w \r ^ •^7^^., > IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) // % A 1.0 l.f li!i ■4.3 12.8 |2i5 £ U£ 12.0 L25 i 1.4 1.8 1.6 ^ ';*> c>^ Photographic .Sciences Carporation 23 WIST MAIN STRUT WIBSTIR.N.Y. MSM (716) •71-4S03 ^^^4^ ^^4^ ^^ Si ^ CIHM/ICMH Microfiche Series. CIHM/ICMH Collection de microfiches. Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut Canadian da microraproductions historiquas ^ V Tachnical and Bibliographic Notas/IMota* tachniquaa at bibiiographiquas Tha toti Tha Inatituta haa attemptad to obtain tha Isaat original copy availabia for filming. Faaturaa of thi? copy which mayba bibliographicaliy uniqua, which may altar any of tha imagaa in tha raproduction, or which may aignificantly changa tha uaual mathod of filming, ara chackad balow. 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Lorsque le docuAinnt est trop grand pour Atre reproduit en un seul clichA, 11 est filmA A partir de I'angle supArieur gauche, de gauche A droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images nAcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mAthode. >y errata ed to int me pelure, Bipon A 1 2 3 32X 1 2 3 4 5 6 BRET HARTE EARLIER PAPERS ; THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP AND OTHER SKETCHES; BOHEMIAN PAPERS 111 fH UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME CRESSY (I Vol.) SNOW-BOUND AT EAGLE'S ; A PHYLLIS OF THE SIERRAS ; A DRIFT FROM ^S^^°^^r,^AMP5 A GENTLEMAN OF LA PORTE (i Vol.) A WAIF OF THE PLAINS ; SUSY (i Vol.) A FIRST FAMILY OF TASAJARA (i Vol.) M BRETH ARTE EARLIER PAPERS THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP AND OTHER SKETCHES BOHEMIAN PAPERS u m TORONTO THE MUSSON BOOK COMPANY LIMITED Property of the Library University of Waterloo N H A T N 1 i T }' T '} ) T r T B CONTENTS PROSE— EARLIER PAPERS. MLISS HIGH- WATER MARK A LONELY RIDE THE MAN OF NO ACCOUNT NOTES BY FLOOD AND FIELD WAITING FOR THE SHIP I 35 46 54 60 87 1 i s THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP AND OTHER SKETCHES. THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP THE OUTCASTS OF POKER FLAT MIGGLES TENNESSEE S PARTNER THE IDYL OF RED GULCH BROWN OF CALAVERAS 93 107 121 135 t*t • • t VIU Contents BOHEMIAN PAPERS. M£LONS A VENERABLE IMPOSTOR A BOY*S DOG 183 187 SURPRISING ADVENTURES OF MASTER CHARLES SUMMERTON 192 THE MISSION DOLORES BOONDER FROM A BALCONY JOHN CHINAMAN ON A VULGAR LITTLE BOY . * FROM A BACK WINDOW SIDEWALKINGS CHARITABLE REMINISCENCES "seeing THE STEAMER off" NEIGHBOURHOODS I HAVE MOVED FROM MY SUBURBAN RESIDENCE THE RUINS OF SAN FRANCISCO aoi 205 211 215 219 223 229 235 240 251 257 ARLES X75 X83 187 1^ 197 20Z 205 2X1 215 219 223 229 235 240 251 257 PROSE. EARLIER PAPERS, m t^ 8( 8i V] 4 I 4 mistt. 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, Harpet^s Magazine^ and other evidences of ** civilisation and refinement," plodding along over the road he had just ridden, vainly endeavouring to find the settlement of Smith's Pocket. An observant traveller might have found some compen- sation for his disappointment in the weird aspect of that vicinity. There were huge fissures on the hill-side, and I 4 Mltss, displacements 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 chasm, like an enormous fossil of aome forgotten antediluvian. At every step smcUer ditches crossed the raad, hiding in their sallow depths unlovely 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; then into quartz- milling j then into hydraulics and ditching, and thtn by ea&y 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 any- thing 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 settle- ment, with its two fancy stores, its two hotels, its one express- office, and its two first families. Occasionally its one long straggling street was r>verawed by the assumption of the Mliss. latest San Francisco fashions, imported per express, ex- clusively to the first families j making outraged Nature, in the ragged outline of her furrowed surface, look still more homely, and putting personal insult on that greater portion of the Dopulation to whom the Sabbath, mth a change of linen, brought merely the necessity 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 schoolhouse, with some open copy- books before him, carefully making those bold and full characters which are supposed to combine the extremes of chirographical 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. But 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 shabjlly clad. Still, her great black eyes, her coarse, uncombed, iustreless black hair falling over her sunburned face, her red arms and feet streaked with the red soil, were all familiar to him. It was Melissi^ Smith, — Smith's motlierless 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 i Mliss. with and fought the schoolboys with keener invective and quite as powerful arm. She followed the trails with a woodman's craft, and the master had met her before, miles away, shoeless, stockingless, and bareheaded on the moun- tain road. The miners' carnps along the stream supplied her with subsistence during these voluntary pilgrimages in freely-offered alms. Not but that a larger protection had been pre*io<:sly extended to Mliss. The Rev. 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 re- torted to the cheap v'itticibms of the guests, and erected in the Sabbath-sct.ool a sensation ti:at was so inimical to the orthodox dulness and placidity of ihat institution, that, with % 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 char- acter 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 hi?! respect. "I comer 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 ? I want to be teached ! " If to the shabbiness 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 boldnesi awakened in him something of that respect which all original Mliss. natures pay unconsciously to one another in any grade. And he gazed at her the more tixedly 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 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 litt?*; teeth, relaxed and quivered slightly. Then her eyes dropped, and something like a blush struggled up to her cheek, and tried to assert itseli through the splashes of redder soil, and the sunburn c' years. Suddenly she threw herself forward, calli^.g 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'i be good, she didn't mean to," &c, it came to him to f.sk her why she had left Sabbath- school. Why had she left the Sabbath-school ? — why ? Oh, yes ! What did he (McSnagley) want to tell her she was wicked for? What did he tell her that God hated her for? If God hated her, what did she want to go to Sabbath-school for ? She didn't want to be " beholden '' to anybody who hated her. Had she told McSnagley this ? Yes, she had. i^ 8 Mliss. The master laughed. It was a hearty laugh, and echoed 80 oddly in the little schoolhouse, and seemed so incon- sistent 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 about her father. 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 Hummer Smith's Mliss ! " when she passed ? Yes ; oh, 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 bent little figure as it staggered down the road, and waited until it had passed the little graveyard and reached the curve ^^f 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 schoolhouse 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 Mliss. 9 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 recess, if thwarted or stung by a fancied slight, Mliss would rage in 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 threatening to withdraw their children from such evil com- panionship, 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. Remembering the experience of the evangelical McSnagley, he carefully 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 symbolised 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 com- mendation from a red-shirted and burly figure sent a glow lO Mliss, to the cheek of the young master, and set him to thinking if it was altogether deserved. Three months had passed from the time of their first meeting, 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 his former apparition. " Are you busy ? " she asked. " Can you come with me ? " — and on his signifying his readiness, in her own wilful way she said, " Come, then, quick 1 '* 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 purpose, 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 'hem 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 fiume where she thought he still might bd Thither they crossed, — a toilsome Mliss, II 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 Red Mountain, and set the dogs to barking all along the streams. Lights seemed to dance and move quickly on the outskirts of the town for a few moments, the stream rippled quite audibly beside them, a few stones loosened themselves from the hill- side and splashed into the stream, a heavy wind seemed to surge the branches of the funereal pines, and then the silence seemed to fall thicker, heavier, and deadlier. The master turned towards Mliss with an unconscious gesture of protec- tion, but the child had gone. Oppressed by a strange fear, he ran quickly down the trail to the river's bed, and jump- ing from boulder to boulder, reached the base of Red Moun- tain and the outskirts of the village. Midway of the crossing he looked up and held his breath in awe. For high above him on the narrow flume lie saw the fluttering little figure of his late companion crossing swiftly in the darkness. He climbed the bank, and, guided by a few lights mo^'ing about a central point on the mountain, scon found himself breathless among a crowd of awestricken and sorrowful men. Out from among them the child appealed, 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 expression that to the master in his bewilderment seemed almost like relief. The walls of the cavern were partly propped by de- caying timbers. The child pointed to what appeared to be tome ragged, cast-off clothes left in the hole by the late occupant. The master approached nearer with his flaming 13 Mltss, 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. The 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 inscrip- tion put above it, the Red Mountain Banner came out quite handsomely, and did the fair thing to the memory of one of " our oldest pioneers," alluding gracefully to that " bane of noble intellect ;," and otherwise genteelly shelving our dear brother with the past " He leaves an only child to mourn his loss," says the Bannerj "who is now an exemplary scholar, thanks to the efforts of the Rev. Mr. McSnagley." The Rev. McSnagley, in fact, made a strong point of Mliss's conversion, 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 chil- dren 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-grey smoke on the moun- tain summits, and the upspringing breeze scattered its red embers over the landscape, the green wave which in early Mliss, 13 ipring 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- foresls 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, intertwined 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 iuonk's-hood, or deadly aconite. There was something in the odd associa- tion of this nc xious plant with these memorials which occa- sioned 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 iihe 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 to herself one of the negro melodies of her younger life. Recognising him at a distance, she made room for him on her elevated throne, and with a grave assumption of hospitality 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 thtm 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 " Fer-rairie ii «4 Mliss» 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 considered, 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 barefooted walk down the ditches. Octavia and Cassandra were "teerless" of their clothes. So with but one ex- ception, however much the "Prairie Rose" might have trimmed and pruned and trained her own matured luxu- riance, the little shoots came up defiantly wild and strag- gling. That one exception was Clytemnestra Morpher, aged fifteea She was the realisation of her mother's immaculate conception, — neat, orderly, and dull It was an amiable weakness of Mrs. Morpher to ima- gine 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. Mliss, 15 Enamoured iwains haunted the schoolhouse at the hour of dismissal. / 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 blonde curls when she did so. I don't remember whether I have stated that the master was a young man, — it's of little consequence, 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 insufficient quality of food may have tended to this asceti- cism. He generally avoided Clytie ; but one evening, when she returned to the schoolhouse after something she had forgotten, and did not find it until the master walked home with her, I hear that he endeavoured to make himself par- ticularly 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. Questioning Clytie on the subject, it appeared that they had left the 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 diicovering a trace that might lead to her discovery. i6 Mliss, Aristides was summoned as a probable accomplice, but that equitable infant succeeded in impressing the household with his innocence. Mrs. Morpher entertained a vivid impression 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 schoolhouse. 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, NEVER. 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 anytning 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 Smith." 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 schoolhouse, beaten quite hard with the coming and going of little feet. Then, more satisfied in mind, he tore the mis:'ve 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 Mliss* If , but ihold vivid I in a loiled heart, it his lying riling, le old g, had almost \ away. DU can \ Pride o Sally orpher. n is of and no \th." till the Ills and beaten Then, ^gments ^is way le pine ;ning a lo 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. 'ihey gazed at each other without speaking. She was 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 *em of Clytcmnerestera ? " (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.) " Oh, you wicked thing!" " I am hungry, IJssy. I have eaten nothing since dinner yesterday. I am famished I " and the young man in a state of remarkable exhaustion leaned against the tree. Melissa's heart was touched. In the bitter days of her gipsy life she bad known the sensation he so artfully simulated. Overcome by his heartbroken 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 — Mliss. " 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, looking in her tearfi!! 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 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*! Mliss, 5e you forfeit lothing 3o you master r thank- cted, he i. She r widely ent had ds, and, do you for you id" you and and that ?" a silence, quiet, ght eyes squirrel tree, and whisper, eeze, the through face and master'i 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. Somewhat 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 h posteriori than h 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. 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 20 Mliss, severely to bed in a hollow tree near the schoolhouse, 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 ii gravely and curiously. The master, on looking at it one day, fancied he saw a slight resemblance in its round red cheeks and m'lJ 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 was 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 pincushion of its patient and inoffensive body. Whether this was ('one 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 conception. 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 outweighed all errors oi judgment. Children are not better than grown people in 'his respect, I fancy ; and whenever the little red hand flashed above her desk, there was a wondering silence, I I Mliss. 21 se, and lUing a new no mpulse, 2 child looking e in its tra. It iced the s waxen metimes id from esk, she ^e body, jidered a ipon her, the rites «' fetish" ,x model question lould not a quick, lither the iswers in if course aring in iundering |ighed all in grown little red silence, and even the master was sometimes oppressed with a doubt of his 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 anived 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 schoolhouse, and perhaps with a complacent con- sciousness of the rare magnanimity of the act, he choked back his dislike and went to McSnagley. The reverend gentleman was glad to see him. More- over, he observed that the master was looking " peartish," and hoped he had got over the " neuralgy " and "rheU' matiz." 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 cer. tain 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 Chris/** ttunity, and has a likely growin' young family," added Mi; .i,t9 * H m Mliss. iiii McSnagley; "and there's that mannerly young gal, — so Well behaved, — Miss Clytie." In fact, Clytie's perfections 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 Clytie. 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 postprandial 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 ?" (Hun- ger 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 Clytemnestra.) "No." " Upon your word ? " (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 tb« >i I i Mliss. 23 [al,— 90 'ections welt for doubly nforced Clytie. ntial in rn. So nething jement, it in his 5v. Mr. >il once seemed k had of prandial , looked mad?" braids. » (Hun- person "Of le latest lette, to ?" (A master.) Mliss luttered nded to cpressed vent at 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 inten- tions, but, educated young men of unblemished moral character being scarce at that time, he consented to con- tinue 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 indisposi- tion 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 c elfish in stinct, 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 home, 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 schoolhouse. ?-l h : ] 24 Mliss, Hi \'m 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 savans 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 : 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 popu- larity 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 defining the tethered orbits of the planets, when McSnagley impressively arose. " Meelissy ! ye were speaking of the revolutions of this yere yearth and the rciovt'tMnts 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 J 1 r s r c s a a e Mliss. 25 up her little red lips tightly. The handsome outlines at the windows peered further in the schoolroom, and a saintly Raphael face, with blonde 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 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. Clytie's low-necked white book-muslin rested softly on Clytie's white, plump shoulders. Clytie looked at the master, and the mastei nodded. Then Clytie spoke softly : — "Joshua commanded the sun to stand still, and it obeyed him I " 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 of astonishment from the schoolroom, 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 I " -,{ !i 26 Mliss, CHAPTER IV. The 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 buddinf^, 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 once more shook its dark-blue bells. Again the billow above 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 until 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 excitement 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 momentous evening the master and Mliss "assisted." The performance was the prevalent style of heavy medi- ocrity j the melodrama was not bad enough to laugh at nor good enough to excite. But the master, turning wearily to Mliss. the child, was astonished, and felt something like self* accusation 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 handkerchief, as was the tender-hearted " Clytie," who was talking with her " feller " and ogling the master at the same moment. But when the performance was overj and the green curtain fell on the little stage, Mliss drew a long deep 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 gentle- man who wore such fine clothes. Well, if she were in love with him, it was a very unfortunate thing ! " Why ? " said Mliss, with an upward sweep of the drooping lid. " Oh J 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 I . Ill Pi m ti §8 Mliss. 11 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 ? I am sure he might owe me two dollars and a half a long time before I would throw it up in his face, as the fellow did the other night at Wingdam." 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 equally visible in her actions and 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* ment and rost, 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 schoolhouse, a small voice piped at his side, " Please, sir! " The master turned, and there stood Aristides Morpher. " Well, my little man," said the master impatiently, " what is it ? — 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 lestiness '"ith which we always receive disagreeable news. "Why, sir, she don't stay home any more^ and 'Kerg* Mliss, 29 11. ■ '1; the and me see her talking with one of those actor fellers, and she's with him now; and please, sir, yesterday she told * Kerg ' and me she could make a speech as well as Miss Cellerstina Montmoressy, and she spouted right oflF by heart," and the little fellow paused in a collapsed condition. " What actor ? " 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 un- pleasant tightness in his chest and thorax, and walked out in the road. Aristides trotted along by his side, endeavour- ing to keep pace with his short legs to the master's strides, when the master stopped suddenly, and Aristides bumped up against him. " Where were they talking ? " 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 ; run ! " And off trotted the short-iegge sion. Nor was the aspect of these mournful fowls at all II i! I '1 ■: I i 1 36 High- Water Mark, cheerful and inspiring. Certainly not the blue heron standing midleg deep in the water, obviously catching cold in a reckless disregard of wet feet and consequences ; nor the mournful curlew, the dejected plover, or the low- spirited snipe, who saw fit to join him in his suicidaj contemplation; nor the impassive kingfisher — an ornitho- logical Marius — reviewing the desolate expanse; nor the black raven that went to and fro over ^he face of the marsh continuallyj 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 anticipation by the callow brood. But if Dedlow Marsh was cheerless 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 shimmering 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 on the boat's keel, or shrank from the tufts of grass spreading around like th« High' Water Mark. 37 < 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 some- thing of Dedlow Marsh at high water. Let me recall a story 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 boun- dary 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 th'! river. Her husband was a logger, — a profitable business in a county where the principal occupation was the manu- facture 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 remembered 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 raw brewing. And th?*^ 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. . I 38 High- Water Mark, But however the storm might roar about the little cabin, she knew that one she trusted had driven bolt and bai 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 he was safely harboured with tht logs at Utopia in the dreary distance. But she noticed that day, when she went 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 some- what 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 remem- 1 I High- Water Mark, 39 ber, 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 was 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, but to see how things looked; but the wind shook the door so savagely that she could hardly hold it. 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 swallow- ing;" then something went "click-click" and "cluck- cluck," so that she sat up in bed. When she did so she was attracted by 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 rememberea 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 ? I '^ 40 High- Water Mark. \ So she ran again to the back door, and threw out i 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 I It was then — O 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 that gloomy night. 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 tmnk. By God's mercy she succeeded in obtaining a footing on its slippery surface, and twining an arm about High' Water Mark. 41 its roots, she held in the other her 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 stiil 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, and — how could he ever know what had become of her and baby ? And at the thought she grew sick and faint. But she had something else to do besides worry- ing, for whenever the long roots of her ark struck an ob- stacle, 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 uf the ,;: I' r. f ;■ 1 42 High- Water Mark. 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 floating drift. That peril averted, if she were carried out on the ebb toward the bay, she might hope ':o 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 behir. \ her, and she knew that her ark had again swung '■ound. She dipped up the water to cool her parched throat, and found that it was salt as her tears. There was a relief, though, for by this sign she knew that she was drifting with the tide. It was then the wind went down, and the great and awful silence oppressed her. There 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 know that she had not lost her voice. She thought then, — it was queer, but she could not help thinking it, — how awful must 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 ^hat she was thus spared, and I / High- Water Mark. 43 lifted her eyes from the baby who had fallen into a fretful sleep. Suddenly, away to the southward, a great light 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 cudden 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 grey cloud. Then the heron flew over and around her shrieking and protesting, and at last dropped its gaunt legs only a few 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, ai'ter all, to any but herself. For when she recovered J If 1 44 High' Water Mark. her senses it was bright sunlight and dead low watei; There was a confused noise of guttural voices about her, and an old squaw, singing an Indian " hushaby," and rock- ing 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 " mowitch," pale but living, in such a queer little willow cradle, all bound up, just like the scjuaw'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 on 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 may imagine, and when he came at last and rushed up to 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 High- Water Mark, 4| 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-watsr mark. f| :i 1 '^. I i 1 \, '. t ■ 1 H ^ ( 46 ) a ILonelg BiDe. As I stepped into the SlumguUion 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 z statement. The storyteller who wilfully tempts fate by such obvious beginnings, who is to the expectant reader in danger of being robbed or haif- 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 SlumguUion knew no other banditti than the regularly licensed hotelkeepers ; lunatics had noc yet reached such depth of imbecility as to ride of 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 SlumguUion clung tenaciously to its wheels. I opened the door ; the stage creaked uneasily, and in the gloomy abyss the swaying straps beckoned r^iie, like ghostly hands, to come in now, and have my sufferings out at once.- c I] s ^ Y 8 n A Lonely Ride. 47 ;i; 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 reason to suppose was not in any way connected with the stage com- pany, 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 indivi- dual, equally disinterested, impassively walked down the steps, proceeded to the back of the stage, lifted it, expecto- rated 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 waybill, had not predisposed me to cheerfulness. The in- mates of the Eureka House, from a social view-point, were not attractive. There was the prevailing opinion — so com- mon to many honest people — that a serious style of deport- ment and conduct toward a stranger indicates high gentility and elevated station. Obeying this principle, all hilarity ceased on my entrance to supper, and general remark merged into the safer and uncompromising chronicle of several bad cases of diphtheria, then epidemic at Wingdam. When I left the dining-room, with an odd feeling that 1 had been supping exclusively on mustard and tea leaves, I stopped a moment at the parlour door. A piano, harmo- niously related to the dinner-bell, tinkled responsive to a diffident and uncertain touch. On the white wall the shadow 8 ! il ii 48 A Lonely Ride, of an old and sharp profile was bending over several sym- metrical 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, ws for a moment illuminated by the open door of the hoid 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 ap- peal 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 obscurity that encompassed the vehicle. The roadside trees were scarcely distinguishable as deeper masses of shadow ; I knew them only by the peculiar sodden odour that from time to time sluggishly flowed in at the open win- dow as we rolled by. We proceeded slowly ; 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 A Lonely Ride. 49 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-disgrace. Praise-to-the-face-is-open-disgrace." Inequalities of the road 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 be- praised ; of no use to dwell sentimentally on modest genius and courage lifted up and strengthened by open commenda- tion; 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 counter- act 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 1 li 50 A Lonely Ride. 1 wmk-^' Was there any driver? Had I any reason to suppose that he was not lying gagg^^d 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? It's of no use to keep it back, particularly in this abyssmal vehicle, and here it comes : — I am a Marquis — a French Marquis j 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, Andr^, not to disturb me, and dream of an angel The carriage at last stops at the chiteau. It is so dark that, when I alight, 1 Jo not recognise the face of ^he footman who holds the carriagf.-door. But what of that ?— /-fj/^ / I am heavy with 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 find myself in a trap, in the presence of the brigand who has quietly gagged poor Andr^ and conducted the carriage thither. There is nothing for me to do, as a gallant French Marquis, but to say, " Parbleu / " draw my rapier, and die valorously ! I am found, a week or two after, outside a deserted cabaret near the barrier, with a hole through my ruffled linen, and my pockets stripped. No ; on 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 distinguishing the driver, I found my eyes were growing accustomed to the darkness. I could see the distant horizon, defined by India-inky woods relieving a lighter sky A Lonely Ride, 51 A few stars, widely spaced in this picture, glimmering 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, in- volving 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 in- describably unreal and theatrical effect. It was the fuU moon of Norma — that remarkable celestial phenomenon which rises so palpably to a hushed audience and a sublime andanU chorus, until the Casta Diva is sung — the " incon- stant moon " that then and thereafter remains fixed in the heavens as though it were a part of the solar system inaugu- rated by Joshua. Again the white-robed Druids filed past me, again I saw that improbable mistletoe cut from that impossible oak, and again cold chilh 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 the full possession of at least one of his most important functions. Frequent and full expectoration convinced me that his lips were as yet not sealed by the gag of high- waymen, 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 I ! 