lady  Caroline,  one  day,  interrupting  her 
maid  in  a  glowing  eulogium  upon  the  skill  of  "  M.  Leetell," 
— "I  believe  you  are  in  love  with  this  Professor."  A  quick 
flush  crossed  the  olive  cheek  of  Therese,  which  Lady  Caroline 
afterward  remembered. 

The  eventful  day  of  trial  came.  The  public  were  gathered, 
impatient  and  scornful  as  the  pig-headed  public  are  apt  to  be. 
In  the  open  area  a  long  cylindrical  balloon,  in  shape  like 
a  Bologna  sausage,  swayed  above  the  machine,  from  which, 
like  some  enormous  bird  caught  in  a  net,  it  tried  to  free 
itself.  A  heavy  rope  held  it  fast  to  the  ground. 

Little  was  waiting  for  the  ballast,  when  his  eye  caught 
Lady  Caroline's  among  the  spectators.  The  glance  was 
appealing.  In  a  moment  he  was  at  her  side. 

"  I  should  like  so  much  to  get  into  the  machine,"  said  the 
arch-hypocrite,  demurely. 

"  Are  you  engaged  to  marry  young  Raby,"  said  Little, 
bluntly. 

"  As  you  please,"  she  said  with  a  courtesy ;  "do  I  take  this 
as  a  refusal?" 

Little  was  a  gentleman.  He  lifted  her  and  her  lapdoginto 
the  car. 

"  How  nice  !  it  won't  go  off?" 

"  No,  the  rope  is  strong,  and  the  ballast  is  not  yet  in." 

A  report  like  a  pistol,  a  cry  from  the  spectators,  a  thousand 
hands  stretched  to  grasp  the  parted  rope,  and  the  balloon 
darted  upward. 

Only  one  hand  of  that  thousand  caught  the  rope, — Little's ! 
But  in  the  same  instant  the  horror-stricken  spectators  saw 


265       HANDSOME  IS  AS  HANDSOME  DOES. 

him  whirled  from  his  feet  and  borne  upward,  still  clinging  td 
the  rope,  into  space. 

CHAPTER  VII.* 

LADY  CAROLINE  fainted.  The  cold  watery  nose  of  her  dog 
on  her  cheek  brought  her  to  herself.  She  dared  not  look  over 
the  edge  of  the  car  ;  she  dared  not  look  up  to  the  bellying 
monster  above  her,  bearing  her  to  death.  She  threw  herself 
on  the  bottom  of  the  car,  and  embraced  the  only  living  thing 
spared  her, —  the  poodle.  Then  she  cried.  Then  a  clear  voice 
came  apparently  out  of  the  circumambient  air : — 

"  May  I  trouble  you  to  look  at  the  barometer  ?  " 

She  put  her  head  over  the  car.  Little  was  hanging  at  the 
end  of  a  long  rope.  She  put  her  head  back  again. 

In  another  moment  he  saw  her  perplexed,  blushing  face 
over  the  edge, — blissful  sight. 

"  O,  please  don't  think  of  coming  up !     Stay  there,  do"!" 

Little  stayed.  Of  course  she  could  make  nothing  out  of 
the  barometer,  and  said  so.  Little  smiled. 

"  Will  you  kindly  send  it  down  to  me  V1 

But  she  had  no  string  or  cord.  Finally  she  said,  "  Wait  a 
moment." 

Little  waited.  This  time  her  face  did  not  appear.  The 
barometer  came  slowly  down  at  the  end  of — a  stay-lace. 

The  barometer  showed  a  frightful  elevation.  Little  looked 
up  at  the  valve  and  said  nothing.  Presently  he  heard  a  sigh. 
Then  a  sob.  Then,  rather  sharply,— 

"  Why  don't  you  do  something  Vy 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
LITTLE  came  up  the  rope  hand  over  hand.     Lady  Carolir.a 

*  The  right  of  dramatization  of   this  and  succeeding  chapters  * 
reserved  by  the  writer. 


HANDSOME  IS  AS  HANDSOME  DOES.       267 

crouched  in  the  farther  side  of  the  car.  Tido,  the  poodle, 
whined.  "  Poor  thing,"  said  Lady  Caroline,  "  it's  hungry." 

"  Do  you  wish  to  save  the  dog  \ "  said  Little. 

"Yes." 

"  Give  me  your  parasol." 

She  handed  Little  a  good-sized  affair  of  lace  and  silk  and 
whalebone.  (None  of  your  "  sun-shades.")  Little  exa 
mined  its  ribs  carefully. 

"  Give  me  the  dog." 

Lady  Caroline  hurriedly  slipped  a  note  under  the  dog's 
collar,  and  passed  over  her  pet. 

Little  tied  the  dog  to  the  handle  of  the  parasol  and 
launched  them  both  into  space.  The  next  moment  they 
were  slowly,  but  tranquilly,  sailing  to  the  earth. 

"A  parasol  and  a  parachute  are  distinct,  but  not  dif 
ferent.  Be  not  alarmed,  he  will  get  his  dinner  at  some 
farm-house." 

"  Where  are  we  anr  2" 

"  That  opaque  spot  you  see  is  London  fog.  Those  twin- 
clouds  are  North  and  South  America.  Jerusalem  and 
Madagascar  are  those  specks  to  the  right." 

Lady  Caroline  moved  nearer;  she  was  becoming  inte 
rested.  Then  she  recalled  herself  and  said  freezingly, 
"  How  are  we  going  to  descend  ?" 

"  By  opening  the  valve." 

"  Why  don't  you  open  it  then  ?" 

u  BECAUSE  THE  VALVE-STRING  is  BROKEN  !" 


CHAPTER  IX. 

.LADY  CAROLINE  fainted.  When  she  revived  it  was  dark. 
They  were  apparently  cleaving  their  way  through  a  solid 
block  of  black  marble.  She  moaned  and  shuddered. 

"  I  wish  we  had  a  light." 

M I  have  HP  lucifers,"  said  Little.     "  I  observe,  however. 


263       HANDSOME  IS  AS  HANDSOME  DOES. 

that  you  wear  a  necklace  of  amber.  Amber  under  certain 
conditions  becomes  highly  electrical.  Permit  me." 

He  took  the  amber  necklace  and  rubbed  it  briskly.  Then 
he  askecl  her  to  present  her  knuckle  to  the  gem.  A  bright 
spark  was  the  result.  This  was  repeated  for  some  hours. 
The  light  was  not  brilliant,  but  it  was  enough  for  the 
purposes  of  propriety,  and  satisfied  the  delicately  minded 
girl. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  tearing,  hissing  noise  and  a  smell  of 
gas.  Little  looked  up  and  turned  pale.  The  balloon,  at 
what  I  shall  call  the  pointed  end  of  the  Bologna  sausage, 
was  evidently  bursting  from  increased  pressure.  The  gas 
was  escaping,  and  already  they  were  beginning  to  descend. 
Little  was  resigned,  but  firm. 

"  If  the  silk  gives  way,  then  we  are  lost.  Unfortunately 
I  have  no  rope  nor  material  for  binding  it." 

The  woman's  instinct  had  arrived  at  the  same  conclusion 
sooner  than  the  man's  reason.  But  she  was  hesitating  over 
a  detail. 

"  Will  you  go  down  the  rope  for  a  moment  ?"  she  said, 
with  a  sweet  smile. 

Little  went  down.  Presently  she  called  to  him.  She 
held  something  in  her  hand, — a  wonderful  invention  of  the 
seventeenth  century,  improved  and  perfected  in  this  :  a 
pyramid  of  sixteen  circular  hoops  of  light  yet  strong  steel, 
attached  to  each  other  by  cloth  bands. 

With  a  cry  of  joy  Little  seized  them,  climbed  to  the 
balloon,  and  fitted  the  elastic  hoops  over  its  conical  end. 
Then  he  returned  to  the  car. 

«  We  are  saved." 

Lady  Caroline,  blushing,  gathered  her  slim  but  antiauo 
irapery  against  the  other  end  of  the  car. 


HANDSOME  IS  AS  HANDSOME  DOES.       269 

CHAPTER  X. 

THEY  were  slowly  descending.  Presently  Lady  Caroline 
distinguished  the  outlines  of  Kaby  Hall.  "  I  think  I  will 
get  out  here,"  she  said. 

Little  anchored  the  balloon  and  prepared  to  follow  her. 

"Not  so,  my  friend,"  she  said,  with  an  arch  smile. 
"  We  must  not  be  seen  together,  People  might  talk.  Fare 
well." 

Little  sprang  again  into  the  balloon  and  sped  away  to 
America.  He  came  down  in  California,  oddly  enough  in 
front  of  Hardin's  door,  at  Dutch  Flat.  Hardin  was  just 
examining  a  specimen  of  ore. 

"  You  are  a  scientist ;  you  can  tell  me  if  that  is  worth 
anything?"  he  said,  handing  it  to  Little. 

Little  held  it  to  the  light.  "  It  contains  ninety  per  cent, 
of  silver." 

Hardin  embraced  him.  "  Can  I  do  anything  for  you,  and 
why  are  you  here  1 " 

Little  told  his  story.  Hardin  asked  to  see  the  rope. 
Then  he  examined  it  carefully. 

"  Ah,  this  was  cut,  not  broken  !" 

"  With  a  knife  1"  asked  Little. 

"  No.  Observe  both  sides  are  equally  indented.  It  was 
done  with  a  scissors  I " 

"  Just  Heaven  !"  gasped  Little.     "  Therdse  !" 

CHAPTER  XI. 

LITTLE  returned  to  London.  Passing  through  London  one 
day  he  met  a  dog-fancier.  "Buy  a  nice  poodle,  sir1?" 

Something  in  the  animal  attracted  his  attention.  "Fido!" 
he  gasped. 

The  dog  yelped. 

Little  bought  him.     On  taking  off  his  collar  a  piece  of1 


270       HANDSOME  IS  AS  HANDSOME  DOES. 

paper  rustled  to  the  floor.     He  knew  the  handwriting  and 
kissed  it.     It  ran  : — 

"  To  THE  HON.  AUGUSTUS  EABY  : — I  cannot  marry  you. 
If  I  marry  any  one"  (sly  puss)  "it  will  be  the  man  who  has 
twice  saved  my  life,— Professor  Little. 

"  CAROLINE  COVENTRY." 

And  she  did. 


SKETCHES. 


MR.  THOMPSON'S  PRODIGAL, 

"\1[  7E  all  knew  that  Mr.  Thompson  was  looking  for  his 
son,  and  a  pretty  bad  one  at  that.  That  he  was 
coming  to  California  for  this  sole  object  was  no  secret  to  his 
fellow-passengers ;  and  the  physical  peculiarities,  as  well  as 
the  moral  weaknesses,  of  the  missing  prodigal,  were  made 
equally  plain  to  us  through  the  frank  volubility  of  the 
parent. 

"  You  was  speaking  of  a  young  man  which  was  hung 
at  Red  Dog  for  sluice-robbing,"  said  Mr.  Thompson  to  a 
steerage-passenger,  one  day ;  "  be  you  aware  of  the  colour 
of  his  eyes?" 

"  Black,"  responded  the  passenger. 

"Ah,"  said  Mr.  Thompson,  referring  to  some  mental 
memoranda,  "  Char-les'  eyes  was  blue." 

He  then  walked  away.  Perhaps  it  was  from  this  unsym 
pathetic  mode  of  inquiry;  perhaps  it  was  from  that  Western 
'predilection  to  take  a  humorous  view  of  any  principle  or 
sentiment  persistently  brought  before  them,  that  Mr.  Thomp 
son's  quest  was  the  subject  of  some  satire  among  the  passen 
gers.  A  gratuitous  advertisement  of  the  missing  Charley 
addressed  to  "  Jailers  and  Guardians,"  circulated  privately 
among  them ;  everybody  remembered  to  have  met  Charles 
under  distressing  circumstances.  Yet  it  is  but  due  to  my 
countrymen  to  state  that  when  it  was  known  that  Thomp 
son  had  embarked  some  wealth  in  this  visionary  project,  but 
]>,tle  of  this  satire  found  its  way  to  his  ears,  and  nothing 
v '<?«  uttered  in  his  hearing  that  might  bring  a  pang  to  a  father's 


274  MR.  THOMPSON'S  PRODIGAL. 

heart,  or  imperil  a  possible  pecuniary  advantage  of  the 
satirist.  Indeed,  Mr.  Bracey  Tibbets'  jocular  proposition 
to  form  a  joint-stock  company  to  "prospect"  for  the  missing 
youth,  received  at  one  time  quite  serious  entertainment. 

Perhaps  to  superficial  criticism  Mr.  Thompson's  nature 
was  not  picturesque  nor  lovable.  His  history,  as  imparted 
at  dinner  one  day  by  himself,  was  practical  even  in  its  sin 
gularity.  After  a  hard  and  wilful  youth  and  maturity — in 
which  he  had  buried  a  broken-spirited  wife,  and  driven  his 
son  to  sea — he  suddenly  experienced  religion. 

"I  got  it  in  New  Orleans  in  '59,"  said  Mr.  Thompson, 
with  the  general  suggestion  of  referring  to  an  epidemic. 
"  Enter  ye  the  narrer  gate.  Parse  me  the  beans." 

Perhaps  this  practical  equality  upheld  him  in  his  appa 
rently  hopeless  search.  He  had  no  clew  to  the  whereabouts 
of  his  runaway  son — indeed,  scarcely  a  proof  of  his  present 
existence.  From  his  indifferent  recollection  of  the  boy  of 
twelve,  he  now  expected  to  identify  the  man  of  twenty- 
five. 

It  would  seem  that  he  was  successful.  How  he  succeeded 
was  one  of  the  few  things  he  did  not  tell.  There  are,  I  be 
lieve,  two  versions  of  the  story.  One,  that  Mr.  Thompson, 
visiting  a  hospital,  discovered  his  son  by  reason  of  a  peculiar 
hymn,  chanted  by  the  sufferer,  in  a  delirious  dream  of  his 
boyhood.  This  version,  giving  as  it  did  wide  range  to  the 
finer  feelings  of  the  heart,  was  quite  popular ;  and  as  told 
by  the  Eev.  Mr.  Gushington,  on  his  return  from  his  Cali 
fornia  tour,  never  failed  to  satisfy  an  audience.  The  other 
was  less  simple,  and  as  I  shall  adopt  it  here,  deserves  more 
elaboration. 

