DESCRIBES A QUIET NOOK, AND SHOWS HOW LARRY CAME BY A DOUBLE LOSS,
BESIDES TELLING OF WONDERFUL DISCOVERIES OF MORE KINDS THAN ONE.
We must guard the reader, at this point, from supposing that our
adventurers were _always_ tumbling out of frying-pans into fires, or
that they _never_ enjoyed repose. By no means. The duty which lies
upon us, to recount the most _piquant_ and stirring of the incidents in
their journeying, necessitates the omission of much that is deeply
interesting, though unexciting and peaceful.
For instance,--on one occasion, Larry and Bunco were deputed to fish for
trout, while our hero and the trapper went after deer. The place
selected by the anglers was a clear quiet pool in a small but deep
rivulet, which flowed down the gentle slope of a wooded hill. The
distant surroundings no doubt were wild enough, but the immediate spot
to which we refer might have been a scene in bonnie Scotland, and would
have gladdened the heart of a painter as being his _beau ideal_,
perhaps, of a "quiet nook." The day was quiet too; the little birds,
apparently, were very happy, and the sun was very bright--so bright that
it shone through the mirror-like surface of the pool right down to the
bottom, and there revealed several large fat trout, which were teazed
and tempted and even exhorted to meet their fate, by the earnest Larry.
The converse on the occasion, too, was quiet and peaceful. It was what
we may style a lazy sort of day, and the anglers felt lazy, and so did
the fish, for, although they saw the baits which were held temptingly
before their noses, they refused to bite. Trout in those regions are
not timid. We speak from personal experience. They saw Larry and Bunco
sitting astride the trunk of a fallen tree, with their toes in the
water, bending earnestly over the pool, just as distinctly as these
worthies saw the fish; but they cared not a drop of water for them!
Larry, therefore, sought to beguile the time and entertain his friend by
giving him glowing accounts of men and manners in the Green Isle. So
this pleasant peaceful day passed by, and Pat's heart had reached a
state of sweet tranquillity, when, happening to bend a little too far
over the pool, in order to see a peculiarly large trout which was
looking at him, he lost his balance and fell into it, head first, with a
heavy plunge, which scattered its occupants right and left! Bunco
chuckled immensely as he assisted to haul him out, and even ventured to
chaff him a little.
"Yoo's good for dive, me tink."
"True for ye, lad," said Larry, smiling benignantly, as he resumed his
seat on the tree-trunk, and squeezed the water out of his garments. "I
was always good at that an' it's so hot here that I took a sudden fancy
to spaik to the fishes, but the dirty spalpeens are too quick for me. I
do belaive they're comin' back! Look there at that wan--six pound av
he's an ounce."
Not only did the six-pounder return to the pool almost immediately after
Larry left it, but a large number of his brethren bore him company, and
took up their former position as if nothing had happened. Nay, more,
the surprise had apparently so far stirred them up and awakened them to
a perception of their opportunities, that the six-pounder languidly
swallowed Bunco's hook and was in a moment whisked out of his native
pool and landed on the bank,--for the anglers fished with stout cord and
unbending rods!
"Musha! but ye've got 'im," exclaimed Larry.
"Yoos better take noder dive," suggested his friend.
"Hooroo!" shouted Larry, as he whipped another large fish out of the
pool.
This, however, was the last for some time. The trout, ere long,
appeared to have settled down into their former lazy condition, and the
anglers' hopes were sinking, when it suddenly occurred to the Irishman,
that if the fish were stirred up with a pole they might be again roused
to an appreciation of their advantages. Accordingly a pole was cut, the
trout were judiciously stirred up, and several of them actually took the
bait in the course of the afternoon--whether under the influence of the
unwonted excitement we do not pretend to say, but certain it is that
before sunset an excellent dish was secured for supper!