5a A Lonely Ride, her splendour ojtside 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 bent 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 oblivion 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, nad 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 wondering 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 agonising prayer, when a sudden spasm of activity attacked my driver. A succession of whip-snappings, like a pack of Cninese crackers, broke from the box before me. The stage leaped forward, and when I could pick myself from under the seat, a long white building had in some mysterious way rolled beiore my window. It must be Slumgullionl As I descended from the stage I addressed the driver : — ' 't A Lonely Ride, 53 *! 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, sirl" 'i ''': m' ( 54 ) Cbe ^an of no Account His name was Fagg, — David Fagg. He came to Cali- fornia 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 as- sociates, except when we patronised 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 took 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 sent him little delicacies and books from the cabin. You ought to have witnessed the rich scene that took place when he came up, stammering and very sick, to thank her 1 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 The Man of no Account. SI over it, and when Rattler fell 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 amusement to us that day. It appeared that he had con- ceived 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 furtively 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. When I bought a number of shares in the Coyote Tunnel 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 1. i li 5« The Man of no Account. LlL { Ik. the claim. One of those individuals whom newspaper cor- respondents 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 pretermitted 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 outer 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 bandana. 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 patronised him to some extent Whether I d'd so because I was beginning to have a distrust for such fellows as Rattler and Mixer is not necessary for me to state. You remember liow the Coyote Tunnel went in, and how awfully we shareholders were done 1 Well, the next thing I heard was that Rattler, who was one of the heaviest shareholders, was up at Mugginsville keeping bar for the proprietor 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 v^as sweet upon the daughter of the proprietor of the aforesaid hotel And so by hearsay and letter I eventually gathered that old Robins, the hotel man, was trying to get up a match between Nellie The Man of no Account. ir Robins and Fagg. Nellie was a pretty, plump, and foolish little thing, and would do just 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 un- conquerable Rattler, who had tried to snub me two years ago 1 I talked to him about Old Fagg and Nellie, particu- larly 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 ? He turned round to the mirror behind the bar and brushed up his hair. I under- stood the conceited wr'^trh. I thought I'd put Fagg on his guard, and get him to 7iUrry 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 unobtrusiveness. 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 question. 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 tliot 1*1 58 The Man of no Account, that they have mechanical manner of people who kn< 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 1 ** " 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 ? ** " 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 apologise 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 Rattler, I've lent him enough to set him up in business for himself in Dogtown. A pushing, active, brilliant fellow, you know, like Rattler, can get along, and ¥rill soon be in his old position again,— The Man of no Account 59 ■nd you needn't be hard on him, you know, if he doesn't Good-bye." I was too much disgusted with his treatment of that 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 detail, 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 •* man of no account " had " gone home 1 " St';' ( 6o ) iSoteiof tp jFlooti anD JFielD* P^JRT I. — IN THE FIELD. It was near the close of an October day that I began to be disagreeably conscious of the Sacr::mento 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 pictur*^ 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. It was autumn, but not the season suggested to the Atlantic reader under that title. The sharpiy defined boundaries of the wet and dry seasons were prefigured in the clear outlines of the distant hills. In \;he dry atmos- phere 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 d!<;guises. She merely turned the Hippocratic face to the spectator, with the old diagnosis of death in her sharp, contracted features. Notes by Flood and Field. 61 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 fol- lowed, with a rising wind, which increased as the shadows deepened on the plain. The fringe of alder by the water- course 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 unprofitable shadows to lurk in the daily sunshine. No projection for the wind by night to grow musical over, to wail, whistle, or whisper to ; only a long wooden shelf con- taining a chilly-looking tin basin and a bar of soap. Its uncurtained windows were red with the sinking sun, as though bloodshot and inflamed from a too long unlided 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- 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 betrayed neither curiosity nor interest A hound started from a dark comer with a growl, but was immediately kicked by the old man into obscurity and silenced again. I can't tell why, but I inp 'm \ •« 62 Notes by Flood and Field. stantly received 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. vVas a United States surveyor. Had come on account of the Espiritu Santo rancho. Wanted to correct the ex- terior boundaries of township lines, so as to connect with the near exteriors of private grants. There had been some intervention to the old survey by a Mr. Tryan, who had pre-empted adjacent — " Settled land warrants," interrupted the old man. "Ah, yes! ?.3nd warrants, — and then this was Mr. Tryan ? " I had spoken mechanically, for I was preoccupied in connecting other public lines with private surveys, as I looked in his face. It was certainly a hard face, and re- minded me of the singular effect of that mining opera- tion known as " ground sluicing ; " the harder lines of under- lying character were exposed, and what were once plastic curves and soft outlines were obliterated by some power- ful 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 litigation. I listened and answered with little interest, for my 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 gioup by the fire 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, Notes by Flood and Field, 63 •• Now, then, which on ye'U 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*\ e got to pack her and the baby again." 1 think the expression of scorn this unfortunate youth exhibited for the filial duty into which he had been evidently 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 finished quickly. " I told ye to get Brown to give you a pair the last time you war down the river." " Said he wouldn't without an order. Said it was like pulling gum-teeth to get the money from you even thea" 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 Tryan, with a nervous twitching, intended for a smile, about a mouth not remarkable mirthful. Joe lifted a pair of bushy eyebrows and said shortly^ " Got no saddle." " Wot s gone of your saddle ? " f V! \'^ 64 Notes by Flood and Field, ** Kerg, there ! ** indicating his brother with a look nidi as Cain might have worn at the sacrifice. You lie 1 " 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 irrepressible Wise again lifted his voice — " Theer's George comin' I why don't ye ask him ? Hell go and introduce you to Don Femandy's darter, too, ef you ain't pertickler." 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. Seeing a stranger present, he stopped and coloured, made a shy salute and coloured again, and then, drawing a box from the comer, sat down, his hands clasped tightly together and his very handsome bright blue eyes turned frankly on mine. Perl aps 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 tiame, listening to the wind which continually shook the tenement. Besides the one chair, which bad acquired a new importance in my eyes, I presently discovered a crazy table in one corner, with an inkbottle and pen, the latter in that greasy state of decomposition peculiar to country taverns and farmhouses. A goodly array of rifles and i Notes by Flood and Field, «5 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 without, I found it difficult 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 hi manity, and I was a solitary and somewhat gratuitous excep- tion. 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 further 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 extemporised 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 often betrayed the presence of the " wellspring of pleasure." The conversation generally referred 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, that when a chance allusion of mine to the business a mv visit brought out the elder Tryan, the interest grew 'I \- I i \ Ml 66 Notes by Flood and Field, 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? Was it grants? Mighty fine grants, — most of 'em made arter the 'Merrikans got possession. More fools the 'Merrikans for lettin' 'em hold 'em. W£.t paid for 'em? 'Merrikan blood and money. "Didn't they oughter have suthin out of their native country? Wot for? Did they ever improve? 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 graven 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. I'he act did not escape detection, and I had at once the satisfaction of seeing that the rest of the family had formed an offensive alliance against us. " It was agin Nater 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. Nater 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 bed. Notes by Flood and Field, 67 and « You'd better sleep there to-night," he 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 shyly 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 vas thrown on the fire, and the huge chimney glowed lik'" 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 the 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 m.e, 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 Tryan 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. % W 68 Notes by Flood and Field, But I felt fresher and more natural as I stepped upon the platform. The door of the lower building was open, and the old man was sitting besiae 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 f niliar. It was Georj^ , wV -ad given up his bed to the stranger among his peop; ' s about to wake him, but he lay so peaceful and qm I idt awed and hushed. And I went to bed with a pleasant impica ion of his hand- some face and tranquil figure soothing me to sleep. J L= : '■ \\ I was awakened the next morning from a sense of lulled repose and grateful silence by the cheei'y voice of George, who stood beside my bed ostentatiousl) 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 wind- ing far in the distance showed that the unfortunate Tom had already "packed'' his relatives away. I felt more cheerful, — there are few troubles Youth cannot distance with the 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 silhouetteSf against the steel-blue sky, the crisp, dry air, and Notes by Flood and Field. 69 the expanding track before me, animated often by the well- knit figure of George Tryan, musical with jingling spurs and picturesque with flying **Tiata." 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 machWas of the Spanish saddle, which levels all equine distinctions. The single rein lay loosely on 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 pedigree, — " 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 ? " "Well, p'r'aps three thousand head," says George, reflecting. " We don't know, takes five men to look 'em up and keep run." " What are they worth ? " .1' 'ii 70 Notes by Flood and Field, V % " 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 Tryan household is expressed in that look, for George averts his eye and says, apologeti- cally — " Fve 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 movin'. 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. '■'* Tore I " shouts George, with vaquero enthusiasm, and the band opens a 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 bovines, economically got up to meet the exigencies 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 recognises 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 mutteiings, and George has again re- course to the authoritative "Toro," and with swinging "riata" divides the "bossy bucklers" on either side. Notes by Flood and Field, 7' When we are free, and breathing somewhat mor^ easily, I venture to ask George if they ever attack any one. " ' ever 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 foothills, 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 summers. 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 agree- able coolness fell upon us, as sudden and grateful as a plunge in cool 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 reliev- ing his gamboge-coloured face. The odour of cigarritos was as incense added to the cathedral gloom of the building. As Senor 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 business 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 M ■< 72 No/es by Flood and Field. from his lips showed his regular respiration. When I had finished, he ofTered quietly to accompany us to the line di demarcation. George had meanwhile disappeared, but a suspicious conversation in broken Spanish and English in the corridor, betrayed his vicinity. When he returned again, a liltle 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 Californians affect. A serapa thrown over his shoulders hinted that he was waiting. Horses are always ready saddled in Spanish ranchos, and in hah an hour from the time of our arrival we were again " loping " in the star- ing 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, " Qui bueno f 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." Seiior Altascar had dismounted and was gathering a few tufts of dried grass in his hanus. George and I exchanged glances. He presently arose from his stooping posture, and advancing to within a few paces of Joseph Tryan, said, in a voice broken with passion — Notes by Flood and Field. n "And I, Fernando Jesus Maria Aliascar, put you in possession of my land in the fashion of my country." He tbi-ew a sod to each of the cardinal points. " I don't know your courts, your judges, or your corn- gidores. Take the liano 1 — 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 I " 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'll 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 extravagant power of his native invective. " Stealer of the Sacrament I Open not ! — open not, I Bay, your lying, Judas lips to me ! Ah ! half-breed, with the soul of a coyote 1 — Car-r-r-ramba 1 " 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 ba:k with us to-night ? '* I thought of the cheerk ss 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 bad not i 74 Notes by Flood and Field. 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 picturesque figure occasionly emerging therefrom was my last indistinct impression of George Tryan. HI I PART II. — IN THE FLOOD. Three months after the survey of the Espiritu Santo rancho, 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 fiom the bright cabin windows of the Golden City but night deepening over :he 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 a they silently sat around the cabin stove. Some on errands of relief to friends and relatives wore anxious faces, and con- versed 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 exag[;erated importance of instinct, 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 Notes by Flood and Field. my 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 stem- sheets of his boat It was no slight inward struggle to part from the steamer, that to most of the passengers was the only visible connecting link between us and the dry and habitable 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 cheerful 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 storeys 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 desolation 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 earnestness and energy, and gives a graphic description of the terrors of the past week and of noble deeds of self sacrifice and devotion, occasionally pointing out a balcony from which iifl iiil 'h. 76 Notes by Flood and Field. 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 Howard Society, and the women and children without food and clothing 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 tur.i 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 stand 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 defined by tossing tufts of willow '"ashed by the long swell that breaks over r vast inland sea. Stretches of " tule " land fertilised 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 farmhouses are visible, and here and there the smoke curling from chimneys of half- submerged tenements shows an undaunted Hft within. Cattle and sheep are gathered on Indian mounds waiting the fate of their companions, wliose carcases drift by us or swing in eddies with the Notes by Flood and Field, 17 wrecks of barns and outhouses. Waggonr- 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 washing, coiling, sapping, hurrying in rapids, or swelling at last into deeper and vaster lakes, awful in their suggestive quiet and concealment. 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 the 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 inward-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 obliterated 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 peacoat of one of the crew, and \i^ 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 78 Notes by Flood and Field. ii 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 disaj)- pears, as if by the shifting position of some black object apparently drifting close upon us. " 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 iliape swings by. Some recollection is drifting back to me with it, as I listfrt with beating heart. " There's some one in it, by heavens ! Give way, boys, — lay her alongside. Handsomely, now J The door's fastened ; try the window ; no ! here's another 1 " 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 V^vA, 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 ? The boys, — George ! Are they here ? are they safe ? " He ra'^-es his head slowly, and turns his eyes to mine, and we, ii; vclunvarily recoil before his look. It is a calm Notes by Flood and Field. r» 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 ? Look up, old man!" He shuddered and wrapped himself closer in his blanket. Presently he repeated to himself, " The surveyor who sur- 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 ? — there I — listen I " We listen, and hear the water gurgle and click beneath thf; floor. *' It's them wot he sent ! — Old Altascar 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 ? " I tell the men to search the room and see if they can find any farther 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 over 'm 8o Notes by Flood and JHteld. coming 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 him 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 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, I 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 s. sense of uneasiness about George made a strong undercurrent to my drifting dreans. 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. " Don't know ; but he's z-. sweet one, whoever he is," adds the engineer, with a smile at some luscious remem- brance. " You'll find him for'ard." T 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 riore dil?. 'dated than I can remember having seen him. He is examining, with apparent adnnration, some rough, dry clothes that have beei. p^t out for his disposal I can- not help thinking that circui^ tances have somewhat exalted Notes by Flood and Field. 8i 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' ieavin' with the old woman. Didn't know me from Adam ; took me for George ! " At this affecting instance of paternal forgetfulness, Wise 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 boat- man, "when are you goin' to give us some grub? I'm hungry 'nough to skin and eat a boss. Reckon I'll turn butcher when things 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 dessay, for some time. Wonder whar the ole man'll drive stakes next." " I meant as to your father and George, Wise." ill $3 Notes by Flood and Field, " Oh, the ole man and I'll go on to * Miles's,' whar Tom packed the old woman and babies last week. George'll turn up somewhar atween this and Altascar's, ef he ain't thar now." I ask how the Altascars have suffered. " Well, I reckon he ain't lost much in stock. I shouldn't wonder if George helped him drive 'em up the foot-hills. And his * casa ' 's built too high. Oh, thar ain't any water thar, you bet. Ah ! " says Wise, with reflective admiration, " those Greasers ain't the darned fools people thinks 'em. I'll bet tn^. ain't one swamped out in all 'er Californy." But the appearance of " grub," cut this rhapsody short. "I shall keep on a Uttle farther," I say, *'and try to find George." Wise stared a moment at this eccentricity until a new light dawned upon him. " I don't think you'll save much. What's tiie percentage, — workin' on shares, cii ? " I answer that I am only curious, which i feel lessens his opinion of me, and with a sadder feeling than his assurance of George's safety might warrant, I walked away. From others whom we picked up from time to time we heard of George's s^lf-sacrificing devotion, with the praises of the many he had helped and rescued. But I did not feel disposed to return until I had seen him, and soon prepared myself to take a boat to the lower " valda " of the foot-hills, and visit Altascar. I socn perfected my arrange- ments, bade farewell to Wise, and took a last look at the old man, who was sitting by the furnace fires quite passive and composed. Then our boat-head swung round, pulled by sturdy and willing hands. It was again raining, and a disagreeable wind had risen. Our course lay nearly west, and we soon knew by the strong current that we were in the creek of the Espi'ritu Santo. N'otes by Flood and Field, 8$ Krom 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 Espfritu Santo." As the wind whistles by me, piling the shallower fresh water into mimic waves, 1 go back, in fancy, to the long ride of October over that bound- less plain, and lecall 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 ot the line of alder, making an adverse current, which, as we sweep to the right to avoid, I recognise. 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 wt^ 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 experi- ment 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 ' ■■' 84 //oles by Flood and Field. ■ ! n really is, but I urge the men, many of whom are still ne^v 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 characterises the building. One of the peons recognised 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. " Po^o a pocOy Senor, — 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 accom- panied me. They drank and threw themselves before the fire in the larger room. The repose of t;H. 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 the instincts of hunger. * Notes by Flood and Field. 8s I was sitting sadly by the fire when he re entered. *' You have eat ? " I said, " Yes," to please him. " Bueno, eat when you can, — food and appetite are not always." He said this with that Sancho-li! e 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 I " 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 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 and 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 IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) & // /. />\* J z K. 1.0 1.1 Ui|2£ 12.5 ■JO ■^" llHi 1.8 IL25 i 1.4 1SJ£ 1.6 Photographic Sciences Corporalion 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14S80 (716) S73-4S03 A A m a\ iV ^\ [V ^m. °\Jk. ^^ O^ 1^4^ % ^ S6 Notes by Flood and Field. vi seem to notice her, and, retiring presently, left the loving and loved together. When we were again beside the crackling fire, in the shifting shadows of the great chamber, Altascar told me how he had that morning met the liorse 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 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, — HiOst 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 p;reenness, 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 **£ivpiritu Santo Rancho." ; i ( t ( 87 ) \ CQaiting for ti)e Sbip* A FORT POINT IDYL, About an hour's ride from the Plaza there is a high bluff with the ocean breaking uninterruptedly along its rocky beach. There are several cottages on the sands, which look as if they had recently been cast up by a heavy sea. The cultivated patch behind each tenement is fenced in by bamboos, broken spars, and driftwood. With its few green cabbages and turnip-tops, each garden looks something like an aquarium with the water turned off. In fact you would not be surprised to meet a merman digging among the potatoes, or a mermaid milking a sea-cow hard by. Near this place formerly arose a great semaphoric tele- graph, with its gaunt arms tossed up against the horizon. It has been replaced by an observatory, connected with an electric nerve to the heart of the great commercial city» From this point the incoming ships are signalled, and again checked off at the City Exchange. And while we are here looking for the expected steamer, let me tell you a story. Not long ago, a simple, hard-working mechanic had amassed sufficient by diligent labour in the mines to send home for his wife and two children. He arrived in San Francisco a month before the time the ship was due, for he was a Western man, and had made the overland journey, and knew tittle of ships or seas or gales. He procured work in i i m I. !« m 88 Waiting for the Ship, ill. '% ,■■' 1 1 ' ['■• the city, but as the time approached he would go to the shipping office regularly every day. The month passed, but the ship came not ; then a month and a week, two weeks, three weeks, two months, and then a year. The rough, patient face, with soft lines overlying its hard features, which had become a daily apparition at the ship- ping agent's, then disappeared. It turned up one afternoon at the observatory as the setting sun relieved the operator from his duties. There was something so childlike and simple in the few questions asked by this stranger, touching his business, that the operator spent some time to explain. When the mystery of signals and telegraphs was unfolded, the stranger had one more question to ask. " How long might a vessel be absent before they would give up expect- ing her ? " The operator couldn't tell ; it would depend on circumstances. Would it be a year ? Yes, it might be a year, and vessels had been given up for lost after two years and had come home. The stranger put his rough hand on the operator's, and thanked him for his " troubil," and went away. Still the ship came not. Stately clippers swept into the Gate, and merchantmen went by with colours flying, and the welcoming gun of the steamer often reverberated among the hills. Then the patient face, with the old resigned expression, but a brighter, wistful look in the eye, was regularly met on the crowded decks of the steamer as she disembarked her living freight. He may have had a dimly defined hope that the missing ones might yet come this way, as only another road over that strange unknown ex- panse. But he talked with ship captains and sailors, and even this last hope seemed io fail When the careworn face and bright eyes were presented again at the observatory, the operator, busily engaged, could not spare time to answer foolish interrogatories, so he went away. But as night fell, i I p- Waiting for the Ship, 89 i ■ ■ ' 'ff he was seen sitting on the rocks with his face turned sea* ward, and was seated there all that night. When he became hopelessly insane, for that was what the physicians said made his eyes so bright and wistful, he was cared for by a fellow-craftsman who had ktiown his troubles. He was allowed to indulge his fancy of going out to watch for the ship, in which she " and the children " were, at night when no one else was watching. He had made up his mind that the ship would come in at night. This, and the idea that he would relieve the operator, who would be tired with watching all day, seemed to please him. So he went out and relieved the operator every night ! For two years the ships came and went. He was there to see the outward-bound clipper, and greet her on her return. He was known only by a few who frequented the place. When he was missed at last from his accustomed spot, a day or two elapsed before any alarm was felt. One Sunday, a party of pleasure-seekers clambering over the rocks were attracted by the barking of a dog that had run on before them. When they came up they found a plainly dressed man lying there dead. There were a few papers in his pocket, — chiefly slips cut from different journals of old marine memoranda, — and his face was turned towards the distant sea. ^i i\ 'CI' 1: I 1! M ;r H THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP AND OTHER SKETCHES. : o i ( 93 ) C{)e luc& of Boating Camp* k There was commotion in Roaring Camp. It could 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 remembered, calmly continued their game the day that French Fete 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 sympathising womanhood, but now terrible in her lone- liness. The primal ctrse 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 ex- piation of her sin, that, at a moment when she most lacked her sex's intuitive tenderness and care, she met only the 94 The Luck of Roating Camp. ill , ;. !' half-contemptuous faces of her masculine associates. Yet a few of the spectators were, I think, touched by her suffer- ings. Sandy Tipton thought it was " rough on Sal," and, in the contemplation of her condition, 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 citizen 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 proceedings that Roaring Camp — a city of refuge — was indebted 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 blonde 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 a a embarrassed, timid manner. The The Luck of Roaring Camp, 95 • "Si\ cenn "roughs" applied to them was a distinction rather than a definition. Perhaps in the minor details of fingers, toes, ears, &c., the camp may have been deficient, 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 dispersed around the cabin. The camp lay in a triangular valley beween 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 fire 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 ^1 "I , 96 The Luck of Roaring Camp, ! . i'', . m climbed, as it were, that rugged road that led to the stars, 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 sex and maternal condition in the settlement was an ass. There was some conjecture as to fitness, but ihe experi- ment 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 officio 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 unconsciously 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 show- man: — " 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 ■:\ The Luck of Roaring Camp. 97 ipecimen ; a very beautifully embroidered lady's handker- chief (from Oakhurst the gambler) ; a diamond breastpin ; a diamond ring (suggested by the pin, with the remark from the giver that he "saw that pin and \fent two diamonds better") ; a slung shot; a Bible (contributor not detected) ; a golden spur; a silver teaspoon (the initials, I regret to say, were not the giver's); a peir of surgeon's shears; a lancet ; a Bank of England note for ^^ ; 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 inscrutable as that of the newly-born on his right. Only one incident occurred to break the mono- tony of the curious procession. As Kentuck bent over the candle-box half curiously, 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. Some- thing like a blush tried to assert itself in his weather-beaten cheek. " The d^-d little cuss I " 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 remark 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 — d 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 bis experi- ence, invariably ending with his characteristic condemna- tion of the newcomer. It seemed to relieve him of any unjust implication of sentiment, and Kentuck had the weaknesses of the nobler sex When everybody else had •1 i % If i ■|:''V m '■ .11 98 The Luck of Roaring Camp, I I i)j- ."' gone to bed, he walked down to the river and whistled reflectingly. Then he walked up the gulch past the cabin, still whistling with demonstrative unconcern. At a krge redwood 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 returned imd knocked at the door. It was opened by Stumpy. " How goes it ? " said Kentuck, looking past Stumpy toward the candle-box. " All serene I " 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 Roaring Camp afforded. After her body had been com- mitted to the hillside, there was a formal meeting of the camp to discusr );(hat 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 feasi- bility of providing for its wants at once sprang up. It was remarkable that the argument partook of none of those fierce personalities with which discussions were usually con- ducted at Roaring Camp. Tipton proposed that they should send the child to Red 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 acquisition 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 ol^ection. It was argued that no decent woman could The Luck of Roaring Camp, 99 met :ould 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 questioned, he averred stoutly that he ah^5 " Jinny " — the mammal before alluded to — could manage to rear the child. There was something original, inde- pendent, 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 I" Strange to say, the child thrived. Perhaps the invigo- rating climate of the mountaii\ camp vvas compensation for material deficiencies. Naturo took the foundling 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 ass's milk to lime and phosphorus. Stumpy inclined to the belief that it was the latter and good nursing. " Me and that ass," he would say, " has been father and mother to him ! Don't you," he would add, apostro- phising 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," " The Coyote " (an allusion to his vocal powers), and even by Kentuck's endear* ing diminutive of " The d — d little cuss." But these were \- :% ii •7 I 1 v\\\ m \ \ 1:i lOO The Luck of Roaring Camp, ;^i felt to be vague and unsatisfactory, and were at last dismissed under another influence. Gamblers and adventurers are generally superstitious, and Oakhurst one day Isclared that the baby had brought " the luck " to Roaring Camp. It was certain thai 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 philo- sophical Oakhurst, " to take a fresh deal all round. Call him Luck, and start him fair." A day was 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 Sandy 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, stout'/ 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 goin' to Tinderstand. And ef there's goin' to be any godfathers round, I'd like to see who's got any better rights than me." A siknce followed Stumpy's speech. To the credit of all humourists be it said that the first man to acknowledge its justice was the satirist thus stopped of his fun. " But," said Stumpy, quickly following up his advantage, " we're here for a christening, and we'U have it. I proclaim you Thomas Luck, according to the laws of the United Stales and che State of Californiai to The Luck of Roaring Camp, loi help me God." It was the first time that the name of the Deity had been otherwise uttered than profanely 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 ? change came over the settlement The cabin assigned to "Tommy Luck" — or "The Luck," as he was more frequently called — first showed signs of improvement. It was kept scrupulously clean and whitewashed. 