It  was  after  Mr.  Thompson  had  given  up  searching  for  his 
son  among  the  living,  and  had  taken  to  the  examination  of 
cemeteries,  and  a  careful  inspection  of  the  "  cold  hie  jacets 
of  the  dead."  At  this  time  he  was  a  frequent  visitor  of 
"Lone  Mountain" — a  dreary  hill-top,  bleak  enough  in  ite 


MR.  THOMPSON'S  PRODIGAL.  275 

original  isolation,  and  bleaker  for  the  white-faced  marbles 
by  which  San  Francisco  anchored  her  departed  citizens,  and 
kept  them  down  in  a  shifting  sand  that  refused  to  cover 
them,  and  against  a  fierce  and  persistent  wind  that  strove  to 
blow  them  utterly  away.  Against  this  wind  the  old  man 
opposed  a  will  quite  as  persistent — a  grizzled,  hard  face,  and 
a  tall,  crape-bound  hat  drawn  tightly  over  his  eyes — and  so 
spent  days  in  reading  the  mortuary  inscriptions  audibly  to 
himself.  The  frequency  of  scriptural  quotation  pleased  him, 
and  he  was  fond  of  corroborating  them  by  a  pocket  Bible. 

"  That's  from  Psalms,"  he  said,  one  day,  to  an  adjacent 
grave-digger. 

The  man  made  no  reply. 

Not  at  all  rebuffed,  Mr.  Thompson  at  once  slid  down 
into  the  open  grave,  with  a  more  practical  inquiry  :  "  Did 
you  ever,  in  your  profession,  come  across  Char-les  Thompson  ?" 

"Thompson  be  d — d,"  said  the  grave-digger,  with  great 
directness. 

"  Which,  if  he  hadn't  religion,  I  think  he  is,"  responded 
the  old  man,  as  he  clambered  out  of  the  grave. 

It  was,  perhaps,  on  this  occasion  that  Mr.  Thompson 
stayed  later  than  usual.  As  he  turned  his  face  towards  the 
city,  lights  were  beginning  to  twinkle  ahead,  and  a  fierce 
wind,  made  visible  by  fog,  drove  him  forward,  or,  lying  in  wait, 
charged  him  angrily  from  the  corners  of  deserted  suburban 
streets.  It  was  on  one  of  these  corners  that  something 
else,  quite  as  indistinct  and  malevolent,  leaped  upon  him 
with  an  oath,  a  presented  pistol,  and  a  demand  for  money. 
/But  it  was  met  by  a  will  of  iron  and  a  grip  of  steel.  The 
assailant  and  assailed  rolled  together  on  the  ground.  But 
the  next  moment  the  old  man  was  erect ;  one  hand  grasp 
ing  the  captured  pistol,  the  other  clutching  at  arm's  length 
the  throat  of  a  figure,  surly,  youthful,  and  savage. 

"Young  man,"  said  Mr.  Thompson,  setting  his  thin  lips 
together,  "  what  might  be  your  name  !  " 


2;6  MR.  THOMPSON'S  PRODIGAL. 

"  Thompson ! " 

The  old  man's  hand  slid  from  the  throat  to  the  arm  of 
his  prisoner,  without  relaxing  its  firmness. 

"  Char-les  Thompson,  come  with  me,"  he  said,  presently, 
and  marched  his  captive  to  the  hotel.  "What  took  place 
there  has  not  transpired,  but  it  was  known  the  next  morn 
ing  that  Mr.  Thompson  had  found  -his  son. 

It  is  proper  to  add  to  the  above  improbable  story,  that 
there  was  nothing  in  the  young  man's  appearance  or  man 
ners  to  justify  it.  Grave,  reticent,  and  handsome,  devoted 
to  his  newly  found  parent,  he  assumed  the  emoluments  and 
responsibilities  of  his  new  condition  with  a  certain  serious 
ease  that  more  nearly  approached  that  which  San  Francisco 
society  lacked,  and — rejected.  Some  chose  to  despise  this 
quality  as  a  tendency  to  "  psalm-singing  j  "  others  saw  in  it 
the  inherited  qualities  of  the  parent,  and  were  ready  to  pro 
phesy  for  the  son  the  same  hard  old  age.  But  all  agreed 
that  it  was  not  inconsistent  with  the  habits  of  money-getting, 
for  which  father  and  son  were  respected. 

And  yet  the  old  man  did  not  seem  to  be  happy.  Perhaps 
it  was  that  the  consummation  of  his  wishes  left  him  without 
a  practical  mission  \  perhaps — and  it  is  the  more  probable — 
lie  had  little  love  for  the  son  he  had  regained.  The  obe 
dience  he  exacted  was  freely  given,  the  reform  he  had  set 
his  heart  upon  was  complete  ;  and  yet,  somehow,  it  did  not 
seem  to  please  him.  In  reclaiming  his  son,  he  had  fulfilled 
all  the  requirements  that  hisreligious  duty  required  of  him, 
and  yet  the  act  seemed  to  lack  sanctificatioii.  In  this  per 
plexity  he  read  again  the  parable  of  the  Prodigal  Son — 
which  he  had  long  adopted  for  his  guidance — and  found  that 
he  had  omitted  the  final  feast  of  reconciliation.  This  seemed 
to  offer  the  proper  quality  of  ceremoniousness  in  the  sacra 
ment  between  himself  and  his  son ;  and  so,  a  year  after  the 
appearance  of  Charles,  he  set  about  giving  him  a  party. 


MR.  THOMPSON'S  PRODIGAL.  277 

"Invite  everybody,  Char-les,"  lie  said,  dryly;  "everybody 
who  knows  that  I  brought  you  out  of  the  wine-husks  of 
iniquity,  and  the  company  of  harlots  ;  and  bid  them  eat, 
drink,  and  be  merry." 

Perhaps  the  old  man  had  another  reason,  not  yet  clearly 
analyzed.  The  fine  house  he  had  built  on  the  sand-hills 
sometimes  seemed  lonely  and  bare.  He  often  found  himself 
trying  to  reconstruct,  from  the  grave  features  of  Charles, 
the  little  boy  which  he  but  dimly  remembered  in  the  past, 
and  of  which  lately  he  had  been  thinking  a  great  deal. 
He  believed  this  to  be  a  sign  of  impending  old  age  and 
childishness  ;  but  coming,  one  day,  in  his  formal  drawing- 
room,  upon  a  child  of  one  of  the  servants,  who  had  strayed 
therein,  he  would  have  taken  him  in  his  arms,  but  the  child 
fled  from  before  his  grizzled  face.  So  that  it  seemed  emi 
nently  proper  to  invite  a  number  of  people  to  his  house,  and, 
from  the  array  of  San  Francisco  maidenhood,  to  select  a 
daughter-in-law.  And  then  there  would  be  a  child — a  boy, 
whom  he  could  "  rare  up  "  from  the  beginning,  and — love 
— as  he  did  not  love  Charles. 

We  were  all  at  the  party.  The  Smiths,  Joneses,  Browns, 
and  Robinsons  also  came,  in  that  fine  flow  of  animal  spirits, 
unchecked  by  any  respect  for  the  entertainer,  which  most  of 
us  are  apt  to  find  so  fascinating.  The  proceedings  would 
/iave  been  somewhat  riotous,  but  for  the  social  position  of  the 
actors.  In  fact,  Mr.  Bracy  Tibbets,  having  naturally  a  fine 
appreciation  of  a  humorous  situation,  but  further  impelled 
by  the  bright  eyes  of  the  Jones  girls,  conducted  himself  so 
remarkably  as  to  attract  the  serious  regard  of  Mr.  Charles 
Thompson,  who  approached  him,  saying  quietly  :  "  You  look 
ill,  Mr.  Tibbets  ;  let  me  conduct  you  to  your  carriage.  Re 
sist,  you  hound,  and  I'll  throw  you  through  that  window. 
This  way,  please ;  the  room  is  close  and  distressing."  It  is 
hardly  necessary  to  say  that  but  a  part  of  this  speech  was 
audible  to  the  company,  and  that  the  rest  was  not  divulged 


278  MR.  THOMPSON'S  PRODIGAL. 

by  Mr.  Tibbits,  who  afterwards  regretted  the  sudden 
illness  which  kept  him  from  witnessing  a  certain  amusing 
incident,  which  the  fastest  Miss  Jones  characterized  as  the 
"  richest  part  of  the  blow-out,"  and  which  I  hasten  to  record  : 
It  was  at  supper.  It  was  evident  that  Mr.  Thompson  had 
overlooked  much  lawlessness  in  the  conduct  of  the  younger 
people,  in  his  abstract  contemplation  of  some  impending 
event.  When  the  cloth  was  removed,  he  rose  to  his  feet, 
and  grimly  tapped  upon  the  table.  A  titter,  that  broke 
out  among  the  Jones  girls,  became  epidemic  on  one  side  of 
the  board.  Charles  Thompson,  from  the  foot  of  the  table, 
looked  up  in  tender  perplexity.  "  He's  going  to  sing  a 
Doxology  " — "  He's  going  to  pray"—"  Silence  for  a  speech," 
ran  round  the  room. 

"  It's  one  year  to-day,  Christian  brothers  and  sisters," 
said  Mr.  Thompson,  with  grim  deliberation,  "  one  year 
to-day  since  my  son  came  home  from  eating  of  wine-husks 
and  spending  of  his  substance  on  harlots."  (The  tittering 
suddenly  ceased.)  "  Look  at  him  now.  Char-les  Thompson, 
stand  up."  (Charles  Thompson  stood  up.)  "  One  year  ago 
to-day^and  look  at  him  now." 

He  was  certainly  a  handsome  prodigal,  standing  there  in 
his  cheerful  evening-dress — a  repentant  prodigal,  with  sad, 
obedient  eyes  turned  upon'  the  harsh  and  unsympathetic 
glance  of  his  father.  The  youngest  Miss  Smith,  from  the 
pure  depths  of  her  foolish  little  heart,  moved  unconsciously 
toward  him. 

"It's  fifteen  years  ago  since  he  left  my  house,"  said 
Mr.  Thompson,  "  a  rovier  and  a  prodigal.  I  was  myself  a  man 
of  sin,  O  Christian  friends — a  man  of  wrath  and  bitter 
ness  " — ("  Amen,"  from  the  eldest  Miss  Smith) — "  but,  praise 
be  to  God,  I've  fled  the  wrath  to  come.  It's  five  years  ago 
since  I  got  the  peace  that  passeth  understanding.  Have 
you  got  it,  friends  ?  "  (A  general  sub  chorus  of  "  No,  no," 
from  the  girls,  and  "  Pass  the  word  for  it,"  from  Midship- 


MR.  THOMPSON'S  PRODIGAL.  279 

man  Coxe,  of  the  U.S.  sloop  Wethersfield.)  "Knock,  audit 
shall  be  opened  to  you. 

"And  when  I  found  the  error  of  my  ways,  and  the 
preciousness  of  grace,"  continued  Mr.  Thompson,  "  I  came 
to  give  it  to  my  son.  By  sea  and  land  I  sought  him  far, 
and  fainted  not.  I  did  not  wait  for  him  to  come  to  me 
— which  the  same  I  might  have  done,  and  justified  my 
self  by  the  Book  of  books,  but  I  sought  him  out  among  his 
husks,  and — "  (the  rest  of  the  sentence  was  lost  in  the 
rustling  withdrawal  of  the  ladies).  "  "Works,  Christian 
friends,  is  my  motto.  By  their  works  shall  ye  know  them, 
and  there  is  mine." 

The  particular  and  accepted  work  to  which  Mr.  Thompson 
•was  alluding  had  turned  quite  pale,  and  was  looking  fixedly 
toward  an  open  door  leading  to  the  verandah,  lately  filled  by 
gaping  servants,  and  now  the  scene  of  some  vague  tumult. 
As  the  noise  continued,  a  man,  shabbily  dressed,  and  evi 
dently  in  liquor,  broke  through  the  opposing  guardians, 
and  staggered  into  the  room.  The  transition  from  the  fog 
and  darkness  without  to  the  glare  and  heat  within,  evidently 
dazzled  and  stupefied  him.  He  removed  his  battered  hat, 
and  passed  it  once  or  twice  before  his  eyes,  as  he  steadied 
himself,  but  unsuccessfully,  by  the  back  of  a  chair.  Sud 
denly,  his  wandering  glance  fell  upon  the  pale  face  of  Charles 
Thompson  ;  and  with  a  gleam  of  childlike  recognition,  and 
a  weak,  falsetto  laugh,  he  darted  forward,  caught  at  the 
table,  upset  the  glasses,  and  literally  fell  upon  the  prodigal's 
breast. 

"  Sha'ly  !  yo'  d — d  ol'  scoun'rel,  hoo  rar  ye  !  " 

"  Hush  ! — sit  down  ! — hush  !  "  said  Charles  Thompson, 
hurriedly  endeavouring  to  extricate  himself  from  the  em 
brace  of  his  unexpected  guest. 

"Look  at'm !  "  continued  the  stranger,  unheeding  the 
admonition,  but  suddenly  holding  the  unfortunate  Charles 
at  arms'  length,  in  loving  and  undisguised  admiration  of  his 


280  MR.  THOMPSON'S  PRODIGAL. 

festive  appearance.  "  Look  at'm  !  Ain't  he  nasty  1  Sha'ls, 
I'm  prow  of  yer  !  " 

"  Leave  the  house  !  "  said  Mr.  Thompson,  rising,  with  a 
dangerous  look  in  his  cold,  gray  eye.  Char-les,  how  dare  you  ]" 

"  Simmer  down,  ole  man !  Sha'ls,  who's  th'  ol'  bloat  1 
Eh  1 " 

11  Hush,  man  ;  here,  take  this  !  "  With  nervous  hands, 
Charles  Thompson  filled  a  glass  with  liquor.  "  Drink  it  and 
go— until  to-morrow — any  time,  but — leave  us  ! — go  now." 
But  even  then,  ere  the  miserable  wretch  could  drink,  the 
old  man,  pale  with  passion,  was  upon  him.  Half  carrying 
him  in  his  powerful  arms,  half  dragging  him  through  the 
circlimg  crowd  of  frightened  guests,  he  had  reached  the  door, 
swung  open  by  the  waiting  servants,  when  Charles  Thompson 
started  from  a  seeming  stupor,  crying—- 

«  Stop ! " 

The  old  man  stopped.  Through  the  open  door  the  fog 
and  wind  drove  chilly.  "  What  does  this  mean  ?"  he  asked, 
turning  a  baleful  face  on  Charles. 