Equally peaceful and pleasant were the experiences of our hero and the
trapper on that tranquil day. They wandered about in a state of silent
happiness all the forenoon; then they shot a grizzly bear, the claws and
teeth of which were claimed by Will, as he had drawn first blood. After
that a deer chanced to come within range of the trapper, who brought it
down, cut off the best parts of the meat, and, kindling a fire on the
spot, sat down with his companion to a fat venison steak and a pipe.
"This sort o' life is what I calls happiness," said Big Ben, puffing out
a cloud, through the hazy curls of which he gazed at a sunny landscape
of unrivalled beauty.
"So it is," assented Will Osten, with enthusiasm.
"An' yet," pursued Big Ben, thoughtfully, "when I come to think on't,
this sort o' life would be no happiness to an old man, or to a weak
one."
"No, nor to a woman," added Will.
"Not so sure o' that," said the trapper; "I've know'd Injun women as was
about as good hunters as their husbands, an' enjoyed it quite as much."
"That may be so, Ben, but women of the civilised world would scarcely
think this a happy sort of life."
"P'raps not," returned Ben. "Happiness is a queer thing, after all.
I've often thought that it's neither huntin' nor farmin', nor fair
weather nor foul, that brings it about in the heart o' man or woman, but
that it comes nat'ral to man, woman, and child, when they does what is
best suited to their minds and bodies, and when they does it in the
right way."
"Which is very much like saying," observed Will, "that happiness
consists in obeying the laws of God, both natural and revealed."
"Just so," assented the trapper, after a few moments' consideration,
"though I never quite thought of it in that light before."
Thus they conversed--or, rather, in somewhat similar strains they
chatted, for they did not pursue any subject long, but allowed their
minds to rove where fancy led--until evening began to close; then they
carried their meat into camp and closed the day with a sumptuous feast
of fish, flesh, and fowl, round a blazing fire, while the stream, which
formed their beverage, warbled sweet music in their ears.
This, reader, is a specimen of one of their quiet days, and many such
they had; but as these days of peace bore no proportion to the days of
toil and trouble, we must beg you to be content with the account of this
one as a fair sample of the rest, while we carry you over the Rocky
Mountains and bear you down their western slopes towards the Pacific
Ocean.
The mountains being crossed, the future course of our travellers was
down hill, but in some respects it was more toilsome than their uphill
journey had been. The scenery changed considerably in respect of the
character of its vegetation, and was even more rugged than heretofore,
while the trees were larger and the underwood more dense. Many a narrow
escape had Will and his friends during the weeks that followed, and many
a wild adventure, all of which, however, terminated happily--except one,
to which we now request attention.
They had reached the Fraser River--that celebrated stream of British
Columbia which waters a country that was destined in after years to
become one of the great gold-mining regions of the world. On the
afternoon of which we write, the party rode with difficulty down the
rugged banks of the river, which, roaring through a narrow valley, had
overflowed its banks, so that the trail was completely covered, the
horses being frequently up to the girths in water. In the course of the
day they came to a place where the trail passed along the face of a
lofty cliff of crumbling slate. The path was only just wide enough for
the horses to pass. On the right rose a perpendicular precipice. On
the left, a few yards below, the swollen waters of the Fraser roared and
boiled down their rocky bed with tremendous velocity. On turning a
projection they found the track barred by a huge rock which had recently
slipped down the mountain side. As it was impossible to pass the
obstacle either above or below, there was nothing for it but to cut down
trees, use them as levers, and dislodge the mass. It was discovered,
when they dismounted to undertake this task, that Larry O'Hale was
amissing. Will Osten had just uttered an exclamation of surprise, and
the others had not had time to reply to the question, "Hallo! what's
become of Larry?" when that worthy's voice was heard shouting in the
distance, and his horse's hoofs were heard clattering along the narrow
track as he approached at full gallop.
"Hooroo! howld on, doctor; hi' Bunco an' Ben, look here. Goold, avic,
goold, I've got it at long last, sure enough!"
"You've got rid of your senses at last," said Will, as his comrade
almost rode him down. "Have a care, man! What makes you ride at such a
pace?"