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 appreciate the change, and, in self-defence, the rival establishment of "Tuttle's grocery" bestirred itself and imported a carpet and mirrors. The reflections of the latter on the appearance of Roaring Camp tended to pro- duce 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 mortification 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 of innovation that he thereafter appeared regularly every afternoon in a clean shirt and face still shining from his ablutions. Nor were moral and i' I ^(i ' i ('■' t 'SI |;P ff *-i: I02 TAg Luck of Roaring Camp. •ocial sanitary laws neglected. " Tommy," who was sup- posed 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 pre- cincts, and throughout the camp a popular form of exple- tive, known as " D — n the luck ! " and " Curse the luck I " was abandoned, as having a new personal bearing. Vocal music was not interdicted, being supposed to have a sooth- ing, tranquillising quality, and one song, sung by " Man-o'- War Jack," an English sailor from her Majesty's Australian colonies, was quite popular as a lullaby. It was a lugubri- ous 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-oo-o-ard of the Arethusa." It was a fine sight to see Jack holding The Luck, rocking from side to side as if with the motion of a ship, and croon- ing 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 delibe- ration 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 en his elbow, "is 'evingly." It re- minded 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 I) re- \ The Luck of Roaring Camp, 103 ditches below. Latterly there was a rude attempt to deco^ rate this bower with flowers and sweet-smelling shrubs, and generally some one would bring him a cluster of wild honey- suckles, 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 trea- sures the woods and hillsides yielded that *' would do for Tommy." Surrounded by playthings such as never child out of fairyland had before, it is to be hoped that Tommy was content He appeared to be serenely happy, albeit there was an infantine gravity about him, a contemplative light in his round grey eyes, that sometimes worried Stumpy. He was always tractable and quiet, and it is recorded that once, having crept beyond his " corr il," — a hedge of tesse- lated pine-boughs, which surrounded his bi^d, — 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 mar 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 day, in a breathless state of excitement, " and dern my skin if he wasn't a talking to a jaybird 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 to cherrybums." Howbeit, whether creep- ing over the pine-boughs or lying lazily on his back blinking r Km via M W^ a m m 104 TAe Luck of Roaring Camp. 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 sunlight that fell just within his grasp; she would send wandering breezes to visit him with the balm of bay and resinous gum ; to him the tall redwoods 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. The claims had yielded enormously. The camp was jealous of its privileges and looked suspiciously on strangers. No encouragement was given to immigration, and, to make their seclusion more perfect, the land on either side of the mountain wall that surrounded the camp they duly pre-empted. This, and a reputation for singular proficiency with the revolver, kept the reserve of Roaring Camp invio- late. The expressman — their only connecting link with the surrounding world — sometimes told wonderful stories of the camp. He would say, " They've a street up there in 'Roaring' 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 following 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 The Ltick of Roaring Camp, 105 into effect for three months, and the minority meekly yielded in the hope that something might turn up to pre< vent it And it did. The winter of 185 1 will long be remembered in the foot- hills. The snow lay deep on the Sierras, and every moun- tain creek became a river, and every river a lake. Each gorge and gulch was transformed into a tumultuous water- course that descended the hillsides, 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 forewarned. "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, crashing tree? and crackling timber, and the darkness which seemed to flow with the water and blot out the fair valley, but little could be done to collect the scattered camp. When the morning brok^, 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 Roaring 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, m I..; i Li $ io6 The Luck of Rouring Camp, and you are dying too." A smile lit the eyes of the expir- ing 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 drown- ing man is said to cling to a straw, drifted away into the shadowy river that flows forever to the unknown sea. \ 5t ' ; ; COe dDutca0t0 of ptAtx jTIat As Mr. John Oakhurst, gambler, stepped into the main street of Poker Flat on the morning of the 23d of Noveii>- ber 1850, he was conscious of a change in its moral atmo- sphere 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. 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 conjecture. In pc'at 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 I i< «i 1 08 The Outcasts of Poker Flat, lycamore 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 in- cluded in this category. A few of the committee had urged hanging him as a possible example and a sure method of reimbursing themselves from his pockets of the sums he had won from them. " It's agin justice," said Jim Wheeler, "to let 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 calmness, none the less coolly that he was aware of the hesitation of his judges. He was too much of a gambler not to accept fate. With him life was at best an uncertain game, and he recognised the usual percentage in favour of the dealer. A body 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 Duchess;" another who had won the title of "Mother Shipton;" and "Uncle Billy," a suspected sluice-robber and con- firmed 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 The Outcasts of Poker Flat, 109 a 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 yent 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 liscened calmly to Mother Shipton's desire to cut somebody's heart out, to the repeated statements of the Duchess that she would die in the road, and lu 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, and 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 — 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 side& by precipitous cliffs of naked granite, sloped gently toward the crest of another precipice that overlooked the valley. It was, undoubtedly, the most suitable spot for a camp, had ■ u %\ i m |:;il no Th€ Outcasts of Poker Flat, % •'1 , I'i ■ '■ \< ill camping been advisable. But Mr. Oakhurst knew that icarcely 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. Oak- hurst 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 pre- sence of mind, and, in his own language, he "couldn't afford it." As he gazed at his recumbent fellow-exiles, ihe 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 his annoy- ance. The thought of deserting his weaker and m? '•e pitiable companions never perhaps occurred to him. Yet he could not help feeling the want of that excitement which, singularly enough, was most conducive to that calm equanimity for which he was notorious. 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 tne fresh, The Outcasts of Poker Flat. Ill open face of the newcomer Mr. Oakhurst recognised 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 th>j entire fortune — amounting to some forty dollars — of that guileless youth. Afler the game was finished, Mr. Oakhurst drew the youthful 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 enthusiastic 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? 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, 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 recognise in Mr. Oakhurst's kick a superior power that would not bear trifling. He then endeavoured to dissuade m V ) ' If \\:n j'lllll m m i. \\ i:: 'f-'i 112 The Outcasts of Poker Flat. ■t 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 loghouse 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 lotire up the cafion 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 conversation. 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 relaxing into amiability. " Is this yer a d — d picnic ? " 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 nature, for he felt impelled to slap his leg again and cram his fist into his mouth. As the shadows crept slowly up the mountain, a slight 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 The Outcasts of Poker Flat, 113 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 tire, 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 dis- appearing 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 snowflakes 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 with care and prudence they might last ten days longer "That :s," said Mr. Oakhurst, solto voce to the ni't lilt'' I'll 1 i t ii 114 The Outcasts of Poker Flat. % ! ' 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 provr^ions." For some occult reason, Mr. Oakhurst could not bring himself to disclose Uncle Billy's rascality, and so offered the hypothesis that he had wan- dered from the camp and had 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 snow'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, extemporised 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. Tl.^e Duchess turned away sharply to conceal something that reddened her cheeks through their 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 whisky, which he had prudently cacMd. "And yet it don't somehow sound like whisky," 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 fun." The Outcasts of Poker Flat, "5 Whether Mr. Oakhurst had cachid his cards with t^.e whisky 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 manipulation of this instrument, Piney Woods managed to pluck several reluctant melodies from its keys, to an accom- paniment by the Innocent on a pair of bone castanets. 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 swii.j, 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 heavenward, 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 to live on the smallest possible amount of sleep, in dividing the watch with Tom Simson 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 1 " 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, I** 'I ■A i I I 'it. im I itHi I t 1 / 1 1 6 The Outcasts of Poker Flat. ft ! ■f:l 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 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 hope- less, uncharted, trackless sea of white lying below the rocky shores to which the castaways still clung. Through the marvellously 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 direction 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 Lo 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 The Outcasts of Poker Flat. 117 [edy land 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 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 tha«: night the Homeric demigods again walked the earth. Trojan bully and wily Greek wrestled in the winds, and the great pines v the canon seemed to bow to the wrath of the son of Peleus. Mr. Oakhurst listened with quiet satisfaction. Most especially was he interested in the fate of " Ash-heels," as the Innocent per^ sisted in denominating the "swift-footed Achilles." So, with small food and much of Homer and the accor dion, a week passed over the heads of the outcasts. The sun again forsook them, and again from leaden skies the snowflakes 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 dazzling 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 himself coolly to the losing game before him. The Duchess, more cheerful than she had been, assumed the care of Piney. Only Mother Ship- ton— once the strongest of the party — seemed to sicken % 1" vt 1 18 The Outcasts of Poker Flat, I- ■( i\ • i\\ •'I I and fade. At midnight on 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," 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 he 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 V The Outcasts of Poker Flat, 119 into each other's faces, they read their fate. Neither spoke, but Piney, accepting the position of the stronger, drew near and placed her ?.rm around the Duchess's -vaist. They kept this attitude for the rest of the day. That night the storm reached itr greatest fury, and, rending asunder the protecting 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, dear," said Piney, sirnply. The Duchess, without knowing exactly why, felt relieved, and, put- ting h^r head upon Piney's shoulder, spoke no more. And so reclining, the younger and purer pillowing the head of her soiled sister upon 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 recognised 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 ;i i m 4 •ill ';i I in.:. If ill hM .^1 I20 The Outcasts of Poker Flat. I a bowie-knife. It bore the following, written in pencil in a firm hand : — t BENEATH THIS TREE LIES THE BODY OP JOHN OAKHURST, WHO STRUCK A STREAK OP BAD LUCK ON THE 23D OF NOVEMBER 1850, AND HANDED IN HIS CHECKS ON THE 7TH DECEMBER 1850. 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 thf weakest of the outcasts of Poker Flat u ( "I ) pi We 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 Ibe dash of rain upon the roof. Suddenly the stage stopped and we became dimly aware of voices. The driver was evidently in the midst of an excit- ing 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. iiii" M!;1 II i I ill "I'll J, jrU, i h I' 1 122 Higgles, \k\ \\ ' Who and where was Miggles ? The Judge, our authority, did not remember the name, and he knew the country thoroughly. The Washoe traveller thought Miggles must keep a hotel. We only knew that we were stopped by high water in front and rear, and that Miggles was our rock of refuge. A ten minutes' splashing through a tangled byroad, scarcely wide enougli 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 Miggles's, and evidently MiggleL did not keep a hotel. The driver got down and tried the gate. It was securely locked. "Miggles! O Miggles 1" No answer. " Mi^^-g-ells ! You Miggles ! " continued the driver, with rising wrath. " Migglesy I " joined in the expressman persuasively. "OMiggy ! Mig!" But no reply came from the apparently insensate Miggles. 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 a.id sing out for Miggles." So we rose up and called on Miggles in chorus, then separately. And when we had finished, a Hibernian fellow- passenger from the roof called for " Maygells I " whereat we all laughed. While we were laughing the driver cried "Shoo!" We listened. To our infinite amazement the chorus of " Miggles " was repeated from the other side of the wall, even to the final and supplemental " Maygells." " Extraordinary echo ! " said the Judge. Higgles. 133 " Extraordinary d — d skunk ! " roared the driver, con- temptuously. " Come out of that, Miggles, and show yourself ! Be a man, Miggles 1 Dun't hide in the dark ; I wouldn't if I were you, Miggles," continued Yuba Bill, now dancing about in an excess of fury. " Miggles 1 " continued the voice, " O Miggles ! " " My good man 1 Mr. Myghail ! " said the Judge, soften- ing the asperities of the name as much as ptjssible. " Con- sider the inhospitality of refusing shelter from the incle- mency of the weather to helpless females. Really, my dear sir ' But a succession of " Miggles," 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 rose-bushes that scattered over us a minute spray from their dripping leaves — and before a long, rambling wooden building. " Do you know this Miggles ? " 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 bv the con- tumacious Miggles. " 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 ? 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 farther extremity j the walls curiously papered, and the flickering firelight bringing A i !|fl w % 124 Miggles» out its grotesque pattern ; 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 expressman. " Hello ! be you Miggles ? " said Yuba Bill to the solitary occupant. The figure neither spoke nor stirred. Yuba Bill walked wrathfuUy toward it and turned the eye of his coach lantern 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 venerable stranger apparently collapsed, sinking into half his size and an undistinguishable heap of clothing. " Well, dern my skin," said Bill, looking apnealingly at us, and hopelessly retiring from the contest. Tl^e Judge now stepped forward, and we lifted the myste.l^QS 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 Miggles. 125 abatement of his mental and physical faculties. Whether he is really the Miggles " Here he was interrupted by " Miggles ! O Miggles I Migglesy I Mig I" 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, as 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 imme< diately relapsed into a sepulchral silence, which contrasted singularly with his previous volubility. It was, undoubtedly, his voice which we 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, iivas 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 sheesicks 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 cf dark eyes, and an utter absence of ceremony or diffi- dence, a young woman entered, shut the door, and, pant- ing, leaned back against it. " Oh, if you please, I'm Miggles !" 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, 'iiij '1 'it, I t' l! '.ti -^'s 126 Miggles, »ii If 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, offhand manner imaginable. "You see, boys," said she, quite out of breath, and holding one little hand against her side, quite unheeding the speechless discomfiture of our party or the complete demoralisation of Yuba Bill, whose features had relaxed into an expression of gratuitous and imbecile cheerfulness, — " You see, boys, ' was mor'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'm out of breath — and — that lets me out." And here Miggles caught her dripping oil-skin hat from her head, with a mischievous swirl that scattered a shower of raindrops 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 har-pin," said Miggles gravely. Half-a-dozen hands were eagerly stretched forward; the missing hair-pin was restored to its fair owner ; and Miggles, 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. Miggles 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 J udge. "Jim !" said Miggles, "Your father?" "Nol" "Brother?" •Vltggles, 127 again, black «* 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 Miggles, and said, gravely, ' No ; it's Jim ! " There was an awkward pause. The lady passengers moved closer to each other ; the Washoe husband looked abstractedly at the fire, and the tall man apparently turned his eyes inward for self-support at this emergency. But Miggles'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 get tea ? " She had no lack of volunteers. In a few moments Yuba Bill was engaged like Caliban in bearing logs for this Mir- anda ; the expressman was grinding coffee on the veranda ; *o myself the arduous duty of slicing bacon was assigned ; and the Judge lent each man his good-humoured and voluble counsel. And when Miggles, assisted by the Judge and our Hibernian " deck-passenger," set the table with all the available 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 comer, 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 feminine taste and discrimination. The furniture was extemporised 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. :» 1] illjj I m lilt m T Mil t| m m ill*) i [y-\ 128 Miggles. t 3 The meal was a culinary success. But more, it was a social triumph, — chiefly, I think, owing to the rare tact oi 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 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 Miggles — 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 Miggles, 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 hi 'seii on his haunches, with his fore-paws hanging down in the popular attitude of mendicancy, and looked admiringly at Miggles, with a very singular resemblance in his manner to Yuba Bill. ** That's my watch-dog," said Miggles, in explanation. " Oh, he don't bite," she added, as the two lady-passengers flut- tered into a corner. " Does he, old Toppy ? " (the latter remark being addressed directly to the sagacious Joaquin). " I tell you what, boys," continued Miggles, 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 Miggles. " Lord love you ! he trots round with me nights like as if he was a man." Higgles. 129 our ^efore osed his pular gles, Bill. Oh, flut- atter uin). had nbig pped With with We were silent for a few moments, and listened to the wind. Perhaps we all had tt same picture before us, — of Miggles 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 Miggles received it, as she did other compliments, with quiet gravity. Whether she was altogether unconscious of the admiration she excited, — she could hardly have been oblivious of Yuba Bill's ador- ation, — I know not J but her very frankness suggested a perfect sexual equality that was cruelly humiliating to the younger members of our party. The incident of the bear did not add anything in Miggles's favour to the opinions of those of her own sex who were present. In fact, the repast over, a chillness 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. Miggles felt it ; and sud- denly declaring that it was time to "turn in," o.^ered 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 Miggles than we crowded together, whispering, snickering, 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 Memnon 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 Miggles re-entered. iili' i m m |t#j| m m m I 130 Higgles, I M Jii i-'tl II m] .'f ■ f 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 paralytic'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, I'll stop here to-night," took the im'alid'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 per- haps some shame at our previous curiosity, kept us silent. The rain still beat upon the roof, wandering gusts of wind stirred the embers into momentary brightness, until, in a lull of the elements, Miggles 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 spoke, 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 — "useu 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 iliy back-room, sat down on my Higgles. 131 i her. some ^— nown was nd in you n he this 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 something 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 me, — and I sold out my business and bought this yer place, because it was sort of out of the way of travel, you see, and I brought my baby here." With a woman's intuitive tact and poetry, she had, as she spoke, slowly shifted her position so as to bring the mute 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 dursn't 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 I he called Miggles's baby, Ji go away, he'd say, *Miggles, you're a trump, — (Jod bless you;' and it didn't seem so lonely after that. But the last III,: iiii. ?i if m Ir ::i;| ^ m i 132 Miggles. \ 1) r If i \ ' I i time he was here he said, as he opened the door to go, * Do you know, Miggles, your baby will grow up to be a man yet and an honour to his mother ; but not here, Miggles, not here 1 ' And I thought he went away sad, — and — and " and here Miggles's voice and head were somehow both lost completely in the shadow. "'iJie folks about here are very kind," said Miggles, 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 makes it quite sociable of evenings with her talk, and so I don't feel like as I was the only living being about the ranch. And Jim here," said Miggles, 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 Miggles, 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?" "Well, you see," said Miggles, "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 "— — **Ifs getting late," said Miggles, gravely, "and you'd Miggles, J 33 lan it ting low, of u'd better all turn in. Good-night, boysj" 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 sough i our blankets in silence; and pre- sently there was no sound in the long room but the patter- ing 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 kindly poetry to the rugged outline of Yuba Bill, half re- cUning 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. Cotfee 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 retura It was evident that she wished to avoid a formal leave- taking, and had so lefl us to depart as we had come. After we had helped the ladies into the coach, we returned to the house and solemnly shook hands with the paralytic Jim, as solemnly 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 highroad, Bill's dexterous hand m i j'tl i % ill I 'ill ■ill ! i i'' il^ 134 Higgles, laid the six horses back on their haunches, and the stage stopped with a jerk. For there, on a little eminence besido the road, stood Miggles, her hair flying, her eyes sparkling, her white handkerchief waving, and her white teeth flashing a last "good-bye." 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 Judge, solemnly taking off his white hat They were. " Well, then, here's to Miggles — God bless her f " Perhaps He had. Who knows ? \\y ( 13: > :age sido ing, ling \nd idly ;ats. artb use. and Cennej0(j8fee*0 partner* I DO not think that we ever knew his real name. Oui ignorance of it certainly never gave us any social inconveni* ence, 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 "Saieratus 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 ixian, who earned that baleful title by his unfortunate mispronunciation of the term "iron pyrites." Perhaps this may have been the beginning of a rade heraldry ; 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 newcomer with infinite scorn; "hell is full of such Cliffords I " He then introduced the unfor- tunate man, whose name happened to be really Clifford, as "Jaybird Charley," — an unhallowed inspiration of the moment that clung to him cver 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. Ue w.\i i\* 2 M 4 4 liK iiltj'l f w /ill •I i> j« 136 Tennesseis Partner. i. : II' > I ' I I i never got any farther than Stockton. At that place he was attracted by a young person who waited upon the table at the hotel where he took his meals. One morning he said something to her which caused her to smile not unkindly, to somewhat coquettishly break a plate of toast over his upturned, serious, simple face, and to retreat to the kitchen. He followed her, and emerged a few moments later, covered 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 sentiment 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 housekeeping 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 humorous apprecia- tion. In fact, he was a grave man, with a steady applica- tion 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 ;• < ■ f Tennesseis Partner. m luspected 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 con- cluded 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 Red 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 business preoccupation could wholly subdue. This exploit was his last. Red Dog and Sandy Bar made common cause against the highwaymaa Tennessee was hunted in very much the same fashion as his prototype, the grizzly. As the toils closed around him, he made a desperate dash through the Bar, emptying his revolver at the crowd before the Arcade Saloon, and so on up Grizzly Cation ; but at its farther extremity he was stopped by a small man on a grey horse. The men looked at each other a moment in silence. Both were fearless, both self-pos- sessed and independent, and both types of a civilisation that in the seventeenth 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 hif captor. III) 4 i ►ii'S 11! ,1: ( 1 Ifei ■38 Tennessee s Partner, \\ It was a warm night The cool breeze which usually sprang up with the going down of the sun behind the thaparral-cxtsiQd mountain was that evening withheld from Sandy Bar. The little cafion was stifling with heated resinous odours, and the decaying driflwood on the Bar sent forth faint sickening exhalations. The feverishness of day and its fierce passions still filled the camp. Lights moved restlessly along the bank of the river, striking no answering reflection from its tawny current. Against the blackness of 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 pas- sionless stars. The trial of Tennessee was conducted as fairly as was consistent with a judge and jury who felt themselves to some extent obliged to justify, in their verdict, the previous irregularities of arrest and indictment. The law of Sandy Bar was implacable but not vengeful. The excitement and personal feeling of the chase were over j with Tennessee safe in their hands, they were ready to listen patiently to any defence, which they were already satisfied was insuffi- cient. 