"Nothing— but  stop — for  God's  sake.  Wait  till  to 
morrow,  but  not  to-night.  Do  not — I  implore  you — do 
this  thing." 

There  was  something  in  the  tone  of  the  young  man's 
voice — something,  perhaps,  in  the  contact  of  the  struggling 
wretch  he  held  in  his  powerful  arms  ;  but  a  dim,  indefinite 
fear  took  possession  of  the  old  man's  heart.  "  Who  1"  he 
whispered,  hoarsely,  "  is  this  man  1" 

Charles  did  not  answer. 

"  Stand  back,  there,  all  of  you,"  thundered  Mr.  Thompson, 
to  the  crowding  guests  around  him.  "  Char-les — come  here ! 
I  command  you — I — I — I — beg  you — tell  me  who  is  this 
man*" 

Only  two  persons  heard  the  answer  that  came  faintly  from 
the  lips  of  Charles  Thompson  : 

"  YOUR  SON." 


MR.  THOMPSON'S  PRODIGAL.  281 

When  the  day  broke  over  the  bleak  sandhills,  the  guests 
had  departed  from  Mr.  Thompson's  banquet-halls.  The 
lights  still  burned  dimly  and  coldly  in  the  deserted  rooms — 
deserted  by  all  but  three  figures,  that  huddled  together  in 
the  chill  drawing-room,  as  if  for  warmth.  One  lay  in 
drunken  slumber  on  a  couch ;  at  his  feet  sat  he  who  had 
been  known  as  Charles  Thompson ;  and  beside  them,  haggard 
and  shrunken  to  half  his  size,  bowed  the  figure  of  Mr. 
Thompson,  his  gray  eye  fixed,  his  elbows  upon  his  knees, 
and  his  hands  clasped  over  his  ears,  as  if  to  shut  out  th\ 
sad,  entreating  voice  that  seemed  to  fill  the  room. 

"  God  knows  I  did  not  set  about  to  wilfully  deceive.  The 
name  I  gave  that  night  was  the  first  that  came  into  my 
thought — the  name  of  one  whom  I  thought  dead— the  dis 
solute  companion  of  my  shame.  And  when  you  questioned 
further,  I  used  the  knowledge  that  I  gained  from  him  to  touch 
your  heart  to  set  me  free — only,  I  swear,  for  that  !  But 
when  you  told  me  who  you  were,  and  I  first  saw  the  opening 
of  another  life  before  me — then — then.  O,  sir,  if  I  was 
hungry,  homeless,  and  reckless  when  I  would  have  robbed 
you  of  your  gold,  I  was  heart-sick,  helpless,  and  desperate 
when  I  would  have  robbed  you  of  your  love." 

The  old  man  stirred  not.  From  his  luxurious  couch  the 
newly  found  prodigal  snored  peacefully. 

"  I  had  no  father  I  could  claim.  I  never  knew  a 
home  but  this.  I  was  tempted.  I  have  been  happy — very 
happy." 

He  rose  and  stood  before  the  old  man. 

"  Do  not  fear  that  I  shall  come  between  your  son  and 
his  inheritance.  To-day  I  leave  this  place,  never  to  return. 
The  world  is  large,  sir,  and,  thanks  to  your  kindness,  I 
now  see  the  way  by  which  an  honest  livelihood  is  gained. 
Good-bye.  You  will  not  take  my  hand  1  Well,  well.  G-ood- 
bye." 

He  turned  to  go.     Bub  when  he  had  reached  the  door 


282  MELONS. 

he  suddenly  came  back,  and,  raising  with  both  hands  the 
grizzled  head,  he  kissed  it  once  and  twice. 

"Char-les." 

There  was  no  reply. 

«  Char-les  ! " 

The  old  man  rose  with  a  frightened  air,  and  tottered 
feebly  to  the  door.  It  was  open.  There  came  to  him  the 
awakened  tumult  of  a  great  city,  in  which  the  prodigal's 
footsteps  were  lost  for  ever. 


MELONS. 

A  S  I  do  not  suppose  the  most  gentle  of  readers  will  believe 
£*•  that  anybody's  sponsors  in  baptism  ever  wilfully  as 
sumed  the  responsibility  of  such  a  name,  I  may  as  well  state 
that  I  have  reason  to  infer  that  Melons  was  simply  the  nick 
name  of  a  small  boy  I  once  knew.  If  he  had  any  other,  I 
never  knew  it. 

Various  theories  were  often  projected  by  me  to  account 
for  this  strange  cognomen.  His  head,  which  was  covered 
with  a  transparent  down,  like  that  which  clothes  very  small 
chickens,  plainly  permitting  the  scalp  to  show  through,  to 
an  imaginative  mind  might  have  suggested  that  succulent 
vegetable.  That  his  parents,  recognising  some  poetical 
significance  in  the  fruits  of  the  season,  might  have  given  this 
name  to  an  August  child,  was  an  Oriental  explanation. 
That  from  his  infancy  he  was  fond  of  indulging  in  melons, 
seemed  on  the  whole  the  most  likely,  particularly  as  Fancy 
was  not  bred  in  McGinnis's  Court.  He  dawned  upon  me  as 
Melons.  His  proximity  was  indicated  by  shrill,  youthful 
voices,  as  "Ah,  Melons!" — or  playfully,  "Hi,  Melons!"— or 
authoritatively,  "You,  Melons  !" 


MELONS.  283 

McGinnis's  Court  was  a  democratic  expression  of  some 
obstinate  and  radical  property-holder.  Occupying  a  limited 
space  between  two  fashionable  thoroughfares,  it  refused  to 
conform  to  circumstances,  but  sturdily  paraded  its  unkempt 
glories,  and  frequently  asserted  itself  in  ungrammatical 
language.  My  window — a  rear  room  on  the  ground  floor — 
in  this  way  derived  blended  light  and  shadow  from  the 
Court.  So  low  was  the  window-sill,  that  had  I  been  the 
least  predisposed  to  somnambulism,  it  would  have  broken 
out  under  such  favourable  auspices,  and  I  should  have 
haunted  McGinnis's  Court.  My  speculations  as  to  the  origin 
of  the  Court  were  not  altogether  gratuitous,  for  by  means  of 
this  window  I  once  saw  the  Past,  as  through  a  glass  darkly. 
It  was  a  Celtic  shadow  that  early  one  morning  obstructed 
my  ancient  lights.  It  seemed  to  belong  to  an  individual 
with  a  pea-coat,  a  stubby  pipe,  and  bristling  beard.  He  was 
gazing  intently  at  the  Court,  resting  on  a  heavy  cane,  some 
what  in  the  way  that  heroes  dramatically  visit  the  scenes  of 
their  boyhood.  As  there  was  little  of  architectural  beauty 
in  the  Court,  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  McGinnis 
looking  after  his  property.  The  fact  that  he  carefully  kicked 
a  broken  bottle  out  of  the  road,  somewhat  strengthened  me 
in  the  opinion.  But  he  presently  walked  away,  and  the 
Court  knew  him  no  more.  He  probably  collected  his  rents 
by  proxy — if  he  collected  them  at  all. 

Beyond  Melons,  of  whom  all  this  is  purely  introductory, 
thore  was  little  to  interest  the  most  sanguine  and  hopeful 
nature.  In  common  with  all  such  localities,  a  great  deal  of 
washing  was  done,  in  comparison  with  the  visible  results. — 
There  was  always  something  whisking  on  the  line,  and  always 
something  whisking  through  the  Court,  that  looked  PS  if  it 
ought  to  be  there.  A  fish  geranium — of  all  plants  kept  for 
the  recreation  of  mankind,  certainly  the  greatest  illusion — 
straggled  under  the  window.  Through  its  dusty  leaves  I 
caught  the  first  glance  of  Melons. 


284  MELONS. 

His  age  was  about  seven.  He  looked  older,  from  the 
venerable  whiteness  of  his  head,  and  it  was  impossible  to 
conjecture  his  size,  as  he  always  wore  clothes  apparently 
jDelonging  to  some  shapely  youth  of  nineteen.  A  pair  of 
pantaloons,  that,  when  sustained  by  a  single  suspender,  com 
pletely  equipped  him — formed  his  every-day  suit.  How, 
with  this  lavish  superfluity  of  clothing,  he  managed  to  per 
form  the  surprising  gymnastic  feats  it  has  been  my  privilege 
to  witness,  I  have  never  been  able  to  tell.  His  "  turning 
the  crab,"  and  other  minor  dislocations,  were  always  attended 
with  success.  It  was  not  an  unusual  sight  at  any  hour  of 
the  day  to  find  Melons  suspended  on  a  line,  or  to  see  his 
venerable  head  appearing  above  the  roofs  of  the  out-houses. 
Melons  knew  the  exact  height  of  every  fence  in  the  vicinity, 
its  facilities  for  scaling,  and  the  possibility  of  seizure  on  the 
other  side.  His  more  peaceful  and  quieter  amusements  con 
sisted  in  dragging  a  disused  boiler  by  a  large  string,  with 
hideous  outcries,  to  imaginary  fires. 

Melons  was  not  gregarious  in  his  habits.  A  few  youths 
of  his  own  age  sometimes  called  upon  him,  but  they 
eventually  became  abusive,  and  their  visits  were  more  strictly 
predatory  incursions  for  old  bottles  and  junk,  which  formed 
the  staple  of  McGinnis's  Court.  Overcome  by  loneliness 
one  day,  Melons  inveigled  a  blind  harper  into  the  Court. 
For  two  hours  did  that  wretched  man  prosecute  his  un 
hallowed  calling,  unrecompensed,  and  going  round  and 
round  the  Court,  apparently  under  the  impression  that  it 
was  some  other  place,  while  Melons  surveyed  him  from  an 
adjoining  fence  with  calm  satisfaction.  It  was  this  absence 
of  conscientious  motives  that  brought  Melons  into  dis 
repute  with  his  aristocratic  neighbours.  Orders  were  issued 
that  no  child  of  wealthy  and  pious  parentage  should  play 
with  him.  This  mandate,  as  a  matter  of  course,  invested 
Melons  with  a  fascinating  interest  to  them.  Admiring 
glances  were  cast  at  Melons  from  nursery  windows.  Baby 


MELONS.  285 

fingers  beckoned  to  him.  Invitations  to  tea  (on  wood  and 
pewter)  were  lisped  to  him  from  aristocratic  back-yards.  It 
was  evident  he  was  looked  upon  as  a  pure  and  noble  being, 
untrammelled  by  the  conventionalities  of  parentage,  and 
physically  as  well  as  mentally  exalted  above  them.  One 
afternoon  an  unusual  commotion  prevailed  in  the  vicinity  of 
McGrinnis's  Court.  Looking  from  my  window,  I  saw  Melons 
perched  on  the  roof  of  a  stable,  pulling  up  a  rope  by  which  one 
"  Tommy,"  an  infant  scion  of  an  adjacent  and  wealthy  house, 
was  suspended  in  mid-air.  In  vain  the  female  relatives 
of  Tommy,  congregated  in  the  back-yard,  expostulated 
with  Melons ;  in  vain  the  unhappy  father  shook  his  fist  at 
him.  Secure  in  his  position,  Melons  redoubled  his  exertions 
and  at  last  landed  Tommy  on  the  roof.  Then  it  was  that 
the  humiliating  fact  was  disclosed  that  Tommy  had  been 
acting  in  collusion  with  Melons.  He  grinned  delightedly 
back  at  his  parents,  as  if  "  by  merit  raised  to  that  bad 
eminence. ';  Long  before  the  ladder  arrived  that  was  to 
succour  him,  he  became  the  sworn  ally  of  Melons,  and  I 
regret  to  say,  incited  by  the  same  audacious  boy,  "  chaffed  " 
his  own  flesh  and  blood  below  him.  He  was  eventually  taken, 
though — of  course — Melons  escaped.  But  Tommy  was  re 
stricted  to  the  window  after  that,  and  the  companionship  was 
limited  to  "Hi,  Melons  !"  and  "You  Tommy!"  and  Melons, 
to  all  practical  purposes,  lost  him  for  ever.  I  looked  after 
ward  to  see  some  signs  of  sorrow  on  Melons'  part,  but  in 
vain  ;  he  buried  his  grief,  if  he  had  any,  somewhere  in  his 
one  voluminous  garment. 

At  about  this  time  my  opportunities  of  knowing  Melons 
became  more  extended.  I  was  engaged  in  filling  a  void  in 
the  Literature  of  the  Pacific  Coast.  As  this  void  was  a 
pretty  large  one,  and  as  I  was  informed  that  the  Pacific 
Coast  languished  under  it,  I  set  apart  two  hours  each  day 
to  this  work  of  filling  in.  It  was  necessary  that  I  should 
adopt  a  methodical  system,  so  I  retired  from  the  world  and 


236  MELONS. 

locked  myself  in  my  room  at  a  certain  hour  each  day,  after 
coming  from  my  office.  I  then  carefully  drew  out  my 
portfolio  and  read  what  I  had  written  the  day  before.  This 
would  suggest  some  alteration,  and  I  would  carefully  re-write 
it.  During  this  operation  I  would  turn  to  consult  a  book 
of  reference,  which  invariably  proved  extremely  interesting 
and  attractive.  It  would  generally  suggest  another  and 
better  method  of  "filling  in."  Turning  this  method  over 
reflectively  in  my  mind,  I  would  finally  commence  the  new 
method,  which  I  eventually  abandoned  for  the  original  plan. 
At  this  time  I  would  become  convinced  that  my  exhausted 
faculties  demanded  a  cigar.  The  operation  of  lighting  a  cigar 
usually  suggested  that  a  little  quiet  reflection  and  meditation 
would  be  of  service  to  me,  and  I  always  allowed  myself  to 
be  guided  by  prudential  instincts.  Eventually,  seated  by 
my  window,  as  before  stated,  Melons  asserted  himself. 
Though  our  conversation  rarely  went  further  than  "  Hello, 
Mister  !  "  and  "  Ah,  Melons  !  "  a  vagabond  instinct  we  felt 
in  common,  implied  a  communion  deeper  than  words.  In 
this  spiritual  commingling  the  time  passed,  often  beguiled  by 
gymnastics  on  the  fence  or  line  (always  with  an  eye  to  my 
window)  until  dinner  was  announced,  and  I  found  a  more 
practical  void  required  my  attention.  An  unlooked-for 
incident  drew  us  in  closer  relation. 