"Goold! goold! goold!" cried the excited Irishman, plucking a little bag
from his breast, leaping off his horse, and pouring the contents--a mass
of glittering lumps and particles--on a flat stone. "Didn't I tell ye I
was born to make my fortin' out o' goold? There's plenty more where
that comed from. Come back an' I'll show 'ee the place!"
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Larry," said Will, examining the so-called
gold, "but I have seen this stuff before, and I believe it to be a
substance which is not worth its weight in brass. Many poor fellows
have been deceived by it before _now_."
Larry's face elongated very much at this. "What say _you_, Ben?" he
inquired.
"I fear me that it an't worth picking up," replied the trapper,
fingering the shining particles. "Leastwise I once collected a bag o'
the same an' showed it to a man in the settlements who got the credit o'
bein' a knowin' fellow in regard to metals. He told me it was somethin'
that I don't remember the name of, but worth nothing, so I heaved it
away."
Thus doubly assured, Larry sighed deeply as he collected the shining
metal into the bag, and stood eyeing it disconsolately. At this point
Bunco chuckled.
"Worse luck to it," cried Larry, starting and tossing the bag violently
into the stream, where it sank and vanished for ever. Little did any of
the party imagine, at that time, that they had actually cast away some
hundred pounds worth of pure gold, yet such was actually the case!
As it left Larry's hand, the bag touched the nose of his horse, which
shied, slipped over the bank, fell into the river, and was swept away.
Instantly they all clapped their shoulders to the big stone, and pushed
with such good-will that it slipped and went crashing into the stream,
while the party went off at full speed after the horse. The poor animal
was found at last stranded amid a mass of driftwood, with its saddle and
baggage gone, but beyond this and the fright, no harm was done.
"Misfortin's niver come single. 'Tis always the way. Howsiver, niver
say die; better luck nixt time; ye'll make yer fortin' yit, av ye only
parsevair an' kape up yer heart, ould boy." Thus soliloquising, the
unfortunate man remounted his wet and bare-backed steed, and rode away.
Time and tide are usually understood to wait for no man; we therefore
decline to wait either for time or tide, but, sweeping onward in advance
of both, convey our readers at once to the sea coast near Vancouver's
Island, where our adventurers arrived after an unusual share of toil and
trouble, and found a small craft about to sail for California--took
passage in her, and, in due time, arrived at San Francisco. The
gold-fever had just set in there. The whole town was in an uproar of
confusion. Excitable men had given up their ordinary work, or shut
their shops, and gone off to the diggings. Ships were lying idle in the
bay, having been deserted by their crews, who had gone to the same point
of attraction, and new arrivals were constantly swelling the tide of
gold-seekers. Here Will Osten found his father's agent--a staid old
gentleman of Spanish extraction, who, being infirm as well as old, was
fever-proof. Being somewhat taciturn, however, and rendered irritable
by the upheavings of social life which were going on around him, he only
vouchsafed the information that the estate which belonged to the late
Mr Osten was near the goldfields; that it was not a rich one by any
means, and that his advice to Will was to go and see it for himself.
Accepting the advice, our hero expended the greater part of his
remaining cash in purchasing provisions, etcetera, for the journey to
the Sacramento River. By steamer they accomplished the first part of
it, and on horseback progressed north-eastward until they drew near to
the mighty mountain range named the Sierra Nevada.
On the way they had more than enough of company, for men of every clime
and of all ages, between sixteen and fifty, were travelling on every
description of horse and mule in the same direction. From most of
these, however, they parted on reaching the entrance to the narrow
valley in which the estate was said to lie.
"Is it far up the valley?" asked Will Osten of the landlord of the last
ranche, or inn (a small hovel) in which they had passed the night.
"Not far," replied the innkeeper, a shrewd intelligent Yankee, with a
touch of the nasal tone for which the race is noted; "guess it's about
three leagues off."
"A wild gloomy sort o' place, no doubt?" asked Larry.