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 invari- able but good-humoured reply to all questions. The Judge f Tennessee* s Partner. '39 — 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 Tennessee'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 becoming irksomely thought- ful, hailed him as a relief. For he was not, certainly, an imposing figure. Short and stout, with a square face, sunburned into a preternatural redness, clad in a loose duck "jumper" and trousers streaked 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 h.avy carpet-bag he was carrying, it became obvious, from partially developed legends and inscriptions, that the material with which his trousers had been patched had been originally in- tended for a less ambitious covering. Yet he advanced with great gravUy, and after shaking the hand of each person in the room with laboured cordiality, he wiped his serious per- plexed face on a red bandanna handkerchief, 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 mop^ d his face diligently. " Have you anything to say on behalf of the prisoner," said the Judge finally. "1 ii!; I'll 'I \ m y iiiii i II It '1 140 Tennessee s Partner, " That'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 aller my ways, but thar ain't any p'ints in that young man, thar ain't anv 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 ? ' " " lb this all you have to say ? " asked the Judge impa- tiently, feeling, perhaps, that a dangerous sympathy of humour was beginning to humanise the court. "Thet's so," contini ;d 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 ? " " No ! no ! " continued Tennessee's Partner hastily. " I 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? Some would say more, some would say less. Here's seventeen hundred dollar? in coarse gold and a watch, — it's about all my pile, — and tall it square ! " And before a hand could be raised to prevent him, he had emptied the contents of the carpet-bag upon the table. Tennessee s Partner. 141 "I -rock, rough I camp, more, I'larj* in id tall revent upon For a moment his life was in jeopardy. One or two men sprang to their feet, several hands groped for hidden weapons, and a suggestion to "throw him from the window " was only overridden by a gesture from the Judge. Tennessee laughed. And apparently oblivious of the ex- citement, Tennessee's Partner improved the opportunity to mop his face again with his handkerchief. When order was restored, and the man was made to 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 hi? rough hand trembled slightly 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 tribunal, 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 my 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 I '* 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 add- mg 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; and at the m m iiH 1)11 111 ■■I 142 Tennessee* s Partner, [■r. I" ^: i' ' ? ^ 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 reflsed 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 evildoers, in the Red Dog Clarion by its editor, who was present, and to whose 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 reported, as not being a part of the social lesson. And yet, when the weak and foolish deed was done, and 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 j 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, atten- tion was drawn to the singular appearance of a motionless donkey-cart halted at the side of the road. As they approached, 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, sitting 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; and when the gentlemen were done with the "diseased," he would take him. " £f thar is any present," he added, in f;i meet it 1 to say le com- a warn- he Red 3 whose But the mity of 3 woods ire, and h each, i lesson. 3, and a passed irth and lone, as 'ion was ounded atten- ionless they ls n enny Hessee's ; and limself, n from le had e same mng;" and d," he led. in Tennessee*s Partner, H3 his simple, serious way, "as 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 '^he 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 the 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 frag -ant with buckeye-blossoms. When the body war 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 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 pre- sent 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 coLtent with the enjoy- ment of his own fun. The way led through Grizzly Caiion, by this time clothed in funereal drapery and shadows. The redwoods, burying their moccasined 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, 111 ' f nil.; ■\\ \v- ll 1 m ^ 144 Tennesssee^s Partner v^i 'I ■ '^ i ■ ■ i 1 n ':^f: ■ ' . . i ' i ■ : , surprised into helpless inactivity, sat upright and pulsating in the ferns by the roadside as the cor/igg yient by. Squirrels hastened to gain a secure outlook from higher boughs ; and the blue-jays, spreading their wing», fluttered before them like outriders, until the outskirts ol:' 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 fern. As we approached it, we were surprised to find that what we had taken fo/ 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 cofHn on his back, and deposited it unaided 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 prelimi- nary 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 ? Why, to come home. And if he ain't in a condi- tion 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 Tennessee* s Partner, 145 "has }r him Icondi- bring free, bused itfuUy 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 speak and didn't know me. And now that it's the last time, why " — he paused and rubbed the quartz gently on his sleeve — "you see it's sort of rough on his pardner. And now, gentlemen," he added abruptly, picking up h*s 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 c/ossed the little ridge that hid Sandy Bar from view, some, looking back, thought they could see Tennessee's Partner, his work done, 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 from his handkerchief at that distance, 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 Tennes- see'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 his 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 swaying in the storm and trailing their slender fingers over the roof, I I, lit] ' i * lili A\ 146 Tennessee s Partner, and the roar and rush of the swollen river were heard 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 I told you so ! — thar he is, — coming this way, too, — all by him- self, sober, and his face a-shining. Tennessee.' Pardnerl* And so they met. m ( 147 ) jelow, aying, in the jr the ed his ly, old dlook ;n he's lep on I told y him- ner I* Cfje Pgl of EeO (S\xU% Sandy 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 uncon- sidered. A tranquil philosophy, born of his physical con- dition, suffused 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 whisky, — 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 unfair- ness 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 in* 11^ .jji iilN I if I'll, i] 14$ The Idyl of Red Gulch. . '. '1: genious 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 hoofs 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 was disturbed, as other philosophers have been, by the intrusion of an unphilosophical sex. " Miss Mary," as she was known to the little flock that she had just dismissed from the log schoolhouse beyond the pines, was taking her afternoon walk. Observing an unusually 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 headboard, and muttered "Beasts !" — an epithet which pro^bably, 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 Californian has been so justly celebrated by bis brother Califomians, and had, as a newcomer, perhaps fairly earned the reputation of being " stuck up." The Idyl of Red Gulch. 149 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 uselessly 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, and that Sandy was sitting up and saying something. The truth was, that in the calm depths of Sandy's mind 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 peop'" but condemned fools, past redemption, ever wore hats ; and that his right to dispense with them when he pleased was inalienable. This was the statement of his inner consciousness. Unfor- tunately, its outward expression was vague, being limited to a repetition of the following formula : — " Su'shine all ri' 1 Wasser maar, eh ? Wass up, su'shine ? " Miss Mary stopped, and, taking fresh courage from her vantage of distance, asked him if there was anything that he wanted. "Wass up? Wasser maar?" 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 hii ''I if A liiiij i 1 jfl; I I ■ I 'I '1,!' III 11 m\ % I50 The Idyl of Red Gulch. Ii>. w % I: ), coat and vest, threw them on the ground, kicked off hia boots, and, plunging wildly forward, darted headlong over the hill in the direction of the river. *' Goodness Heavens I the man will be drowned 1 " said Miss Mary j and then, with feminine inconsistency, she ran back to the schoolhouse and locked herself in. That night, while seated at supper with her hostess, the blacksmith's wife, it came to Miss Mary to ask, demurely, if her husband ever got drunk. " Abner," responded Mrs. Stidgcr reflectively, " let's see ! Abner hasn't been tight since last 'lection." Miss Mary would have liked to ask if he 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 g'"cy 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 that could make the women tolerable." In less than a week Miss Mary had forgotten this episode, except that her afternoon walks took thereafter, almost unconsciously, another direction. She noticed, how- ever, 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 laughter, that threatened the discipline of the off his ig over 1" said she ran ess, the murely, ed Mrs. ;n tight to ask if md if a id have care to r*^v j eyes pccimen sed the dearest portion fer, my ling that T/ie Idyl of Red Gulch. 151 •chool. All that Miss Mary cuuld get from him was, that some one had been " 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 schoolhouse she came plump upon the quondaYn drunkard, now per- fectly 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, ? kind of blonde Samson, whose corn-coloured silken beard apparently had never yet known the touch of barber's razor 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 witii supercilious eyelids and the gathered skirts of uncontamination. When she re-entered the schoolroom, her eyes fell upon the azaleas with a new sense of revela- tion ; 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 compas- sionately 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 spite- fully 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 the speech, and thanked him so sweetly at the door that he stumbled. Which caused the children to laugh again, — a laugh in which Miss Maiy !'• I'! lit ii Jll i m 152 The Idyl of Red Gulch. ; IfiL i 1^1 : 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, afterward threw a decanter at the head of a confederate for mention- ing her name in a bar-room. The over-dressed mother of a pupil whose paternity was doubtful had often lingered near this astute Vestal's temple, never daring to enter its sacred precincts, but content to worship the priestess from afar. With such unconscious intervals the monotonous proces- sion 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 frequent 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 picnic on Buckeye Hill, and took the children with her. Away from the dusty road, *he straggling shanties, the yellow ditches, the clamour of rest- less engines, the cheap finery of shop-windows, the deeper glitter of paint and coloured glass, and the thin veneerii^ which barbarism takes upon itself in such localities, what infinite relief was theirs I The last heap of ragged rock and t ; The Idyl of Red Gulch, 153 clay passed, the last unsightly chasm crossed, — how the waiting woods oi)cned their long files to receive them I How the children — perhaps because they had not yet grown quite away from the breast of the bount' ous 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 in- trenched as she was in the purity of spotless skirts, collar, and cuflfs — forgot all, and ran like a crested quail at the head of her bruod, 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 I The explanations, apologies, and not overwise conversa- tion that ensued need not be indicated here. It would seem, however, that Miss Mary had already established some acquaintance with this ex- drunkard. Enough that he was soon -accepted as one of the party \ that the children, with that quick intelligence which Providencv-i gives the helpless, recognised a friend, and played with his blonde beard and long silken mustaclx, and took other liberties, —as the helpless are apt to do. And when he had bu*' a fire against a tree, and had shown them other mysteries 01 woodcraft, their admiration knew no bounds. At the close of two such foolish, idle, happy hours he found himself lying at the feet of the schoolmistress, ga2i*. g dreamily in her face as she sat upon the sloping hillside weaving wreaths of laurel and syringa, in very much the same attitude as he had lain when first they met. Nor was the similitude greatly forced. The weakness of an easy, sensuou.:. nature, that had found a dreamy exaltation in liquor, it is to be feared was now finding an equal intoxica* tion in love. III III h I' M I P', i 'I, ijl'l 'i 154 The Idyl of Red Gulch. W h 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, grey-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 Adolphus, who rescues, will forgive the omission. So they sat there undisturbed, — the woodpeckers chat- tering 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 inter* esting — did not transpire. The woodpeckers only learned how Miss Mary was an orphan ; how she left her uncle's house to come to California for the sake of health and independence; how Sandy was an orphan too; how he came to California for excitement ; 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 understood, 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, and lot a season, at least. Red Gulch would know her no more. She was seated alone in the schoolhouse, her cheek resting on n\ The Idyl of Red Gulch, 155 her hand, her eyes half closed in one of those day-dreams in which Miss Mary, I fear, to the danger of school dis- cipline, was lately in the habit of indulging. Her lap was full of mosses, ferns, and other woodland memories. She was so preoccupied 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 disapi)ointed, per- haps she was only fastidious ; but as she coldly invited hei to enter, she half-unconsciously settled her white cuffs and collar, and gathered closer her own chaste skirts. It was, 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 — " I heerd tell that you were goin' 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 embarrassment, to drag the long bench nearer the school- mistress. " 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.' " 1 "(1 ii 111 III A ill ■I*.: !iti.; m % % V l-i ( I / \ 1:1 1 56 The Idyl of Red Gulch. 1 1 1 1 tl 1 1: ) l' ] , 1 111 ■ 4 15'" s I. Miss Mary, sitting primly behind her desk, with a nilef over her shoulder, opened her grey eyes widely at this, but said nothing. " It ain't for you to be complimented by the like of me, I 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 downward, between her knees, she went on, in a low voice — " YoiJ see, miss, there's i. o 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 oh ! 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 that he 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 n: a ruler his, but of me, e to be :ome to for the ss's eye, fingers I a low :laim on I up. I Frisco to olma'am t was all ^nd oh ! ear him ask you ice that — "it's father, |the boy goin' to ommy, lives, — in her *ut him |m, and n what The Idyl of Red Gulch. 157 yon 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 ? 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 bey ? 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 ! " 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 Red Gulch. In the twi- light 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 ro»e to her feet ii' ,4 -I'll m «58 The Idyl of Red Gulch, t ' 1 11 .[■ i,: ■■■¥. 'i ^ 1 ■4 k ■ "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 pas- sengers. As he entered the highroad, in obedience to a pleasant voice from the " inside," he suddenly reined up his horses and respectfully waited, as " Tommy " hopped out at the command of Miss Mary. " Not that bush. Tommy, — the next" Tommy whipped out his new pocket-knife, and cutting a 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. ' asked child to ( '59 > im what and tell V^herever ke it, he lary, and ihold the ut at the s, caught )ne brief ility that )tage the his pas- nce to a ;d up his ;d out at cutting to Miss ilch. TBtoton of CalaDetaiflf* A SUBDUED tone of conversation, and the absence of cigar- smoke and boot-heels at the windows of the Wingdam stage-coach, made it evident that one of the inside pas- sengers was a woman. A disposition on the part of loungers at the stations to congregate before the window, and some concern in regard to the appearance of coat? hats, and collars, further indicated that she was lovely. All of which Mr. Jack Hamlin, on the box-seat, noted with the smile of cynical philosophy. Not that he depreciated the sex, but that he recognised therein a deceitful element, the pursuit of which sometimes drew mankind away from the equally uncertain blandishments of poker,— of which it may be remarked that Mr. Hamlin was a professional exponent. So that, when he placed his narrow boot on the wheel and leaped down, he did not even glance at the window from which a green veil was fluttering, but lounged up and down with that listless and grave indi£ference of his class, which was, perhaps, the next thing to good-breeding. With his closely-buttoned figure and self-contained air he was a marked contrast to the other passengers, with their feverish restlessness and boisterous emotion; and even Bill Masters, a graduate of Harvard, with his slovenly dress, his over- flowing vitality, his intense appreciation of lawlessness and barbarism, and his mouth filled with crackers and cheesy IIP I' 4 H '■ii i .(£ ■.■A :«' ; M 1! i6o Brotmi of Calaveras. k^ I fear cut but an unromantic figure beside this lonely calcu- lator of chances, with his pale Greek face and Homeric gravity. The driver called " All aboard ! " and Mr. Hamlin returned to the coach. His foot was upon the wheel, and his face raised to the level of the open window, when, at the same moment, what appeared to him to be the finest eyes in the world suddenly met his. He jdietly dropped down again, addressed a few words to one of the inside passengers, effected an exchange of seats, and as quietly took his place inside. Mr. Hamlin never allowed his philosophy to interfere with decisive and prompt action. I fear that this irruption of Jack cast some restraint upon the other passengers, particularly those who were making themselves most agreeable to the lady. One of them leaned forward, and apparently conveyed to her information regarding Mr. Hamlin's profession in a single epithet. Whether Mr. Hamlin heard it, or whether he recognised in the informant a distinguished jurist, from whom, but a few evenings before, he had won several thousand dollars, I cannot say. His colourless face betrayed no sign ; his black eyes, quietly observant, glanced indiffer- ently past the legal gentleman, and rested on the much more pleasing features of his neighbour. An Indian stoicism — said to be an inheritance from his maternal ancestor — stood him in good service, until the rolling wheels rattled upon the river gravel at Scott's Ferry, and the stage drew up at the International Hotel for dinner. The legal gentle- man and a member of Congress leaped out, and stood ready to assitt the descending goddess, while Colonel Starbottle of Siskiyou took charge of her parasol and shawL In this multiplicity of attention there was a momen- tary confusion and delay. Jack Hamlin quietly opened tlie opposite door of the coach, took the lady's hand, with Brown of Calaveras, i6i \f calr.u- lomevic Hamlin eel, and jvhen, at le finest dropped le inside 5 quietly (wed his :tion. restraint ho were One of I to her 1 a single lether he fist, from several betrayed indiffer- ;he much stoicism icestor — :1s rattled :age drew :al gentle- |nd stood Colonel lasol £ind momen- opened id, with that decision and positiveness which a hesitating and unde- cided sex know how to admire, and in an instant had dexterously and gracefully swung her to the ground and again lifted her to the platform. An audible chuckle on the box, I fear, came from that other cynic, " Yuba Bill," the driver. " I^ook keerfully arter that baggage, Kernel," said the expressman, with affected concern, as he looked after Colonel Starbottle, gloomily bringing up the rear of the triumphant procession to the waiting-room. Mr. Hamlin did not stay for dinner. His horse was aheady saddled and awaiting him. He dashed over the ford, up the gravelly hill, and out into the dusty perspective of the Wingdam road, like one leaving an unpleasant fancy behind him. The inmates of dusty cabins by the roadside shaded their eyes with their hands and looked after him, recognising the man by his horse, and speculating what "was up with Comanche Jack." Yet much of this ir lost centred in the horse, m a community where the time n, ide by ''French Pete's" mare, in his run from the Sheriff if Calaveras, eclipsed all concern in the ultimate fate of that worthy. The sweating flanks of his grey at length recalled him to himself. He checked his speed, and turning into a by- road, sometimes used as a cut-off, trotted leisurely along, the reins hanging listlessly from his fingers. As he rode on, the chr,racter of the landscape changed and became more pastoral. Openings in groves of pine and sycamore disclosed some rude attempts at cultivation, — a flowering vine trailed over the porch of one cabin, and a woman rocked her cradled babe under the roses of another. A little farther on Mr. Hamlin came upon some barelegged children wading in the willowy creek, and so wrought upon them with a badinage peculiar to himself, that they were emboldened to climb up his horse's legs and over his saddle, L j.'i; ifi. "1: i 11 I62 Brown of Calaveras. I i «: r 1 \ r ■:i! I 'I i until he was fain to develop an exaggerated ferocity of demeanour, and to escape, leaving behind some kisses and coin. And then, advancing deeper into the woods, where all signs of habitation failed, he began to sing, uplifting a tenor so singularly sweet, and shaded by a pathos so subdued and tender, that I wot the robins and linnets stopped to listen. Mr. Hamlin's voice was not cultivated ; the subject of his song was some sentimental lunacy, borrowed from the negro minstrels ; but there thrilled through all some occult quality of tone and expression that was unspeakably touching. Indeed, it was a wonder- ful sight to see this sentimental blackleg, with a pack of cards in his pocket and a revolver at his back, sending his voice before him through the dim woods with a plaint about his " Nelly's grave," in a way that overflowed the eyes of the listener. A sparrow-hawk, fresh from his sixth victim, possibly recognising in Mr. Hamlin a kindred spirit, stared at him in surprise, and was fain to confess the superiority of man. With a superior predatory capacity, he couldn't sing. But Mr. Hamlin presently found himself again on the highroad and at his former pace. Ditch ss and banks of gravel, denuded hillsides, stumps, and decayed trunks of trees, took the place of woodland and ravine, and indicated his approach to civilisation. Then a church-steeple came in sight, and he knew that he had reached home. In a few moments he was clattering down the single narrow street that lost itself in a chaotic ruin of races, ditches, and tail- ings at the foot of the hill, and dismounted before the gilded windows of the "Magnolia" saloon. Passing through the long bar-room, he pushed open a green-baize door, entered a dark passage, opened another door with a pass-key, and found himself in a dimly-lighted room, whose furniture, though elegant and costly for the locality, showed 11; Brown of Calaveras. 163 city of ses and I, where iplifting thos so linnets ttivated j lunacy, thrilled :pression wonder- pack of iding his a plaint [)wed the his sixth red spirit, nfess the capacity, in on the banks of Itrunks of indicated ^ple came In a few ow street L and tail- lefore the Passing •een-baize lor with a i, whose ', showed ligns of abuse. The inlaid centre-tr\ble was overlaid with stained disks that were not conte. Mated in the original design, the embroidered arm-cl^?>is were discoloured, and the green velvet lounge, on which Mr. Hamlin threw himself, was soiled at the foot with the red soil of Wingdam. Mr. Hamlin did not sing in his cage. He lay still, look- ing at a highly-coloured painting above him, representing a young creature of opulent charms. It occurred to him then, for the first time, that he had never seen exactly that kind of a wr .xc and that, if he should, he would not* probably, fall m ■ ve with her. Perhaps he was thinking of another s v. of jeauty. But just then some one knocked at the doc. ^v^ithout rising, he pulled a cord that appa- rently shot back a bolt, for the door swung open and a man enteiK tl The newcomer was broad-shouldered and robust, — a vigour not borne out in the face, which, though handsome, was singularly weak and disfigured by dissipation. He appeared to be also under the influence of liquor, for he started on seeing Mr. Hamlin, and said, " I thought Kate was here ; " stammered, and seemed confused and embar- rassed. Mr. Hamlin smiled the smile which he had before worn on the Wingdam coach, and sat up, quite refreshed and ready for business. " You didn't come up on the stage," continued the new- comer, " did you ? " "No," replied Hamlin; "I left it at Scott's Ferry. It isn't due for half an hour yet But how's luck. Brown ? " " D— d bad," said Brown, his face suddenly assuming an expression of weak despaur. "I'm cleaned out again, Jack," he continued, in a whining tone, that formed a pitiable contrast to his bulky figure ; " can't you help me iM I 1 li m ^ i . i6d Brown of Calaveras, i' H.. \} : 1 i ^' '' : \ i - J. with a hundred till to-morrow''» clean-up ? You see I've got to send money home to the old woman, and — you've won twenty times that amount from me." The conclusion was, perhaps, not entirely logical, but Jack overlooked it, and handed the sum to his visitor. ** The old woman business is about played out, Brown," he added, by way of commentary ; " why don't you say you want to buck agin' faro ? You know you ain't married ! " " Fact, sir," said Brown, with a sudden gravity, as if the mere contact of the gold with the palm of the hand had imparted some dignity to his frame. " I've got a wife — a d d good one, too, if I do say it — in the States. It's three year since I've seen her, and a year since I've writ to her. When things is about straight, and we get down to the lead, I'm going to send for her." "And Kate?" queried Mr. Hamlin, with his previous smile. Mr. Brown of Calaveras essayed an archness of glance to cover his confusion, which his weak face and whisky- muddled intellect but poorly carried out, and said — " D n it, Jack, a man must have a little liberty, you know. But come, what do you say to a little game ? Give us a show to double this hundred." Jack Hamlin looked curiously at his fatuous friend. Perhaps he knew that the man was predestined to lose the money, and preferred that it should flow back into his own coffers rather than any other. He nodded his head and drew his chair toward the table. At the same moment there came a rap upon the door. *• It's Kate," said Mr. Brown. Mr. Hamlin shot back the bolt and the door opened. But, for the first time in his life, he staggered to his feet utterly unnerved and abashed, and for the first time in his life the hot blood crimsoned his colourless cheeks to his 1 : , . f ['ve gol ve won :al, but visitor, wn," he say you ied!" as if the and had . wife — a tes. It's 'c writ to down to previous of glance i whisky- )erty, you ? Give IS friend. lose the his own head and moment opened. his feet (me in his Iks to his Brown of Calaveras. 165 forehead. For before him stood the lady he had lifted from the Wingdam coach, whom Brown, dropping his cards wich a hysterical laugh, greeted as — " My old woman, by thunder ! " They say that Mrs. Brown burst into tears and re- proaches of her husband. I saw her in 1857 at Marysville, and disbelieve the story. And tne Wingdam Chronicle of the next week, under the head of "Touching Reunion," said: "One of those beautiful and touching incidents, peculiar to California life, occurred last week in our city. The wife of one of Wingdam's eminent pioneers, tired of the effete civilisation of the East and its inhospitable climate, resolved to join her noble husband upon these golden shores. Without informing him of her intention, she undertook the long journey, and arrived last week. The joy of the husband may be easier imagined than de- scribed. The meeting is said to have been indescribably affecting. We trust her example may be followed." Whether owing to Mrs. Brown's influence, or to some more successful speculations, Mr. Brown's financial fortune from that day steadily improved. He bought out his partners in the " Nip and Tuck " lead, with money which was said to have been won at poker a week or two after his wife's arrival, but which rumour, adopting Mrs. Brown's theory that Brown had forsworn the gaming-table, declared to have been furnished by Mr. Jack Hamlin. He built and fur- nished the " Wingdam House," which pretty Mrs. Brown's great popularity kept overflowing with guests. He was elected to the Assembly, and gave largess to churches. A street in Wingdam was named in his honour. Yet it was noted that in proportion as he waxed wealthy and fortunate, he grew pale, thin, and anxious. As his wife's popularity increased, he becamr fretful and impatient 'I r 'II ,1 * 'ir i; t66 Brown of Calaveras. W:l The most uxorious of husbands, he was absurdly jealous. If he did not interfere with his wife's social liberty, it wai because it was maliciously whispered that his first and only attempt was met by an outburst from Mrs. Brown that terri- fied him into silence. Much of this kind of gossip came from those of her own sex whom she had supplanted in the chivalrous attentions of Wingdam, which, like most popular chivalry, was devoted to an admiration of power, whether of mascuHne force or feminine beauty. It should be remem- bered, too, in her extenuation, that, since her arrival, she had been the unconscious priestess of a mythological wor- ship, perhaps not more ennobling to her womanhood than that which distinguished an older Greek democracy. I think that Brown was dimly conscious of this. But his only confidant was Jack Hamlin, whose infelix reputation natur- ally precluded any open intimacy with the family, and whose visits were infrequent It was midsummer and a moonlit night, and Mrs. Brown, very rosy, large-eyed, and pretty, sat upon the piazza, enjoying the fresh incense of the mountain breeze, and, it is to be feared, another incense which was not so fresh nor quite as innocent Beside her sat Colonel Starbottle and Judge Boompointer, and a later addition to her court in the shape of a foreign tourist. She was in good spirits. " What do you see down the road ? " inquired the gallant Colonel, who had been conscious, for the last few minutes, that Mrs. Brown's attention was diverted. "Dust," said Mrs. Brown, with a sigh. "OrJy Sister Anne's * flock of sheep.' " The Colonel, whose literary recollections did not extend farther back than last week's paper, took a more practical view. " It ain't sheep," he continued ; " it's a horseman. Judge, ain't that Jack Hamlin's grey ? " But the Judge didn't know; and, as Mrs. Brown sug- Brown of Calaveras, Si! i«7 getted the air was growing too cold for further investiga* tions, they retired to the parlour. Mr. Brov'ti was in tlie stable, where he generally retired after dinner. Perhaps it was to show his contempt for his wife'i companions ; perhaps, like other weak natures, he found pleasure in the exercise of absolute power over inferior animals. He had a certain gratification in the training of a chestnut mare, whom he could beat or caress as pleased him, which he couldn't do with Mrs. Brown. It was here that he recognised a certain grey horse which had just come in, and, looking a little farther on, found his rid r. Brown's greeting was cordial and hearty ; Mr. Hamlin's somewhat restrained. But, at Brown's urgent request, he followed him up the back-stairs to a narrow corridor, and thence to a small room looking out upon the stable-yard. It was plainly furnished with a bed» a table, a few chairs, and a rack for guns and whips. " This yer's my home, Jack," said Brown with a sigh, as he threw himself upon the bed and motioned his com- panion to a chair. " Her room's t' other end of the halL It's more'n six months since we've lived together, or met, except at meals. It's mighty rough paperi> un the head of the house, ain't it ? " he said with a forced laugh. " But I'm glad to see you, Jack, d d glad," and he reached from the bed, and again shook the unresponsive hand of Jack Hamlin. " I brought ye up here, for I didn't want to talk in the stable ; though, for the matter of that, it's all round town. Don't strike a light We can talk here in the moonshine. Put up your feet on that winder and sit here beside me. Thar's whisky in that jug.'