A  sea-faring  friend  just  from  a  tropical  voyage  had  pre 
sented  me  with  a  bunch  of  bananas.  They  were  not  quite 
ripe,  and  I  hung  them  before  my  window  to  mature  in  the 
sun  of  McGinnis's  Court,  whose  forcing  qualities  were 
remarkable.  In  the  mysteriously  mingled  odours  of  ship 
and  shore  which  they  diffused  throughout  my  room,  there 
was  a  lingering  reminiscence  of  low  latitudes.  But  even 
that  joy  was  fleeting  and  evanescent :  they  never  reached 
maturity. 

Coming  home  one  day  as  I  turned  the  corner  of  that 
fashionable  thoroughfare  before  alluded  to,  I  met  a  small  boy 


MELONS.  287 


eating  a  banana.  There  was  nothing  remarkable  in 
but  as  I  neared  McGinnis's  Court  I  presently  met  anothet 
small  boy,  also  eating  a  banana.  A  third  small  boy  en« 
gaged  in  a  like  occupation  obtruded  a  painful  coincidence 
upon  my  mind.  I  leave  the  psychological  reader  to  deter 
mine  the  exact  co-relation  between  this  circumstance  and 
the  sickening  sense  of  loss  that  overcame  me  on  witnessing 
it.  I  reached  my  room  —  and  found  the  bunch  of  bananas 
were  gone. 

There  was  but  one  who  knew  of  their  existence,  but  one 
who  frequented  my  window,  but  one  capable  of  the  gymnastic 
effort  to  procure  them,  and  that  was  —  I  blush  to  say  it  — 
Melons.  Melons  the  depredator  —  Melons,  despoiled  by 
larger  boys  of  his  ill-gotten  booty,  or  reckless  and  indiscreetly 
liberal  ;  Melons  —  now  a  fugitive  on  some  neighbouring 
house-top.  I  lit  a  cigar,  and  drawing  my  chair  to  the 
window,  sought  surcease  of  sorrow  in  the  contemplation  of 
the  fish  geranium.  In  a  few  moments  something  white 
passed  my  window  at  about  the  level  of  the  edge.  There 
was  no  mistaking  that  hoary  head,  which  now  represented 
to  me  only  aged  iniquity.  It  was  Melons,  that  venerable, 
juvenile  hypocrite. 

He  affected  not  to  observe  me,  and  would  have  withdrawn 
quietly,  but  that  horrible  fascination  which  causes  the 
murderer  to  revisit  the  scene  of  his  crime,  impelled  him 
toward  my  window.  I  smoked  calmly  and  gazed  at  him 
without  speaking.  He  walked  several  times  up  and  down 
the  Court  with  a  half  rigid,  half  belligerent  expression  of 
eye  and  shoulder,  intended  to  represent  the  carelessness  of 
innocence. 

Once  or  twice  he  stopped,  and  putting  his  arms  their  whole 
length  into  his  capacious  trowsers,  gazed  with  some  interest 
at  the  additional  Avidth  they  thus  acquired.  Then  he  whistled. 
The  singular  conflicting  conditions  of  John  Brown's  body 
and  soul  were  at  that  time  beginning  to  attract  the  attention 


2?3  MELONS. 

of  youth,  and  Melons'  performance  of  that  melody  was  always 
remarkable.  But  to-day  he  whistled  falsely  and  shrilly  between 
his  teeth.  At  last  he  met  my  eye.  He  winced  slightly,  but 
recovered  himself,  and  going  to  the  fence,  stood  for  a  few 
moments  on  his  hands,  with  his  bare  feet  quivering  in  the  air. 
Then  he  turned  toward  me  and  threw  out  a  conversational 
preliminary. 

"  They  is  a  cirkis," — said  Melons  gravely,  hanging  with 
his  back  to  the  fence  and  his  arms  twisted  round  the  palings 
— "  a  cirkis  over  yonder !" — indicating  the  locality  with  his 
foot — "  with  hosses,  and  hossback  riders.  They  is  a  man  wot 
rides  six  hosses  to  onct — six  hosses  to  onct — and  nary  saddle" 
• — and  he  paused  in  expectation. 

Even  this  equestrian  novelty  did  not  affect  me.  I  still  kept 
a  fixed  gaze  on  Melons'  eye,  and  he  began  to  tremble  and 
visibly  shrink  in  his  capacious  garment.  Some  other  desperate 
means — conversion  with  Melons  was  always  a  desperate 
means — must  be  resorted  to.  He  recommenced  more  art 
fully  : 

"  Do  you  know  Carrots  ?" 

I  had  a  faint  remembrance  of  a  boy  of  that  euphonious 
name,  with  scarlet  hair,  who  was  a  playmate  and  persecutor 
of  Melons.  But  I  said  nothing. 

"  Carrots  is  a  bad  boy.  Killed  a  policeman  onct.  Wears 
a  dirk  knife  in  his  boots,  and  saw  him  to-day  looking  in 
your  windy." 

I  felt  that  this  must  end  here.  I  rose  sternly  and  addressed 
Melons. 

"  Melons,  this  is  all  irrelevant  and  impertinent  to  the 
case.  You  took  those  bananas.  Your  proposition  regarding 
Carrots,  even  if  I  were  inclined  to  accept  it  as  credible  infor 
mation,  does  not  alter  the  material  issue.  You  took  those 
bananas.  The  offence  under  the  statutes  of  California  is 
felony.  How  far  Carrots  may  have  been  accessory  to  the 
fact  either  before  or  after,  is  not  my  intention  at  present  to 


MELONS.  289 

discuss.  The  act;  is  complete.  Your  present  conduct  shows 
the  animo  furandi  to  have  been  equally  clear." 

By  the  time  I  had  finished  this  exordium,  Melons  had 
disappeared,  as  I  fully  expected. 

He  never  re-appeared.  The  remorse  that  I  have  experienced 
for  the  part  I  had  taken  iii  what  I  fear  may  have  resulted  in 
his  utter  and  complete  extermination,  alas  !  he  may  not  know, 
oxcept  through  these  pages.  For  I  have  never  seen  him  since. 
Whether  he  ran  away  and  went  to  sea  to  re-appear  at  some 
future  clay  as  the  most  ancient  of  mariners,  or  whether  he 
buried  himself  completely  in  his  trousers,  I  never  shall  know. 
I  have  read  the  papers  anxiously  for  accounts  of  him. 

I  have  gone  to  the  Police  Office  in  the  vain  attempt  of 
identifying  him  as  a  lost  child.  But  I  never  saw  or  heard  of 
him  since.  Strange  fears  have  sometimes  crossed  my  mind 
that  his  venerable  appearance  may  have  been  actually  the 
result  of  senility,  and  that  he  may  have  been  gathered  peace 
fully  to  his  fathers  in  a  green  old  age.  I  have  even  had 
doubts  of  his  existence,  and  have  sometimes  thought  that 
he  was  providentially  and  mysteriously  offered  to  fill  the  void 
I  have  before  alluded  to.  In  that  hope  I  have  written  these 
pages. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  MADRONO  HOLLOW. 


n^HE  latch  on  the  garden  gate  of  the  Folinsbee  Ranch 
clicked  twice.  The  gate  itself  was  so  much  in  shadow 
that  lovely  night,  that  "  old  man  Folinsbee,"  sitting  on  his 
porch,  could  distinguish  nothing  but  a  tall  white  hat  and 
beside  it  a  few  fluttering  ribbons,  under  the  pines  that  marked 
the  entrance.  Whether  because  of  this  fact,  or  that  he  con 
sidered  a  sufficient  time  had  elapsed  since  the  clicking  of  the 
latch  for  more  positive  disclosure,  I  do  not  know  \  but  after 
a  few  moments'  hesitation  he  quietly  laid  aside  his  pipe  and 

u 


290    THE  ROMANCE  OF  MADRONO  HOLLOW. 

walked  slowly  down  the  winding  path  toward  the  gate.     A  t 
the  Ceanothus  hedge  he  stopped  and  listened. 

There  was  not  much  to  hear.  The  hat  was  saying  to  the 
ribbons  that  it  was  a  fine  night,  and  remarking  generally 
upon  the  clear  outline  of  the  Sierras  against  the  blue-black 
sky.  The  ribbons,  it  so  appeared,  had  admired  this  all  the 
way  home,  and  asked  the  hat  if  it  had  ever  seen  anything  half 
%o  lovely  as  the  moonlight  on  the  summit  1  The  hat  never 
had  ;  it  recalled  some  lovely  nights  in  the  South  in  Alabama 
("  in  the  South  in  Ahlabahm  "  was  the  way  the  old  man 
heard  it),  but  then  there  were  other  things  that  made  this 
night  seem  so  pleasant.  The  ribbons  could  not  possibly  con^ 
ceive  what  the  hat  could  be  thinking  about.  At  this  point 
there  was  a  pause,  of  which  Mr.  Folinsbee  availed  himself  to 
walk  very  grimly  and  craunchingly  down  the  gravel  walk 
toward  the  gate.  Then  the  hat  was  lifted,  and  disappeared 
in  the  shadow,  and  Mr.  Folinsbee  confronted  only  the  half- 
foolish,  half-mischievous,  but  wholly  pretty  face  of  his 
daughter. 

It  was  afterwards  known  to  Madrono  Hollow  that  sharp 
words  passed  between  "  Misu  Jo"  and  the  old  man,  and 
that  the  latter  coupled  the  names  of  one  Culpepper  Starbottle 
and  his  uncle,  Colonel  Starbottle,  with  certain  uncom 
plimentary  epithets,  and  that  Miss  Jo  retaliated  sharply. 
"  Her  father's  blood  before  her  father's  face  boiled  up  acd 
proved  her  truly  of  his  race,"  quoted  the  blacksmith,  who 
leaned  toward  the  noble  verse  of  Byron.  "  She  saw  the  old 
man's  bluff  and  raised  him,"  was  the  director  comment  of 
the  college-bred  Masters. 

Meanwhile  the  subject  of  these  animadversions  proceeded 
slowly  along  the  road  to  a  point  where  the  Folinsbee  mansion 
came  in  view, — a  long,  narrow,  white  building,  unpreten 
tious,  yet  superior  to  its  neighbours,  and  bearing  some  evi 
dences  of  taste  and  refinement  in  the  vines  that  clambered 
over  its  porch,  in  its  French  windows,  and  the  white  muslin 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  MADRONO  HOLLOW.     291 

curtains  that  kept  out  the  fierce  California  sun  by  day,  and 
were  now  touched  with  silver  in  the  gracious  moonlight, 
Culpepper  leaned  against  the  low  fence,  and  gazed  long  and 
earnestly  at  the  building.  Then  the  moonlight  vanished 
ghost-like  from  one  of  the  windows,  a  material  glow  took  its 
place,  and  a  girlish  figure,  holding  a  candle,  drew  the  white 
curtains  together.  To  Culpepper  it  was  a  vestal  virgin 
standing  before  a  hallowed  shrine ;  to  the  prosaic  observer, 
I  fear  it  was  only  a  fair-haired  young  woman,  whose  wicked 
black  eyes  still  shone  with  imfilial  warmth.  Howbeit,  when 
the  figure  had  disappeared  he  stepped  out  briskly  into  tha 
moonlight  of  the  high  road,  Here  he  took  off  his  distinguish 
ing  hat  to  wipe  his  forehead,  and  the  moon  shone  full  upon 
his  face, 

It  was  not  an  unprepossessing  one,  albeit  a  trifle  too  thin 
and  lank  and  bilious  to  be  altogether  pleasant.  The  cheekbones 
were  prominent,  and  the  black  e}res  sunken  in  their  orbits. 
Straight  black  hair  fell  slantwise  off  a  high  but  narrow  fore 
head,  and  swept  part  of  a  hollow  cheek.  A  long  black  mus 
tache  followed  the  perpendicular  curves  of  his  mouth.  It 
was  on  the  whole  a  serious,  even  Quixotic  face,  but  at  times 
it  was  relieved  by  a  rare  smile  of  such  tender  and  even 
pathetic  sweetness,  that  Miss  Jo  is  reported  to  have  said 
that,  if  it  would  only  last  through  the  ceremony,  she  would 
have  married  its  possessor  on  the  spot.  "  I  once  told  him 
so,"  added  that  shameless  young  woman  ;  "  but  the  man 
instantly  fell  into  a  settled  melancholy,  and  hasn't  smiled 
since." 

A  half-mile  below  the  Folinsbee  Ranch  the  white  road 
dipped  and  was  crossed  by  a  trail  that  ran  through  Madrono 
Hollow.  Perhaps  because  it  was  a  near  cut-off  to  the  settle 
ment,  perhaps  from  some  less  practical  reason,  Culpepper 
took  this  trail,  and  in  a  few  moments  stood  among  the  rarely 
beautiful  trees  that  gave  their  name  to  the  valley.  Even  in 
that  uncertain  light  the  weird  beauty  of  these  harlequin 


J92     THE  ROMANCE  OF  MADRONO  HOLLOW. 

masqueraders  was  apparent ;  their  red  trunks — a  blush,  in 
the  moonlight,  a  deep  blood-stain  in  the  shadow— stood  out 
against  the  silvery  green  foliage.  It  was  as  if  Nature  in 
some  gracious  moment  had  here  caught  and  crystallized  the 
gypsy  memories  of  the  transplanted  Spaniard,  to  cheer  him 
in  his  lonely  exile. 