"Rayther. It'll stand tamin' a bit. There's nobody lives in the whole
valley 'xcept a band o' miners who have been prospectin' all over it an'
locatin' themselves in the house without leave."
"Locatin', is it?" exclaimed Larry, "faix, it's vacatin' it they'll be,
widout so much as `by yer lave,' this night."
"Have they found much gold, do you know?" asked Will Osten.
"Believe not," replied the innkeeper. "It's not a likely place--though
there _may_ be some, for gold has been found below this, as you would
see, I s'pose, when you passed the diggers on Cocktail Creek."
Bidding the host good-bye, our hero and his friends rode off to take
possession of the estate. They were well armed, for, in these days,
might, not right, was the law of the land.
It was evening before they reached the head of the valley where stood
the house or wooden cottage which had been the abode of Will's eccentric
old relative. The scenery was savage and forbidding in the extreme.
Lofty mountains rose on every side, and only a small portion of the land
in the neighbourhood of the dwelling had been brought under cultivation.
The house itself was a low long-shaped building, and stood on the banks
of a stream which gushed and tumbled furiously along its rocky bed, as
if in hot haste to escape from the dark mountain gorges which gave it
birth. A hut near by was the residence of an old native who had been
the owner's only servant, and a few cattle grazing in the meadow behind
the house were tended by him with as much solicitude as though his late
master had been still alive. The only cheering point in the scene was a
gleam of ruddy light which shot from a window of the house and lost
itself in the deepening gloom of evening.
"A most lugubrious spot," said Will, surveying it sadly as he rode
forward.
"Faix, I'd recommend ye to sell it to the miners for whativer it'll
fetch," said Larry, in a disappointed tone.
"They're a jovial set of squatters, whatever else they may be," said Big
Ben, as an uproarious chorus issued from the house. "Hallo! Bunco,
what d'ye hear, lad?"
Bunco's visage displayed at that moment a compound expression of
surprise and deep attention. Again the chorus swelled out and came down
on the breeze, inducing Bunco to mutter a few words to Big Ben in his
native tongue.
"What is it?" inquired Will, eagerly, on beholding the huge frame of the
trapper quivering with suppressed laughter.
"Nothin', nothin'," said Ben, dismounting, "only the redskin's ears are
sharp, and he has heard surprisin' sounds. Go with him on foot. I'll
hold the horses."
"Come 'long, foller me quick as you can," said Bunco, in a whisper--"no
take gum?--no use for dem."
Filled with surprise and curiosity, Will and Larry followed their
comrade, who went straight towards the window from which the light
streamed. A voice was heard singing within, but it was not loud, and
the air could not be distinguished until the chorus burst forth from, a
number of powerful lungs:--
"Hearts of oak are our ships, Jolly tars are our men--"
At the first note, Larry sprang past his companions, and peeped into the
room. The sight that met his gaze was indeed well calculated to strike
him dumb, for there, in a circle on the floor, with the remains of a
roast of beef in the centre--red-shirted, long-booted, uncombed, and
deeply bronzed--sat six old comrades, whom they had not seen for such a
length of time that they had almost forgotten their existence--namely,
Captain Dall, long David Cupples, old Peter, Captain Blathers, Muggins,
and Buckawanga! They were seated, in every variety of attitude, round a
packing-box, which did duty for a table, and each held in his hand a tin
mug, from which he drained a long draught at the end of the chorus. The
last shout of the chorus was given with such vigour that Larry O'Hale
was unable to restrain himself. He flung open the door, leaped into the
room with a cheer and a yell that caused every man to spring up and
seize the nearest weapon, and Captain Dall, in a burst of fiery
indignation, was in the act of bringing a huge mass of firewood down on
the Irishman's skull when Will Osten sprang in and arrested his arm. At
the same moment Muggins recognised his old messmate, and, rushing at
him, seized him with a hug worthy of a black bear!