* Mr. Hamlin did not avail himself of the information. Brown of Calaveras turned \iu tice to the wall and coB' tiaued — \A % \\ s:;, I'l w. ■if • .11 ri !1 ■• \ i68 Brown of Calaveras. ^lii It! i I 1 i' til !1| .(1 \ " If I didn't love the woman, Jack, I wouldn't mind But it's loving hei, and seeing her day arter day goin' on at this rate, and no one to put down the brake ; that's what gits me ! But I'm glad to see ye, Jack, d d glad." In the darkness he groped about until he had found and wrung his companion's hand again. He would have detained it, but Jack slipped it into the buttoned breast of his coat, and asked, listlessly, " How long has this been going on ? " " Ever since she came here ; ever since the day she walked into the * Magnolia.* I was a fool then ; Jack, I'm a fool now ; but I didn't know how much I loved her till then. And she hasn't been the same woman since. " But that ain't all, Jack ; and it's what I wanted to see you about, and I'm glad you've come. It ain't that she doesn't love me any more ; it ain't that she fools with every chap that comes along ; for perhaps I staked her love and lost it, as I did everything else at the 'Magnolia;' and perhaps foolin' is nateral to some women, and thar ain't no great harm done, 'cept to the fools. But, Jack, I think, — I think she loves somebody else. Don't move. Jack ! don't move ; if your pistol hurts ye, take it off " It's been more'n six months now that she's seemed unhappy and lonesome, and kinder nervous and scared like. And sometimes I've ketched her lookin' at me sort of timid and pitying. And she writes to somebody. And for the last week she's been gathering her own things, — trinkets, and furbelows, and jew'lry, — and. Jack, I think she's goin' off I could stand all but that. To have her steal away like a thief ! " He put his face downward to the pillow, and for a few moments there was no sound but the ticking of a clock on the mantel. Mr. Hamlin lit a cigar, and moved to the open window. The moon no longer shone into the room, and the bed and its occupant were in shadow. " What shall I do, Jack ? " said the voice fiom the darkness. Brown of Calaveras. 169 m The answer came promptly and clearly from the window- side, — " Spot the man, and kill him on sight." "But, Jack" «' He's took the risk ! " " But will that bring her back ? " Jack did not reply, but moved from the window towards the door. " Don't go yet, Jack ; light the candle and sit by the table. It's a comfort to see ye, if nothin' else." Jack hesitated and then complied. He drew a pack of cards from his pocket and shuffled them, glancing at the bed. But Brown's face was turned to the wall. When Mr. Hamlin had shuffled the cards, he cut them, and dealt one card on the opposite side of the table towards the bed, and another on his side of the table for himself. The first was a deuce ; his own card a king. He then shuffled and cut again. This time "dummy" had a queen and himself a four-spot. Jack brightened up for the third deal It brought his adversary a deuce and himself a king again. " Two out of three," said Jack, audibly. "What's that, Jack?" said Brown. "Nothing." Then Jack tried his hand with dice ; but he always threw sixes and his imaginary opponent aces. The force of habit is sometimes confusing. Meanwhile some magnetic influence in Mr. Hamlin's presence, or the anodyne of liquor, or both, brought sur- cease of sorrow, and Brown slept. Mr. Hamlin moved his chair to the window and looked out on the town of Wing- dam, now sleeping peacefully, its harsh outlines softened and subdued, its glaring colours mellowed and sobered in the moonlight that flowed over all. In the hush he could hear the gurgling of water in the ditches and the sighing of the pines beyond the hill Then he looked up at the 11 5' i I 170 Brown of Calaveras. II ■ 1 ■ 1 . 1 s i 1 * f I i t r 1 i' , -J . 'I I firmament, and as he did so a star shot across the twink- ling field. Presently another, and then another. The phenomenon suggested to Mr. Hamlin a fresh augury. If in another fifteen minutes another star should fall He sat there, watch in hand, for twice that time, but the phenomenon was not repeated. The clock struck two and Brown still slept. Mr. Hamlin approached the table and took from his pocket a letter, which he read by the flickering candlelight. It contained only a single line, written in pencil, in a woman's hand, — " Be at the corral with the buggy at three." The sleeper moved uneasily and then awoke. "Are you there, Jack ? " "Yes." " Don't go yet. I dreamed just now, Jack, — dreamed ot old times. I thought that Sue and me was being married agin, and that the parson. Jack, was — who do you think ? — you ! " The gambler laughed, and seated himself on the bed, the paper still in his hand. " It's a good sign, ain't it ? " queried Brown. " I reckon ! Say, old man, hadn't you better get up ? ** The "old man," thus affectionately appealed to, rose, with the assistance of Hamlin's outstretched hand. "Smoke?" Brown mechanically took the proffered cigar. "Light?" Jack had twisted the letter into a spiral, lit it, and held it for his companion. He continued to hold it until it was consumea, and dropped the fragment — a fiery star — from the open window. He watched it as it fell, and then returned to his friend. "Old man," he said, placing his hands upon Brown's •boulders, " in ten minutes I'll be on the road, and gone I Brown of Calaveras. 171 like that spark. We won't see each other agin ; but, before I go, take a fool's advice : sell out all you've got, take your wife with you, and quit the country. It ain't no place for you nor her. Tell her she must go ; make her go if she won't. Don't whine because you can't be a saint and she ain't an angel. Be a man, and treat her like a woman. Don't be a d d fool. Good-bye." He tore himself from Brown's grasp and leaped down the stairs like a deer. At the stable-door he collared the half-sleeping hostler, and backed him against the wall. " Saddle my horse in two minutes, or I'll " The elli}- ns was frightfully suggestive. " The missis said you was to have the buggy," stammered the man. «' D n the buggy ! " The horse was saddled as fast as ihe nervous hands of the astounded hostler could manipulate buckle and strap, " Is anything up, Mr. Hamlin ? " said the man, who, like all his class, admired the Han of his fiery patron, and was really concerned in his welfare. "Stand aside!" The man fell back. With an oath, a bound, and clatter, Jack was into the road. In another moment, to the man's half-awakened eyes, he was but a moving cloud of dust in the distance, towards which a star just loosed from its brethren was trailing a stream of fire. But early that morning the dwellers by the Wingdam turnpike, miles away, heard a voice, pure as a skylark's, singing afield. They who were asleep turned over on their rude couches to dream of youth and love and olden days. Hard-faced men and anxious gold-seekers, already at work, ceased their labours and leaned upon their picks to listen to a romantic vagabond ambling away against the rosy •unrise. : f! l» M IJ M •r If % m m I *\ i I 1, S; i ■ * t ■■ I i tM 1 ■ 1 ' 1 1 ' ' ui * .■ h ^ l"i » ,..i •: 1 >' ■'. it •! m , '' BOHEMIAN PAPERS, \W m n n I : I' % I ■n Wl '5*': J ( 175 As I do not suppose the most gentle of readers will believe that anybody's sponsors in baptism ever wilfully assumed the responsibility of such a name, I may as well state that I have reason to infer that Melons w?j 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 I " or playfully, " Hi, Melons ! " or authoritatively, " You, Melons ! " 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 *< I, nf 4 1 i i7^> Mtlons. ,1 if 1 i! ' language. Afy 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 morn- ing 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, somewhat 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 pre- sently 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, there 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 as 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. 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 < I I I 11 • 11 I ai ! \\ !oor — m the en the broken 1 have to the for by ough a ; morn- long to )ristling ig on a latically little of iclusion rhe fact he road he pre- e. He d them ductory, hopeful deal of results, me, and looked 11 plants greatest ts dusty om the ;sible to arently Melons, m belonging to some shapely youth of nineteen. A pair of pantaloons, that, when sustained by a single suspender, completely equipped him, formed his everyday suit. How, with this lavish superfluity of clothing, he managed to per- form the surprising gymnastic feats it has been my privi- lege to witness, I have never been able to tell. His " turn- ing 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 consisted 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 event- ually 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 hour? 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 neighbcars. 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. Admir- ing glances were cast at Melons from nursery windows. Baby fingers beckoned to him. Invitations to tea (on wood and pewter) were lisped to him from aristocratic back-yards> - J» 1. \\ 178 Melons. 1 ■1 t 1 1 1 ( 1 > 1 1 • '1 is lU i II 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 McGinnis'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 re- doubled 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 auda- cious boy, " chaffed " his own flesh and blood below him. He was eventually taken, though of course Melons escaped. But Tommy was restricted to the window after that, and the companionship was limited to " Hi, Melons ! " and " You, Tommy 1 " and Melons, to all practical purposes, lost him forever. I looked afterward to see some signs of sorrow on Melons's 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 locked myself in my room at a certain hour each day, after If Melons, 179 w \ i. Mil nobl« sntage, them. in the idow, I ig up a djacent ^ain the ick-yard J father lions re- on the lisclosed Melons. by merit e ladder worn ally me auda- ;low him. escaped. that, and 1" and purposes, me signs his grief, arment. g Melons a void in »id was a Pacific each day should iirorld and day, after coming from my office. I then carefully drew out my port- folio and read what I had written the day before. This would suggest some alteration, and I would carefully rewrite 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 1 " a vagabond instinct we felt in common implied a communion deeper than words. In this spiritual commingling the time passed, often be^ilec/ 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 seafaring 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 difliised 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 comer of that £Eishionable thoroughfare before alluded to, I met a small II' ii "f If flS^ "^^nSi IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) "^^ <" ^- 1.0 I.I l£|M 12.5 ■SO "^^ hrhb IL25 i u HM 1.6 n '>^ Hiotographic Sciences Corporation ^ ^\ •^ \ *'^ <> o^ 33 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14560 (716) 872-4S03 4g^ '/. ■\ ^ I So Melons, « I ;'l '!• I ,1 I boy eating a banana. There was nothing remarkabh in that, but as I neared McGinnis's Court I presently met another small boy also eating a banana. A third small boy engaged in a like occupation obtruded a painful coin- cidence upon my mind. I leave the psychological reader to determine the exact co-relation between this circumstance and the sickening sense of loss that overcame me on wit- nessing it. I reached my room — and found the bunch of bananas was gonec There was but one who knew of their existence, but one who frequented my window, but one capable o' 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 indis- creetly liberal ; Melons — now a fugitive on some neighbour- ing 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, vhich now represented to me only aged iniquity. It was Melons, that venerable, juvenile hypocrite ! He affected not to observe me, and would have with- drawn 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 thek whole length into his capacrous trousers, gazed with some interest at the additional width they thus acquired. Then he whistled. The singular conflicting conditions of John ^abh in itly met :d small ful coin- il reader imstance i on wit- bunch of but one o: the ; blush to despoiled md indis- eighbour- lir to the plation ol ing white J. There presented enerable, lave with- :h causes [elled him id at him ind down ►n of eye Issness of rms their Kth some Then of John Melons. i8i Brown's body and soul were at that time beginning to attract the attention of youth, and Melons's 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 around the palings — " a cirkis over yonder ! " — indicating the locality with his foot — " with bosses, and hossback riders. They is a man wot rides six bosses to onct — six bosses 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's eye, and he began to tremble and visibly shrink in his capacious garment Some other desperate means — conversation with Melons was always a desperate means — must be resorted to. He recommenced more artfully. " 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. 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 regard- ing Carrots, even if I were inclined to accept it as credible information, does not alter the material issue. You took those bananas. The offence under the statutes of California ''■ i ii si »( \* \ • I t% < i* H'l ! ii if it l83 Melons. u < ( is felony. How far Carrots may have been accessory to the fact either before or after, is not my intention at present to discuss. The act is complete. Your present conduct shows the animofurandt io have been equally clear." By the time I had finished this exordium, Melons had disappeared, as I fully expected. He never reappeared. The remorse that I have experi- enced for the part I had taken in what I fear may have resulted in his utter and complete extermination, alas ! he may not know, except through these pages. For I have never seen him since. Whether he ran away and went to sea, to reappear at some future day 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 him or heard of him since. Strange fears have sometimes crossed my mind that his venerable appear- ance may have been actually the result of senility, and that he may have been gathered peacefully 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. S' 'i ( i83 ) I f*!> Z VtmxMt ifmpojeitor* As I glance across my table, I am somewhat distracted by the spectacle of a venerable head whose crown occasionally appears beyond, at about its level. The apparition of a very small hand, whose fingers are bunchy and have the appearance of being slightly webbed, which is frequently lifted above the table in a vain and impotent attempt to reach the inkstand, always affects me as a novelty at each recurrence of the phenomenon. Yet both the venerable head and bunchy fingers belong to an individual with whom I am familiar, and to whom, for certain reasons hereafter described, I choose to apply the epithet written above this article. His advent in the family was attended with peculiar circumstances. He was received with some concern, the number of retainers having been increased by one in honour of his arrival He appeared to be weary, — his pretence was that he had come from a long journey, — so that for days, weeks, and even months, he did not leave his bed except when he was carried. But it was remarkable that his appetite was invariably regular and healthy, and that his meals, which he required should be brought to him, were seldom rejected. During this time he had little conversation with the family, his knowledge of our vernacu- lar being limited, bat occasionally spoke to himself in his own language, — a foreign tongue. The difficulties attend- iffli 1 >i ► " 1 1 ;: ii J* 4 |ii ■.til I i , ♦-I ) i 4 I i! ! 184 A Venerable Impostor, ing this eccentricity were obviated by the young woman who had from the first taken him under her protection, — being, like the rest of her sex, peculiarly open to imposi- tions, — and who at once disorganised her own tongue to suit his. This was affected by the contraction of the syllables of some words, the addition of syllables to others, and an ingenious disregard for tenses and the governing powers of the verb. The same singular law which impels people in conversation with foreigners to imitate their broken English governed the family in their communica- tions with him. He received these evidences of his power with an indifference not wholly free from scorn. The expression of his eye would occasionally denote that his higher nature revolted from them. I have no doubt my- self that his wants were frequently misinterpreted ; that the stretching forth of his hands toward the moon and stars might have been the performance of some religious rite peculiar to his own country, which was in ours misconstrued into a desire for physical nourishment. His repetition of the word "goo-goo," — which was subject to a variety of opposite interpretations, — when taken in conjunction with his size, in my mind seemed to indicate his aboriginal or Aztec origin. I incline to this belief as it sustains the impression I have already hinted at, that his extreme youth is a simula- tion and deceit ; that he is really older and has lived before at some remote period, and that his conduct fully justifies his title as A Venerable Impostor. A variety of circum- stances corroborate this impression: his tottering walk, which is a senile as well as a juvenile condition; his venerable head, thatched with such imperceptible hair that, at a distance, it looks like a mild aureola, and his imperfect dental exhibition. But beside these physical peculiarities may be observed certain moral symptoms, which go to A Venerable Impostor, i8s I' J disprove his assumed youth. He is in the habit of falling into reveries, caused, I have no doubt, by some circum- stance which suggests a comparison with his experience in his remoter boyhood, or by some serious retrospection of the past years. He has been detected lying awake at times when he should have been asleep, engaged in curiously comparing the bed-clothes, walls, and furniture with some recollection of his youth. At such moments he has been heard to sing softly to himself fragments of some unintelligible composition, which probably still linger in his memory as the echoes of a music he has long outgrown. He has the habit of receiving strangers with the familiarity of one who had met them before, and to whom their antecedents and peculiarities were matters of old acquaint- ance j and so unerring is his judgment of their previous character, that when he withholds his confidence I am apt to withhold mine. It is somewhat remarkable that while the maturity of his years and the respect due to them is denied by man, his superiority and venerable age is never questioned by the brute creation. The dog treats him with a respect and consideration accorded to none others, and the cat permits a familiarity which I should shudder to attempt. It may be considered an evidence of some Pantheistic quality in his previous education that he seems to recognise a fellowship even in inarticulate objects ; he has been known to verbally address plants, flowers, and fruit, and to extend his confidence to such inanimate objects as chairs and tables. There can be little doubt that, in the remote period of his youth, these objects were endowed with not only sentient natures, but moral capa- bilities, and he is still in the habit of beating them when they collide with him, and of pardoning them with a kiss. As he has grown older — rather let me say, as we have approximated to his years — he has, in spite of the apparent I (. III %■ 'I- '%^ if!!} 1: I i\ 1*1 -, -f y 111- h ii 1 86 A Venerable Impostor. 1' ( \ ' I V. ! ft 1 ' ' Vi > m < t1 'id I! I paradox, lost much of his senile gravity. It must be con* fessed that some of his actions of late appear to our imper- fect comprehension inconsistent with his extreme age. A habit of marching up and down with a string tied to a soda- water bottle, a disposition to ride anything that could by any exercise of the liveliest fancy be made to assume equine proportions, a propensity to bkcken his venerable white hair with ink and coal dust, and an omnivorous appetite, which did not stop at chalk, clay, or cinders, were peculiar- ities not calculated to excite respect. In fact, he would seem to have become demoralised, and when, after a pro- longed absence the other day, he was finally discovered standing upon the front steps addressing a group of delighted children out of his limited vocabulary, the circumstance could only be accounted for as the garrulity of age. But I lay aside my pen amidst an ominous silence and the disappearance of the venerable head from my plane of visio.1. As I step to the other side of the table, I find that sleep has overtaken him in an overt act of hoary wickedness. The very pages I have devoted to an exposition of his deceit he has quietly abstracted, and I find them covered with cabalistic figures and wild-looking hieroglyphs traced with his forefinger dipped in ink, which doubtless in his own language conveys a scathing commentary on my composi- tion. But he sleeps peacefully, and there is something in his face which tells me that he has already wandered away to that dim region of his youth where I cannot follow him. And as there comes a strange stirring at my heart when I contemplate the immeasurable gulf which lies between us, and how slight and feeble as yet is his grasp on this world and its strange realities, I find, too late, that I also am a willing victim of the Venerable Impostor. itl^i f. be con* ir imper- age. A ) a soda- :ould by le equine tie white appetite, peculiar- le would ;er a pro- iscovered delighted iimstance snce and ' plane of find that :kedness. m of his covered IS traced his own composi- ething in red away ow him. when I ^een us, lis world so am a ( 187 ) a TBog^' Dog* As I lift my eyes from the paper, I observe a dog lying on the steps of the opposite house. His attitude might induce passers-by and casual observers to believe him to belong to the people who live there, and to accord to him a certain standing and position. I have seen visitors pat him, under the impression that they were doing an act of courtesy to his master, he lending himself to the fraud by hypocritical contortions of the body. But his attitude is one of deceit and simulation. He has neither master nor habitation. He is a very Pariah and outcast ; in brief, " A Boys' Dog." There is a degree of hopeless and irreclaimable vaga- bondage expressed in this epithet, which may not be gener- ally understood. Only those who are familiar with the roving nature and predatory instincts of boys in large cities will appreciate its strength. It is the lowest step in the social scale to which a respectable canine can descend. A blind man's dog, or the companion of a knife-grinder, is comparatively elevated. He at least owes allegiance to but one master. But the Boys' Dog is the thrall of an entire juvenile community, obedient to the beck and call of the smallest imp in the neighbourhood, attached to and serving not the individual boy so much as the boy element and principle. In their active sports, in small thefts, raids into back-yards, window-breaking, and other minor juvenile re- creations, he is a full participant. In this way be is the i( i I: t 1! 1 1* 1 88 A Boys* Dog. i *, < I I :f i ft *i llH > - 1 ■j • i i ; i : reflection of the wickedness of many masters, without possessing the virtues or peculiarities of any particular one. If leading a " dog's life " be considered a peculiar phase of human misery, the life of a Boys' Dog is still more infe- licitous. He is associated in all schemes of wrong-doing, and unless he be a dog of experience, is always the scape- goat. He never shares the booty of his associates. In absence of legitimate amusement, he is considered fair game for his companions ; and I have seen him reduced to the ignominy of having a tin kettle tied to his tail. His ears and tail have generally been docked to suit the caprice of the unholy band of which he is a member; and if he has any pluck, he is invariably pitted against larger dogs in mortal combat He is poorly fed and hourly abused ; the reputa- tion of his associates debars him from outside sympathies ; and once a Boys' Dog, he cannot change his condition. He is not unfrequently sold into slavery by his inhuman com- panions. I remember once to have been accosted on my own doorsteps by a couple of precocious youths, who offered to sell me a dog which they were then leading by a rope. The price was extremely moderate, being, if I remember rightly, but fifty cents. Imagining the unfortunate animal to have lately fallen into their wicked hands, and anxious to claim him from the degradation of becoming a Boys' Dog, I was about to conclude the bargain, when I saw a look of intelligence pass between the dog and his two masters. I promptly stopped all negotiation, and drove the youf:hful swindlers and their four-footed accomplice from my presence. The whole thing was perfectly plain. The dog was an old, experienced, and hardened Boys* Dog, and I was perfectly satisfied that he would run away and rejoin his old com- panions at the first opportunity. This I afterwards learned he did, on die occasion of a kind-hearted but unsophisti- ;ti A Boys' Dog. 189 rs, without particular uliar phase 1 more infe- rong-doing, the scape- )ciates. In ;d fair game uced to the . His ears t caprice of f he has any ;s in mortal the reputa- iympathies ; dition. He luman com- >ted on my who offered ; by a rope. remember late animal anxious to Boys' Dog, (7 a look of nasters. 1 youthful y presence. »\ If* 'I ■ » i ii* ^■4 !;« i i' 1 190 A Boys' Dog. |: ■ I I 1;!, 1 ! 1 M '\ i the unhappy infant find it difficult to resist the effect which this glimpse of the area of freedom produces, and step be yond the gate, from that moment he is utterly demoralised. The Boys' Dog owns him body and souL Straightway he is led by the deceitful brute into the unhallowed circle of his Bohemian masters. Sometimes the unfortunate boy, if he be very small, turns up eventually at the station-house as a lost child. Whenever I meet a stray boy in the street looking utterly bewildered and astonished, I generally find a Boys' Dog lurking on the corner. When I read the advertisements of lost children, I always add mentally to the description, "was last seen in company with a Boys' Dog." Nor is his influence wholly confined to small boys. I have seen him waiting patiently for larger boys on the way to school, and by artful and sophistical practices inducing them to play truant. I have seen him lying at the school- house door, with the intention of enticing the children on their way home to distant and remote localities. He has led many an unsuspecting boy to the wharves and quays by assuming the character of a water-dog, which he was not, and again has induced others to go with him on a gunning excursion by pretending to be a sporting dog, in which quality he was knowingly deficient. Unscrupulous, hypo- critical, and deceitful, he has won many children's hearts by answering to any name they might call him, attaching himself to their persons until they got into trouble, and deserting them at the very moment they most needed his assistance. I have seen him rob small schoolboys of their dinners by pretending to knock them down by accident; and have seen larger boys in turn dispossess him of his ill- gotten booty for their own private gratification. From being a tool he has grown to be an accomplice ; through much imposition, he has learned to impose on others ; in his best character he is simply a vagabond's vagabond. A Boys* Dog. 191 I could find it in my heart to pity him as he lies there through the long summer afternoon, enjoying brief intervals of tranquillity and rest, which he surreptitiously snatches from a stranger's door-step. For a shrill whistle is heard in the streets, the boys are coming home from school, and he is startled from his dreams by a deftly thrown potato, which hits him on the head, and awakens him to the stern reality that he is now and forever — a Boys' Dog. f J ! I! >\ n 1 I ii J s i w ( 192 ) • • * f ' IT JIB I.I '■ !