As  Culpepper  entered  the  grove  he  heard  loud  voices.  As 
he  turned  toward  a  clump  of  trees,  a  figure  so  bizarre  and 
characteristic  that  it  might  have  been  a  resident  Daphne, — a 
figure  over-dressed  in  crimson  silk  and  lace,  with  bare  brown 
arms  and  shoulders,  and  a  wreath  of  honeysuckle, — stepped 
out  of  the  shadow.  It  was  followed  by  a  man.  Culpepper 
started.  To  come  to  the  point  briefly,  he  recognized  in  the 
man  the  features  of  his  respected  uncle,  Colonel  Starbottle  ; 
in  the  female,  a  lady  who  may  be  briefly  described  as  one 
possessing  absolutely  no  claim  to  an  introduction  to  the 
polite  reader.  To  hurry  over  equally  unpleasant  details, 
both  were  evidently  under  the  influence  of  liquor, 

From  the  excited  conversation  that  ensued,  Culpepper 
gathered  that  some  insult  had  been  put  upon  the  lady  at  a 
public  ball  which  she  had  attended  that  evening ;  that  the 
Colonel,  her  escort,  had  failed  to  resent  it  with  the  sangui 
nary  completeness  that  she  desired.  I  regret  that,  even  in  a 
liberal  age,  I  may  not  record  the  exact  and  even  picturesque 
language  in  which  this  was  conveyed  to  her  hearers. 
Enough  that  at  the  close  of  a  fiery  peroration,  with  feminine 
inconsistency  she  flew  at  the  gallant  Colonel,  arid  would 
have  visited  her  delayed  vengeance  upon  his  luckless  head, 
but  for  the  prompt  interference  of  Culpepper.  Thwarted 
in  this,  she  threw  herself  upon  the  ground,  and  then  into 
un picturesque  hysterics.  There  was  a  fine  moral  lesson,  not 
only  in  this  grotesque  performance  of  her  sex  which  cannot 
afford  to  be  grotesque,  but  in  the  ludicrous  concern  with 
which  it  inspired  the  two  men.  Culpepper,  to  whom  women 
was  more  or  less  angelic,  was  pained  and  sympathetic  ;  the 


THE  ROMANCE  Of  MADRONO  HOLLOW.    29? 

Colonel,  to  whom  she  was  more  or  less  improper,  was  es 
ceedingly  terrified  and  embarrassed.  Howbeifc  the  storn; 
was  soon  over,  and  after  Mistress  Dolores  had  returned  £ 
little  dagger  to  its  sheath  (her  garter),  she  quietly  took  her 
self  out  of  Madrono  Hollow,  and  happily  out  of  these  pages 
for  ever.  The  two  men,  left  to  themselves,  conversed  in  low 
tones.  Dawn  stole  upon  them  before  they  separated  :  the 
Colonel  quite  sobered  and  in  full  possession  of  his  usual 
jaunty  self-assertion ;  Culpepper  with  a  baleful  glow  in  his 
hollow  cheek,  and  in  his  dark  eyes  a  rising  fire. 

The  next  morning  the  general  ear  of  Madrono  Hollow 
was  filled  with  rumours  of  the  Colonel's  mishap.  It  was 
asserted  that  lie  had  been  invited  to  withdraw  his  female 
companion  from  the  floor  of  the  Assembly  Ball  at  the  Inde« 
pendence  Hotel,  and  that  failing  to  do  this  both  were  ex 
pelled.  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  in  185-4  public  opinion  was 
divided  in  regard  to  the  propriety  of  this  step,  and  that  there 
was  some  discussion  as  to  the  comparative  virtue  of  the 
ladies  who  were  not  expelled,  but  it  was  generally  conceded 
that  the  real  casus  belli  was  political.  "  Is  this  a  dashed 
Puritan  meeting  T'  had  asked  the  Colonel,  savagely.  "It's 
no  Pike  County  shindig,"  had  responded  the  floor  manager,, 
cheerfully.  "You're  a  Yank  !"  had  screamed  the  Colonel, 
profanely  qualifying  the  noun.  "Get !  you  border  ruffian," 
was  the  reply.  Such  at  least  was  the  substance  of  the  re 
port.  As,  at  that  sincere  epoch,  expressions  like  the  above 
were  usually  followed  by  prompt  action,  a  fracas  was  con 
fidently  looked  for. 

Nothing,  however,  occurred.  Colonel  Starbottle  made  his 
appearance  next  day  upon  the  streets  with  somewhat  of  his 
usual  pomposity,  a  little  restrained  by  the  presence  of  his 
nephew,  who  accompanied  him,  and  who,  as  a  universal 
favourite,  also  exercised  some  restraint  upon  the  curious  and 
impertinent.  But  Culpepper's  face  wore  a  look  of  anxiety 


294     THE  ROMANCE  OF  MADRONO  HOLLOW. 

quite  at  variance  with  his  usual  grave  repose.  "The 
Don  don't  seem  to  take  the  old  man's  set-back  kindly," 
observed  the  sympathizing  blacksmith.  "PYaps  he  was 
sweet  on  Dolores  himself,"  suggested  the  sceptical  ex 
pressman. 

It  was  a  bright  morning,  a  week  after  this  occurrence, 
that  Miss  Jo  Folinsbee  stepped  from  her  garden  into  the 
road.  This  time  the  latch  did  not  click  as  she  cautiously 
closed  the  gate  behind  her.  After  a  moment's  irresolution, 
which  would  have  been  awkward  but  that  it  was  charmingly 
employed,  after  the  manner  of  her  sex,  in  adjusting  a  bow 
under  a  dimpled  but  rather  prominent  chin,  and  in  pulling 
down  the  fingers  of  a  neatly  fitting  glove,  she  tripped  towards 
the  settlement.  Small  wonder  that  a  passing  teamster  drove 
his  six  mules  into  the  wayside  ditch  and  imperilled  his  load, 
to  keep  the  dust  from  her  spotless  garments  ;  small  wonder 
that  the  "  Lightning  Express  "  withheld  its  speed  and  flash 
to  let  her  pass,  and  that  the  expressman,  who  had  never 
been  known  to  exchange  more  than  rapid  monosyllables  with 
his  fellow-man,  gazed  after  her  with  breathless  admiration. 
For  she  was  certainly  attractive.  In  a  country  where  the 
ornamental  sex  followed  the  example  of  youthful  Nature, 
and  were  prone  to  overdress  and  glaring  efflorescence,  Miss 
Jo's  simple  and  tasteful  raiment  added  much  to  the  physical 
charm  of,  if  it  did  not  actually  suggest  a  sentiment  to,  her 
presence.  It  is  said  that  Euchrecleck  Billy,  working  in  the 
gulch  at  the  crossing,  never  saw  Miss  Folinsbee  pass  but  that 
he  always  remarked  apologetically  to  his  partner,  that  "  he 
believed  he  must  write  a  letter  home."  Even  Bill  Masters, 
who  saw  her  in  Paris  presented  to  the  favourable  criticism 
of  that  most  fastidious  man  the  late  Emperor,  said  that  she 
was  stunning,  but  a  big  discount  on  what  she  was  at  Ma 
drono  Hollow. 

It  was  still  early  morning,  but  the  sun,  with  California 
extravagance,  had  already  begun  to  beat  hotly  on  the  little 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  MADRONO  HOLLOW.    295 

chip  hat  and  blue  ribbons,  and  Miss  Jo  was  obliged  to  seek 
the  shade  of  a  by-path.  Here  she  received  the  timid 
advances  of  a  vagabond  yellow  dog  graciously,  until,  em 
boldened  by  his  success,  he  insisted  upon  accompanying  her, 
and,  becoming  slobberingly  demonstrative,  threatened  her 
spotless  skirt  with  his  dusty  paws,  when  she  drove  him  from 
her  with  some  slight  acerbity,  and  a  stone  which  haply  fell 
within  fifty  feet  of  its  destined  mark.  Having  thus  proved 
her  ability  to  defend  herself,  with  characteristic  inconsistency 
she  took  a  small  panic,  and,  gathering  her  white  skirts  in 
one  hand,  and  holding  the  brim  of  her  hat  over  her  eyes 
with  the  other,  she  ran  swiftly  at  least  a  hundred  yards 
before  she  stopped.  Then  she  began  picking  some  ferns,  and 
a  few  wild-flowers  still  spared  to  the  withered  fields,  and 
then  a  sudden  distrust  of  her  small  ankles  seized  her,  and 
she  inspected  them  narrowly  for  those  burrs  and  bugs  and 
snakes  which  are  supposed  to  lie  in  wait  for  helpless  woman 
hood.  Then  she  plucked  some  golden  heads  of  wild  oats, 
and  with  a  sudden  inspiration  placed  them  in  her  black  hair, 
and  then  came  quite  unconsciously  upon  the  trail  leading 
to  Madrono  Hollow. 

Here  she  hesitated.  Before  her  ran  the  little  trail,  vanish 
ing  at  last  into  the  bosky  depths  below.  The  sun  was  very 
hot.  She  must  be  very  far  from  home.  Why  should  she 
not  rest  awhile  under  the  shade  of  a  madrono  1 

She  answered  these  questions  by  going  there  at  once. 
After  thoroughly  exploring  the  grove,  and  satisfying  herself 
that  it  contained  no  other  living  human  creature,  she  sat 
down  under  one  of  the  largest  trees,  with  a  satisfactory 
little  sigh.  Miss  Jo  loved  the  madrono.  It  was  a  cleanly 
tree ;  no  dust  ever  lay  upon  its  varnished  leaves ;  -  its 
immaculate  shade  never  was  known  to  harbour  grub  or 
insect. 

She  looked  up  at  the  rosy  arms  interlocked  and  arched 
above  her  head.  She  looked  dowu  at  the  delicate  ferns  and 


296    THE  ROMANCE  OF  MADRONO  HOLLOW. 

cryptogams  at  her  feet.  Something  glittered  at  the  roct 
of  the  tree.  She  picked  it  up ;  it  was  a  bracelet.  She 
examined  it  carefully  for  cipher  or  inscription ;  there  was 
none.  She  could  not  resist  a  natural  desire  to  clasp  it  on 
her  arm,  and  to  survey  it  from  that  advantageous  view 
point.  This  absorbed  her  attention  for  some  moments  ;  and 
when  she  looked  up  again  she  beheld  at  a  little  distance 
Culpepper  Starbottle. 

He  was  standing  where  he  had  halted,  with  instinctive 
delicacy,  on  first  discovering  her.  Indeed,  he  had  even 
deliberated  whether  he  ought  not  to  go  away  without  dis 
turbing  her.  But  some  fascination  held  him  to  the  spot. 
Wonderful  power  of  humanity !  Far  beyond  jutted  an 
outlying  spur  of  the  Sierra,  vast,  compact,  and  silent. 
Scarcely  a  hundred  yards  away  a  league-long  chasm  dropped 
its  sheer  walls  of  granite  a  thousand  feet.  On  every  side 
rose  up  the  serried  ranks  of  pine  trees,  in  whose  close-set 
files  centuries  of  storm  and  change  had  wrought  no  breach. 
Yet  all  this  seemed  to  Culpepper  to  have  been  planned  by 
an  all-wise  Providence  as  the  natural  background  to  the 
figure  of  a  pretty  girl  in  a  yellow  dress. 

Although  Miss  Jo  had  confidently  expected  to  meet 
Culpepper  somewhere  in  her  ramble,  now  that  he  came  upon 
her  suddenly,  she  felt  disappointed  and  embarrassed.  His 
manner,  too,  was  more  than  usually  grave  and  serious,  and 
more  than  ever  seemed  to  jar  upon  that  audacious  levity  which 
was  this  giddy  girl's  power  and  security  in  a  society  where 
all  feeling  was  dangerous.  As  he  approached  her  she  rose 
to  her  feet,  but  almost  before  she  knew  it  he  had  taken 
her  hand  and  drawn  her  to  a  seat  beside  him.  This 
was  not  what  Miss  Jo  had  expected,  but  nothing  is  so 
difficult  to  predicate  as  the  exact  preliminaries  of  a  declara 
tion  of  love. 

What  did  Culpepper  say  1  Nothing,  I  fear,  that  will  add 
anything  to  the  wisdom  of  the  reader ;  nothing,  I  fear,  that 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  MADRONO  HOLLOW.    297 

Miss  Jo  had  not  heard  substantially  from  other  lips  before. 
But  there  was  a  certain  conviction,  fire-speed,  and  fury  in 
the  manner  that  was  deliciously  novel  to  the  young  lady. 
It  was  certainly  something  to  be  courted  in  the  nineteenth 
century  with  all  the  passion  and  extravagance  of  the  six 
teenth  ;  it  was  something  to  hear,  amid  the  slang  of  a 
frontier  society,  the  language  of  kni gob-errantry  poured 
into  her  ear  by  this  lantern-jawed,  dark-browed  descendant 
of  the  Cavaliers. 

I  do  not  know  that  there  was  anything  more  in  it.  The 
facts,  however,  go  to  show  that  at  a  certain  point  Miss  Jo 
dropped  her  glove,  and  that  in  recovering  it  Culpepper  pos 
sessed  himself,  first  of  her  hand  and  then  her  lips.  When 
they  stood  up  to  go  Culpepper  had  his  arm  around  her 
waist,  and  her  black  hair,  with  its  sheaf  of  golden  oats, 
rested  against  the  breast-pocket  of  his  coat.  But  even  then 
I  do  not  think  her  fancy  was  entirely  captive.  She  took  a 
certain  satisfaction  in  this  demonstration  of  Culpepper's 
splendid  height,  and  mentally  compared  it  with  a  former 
flame,  one  Lieutenant  McMirk,  an  active,  but  under-sized 
Hector,  who  subsequently  fell  a  victim  to  the  incautiously 
composed  and  monotonous  beverages  of  a  frontier  garrison. 
Nor  was  she  so  much  pre-occupied,  but  that  her  quick  eyes, 
even  while  absorbing  Culpepper's  glances,  were  yet  able  to 
detect,  at  a  distance,  the  figure  of  a  man  approaching.  In 
an  instant  she  slipped  out  of  Culpepper's  arm,  and  whipping 
her  hands  behind  her,  said,  "  There  's  that  horrid  man !" 

Culpepper  looked  up,  and  beheld  his  respected  uncle 
panting  and  blowing  over  the  hill.  His  brow  contracted  as 
he  turned  to  Miss  Jo  :  "  You  don't  like  my  uncle  1 " 

"I  hate  him!"  Miss  Jo  was  recovering  her  ready 
tongue. 

Culpepper  blushed.  He  would  have  liked  to  enter  upon 
some  details  of  the  Colonel's  pedigree  and  exploits,  but 
there  was  not  time.  He  only  smiled  sadly.  The  smile 


298     THE  ROMANCE  OF  MADRONO  HOLLOW. 

melted  Miss  Jo.  She  held  out  her  hand  quickly,  and  said, 
with  even  more  than  her  usual  effrontery,  "  Don't  let  that 
man  get  you  into  any  trouble.  Take  care  of  yourself,  dear, 
and  don't  let  anything  happen  to  you." 

Miss  Jo  intended  this  speech  to  be  pathetic  ;  the  tenure 
of  life  among  her  lovers  had  hitherto  been  very  uncertain. 
Culpepper  turned  toward  her,  but  she  had  already  vanished 
in  the  thicket. 