To describe the scene of surprise, confusion, and delight that followed
were impossible. The questions put that were never answered; the
answers given to questions never put; the exclamations; the cross
purposes; the inextricable conglomeration of past, present, and future
history--public, personal, and local; uttered, ejaculated and gasped, in
short, or incomplete, or disjointed sentences--all this baffles
description. After a few minutes, however, they quieted down, and,
while the new arrivals attacked the roast of beef, their former
messmates talked incessantly, and all at once!
"You're the laird of a splendid estate of rocks and scrub," said Captain
Dall to Will.
"Not to mention the river," replied Will, smiling.
"Without fish in it, ha!" groaned Cupples.
"But lots o' goold," suggested Larry, with a wink; "give us a drop o'
yer grog, lads, it's dry work meetin' so many friends all at wanst."
"Nothin' but water here!" said Muggins.
"What! wos ye singin' like that on cowld wather?"
"We wos!" returned Muggins.
"An' what's more," said Old Peter, "we've got used to it, an' don't feel
the want of grog at all. `What's in a name,' as Jonathan Edwards says
in his play of `Have it yer own way,' or somethin' like that. Why, if
you call it grog an' make believe, it goes down like--like--"
"Wather," suggested Larry; "well, well, let's have a drop, whativer it
is."
"But how comes it to pass," inquired Will, "that we should all meet here
just as people are made to do in a novel, or at the end of the last
scene in a play?"
"Nothing more natural," said Captain Blathers. "You know, when we were
cast adrift by the scoundrels that took my ship, Captain Dall, Mr
Cupples, and I, made the coast, and got to San Francisco, where we
remained, working at what we could, to scrape together a little money
before leaving for England, as we had no heart for the goldfields. Some
months after that we were surprised to see Old Peter and Muggins
wandering about the town like beggars. They had come in a small craft
from South America, and were very glad to join us. We were soon
persuaded by them to go to the goldfields, and were about to start when
we heard of this estate that had been left to a Mr Osten by his
brother. I made inquiries, found it was your father it was left to,
and, having heard from Muggins of your father's death, I wrote a letter
to let you know we were here, and to ask advice--which letter, by the
way, is about half seas over to England by this time, if all's well.
Then we agreed to come here, and prospect for gold all over the estate--
the which we have done, but without much luck as yet, I'm sorry to say."
"But you have not yet accounted for the appearance of Buckawanga?" said
Will.
"Oh, as to that, Muggins recognised him one day in the street. We found
he had come over from them rascally Cannibal Islands, in the service of
a missionary--"
"What!" exclaimed Will, dropping his knife and fork.
"The missionary, you know," said Captain Dall; "Mr Westwood, who--"
"Is he--is his _family_--in San Francisco?" asked Will, recovering
himself and pretending to be busy with his supper.
"Ay, he is on his way to England--waiting for a ship, I believe; but
Buckawanga prefers the goldfields, and so, has come with us, as you
see."
"Are the Westwoods well--_all_ of them?"
"So far as we know, they are. But in regard to the gold hereabouts--"
"Ay, that's the thing," said Larry, who had glanced at our hero with
twinkling eyes when reference was made to the Westwoods; "nothin' like
goold to warm the heart of a poor man an' gladden the eyes of a rich
wan. It's that same as'll interest the doctor most."
"Well," resumed the captain, "as I was about to say--"
"Didn't I hear you say something about going to San Francisco for fresh
supplies and more tools a few minutes ago?" asked Will, abruptly.
"You did; we are short of provender and hard up for tools. I meant to
start to-morrow, but now that you've come I'll delay--"
"We'll not delay an hour," cried Will, with unusual energy. "It will
never do to waste time here when people are making fortunes all round
us. The rest of the party can remain to prospect--but you and I,
captain, will start for San Francisco _to-morrow_!"
"Ho, ho!" said Larry to himself that night, as he smoked his pipe after
retiring to rest; "it's neck or nothin' is it--never ventur' never win,
is the word? Well, well, 'tis the way o' the world. My blessin' go wid
ye, doctor." With this benediction on his lips he turned round, shook
the ashes out of his pipe and went to sleep.