■ ^i- i I.; * fljl-'i: ■;,'• @)Ur9ri0ing adbenture^ of ^mzt , CfjarlejQt feummertom At exactly half-past nine o'clock on the morning of Satur* day. August 26, 1865, Masler Charles Summerton, aged five years, disappeared mysteriously from his paternal residence on Folsom Street, San Francisco. At twenty-five minutes past nine he had been observed by the butcher amusing himself by going through that popular youthful exercise known as "turning the crab," a feat in which he was singularly proficient. At a court of inquiry summarily held in the back-parlour at 10.15, Bridget, cook, deposed to have detected him at twenty minutes past nine in the felonious abstraction of sugar from the pantry, which, by the same token, had she known what was a-comin, she'd have never previnted. Patsey, a shrill-voiced youth from a neighbouring alley, testified to have seen "Chowley" at half-past nine in front of the butcher's shop round the corner ; but as this young gentleman chose to throw out the gratuitous belief that the missing child had been converted into sausages by the butcher, his testimony was received with some caution by the female portion of the court, and with downright scorn and contumely by its masculine members. But whatever might have been the hour of his departure, it was certain that firom half-past nine a.m. until nine p.m., wh u he was brought home by a policemani s,. Surprising Adventures, 193 er f Satur- n, aged paternal enty-five butcher youthful vhich he mmarily deposed e in the hich, by in, she'd h from a dey" at und the ^ out the onverted received mrt, and lasculine lur of his L.M. until tlicemaoi Charles Summerton was missing. Being naturally of a reticent disposition, he has since resisted, with but one exception, any attempt (o wrest from him a statement of his whereabouts during that period. That exception has been myself. He has related to me the following in the stiictest confidence. His intention on leaving the door-steps of his dwelling was to proceed without delay to Van Diemen's Land, by way of Second and Market Streets. This project was subsequently modified so far as to permit a visit to Otaheite, where Captain Cook was killed. The outfit for his voyage consisted of two car-tickets, live cents in silver, a fishing-line, the brass capping of a spool of cotton, which in his eyes bore some resemblance to metallic currency, and a Sunday-school library ticket His garments, admir- ably adapted to the exigencies of any climate, were severally a straw hat with a pink ribbon, a striped shirt, over which a pair of trousers, uncommonly wide in comparison to their length, were buttoned, striped balmoral stockings, which gave his youthful legs something of the appearance of wintergreen candy, and copper-toed shoes with iron heels, capable of striking fire from any flagstone. This latter quality. Master Charley could not help feeling, would be of infinite service to him in the wilds of Van Diemen's Land, which, as pictorially represented in his geography, seemed to be deficient in corner grocericb ?.nd matches. Exactly as the clock struck the half-hour, the short legs and straw hat of Master Charles Summerton disappeared around the comer. He ran rapidly, partly by way of inuring himself to the fatigues of the journey before him, and partly by way of testing his speed with that of a North Beach car which was proceeding in his direction. The conductor, not being aware of this generous and lofty emu- lation, and being somewhat concerned a; the spectacle of « t 1 n of his ief, on a perfectly . ander the probrious y was the peculiarly ve, before vn Book" the recol- to break since its >utcries in ;he corner leads. A in, armed 'hich still lit to their ir Charles in a wild :d by an his com- the riext and set ut as yet hanging was the systematic and legalised penalty for the outrage he had committed, he kept down manfully the cry that rose to his lips. In a few moments he felt the cask again lifted by a powerful hand, which appeared above him at the edge of his prison, and which he concluded belonged to the fero- cious giant Blunderbore, whose features and limbs he had frequently met in coloured pictures. Before he could recover from his astonishment, his cask was placed with several others on a cart, and rapidly driven away. The ride which ensued he describes as being fearful in the extreme. E.oUed around like a pill in a box, the agonies which he suflfered may be hinted at, not spoken. Evidences of that protracted struggle were visible in his garments, which were of the consistency of syrup, and his hair, which for several hours, under the treatment of hot water, yielded a thin treacle. At length the cart stopped on one of the wharves, and the cartman began to unload. As he tilted over the cask in which Charles lay, an exclamation broke from his lips, and the edge of the cask fell from his hands, sliding its late occupant upon the wharf. To regain his short legs, and to put the greatest possible distance between himself and the cartman, were his first movements on regaining his liberty. He did not stop until he reached the corner of Front Street. Another blank succeeds in this veracious history. He cannot remember how or when he found himself in front of the circus tent. He has an indistinct recollection of having passed through a long street of stores which were all closed, and which made him fear that it was Sunday, and that he had spent a miserable night in the sugar cask. But he remembers hearing the sound of music within the tent, and of creeping on his hands and knees, when no one was look- ing, until he passed under the canvas. His description of % 1 i in k% I I i ' w I \\ 196 Surprising Adventures, w : the wonders contained within that circle ; of the terrific feats which were performed by a man on a pole, since practised by him in the back-yard ; of the horses, one of which was spotted and resembled an animal in his Noah's Ark, hitherto unrecognised and undefined; of the female equestrians, whose dresses could only be equalled in magnificence by the frocks of his sister's doll ; of the painted clown, whose jokes excited a merriment somewhat tinged by an unde- fined fear, was an effort of language which this pen could but weakly transcribe, and which no quantity of exclama- tion points could sufficiently illustrate. He is not quite certain what followed. He rememberc that almost imme- diately on leaving the circus it became dark, and that he fell asleep, waking up at intervals on the corners of the streets, on front steps, in somebody's arms, and finally in his own bed. He was not aware of experiencing any regret for his conduct ; he does not recall feeling at any time a dis- position to go home ; he remembers distinctly that he felt hungry. He has made this disclosure in confidence. He wishes k to be respected. He wants to know if you have five cents about you. m . • ■:;(!; ' { »97 ) rrific feats practised jvhich was Ic, hitherto ^uestrians, ficence by wn, whose an unde- pen could f exclama- not quite aost imme- id that he lers of the nally in his y regret for time a dis- ;hat he felt He wishes have five Cbe ^i00ion Dolores* The 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 improvement 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 dropping away like tattered bandages, its rayless windows, its crumbling entrances, the leper spots on its whitewashed wall eating through the dark adobe, — I give the poor old mendicant but a few years longer to sit by the highway and ask alms in the names of the blessed saints. Already the vicinity 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 buttresses of Oregon pine, even now mocks its hoary age with imitation and supplants it with a sham. Vain, alas 1 were those rural accessories, the nurseries and market- i I I I i ■.. ; I .1 I ^ !fl ( *' 198 The Mission Dolores. \ I 1 \ ' ' » «; It 1 ■«, ' . : ; } ■ 1 , i|i' 1 ■ ' ■• 1 Hi s! .'; ir gardens, that once gathered about its walls and resisted civic encroachment. They too are passing away. Even those queer little adobe buildings with tiled roofs like longi- tudinal slips of cinnamon, 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 unseasonable 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 built his shanty near the chapel and smokes his pipe in the Posada. Gutturals have taken the place of Unguals 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 vender of mechanical spiders has halted with his unhallowed wares. Even the old Padre — last type of the missionary, and descendant 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. T' .re 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 The Mission Dolores. 199 resisted Even ke longi- sacredly I look in ectability ; vest was niss, too, tie busts, cture and iwakening Traces of avvy " has is pipe in tguals and cadences d" of the stages ran excursion, lose "who piders has Padre — the good ight-haired onderfully .-isons, let lurchyard. 1 graves lie the deep fulness of kd show a lanter here iislracting winds continually bring the strife and turmoil of the ocean. The Mission hills lovingly embrace the little cemetery, whose decorative taste is less ostentatious. The foreign flavour is strong ; here are never-failing garlands of immor- tellesy with their sepulchral spicery; here are little cheap medallions of pewter, with the adornment of three black tears, that would look iike 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 specific 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 salva- tion 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 makf; 1 practical point of this occasion, and are too apt hastily to crowd a whole life of omission into the culminating act But Wi.ien I see the grey 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 command- ment 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 ot 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 ; I ; I t I » iiil i 'h i ' '\ . t I ,W i I !l 200 The Mission Dolores* 1 1 1 i ' 1 , ■ 1 1 ( ;:!] ; '^ ' fi ' } 1- !' ' ^ '<■■ 1 : J. ■ ( ■ !i »'■ f[ V V < light the church certainly is old and ugly. I cannot help wondering whether the old Fathers, if they ever revisit the scene of their former labours, in their larger comprehen- sions view with regret the impending change, or mourn over the day when the Mission Dolores shall appropriately come to grief? Jr ( 20I ) • TBoonDet. ! i M I 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 in- volved in the deepest obscurity. He may have had brothers and sisters, but in the whole range of my canine acquaint- ance (a pretty extensive one), I never detected any of Boonder's peculiarities 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 keep- ing 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 ; his toes turned out consider- ably, and in repose his favourite attitude was the first posi- tion 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 apertures 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 r I'- ll" i\ 202 BooncUr. I > < » I ! c ■, 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 privi- leges, 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, " Oh, it's Boonder I " 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 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 synonym 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 over- shoes. In matters that did not involve courtesy, Boonder was ! Boonder, 203 sincere 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 innovations, or has lived to see the innovation prosper and even crush. But I am anticipating. Boonder had previously 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 unsuccessfully opposed, and the grading of an adjoining lot was for a long time a personal matter between Boonder and the contractor. These peculiarities seemed to evince some decided char- acter and embody some idea. A prolonged debate in the 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 Boonder 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 recurrence 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 fend of music, the playing went OD. f ! I to I I i : M I ao4 Boonder, One morning Boonder left the house in good spirit! 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 depot ( 205 > jFrom a TBalconp. ill Thk little stone balcony which, by a popular fallacy, b supposed to be a necessary appurtenance of my window, has long been to me a source of curious interest. The fact that the asperities of our summer weather will not permit me to use it but once or twice in six months does not alter my concern for this incongruous ornament. It affects me as I suppose the conscious possession of a linen coat or a pair of nankeen trousers might affect a sojourner here who has not entirely outgrown his memory of Eastern summer heat and its glorious compensations, — a luxurious provi- dence against a possible but by no means probable con- tingency. I no longer wonder at the persistency with which San Franciscans adhere to this architectural super* fluity in the face of cMmatical impossibilities. The bal- conies in which no one sits, the piazzas on which no one lounges, are timid advances made to a climate whose churlishness we are trying to temper by an ostentation of confidence. Ridiculous as this spectacle is at all seasons, it is never more so than in that bleak interval between sunset and dark, when the shrill scream of the factory whistle seems to have concentrated all the hard, unsym- pathetic quality of the climate into one vocal expression. Add to this the appearance of one or two pedestrians, manifestly too late for their dinners, and tasting in the shrewish air a bitter premonition of the welcome that :i 2o6 From a Balcony, I ; \ " I i ( ft,:: ' ' 1 11 ii ■'■';> C;, i ' :■' i 11 ^ i 1 1 f l' ■ awaits them at home, and you have one of those ordinary views from my balcony which makes the balcony itself ridiculous. But as I lean over its balustrade to-night — a night rare in its kindness and beauty — and watch the fiery ashes of my cigar drop into the abysmal darkness below, I am inclined to take back the whole of that preceding paragraph, although it cost me some labour to elaborate its polite malevo- lence. I can even recognise some melody in the music, which comes irregularly and fitfully from the balcony of the Museum on Market Street, although it may be broadly stated that, as a general thing, the music of all museums, mena- geries, and circuses becomes greatly demoralised, — possibly through associations with the beasts. So soft and courteous is this atmosphere that I have detected the flutter of one or two light dresses on the adjacent balconies and piazzas, and the front parlour windows of a certain aristocratic mansion in the vicinity, which have always maintained a studious reserve in regard to the interior, to-night are suddenly thrown into the attitude of familiar disclosure. A few young people are strolling up the street with a lounging step which is quite a relief to that usual brisk, business-like pace which the chilly nights impose upon even the most senti- mental lovers. The genial influences of the air are not restricted to the opening of shutters and front doors ; other and more gentle disclosures are made no doubt, beneath this moonlight. The bonnet and hat which passed beneath my balcony a few moments ago were suspiciously close together. I argued from this that my friend the editor will probably receive any quantity of verses for his next issue, containing allusions to " Luna," in which the original epithet of " silver " will be applied to this planet, and that a " boon " will be asked for the evident purpose of rhyming with " moon," and for no other. Should neither of the tif From a Balcony. 207 parties be equal to this expression, the pent-up feelings of the heart will probably find vent later in the evening over the piano, in " I Wandered by the Brookside," or " When the Moon on the Lake is Beaming," But it has been per- mitted me to hear the fulfilment of my prophecy even as it was uttered. From the window of number Twelve Hun- dred and Seven gushes upon the slumberous misty air the maddening ballad " Ever of Thee," while at Twelve Hun- dred and Eleven the " Star of the Evening " rises with a chorus. I am inclined to think that there is something in the utter vacuity of the refrain in this song which especially commends itself to the young. The simple statement, " Star of the Evening," is again and again repeated with an imbecile relish \ while the adjective " beautiful " recurs with a steady persistency too exasperating to dwell upon here. At occasional intervals a bass voice enunciates " Star-r ! Star-r ! " as a solitary and independent effort Sitting here in my balcony, I picture the possessor of that voice as a small, stout young man, standing a little apart from the other singers, with his hands behind him under his coat- tail, and a severe expression of countenance. He some- times leans forward, with a futile attempt to read the music over somebody else's shoulder, but always resumes his old severity of attitude before singing his part. Meanwhile the celestial subjects of this choral adoration look down upon the scene with a tranquillity and patience which can only result from the security with which their immeasurable remoteness invests them. I would remark that the stars are not the only topics subject to this " damnable iteration." A certain popular song, which contains the statement, **I will not forget you, mother," apparently reposes all its popularity on the constant and dreary repetition of this unim- portant information, which at least produces the desired result among the audience. If the best operatic choruses sir' )ii;; i « 1' M r I ., I. !m are not above this weakness, the unfamiliar language in which they are sung offers less violation to common sense. It may be parenthetically stated here that the songs alluded to above may be found in sheet music on the top of the piano of any young lady who has just come from boarding-school. " The Old Arm-Chair," or •* Woodman, Spare that Tree," will be also found in easy juxtaposition. The latter songs are usually brought into service at the instance of an uncle or bachelor brother, whose request is generally prefaced by a remark depreciatory of ihe opera, and the gratuitous observation that " we are retrograding, sir, — retrograding," and that "there is no music like the old songs." He sometimes condescends to accompany " Marie " in a tremulous barytone, and is particularly for- cible in those paj;sages where the word " repeat " is written, for reasonr stated above. When the song is over, to the success of which he feels he has materially contributed, he will inform you that "you may talk of your 'arias* and your 'romanzas,' but for music, sir, — music — " at which point he becomes incoherent and unintelligible. It is this gentle- man who suggests " China " or " Brattle Street '' as a suitable and cheerful exercise for the social circle. There are certain amatory songs, of an arch and coquettish character, familiar to these localities, which the young lady, being called upon to sing, declines with a bashful and tantalising hesitation. Prominent among these may be mentioned an erotic effusion entitled *' I'm Talking in my Sleep," which, when sung by a young person vivaciously and with appropriate glances, can be made to drive lan- qaishing swains to the verge of madness. Ballads of this quality afford spltndid opportunities for bold young men, who, by ejaculating " Oh 1 " and " Ah 1 " at the affecting passages, frequently gain a fascinating reputation for wilf] ness and scepticism. lif: From a Balcony, 309 lage in sense. : songs the top ae from (odman, )ositicn. at the quest is e opera, )grading, like the company larly for- s written, er, to the buted, he and your ich point is gentle- it*' as a There coquettish )ung lady, Ishful and may be |ng in my rivaciously drive lan- 4s of this >ung men, affecting for wiUi 1:*^ But the music which called up these parenthetical reflec- tions has died away, and with it the slight animosities it inspired. The last song has been sung, the piano closed, the lights are withdrawn from the windows, and the white skirts flutter away from stoops and balconies. The silence is broken only by the rattle and rumble of carriages coming from theatre and opera. I fancy that this sound — which, seeming to be more distinct at this hour than at any other time, might be called one of the civic voices of the night — has certain urbane suggestions not un- pleasant to those born and bred in large cities. The moon, round and full, gradually usurps the twinkling lights of the city, that one by one seem to fade away and be absorbed in her superior lustre. The distant Mission hills are out- lined against the sky, but through one gap the outlying fog which has stealthily invested us seems to have effected a breach^ and only waits the co-operation of the laggard sea- breezes to sweep down and take the beleaguered city by assault An ineffable calm sinks over the landscape. In the magical moonlight the shot-tower loses its angular out- line and practical relations, and becomes a minaret from whose balcony an invisible muezzin calls the Faithful to prayer. "Prayer is better than sleep." But what is this ? A shuffle of feet on the pavement, a low hum of voices, a twang of some diabolical instrument, a preliminary hem and cough. Heavens ! it cannot be ! Ah ! yes it is — it is — serenaders ! Anathema Maranatha ! May purgatorial pains seize ye, William Count of Poitou, Girard de Boreuil, Arnaud de Marviel, Bertrand de Born, mischievous progenitors of jongleurs, troubadours, provengals, minnesingers, minstrels, and singers of cansos and love-chants ! Confusion overtake and confound your modern descendants, the " metre ballad- mongers," who carry the shamelessness of the Middle Ages ;ii \ ■A !' f| 3IO From a Balcony, I ' * I* ,f.r ' ' ^ ill;: I' ■!!:i , \' 1 h 1 { 1 i . I fl ( t ( into the nineteenth century, and awake a sleeping neigh* bourhood to the brazen knowledge of their loves and wan- ton fancies ! Destruction and demoralisation pursue these pitiable imitators of a barbarous age, when ladies' names and charms were shouted through the land, and modest maiden never lent presence to tilt or tourney without hearing a chronicle of her virtues go round the lists, shouted by wheezy heralds and taken up by roaring swashbucklers! Perdition overpower such ostentatious wooers ! Marry 1 shall I shoot the amorous feline who nightly iterates his love-songs on my roof, and yet withhold my trirver-finger from yonder pranksome gallant ? Go to ! here is an orange left of last week's rf.past Decay hath overtaken it, — it possesseth neither savour nor cleanliness. Ha! cleverly thiown 1 A hit — a palpable hit ! Perad venture I have still a boot that hath done me service, and, barring a looseness of the heel, an ominous yawning at the side, 'tis in good case ! Na'theless, 'twill serve. So I so ! What ! dispersed ? Nay, then I too will retire I ■ll! ( an ) ; neigh' nd wan- le these mes and maiden earing a mted by )ucklers ! Marry ! irates his ver-finger in orange ;n it,— it ! cleverly have still looseness s in good iispersed ? 3iOftn Cftinaman. The 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 mod vacation of Turk- ish 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 attri- bute — that to this day I 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 presented itself, — ^the impossibility of determining whether the perfor- mance 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 legitimate farce of our civilisation 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 ran a-muck behind the scenes for some time afterward. I looked I! if : ■:M\ 212 John Chinaman. % I'' S! ( . i • n around at the glinting white teeth to observe the effect of these two 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, however, 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 deciding upon the outward and superficial expression of Chinese mirth. Of its inner and deeper existence I have some private doubts. An audience th?': will view with a serious aspect the hero, after a frightful and agonising death, get up and quietly walk off the stage, cannot be said to have remarkable per- ceptions 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 Chinaman 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 anything less cumbrous and roomy, yet a neater-fitting boot than that belonging to the Americanised Chinaman is rarely seen on this side of the Continent When the loose sack or paletot 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 civilisation. Pantaloons fall easily and naturally over legs that have known unlimited freedom and baggi- ness, and even garrote collars meet correctly around sun< John Chinaman. 213 fFect of L equal One or :ed the painful [ life in strained lar eyes devil;" ed, there )ve as an i outward its inner ibts. An the hero, id quietly [cable per- liability of suggest a .ese pages, [nd wear it lass those a Chinese Ishape the )my, yet a icricanised |Continent Lce of his grace that our more naturally and baggi- round sun- tanned throats. The ne^ expression seldom overflows in gaudy cravats. I will back my Americanised Chinaman against any neophyte of European birth in the choice of that article. While in our own State the Greaser resists one by one the garments of the Northern invader, and even wears the livery of his conqueror with a wild and buttonless fre<}dom, the Chinaman, abused and degraded as he is, changes by correctly graded transition to the garments of Christian civilisation. 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 !"'m in the privacy of ♦he domestic circle. I have gatherec 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 un- guarded 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 erujed. At another time, to guard against his general disposition to carry off anything as soiled clothes that he 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 doorstep during the day, sad and submissive. i» \ 214 John Chinaman, \ I J t f i • I I • , * I i!^' t ^ firm but also patient, and only betraying any animation or token of Iiis mission when he saw me coming. This same Chinaman evinced some evidences of regard for a little girl in the family, who in her turn reposed such faith in his intellectual qualities as to present him with a preter- naturally uninteresting Sunday-school book, her own pro- perty. This book John made a point of carrying ostenta- tiously 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 soiled linen. Whether John believed he unconsciously 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 persecutions 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 keynote to the vulgar clamour about servile and degraded races. Mr ( 215 ) €)n a Fulgar Little TBog. The subject of this article is at present leaning againel a tree directly opposite to my window. He wears his cap with the wrong side before, apparently for no other object than that which seems the most obvious, — of showing more than the average quantity of very dirty face. His clothes, which are worn with a certain buttonless ease and freedom, display in the different quality of their fruit-stains a pleas- ing indication of the progress of the seasons. The nose of this vulgar little boy turns up at the end. I have noticed this in several other vulgar little boys, although it is by no means improbable that youthful vulgarity may be present without this facial peculiarity. Indeed, I am inclined to the belief that it is rather the result of early inquisitiveness — of furtive pressures against window-panes, and of looking over fences, or of the habit of biting large apples hastily — than an indication of scorn or juvenile supercilious- ness. The vulgar little boy is more remarkable for his obtrusive familiarity. It is my experience of his predis- position to this quality which has induced me to write this article. My acquaintance with him began in a moment of weak- ness. I have an unfortunate predilection to cultivate originality in people, even when accompanied by objection- m • ' I'll , M *t m 2l6 On a Vulgar Little Boy* ' 1 I I , I ■') v» I, II "I able character. But, as I lack the firmness and skilfulness which usually accompany this taste in others, and enable them to drop acquaintances when troublesome, I have sur- rounded myself with divers unprofitable friends, among whom I count the vulgar little boy. The manner in which he first attracted my attention was purely accidental. He was playing in the street, and the driver of a passing vehicle cut at him sportively with his whip. The vulgar little boy rose to his feet and hurled after his tormentor a single sentence of invective. I refrain from repeating it, for I feel that I could not do justice to it here. If I remember rightly, it conveyed, in a very fiew words, a reflection on the legitimacy of the driver's birth ; it hinted a suspicion of his father's integrity, and impugned the fair Tame of his mother ; it suggested incompetency in his present position, personal uncleanliness, and evinced a sceptical doubt of his future salvation. As his youthful lips closed over the last syllable, the eyes of the vulgar little boy met mine. Something in my look emboldened him to wink. I did not repel the action nor the complicity it implied. From that moment I fell into the power of the vulgar little boy, and he has never left me since. He haunts me in the streets and byways. He accosts me, when in the company of friends, with repulsive freeuom. He lingers about the gate of my dwelling to waylay me as I issue forth to business. Distance he overcomes by main strength of lungs, and he hails me from the next street. He met me at the theatre the other evening, and demanded my check with the air of a young footpad. I fooli^.hly gave it to him, but re-entering some time after, and comfortably seating myself in the parquet, I was electrified by hearing my name called from the gallery with the addition of a playful adjective. It was the vulgar little boy. During Oh a Vulvar Little Boy, 217 :ilfulnes8 \ enable lave sur- , among in which tal. He ig vehicle little boy a single it, for I emember ection on suspicion me of his : position, doubt of I over the net mine, k. I did d. From little boy, [e accosts freeuom. [lay me as s by main ;xt street. lemanded |i?.hly gave jmfortably )y hearing ition of a During the performance he projected spirally-twisted playbills in my direction, and indulged in a running commentary on the supernumeraries as they entered. To-day has evidently been a dull one with him. I observe he whistles the popular airs of the period with less shrillness and intensity. Providence, however, looks not unkindly on him, and delivers into his hands, as it were, two nice little boys who have at this moment innocently strayed into our street They are pink and- white children, and are dressed alike, and exhibit a certain air of neatness and refinement which is alone sufficient to awaken the antagonism of the vulgar little boy. A sigh of satisfaction breaks from his breast. What does he do ? Any other boy would content himself with simply knocking the hats off their respective heads, and so vent his superfluous vitality in a single act, besides precipitating the flight of the enemy. But there are aesthetic considerations not to be overlooked ; insult is to be added to the injury inflicted, and in the struggles of the victim some justification is to be sought for extreme measures. The two nice little boys perceive their danger and draw closer to each other. The vulgar little boy begins by irony. He affects to be overpowered by the magnifi- cence of their costume. He addresses me (across the street and through the closed window), and requests information if there haply be a circus in the vicinity. He makes affectionate inquiries after the health of their parents. He expresses a fear of maternal anxiety in regard to their wel- fare. He offers to conduct them home. One nice little boy feebly retorts ; but alas ! his correct pronunciation, his grammatical exactitude, and his moderate epithets only provoke a scream of derision from the vulgar little boy, who now rapidly changes his tactics. Staggering under the weight of his vituperation, they fall easy victims to what he ''it. " ^ i • ' ' « :! ., IT" '1: ii' (|i I. 3l8 t?« rt Vulgar Lit He Boy, would call his "dexter mawley." A wail of lamentation goes up from our street. But as the subject of this article seems to require a more vigorous handling than I had purposed to give it, I find it necessary to abandon my pre- sent dignified position, seize my hat, open the front door, and try a stronger method I % < ai9 ) jTtom a IBacii ([OtnDotD* I REMEMBER that long ago, as a sanguine and trustful child, I became possessed of a highly-coloured lithograph representing a fair Circassian sitting by a window. The price I paid for this work of art may have been extravagant, even in youth's fluctuating slate-pencil currency; but the secret joy I felt in its possession knew no pecuniary equiva- lent. 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 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 mysteriously to pass away. When I became convinced that few females, of Circassian or other origin, sat pensively rest- ing their chins on their henna- tinged nails at their parlour windows, I turned my attention to back windows. Although m •I j|i ] 'id m 220 From a Back Window. k' ^«., '.:* : n^ '.' \ !!■ " - 1 1 ■■liil 'A. I 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 -uspicious glances of land- ladies 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 when 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 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, vtrhose 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 recognise 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 recognise 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 1 From a Back Window. 221 si I ith open ive fallen lot been iliar with sguise of 5 of land- I have J become ; to their len hung disposed) r, in scant ut I have ice of all ing, and I se only is the front t'he world ,t the back who lets night, is a ) growls of len. The s angular, and who ledium of ids fail to You may and bow- rissa; you e between ou fondly iths in the rear of her dwelling and within whispering distance of her bower, and never know it. You shall see her with a hand- kerchief 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 just 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 the 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 dtbris of all the back yards in the neighbourhood. What a wealth of soda-water bottles and old iron they have acquired ! But I am waiting for an even more familiar prospect from my 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 indoors. He does not look like a .;■.. ■ tr ■ . V' m h i i m W ii ,'-mlmtm W I ! ' ^ * ' 222 From a Back Window. 