The  Colonel  came  up  panting.  "I've  looked  all  over 
town  for  you,  and  be  dashed  to  you,  sir.  Who  was  that 
with  you  ? " 

"A  lady."     (Culpepper  never  lied,  but  he  was  discreet.) 

"  D — m  'em  all !  Look  yar,  Gulp,  I've  spotted  the  man 
who  gave  the  order  to  put  me  off  the  floor  "  ("  flo  "  was  what 
the  Colonel  said)  "  the  other  night !  " 

"  Who  was  it  1 "  asked  Culpepper,  listlessly. 

"JackFolinsbee." 

"Who?" 

"  Why,  the  son  of  that  dashed  nigger- worshipping,  psalm- 
singing  Puritan  Yankee.  What's  the  matter,  now  !  Look 
yar,  Culp,  you  ain't  goin'  back  on  your  blood,  ar'ye  ]  You 
ain't  goin'  back  on  your  word  1  Ye  ain't  going  down  at  the 
feet  of  this  trash,  like  a  whipped  hound  !  " 

Culpepper  was  silent.  He  was  very  white.  Presently 
he  looked  up  and  said  quietly,  "No.' 

Culpepper  Starbottle  had  challenged  Jack  Folinsbee,  and 
the  challenge  was  accepted.  The  cause  alleged  was  the 
expelling  of  Culpepper's  uncle  from  the  floor  of  the  Assembly 
Ball  by  the  order  of  Folinsbee.  This  much  Madrono  Hollow 
knew  and  could  swear  to  ;  but  there  were  other  strange 
rumours  afloat,  of  which  the  blacksmith  was  an  able  ex 
pounder.  "You  see,  gentlemen,"  he  said  to  the  crowd 
gathering  round  his  anvil,  "  I  ain't  got  no  theory  of  this 
affair,  I  only  give  a  few  facts  as  have  come  to  my  knowledge. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  MADRONO  HOLLOW.     299 

Oulpepper  and  Jack  meets  quite  accidentally  like  in  Bob's 
saloon.  Jack  goes  up  to  Culpepper  and  says,  '  A  word  with 
you.'  Culpepper  bows  and  steps  aside  in  this  way,  Jack 
standing  about  here"  (The  blacksmith  demonstrates  the 
position  of  the  parties  with  two  old  horseshoes  on  the  anvil.) 
"  Jack  pulls  a  bracelet  from  his  pocket  and  says,  '  Do  you 
know  that  bracelet  1 '  Culpepper  says,  '  I  do  not,'  quite 
cool-like  and  easy.  Jack  says,  *  You  gave  it  to  my  sister.' 
Culpepper  says,  still  cool  as  you  please,  'I  did  not.'  Jack 
says,  *  You  lie,  G — d  d — mn  you,'  and  draws  his  derringer. 
Culpepper  jumps  forward  about  here"  (reference  is  made 
to  the  diagram)  "and  Jack  fires.  Nobody  hit.  It's  a 
mighty  cur'o's  thing,  gentlemen,"  continued  the  blacksmith, 
dropping  suddenly  into  the  abstract,  and  leaning  meditatively 
on  his  anvil, — "  it's  a  mighty  cur'o's  thing  that  nobody  gets 
hit  so  often.  You  and  me  empties  our  revolvers  sociably  at 
each  other  over  a  little  game,  and  the  room  full,  and  nobody 
gets  hit !  That's  what  gets  me." 

"  Never  mind,  Thompson,"  chimed  in  Bill  Masters,  "there's 
another  and  a  better  world  where  we  shall  know  all  that 
and — become  better  shots.  Go  on  with  your  story." 

"  Well,  some  grabs  Culpepper  and  some  grabs  Jack,  and 
so  separates  them.  Then  Jack  tells  'em  as  how  he  had  seen 
his  sister  wear  a  bracelet  which  he  knew  was  one  that  had 
been  given  to  Dolores  by  Colonel  Starbottle.  That  Miss  Jo 
wouldn't  say  where  she  got  it,  but  owned  up  to  having  seen 
Culpepper  that  day.  Then  the  most  cur'o's  thing  of  it  yet, 
what  does  Culpepper  do  but  rise  up  and  takes  all  back  that 
he  said,  and  allows  that  he  did  give  her  the  bracelet.  Now, 
my  opinion,  gentlemen,  is  that  he  lied ;  it  ain't  like  that 
man  to  give  a  gal  that  he  respects  anything  off  of  that  piece 
Dolores.  But  it's  all  the  same  now,  and  there's  but  one 
thing  to  be  done." 

The  way  this  one  thing  was  done  belongs  to  the  record  of 
Madrono  Hollow.  The  morning  was  bright  and  clear;  the 


300    THE  ROMANCE  OF  MADRONO  HOLLOW. 

air  was  slightly  chill,  but  that  was  from  the  mist  which 
arose  along  the  banks  of  the  river.  As  early  as  six  o'clock 
the  designated  ground — a  little  opening  in  the  madrono 
grove — was  occupied  by  Culpepper  Starbottle,  Colonel  Star- 
bottle,  his  second,  and  the  surgeon.  The  Colonel  was  exalted 
and  excited,  albeit  in  a  rather  imposing,  dignified  way,  and 
pointed  out  to  the  surgeon  the  excellence  of  the  ground, 
which  at  that  hour  was  wholly  shaded  from  the  sun,  whose 
steady  stare  is  more  or  less  discomposing  to  your  duellist. 
The  surgeon  threw  himself  on.  the  grass  and  smoked  his 
cigar.  Culpepper  quiet  and  thoughtful,  leaned  against  a 
tree  and  gazed  up  the  river.  There  was  a  strange  suggestion 
of  a  picnic  about  the  group,  which  was  heightened  when  the 
Colonel  drew  a  bottle  from  his  coat-tails,  and,  taking  a 
preliminary  draught,  offered  it  to  the  others.  "  Cocktails, 
sir,"  he  explained  with  dignified  precision.  "A  gentleman, 
sir,  should  never  go  out  without  'em.  Keeps  off  the  morning 
chill.  I  remember  going  out  in  '53  with  Hank  Boompirater. 
Good  ged,  dr,  the  man  had  to  put  on  his  overcoat,  and  was 
shot  in  it.  Fact." 

But  the  noise  of  wheels  drowned  the  Colonel's  reminis 
cences,  and  a  rapidly  driven  buggy,  containing  Jack  Folins- 
bee,  Calhoun  Bungstarter,  his  second,  and  Bill  Masters  drew 
up  on  the  ground.  Jack  Folinsbee  leaped  out  gaily.  "  I 
had  the  j oiliest  work  to  get  away  without  the  governor's 
hearing,"  he  began,  addressing  the  group  before  him  with 
the  greatest  volubility.  Calhoun  Bungstarter  touched 
his  arm,  and  the  young  man  blushed.  It  was  his  first 
duel. 

"  If  you  are  ready,  gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Bungstarter, 
"  we  had  better  proceed  to  business.  I  believe  it  is  under 
stood  that  no  apology  will  be  offered  or  accepted.  We  may 
as  well  settle  preliminaries  at  once,  or  I  fear  we  shall  be 
interrupted.  There  is  a  rumour  in  town  that  the  Vigilance 
Committee  are  seeking  ow  friends  the  Starbottles,  and  I 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  MADRONO  HOLLOW.    301 

believe,  as  their  fellow-countryman,  I  have  the  honour  to  be 
included  in  their  warrant." 

At  this  probability  of  interruption,  that  gravity  which 
had  hitherto  been  wanting  fell  upon  the  group.  The  pre 
liminaries  were  soon  arranged  and  the  principals  placed  in 
position.  Then  there  was  a  silence. 

To  a  spectator  from  the  hill,  impressed  ,with  the  picnic 
suggestion,  what  might  have  been  the  popping  of  two 
champagne  corks  broke  the  stillness. 

Culpepper  had  fired  in  the  air.  Colonal  Starbottle  tittered 
a  low  curse.  Jack  Folinsbee  sulkily  demanded  another  shot. 

Again  the  parties  stood  opposed  to  each  other.  Again 
the  word  was  given,  and  what  seemed  to  be  the  simul 
taneous  report  of  both  pistols  rose  upon  the  air.  But  after 
an  interval  of  a  few  seconds  all  were  surprised  to  see 
Culpepper  slowly  raise  his  unexploded  weapon  and  fire  it 
harmlessly  above  his  head.  Then  throwing  the  pistol 
upon  the  ground,  he  walked  to  a  tree  and  leaned  silently 
against  it. 

Jack  Folinsbee  flew  into  a  paroxysm  of  fury.  Colonel 
Starbottle  raved  and  swore.  Mr.  Bungstarter  was  properly 
shocked  a,t  their  conduct.  "  Really,  gentlemen,  if  Mr.  Cul 
pepper  Starbottle  declines  another  shot,  I  do  not  see  how  we 
can  proceed." 

But  the  Colonel's  blood  was  up,  and  Jack  Folinsbee  was 
equally  implacable.  A  hurried  consultation  ensued,  which 
ended  by  Colonel  Starbottle  taking  his  nephew's  place  as 
principal,  Bill  Masters  acting  as  second,  vice  Mr.  Bung- 
starter,  who  declined  all  further  connection  with  the  affair. 

Two  distinct  reports  rang  through,  the  Hollow.  Jack 
Folinsbee  dropped  his  smoking  pistol,  took  a  step  forward, 
and  then  dropped  heavily  upon  his  face. 

In  a  moment  the  surgeon  was  at  his  side.  The  confusion 
v^as  heightened  by  the  trampling  of  hoofs,  and  the  voice  of 
the  blacksmith  bidding  them  flee  for  their  lives  before  the 


302  A  NIGHT  AT  WINGDAM. 

coming  storm.  A  moment  more,  and  the  ground  was 
cleared,  and  the  surgeon  looking  up,  beheld  only  the  white 
face  of  Culpepper  bending  over  him. 

"  Can  you  save  him  1 " 

"  I  cannot  say.  Hold  up  his  head  a  moment,  while  I  run 
to  the  buggy." 

Culpepper  passed  his  arm  tenderly  around  the  neck  of  the 
insensible  man.  Presently  the  surgeon  returned  with  some 
stimulants. 

"  There,  that  will  do,  Mr.  Starbottle,  thank  you.  Now 
my  advice  is  to  get  away  from  here  while  you  can.  I'll  look 
after  Folinsbee.  Do  you  hear  ? " 

Culpepper 's  arm  was  still  round  the  neck  of  his  late  foe, 
but  his  head  had  drooped  and  fallen  on  the  wounded  man's 
shoulder.  The  surgeon  looked  down,  and  catching  sight  of 
his  face,  stooped  and  lifted  him  gently  in  his  arms.  He 
opened  his  coat  and  waistcoat.  There  was  blood  upon  his 
shirt,  and  a  bullet-hole  in  his  breast.  He  had  been  shot  unto 
death  at  the  first  fire. 


A  NIGHT  AT  WINGDAM. 

F  HAD  been  stage-ridden  and  bewildered  all  day,  and  when 
we  swept  down  with  the  darkness  into  the  Arcadian 
hamlet  of  "  Wingdam,"  I  resolved  to  go  no  further,  and 
rolled  out  in  a  gloomy  and  dyspeptic  state.  The  effects  of  a 
mysterious  pie,  and  some  sweetened  carbonic  acid  known  to 
the  proprietor  of  the  "  Half- Way  House  "  as  "  lemming 
Body "  still  oppressed  me.  Even  the  facetiae  of  the  gallant 
expressman  who  knew  everybody's  Christian  name  along  the 
route,  who  rained  letters,  newspapers  and  bundles  from  the 
top  of  the  stage,  whose  legs  frequently  appeared  in  frightful 
proximity  to  the  wheels,  who  got  on  and  off  while  we  were 
going  at  full  speed,  whose  gallantry,  energy,  and  superiol 


A  NIGHT  AT  WINGDAM.  303 

knowledge  of  travel  crushed  all  us  other  passengers  to  en 
vious  silence,  and  who  just  then  was  talking  with  several 
persons  arid  manifestly  doing  something  else  at  the  same  timo 
— even  this  had  failed  to  interest  me.  So  I  stood  gloomily, 
clutching  my  shawl  and  carpet  bag,  and  watched  the  stage 
roll  away,  taking  a  parting  look  at  the  gallant  expressman 
as  he  hung  on  the  top  rail  with  one  leg,  and  lit  his  cigar 
from  the  pipe  of  a  running  footman.  I  then  turned  to 
ward  the  Wingdam  Temperance  Hotel. 

It  may  have  been  the  weather,  or  it  may  have  been  the 
pie,  bnt  T  was  not  impressed  favourably  with  the  house, 
Perhaps  it  was  the  name  extending  the  whole  length  of 
the  building,  with  a  letter  under  each  window,  making  the 
people  who  looked  out  cfreadfully  conspicuous.  Perhaps  it 
was  that  "  Temperance  "  always  suggested  to  my  mind  rusks 
and  weak  tea.  It  was  uninviting.  It  might  have  been 
called  the  "  Total  Abstinence  "  Hotel,  from  the  lack  of  any 
thing  to  intoxicate  or  enthrall  the  senses.  It  was  designed 
with  an  eye  to  artistic  dreariness.  It  was  so  much  too 
large  for  the  settlement,  that  it  appeared  to  be  a  very  slight 
improvement  on  out-doors.  It  was  unpleasantly  new.  There 
was  the  forest  flavour  of  dampness  about  it,  and  a  slight 
spicing  of  pine.  Nature  outraged,  but  not  entirely  subdued, 
sometimes  broke  out  afresh  in  little  round,  sticky,  resinous 
tears  on  the  doors  and  windows.  It  seemed  to  me  that 
boarding  there  must  seem  like  a  perpetual  picnic.  As  I 
entered  the  door,  a  number  of  the  regular  boarders  rushed 
out  of  a  long  room,  and  set  about  trying  to  get  the  taste  of 
something  out  of  their  mouths,  by  the  application  of  tobacco 
in  various  forms.  A  few  immediately  ranged  themselves 
around  the  fire-place,  with  their  legs  over  each  other's  chairs, 
and  in  that  position  silently  resigned  themselves  to  indi 
gestion.  Remembering  the  pie,  I  waived  the  invitation  of 
the  landlord  to  supper,  but  suffered  myself  to  be  conflicted 
into  the  sitting-room.  "  Mine  host "  was  a  magnificent 


304  A  NIGHT  AT  WINGDAM. 

looking,  heavily  bearded  specimen  of  the  animal  man.  He- 
reminded  me  of  somebody  or  something  connected  with  the 
drama.  I  was  sitting  beside  the  fire,  mutely  wondering  what 
it  could  be,  and  trying  to  follow  the  particular  chord  of 
memory  thus  touched,  into  the  intricate  past,  when  a  little 
delicate-looking  woman  appeared  at  the  door,  and  leaning 
heavily  against  the  casing,  said  in  an  exhausted  tone, 
"  Husband  ! "  As  the  landlord  turned  toward  her,  that 
particular  remembrance  flashed  before  me,  in  a  single  line  of 
blank  verse.  It  was  this  :  "  Two  souls  with  but  one  single 
thought,  two  hearts  that  beat  as  one." 

It  was  Ingomar  and  Parthenia  his  wife.  I  imagined  a 
different  denouement  from  the  play.  Ingomar  had  taken 
Parthenia  back  to  the  mountains,  and  kept  a  hotel  for  the 
benefit  of  the  Alemaimi,  who  resorted  there  in  large  num1- 
bers.  Poor  Parthenia  was  pretty  well  fagged  out,  and  did  all 
the  work  without  "  help."  She  had  two  "young  barbarians," 
a  boy  and  a  girl.  She  was  faded — but  still  good  looking. 

I  sat  and  talked  with  Ingomar,  who  seemed  perfectly  pt 
home  and  told  me  several  stories  of  the  Alemanni,  all 
bearing  a  strong  flavour  of  the  wilderness,  and  being  per 
fectly  in  keeping  with  the  house.  How  he,  Ingomar,  had 
killed  a  certain  dreadful  "  bar,"  whose  skin  was  just  up  "yar," 
over  his  bed.  How  he,  Ingomar,  had  killed  several  "bucks," 
whose  skins  had  been  prettily  fringed  and  embroidered  by 
Parthenia,  and  even  now  clothed  him.  How  he,  Ingomar, 
had  killed  several  "Injins,"  and  was  once  nearly  scalped 
himself.  All  this  with  that  ingenious  candour  which  is  per 
fectly  justifiable  in  a  barbarian,  but  which  a  Greek  might 
feel  inclined  to  look  upon  as  "  blowing."  Thinking  of  the 
wearied  Parthenia,  I  began  to  consider  for  the  first  time 
that  perhaps  she  had  better  married  the  old  Greek.  Then 
she  would  at  least  have  always  looked  neat.  Then  she  would 
not  have  worn  a  woollen  dress  flavoured  with  all  the  dinners 
of  the  past  year.  Then  she  would  not  have  been  obliged  to 


A  NIGHT  AT  WINGDAM.  *cr 

wait  on  the  table  with  her  hair  half  down.  Then  the  two 
children  would  not  have  hung  about  her  skirts  with  dirty- 
fingers,  palpably  dragging  her  down  day  by  day.  T  suppose 
it  was  the  pie  which  put  such  heartless  and  improper  ideas 
in  my  head,  and  so  I  rose  up  and  told  Ingomar  I  believed 
I'd  go  to  bed.  Preceded  by  that  redoubtable  barbarian  and 
a  flaring  tallow  candle,  I  followed  him  up-stairs  to  my  room. 
It  was  the  only  single  room  he  had,  he  told  me ;  he  had 
built  it  for  the  convenience  of  married  parties  who  might 
stop  here,  but  that  event  not  happening  yet,  he  had  left  it 
half  furnished.  It  had  cloth  on  one  side,  and  large  cracks 
on  the  other.  The  wind,  which  always  swept  over  Wing- 
dam  at  night  time,  puffed  through  the  apartment  from 
different  apertures.  The  window  was  too  small  for  the  hole 
in  the  side  of  the  house  where  it  hung,  and  rattled  noisily. 
Everything  looked  cheerless  and  dispiriting.  Before  Ingo 
mar  left  me,  he  brought  that  "  bar-skin,"  and  throwing  it 
over  the  solemn  bier  which  stood  in  one  corner,  told  me  he 
reckoned  that  would  keep  me  warm,  and  then  bade  me  good 
night.  I  undressed  myself,  the  light  blowing  out  in  the 
middle  of  that  ceremony,  crawled  under  the  "  bar-skin," 
and  tried  to  compose  myself  to  sleep. 

But  I  was  staringly  wide  awake.  I  heard  the  wind  sweep 
down  the  mountain  side,  and  toss  the  branches  of  the 
melancholy  pine,  and  then  enter  the  house,  and  try  all  the 
doors  along  the  passage.  Sometimes  strong  currents  of  air 
blew  my  hair  all  over  the  pillow,  as  with  strange  whispering 
breaths.  The  green  timber  along  the  walls  seemed  to  be 
sprouting,  and  sent  a  dampness  even  through  the  "bar- 
skin."  I  felt  like  Robinson  Crusoe  in  his  tree,  with  the 
ladder  pulled  up — or  like  the  rocked  baby  of  the  nursery 
song.  After  lying  awake  half-an-hour,  I  regretted  having 
stopped  at  "  Wiiigdam  j"  at  the  end  of  the  third  quarter,  I 
•wished  I  had  not  gone  to  bed,  and  when  a  restless  hour 
passed,  I  got  up  and  dressed  myseK  There  had  been  a  fire 


306  A  NIGHT  AT  WINGDAM. 

clown  in  the  big  room.  Perhaps  it  was  still  burning.  1 
opened  the  door  and  groped  my  way  along  a  passage,  vocai 
with  the.  snores  of  the  Aleinaimi  and  the  whistling  of  the 
night  wind  ;  I  partly  fell  down-stairs,  and  at  last  entering 
the  big  room,  saw  the  lire  still  burning.  I  drew  a  chair 
toward  it,  poked  it  with  my  foot,  and  was  astonished  to  see, 
by  the  up-springing  flash,  that  Parthenia  was  sitting  there 
also,  holding  a  faded-looking  baby. 

I  asked  her  why  she  was  sitting  up  ? 

She  did  not  go  to  bed  on  Wednesday  night,  before  the 
mail  arrived,  and  then  she  awoke  her  husband,  and  there 
were  passengers  to  'tend  to. 

"  Did  she  not  get  tired,  sometimes  ? " 

"  A  little,  but  Abner  " — the  Barbarian's  Christian  name 
— "  had  promised  to  get  her  more  help  next  spring,  if 
business  was  good." 

"  How  many  boarders  had  she  1 " 

"She  believed  about  forty  came  to  regular  meals,  and 
there  was  transient  custom,  which  was  as  much  as  she  and 
her  husband  could  'tend  to.  But  he  did  a  great  deal  of 
work." 

"What  work?" 

"  Oh  !  bringing  in  the  wood,  and  looking  after  the  traders' 
things." 

"  How  long  had  she  been  married  1M 

"  About  nine  years.  She  had  lost  a  little  girl  and  boy. 
Three  children  living.  He  was  from  Illinois;  she  from 
Boston.  Had  an  education  (Boston  Female  High  School — • 
Geometry,  Algebra,  a  little  Latin  and  Greek).  Mother  and 
father  died.  Came  to  Illinois  alone  to  teach  school.  Saw 
him — yes — a  love  match  ('  Two  souls,'  etc.,  etc.)  Married 
and  emigrated  to  Kansas.  Thence  across  the  Plains  to 
California.  Always  on  the  outskirts  of  civilization.  He 
liked  it." 

"  She  might  sometimes  have  wished  to  go  home.     Would 


A  NIGHT  AT  W1NGDAM.  307 

like  to,  on  account  of  her  children.  Would  like  to  give 
them  an  education.  Had  taught  them  a  little  herself,  but 
couldn't  do  much  on  account  of  other  work.  Hoped  that  the 
boy  would  be  like  his  father — strong  and  hearty.  Was 
fearful  the  girl  would  be  more  like  her.  Had  often  thought 
bhe  was  not  fit  for  a  pioneer's  wife." 

«  Why  1 " 

"  Oh,  she  was  not  strong  enough,  and  had  seen  some  of  his 
friends'  wives  in  Kansas  who  could  do  more  work.  But  he 
never  complained — he  was  so  kind  " — ("  Two  souls,"  etc.) 

Sitting  there  with  her  head  leaning  pensively  on  one 
hand,  holding  the  poor,  wearied  and  limp  looking  baby 
wearily  on  the  other  arm — dirty,  drabbled  and  forlorn,  with 
the  fire-light  playing  upon  her  features  no  longer  fresh  or 
young,  but  still  refined  and  delicate,  and  even  in  her 
grotesque  slovenliness  still  bearing  a  faint  reminiscence  of 
birth  and  breeding,  it  was  not  to  be  wondered  that  I  did  not 
fall  into  excessive  raptures  over  the  barbarian's  kindness. 
Emboldened  by  my  sympathy,  she  told  me  how  she  had 
giyen  up,  little  by  little,  what  she  imagined  to  be  the  weak 
ness  of  her  early  education,  until  she  found  that  she  acquired 
but  little  strength  in  her  new  experience.  How,  translated 
to  a  back-woods  society,  she  was  hated  by  the  women,  and 
called  proud  and  "fine,"  and  how  her  dear  husband  lost 
popularity  on  that  account  with  his  fellows.  How,  led 
partly  by  his  roving  instincts,  and  partly  from  other  circum 
stances,  he  started  with  her  to  California.  An  account  of 
that  tedious  journey.  How  it  was  a  dreary,  dreary  waste  in 
her  memory,  only  a  blank  plain  marked  by  a  little  cairn  of 
stones — a  child's  grave.  How  she  had  noticed  that  little 
Willie  failed.  How  she  had  called  Abner's  attention  to  it, 
but,  man-like,  he  knew  nothing  about  children,  and  pooh- 
poohed  it,  and  was  worried  by  the  stock.  How  it  happened 
that  after  they  had^  passed  Sweet  water,  she  was  walking 
beside  the  waggon  one  night,  and  looking  at  the  western 

x  2 


308  A  NIGHT  AT  WINGDAM. 

sky,  and  she  heard  a  little  voice  say  "mother."  How  sh£ 
looked  into  the  waggon  and  saw  that  little  Willie  was  sleep 
ing  comfortably,  and  did  not  wish  to  wake  him.  How  that 
in  a  few  moments  more  she  heard  the  same  voice  saying, 
"mother."  How  she  came  back  to  the  waggon  and  leaned 
down  over  him,  and  felt  his  breath  upon  her  face,  and  again 
covered  him  up  tenderly,  and  once  more  resumed  her  weary 
journey  beside  him,  praying  to  God  for  his  recovery.  How, 
with  her  face  turned  to  the  sky,  she  heard  the  same  voice 
saying,  "mother,"  and  directly  a  great,  bright  star  shot 
away  from  its  brethren  and  expired.  And  how  she  knew 
what  had  happened,  and  ran  to  the  waggon  again  only  to 
pillow  a  little  pinched  and  cold  white  face  upon  her  weary 
bosom.  The  thin,  red  hands  went  up  to  her  eyes  here,  and 
for  a  few  moments  she  sat  still.  The  wind  tore  round  the 
house  and  made  a  frantic  rush  at  the  front  door,  and  from 
his  couch  of  skins  in  the  inner  room,  Ingomar,  the  barbarian, 
snored  peacefully. 

"  Of  course  she  always  found  a  protector  from  insult  and 
outrage  in  the  great  courage  and  strength  of  her  husband  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes  ;  when  Ingomar  was  with  her  she  feared  nothing. 
But  she  was  nervous,  and  had  been  frightened  once ! " 

"  How  1 " 

"  They  had  just  arrived  in  California.  They  kept  house 
then,  and  had  to  sell  liquor  to  traders.  Ingomar  was 
hospitable,  and  drank  with  everybody,  for  the  sake  of 
popularity  and  business,  and  Ingomar  got  to  like  liquor,  and 
was  easily  affected  by  it.  And  how  one  night  there  was 
a  boisterous  crowd  in  the  bar-room  ;  she  went  in  and  tried 
to  get  him  away,  but  only  succeeded  in  awakening  the 
coarse  gallantry  of  the  half-crazed  revellers.  And  how, 
when  she  had  at  last  got  him  in  the  room  with  her  frightened 
children,  he  sank  down  on  the  bed  in  a  stupor,  which  made 
her  think  the  liquor  was  drugged.  And  how  she  sat  beside 
him  all  night,  and  near  morning  heard  a  step  in  the  passage, 


A  NIGHT  AT  WINGDAM.  .   309 

and  looking  toward  the  door,  saw  the  latch  slowly  moving  up 
and  down,  as  if  somebody  were  trying  it.  And  how  she 
shook  her  husband,  and  tried  to  waken  him,  but  without 
effect.  And  how  at  last  the  door  yielded  slowly  at  the  top 
(it  was  bolted  below),  as  if  by  a  gradual  pressure  without ; 
and  how  a  hand  protruded  through  the  opening.  And  how, 
as  quick  as  lightning,  she  nailed  that  hand  to  the  wall  with 
her  scissors  (her  only  weapon),  but  the  point  broke,  and 
somebody  got  away  with  a  fearful  oath.  How  she  never 
told  her  husband  of  it,  for  fear  he  would  kill  that  somebody ; 
but  how  on  one  day  a  stranger  called  here,  and  as  she  was 
handing  him  his  coffee,  she  saw  a  queer  triangular  scar  on 
the  back  of  his  hand." 

She  was  still  talking,  and  the  wind  was  still  blowing,  and 
Ingomar  was  still  snoring  from  his  couch  of  skins,  when 
there  was  a  shout  high  up  the  straggling  street,  and  a  clat 
tering  of  hoofs,  and  rattling  of  wheels.  The  mail  had  arrived. 
Parthenia  ran  with  the  faded  baby  to  awaken  Ingomar,  and 
almost  simultaneously  the  gallant  expressman  stood  again 
before  me,  addressing  me  by  my  Christian  name,  and  inviting 
me  to  drink  out  of  a  mysterious  black  bottle.  The  horses 
were  speedily  watered,  and  the  business  of  the  gallant  ex 
pressman  concluded,  and  bidding  Parthenia  good-bye,  I  got 
on  the  stage,  and  immediately  fell  asleep,  and  dreamt  of 
calling  on  Parthenia  and  Ingomar,  and  being  treated  with 
pie  to  an  unlimited  extent,  until  I  woke  up  the  next  morn 
ing  in  Sacramento.  I  have  some  doubts  as  to  whether  all 
this  was  not  a  dyspeptic  dream,  but  I  never  witness  the 
drama,  and  hear  that  noble  sentiment  concerning  "Two 
souls,"  etc.,  without  thinking  of  Wingdam,  and  poor  Par 
thenia,. 