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. } *;: . „J: I ^:'l, 1 t 1 ■■i. 1 1 i ( J J / i. ( »23 ) SibetDantingier. The time occupied in walking to and from my business 1 have always found to yield me a certain mental enjoyment which no other part of the twenty-four hours could give. Perhaps the physical exercise may have acted as a gentle stimulant of the brain, but more probably the comfortable consciousness that I could not reasonably be expected to be doing anything else — ^to be studying or improving my mind, for instance — always gave a joyous liberty to my fancy. I once thought it necessary to employ this interval in doing sums in arithmetic, — in which useful study I was and am st U lumentably deficient, — but after one or two attempts at peripatetic computation, I gave it up. I am satisfied that much enjoyment is lost to the world by this nervous anxiety to improve our leisure moments, which, like the " shining hours " of Dr. Watts, unfortunately offer the greatftjst facilities for idle pleasure. I feel a profound pity for those misguided beings who are still impelled to carry text-books with them in cars, omnibuses, and ferryboats, and who generally manage to defraud themselves of those intervals of rest they most require. Nature must have her fallow moments, when she covers her exhausted fields with flowers instead of grain. Deny her this, and the next crop suffers for it I offer this axiom as some apology for obtruding upon the reader a few of the speculations which have engaged my mind during these daily perambulations. 224 Stdewalkings, » I I ' ■ ■ 1 . f J.. '^ j. 'j-t^ r i Few Californians know how to lounge gracefully. Busi- ness habits, and a deference to the custom, even with those who have no business, give an air of restless anxiety to every pedestrian. The exceptions to this rule are apt to go to the other extreme, and wear a defiant, obtrusive kind of indolence which suggests quite as much inward disquiet and unrest. The shiftless lassitude of a gambler can never be mistaken for the lounge of a gentleman. Even the brokers who loiter upon Montgomery Street at high noon are not loungers. Look at them closely and you will see a feverishness and anxiety under the mask of listlessness. They do not lounge — they lie in wsit No surer sign, I imagine, of our peculiar civilisation can be found than this lack of repose in its constituent elements. You cannot keep Californians quiet even in their amusements. They dodge in and out of the theatre, opera, and lecture-room j they prefer the street cars to walking because they think they get along faster. The difference of locomotion between Broadway, New York, and Montgomery Street, San Francisco, is a comparative view of Eastern and Western civilisation. There is a habit peculiar to many walkers, which " Punch," some years ago, touched upon satirically, but which seems to have survived the jester's ridicule. It is that custom of stopping friends in the street, to whom we have nothing whatever to communicate, but whom we embarrass for no other purpose than simply to show our friendship. Jones meets his friend Smith, whom he has met in nearly the same locality but a few hours before. During that interval, it is highly probable that no event of any importance to Smith, nor indeed to Jones, which by a friendly construc- tion Jones could imagine Smith to be interested in, has occurred, or is likely to occur. Yet both gentlemen stop Siud shake hands earnestly. " Well, how goes it ? " remarks II Sidewalkings. 325 11 . Busi- th those xiety to e apt to live kind disquiet ;an never Lven the Igh noon will see a ;tlessness. ;r sign, 1 than this )U cannot ts. They ure-room ; they think ocomotion »ry Street, .stern and " Punch," lich seems custom of /e nothing [•ass for no jip. Jones 1 nearly the lat interval, [ortance to construc- [ed in, has jemen stop '" remarks Smith, with a vague hope that something may have hap- pened " So so," replies the eloquent Jones, feeling intui- tively the deep vacuity of his friend answering to his own. A pause ensues, in which both gentlemen regard each other with an imbecile smile and a fervent pressure of the hand. Smith draws a long breath and looks up the street ; Jones sighs heavily and gazes down the street Another pause, in which both gentlemen disengage their respective hands and glance anxiously around for some conventional avenue of escape. Finally, Smith (w'th a sudden assumption of having forgotten an important; engagement) ejaculates, " Well, I must be off," — a remark instantly echoed by the voluble Jones, and these gentlemen separate, only to re- peat their miserable formula the next day. In the above example I have compassionately shortened the usual leave- taking, which, in skilful hands, may be protracted to a length which I shudder to recall I have sometimes, when an active participant in these atrocious transactions, lin- gered in the hope of saying something natural to my friend (feeling that he, too, was groping in the mazy labyrinths of his mind for a like expression), until I have felt that we ought to have been separated by a policeman. It is aston- ishing how far the most wretched joke will go in these emergencies, and how it will, as it were, convulsively detach the two cohering particles. I have laughed (albeit hysteri- cally) at some witticism under cover of which I escaped, that five minutes afterward I could not perceive possessed a grain of humour. I would advise any person who may fall into this pitiable strait, that, next to getting in the way of a passing dray and being forcibly disconnected, a joke is the most efficacious. A foreign phrase often may be tried with success. I have sometimes known Au revoir^ pronounced "0-reveer," to have the effect (as it ought) of severing friends. I wkn If HJmtmmm 226 Sidewalkings, f '!fK»«! 1 1 I -7^ • li^^* ' I i ■ ! , But this is a harmless habit compared to a certain repre* hensible practice in which sundry feeble-minded young men indulge. I have been stopped in the street and enthusiastically accosted by some fashionable young mari. who has engaged me in animated conversation, until (quite accidentally) a certain young belle would pass, whom my friend of course saluted. As, by a strange coincidence, this occurred several times in the course of the week, and as my young friend's conversational powers invariably flagged after the lady had passed, I am forced to believe that the deceitful young wretch actually used me as a conventional background to display the graces of his figure to the passing fair. When I detected the trick, of course I made a point of keeping my friend, by strategic move- ments, with his back toward the young lady, while I bowed to her myself. Since then, I understand that it is a regular custom of these callow youths to encounter each other, with simulated cordiality, some paces in /ront of the young lady they wish to recognise, so that she cannot possibly cut them. The corner of California and Montgomery Streets is their favourite haunt. They may be easily de- tected by their furtive expression of eye, which betrays them even in the height of their apparent enthusiasm. Speaking of eyes, you can generally settle the average gentility and good-breeding of the people you meet in the street by the manner in which they return or evade your glance. " A gentleman," as the Autocrat has wisely said. Is always "calm-eyed." There is just enough abstraction in his look to denote his individual power and the capacity for self-contemplation, while he is, nevertheless, quietly and unobtrusively observant He does not seek, neither does he evade, your observation. Snobs and prigs do the first ; bashful and mean pleople do the second. There are tome men who, on meeting your eye, immediately assume Sidewalkings. 217 li jin repTfr sd young treet and ung man. ntil (quite whom my (incidence, week, and invariably to believe I me as a )f his figure c, of course tegic move- file I bowed : is a regular each other, 3f the young not possibly Montgomery 36 easily de- hich betrays jsiasm. the average meet in the evade your ; wisely said, abstraction the capacity aess, quietly ,seek, neither prigs do the There are iately assume an expression quite different from the one which they previously wore, which, whether an improvement or not, suggests a disagreeable self-consciousness. Perhaps they fancy they are betraying something. There are others who return your look vith unnecessary defiance, which suggests a like concealment. The symptoms of the eye are generally borne out in the figure. A man is very apt to betray his character by the manner in which he appropriates his part of the sidewalk. The man who resolutely keeps the middle of the pavement and deliberately brushes against you, you may be certain would take the last piece of pie at the hotel table, and empty the cream-jug on its way to your cup. The man who sidles by you, keeping close to the houses and selecting the easiest planks, manages to slip through life in some such way, and to evade its sternest duties. The awkward man, who gets in your way, and throw? you back upon the man behind you, and so manages to derange the harmonious procession of an entire block, is very apt to do the same thing in political and social economy. The inquisitive man, who deliberately shortens his pace so that he may participate in the confidence you impart to your companion, has an eye not unfamiliar to keyholes, and probably opens his wife's letters. The loud man, who talks with the intention of being overheard, is the same egotist elsewhere. If there was any justice in lago's sneer, that there were some " so weak of soul that in their sleep they mutter their affairs," what shall be said of the walking reverie babblers? I have met m.en who were evidently rolling over, " like a sweet moisel under the tongue," some speech they were about to make, and others who were framing curses. I remember once that, while walking behind an apparently respectable old gentleman, he sud- denly uttered the exclamation, " Well, I'm d — d ! " and then quietly resumed his usual manner. Whether he had .ii 1^ 328 Sidewalkings, •iK 1 f y U i' at that moment become impressed with a truly orthodox disbelief in his ultimate salvation, or whether he was simply indignant, I never could tell. I have been hesitating for some time to speak — or if indeed to speak at all — of that lovely and critic-defying sex, whose bright eyes and voluble prattle have not been without effect in tempering the austerities of my peripatetic musing. I have been humbly thankful that I have been permitted to view their bright dresses and those charming bonnets which seem to have brought the birds and flowers of spring within the dreary limits of the town, and — I trust I shall not be deemed unkind in saying it — my pleasure was not lessened by the reflection that the display, to me at least, was inexpensive. I have walked in — and I fear occasionally on — the train of the loveliest of her sex who has preceded me. If I have sometimes wondered why two young ladies always began to talk vivaciously on the approach of any good-looking fellow ; if I have wondered whether the mirror-like qualities of all large show-windows at all influenced their curiosity regarding silks and calicoes; if I have ever entertained the same ungentlemanly thought concerning daguerreotype show-cases ; if I have ever misin- terpreted the eyeshot which has passed between two pretty women — more searching, exhaustive, and sincere than any of our feeble ogles ; — if I have ever committed these or any other impertinences, it was only to retire beaten and dis- comfited, and to confess that masculine philosophy, while it soars beyond Sirius and the ring of Saturn, stops short at the stcd periphery which encompasses the simplest school-girl. ( 229 ) J orthodox ^as simply eak— or if tic-defying B not been peripatetic have been e channing and flowers ,nd— I trust ny pleasure splay, to me -and I fear her sex who red why two usly on the ve wondered low-windows and calicoes; lanly thought e ever misin- sn two pretty |ere than any these or any Lten and dis- (sophy, while stops short the simplest i' Cbatttable Bemi!ii0cence0* As tne new Benevolent Association has had the effect of withdrawing beggars from the streets, and as professional mendicancy bids fair to be presently ranked Nvith the lost arts, to preserve some records of this noble branch of in- dustry, I have endeavoured to recall certain traits and peculiarities of individual members of the order whom I have known, and whose forms I now miss from their accustomed haunts. In so doing, I confess to feeling a certain regret at this decay of professional begging, lor I hold the theory that mankind are bettered by the occa- sional spectacle of misery, whether simulated or not, on the same principle that our sympathies are enlarged by the fictitious woes of the drama, though we know that the actors are insincere. Perhaps I am indiscreet in saying that I have rewarded the artfully-dressed and well-acted perform- ance of the begging impostor through the same impulse that impelled me to expend a dollar in witnessing the coun- terfeited sorrows of poor "Triplet," as represented by Charles Wheatleigh. I did not quarrel with deceit in either case. My coin was giveri in recognition of the senti- ment ; the moral responsibility rested with the performer. The principal figure that I now mourn ovei as lost for ever is one that may have been familiar to many of my readers. It was that of a dark-complexioned, black- eyed, foreign-looking woman, who supported in her arms a sickly i (tBi ^ ' »%, nit} fM^ ,'i> 1 ^ it'" f :':• ^t I ! : I i. 230 Charitahle Reminiscences, baby. As a pathological phenomenon the baby was especially interesting, having presented the Hippocratic face and other symptoms of immediate dissolution, without change, for the past three years. The woman never ver- bally solicited alms. Her appearance was always mute, mys- terious, and sudden. She made no other appeal than that which the dramatic tableau of herself and baby suggested, with an outstretched hand and deprecating eye sometimes superadded. She usually stood in my doorway, silent and patient, intimating her presence, if my attention were pre- occupied, by a slight cough from her baby, whom I shall always believe had its part to play in this little pantomime, atid generally obeyed a secret signal from the maternal hand. It was useless for me to refuse alms, to plead busi- ness, or affect inattention. She never moved ; her position was always taken with an appearance of latent capabilities of endurance and experience in waiting which never failed to impress me with awe and the futility of any hope of escape. There was also something in the reproachful expression of her eye which plainly said to me, as I bent over my paper, " Go on with your mock sentimentalities and simulated pathos, portray the imaginary sufferings of your bodiless creations, spread your thin web of philosophy ; but look you, sir, here is real misery — here is genuine suffering ! " I confess that this artful suggestion usually brought me down. In three minutes after she had thus invested the citadel I usually surrendered at discretion, with- out a gun having been fired on either side. She received my offering and retired as mutely and mysteriously as she had appeared. Perhaps it was well for me that she did not know her strength. I might have been forced, had this terrible woman been conscious of her real power, to have borrowed money which I could not pay, or have forged a check to purchase immunity from her awful presence. I Charitable Reminiscences, 231 hardly know if I make myself understood, and yet I am unable to define my meaning more clearly when I say that there was something in her glance which suggested to the person appealed to, when in the presence of others, a certain idea of some individual responsibility for her suf- ferings, which, while it never failed to affect him with a mingled sense of ludicrousness and terror, always made an impression of unqualified gravity on the minds of the by- standers. As she has uisappeared within the last month, I imagine that she has found a home at the San Francisco Benevolent Association, — at least, I cannot conceive of any charity, however guarded by wholesome checks or sharp- eyed almoners, that could resist that mute apparition. I should like to go there and inquire about her, and also learn if the baby was convalescent or dead ; but I am satis- fied that she would rise up, a mute and reproachful appeal, so personal in its artful suggestions, that it would end in the Association instantly transferring her to my hands. My next familiar mendicant was a vender of printed ballads. These effusions were so stale, atrocious, and un saleable in their character, that it was easy to detect that hypocrisy which — in imitation of more ambitious beggary — veiled the real eleemosynary appeal under the thin pre- text of offering an equivalent This beggar — an aged female in a rusty bonnet — I unconsciously precipitated upon myself in an evil moment On our first meeting, while dis- tractedly turning over the ballads, I came upon a certain production entitled, I think, " The Fire Zouave," and was struck with the truly patriotic and American manner in which "Zouave" was made to rhyme in different stanzas with " grave, brave, save, and glaive." As I purchased it at once with a gratified expression of countenance, it soon became evident that the act was misconstrued by my poor friend, who from that moment never ceased to haunt mfr I. •I i ' i' lif't Hi 'II 232 Charitable Reminiscences* Perhaps in the whole course of her precarious existence she had never before sold a ballad. My solitary purchase evidently made me, in her eyes, a customer, and in a measure exalted her vocation ; so thereafter she regularly used to look in at my door, with a chirping, confident air, and the question, " Any more songs to-day ? " as though it were some necessary article of daily consumption. I never took any more of her songs, although that circumstance did not shake her faith in my literary taste ; my abstinence from this exciting mental pabulum being probably ascribed to charitable motives. She was finally absorbed by the S.F.B.A., who have probably made a proper disposition of her effects. She was a little old woman, of Celtic origin, predisposed to melancholy, and looking as if she had read most of her ballads. My next reminiscence takes the shape of a very seedy individual, who had, for three or four years, been vainly attempting to get back to his relatives in Illinois, where sympathising friends and a comfortable almshouse awaited him. Only a few dollars, he informed me, — the uncontri- buted remainder of the amount necessary to purchase a steerage ticket, — stood in his way. These last few dollars seem to have been most difficult to get, and he had wandered about, a sort of antithetical Flying Dutchman, for ever putting to sea, yet never getting away from shore. He was a "49-er," and had recently been blown up in a tunnel, or had fallen down a shaft, I forget which. This sad accident obliged him to use large quantities of whisky as a liniment, which, he informed me, occasioned the mild fragrance which his garments exhaled. Though be- longing to the same class, he was not to be confounded with the unfortunate miner who could not get back to his claim without pecuniary assistance, or the desolate Italian who hopelessly handed you a document in a foreign Ian* Charitable Reminiscences, 233 existence purchase Eind in a regularly ifident air, though it I never cumstance abstinence iy ascribed ed by the position of jltic origin, e had read very seedy Deen vainly nois, where ise awaited le uncontri- purchase a few dollars nd he had Dutchman, from shore, n up in a ich. This s of whisky isioned the hough be- Iconfounded back to his »late Italian foreign lan- guage, very much bethumbed and illegible, wliirh, in your ignorance of the tongue, you couldn't help suspiciously feeling might have been a price current, but which you could see was proffered as an excuse for alms. Indeed, whenever a.iy stranger handed me, without speaking, an open document, which bore the marks of having been carried in the greasy lining of a hat, I always felt safe in giving him a quarter and dismissing him without further questioning. I always noticed that these circular letters, when written in the vernacular, v ere remarkable for their beautiful caligraphy and grammatical inaccuracy, and that they all seem to have been written by the same hand. Perhaps indigence exercises a peculiar and equal effect upon the handwriting. I recall a few occasional mendicants whose faces were less familiar. One afternoon r most extraordinary Irish- man, with a black eye, a bruised hat, and other traces of past enjoyment, waited upon me with a pitiful story of destitution and want, and concluded by requesting the usual trifle. I replied, with some severity, that if I gave him a dime he would probably spend it for drink. " Be Gorra 1 but you're roight — I wad that ! " he answered promptly. I was so much taken aback by this unexpected exhibition of frankness that I instantly handed over the dime. It seems that truth had survived the wreck of his other virtues; he did get drunk, and, impelled by a like conscientious sense of duty, exhibited himself to me in that state a few hours after, to show that my bounty had not been misapplied. In spite of the peculiar characters of these reminiscences, I cannot help feeling a certain regret at the decay of professional mendicancy. Perhaps it may be owing to a lingering trace of that youthful superstition which saw in all beggars a possible prince or fairy, and invested their 234 Charitable Reminiscences. 1^ w\ , I ' n , PP; 1 .V 1 •■ 1.1 .; 1 > i 1 if 1 1 fn' h v^alling with a mysterious awe. Perhaps it may be from a belief that there is something in the old-fashioned alms- givings and actual contact with misery that is wholesome for both donor and recipient, and that any system which inter- poses a third party between them is only putting on a thick glove, which, while it preserves us from contagion, absorbs and deadens the kindly pressure of our hand. It is a very pleasant thing to purchase relief from the annoyance and trouble of having to weigh the claims of an afflicted neighbour. As I turn over these printed tickets, which the courtesy of the San Francisco Benevolent Association has — by a slight stret:h of the imagination in supposing that any sane unfortunate might rashly seek relief from a newspaper office — conveyed to these editorial hands, I cannot help wondering whether when, in our last extremity, we come to draw upon the Immeasurable Bounty, it will be necessary to present a ticket. fi' I ( 235 ) " Seeing tfte feteamer J©ff* »> I HAVE sometimes thought, while watching the departure of an Eastern steamer, that the act of parting from friends — so generally one of bitterness and despondency — is made by an ingenious Californian custom to yield a pleasurable excitement. This luxury of leave-taking, in which most Californians indulge, is often protracted to the hauling in of the gang-plank. Those last words, injunctions, promises, and embraces, which are mournful and depressing perhaps in that privacy demanded on other occasions, are here, by reason of their very publicity, of an edifying and exhilarat- ing character. A parting kiss, blown from the deck of a steamer into a miscellaneous crowd, of course loses much of that sacred solemnity with which foolish superstition is apt to invest it A broadside of endearing epithets, even when properly aimed and apparently raking the whole wharf, is apt to be impotent and harmless. A husband who prefers to embrace his wife for the last time at the door of her state-room, and finds himself the centre of an admiring group of unconcerned spectators, of course feels himself lifted above any feeling save that of ludicrousness which the situation suggests. The mother, parting from her offspring, should become a Roman matron under the like influences; the lover who takes leave of his sweet- heart is not r.pt to mar the general hilarity by any emotional folly. In fact, this system of delaying our parting senti- I 236 " Seeing the Steamer Off'* •1 r . '■' •if' r :■ [f'f f tV ments until the last moment — this removal of domestic scenery and incident to a public theatre — may be said to be worthy of a stoical and democratic people, and is an event in our lives which may be shared with the humblest coal-passer or itinerant vender of oranges. It is a return to that classic out-of-door experience and mingling of public and domestic economy which so ennobled the straight- nosed Athenian. So universal is this desire ' ". He present at the depar- ture of any steamer that, aside from the regular crowd of loungers who make their appearance confessedly only to look on, there are others who take advantage of the slightest intimacy to go through the leave-taking formula. People whom you have quite forgotten, people to whom you have been lately introduced, suddenly and unexpectedly make their appearance and wring your hands with fervour. The friend long estranged forgives you nobly at the last moment, to take advantage of this glorious opportunity of "seeing you oif." Your bootmaker, tailor, and hatter — haply with no ulterior motives and unaccompanied by official friends — visit you with enthusiasm. You find great difficulty in detaching your relatives and acquaintances from the trunks on which they resolutely seat themselves up to the moment when the paddles are moving, and you are haunted continually by an ill-defined idea that they may be carried off and foisted on you — with the payment of their passage, which, under the circumstances, you could not refuse — for the rest of the voyage. Your friends will make their appearance at the most inopportune moments and from the most unexpected places, — dangling from hawsers, climbing up paddle-boxes, and crawling through cabin windows at the imminent peril of their lives. You are nervous and crushed by this added weight of responsibility. Should you be a stranger, you will find any number of til, ,:Ji «< Seeing the Steamer OJfl' m ' "A smestic said to d is an umblest a return if public straight- e depar- ;rowd of only to slightest People you have ily make ur. The the last rtunity of hatter — anied by find great nces from ires up to you are ;y may be it of their lould not Iwill make lents and hawsers, [gh cabin You are jonsibility. lumber of people on board, who will cheerfully and at a venture take leave of you on the slightest advances made on your part. A friend of mine assures me that he once parted, with great enthusiasm and cordiality, from a party of gentlemen, to him personally unknown, who had apparently mistaken his state-room. This party, — evidently connected with some fire company, — on comparing notes on the wharf, being somewhat dissatisfied with the result of their performances, afterward rendered my friend's position on the hurricane deck one of extreme peril and inconvenience, by reason of skilfully projected oranges and apples, accompanied with some invective. Yet there is certainly something to interest us in the examination of that cheerless damp closet, whose painted wooden walls no furniture or company can make habitable, wherein our friend is to spend so many vapid days and restless nights. The sight of these apartments, yclept state-roomSy — Heaven knows why, except it be from theirwant of cosiness, — is full of keen reminiscences to most Californians who have not outgrown the memories of that dreary interval when, in obedience to Nature's wise compen- sations, home-sickness was blotted out by sea-sickness, and both at last resolved into a chaotic and distempered dream, whose details we now recognise. The steamer chair that we used to drag out upon the narrow strip of deck and doze in over the pages of a well-thumbed novel ; the deck itself, of afternoons redolent with the skins of oranges and bananas, of mornings damp with salt-water and mopping ; the netted bulwark, smelling of tar in the tropics and fretted on the weather side with little saline crystals ; the villanously compounded odours of victuals from the pantry and 'oil from the machinery ; the young lady that we used to flirt with, and with whom we shared our last novel, adorned with marginal annotations ; our own chum ; our own bore ; the man who was never sea-sick ; the two events il -w** 238 " Seeing the Steamer Off** \v -^ of the day, breakfast and dinner, and the dreary inteiTal between; the tremendous importance given to trifling events and trifling people; the young lady who kept a journal ; the newspaper, published on board, flUed with mild pleasantries and impertinences, elsewhere unendur- able; the young lady who sang; the wealthy passenger; the popular passenger ; the [Let us sit down for a moment until this qualmishness, which these associations and some infectious quality of the atmosphere seem to produce, has passed away. What becomes of our steamer friends? Why are we now so apathetic about them ? Why is it that we drift away from them so unconcernedly, forgetting even their names and faces? Why, whe'i we do remember them, do we look at them so suspiciously, with an undefined idea that, in the unrestrained freedom of the voyage, they became possessed of some confidence and knowledge of our weaknesses that we never should have imparted ? Did we make any such confessions ? Perish the thought ! The popular man, how- ever, is not now so popular. We have heard finer voices than that of the young lady who sang so sweetly. Our chum's fascinating qualities somehow have deteriorated on land ; so have those of the fair young novel-reader, now the wife of an honest miner in Virginia City.] — ^The passenger who made so many trips, and exhibited a reckless familiarity with the officers ; the officers them- selves, now so modest and undemonstrative, a few hours later so all-powerful and important, — these are among the reminiscences of most Californians, and these are to be remembered among the experiences of our friend. Yet he feels, as we all do, that his past experience will be of profit to him, and has already the confident air of an old voyager. As you stand on the wharf again, and listen to the criei of itinerant fruit venders, you wonder why it is that grief at «: " Seeing the Steamer Off." 239 intei-ral trifling kept a ed with inendur- ssenger ; aishness, ty of the . What ; now so way from imes and e look at at, in the possessed esses that any such man, how- ner voices ;ly. Our orated on ader, now exhibited :ers them- few hours imong the are to be Yet he e of profit voyager. the criei lat grief at parting and the unpleasant novelties of travel are supposed to be assuaged by oranges and apples, even at ruinously low prices. Perhaps it may be, figuratively, the last offering of the fruitful earth, as the passenger commits himself to the bosom of the sterile and unproductive ocean. Even while the wheels are moving and the lines are cast off, some hardy apple merchant, mounted on the top of a pile, con- cludes a trade with a steerage passenger, — twenty feet interposing between buyer and seller, — and achieves, under these difficulties, the delivery of his wares. Handkerchiefs wave, hurried orders mingle with parting blessings, and the steamer is "off." As you turn your face cityward, and glance hurriedly around at the retreating crowd, you will see a reflection of your own wistful face in theirs, and read the solution of one of the problems which perplex the Cali- fornia enthusiast. Before you lies San Francisco, with her hard angular outlines, her brisk, invigorating breezes, her bright, but unsympathetic sunshine, her restless and ener- getic population ; behind you fades the recollection of changeful but honest skies, of extremes of heat and cold, modified and made enjoyable through social and physical laws, of pastoral landscapes, of accessible Nature in her kindliest forms, of inherited virtues, of long-tested customs and habits, of old friends and old faces, — in a word — of Home I ii f 1 t is i if ( 240 ) ff'ii ft, !.^ Ml. "It f; 'H fc I5eisl}6oui1)ooli0 3 l^abe ^oDeD JFrom. A BAY-WINDOW one** Settled the choice of my house and compensated for many of its inconveniences. When the chimney smoked, or the doors alternately shrunk and swelled, resisting any forcible attempt to open them, or opening of themselves with ghostly deliberation, or when suspicious blotches appeared on the ceiling m rainy weather, there was always the bay-window to turn to for comfort And the view was a fine one. Alcatraz, Lime Point, Fort Point, and Saucelito were plainly visible over a restless expanse of water that changed continually, glittering in the sunlight, darkening in rocky shadow, or sweeping in mimic waves on a miniature beach below. Although at first the bay-window was supposed to be sacred to myself and my writing materials, in obedience to some organic law it by and by became a general lounging- place. A rocking-chair and crotchet basket one day found their way there. Then the baby invaded its recesses, forti- fying himself behind intrenchments of coloured worsteds and spools of cotton, from which he was only dislodged by concerted assault, and carried lamenting into captivity. A subtle glamour crept over all who came within its influence, To apply one's self to serious work there was an absurdity. An incoming ship, a gleam on the water, a cloud lingering about Tamalpais, were enough to distract the attention. r. ! Neighbourhoods I have Moved From, 241 Trom. ouse and Vhen the runk and them, or , or when y weather, r comfort >oint, Fort a restless ing in the y in mimic I sed to be edience to lounging- day found jsses, forti- worsteds sledged by tivity. A influence. absurdity. d lingering attention. Reading or writing, the bay-window was always showing something to be looked at Unfortunately these views were not always pleasant, but the window gave equal pro- minence and importance to all, without respect to quality. The landscape in the vicinity was unimproved but not rural. The adjacent lots had apparently just given up bear- ing scrub-oaks, but had not seriously taken to bricks and mortar. In one direction the vista was closed by the Home of the Inebriates, not in itself a cheerful-looking building, and, as the apparent terminus of a ramble in a certain direction, having all the effect of a moral lesson. To a certain extent, however, this building was an imposition. The enthusiastic members of my family, who confidently expected to see its inmates hilariously disporting themselves at its windows in the different stages of inebriation portrayed by the late W. E. Burton, were much disappointed. The Home was reticent of its secrets. The County Hospital, also in range of the bay-window, showed much more anima- tion. At certain hours of the day convalescents passed in review before the window on their way to an airing. This spectacle was the still more depressing from a singular lack of sociability that appeared to prevail among them. Each man was encompassed by the impenetrable atmosphere of his own peculiar suffering. They did not talk or walk together. From the window I have seen half a dozen sunning themselves against a wall within a few feet of each other, to all appearance utterly oblivious of the fact Had they but quarrelled or fought, — ^anything would have been better than this horrible apathy. The lower end of the street on which the bay-window was situate opened invitingly from a popular thoroughfare, and after beckoning the unwary stranger into its recesses, ended unexpectedly at a frightful precipice. On Sundays, when the travel North- Beachwards was considerable, the Q I"' f II, Mil ' ! P ..I ' I !> I m > I ; ; ?! Bi 242 Neighbourhoods I have Moved From, bay-window delighted in the spectacle afforded by unhappy pedestrians who were seduced into taking this street as a short-cut somewhere else. It was amusing to notice how these people invariably, on coming to the precipice, glanced upward to the bay-window and endeavoured to assume a careless air before they retraced their steps, whistling osten- tatiously, as if they had previously known all about it. One high-spirited young man in particular, being incited thereto by a pair of mischievous bright eyes in an opposite window, actually descended this fearful precipice rather than return, to the great peril of life and limb, and manifest injury to his Sunday clothes. Dogs, goats, and horses constituted the fauna of out neighbourhood. Possessing the lawless freedom of their normal condition, they still evinced a tender attachment to man and his habitations. Spirited steeds got up extempon races on the sidewalks, turning the street into a miniature Corso; dogs wrangled in the areas; while from the hill be* side the house a goat browsed peacefully upon my wife's geraniums in the flower-pots in the second-storey window. ** We had a fine hail-storm last night," remarked a newly arrived neighbour, who had just moved into the adjoining house. It would have been a pity to set him right, as he was quite enthusiastic about the view and the general sani- tary qualifications of the locality. So I didn't tell him any- thing about the goats who were in the habit of using his house as a stepping-stone to the adjoining hill. But the locality was remarkably healthy. People who fell down the embankments found their wounds heal rapidly in the steady sea-breeze. Ventilation was complete and thorough. The opening of the bay-window produced a cur- rent of wholesome air which effectually removed all noxious exhalations, together with the curtains, the hinges of the back door, and the window-shutters. Owing to this pecu< mhappjf eet as a tice how , glanced Lssume a ig osten- it. One d thereto I window, ui return, lury to his ta of out I of their chment to extemport miniature le hill be- my wife's ;y window. A a newly ; adjoining ight, as he ireral sani- II him any- »f using his 'eople who leal rapidly nplete and uced a cur- all noxious iges of the 3 this pecu- Neighbourhoods 1 have Moved From. 243 Harity, some of my writings acquired an extensive circulation and publicity in the neighbourhood, which years in another locality might not have produced. Several articles of wear- ing apparel, which were mysteriously transposed from our clothes-line to that of an humble though honest neighbour was undoubtedly the result of these sanitary winds. Yet in spite of these advantages I found it convenient in a few months to move. And the result whereof I shall communi- cate in other papers. II. ** A house with a fine garden and extensive shrubbery, in a genteel neighbourhood," were, if I remember rightly, the general terms of an advertisement which once decided my choice of a dwelling. I should add that this occurred at an early stage of my household experience, when I placed a trustful reliance in advertisements. I have since learned that the most truthful people are apt to indulge a slight vein of exaggeration in describing their own possessions, as though the mere circumstance of going into print were an excuse for a certain kind of mendacity. But I did not fully awaken to this fact until a much later period, when, in answering an advertisement which described a highly advantageous tenement, I was referred to the house I then occupied, and from which a thousand inconveniences were impelling me to move. The " fine garden " alluded to was not large, but con- tained several peculiarly shaped flower-beds. I was at first struck with the singular resemblance which they bore to the mutton-chops that are usually brought on the table at hotels and restaurants, — a resemblance the more striking from the sprigs of parsley which they produced freely. One plat in r Ml. ' 'ill It 'li:^- i, n ■ : ■' §1: M : R', 144 Neighbourhoods I Jtave Moved From, particular reminded me, not unpleasantly, of a peculiar cake known to my boyhood as " a bolivar." The owner of the property, however, who seemed to be a man of original aesthetic ideas, had banked up one of these beds with bright-coloured sea-shells, so that in rainy weather it sug- gested an aquarium, and offered the elements of botanical and conchological study in pleasing juxtaposition. I have since thought that the fish-geraniums, which it also bore to a surprising extent, were introduced originally from some such idea of consistency. But it was very pleasant after dinner to ramble up and down the gravelly paths (whose occa- sional boulders reminded me of the dry bed of a somewhat circuitous mining stream), smoking a cigar, or inhaling the rich aroma of fennel, or occasionally stopping to pluck one of the hollyhocks with which the garden abounded. The pro- lific qualities of this plant alarmed us greatly, for although, in the first transport of enthusiasm, my wife planted several different kinds of flower-seeds, nothing ever came up but hollyhocks ; and although, impelled by the same laudable impulse, I procured a copy of "Downing's Landscape Gardening,"" and a few gardening tools, and worked for several hours in the garden, my efforts were equally futile. The " extensive shrubbery " consisted of several dwarfed trees. One was a very weak young weeping willow, so very limp and maudlin, and so evidently bent on establishing its reputation, that it had to be tied up against the house for support. The dampness of that portion of the house was usually attributed to the presence of this lachry- mose shrub. Add to these a couple of highly objection- able trees, known, I think, by the name of Malva, which made an inordinate show of cheap blossoms that they were continually shedding, and one or two dwarf oaks with scaly leaves and a generally spiteful exterior, and you have tii: w peculiar owner of ' original eds with er it sug- botanical I have bore to a ome such er dinner )se occa- somewhat laling the ick one of The pro- although, ed several le up but laudable landscape orked for ; equally al dwarfed w, so very ablishing jainst the on of the lis lachry- objection- !va, which they were Daks with you have Neighbourhoods I have Moved From. 245 what was not inaptly termed by our Milesian handmaid "the scrubbery." The gentility of our neighbourhood suffered a blight from the unwholesome vicinity of McGinnis Court This court wai a kind of cul de sac^ that, on being penetrated, discovered a primitive people living in a state of barbarous freedom, and apparently spending the greater portion of their lives on their own doorsteps. Many of those details of the toilet which a popular prejudice restricts to the dressing-room in other localities were here performed in the open cou: without fear and without reproach. Early in the week the court was hid in a choking, soapy mist, which arose from innumerable wash-tubs. This was followed in a day or two later by an extraordinary exhibition of wearing apparel of divers colours, fluttering on lines like a display of bunting on shipboard, and whose flapping in the breeze was like irregular dis- charges of musketry. It was evident also that the court exercised a demoralising influence over the whole neighbour- hood. A sanguine property owner once put up a handsome dwelling on the comer cf bur street and lived therein ; but although he appeared frequently on his balcony, clad in a bright crimson dressing-gown, which made him look like a tropical bird of some rare and gorgeous species, he failed to woo any kindred dressing-gown to the vicinity, and only provoked opprobrious epithets from the gamins of the court He moved away shortly after, and on going by the house one day, I noticed a bill of " Rooms to let, with board," posted conspicuously on the Corinthian columns of the porch. McGinnis Court had triumphed. An interchange of civilities at once took place between the court and the servants' area of the palatial mansion, and some of the young men boarders exchanged playful slang with the adoles- cent members of the court From that moment wc felt that our claims to gentility were forever abandoned. \\ 246 Neighbourhoods I have Moved From, I'l. 'iki '•( ti Ml Yet we enjoyed intervals of unalloyed contentment When the twilight toned down the hard outlines of the oaks and made shadowy clumps and formless masses of other bushes, it was quite romantic to sit by the window and inhale the faint, sad odour of the fennel in the walks below. Perhaps this economical pleasure was much en- hanced by a picture in my memory, whose faded colours the odour of this humble plant never failed to restore. So I often sat there of evenings and closed my eyes until the forms and benches of a country schoolroom came back to me, redolent with the incense of fennel covertly stowed away in my desk, and gazed again in silent rapture on the round red cheeks and long black braids of that peerless creature whose glance had often caused i^y cheeks to glow over the preternatural collar which at that period of my boyhood it was my pride and privilege to wear. As I fear I may be often thought hypercritical and censorious in these articles, I am willing to record this as one of the advantages of our new house, not mentioned in the advertisement nor chargeable in the rent May the present tenant, who is a stockbroker, and who impresses me with the idea of having always been called " Mr." from his cradle up, enjoy this advantage, and try sometimes to remember he was a boy I Iff III. Soon after I moved into Happy Valley I was struck with the remarkable infelicity of its title. Generous as Cali- fornians are in the use of adjectives, this passed into the domain of irony. But I was inclined to think it sincere, — the production of a weak but gushing mind, just as the feminine nomenclature of streets in the vicinity was evidently bestowed by one in habitual communion with " Friendship'i Gifts" and "Affection's Offerings." Neighbourhoods I have Moved From, 247 Our house on Laura Matilda Street looked somewhat like a toy Swiss cottage, — a style of architecture so prevalent, that in walking down the block it was quite difficult to resist an impression of fresh glue and pine shavings. The few shade-trees might have belonged originally to those oval Christmas boxes which contain toy villages ; and even the people who sat by the windows had a stiffness that made them appear surprisingly unreal and artificial A little dog belonging to a neighbour was known to the members of my household by the name of " Glass," from the general sug- gestion he gave of having been spun of that article. Per- haps I have somewhat exaggerated these illustrations of the dapper nicety of our neighbourhood, — a neatness and con- ciseness which I think have a general tendency to belittle, dwarf, and contract their objects. For we gradually fell into small ways and narrow ideas, and to some extent squared the round world outside to the correct angles of Laura Matilda Street. One reason for this insincere quality may have been the fact that the very foundations of our neighbourhood were artificial. Laura Matilda Street was " made ground." The land, not yet quite reclaimed, was continually struggling with its old enemy. We had not been long in our new home before we found an older tenant, not yet wholly divested of his rights, who sometimes showed himself in clammy perspiration on the basement walls, whose damp breath chilled our dining-room, and in the night struck a mortal chilliness through the house. There were no patent fastenings that could keep him out, no writ of unlawful detainer that could eject him. In the winter his presence was quite palpable; he sapped the roots of the trees, he gurgled under the kitchen floor, he wrought an unwhole- some greenness on the side of the veranda. In summer he became invisible, but still exercised a familiar influence ove/ f ■ 1 1 > ; ■ if! t ! . I ■ if i •■'•, 248 Neighbourhoods I have Moved From. the locality. He planted little stitches in the small of the back, sought out old aches and weak joints, and sportively punched the tenants of the Swiss cottage under the ribs. He inveigled little children to play with him, but his plays generally ended in scarlet-fever, diphtheria, whooping-cough, and measles. He sometimes followed strong men about until they sickened suddenly and took to their beds. But he kept the greeu plants in good order, and was very fond of verdure, bestowing it even upon lath and plaster and soulless stone. He was generally invisible, as I have said ; but some time after I had moved, I saw him one morning from the hill stretching his grey wings over the valley, like some fabu- lous vampire, who had spent the night sucking the whole- some juices of the sleepers below, and was sluggish from the effects of his repast. It was then tl. at I recognised him as Malaria, and knew his abode to be the dread Valley of the Shadow of Miasma, — miscalled the Happy Valley ! On week-days there was a pleasant melody of boiler- making from the foundries, and the gasworks in the vicinity sometimes lent a mild perfume to the breeze. Our street was usually quiet, however, — a footfall being sufficient to draw the inhabitants to their front windows, and to oblige an incautious trespasser to run the gauntlet of batteries of blue and black eyes on either side of the way. A carriage passing through it communicated a singular thrill to the floors, and caused the china on the dining-table to rattle. Although we were comparatively free from the prevailing winds, wandering gusts sometimes got bewildered and strayed unconsciously into our street, and finding an unen- cumbered field, incontinently set up a shriek of joy, and went gleefully to work on the clothes-lines and chimney, pots, and had a good time generally until they were quite exhausted. I have a very vivid picture in my memory of ftn organ-grinder who was at one time blown into the end Neighbourhoods I have Moved From. 249 of our street, and actually blown through it in spite of several ineffectual efforts to come to a stand before the dif- ferent dwellings, but who was finally whirled out of the other extremity, still playing and vainly endeavouring to pursue his unhallowed calling. But these were noteworthy exceptions to the calm and even tenor of our life. There was contiguity but not much sociability in our neighbourhood. From my bedroom window I could plainly distinguish the peculiar kind of victuals spread on my neigh- bour's dining-table ; while, on the other hand, he obtained an equally uninterrupted view of the mysteries of my toilet Still that "low vice, curiosity," was regulated by certain laws, and a kind of rude chivalry invested our observation. A pretty girl, whose bedroom window was the cynosure of neighbouring eyes, was once brought under the focus of an opera-glass in the hands of one of our ingenious youth; but this act met such prompt and universal condemnation, as an unmanly advantage, from the lips of married men and bachelors who didn't own opera-glasses, that it was never repeated. With this brief sketch I conclude my record of the neigh- bourhoods I have moved from. I have moved from many others since then, but they have generally presented features not dissimilar to the three I have endeavoured to describe in these pages. I offer them as types containing the salient peculiarities of all Let no inconsiderate reader rashly move on account of them. My experience has not been cheaply bought. From the nettle Change I have tried to pluck the flower Security. Draymen have grown rich at my expense. House-agents have known me and were glad, and landlords have risen up to meet me from afar. The force of habit impels me still to consult all the bills I see in the streets, nor can the war telegrams divert my first atten- tion from the advertising columns of the daily papers. I 250 Neighbourhoods I have Moved From, repeat, let no man think I have disclosed the weaknesses of the neighbourhood, nor rashly open that closet which con- tains the secret skeleton of his dwelling. My carpets have been altered to fit all sized odd-shaped apartments from parallelopiped to hexagons. Much of my furniture has been distributed among my former dwellings. These limbs have stretched upon uncarpeted floors or have been let down suddenly from imperfectly established bedsteads. I have dined in the parlour and slept in the back kitchen. Yet the result of these sacrifices and trials may be briefly summed up in the st .cement that I am now on the eve of removal from my present neiohbourhood. ( ,1 n. i «5i ) lesses of lich con> ets have nts from ture has ;se limbs been let Leads. I kitchen. )e briefly le eve of ^e @)Ubutt)an Beieii&ence* I LIVE in the suburbs. My residence, to quote the pleas- ing fiction of the advertisement, " is within fifteen minutes' walk of the City Hall." Why the City Hall should be considered as an eligible terminus of anybody's walk under any circumstances, I have not been able to determine. Never having walked from my residence to that place, I am unable to verify the assertion, though I may state as a purely abstract and separate proposition, that it takes me the better part of an hour to reach Montgomery Street My selection of locality was a compromise between my wife's desire to go into the country and my own predilec- tions for civic habitation. Like most compromises, it ended in retaining the objectionable features of both propositions ; I procured the inconveniences of the country without losing the discomforts of the city. I increased my distance from the butcher and greengrocer without approximating to herds and kitchen-gardens. But I anticipate. Fresh air was to be the principal thing sought for. That there might be too much of this did not enter into my calculations. The first day I entered my residence, it blew ; the second day was windy ; the third, fresh, with a strong breeze stirring ; on the fourth, it blew ; on the fifth, there was a gale, which has continued to the present writing. That the air is fresh the above statement sufficiently 252 My Suburban Residence. 'I. Ml I'M w " r , 1 ':,(-! I r , i'j ^ ii li I 1 1 In establishes. That it is bracing I argue from the fact that I find it impossible to open the shutters on the windward side of the house. That it is healthy I am alsc convinced, believing that there is no other force in Nature that could so buffet and ill-use a person without serious injury to him. Let me offer an instance. The path to my door crosses a slight eminence. The unconscious visitor, a little exhausted by the ascent and the general effects of the gentle gales which he has faced in approaching my hospitable mansion, relaxes his efforts, smooths his brow, and approaches with a fascinating smile. Rash and too confident man ! The wind delivers a succession of rapid blows, and he is thrown back. He staggers up again, in the language of the P. R., "smiling and confident" The wind now makes for a vulnerable point, and gets his hat in chancery. All cere- mony is now thrown away ; the luckless wretch seizes his hat with both hands and charges madly at the front door. Inch by inch the wind contests the ground; another struggle and he stands upon the veranda. On such occa- sions I make it a point to open the door myself, with a calmness and serenity that shall offer a marked contrast to his feverish and excited air, and shall throw suspicion of inebriety upon him. If he be inclined to timidity and bashfulness, during the rest of the evening he is all too conscious of the disarrangement of his hair and cravat. If he is less sensitive, the result is often more distressing. A valued elderly friend once called upon me after under- going a twofold struggle with the wind and a large New- foundland dog (which I keep for reasons hereinafter stated), and not only his hat, but his wig had suffered. He spent the evening with me, totally unconscious of the fact that his hair presented the singula: spectacle of having been parted diagonally from the right temple to the left ear. When ladies called, my wife preferred to receive them. My Suburban Residence. 253 They were generally hysterical, and often in tears. I remember, one Sunday, to have been startled by what appeared to be the balloon from Hayes Valley drifting rapidly past my conservatory, closely followed by the New- foundland dog. I rushed to the front door, but was anticipated by my wife. A strange lady appeared at lunch, but the phenomenon remained otherwise unaccounted for. Egress from my residence is much more easy. My guests seldom "stand upon the order of their going, but go at once," the Newfoundland dog playfully harassing their rear. I was standing one day, with my hand on the open hall door, in serious conversation with the minister of the parish, when the back door was cautiously opened. The watchful breeze seized the opportunity, and charged through the defenceless passage. The front door closed violently in the middle of a sentence, precipitating the reverend gentleman into the garden. The Newfoundland dog, with that sagacity for which his race is so distinguished, at once concluded that a personal collision had taken place between myself and visitor, and flew to my defence. The reverend gentleman never called again. The Newfoundland dog above alluded to was part of a system of protection which my suburban home once required. Robberies were frequent in the neighbourhood, and my only fowl fell a victim to the spoiler's art. One night I awoke and found a man ia my room. With singular delicacy and respect for the feelings of others, he had been careful not to awaken any of the sleepers, and retired upon my rising without waiting for any suggestion. Touched by his delicacy, I forbore giving the alarm until after he had made good his retreat. I then wanted to go after a policeman, but my wife remonstrated, as this would leave the house exposed. Remembering the gentlemanly conduct of the burglar, I suggested the plan of following 254 My Suburban Residence, f'^'i m f! i-i %i fri ;, ri. hf'i; * ": . "n: i I ' I [^ I 'ri ■i 'I' '1 \ '1 ■^1 j; • •■■>' s iiln [f!, ;i!' (Inira Muros,) I. Fowl, that sing'st In yonder pool, Where the summer winds blow cool. Are t) '^e hy' lath.c cures For tht ]:i% »„. man endures ? Know'ai Uv)u >'- snitz? What? alack H Hast no oU;';i v.u. J Hut "Quack?" II. Cleopatra's barge might pale To the splendo'v.s of thy tail, Or the state!/ caravel Of some •' high-poop»»d admiral." Never yet left such a wake E'en the navigator Drike 1 III. Dux thou art, and leader, too, Heeding not what's "falling due;** Knowing not of debt or dun, — Thou dost heed no bill but one ; And, though scarce conceivable, That's a bill receivable, Made — that thou thy stars mightst thaaji" Payable at the next bank. ( 257 ) C&e &\xlM of ®an jTranct^co* Towards the close of the nineteenth century, the citj of San Francisco was totally engulfed by an earthquake. Although the whole coast-line must have been much shaken, the accident seems to have been purely local, and even e city of Oakland escaped. Schwappelfurt, the celebr? *ed German geologist, has endeavoured to explain this sir iii, r fact by suggesting that there are some things the ea ' i cannot swallow, — a statement that should be receive ^ with some caution, as exceeding the latitude of ordinary geo. ^^ '**! speculation. Historians disagree in the exact date of the calamity. Tulu Krish, the well-known New Zealander, whose admir- able speculations on the ruins of St. Paul's as seen from London Bridge, have won for him the attentive considera- tion of the scientific world, fixes the occurrence in a.d. 1880. This, supposing the city to have been actually founded in 1850, as asserted, would give but thirty years for it to have assumed the size and proportions it had evidently attained at the time of its destruction. It is not our purpose, how- ever, to question the conclusions of the justly-famed Maorian philosopher. Our present business lies with the excavations that are now being prosecuted by order of the Hawaiian Government upon the site of the lost city. Every one is familiar with the story of its discovery. For many years the Bay of San Francisco had been famed for the luscious a58 The Ruifis of San Francisco, 1 1 till riff: rii,i' ^>, /f !i i ■ i^ :% !r'i' 1 I: •' ' (' : '^5 4; I I' quality of its oysters. It is stated that a dredgei one day rak|d up a large bell, which proved to belong to the City Hffll, and led to the discovery of the cupola of that build- ing. The attention of the Government was at once directed to the spot. The Bay of San Francisco was speedily drained by a system of patent siphons, and the city, deeply embedded in mud, brought to light after a burial of many centuries. The City Hall, Post Office, Mint, and Custom House were readily recognised by the large full-fed barnacles which adhered to their walls. Shortly afterwards the first skeleton was discovered, that of a broker, whose position in the upper strata of mud nearer the surface was supposed to be owing to the exceeding buoyancy or inflation of scrip which he had secured about his person while endeavouring to escape. Many skeletons, supposed to be those of females, encompassed in that peculiar steel coop or cage which seems to have been worn by the women of that period, were also found in the upper stratum. Alexis von Puffer, in his admirable work on San Francisco, accounts for the position of these unfortunate creatures by asserting that the steel cage was originally the frame of a parachute-like garment which distended the skirt, and in the submersion of the city prevented them from sinking. " If anything," says Von Puffer, " could have been wanting to add intensity to the horrible catastrophe which took place as the waters first entered the city, it would have been furnished in the forcible separation of the sexes at this trying moment Buoyed up by their peculiar garments, the female popula- tion instantly ascended to the surface. As the drowning husband turned his eyes above, what must have been his agony as he saw his wife shooting upward, and knew that he was debarred the privilege of perishing with her? To the lasting honour of the male inhabitants be it said that but few seem to have availed themselves of their wife's The Ruins of San Francisco, 159 one day the City lat build- » directed y drained mbedded centuries. Duse were les which t skeleton Qn in the sed to be :rip which ouring to f females, ige which at period, on Puffer, ts for the irting that ichute-like ubmersion anything," d intensity the waters led in the moment le popula- diowning been his knew that her? To said that leir wife** raperior levity. Only one skeleton was found stiU grasping the ankles of another in their upward journey to the surface. " For many years California had been subject to slight earthquakes, more or less generally felt, but not of sufiicient importance to awaken anxiety or fear. Perhaps the absorb- ing nature of the San Franciscans' pursuit of gold-getting, which metal seems to have been valuable in those days, and actually used as a medium of currency, rendered the inhabitants reckless of all other matters. Everything tends to show that the calamity was totally unlooked for. We quote the graphic language of Schwappelfurt : — " The morning of the tremendous catastrophe probably dawned upou the usual restless crowd of gold-getters intend upon their several avocations. The streets were filled with the expanded figures of gaily dressed women, acknowledging with coy glances the respectful salutations of beaux as they gracefully raised their remarkable cylindrical head-coverings, a model of which is still preserved in the Honolulu Museum. The brokers had gathered at their respective temples. The shopmen were exhibiting their goods. The idlers, or 'Bummers,' — a term applied to designate an aristocratic privileged class, who enjoyed immunities from labour, and from whom a majority of the rulers were chosen, — were list- lessly regarding the promenaders from the street-corners or the doors of their bibulous temple. A slight premonitory thrill runs through the city. The busy life of this restless microcosm is arrested. The shopkeeper pauses as he elevates the goods to bring them into a favourable light, and the glib professional recommendation sticks on his tongue. In the drinking saloon the glass is checked half- way to the lipsj on the streets the promenaders pause. Another thrill, and the city begins to go down, a few of the more persistent topers turning off their liquor at the same 96o The Ruins of San Francisco, I"* "'-'ll ,.||rN hf,'; #! M'l. ''i moment Beyond a terrible sensation of nausea, the crowds rho now throng the streets do not realise the extent of the catastrophe. The waters of the bay recede at first from the centre of depression, assuming a concave shape, the outer edge of the circle towering many thousand feet above the city. Another convulsion and the water instantly resumes its level. The city is smoothly engulfed nine thousand feet below, and the regular swell of the Pacific calmly rolls over it. Terrible," says Schwappelfurt, in con- clusion, " as the calamity must have been in direct relation to the individuals immediately concerned therein, we cannot but admire its artistic management, the division of the catastrophe into three periods, the completeness of the cataclysms, and the rare combination of sincerity cf inten* tion with felicity of execution." ' I ■ \ 1 1 .■' : J \ ;; ; \ Prlnttd in Sngland at Thk Ballantynk PrbbS Sfottiswoodb, ballantynb * Co. Ltd. OoleHetter, London tf BUm the crowds tent of the fint from shape, the feet above r instantly vlfed nine the Pacific iirt, in con- ect relation , we cannot lion of the tess of the ty cf inten*