PRINTED  BY  BALLANTYNE,  HANSON  AND  CO. 
LONDON  AND  EDINBURGH 


May,  1882. 


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The  Leaden  Casket. 

BY  JEAN  INGELOW. 

Fated  to  be  Free. 

BY  HENRY  JAMES,  Jun. 

Confidence. 

BY  HARRIETT  JAY. 

The  Queen  of  Connaught. 
The  Dark  Colleen. 

BY  HENRY  KINGSLEY. 
Number  Seventeen. 
Oakshott  Castle. 

BY  E.  LYNN  LINTON. 
Patricia  Kemball. 
Atonement  of  Learn  Dundas. 
The  World  Well  Lost. 
Under  which  Lord  ? 
With  a  Silken  Thread. 
The  Rebel  of  the  Family* 
"  My  Love ! " 


CHATTO   &    WINDUS,  PICCADILLY. 


21 


PICCADILLY  NOVELS — continued. 
BY  JUSTIN  MCCARTHY,  M.P. 
The  Waterdale  Neighbours. 
My  Enemy's  Daughter. 
Linley  Rochford. 
A  Fair  Saxon. 
Dear  Lady  Disdain. 
Miss  Misanthrope. 
Donna  Quixote. 

BY  AGNES  MAC DON ELL. 
Quaker  Cousins. 
BY  KATHARINE   S.  MACQUOID. 
Lost  Rose. 
The  Evil  Eye. 

BY  FLORENCE  MARRY  AT. 
Open !  Sesame  ! 
Written  in  Fire. 

BY  JEAN  MIDDLEMASS. 
Touch  and  Go. 

BY  D.  CHRISTIE  MURRAY. 
A  Life's  Atonement. 

BY  MRS.  OLIPHANT. 

Whiteladies. 

BY  JAMES  PAYN. 
Lost  Sir  Massingberd. 
The  Best  of  Husbands. 
Fallen  Fortunes. 
Halves. 

Walter's  Word. 
What  He  Cost  Her. 
Less  Black  than  We're  Painted. 
By  Proxy. 
Under  One  Roof. 
High  Spirits. 
From  Exile. 
Carlyon's  Year. 
A  Confidential  Agent. 


.BY  CHARLES  READS,  D.C.L. 

It  is  Never  Too  Late  to  Mend. 

Hard  Cash. 

Peg  Woffington. 

Christie  Johnstone. 

Griffith  Gaunt. 

The  Double  Marriage. 

Love  Me  Little,  Love  Me  Long. 

Foul  Play. 

The  Cloister  and  the  Hearth. 

The  Course  of  True  Love. 

The  Autobiography  of  a  Thief. 

Put  Yourself  in  His  Place. 

A  Terrible  Temptation. 

The  Wandering  Heir. 

A  Simpleton. 

A  Woman-Hater. 

BY  MRS.  J.  H.  RIDDELL. 
Her  Mother's  Darling. 

BY  JOHN  SAUNDERS. 
Bound  to  the  Wheel. 
Guy  Waterman. 
One  Against  the  World. 
The  Lion  in  the  Path. 
The  Two  Dreamers. 

BY  BERTHA   THOMAS. 
Proud  Maisie. 
Cressida. 
The  Violin-Player. 

BY  ANTHONY  TROLLOPS. 
The  Way  We  Live  Now. 
The  American  Senator. 

BY  T.  A.  TROLLOPS. 

Diamond  Cut  Diamond. 

BY  SARAH  TYTLER. 

What  She  Came  Through. 


Crown  8vo,  cloth  extra,  6s. 

Planche.— Songs  and  Poems,  from  1819  to  1879. 

By  J.  R.  PLANCHE.     Edited,  with  an  Introduction,  by  his  Daughter, 
Mrs.  MACKARNESS. 


Crown  8vo,  cloth  extra,  with  Portrait  and  Illustrations,  75.  6d. 

Poe's  Choice  Prose  and  Poetical  Works, 

With  BAUDELAIRE'S  "  Essay," 


22 


BOOKS  PUBLISHED   BY 


Post  8vo,  illustrated  boards,  25.  each. 

Popular  Novels,  Cheap  Editions  of. 

[WiLKiECoLLiNS's  NOVELS  and  BESANTland  RICE'S  NOVELS  may  also  be  had 
in  cloth  limp  at  2s.  6d.  See,  too,  the  PICCADILLY  NOVELS,  for  Library  Editions.] 

BY  HAMILTON  AIDE. 
Confidences. 
Carr  of  Carrlyon. 


BY  MRS.  ALEXANDER. 

Maid,  Wife,  or  Widow  P 

BY  W.  BESANT  &  JAMES   RICE. 

Ready-Money  Mortiboy. 

With  Harp  and  Crown. 

This  Son  of  Vulcan. 

My  Little  Girl. 

The  Case  of  Mr.  Lucraft. 

The  Golden  Butterfly. 

By  Celia's  Arbour. 

The  Monks  of  Thelenia. 

'Twas  in  Trafalgar's  cBay. 

The  Seamy  Side. 

The  Ten  Years'  Tenant. 

BY  SHELSLEY  BEAU  CHAM  P. 

Grantley  Grange. 

BY  FREDERICK  BOYLE. 

Camp  Notes. 
Savage  Life. 

BY  BRET  HARTE. 
An  Heiress  of  Red  Dog. 
The  Luck  of  Roaring  Camp. 
Gabriel  Conroy. 

BY  F.  E.  BURNETT. 
Surly  Tim. 

BY  MRS.  H.  LOVETT  CAMERON. 
Deceivers  Ever. 
Juliet's  Guardian. 

BY  MACLAREN  COBBAN. 

The  Cure  of  Souls. 

BY  C.  ALLSTON  COLLINS. 

The  Bar  Sinister. 

BY  WILKIE  COLLINS. 

Antonina. 

Basil. 

Hide  and  Seek. 

The  Dead  Sacret. 

The  Queen  of  Hearts. 

My  Miscellanies. 


The  Woman  in  White. 
The  Moonstone. 
Man  and  Wife. 
Poor  Miss  Finch. 
Miss  or  Mrs.  ? 
The  New  Magdalen. 
The  Frozen  Deep. 
The  Law  and  the  Lady. 
The  Two  Destinies. 
The  Haunted  Hotel. 
Fallen  Leaves. 
Jezebel's  Daughter. 

BY  DUTTON  COOK. 
Leo. 
BY  MRS.  ANNIE  EDWARDES. 

A  Point  of  Honour. 
Archie  Lovell. 

BY  M.  BETHAM-EDWARDS. 

Felicia. 

BY  EDWARD  EGGLESTON. 

Roxy. 

BY  PERCY  FITZGERALD. 

Polly. 

Bella  Donna. 

Never  Forgotten. 

The  Second  Mrs.  Tillotson. 

Seventy-five  Brooke  Street. 

BY  ALBANY  DE  FONBLANQUE. 

Filthy  Lucre. 

BY  R.  E.  FRANCILLON. 
Olympia. 
Queen  Cophetua. 

BY  EDWARD  GARRETT. 
The  Capel  Girls. 

BY  CHARLES  GIBBON. 
Robin  Gray. 
For  Lack  of  Gold. 
What  will  the  World  Say? 
In  Honour  Bound. 
The  Dead  Heart. 
In  Love  and  War. 
For  the  Kiag. 
Queen  of  the  Meadow. 
In.  Pastures 


CHATTO  &   W INDUS,  PICCADILLY. 


POPULAR  NOVELS — continued. 

BY  JAMES  GREENWOOD. 
Dick  Temple. 

BY  ANDREW  HALLWAY. 
E very-day  Papers. 

BY  LADY  DUFFUS  HARDY. 
Paul  Wynter's  Sacrifice. 

BY  THOMAS  HARDY. 

Under  the  Greenwood  Tree. 

BY  JULIAN  HAWTHORNE. 
Garth. 
Ellice  Quentin. 

BY  TOM  HOOD. 
A  Golden  Heart. 

BY  VICTOR  HUGO. 
The  Hunchback  of  Notre  Dame. 

BY  MRS.  ALFRED  HUNT. 

Thornicroft's  Model. 

BY  JEAN  INGELOW. 
Fated  to  be  Free. 

BY  HENRY  JAMES,  Jim. 

Confidence. 

BY  HARRIETT  JAY. 

The  Queen  of  Connaught. 
The  Dark  Colleen. 

BY  HENRY  KINGS  LEY. 

Number  Seventeen. 
Oakshott  Castle. 

BY  E.  LYNN  LYNTON. 
Patricia  Kemball. 
Atonement  of  Learn  Dundas. 
The  World  Well  Lost. 
Under  which  Lord? 
With  a  Silken  Thread. 

BY  JUSTIN  MCCARTHY,  M.P. 
The  Waterdale  Neighbours. 
Dear  Lady  Disdain. 
My  Enemy's  Daughter. 
A  Fair  Saxon. 
Linley  Rochford. 
Miss  Misanthrope. 
Donna  Quixote. 

BY  AGNES  MACDONELL. 
Quaker  Cousins. 
BY  KATHARINE  S.  MACQUOID. 
The  Evil  Eye. 
Lost  Rose. 


BY  FLORENCE  MARRYAT. 
Open!  Sesame! 
A  Harvest  of  Wild  Oats. 
A  Little  Stepson. 
Fighting  the  Air. 
Written  in  Fire. 

BY  JEAN  MIDDLEMASS. 
Touch  and  Go. 
Mr.  Dorillion. 

BY  D.  CHRISTIE  MURRAY. 
A  Life's  Atonement. 

BY  MRS.  OLIPHANT. 

Whiteladies. 

BY  OUIDA. 
Held  in  Bondage. 
Strathmore. 
Chandos. 

Under  Two  Flags. 
Idalia. 

Cecil  Castlemaine's  Gage. 
Tricotrin. 
Puck. 

Folle  Farine. 
A  Dog  of  Flanders. 
Pascarel. 

Two  Little  Wooden  Shoes. 
Signa. 

In  a  Winter  City. 
Ariadne. 
Friendship. 
Moths. 
Pipistrello. 

BY  JAMES  PAYN. 
Lost  Sir  Massingberd. 
A  Perfect  Treasure. 
Bentinck's  Tutor. 
Murphy's  Master. 
A  County  Family. 
At  Her  Mercy. 
A  Woman's  Vengeance. 
Cecil's  Tryst. 
The  Clyffards  of  Clyffe. 
The  Family  Scapegrace. 
The  Foster  Brothers. 
Found  Dead. 
Gwendoline's  Harvest. 
Humorous  Stories. 
Like  Father,  Like  Son. 
A  Marine  Residence. 
Married  Beneath  Him. 
Mirk  Abbey. 


24 


BOOKS  PUBLISHED  BY 


POPULAR  NOVELS — continued. 

JAMES  PAYN— continued. 
Not  Wooed,  but  Won. 
Two  Hundred  Pounds  Reward. 
The  Best  of  Husbands. 
Walter's  Word. 
Halves. 

Fallen  Fortunes. 
What  He  Cost  Her. 
Less  Black  than  We're  Painted. 
By  Proxy. 
U -jider  One  Roof. 
High  Spirits. 
A  Confidential  Agent. 
Carlyon's  Year. 

BY  EDGAR  A.  FOE. 
The  Mystery  of  Marie  Roget. 
BY  CHARLES  READE,  D.C.L. 

It  is  Never  Too  Late  to  Mend. 

Hard  Cash. 

Peg  Womngton. 

Christie  Johnstone. 

Griffith  Gaunt. 

The  Double  Marriage. 

Love  Me  Little,  Love  Me  Long. 

Foul  Play. 

The  Cloister  and  the  Hearth. 

The  Course  of  True  Love. 

The  Autobiography  of  a  Thief. 

Put  Yourself  in  his  Place. 

BY  MRS.  J.  H.  RID  DELL. 

Her  Mother's  Darling. 


BY  GEORGE  AUGUSTUS  SALA. 
Gaslight  and  Daylight. 

BY  JOHN  SAUNDERS. 

Bound  to  the  Wheel. 
Guy  Waterman. 
One  Against  the  World. 
The  Lion  in  the  Path. 

BY  ARTHUR  SKETCHLEY. 

A  Match  in  the  Dark. 

BY  WALTER  THORN  BURY. 

Tales  for  the  Marines. 

BY  ANTHONY  TROLLOPE. 
The  Way  we  Live  Now. 
The  American  Senator. 

BY  T.  ADOLPHUS  TROLLOPE. 

Diamond  Cut  Diamond. 

BY  MARK  TWAIN. 

A  Pleasure  Trip  in  Europe. 

Tom  Sawyer. 

An  Idle  Excursion. 

BY  LADY  WOOD. 
Sabina. 

BY  EDMUND  YATES. 
Castaway.  / 

Forlorn  Hope. 
Land  at  Last. 

ANONYMOUS. 
Paul  Ferroll. 
Why  P.  Ferroll  Killed  his  Wife. 


Fcap.  8vo,  picture  covers,  is.  each. 
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The  Twins  of  Table  Mountain.    By  BRET  HARTE. 
Mrs.  Gainsborough's  Diamonds.    By  JULIAN  HAWTHORNE. 
Kathleen  Mavourneen.     By  the  Author  of  "  That  Lass  o'  Lowrie's." 
Lindsay's  Luck.     By  the  Author  of  "  That  Lass  o'  Lowrie's." 
Pretty  Polly  Pemberton.     By  the  Author  of  "  That  Lass  o'  Lowrie's." 
Trooping  with  Crows.     By  Mrs.  PIRKIS. 
The  Professor's  Wife.    By  LEONARD  GRAHAM. 
A  Double  Bond.     By  LINDA  VILLARI. 
Esther's  Glove.    By  R.  E.  FRANCILLON. 


Small  8vo,  cloth  extra,  with  130  Illustrations,  35.  6d. 

Prince  of  Argolis,  The : 

A  Story  of  the  Old  Greek  Fairy  Time.     By  J.  MOYR  SMITH. 


CHAT.rO  &    WIN  BUS,   PICCADILLY.  25 


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Reader's  Handbook  (The)  of  Allusions,  Re 
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works.    By  THOMAS  KENTISH.  With 
numerous  Illustrations. 
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A  Collection  of  Graceful  Arts, Games, 
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